novels by: bertrand w. sinclair north of fifty-three big timber burned bridges poor man's rock poor man's rock by bertrand w. sinclair boston little, brown, and company published september, the university press, cambridge, mass., u.s.a. contents prologue--long, long ago chapter i. the house in cradle bay ii. his own country iii. the flutter of sable wings iv. inheritance v. from the bottom up vi. the springboard vii. sea boots and salmon viii. vested rights ix. the complexity of simple matters x. thrust and counterthrust xi. peril of the sea xii. between sun and sun xiii. an interlude xiv. the swing of the pendulum xv. hearts are not always trumps xvi. en famille xvii. business as usual xviii. a renewal of hostilities xix. top dog xx. the dead and dusty past xxi. as it was in the beginning poor man's rock prologue long, long ago the gulf of georgia spread away endlessly, an immense, empty stretch of water bared to the hot eye of an august sun, its broad face only saved from oily smoothness by half-hearted flutterings of a westerly breeze. those faint airs blowing up along the vancouver island shore made tentative efforts to fill and belly out strongly the mainsail and jib of a small half-decked sloop working out from the weather side of sangster island and laying her snub nose straight for the mouth of the fraser river, some sixty sea-miles east by south. in the stern sheets a young man stood, resting one hand on the tiller, his navigating a sinecure, for the wind was barely enough to give him steerageway. he was, one would say, about twenty-five or six, fairly tall, healthily tanned, with clear blue eyes having a touch of steely gray in their blue depths, and he was unmistakably of that fair type which runs to sandy hair and freckles. he was dressed in a light-colored shirt, blue serge trousers, canvas shoes; his shirt sleeves, rolled to the elbows, bared flat, sinewy forearms. he turned his head to look back to where in the distance a white speck showed far astern, and his eyes narrowed and clouded. but there was no cloud in them when he turned again to his companion, a girl sitting on a box just outside the radius of the tiller. she was an odd-looking figure to be sitting in the cockpit of a fishing boat, amid recent traces of business with salmon, codfish, and the like. the heat was putting a point on the smell of defunct fish. the dried scales of them still clung to the small vessel's timbers. in keeping, the girl should have been buxom, red-handed, coarsely healthy. and she was anything but that. no frail, delicate creature, mind you,--but she did not belong in a fishing boat. she looked the lady, carried herself like one,--patrician from the top of her russet-crowned head to the tips of her white kid slippers. yet her eyes, when she lifted them to the man at the tiller, glowed with something warm. she stood up and slipped a silk-draped arm through his. he smiled down at her, a tender smile tempered with uneasiness, and then bent his head and kissed her. "do you think they will overtake us, donald?" she asked at length. "that depends on the wind," he answered. "if these light airs hold they _may_ overhaul us, because they can spread so much more cloth. but if the westerly freshens--and it nearly always does in the afternoon--i can outsail the _gull_. i can drive this old tub full sail in a blow that will make the _gull_ tie in her last reef." "i don't like it when it's rough," the girl said wistfully. "but i'll pray for a blow this afternoon." if indeed she prayed--and her attitude was scarcely prayerful, for it consisted of sitting with one hand clasped tight in her lover's--her prayer fell dully on the ears of the wind god. the light airs fluttered gently off the bluish haze of vancouver island, wavered across the gulf, kept the sloop moving, but no more. sixty miles away the mouth of the fraser opened to them what security they desired. but behind them power and authority crept up apace. in two hours they could distinguish clearly the rig of the pursuing yacht. in another hour she was less than a mile astern, creeping inexorably nearer. the man in the sloop could only stand on, hoping for the usual afternoon westerly to show its teeth. in the end, when the afternoon was waxing late, the sternward vessel stood up so that every detail of her loomed plain. she was full cutter-rigged, spreading hundreds of feet of canvas. every working sail was set, and every light air cloth that could catch a puff of air. the slanting sun rays glittered on her white paint and glossy varnish, struck flashing on bits of polished brass. she looked her name, the _gull_, a thing of exceeding grace and beauty, gliding soundlessly across a sun-shimmering sea. but she represented only a menace to the man and woman in the fish-soiled sloop. the man's face darkened as he watched the distance lessen between the two craft. he reached under a locker and drew out a rifle. the girl's high pinkish color fled. she caught him by the arm. "donald, donald," she said breathlessly, "there's not to be any fighting." "am i to let them lay alongside, hand you aboard, and then sail back to maple point, laughing at us for soft and simple fools?" he said quietly. "they can't take you from me so easily as that. there are only three of them aboard. i won't hurt them unless they force me to it, but i'm not so chicken-hearted as to let them have things all their own way. sometimes a man _must_ fight, bessie." "you don't know my father," the girl whimpered. "nor grandpa. he's there. i can see his white beard. they'll kill you, donald, if you oppose them. you mustn't do that. it is better that i should go back quietly than that there should be blood spilled over me." "but i'm not intending to slaughter them," the man said soberly. "if i warn them off and they board me like a bunch of pirates, then--then it will be their lookout. do you want to go back, bessie? are you doubtful about your bargain already?" the tears started in her eyes. "for shame to say that," she whispered. "lord knows i don't want to turn back from anything that includes you, don. but my father and grandpa will be furious. they won't hesitate to vent their temper on you if you oppose them. they are accustomed to respect. to have their authority flouted rouses them to fury. and they're three to one. put away your gun, donald. if we can't outsail the _gull_ i shall have to go back without a struggle. there will be another time. they can't change my heart." "they can break your spirit though--and they will, for this," he muttered. but he laid the rifle down on the locker. the girl snuggled her hand into his. "you will not quarrel with them, donald--please, no matter what they say? promise me that," she pleaded. "if we can't outrun them, if they come alongside, you will not fight? i shall go back obediently. you can send word to me by andrew murdock. next time we shall not fail." "there will be no next time, bessie," he said slowly. "you will never get another chance. i know the gowers and mortons better than you do, for all you're one of them. they'll make you wish you had never been born, that you'd never seen me. i'd rather fight it out now. isn't our own happiness worth a blow or two?" "i can't bear to think what might happen if you defied them out here on this lonely sea," she shuddered. "you must promise me, donald." "i promise, then," he said with a sigh. "only i know it's the end of our dream, my dear. and i'm disappointed, too. i thought you had a stouter heart, that wouldn't quail before two angry old men--and a jealous young one. you can see, i suppose, that horace is there, too. "damn them!" he broke out passionately after a minute's silence. "it's a free country, and you and i are not children. they chase us as if we were pirates. for two pins i'd give them a pirate's welcome. i tell you, bessie, my promise to be meek and mild is not worth much if they take a high hand with me. i can take their measure, all three of them." "but you must not," the girl insisted. "you've promised. we can't help ourselves by violence. it would break my heart." "they'll do that fast enough, once they get you home," he answered gloomily. the girl's lips quivered. she sat looking back at the cutter half a cable astern. the westerly had failed them. the spreading canvas of the yacht was already blanketing the little sloop, stealing what little wind filled her sail. and as the sloop's way slackened the other slid down upon her, a purl of water at her forefoot, her wide mainsail bellying out in a snowy curve. there were three men in her. the helmsman was a patriarch, his head showing white, a full white beard descending from his chin, a fierce-visaged, vigorous old man. near him stood a man of middle age, a ruddy-faced man in whose dark blue eyes a flame burned as he eyed the two in the sloop. the third was younger still,--a short, sturdy fellow in flannels, tending the mainsheet with a frowning glance. the man in the sloop held his course. "damn you, macrae; lay to, or i'll run you down," the patriarch at the cutter's wheel shouted, when a boat's length separated the two craft. macrae's lips moved slightly, but no sound issued therefrom. leaning on the tiller, he let the sloop run. so for a minute the boats sailed, the white yacht edging up on the sloop until it seemed as if her broaded-off boom would rake and foul the other. but when at last she drew fully abreast the two men sheeted mainsail and jib flat while the white-headed helmsman threw her over so that the yacht drove in on the sloop and the two younger men grappled macrae's coaming with boat hooks, and side by side they came slowly up into the wind. macrae made no move, said nothing, only regarded the three with sober intensity. they, for their part, wasted no breath on him. "elizabeth, get in here," the girl's father commanded. it was only a matter of stepping over the rubbing gunwales. the girl rose. she cast an appealing glance at macrae. his face did not alter. she stepped up on the guard, disdaining the hand young gower extended to help her, and sprang lightly into the cockpit of the _gull_. "as for you, you calculating blackguard," her father addressed macrae, "if you ever set foot on maple point again, i'll have you horsewhipped first and jailed for trespass after." for a second macrae made no answer. his nostrils dilated; his blue-gray eyes darkened till they seemed black. then he said with a curious hoarseness, and in a voice pitched so low it was scarcely audible: "take your boat hooks out of me and be on your way." the older man withdrew his hook. young gower held on a second longer, matching the undisguised hatred in donald macrae's eyes with a fury in his own. his round, boyish face purpled. and when he withdrew the boat hook he swung the inch-thick iron-shod pole with a swift twist of his body and struck macrae fairly across the face. macrae went down in a heap as the _gull_ swung away. the faint breeze out of the west filled the cutter's sails. she stood away on a long tack south by west, with a frightened girl cowering down in her cabin, sobbing in grief and fear, and three men in the _gull's_ cockpit casting dubious glances at one another and back to the fishing sloop sailing with no hand on her tiller. in an hour the _gull_ was four miles to windward of the sloop. the breeze had taken a sudden shift full half the compass. a southeast wind came backing up against the westerly. there was in its breath a hint of something stronger. masterless, the sloop sailed, laid to, started off again erratically, and after many shifts ran off before this stiffer wind. unhelmed, she laid her blunt bows straight for the opening between sangster and squitty islands. on the cockpit floor donald macrae sprawled unheeding. blood from his broken face oozed over the boards. above him the boom swung creaking and he did not hear. out of the southeast a bank of cloud crept up to obscure the sun. far southward the gulf was darkened, and across that darkened area specks and splashes of white began to show and disappear. the hot air grew strangely cool. the swell that runs far before a gulf southeaster began to roll the sloop, abandoned to all the aimless movements of a vessel uncontrolled. she came up into the wind and went off before it again, her sails bellying strongly, racing as if to outrun the swells which now here and there lifted and broke. she dropped into a hollow, a following sea slewed her stern sharply, and she jibed,--that is, the wind caught the mainsail and flung it violently from port to starboard. the boom swept an arc of a hundred degrees and put her rail under when it brought up with a jerk on the sheet. ten minutes later she jibed again. this time the mainsheet parted. only stout, heavily ironed backstays kept mainsail and boom from being blown straight ahead. the boom end swung outboard till it dragged in the seas as she rolled. only by a miracle and the stoutest of standing gear had she escaped dismasting. now, with the mainsail broaded off to starboard, and the jib by some freak of wind and sea winged out to port, the sloop drove straight before the wind, holding as true a course as if the limp body on the cockpit floor laid an invisible, controlling hand on sheet and tiller. and he, while that fair wind grew to a yachtsman's gale and lashed the gulf of georgia into petty convulsions, lay where he had fallen, his head rolling as his vessel rolled, heedless when she rose and raced on a wave-crest or fell laboring in the trough when a wave slid out from under her. the sloop had all but doubled on her course,--nearly but not quite,--and the few points north of west that she shifted bore her straight to destruction. macrae opened his eyes at last. he was bewildered and sick. his head swam. there was a series of stabbing pains in his lacerated face. but he was of the sea, of that breed which survives by dint of fortitude, endurance, stoutness of arm and quickness of wit. he clawed to his feet. almost before him lifted the bleak southern face of squitty island. point old jutted out like a barrier. macrae swung on the tiller. but the wind had the mainsail in its teeth. without control of that boom his rudder could not serve him. and as he crawled forward to try to lower sail, or get a rope's end on the boom, whichever would do, the sloop struck on a rock that stands awash at half-tide, a brown hummock of granite lifting out of the sea two hundred feet off the tip of point old. she struck with a shock that sent macrae sprawling, arrested full in an eight-knot stride. as she hung shuddering on the rock, impaled by a jagged tooth, a sea lifted over her stern and swept her like a watery broom that washed macrae off the cabin top, off the rock itself into deep water beyond. he came up gasping. the cool immersion had astonishingly revived him. he felt a renewal of his strength, and he had been cast by luck into a place from which it took no more than the moderate effort of an able swimmer to reach shore. point old stood at an angle to the smashing seas, making a sheltered bight behind it, and into this bight the flooding tide set in a slow eddy. macrae had only to keep himself afloat. in five minutes his feet touched on a gravel beach. he walked dripping out of the languid swell that ran from the turbulence outside and turned to look back. the sloop had lodged on the rock, bilged by the ragged granite. the mast was down, mast and sodden sails swinging at the end of a stay as each sea swept over the rock with a hissing roar. macrae climbed to higher ground. he sat down beside a stunted, leaning fir and watched his boat go. it was soon done. a bigger sea than most tore the battered hull loose, lifted it high, let it drop. the crack of breaking timbers cut through the boom of the surf. the next sea swept the rock clear, and the broken, twisted hull floated awash. caught in the tidal eddy it began its slow journey to join the vast accumulation of driftwood on the beach. macrae glanced along the island shore. he knew that shore slightly,--a bald, cliffy stretch notched with rocky pockets in which the surf beat itself into dirty foam. if he had grounded anywhere in that mile of headland north of point old, his bones would have been broken like the timbers of his sloop. but his eyes did not linger there nor his thoughts upon shipwreck and sudden death. his gaze turned across the gulf to a tongue of land outthrusting from the long purple reach of vancouver island. behind that point lay the morton estate, and beside the morton boundaries, matching them mile for mile in wealth of virgin timber and fertile meadow, spread the gower lands. his face, streaked and blotched with drying bloodstains, scarred with a red gash that split his cheek from the hair above one ear to a corner of his mouth, hardened into ugly lines. his eyes burned again. this happened many years ago, long before a harassed world had to reckon with bourgeois and bolshevik, when profiteer and pacifist had not yet become words to fill the mouths of men, and not even the politicians had thought of saving the world for democracy. yet men and women were strangely as they are now. a generation may change its manners, its outward seeming; it does not change in its loving and hating, in its fundamental passions, its inherent reactions. macrae's face worked. his lips quivered as he stared across the troubled sea. he lifted his hands in a swift gesture of appeal. "o god," he cried, "curse and blast them in all their ways and enterprises if they deal with her as they have dealt with me." chapter i the house in cradle bay on an afternoon in the first week of november, , under a sky bank full of murky cloud and an air freighted with a chill which threatened untimely snow, a man came rowing up along the western side of squitty island and turned into cradle bay, which lies under the lee of point old. he was a young man, almost boyish-looking. he had on a pair of fine tan shoes, brown overalls, a new gray mackinaw coat buttoned to his chin. he was bareheaded. also he wore a patch of pink celluloid over his right eye. when he turned into the small half-moon bight, he let up on his oars and drifted, staring with a touch of surprise at a white cottage-roofed house with wide porches sitting amid an acre square of bright green lawn on a gentle slope that ran up from a narrow beach backed by a low sea-wall of stone where the gravel ended and the earth began. "hm-m-m," he muttered. "it wasn't built yesterday, either. funny he never mentioned _that_." he pushed on the oars and the boat slid nearer shore, the man's eyes still steadfast on the house. it stood out bold against the grass and the deeper green of the forest behind. back of it opened a hillside brown with dead ferns, dotted with great solitary firs and gnarly branched arbutus. no life appeared there. the chimneys were dead. two moorings bobbed in the bay, but there was no craft save a white rowboat hauled high above tidewater and canted on its side. "i wonder, now." he spoke again. while he wondered and pushed his boat slowly in on the gravel, a low _pr-r-r_ and a sibilant ripple of water caused him to look behind. a high-bowed, shining mahogany cruiser, seventy feet or more over all, rounded the point and headed into the bay. the smooth sea parted with a whistling sound where her brass-shod stem split it like a knife. she slowed down from this trainlike speed, stopped, picked up a mooring, made fast. the swell from her rolled in, swashing heavily on the beach. the man in the rowboat turned his attention to the cruiser. there were people aboard to the number of a dozen, men and women, clustered on her flush afterdeck. he could hear the clatter of their tongues, low ripples of laughter, through all of which ran the impatient note of a male voice issuing peremptory orders. the cruiser blew her whistle repeatedly,--shrill, imperative blasts. the man in the rowboat smiled. the air was very still. sounds carry over quiet water as if telephoned. he could not help hearing what was said. "wise management," he observed ironically, under his breath. the power yacht, it seemed, had not so much as a dinghy aboard. a figure on the deck detached itself from the group and waved a beckoning hand to the rowboat. the rower hesitated, frowning. then he shrugged his shoulders and pulled out and alongside. the deck crew lowered a set of steps. "take a couple of us ashore, will you?" he was addressed by a short, stout man. he was very round and pink of face, very well dressed, and by the manner in which he spoke to the others, and the glances he cast ashore, a person of some consequence in great impatience. the young man laid his rowboat against the steps. "climb in," he said briefly. "you, smith, come along," the round-faced one addressed a youth in tight blue jersey and peaked cap. the deck boy climbed obediently down. a girl in white duck and heavy blue sweater put her foot on the steps. "i think i shall go too, papa," she said. her father nodded and followed her. the rowboat nosed in beside the end of a narrow float that ran from the sea wall. the boy in the jersey sprang out, reached a steadying hand to his employer. the girl stepped lightly to the planked logs. "give the boy a lift on that boat to the _chuck_, will you?" the stout person made further request, indicating the white boat bottom up on shore. a queer expression gleamed momentarily in the eyes of the boatman. but it passed. he did not speak, but made for the dinghy, followed by the hand from the yacht. they turned the boat over, slid it down and afloat. the sailor got in and began to ship his oars. the man and the girl stood by till this was done. then the girl turned away. the man extended his hand. "thanks," he said curtly. the other's hand had involuntarily moved. the short, stout man dropped a silver dollar in it, swung on his heel and followed his daughter,--passed her, in fact, for she had only taken a step or two and halted. the young fellow eyed the silver coin in his hand with an expression that passed from astonishment to anger and broke at last into a smile of sheer amusement. he jiggled the coin, staring at it thoughtfully. then he faced about on the jerseyed youth about to dip his blades. "smith," he said, "i suppose if i heaved this silver dollar out into the _chuck_ you'd think i was crazy." the youth only stared at him. "you don't object to tips, do you, smith?" the man in the mackinaw inquired. "gee, no," the boy observed. "ain't you got no use for money?" "not this kind. you take it and buy smokes." he flipped the dollar into the dinghy. it fell clinking on the slatted floor and the youth salvaged it, looked it over, put it in his pocket. "gee," he said. "any time a guy hands me money, i keep it, believe me." his gaze rested curiously on the man with the patch over his eye. his familiar grin faded. he touched his cap. "thank y', sir." he heaved on his oars. the boat slid out. the man stood watching, hands deep in his pockets. a displeased look replaced the amused smile as his glance rested a second on the rich man's toy of polished mahogany and shining brass. then he turned to look again at the house up the slope and found the girl at his elbow. he did not know if she had overheard him, and he did not at the moment care. he met her glance with one as impersonal as her own. "i'm afraid i must apologize for my father," she said simply. "i hope you aren't offended. it was awfully good of you to bring us ashore." "that's quite all right," he answered casually. "why should i be offended? when a roughneck does something for you, it's proper to hand him some of your loose change. perfectly natural." "but you aren't anything of the sort," she said frankly. "i feel sure you resent being tipped for an act of courtesy. it was very thoughtless of papa." "some people are so used to greasing their way with money that they'll hand st. peter a ten-dollar bill when they pass the heavenly gates," he observed. "but it really doesn't matter. tell me something. whose house is that, and how long has it been there?" "ours," she answered. "two years. we stay here a good deal in the summer." "ours, i daresay, means horace a. gower," he remarked. "pardon my curiosity, but you see i used to know this place rather well. i've been away for some time. things seem to have changed a bit." "you're just back from overseas?" she asked quickly. he nodded. she looked at him with livelier interest. "i'm no wounded hero," he forestalled the inevitable question. "i merely happened to get a splinter of wood in one eye, so i have leave until it gets well." "if you are merely on leave, why are you not in uniform?" she asked quickly, in a puzzled tone. "i am," he replied shortly. "only it is covered up with overalls and mackinaw. well, i must be off. good-by, miss gower." he pushed his boat off the beach, rowed to the opposite side of the bay, and hauled the small craft up over a log. then he took his bag in hand and climbed the rise that lifted to the backbone of point old. halfway up he turned to look briefly backward over beach and yacht and house, up the veranda steps of which the girl in the blue sweater was now climbing. "it's queer," he muttered. he went on. in another minute he was on the ridge. the gulf opened out, a dead dull gray. the skies were hidden behind drab clouds. the air was clammy, cold, hushed, as if the god of storms were gathering his breath for a great effort. and jack macrae himself, when he topped the height which gave clear vision for many miles of shore and sea, drew a deep breath and halted for a long look at many familiar things. he had been gone nearly four years. it seemed to him but yesterday that he left. the picture was unchanged,--save for that white cottage in its square of green. he stared at that with a doubtful expression, then his uncovered eye came back to the long sweep of the gulf, to the brown cliffs spreading away in a ragged line along a kelp-strewn shore. he put down the bag and seated himself on a mossy rock close by a stunted, leaning fir and stared about him like a man who has come a great way to see something and means to look his fill. chapter ii his own country squitty island lies in the gulf of georgia midway between a mainland made of mountains like the alps, the andes, and the himalayas all jumbled together and all rising sheer from the sea, and the low delta-like shore of vancouver island. southward from squitty the gulf runs in a thirty-mile width for nearly a hundred miles to the san juan islands in american waters, beyond which opens the sheltered beauty of puget sound. squitty is six miles wide and ten miles long, a blob of granite covered with fir and cedar forest, with certain parklike patches of open grassland on the southern end, and a hump of a mountain lifting two thousand feet in its middle. the southeastern end of squitty--barring the tide rips off cape mudge--is the dirtiest place in the gulf for small craft in blowy weather. the surges that heave up off a hundred miles of sea tortured by a southeast gale break thunderously against squitty's low cliffs. these walls face the marching breakers with a grim, unchanging front. there is nothing hospitable in this aspect of squitty. it is an ugly shore to have on the lee in a blow. yet it is not so forbidding as it seems. the prevailing summer winds on the gulf are westerly. gales of uncommon fierceness roar out of the northwest in fall and early winter. at such times the storms split on squitty island, leaving a restful calm under those brown, kelp-fringed cliffs. many a small coaster has crept thankfully into that lee out of the whitecapped turmoil on either side, to lie there through a night that was wild outside, watching the ballenas light twenty miles away on a pile of bare rocks winking and blinking its warning to less fortunate craft. tugs, fishing boats, salmon trollers, beach-combing launches, all that mosquito fleet which gets its bread upon the waters and learns bar, shoal, reef, and anchorage thoroughly in the getting,--these knew that besides the half-moon bight called cradle bay, upon which fronted horace gower's summer home, there opened also a secure, bottle-necked cove less than a mile northward from point old. by day a stranger could only mark the entrance by eagle watch from a course close inshore. by night even those who knew the place as they knew the palm of their hand had to feel their way in. but once inside, a man could lie down in his bunk and sleep soundly, though a southeaster whistled and moaned, and the seas roared smoking into the narrow mouth. no ripple of that troubled the inside of squitty cove. it was a finger of the sea thrust straight into the land, a finger three hundred yards long, forty yards wide, with an entrance so narrow that a man could heave a sounding lead across it, and that entrance so masked by a rock about the bigness of a six-room house that one holding the channel could touch the rock with a pike pole as he passed in. there was a mud bottom, twenty-foot depth at low tide, and a little stream of cold fresh water brawling in at the head. a cliff walled it on the south. a low, grassy hill dotted with solitary firs, red-barked arbutus, and clumps of wild cherry formed its northern boundary. and all around the mouth, in every nook and crevice, driftwood of every size and shape lay in great heaps, cast high above tidewater by the big storms. so squitty had the three prime requisites for a harbor,--secure anchorage, fresh water, and firewood. there was good fertile land, too, behind the cove,--low valleys that ran the length of the island. there were settlers here and there, but these settlers were not the folk who intermittently frequented squitty cove. the settlers stayed on their land, battling with stumps, clearing away the ancient forest, tilling the soil. those to whom squitty cove gave soundest sleep and keenest joy were tillers of the sea. off point old a rock brown with seaweed, ringed with a bed of kelp, lifted its ugly head now to the one good, blue-gray eye of jack macrae, the same rock upon which donald macrae's sloop broke her back before jack macrae was born. it was a sunken menace at any stage of water, heartily cursed by the fishermen. in the years between, the rock had acquired a name not written on the admiralty charts. the hydrographers would look puzzled and shake their heads if one asked where in the gulf waters lay poor man's rock. but poor man's rock it is. greek and japanese, spaniard and italian, american and canadian--and there are many of each--who follow the silver-sided salmon when they run in the gulf of georgia, these know that poor man's rock lies half a cable south southwest of point old on squitty island. most of them know, too, why it is called poor man's rock. under certain conditions of sea and sky the rock is as lonely and forbidding a spot as ever a ship's timbers were broken upon. point old thrusts out like the stubby thumb on a clenched first. the rock and the outer nib of the point are haunted by quarreling flocks of gulls and coots and the black siwash duck with his stumpy wings and brilliant yellow bill. the southeaster sends endless battalions of waves rolling up there when it blows. these rear white heads over the rock and burst on the point with shuddering impact and showers of spray. when the sky is dull and gray, and the wind whips the stunted trees on the point--trees that lean inland with branches all twisted to the landward side from pressure of many gales in their growing years--and the surf is booming out its basso harmonies, the rock is no place for a fisherman. even the gulls desert it then. but in good weather, in the season, the blueback and spring salmon swim in vast schools across the end of squitty. they feed upon small fish, baby herring, tiny darting atoms of finny life that swarm in countless numbers. what these inch-long fishes feed upon no man knows, but they begin to show in the gulf early in spring. the water is alive with them,--minute, darting streaks of silver. the salmon follow these schools, pursuing, swallowing, eating to live. seal and dogfish follow the salmon. shark and the giant blackfish follow dogfish and seal. and man follows them all, pursuing and killing that he himself may live. around poor man's rock the tide sets strongly at certain stages of ebb and flood. the cliffs north of point old and the area immediately surrounding the rock are thick strewn with kelp. in these brown patches of seaweed the tiny fish, the schools of baby herring, take refuge from their restless enemy, the swift and voracious salmon. for years pacific coast salmon have been taken by net and trap, to the profit of the salmon packers and the satisfaction of those who cannot get fish save out of tin cans. the salmon swarmed in millions on their way to spawn in fresh-water streams. they were plentiful and cheap. but even before the war came to send the price of linen-mesh net beyond most fishermen's pocketbooks, men had discovered that salmon could be taken commercially by trolling lines. the lordly spring, which attains to seventy pounds, the small, swift blueback, and the fighting coho could all be lured to a hook on a wobbling bit of silver or brass at the end of a long line weighted with lead to keep it at a certain depth behind a moving boat. from a single line over the stern it was but a logical step to two, four, even six lines spaced on slender poles boomed out on each side of a power launch,--once the fisherman learned that with this gear he could take salmon in open water. so trolling was launched. odd trollers grew to trolling fleets. a new method became established in the salmon industry. but there are places where the salmon run and a gasboat trolling her battery of lines cannot go without loss of gear. the power boats cannot troll in shallows. they cannot operate in kelp without fouling. so they hold to deep open water and leave the kelp and shoals to the rowboats. and that is how poor man's rock got its name. in the kelp that surrounded it and the greater beds that fringed point old, the small feed sought refuge from the salmon and the salmon pursued them there among the weedy granite and the boulders, even into shallows where their back fins cleft the surface as they dashed after the little herring. the foul ground and the tidal currents that swept by the rock held no danger to the gear of a rowboat troller. he fished a single short line with a pound or so of lead. he could stop dead in a boat length if his line fouled. so he pursued the salmon as the salmon pursued the little fish among the kelp and boulders. only a poor man trolled in a rowboat, tugging at the oars hour after hour without cabin shelter from wind and sun and rain, unable to face even such weather as a thirty by eight-foot gasboat could easily fish in, unable to follow the salmon run when it shifted from one point to another on the gulf. the rowboat trollers must pick a camp ashore by a likely ground and stay there. if the salmon left they could only wait till another run began. whereas the power boat could hear of schooling salmon forty miles away and be on the spot in seven hours' steaming. poor man's rock had given many a man his chance. nearly always salmon could be taken there by a rowboat. and because for many years old men, men with lean purses, men with a rowboat, a few dollars, and a hunger for independence, had camped in squitty cove and fished the squitty headlands and seldom failed to take salmon around the rock, the name had clung to that brown hummock of granite lifting out of the sea at half tide. from april to november, any day a rowboat could live outside the cove, there would be half a dozen, eight, ten, more or less, of these solitary rowers bending to their oars, circling the rock. now and again one of these would hastily drop his oars, stand up, and haul in his line hand over hand. there would be a splashing and splattering on the surface, a bright silver fish leaping and threshing the water, to land at last with a plop! in the boat. whereupon the fisherman would hurriedly strike this dynamic, glistening fish over the head with a short, thick club, lest his struggles snarl the line, after which he would put out his spoon and bend to the oars again. it was a daylight and dusk job, a matter of infinite patience and hard work, cold and wet at times, and in midsummer the blaze of a scorching sun and the eye-dazzling glitter of reflected light. but a man must live. some who came to the cove trolled long and skillfully, and were lucky enough to gain a power troller in the end, to live on beans and fish, and keep a strangle hold on every dollar that came in until with a cabin boat powered with gas they joined the trolling fleet and became nomads. they fared well enough then. their taking at once grew beyond a rowboat's scope. they could see new country, hearken to the lure of distant fishing grounds. there was the sport of gambling on wind and weather, on the price of fish or the number of the catch. if one locality displeased them they could shift to another, while the rowboat men were chained perforce to the monotony of the same camp, the same cliffs, the same old weary round. sometimes squitty cove harbored thirty or forty of these power trollers. they would make their night anchorage there while the trolling held good, filling the cove with talk and laughter and a fine sprinkle of lights when dark closed in. with failing catches, or the first breath of a southeaster that would lock them in the cove while it blew, they would be up and away,--to the top end of squitty, to yellow rock, to cape lazo, anywhere that salmon might be found. and the rowboat men would lie in their tents and split-cedar lean-tos, cursing the weather, the salmon that would not bite, grumbling at their lot. there were two or three rowboat men who had fished the cove almost since jack macrae could remember,--old men, fishermen who had shot their bolt, who dwelt in small cabins by the cove, living somehow from salmon run to salmon run, content if the season's catch netted three hundred dollars. all they could hope for was a living. they had become fixtures there. jack macrae looked down from the bald tip of point old with an eager gleam in his uncovered eye. there was the rock with a slow swell lapping over it. there was an old withered portuguese he knew in a green dugout, long tom spence rowing behind the portuguese, and they carrying on a shouted conversation. he picked out doug sproul among three others he did not know,--and there was not a man under fifty among them. three hundred yards offshore half a dozen power trollers wheeled and counterwheeled, working an eddy. he could see them haul the lines hand over hand, casting the hooked fish up into the hold with an easy swing. the salmon were biting. it was all familiar to jack macrae. he knew every nook and cranny on squitty island, every phase and mood and color of the sea. it is a grim birthplace that leaves a man without some sentiment for the place where he was born. point old, squitty cove, poor man's rock had been the boundaries of his world for a long time. in so far as he had ever played, he had played there. he looked for another familiar figure or two, without noting them. "the fish are biting fast for this time of year," he reflected. "it's a wonder dad and peter ferrara aren't out. and i never knew bill munro to miss anything like this." he looked a little longer, over across the tip of sangster island two miles westward, with its elephant's head,--the extended trunk of which was a treacherous reef bared only at low tide. he looked at the elephant's unwinking eye, which was a twenty-foot hole through a hump of sandstone, and smiled. he had fished for salmon along the kelp beds there and dug clams under the eye of the elephant long, long ago. it did seem a long time ago that he had been a youngster in overalls, adventuring alone in a dugout about these bold headlands. he rose at last. the november wind chilled him through the heavy mackinaw. he looked back at the gower cottage, like a snowflake in a setting of emerald; he looked at the gower yacht; and the puzzled frown returned to his face. then he picked up his bag and walked rapidly along the brow of the cliffs toward squitty cove. chapter iii the flutter of sable wings a path took form on the mossy rock as jack macrae strode on. he followed this over patches of grass, by lone firs and small thickets, until it brought him out on the rim of the cove. he stood a second on the cliffy north wall to look down on the quiet harbor. it was bare of craft, save that upon the beach two or three rowboats lay hauled out. on the farther side a low, rambling house of logs showed behind a clump of firs. smoke lifted from its stone chimney. macrae smiled reminiscently at this and moved on. his objective lay at the cove's head, on the little creek which came whispering down from the high land behind. he gained this in another two hundred yards, coming to a square house built, like its neighbor, of stout logs with a high-pitched roof, a patch of ragged grass in front, and a picket-fenced area at the back in which stood apple trees and cherry and plum, gaunt-limbed trees all bare of leaf and fruit. ivy wound up the corners of the house. sturdy rosebushes stood before it, and the dead vines of sweet peas bleached on their trellises. it had the look of an old place--as age is reckoned in so new a country--old and bearing the marks of many years' labor bestowed to make it what it was. even from a distance it bore a homelike air. macrae's face lightened at the sight. his step quickened. he had come a long way to get home. across the front of the house extended a wide porch which gave a look at the cove through a thin screen of maple and alder. from the grass-bordered walk of beach gravel half a dozen steps lifted to the floor level. as macrae set foot on the lower step a girl came out on the porch. macrae stopped. the girl did not see him. her eyes were fixed questioningly on the sea that stretched away beyond the narrow mouth of the cove. as she looked she drew one hand wearily across her forehead, tucking back a vagrant strand of dusky hair. macrae watched her a moment. the quick, pleased smile that leaped to his face faded to soberness. "hello, dolly," he said softly. she started. her dark eyes turned to him, and an inexpressible relief glowed in them. she held up one hand in a gesture that warned silence,--and by that time macrae had come up the steps to her side and seized both her hands in his. she looked at him speechlessly, a curious passivity in her attitude. he saw that her eyes were wet. "what's wrong, dolly?" he asked. "aren't you glad to see johnny come marching home? where's dad?" "glad?" she echoed. "i never was so glad to see any one in my life. oh, johnny macrae, i wish you'd come sooner. your father's a sick man. we've done our best, but i'm afraid it's not good enough." "he's in bed, i suppose," said macrae. "well, i'll go in and see him. maybe it'll cheer the old boy up to see me back." "he won't know you," the girl murmured. "you mustn't disturb him just now, anyway. he has fallen into a doze. when he comes out of that he'll likely be delirious." "good lord," macrae whispered, "as bad as that! what is it?" "the flu," dolly said quietly. "everybody has been having it. old bill munro died in his shack a week ago." "has dad had a doctor?" the girl nodded. "harper from nanaimo came day before yesterday. he left medicine and directions; he can't come again. he has more cases than he can handle over there." they went through the front door into a big, rudely furnished room with a very old and worn rug on the floor, a few pieces of heavy furniture, and bare, uncurtained windows. a heap of wood blazed in an open cobblestone fireplace. macrae stopped short just within the threshold. through a door slightly ajar came the sound of stertorous breathing, intermittent in its volume, now barely audible, again rising to a labored harshness. he listened, a look of dismayed concern gathering on his face. he had heard men in the last stages of exhaustion from wounds and disease breathe in that horribly distressed fashion. he stood a while uncertainly. then he laid off his mackinaw, walked softly to the bedroom door, looked in. after a minute of silent watching he drew back. the girl had seated herself in a chair. macrae sat down facing her. "i never saw dad so thin and old-looking," he muttered. "why, his hair is nearly white. he's a wreck. how long has he been sick?" "four days," dolly answered. "but he hasn't grown old and thin in four days, jack. he's been going downhill for months. too much work. too much worry also, i think--out there around the rock every morning at daylight, every evening till dark. it hasn't been a good season for the rowboats." macrae stirred uneasily in his chair. he didn't understand why his father should have to drudge in a trolling boat. they had always fished salmon, so far back as he could recall, but never of stark necessity. he nursed his chin in his hand and thought. mostly he thought with a constricted feeling in his throat of how frail and old his father had grown, the slow-smiling, slow-speaking man who had been father and mother and chum to him since he was an urchin in knee breeches. he recalled him at their parting on a vancouver railway platform,--tall and rugged, a lean, muscular, middle-aged man, bidding his son a restrained farewell with a longing look in his eyes. now he was a wasted shadow. jack macrae shivered. he seemed to hear the sable angel's wing-beats over the house. he looked up at the girl at last. "you're worn out, aren't you, dolly?" he said. "have you been caring for him alone?" "uncle peter helped," she answered. "but i've stayed up and worried, and i am tired, of course. it isn't a very cheerful home-coming, is it, jack? and he was so pleased when he got your cable from london. poor old man!" macrae got up suddenly. but the clatter of his shoes on the floor recalled him to himself. he sat down again. "i've got to do something," he asserted. "there's nothing you can do," dolly ferrara said wistfully. "he can't be moved. you can't get a doctor or a nurse. the country's full of people down with the flu. there's only one chance and i've taken that. i wrote a message to doctor laidlaw--you remember he used to come here every summer to fish--and uncle peter went across to sechelt to wire it. i think he'll come if he can, or send some one, don't you? they were such good friends." "that was a good idea," macrae nodded. "laidlaw will certainly come if it's possible." "and i can keep cool cloths on his head and feed him broth and give him the stuff doctor harper left. he said it depended mostly on his own resisting power. if he could throw it off he would. if not--" she turned her palms out expressively. "how did you come?" she asked presently. "across from qualicum in a fish carrier to folly bay. i borrowed a boat at the bay and rowed up." "you must be hungry," she said. "i'll get you something to eat." "i don't feel much like eating,"--macrae followed her into the kitchen--"but i can drink a cup of tea." he sat on a corner of the kitchen table while she busied herself with the kettle and teapot, marveling that in four years everything should apparently remain the same and still suffer such grievous change. there was an air of forlornness about the house which hurt him. the place had run down, as the sands of his father's life were running down. of the things unchanged the girl he watched was one. yet as he looked with keener appraisal, he saw that dolly ferrara too had changed. her dusky cloud of hair was as of old; her wide, dark eyes still mirrored faithfully every shift of feeling, and her incomparable creamy skin was more beautiful than ever. moving, she had lost none of her lithe grace. and though she had met him as if it had been only yesterday they parted, still there was a difference which somehow eluded him. he could feel it, but it was not to be defined. it struck him for the first time that many who had never seen a battlefield, never heard a screaming shell, nor shuddered at the agony of a dressing station, might still have suffered by and of and through the reactions of war. they drank their tea and ate a slice of toast in silence. macrae's comrades in france had called him "silent" john, because of his lapses into concentrated thought, his habit of a close mouth when he was hurt or troubled or uncertain. one of the things for which he had liked dolly ferrara had been her possession of the same trait, uncommon in a girl. she could sit on the cliffs or lie with him in a rowboat lifting and falling in the gulf swell, staring at the sea and the sky and the wheeling gulls, dreaming and keeping her dreams shyly to herself,--as he did. they did not always need words for understanding. and so they did not talk now for the sake of talking, pour out words lest silence bring embarrassment. dolly sat resting her chin in one hand, looking at him impersonally, yet critically, he felt. he smoked a cigarette and held his peace until the labored breathing of the sick man changed to disjointed, muttering, incoherent fragments of speech. dolly went to him at once. macrae lingered to divest himself of the brown overalls so that he stood forth in his uniform, the r.a.f. uniform with the two black wings joined to a circle on his left breast and below that the multicolored ribbon of a decoration. then he went in to his father. donald macrae was far gone. his son needed no m.d. to tell him that. he burned with a high fever which had consumed his flesh and strength in its furnace. his eyes gleamed unnaturally, with no light of recognition for either his son or dolly ferrara. and there was a peculiar tinge to the old man's lips that chilled young macrae, the mark of the spanish flu in its deadliest manifestation. it made him ache to see that gray head shift from side to side, to listen to the incoherent babble, to mark the feeble shiftings of the nervous hands. for a terrible half hour he endured the sight of his father struggling for breath, being racked by spasms of coughing. then the reaction came and the sick man slept,--not a healthy, restful sleep; it was more like the dying stupor of exhaustion. young macrae knew that. he knew with disturbing certainty that without skilled treatment--perhaps even in spite of that--his father's life was a matter of hours. again he and dolly ferrara tiptoed out to the room where the fire glowed on the hearth. macrae sat thinking. dusk was coming on, the long twilight shortened by the overcast sky. macrae glowered at the fire. the girl watched him expectantly. "i have an idea," he said at last. "it's worth trying." he opened his bag and, taking out the wedge-shaped cap of the birdmen, set it on his head and went out. he took the same path he had followed home. on top of the cliff he stopped to look down on squitty cove. in a camp or two ashore the supper fires of the rowboat trollers were burning. through the narrow entrance the gasboats were chugging in to anchorage, one close upon the heels of another. macrae considered the power trollers. he shook his head. "too slow," he muttered. "too small. no place to lay him only a doghouse cabin and a fish hold." he strode away along the cliffs. it was dark now. but he had ranged all that end of squitty in daylight and dark, in sun and storm, for years, and the old instinctive sense of direction, of location, had not deserted him. in a little while he came out abreast of cradle bay. the gower house, all brightly gleaming windows, loomed near. he struck down through the dead fern, over the unfenced lawn. halfway across that he stopped. a piano broke out loudly. figures flittered by the windows, gliding, turning. macrae hesitated. he had come reluctantly, driven by his father's great need, uneasily conscious that donald macrae, had he been cognizant, would have forbidden harshly the request his son had come to make. jack macrae had the feeling that his father would rather die than have him ask anything of horace gower. he did not know why. he had never been told why. all he knew was that his father would have nothing to do with gower, never mentioned the name voluntarily, let his catch of salmon rot on the beach before he would sell to a gower cannery boat,--and had enjoined upon his son the same aloofness from all things gower. once, in answer to young jack's curious question, his natural "why," donald macrae had said: "i knew the man long before you were born, johnny. i don't like him. i despise him. neither i nor any of mine shall ever truck and traffic with him and his. when you are a man and can understand, i shall tell you more of this." but he had never told. it had never been a mooted point. jack macrae knew horace gower only as a short, stout, elderly man of wealth and consequence, a power in the salmon trade. he knew a little more of the gower clan now than he did before the war. macrae had gone overseas with the seventh battalion. his company commander had been horace gower's son. certain aspects of that young man had not heightened macrae's esteem for the gower family. moreover, he resented this elaborate summer home of gower's standing on land he had always known to be theirs, the macraes'. that puzzled him, as well as affronted his sense of ownership. but these things, he told himself, were for the moment beside the point. he felt his father's life trembling in the balance. he wanted to see affectionate, prideful recognition light up those gray-blue eyes again, even if briefly. he had come six thousand miles to cheer the old man with a sight of his son, a son who had been a credit to him. and he was willing to pocket pride, to call for help from the last source he would have chosen, if that would avail. he crossed the lawn, waited a few seconds till the piano ceased its syncopated frenzy and the dancers stopped. betty gower herself opened at his knock. "is mr. gower here?" he asked. "yes. won't you come in?" she asked courteously. the door opened direct into a great living room, from the oak floor of which the rugs had been rolled aside for dancing. as macrae came in out of the murk along the cliffs, his one good eye was dazzled at first. presently he made out a dozen or more persons in the room,--young people nearly all. they were standing and sitting about. one or two were in khaki--officers. there seemed to be an abrupt cessation of chatter and laughing at his entrance. it did not occur to him at once that these people might be avidly curious about a strange young man in the uniform of the flying corps. he apprehended that curiosity, though, politely veiled as it was. in the same glance he became aware of a middle-aged woman sitting on a couch by the fire. her hair was pure white, elaborately arranged, her eyes were a pale blue, her skin very delicate and clear. her face somehow reminded jack macrae of a faded rose leaf. in a deep armchair near her sat horace gower. a young man, a very young man, in evening clothes, holding a long cigarette daintily in his fingers, stood by gower. macrae followed betty gower across the room to her father. she turned. her quick eyes had picked out the insignia of rank on macrae's uniform. "papa," she said. "captain--" she hesitated. "macrae," he supplied. "captain macrae wishes to see you." macrae wished no conventionalities. he did not want to be introduced, to be shaken by the hand, to have gower play host. he forestalled all this, if indeed it threatened. "i have just arrived home on leave," he said briefly. "i find my father desperately ill in our house at the cove. you have a very fast and able cruiser. would you care to put her at my disposal so that i may take my father to vancouver? i think that is his only chance." gower had risen. he was not an imposing man. at his first glimpse of macrae's face, the pink-patched eye, the uniform, he flushed slightly,--recalling that afternoon. "i'm sorry," he said. "you'd be welcome to the _arrow_ if she were here. but i sent her to nanaimo an hour after she landed us. are you donald macrae's boy?" "yes," macrae said. "thank you. that's all." he had said his say and got his answer. he turned to go. betty gower put a detaining hand on his arm. "listen," she put in eagerly. "is there anything any of us could do to help? nursing or--or anything?" macrae shook his head. "there is a girl with him," he answered. "nothing but skilled medical aid would help him at this stage. he has the flu, and the fever is burning his life out." "the flu, did you say?" the young man with the long cigarette lost his bored air. "hang it, it isn't very sporting, is it, to expose us--these ladies--to the infection? i'll say it isn't." jack macrae fixed the young man--and he was not, after all, much younger than macrae--with a steady stare in which a smoldering fire glowed. he bestowed a scrutiny while one might count five, under which the other's gaze began to shift uneasily. a constrained silence fell in the room. "i would suggest that you learn how to put on a gas mask," macrae said coldly, at last. then he walked out. betty gower followed him to the door, but he had asked his question and there was nothing to wait for. he did not even look back until he reached the cliff. he did not care if they thought him rude, ill-bred. then, as he reached the cliff, the joyous jazz broke out again and shadows of dancing couples flitted by the windows. macrae looked once and went on, moody because chance had decreed that he should fail. * * * * * when a ruddy dawn broke through the gray cloud battalions jack macrae sat on a chair before the fireplace in the front room, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his cupped palms. he had been sitting like that for two hours. the fir logs had wasted away to a pile of white ash spotted with dying coals. macrae sat heedless that the room was growing cold. he did not even lift his head at the sound of heavy footsteps on the porch. he did not move until a voice at the door spoke his name in accents of surprise. "is that you, yourself, johnny macrae?" the voice was deep and husky and kind, and it was not native to squitty cove. macrae lifted his head to see his father's friend and his own, doctor laidlaw, physician and fisherman, bulking large. and beyond the doctor he saw a big white launch at anchor inside the cove. "yes," macrae said. "how's your father?" laidlaw asked. "that wire worried me. i made the best time i could." "he's dead," macrae answered evenly. "he died at midnight." chapter iv inheritance on a morning four days later jack macrae sat staring into the coals on the hearth. it was all over and done with, the house empty and still, dolly ferrara gone back to her uncle's home. even the cove was bare of fishing craft. he was alone under his own rooftree, alone with an oppressive silence and his own thoughts. these were not particularly pleasant thoughts. there was nothing mawkish about jack macrae. he had never been taught to shrink from the inescapable facts of existence. even if he had, the war would have cured him of that weakness. as it was, twelve months in the infantry, nearly three years in the air, had taught him that death is a commonplace after a man sees about so much of it, that it is many times a welcome relief from suffering either of the body or the spirit. he chose to believe that it had proved so to his father. so his feelings were not that strange mixture of grief and protest which seizes upon those to whom death is the ultimate tragedy, the irrevocable disaster, when it falls upon some one near and dear. no, jack macrae, brooding by his fire, was lonely and saddened and heavy-hearted. but beneath these neutral phases there was slowly gathering a flood of feeling unrelated to his father's death, more directly based indeed upon donald macrae's life, upon matters but now revealed to him, which had their root in that misty period when his father was a young man like himself. on the table beside him lay an inch-thick pile of note paper all closely written upon in the clear, small pen-script of his father. my son: [macrae had written] i have a feeling lately that i may never see you again. not that i fear you will be killed. i no longer have that fear. i seem to have an unaccountable assurance that having come through so much you will go on safely to the end. but i'm not so sure about myself. i'm aging too fast. i've been told my heart is bad. and i've lost heart lately. things have gone against me. there is nothing new in that. for thirty years i've been losing out to a greater or less extent in most of the things i undertook--that is, the important things. perhaps i didn't bring the energy and feverish ambition i might have to my undertakings. until you began to grow up i accepted things more or less passively as i found them. until you have a son of your own, until you observe closely other men and their sons, my boy, you will scarcely realize how close we two have been to each other. we've been what they call good chums. i've taken a secret pride in seeing you grow and develop into a man. and while i tried to give you an education--broken into, alas, by this unending war--such as would enable you to hold your own in a world which deals harshly with the ignorant, the incompetent, the untrained, it was also my hope to pass on to you something of material value. this land which runs across squitty island from the cove to cradle bay and extending a mile back--in all a trifle over six hundred acres--was to be your inheritance. you were born here. i know that no other place means quite so much to you as this old log house with the meadow behind it, and the woods, and the sea grumbling always at our doorstep. long ago this place came into my hands at little more cost than the taking. it has proved a refuge to me, a stronghold against all comers, against all misfortune. i have spent much labor on it, and most of it has been a labor of love. it has begun to grow valuable. in years to come it will be of far greater value. i had hoped to pass it on to you intact, unencumbered, an inheritance of some worth. land, you will eventually discover, johnny, is the basis of everything. a man may make a fortune in industry, in the market. he turns to land for permanence, stability. all that is sterling in our civilization has its foundation in the soil. out of this land of ours, which i have partially and half-heartedly reclaimed from the wilderness, you should derive a comfortable livelihood, and your children after you. but i am afraid i must forego that dream and you, my son, your inheritance. it has slipped away from me. how this has come about i wish to make clear to you, so that you will not feel unkindly toward me that you must face the world with no resources beyond your own brain and a sound young body. if it happens that the war ends soon and you come home while i am still alive to welcome you, we can talk this over man to man. but, as i said, my heart is bad. i may not be here. so i am writing all this for you to read. there are many things which you should know--or at least which i should like you to know. thirty years ago-- donald macrae's real communication to his son began at that point in the long ago when the _gull_ outsailed his sloop and young horace gower, smarting with jealousy, struck that savage blow with a pike pole at a man whose fighting hands were tied by a promise. bit by bit, incident by incident, old donald traced out of a full heart and bitter memories all the passing years for his son to see and understand. he made elizabeth morton, the morton family, horace gower and the gower kin stand out in bold relief. he told how he, donald macrae, a nobody from nowhere, for all they knew, adventuring upon the pacific coast, questing carelessly after fortune, had fallen in love with this girl whose family, with less consideration for her feelings and desires than for mutual advantages of land and money and power, favored young gower and saw nothing but impudent presumption in macrae. young jack sat staring into the coals, seeing much, understanding more. it was all there in those written pages, a powerful spur to a vivid imagination. no macrae had ever lain down unwhipped. nor had donald macrae, his father. before his bruised face had healed--and young jack remembered well the thin white scar that crossed his father's cheek bone--donald macrae was again pursuing his heart's desire. but he was forestalled there. he had truly said to elizabeth morton that she would never have another chance. by force or persuasion or whatsoever means were necessary they had married her out of hand to horace gower. "that must have been she sitting on the couch," jack macrae whispered to himself, "that middle-aged woman with the faded rose-leaf face. lord, lord, how things get twisted!" though they so closed the avenue to a mésalliance, still their pride must have smarted because of that clandestine affection, that boldly attempted elopement. most of all, young gower must have hated macrae--with almost the same jealous intensity that donald macrae must for a time have hated him--because gower apparently never forgot and never forgave. long after donald macrae outgrew that passion gower had continued secretly to harass him. certain things could not be otherwise accounted for, donald macrae wrote to his son. gower functioned in the salmon trade, in timber, in politics. in whatever macrae set on foot, he ultimately discerned the hand of gower, implacable, hidden, striking at him from under cover. and so in a land and during a period when men created fortunes easily out of nothing, or walked carelessly over golden opportunities, donald macrae got him no great store of worldly goods, whereas horace gower, after one venture in which he speedily dissipated an inherited fortune, drove straight to successful outcome in everything he touched. by the time young jack macrae outgrew the island teachers and must go to vancouver for high school and then to the university of british columbia, old donald had been compelled to borrow money on his land to meet these expenses. young jack, sitting by the fire, winced when he thought of that. he had taken things for granted. the war had come in his second year at the university,--and he had gone to the front as a matter of course. failing fish prices, poor seasons, other minor disasters had followed,--and always in the background, as old donald saw it, the gower influence, malign, vindictive, harboring that ancient grudge. whereas in the beginning macrae had confidently expected by one resource and another to meet easily the obligation he had incurred, the end of it was the loss, during the second year of the war, of all the macrae lands on squitty,--all but a rocky corner of a few acres which included the house and garden. old donald had segregated that from his holdings when he pledged the land, as a matter of sentiment, not of value. all the rest--acres of pasture, cleared and grassed, stretches of fertile ground, blocks of noble timber still uncut--had passed through the hands of mortgage holders, through bank transfers, by devious and tortuous ways, until the title rested in horace gower,--who had promptly built the showy summer house on cradle bay to flaunt in his face, so old donald believed and told his son. it was a curious document, and it made a profound impression on jack macrae. he passed over the underlying motive, a man justifying himself to his son for a failure which needed no justifying. he saw now why his father tabooed all things gower, why indeed he must have hated gower as a man who does things in the open hates an enemy who strikes only from cover. strangely enough, jack managed to grasp the full measure of what his father's love for elizabeth morton must have been without resenting the secondary part his mother must have played. for old donald was frank in his story. he made it clear that he had loved bessie morton with an all-consuming passion, and that when this burned itself out he had never experienced so headlong an affection again. he spoke with kindly regard for his wife, but she played little or no part in his account. and jack had only a faint memory of his mother, for she had died when he was seven. his father filled his eyes. his father's enemies were his. family ties superimposed on clan clannishness, which is the blood heritage of the highland scotch, made it impossible for him to feel otherwise. that blow with a pike pole was a blow directed at his own face. he took up his father's feud instinctively, not even stopping to consider whether that was his father's wish or intent. he got up out of his chair at last and went outside, down to where the cove waters, on a rising tide, lapped at the front of a rude shed. under this shed, secure on a row of keel-blocks, rested a small knockabout-rigged boat, stowed away from wind and weather, her single mast, boom, and gaff unshipped and slung to rafters, her sail and running gear folded and coiled and hung beyond the wood-rats' teeth. beside this sailing craft lay a long blue dugout, also on blocks, half filled with water to keep it from checking. these things belonged to him. he had left them lying about when he went away to france. and old donald had put them here safely against his return. jack stared at them, blinking. he was full of a dumb protest. it didn't seem right. nothing seemed right. in young macrae's mind there was nothing terrible about death. he had become used to that. but he had imagination. he could see his father going on day after day, month after month, year after year, enduring, uncomplaining. gauged by what his father had written, by what dolly ferrara had supplied when he questioned her, these last months must have been gray indeed. and he had died without hope or comfort or a sight of his son. that was what made young macrae blink and struggle with a lump in his throat. it hurt. he walked away around the end of the cove without definite objective. he was suddenly restless, seeking relief in movement. sitting still and thinking had become unbearable. he found himself on the path that ran along the cliffs and followed that, coming out at last on the neck of point old where he could look down on the broken water that marked poor man's rock. the lowering cloud bank of his home-coming day had broken in heavy rain. that had poured itself out and given place to a southeaster. the wind was gone now, the clouds breaking up into white drifting patches with bits of blue showing between, and the sun striking through in yellow shafts which lay glittering areas here and there on the gulf. the swell that runs after a blow still thundered all along the southeast face of squitty, bursting _boom_--_boom_--_boom_ against the cliffs, shooting spray in white cascades. over the rock the sea boiled. there were two rowboats trolling outside the heavy backwash from the cliffs. macrae knew them both. peter ferrara was in one, long tom spence in the other. they did not ride those gray-green ridges for pleasure, nor drop sidling into those deep watery hollows for joy of motion. they were out for fish, which meant to them food and clothing. that was their work. they were the only fisher folk abroad that morning. the gasboat men had flitted to more sheltered grounds. macrae watched these two lift and fall in the marching swells. it was cold. winter sharpened his teeth already. the rowers bent to their oars, tossing and lurching. macrae reflected upon their industry. in france he had eaten canned salmon bearing the folly bay label, salmon that might have been taken here by the rock, perhaps by the hands of these very men, by his own father. still, that was unlikely. donald macrae had never sold a fish to a gower collector. nor would he himself, young macrae swore under his breath, looking sullenly down upon the rock. day after day, month after month, his father had tugged at the oars, hauled on the line, rowing around and around poor man's rock, skirting the kelp at the cliff's foot, keeping body and soul together with unremitting labor in sun and wind and rain, trying to live and save that little heritage of land for his son. jack macrae sat down on a rock beside a bush and thought about this sadly. he could have saved his father much if he had known. he could have assigned his pay. there was a government allowance. he could have invoked the war relief act against foreclosure. between them they could have managed. but he understood quite clearly why his father made no mention of his difficulties. he would have done the same under the same circumstances himself, played the game to its bitter end without a cry. but donald macrae had made a long, hard fight only to lose in the end, and his son, with full knowledge of the loneliness and discouragement and final hopelessness that had been his father's lot, was passing slowly from sadness to a cumulative anger. that cottage amid its green grounds bright in a patch of sunshine did not help to soften him. it stood on land reclaimed from the forest by his father's labor. it should have belonged to him, and it had passed into hands that already grasped too much. for thirty years gower had made silent war on donald macrae because of a woman. it seemed incredible that a grudge born of jealousy should run so deep, endure so long. but there were the facts. jack macrae accepted them; he could not do otherwise. he came of a breed which has handed its feuds from generation to generation, interpreting literally the code of an eye for an eye. so that as he sat there brooding, it was perhaps a little unfortunate that the daughter of a man whom he was beginning to regard as a forthright enemy should have chosen to come to him, tripping soundlessly over the moss. he did not hear betty gower until she was beside him. her foot clicked on a stone and he looked up. betty was all in white, a glow in her cheeks and in her eyes, bareheaded, her reddish-brown hair shining in a smooth roll above her ears. "i hear you have lost your father," she said simply. "i'm awfully sorry." some peculiar quality of sympathy in her tone touched macrae deeply. his eyes shifted for a moment to the uneasy sea. the lump in his throat troubled him again. then he faced her again. "thanks," he said slowly. "i dare say you mean it, although i don't know why you should. but i'd rather not talk about that. it's done." "i suppose that's the best way," she agreed, although she gave him a doubtful sort of glance, as if she scarcely knew how to take part of what he said. "isn't it lovely after the storm? pretty much all the civilized world must feel a sort of brightness and sunshine to-day, i imagine." "why?" he asked. it seemed to him a most uncalled-for optimism. "why, haven't you heard that the war is over?" she smiled. "surely some one has told you?" he shook his head. "it is a fact," she declared. "the armistice was signed yesterday at eleven. aren't you glad?" macrae reflected a second. a week earlier he would have thrown up his cap and whooped. now the tremendously important happening left him unmoved, unbelievably indifferent. he was not stirred at all by the fact of acknowledged victory, of cessation from killing. "i should be, i suppose," he muttered. "i know a lot of fellows will be--and their people. so far as i'm concerned--right now--" he made a quick gesture with his hands. he couldn't explain how he felt--that the war had suddenly and imperiously been relegated to the background for him. temporarily or otherwise, as a spur to his emotions, the war had ceased to function. he didn't want to talk. he wanted to be let alone, to think. yet he was conscious of a wish not to offend, to be courteous to this clear-eyed young woman who looked at him with frank interest. he wondered why he should be of any interest to her. macrae had never been shy. shyness is nearly always born of acute self-consciousness. being free from that awkward inturning of the mind jack macrae was not thoroughly aware of himself as a likable figure in any girl's sight. four years overseas had set a mark on many such as himself. a man cannot live through manifold chances of death, face great perils, do his work under desperate risks and survive, without some trace of his deeds being manifest in his bearing. those tried by fire are sure of themselves, and it shows in their eyes. besides, jack macrae was twenty-four, clear-skinned, vigorous, straight as a young fir tree, a handsome boy in uniform. but he was not quick to apprehend that these things stirred a girl's fancy, nor did he know that the gloomy something which clouded his eyes made betty gower want to comfort him. "i think i understand," she said evenly,--when in truth she did not understand at all. "but after a while you'll be glad. i know i should be if i were in the army, although of course no matter how horrible it all was it had to be done. for a long time i wanted to go to france myself, to do _something_. i was simply wild to go. but they wouldn't let me." "and i," macrae said slowly, "didn't want to go at all--and i had to go." "oh," she remarked with a peculiar interrogative inflection. her eyebrows lifted. "why did you have to? you went over long before the draft was thought of." "because i'd been taught that my flag and country really meant something," he said. "that was all; and it was quite enough in the way of compulsion for a good many like myself who didn't hanker to stick bayonets through men we'd never seen, nor shoot them, nor blow them up with hand grenades, nor kill them ten thousand feet in the air and watch them fall, turning over and over like a winged duck. but these things seemed necessary. they said a country worth living in was worth fighting for." "and isn't it?" betty gower challenged promptly. macrae looked at her and at the white cottage, at the great gulf seas smashing on the rocks below, at the far vista of sea and sky and the shore line faintly purple in the distance. his gaze turned briefly to the leafless tops of maple and alder rising out of the hollow in which his father's body lay--in a corner of the little plot that was left of all their broad acres--and came back at last to this fair daughter of his father's enemy. "the country is, yes," he said. "anything that's worth having is worth fighting for. but that isn't what they meant, and that isn't the way it has worked out." he was not conscious of the feeling in his voice. he was thinking with exaggerated bitterness that the germans in belgium had dealt less hardly with a conquered people than this girl's father had dealt with his. "i'm afraid i don't quite understand what you mean by that," she remarked. her tone was puzzled. she looked at him, frankly curious. but he could not tell her what he meant. he had a feeling that she was in no way responsible. he had an instinctive aversion to rudeness. and while he was absolving himself of any intention to make war on her he was wondering if her mother, long ago, had been anything like miss betty gower. it seemed odd to think that this level-eyed girl's mother might have been _his_ mother,--if she had been made of stiffer metal, or if the west wind had blown that afternoon. he wondered if she knew. not likely, he decided. it wasn't a story either horace gower or his wife would care to tell their children. so he did not try to tell her what he meant. he withdrew into his shell. and when betty gower seated herself on a rock and evinced an inclination to quiz him about things he did not care to be quizzed about, he lifted his cap, bade her a courteous good-by, and walked back toward the cove. chapter v from the bottom up macrae did nothing but mark time until he found himself a plain citizen once more. he could have remained in the service for months without risk and with much profit to himself. but the fighting was over. the germans were whipped. that had been the goal. having reached it, macrae, like thousands of other young men, had no desire to loaf in a uniform subject to military orders while the politicians wrangled. but even when he found himself a civilian again, master of his individual fortunes, he was still a trifle at a loss. he had no definite plan. he was rather at sea, because all the things he had planned on doing when he came home had gone by the board. so many things which had seemed good and desirable had been contingent upon his father. every plan he had ever made for the future had included old donald macrae and those wide acres across the end of squitty. he had been deprived of both, left without a ready mark to shoot at. the flood of war had carried him far. the ebb of it had set him back on his native shores,--stranded him there, so to speak, to pick up the broken threads of his old life as best he could. he had no quarrel with that. but he did have a feud with circumstance, a profound resentment with the past for its hard dealing with his father, for the blankness of old donald's last year or two on earth. and a good deal of this focused on horace gower and his works. "he might have let up on the old man," jack macrae would say to himself resentfully. he would lie awake in the dark thinking about this. "we were doing our bit. he might have stopped putting spokes in our wheel while the war was on." the fact of the matter is that young macrae was deeply touched in his family pride as well as his personal sense of injustice. gower had deeply injured his father, therefore it was any macrae's concern. it made no difference that the first blow in this quarrel had been struck before he was born. he smarted under it and all that followed. his only difficulty was to discern a method of repaying in kind, which he was thoroughly determined to do. he saw no way, if the truth be told. he did not even contemplate inflicting physical injury on horace gower. that would have been absurd. but he wanted to hurt him, to make him squirm, to heap trouble on the man and watch him break down under the load. and he did not see how he possibly could. gower was too well fortified. four years of war experience, which likewise embraced a considerable social experience, had amply shown jack macrae the subtle power of money, of political influence, of family connections, of commercial prestige. all these things were on gower's side. he was impregnable. macrae was not a fool. neither was he inclined to pessimism. yet so far as he could see, the croakers were not lying when they said that here at home the war had made the rich richer and the poor poorer. it was painfully true in his own case. he had given four years of himself to his country, gained an honorable record, and lost everything else that was worth having. what he had lost in a material way he meant to get back. how, he had not yet determined. his brain was busy with that problem. and the dying down of his first keen resentment and grief over the death of his father, and that dead father's message to him, merely hardened into a cold resolve to pay off his father's debt to the gowers and mortons. macrae ran true to the traditions of his highland blood when he lumped them all together. in this he was directed altogether by the promptings of emotion, and he never questioned the justice of his attitude. but in the practical adjustment of his life to conditions as he found them he adopted a purely rational method. he took stock of his resources. they were limited enough. a few hundred dollars in back pay and demobilization gratuities; a sound body, now that his injured eye was all but healed; an abounding confidence in himself,--which he had earned the right to feel. that was all. ambition for place, power, wealth, he did not feel as an imperative urge. he perceived the value and desirability of these things. only he saw no short straight road to any one of them. for four years he had been fed, clothed, directed, master of his own acts only in supreme moments. there was an unconscious reaction from that high pitch. being his own man again and a trifle uncertain what to do, he did nothing at all for a time. he made one trip to vancouver, to learn by just what legal processes the macrae lands had passed into the gower possession. he found out what he wanted to know easily enough. gower had got his birthright for a song. donald macrae had borrowed six thousand dollars through a broker. the land was easily worth double, even at wild-land valuation. but old donald's luck had run true to form. he had not been able to renew the loan. the broker had discounted the mortgage in a pinch. a financial house had foreclosed and sold the place to gower,--who had been trying to buy it for years, through different agencies. his father's papers told young macrae plainly enough through what channels the money had gone. chance had functioned on the wrong side for his father. so jack went back to squitty and stayed in the old house, talked with the fishermen, spent a lot of his time with old peter ferrara and dolly. always he was casting about for a course of action which would give him scope for two things upon which his mind was set: to get the title to that six hundred acres revested in the macrae name, and, in jack's own words to dolores ferrara, to take a fall out of horace gower that would jar the bones of his ancestors. with christmas the ferrara clan gathered at the cove, all the stout and able company of dolly ferrara's menfolk. it had seemed to macrae a curious thing that dolly was the only woman of all the ferraras. there had been mothers in the ferrara family, or there could not have been so many capable uncles and cousins. but in macrae's memory there had never been any mothers or sisters or daughters save dolly. there were nine male ferraras when jack macrae went to france. dolores' father was dead. uncle peter was a bachelor. he had two brothers, and each brother had bred three sons. four of these sons had left their boats and gear to go overseas. two of them would never come back. the other two were home,--one after a whiff of gas at ypres, the other with a leg shorter by two inches than when he went away. these two made nothing of their disabilities, however; they were home and they were nearly as good as ever. that was enough for them. and with the younger boys and their fathers they came to old peter's house for a week at christmas, after an annual custom. these gatherings in the old days had always embraced donald macrae and his son. and his son was glad that it included him now. he felt a little less alone. they were of the sea, these ferraras, castilian spanish, tempered and diluted by three generations in north america. their forebears might have sailed in caravels. they knew the fishing grounds of the british columbia coast as a schoolboy knows his _a, b, c_'s. they would never get rich, but they were independent fishermen, making a good living. and they were as clannish as the scotch. all of them had chipped in to send dolly to school in vancouver. old peter could never have done that, macrae knew, on what he could make trolling around poor man's rock. peter had been active with gill net and seine when jack macrae was too young to take thought of the commercial end of salmon fishing. he was about sixty-five now, a lean, hardy old fellow, but he seldom went far from squitty cove. there was steve and frank and vincent and manuel of the younger generation, and manuel and peter and joaquin of the elder. those three had been contemporary with donald macrae. they esteemed old donald. jack heard many things about his father's early days on the gulf that were new to him, that made his blood tingle and made him wish he had lived then too. thirty years back the gulf of georgia was no place for any but two-handed men. he heard also, in that week of casual talk among the ferraras, certain things said, statements made that suggested a possibility which never seemed to have occurred to the ferraras themselves. "the folly bay pack of blueback was a whopper last summer," vincent ferrara said once. "they must have cleaned up a barrel of money." folly bay was gower's cannery. "well, he didn't make much of it out of us," old manuel grunted. "we should worry." "just the same, he ought to be made to pay more for his fish. he ought to pay what they're worth, for a change," vincent drawled. "he makes about a hundred trollers eat out of his hand the first six weeks of the season. if somebody would put on a couple of good, fast carriers, and start buying fish as soon as he opens his cannery, i'll bet he'd pay more than twenty-five cents for a five-pound salmon." "maybe. but that's been tried and didn't work. every buyer that ever cut in on gower soon found himself up against the packers' association when he went into the open market with his fish. and a wise man," old manuel grinned, "don't even figure on monkeying with a buzz saw, sonny." not long afterward jack macrae got old manuel in a corner and asked him what he meant. "well," he said, "it's like this. when the bluebacks first run here in the spring, they're pretty small, too small for canning. but the fresh fish markets in town take 'em and palm 'em off on the public for salmon trout. so there's an odd fresh-fish buyer cruises around here and picks up a few loads of salmon between the end of april and the middle of june. the folly bay cannery opens about then, and the buyers quit. they go farther up the coast. partly because there's more fish, mostly because nobody has ever made any money bucking gower for salmon on his own grounds." "why?" macrae asked bluntly. "nobody knows _exactly_ why," manuel replied. "a feller can guess, though. you know the fisheries department has the british columbia coast cut up into areas, and each area is controlled by some packer as a concession. well, gower has the folly bay license, and a couple of purse-seine licenses, and that just about gives him the say-so on all the waters around squitty, besides a couple of good bays on the vancouver island side and the same on the mainland. he belongs to the packers' association. they ain't supposed to control the local market. but the way it works out they really do. at least, when an independent fish buyer gets to cuttin' in strong on a packer's territory, he generally finds himself in trouble to sell in vancouver unless he's got a cast-iron contract. that is, he can't sell enough to make any money. any damn fool can make a living. "at the top of the island here there's a bunch that has homesteads. they troll in the summer. they deal at the folly bay cannery store. generally they're in the hole by spring. even if they ain't they have to depend on folly bay to market their catch. the cannery's a steady buyer, once it opens. they can't always depend on the fresh-fish buyer, even if he pays a few cents more. so once the cannery opens, gower has a bunch of trollers ready to deliver salmon, at most any price he cares to name. and he generally names the lowest price on the coast. he don't have no competition for a month or so. if there is a little there's ways of killin' it. so he sets his own price. the trollers can take it or leave it." old manuel stopped to light his pipe. "for three seasons," said he, "gower has bought blueback salmon the first month of the season for twenty-five cents or less--fish that run three to four pounds. and there hasn't been a time when salmon could be bought in a vancouver fresh-fish market for less than twenty-five cents a pound." "huh!" macrae grunted. it set him thinking. he had a sketchy knowledge of the salmon packer's monopoly of cannery sites and pursing licenses and waters. he had heard more or less talk among fishermen of agreements in restraint of competition among the canneries. but he had never supposed it to be quite so effective as manuel ferrara believed. even if it were, a gentleman's agreement of that sort, being a matter of profit rather than principle, was apt to be broken by any member of the combination who saw a chance to get ahead of the rest. macrae took passage for vancouver the second week in january with a certain plan weaving itself to form in his mind,--a plan which promised action and money and other desirable results if he could carry it through. chapter vi the springboard with a basic knowledge to start from, any reasonably clever man can digest an enormous amount of information about any given industry in a very brief time. jack macrae spent three weeks in vancouver as a one-man commission, self-appointed, to inquire into the fresh-salmon trade. he talked to men who caught salmon and to men who sold them, both wholesale and retail. he apprised himself of the ins and outs of salmon canning, and of the independent fish collector who owned his own boat, financed himself, and chanced the market much as a farmer plants his seed, trusts to the weather, and makes or loses according to the yield and market,--two matters over which he can have no control. macrae learned before long that old manuel ferrara was right when he said no man could profitably buy salmon unless he had a cast-iron agreement either with a cannery or a big wholesaler. macrae soon saw that the wholesaler stood like a wall between the fishermen and those who ate fish. they could make or break a buyer. macrae was not long running afoul of the rumor that the wholesale fish men controlled the retail price of fresh fish by the simple method of controlling the supply, which they managed by coöperation instead of competition among themselves. he heard this stated. and more,--that behind the big dealers stood the shadowy figure of the canning colossus. this was told him casually by fishermen. fish buyers repeated it, sometimes with a touch of indignation. that was one of their wails,--the fish combine. it was air-tight, they said. the packers had a strangle hold on the fishing waters, and the big local fish houses had the same unrelenting grip on the market. therefore the ultimate consumer--whose exploitation was the prize plum of commercial success--paid thirty cents per pound for spring salmon that a fisherman chivied about in the tumbling gulf seas fifty miles up-coast had to take fourteen cents for. as for the salmon packers, the men who pack the good red fish in small round tins which go to all the ends of the earth to feed hungry folk,--well, no one knew _their_ profits. their pack was all exported. the back yards of europe are strewn with empty salmon cans bearing a british columbia label. but they made money enough to be a standing grievance to those unable to get in on this bonanza. macrae, however, was chiefly concerned with the local trade in fresh salmon. his plan didn't look quite so promising as when he mulled over it at squitty cove. he put out feelers and got no hold. a fresh-fish buyer operating without approved market connections might make about such a living as the fishermen he bought from. to jack macrae, eager and sanguine, making a living was an inconspicuous detail. making a living,--that was nothing to him. a more definite spur roweled his flank. it looked like an air-tight proposition, he admitted, at last. but, he said to himself, anything air-tight could be punctured. and undoubtedly a fine flow of currency would result from such a puncture. so he kept on looking about, asking casual questions, listening. in the language of the street he was getting wise. incidentally he enjoyed himself. the battle ground had been transferred to paris. the pen, the typewriter, and the press dispatch, with immense reserves of oratory and printer's ink, had gone into action. and the soldiers were coming home,--officers of the line and airmen first, since to these leave and transportation came easily, now that the guns were silent. macrae met fellows he knew. a good many of them were well off, had homes in vancouver. they were mostly young and glad the big show was over. and they had the social instinct. during intervals of fighting they had rubbed elbows with french and british people of consequence. they had a mind to enjoy themselves. macrae had a record in two squadrons. he needed no press-agenting when he met another r.a.f. man. so he found himself invited to homes, the inside of which he would otherwise never have seen, and to pleasant functions among people who would never have known of his existence save for the circumstance of war. pretty, well-bred girls smiled at him, partly because airmen with notable records were still a novelty, and partly because jack macrae was worth a second look from any girl who was fancy-free. matrons were kind to him because their sons said he was the right sort, and some of these same matrons mothered him because he was like boys they knew who had gone away to france and would never come back. this was very pleasant. macrae was normal in every respect. he liked to dance. he liked glittering lights and soft music. he liked nice people. he liked people who were nice to him. but he seldom lost sight of his objective. these people could relax and give themselves up to enjoyment because they were "heeled"--as a boy lieutenant slangily put it--to macrae. "it's a great game, jack, if you don't weaken," he said. "but a fellow can't play it through on a uniform and a war record. i'm having a top-hole time, but it'll be different when i plant myself at a desk in some broker's office at a hundred and fifty a month. it's mixed pickles, for a fact. you can't buy your way into this sort of thing. and you can't stay in it without a bank roll." which was true enough. only the desire to "see it through" socially was not driving jack macrae. he had a different target, and his eye did not wander far from the mark. and perhaps because of this, chance and his social gadding about gave him the opening he sought when he least expected to find one. to be explicit, he happened to be one of an after-theater party at an informal supper dance in the granada, which is to vancouver what the biltmore is to new york or the fairmont to san francisco,--a place where one can see everybody that is anybody if one lingers long enough. and almost the first man he met was a stout, ruddy-faced youngster about his own age. they had flown in the same squadron until "stubby" abbott came a cropper and was invalided home. stubby fell upon jack macrae, pounded him earnestly on the back, and haled him straight to a table where two women were sitting. "mother," he said to a plump, middle-aged woman, "here's silent john macrae." her eyes lit up pleasantly. "i've heard of you," she said, and her extended hand put the pressure of the seal of sincerity on her words. "i've wanted to thank you. you can scarcely know what you did for us. stubby's the only man in the family, you know." macrae smiled. "why," he said easily, "little things like that were part of the game. stubb used to pull off stuff like that himself now and then." "anyway, we can thank god it's over," mrs. abbott said fervently. "pardon me,--my daughter, mr. macrae." nelly abbott was small, tending to plumpness like her mother. she was very fair with eyes of true violet, a baby-doll sort of young woman, and she took possession of jack macrae as easily and naturally as if she had known him for years. they drifted away in a dance, sat the next one out together with stubby and a slim young thing in orange satin whose talk ran undeviatingly upon dances and sports and motor trips, past and anticipated. listening to her, jack macrae fell dumb. her father was worth half a million. jack wondered how much of it he would give to endow his daughter with a capacity for thought. a label on her program materialized to claim her presently. stubby looked after her and grinned. macrae looked thoughtful. the girl was pretty, almost beautiful. she looked like dolores ferrara, dark, creamy-skinned, seductive. and macrae was comparing the two to dolores' advantage. nelly abbott was eying macrae. "tessie bores you, eh?" she said bluntly. macrae smiled. "her flow of profound utterance carries me out of my depth, i'm afraid," said he. "i can't follow her." "she'd lead you a chase if you tried," stubby grinned and sauntered away to smoke. "is that sarcasm?" nelly drawled. "i wonder if you are called silent john because you stop talking now and then to think? most of us don't, you know. tell me," she changed the subject abruptly, "did you know norman gower overseas?" "he was an officer in the battalion i went over with," macrae replied. "i went over in the ranks, you see. so i couldn't very well know him. and i never met him after i transferred to the air service." "i just wondered," nelly went on. "i know norman rather well. it has been whispered about that he pulled every string to keep away from the front,--that all he has done over there is to hold down cushy jobs in england. did you ever hear any such talk?" "we were too busy to gossip about the boys at home, except to envy them." macrae evaded direct reply, and nelly did not follow it up. "i see his sister over there. betty is a dear girl. that's she talking to stubby. come over and meet her. they've been up on their island for a long time, while the flu raged." macrae couldn't very well avoid it without seeming rude or making an explanation which he did not intend to make to any one. his grudge against the gower clan was focused on horace gower. his feeling had not abated a jot. but it was a personal matter, something to remain locked in his own breast. so he perforce went with nelly abbott and was duly presented to miss elizabeth gower. and he had the next dance with her, also for convention's sake. while they stood chatting a moment, the four of them, stubby said to macrae: "who are you with, jack?" "the robbin-steeles." "if i don't get a chance to talk to you again, come out to the house to-morrow," stubby said. "the mater said so, and i want to talk to you about something." the music began and macrae and betty gower slid away in the one-step, that most conversational of dances. but jack couldn't find himself chatty with betty gower. she was graceful and clear-eyed, a vigorously healthy girl with a touch of color in her cheeks that came out of nature's rouge pot. but macrae was subtly conscious of a stiffness between them. "after all," betty said abruptly, when they had circled half the room, "it was worth fighting for, don't you really think?" for a second macrae looked down at her, puzzled. then he remembered. "good heavens!" he said, "is that still bothering you? do you take everything a fellow says so seriously as that?" "no. it wasn't so much what you said as the way you said it," she replied. "you were uncompromisingly hostile that day, for some reason. have you acquired a more equable outlook since?" "i'm trying," he answered. "you need coaching in the art of looking on the bright side of things," she smiled. "such as clusters of frosted lights, cut glass, diamonds, silk dresses and ropes of pearls," he drawled. "would you care to take on the coaching job, miss gower?" "i might be persuaded." she looked him frankly in the eyes. but macrae would not follow that lead, whatever it might mean. betty gower was nice,--he had to admit it. to glide around on a polished floor with his arm around her waist, her soft hand clasped in his, and her face close to his own, her grayish-blue eyes, which were so very like his own, now smiling and now soberly reflective, was not the way to carry on an inherited feud. he couldn't subject himself to that peculiarly feminine attraction which betty gower bore like an aura and nurse a grudge. in fact, he had no grudge against betty gower except that she was the daughter of her father. and he couldn't explain to her that he hated her father because of injustice and injury done before either of them was born. in the genial atmosphere of the granada that sort of thing did not seem nearly so real, so vivid, as when he stood on the cliffs of squitty listening to the pound of the surf. then it welled up in him like a flood,--the resentment for all that gower had made his father suffer, for those thirty years of reprisal which had culminated in reducing his patrimony to an old log house and a garden patch out of all that wide sweep of land along the southern face of squitty. he looked at betty and wished silently that she were,--well, stubby abbott's sister. he could be as nice as he wanted to then. whereupon, instinctively feeling himself upon dangerous ground, he diverged from the personal, talked without saying much until the music stopped and they found seats. and when another partner claimed betty, jack as a matter of courtesy had to rejoin his own party. the affair broke up at length. macrae slept late the next morning. by the time he had dressed and breakfasted and taken a flying trip to coal harbor to look over a forty-five-foot fish carrier which was advertised for sale, he bethought himself of stubby abbott's request and, getting on a car, rode out to the abbott home. this was a roomy stone house occupying a sightly corner in the west end,--that sharply defined residential area of vancouver which real estate agents unctuously speak of as "select." there was half a block of ground in green lawn bordered with rosebushes. the house itself was solid, homely, built for use, and built to endure, all stone and heavy beams, wide windows and deep porches, and a red tile roof lifting above the gray stone walls. stubby permitted macrae a few minutes' exchange of pleasantries with his mother and sister. "i want to extract some useful information from this man," stubby said at length. "you can have at him later, nell. he'll stay to dinner." "how do you know he will?" nelly demanded. "he hasn't said so, yet." "between you and me, he can't escape," stubby said cheerfully and led jack away upstairs into a small cheerful room lined with bookshelves, warmed by glowing coals in a grate, and with windows that gave a look down on a sandy beach facing the gulf. stubby pushed two chairs up to the fire, waved jack to one, and extended his own feet to the blaze. "i've seen the inside of a good many homes in town lately," macrae observed. "this is the homiest one yet." "i'll say it is," stubby agreed. "a place that has been lived in and cared for a long time gets that way, though. remember some of those old, old places in england and france? this is new compared to that country. still, my father built this house when the west end was covered with virgin timber." "how'd you like to be born and grow up in a house that your father built with a vision of future generations of his blood growing up in," stubby murmured, "and come home crippled after three years in the red mill and find you stood a fat chance of losing it?" "i wouldn't like it much," macrae agreed. but he did not say that he had already undergone the distasteful experience stubby mentioned as a possibility. he waited for stubby to go on. "well, it's a possibility," stubby continued, quite cheerfully, however. "i don't propose to allow it to happen. hang it, i wouldn't blat this to any one but you, jack. the mater has only a hazy idea of how things stand, and she's an incurable optimist anyway. nelly and the infant--you haven't met the infant yet--don't know anything about it. i tell you it put the breeze up when i got able to go into our affairs and learned how things stood. i thought i'd get mended and then be a giddy idler for a year or so. but it's up to me. i have to get into the collar. otherwise i should have stayed south all winter. you know we've just got home. i had to loaf in the sun for practically a year. now i have to get busy. i don't mean to say that the poorhouse stares us in the face, you know, but unless a certain amount of revenue is forthcoming, we simply can't afford to keep up this place. "and i'd damn well like to keep it going." stubby paused to light a cigarette. "i like it. it's our home. we'd be deucedly sore at seeing anybody else hang up his hat and call it home. so behold in me an active cannery operator when the season opens, a conscienceless profiteer for sentiment's sake. you live up where the blueback salmon run, don't you, jack?" macrae nodded. "how many trollers fish those waters?" "anywhere from forty to a hundred, from ten to thirty rowboats." "the folly bay cannery gets practically all that catch?" macrae nodded again. "i'm trying to figure a way of getting some of those blueback salmon," abbott said crisply. "how can it best be done?" macrae thought a minute. a whole array of possibilities popped into his mind. he knew that the abbotts owned the crow harbor cannery, in the mouth of howe sound just outside vancouver harbor. when he spoke he asked a question instead of giving an answer. "are you going to buck the packers' association?" "yes and no," stubby chuckled. "you do know something about the cannery business, don't you?" "one or two things," macrae admitted. "i grew up in the gulf, remember, among salmon fishermen." "well, i'll be a little more explicit," stubby volunteered. "briefly, my father, as you know, died while i was overseas. we own the crow harbor cannery. i will say that while i was still going to school he started in teaching me the business, and he taught me the way he learned it himself--in the cannery and among fishermen. if i do say it, i know the salmon business from gill net and purse seine to the iron chink and bank advances on the season's pack. but abbott, senior, it seems, wasn't a profiteer. he took the war to heart. his patriotism didn't consist of buying war bonds in fifty-thousand dollar lots and calling it square. he got in wrong by trying to keep the price of fresh fish down locally, and the last year he lived the crow harbor cannery only made a normal profit. last season the plant operated at a loss in the hands of hired men. they simply didn't get the fish. the fraser river run of sockeye has been going downhill. the river canneries get the fish that do run. crow harbor, with a manager who wasn't up on his toes, got very few. i don't believe we will ever see another big sockeye run in the fraser anyway. so we shall have to go up-coast to supplement the howe sound catch and the few sockeyes we can get from gill-netters. "the packers' association can't hurt me--much. for one thing, i'm a member. for another, i can still swing enough capital so they would hesitate about using pressure. you understand. i've got to make that crow harbor plant pay. i must have salmon to do so. i have to go outside my immediate territory to get them. if i could get enough blueback to keep full steam from the opening of the sockeye season until the coho run comes--there's nothing to it. i've been having this matter looked into pretty thoroughly. i can pay twenty per cent. over anything gower has ever paid for blueback and coin money. the question is, how can i get them positively and in quantity?" "buy them," macrae put in softly. "of course," stubby agreed. "but buying direct means collecting. i have the carriers, true. but where am i going to find men to whom i can turn over a six-thousand-dollar boat and a couple of thousand dollars in cash and say to him, 'go buy me salmon'? his only interest in the matter is his wage." "bonus the crew. pay 'em percentage on what salmon they bring in." "i've thought of that," stubby said between puffs. "but--" "or," macrae made the plunge he had been coming to while stubby talked, "i'll get them for you. i was going to buy bluebacks around squitty anyway for the fresh-fish market in town if i can make a sure-delivery connection. i know those grounds. i know a lot of fishermen. if you'll give me twenty per cent. over gower prices for bluebacks delivered at crow harbor i'll get them." "this grows interesting." stubby straightened in his chair. "i thought you were going to ranch it! lord, i remember the night we sat watching for the bombers to come back from a raid and you first told me about that place of yours on squitty island. seems ages ago--yet it isn't long. as i remember, you were planning all sorts of things you and your father would do." "i can't," macrae said grimly. "you've been in california for months. you wouldn't hear any mention of my affairs, anyway, if you'd been home. i got back three days before the armistice. my father died of the flu the night i got home. the ranch, or all of it but the old log house i was born in and a patch of ground the size of a town lot, has gone the way you mentioned your home might go if you don't buck up the business. things didn't go well with us lately. i have no land to turn to. so i'm for the salmon business as a means to get on my feet." "gower got your place?" abbott hazarded. "yes. how did you know?" "made a guess. i heard he had built a summer home on the southeast end of squitty. in fact nelly was up there last summer for a week or so. hurts, eh, jack? that little trip to france cost us both something." macrae sprang up and walked over to a window. he stood for half a minute staring out to sea, looking in that direction by chance, because the window happened to face that way, to where the gulf haze lifted above a faint purple patch that was squitty island, very far on the horizon. "i'm not kicking," he said at last. "not out loud, anyway." "no," stubby said affectionately, "i know you're not, old man. nor am i. but i'm going to get action, and i have a hunch you will too. now about this fish business. if you think you can get them, i'll certainly go you on that twenty per cent. proposition--up to the point where gower boosts me out of the game, if that is possible. we shall have to readjust our arrangement then." "will you give me a contract to that effect?" macrae asked. "absolutely. we'll get together at the office to-morrow and draft an agreement." they shook hands to bind the bargain, grinning at each other a trifle self-consciously. "have you a suitable boat?" stubby asked after a little. "no," macrae admitted. "but i have been looking around. i find that i can charter one cheaper than i can build--until such time as i make enough to build a fast, able carrier." "i'll charter you one," stubby offered. "that's where part of our money is uselessly tied up, in expensive boats that never carried their weight in salmon. i'm going to sell two fifty-footers and a seine boat. there's one called the _blackbird_, fast, seaworthy rig, you can have at a nominal rate." "all right," macrae nodded. "by chartering i have enough cash in hand to finance the buying. i'm going to start as soon as the bluebacks come and run fresh fish, if i can make suitable connections." stubby grinned. "i can fix that too," he said. "i happen to own some shares in the terminal fish company. the pater organized it to give vancouver people cheap fish, but somehow it didn't work as he intended. it's a fairly strong concern. i'll introduce you. they'll buy your salmon, and they'll treat you right." "and now," stubby rose and stretched his one good arm and the other that was visibly twisted and scarred between wrist and elbow, above his head, "let's go downstairs and prattle. i see a car in front, and i hear twittering voices." halfway down the stairs stubby halted and laid a hand on macrae's arm. "old horace is a two-fisted old buccaneer," he said. "and i don't go much on norman. but i'll say betty gower is some girl. what do you think, silent john?" and jack macrae had to admit that betty was. oddly enough, stubby abbott had merely put into words an impression to which macrae himself was slowly and reluctantly subscribing. chapter vii sea boots and salmon from november to april the british columbian coast is a region of weeping skies, of intermittent frosts and fog, and bursts of sleety snow. the frosts, fogs, and snow squalls are the punctuation points, so to speak, of the eternal rain. murky vapors eddy and swirl along the coast. the sun hides behind gray banks of cloud, the shining face of him a rare miracle bestowed upon the sight of men as a promise that bright days and blossoming flowers will come again. when they do come the coast is a pleasant country. the mountains reveal themselves, duskily green upon the lower slopes, their sky-piercing summits crowned with snow caps which endure until the sun comes to his full strength in july. the gulf is a vista of purple-distant shore and island, of shimmering sea. and the fishermen come out of winter quarters to overhaul boats and gear against the first salmon run. the blueback, a lively and toothsome fish, about which rages an ichthyological argument as to whether he is a distant species of the salmon tribe or merely a half-grown coho, is the first to show in great schools. the spring salmon is always in the gulf, but the spring is a finny mystery with no known rule for his comings and goings, nor his numbers. all the others, the blueback, the sockeye, the hump, the coho, and the dog salmon, run in the order named. they can be reckoned on as a man reckons on changes of the moon. these are the mainstay of the salmon canners. upon their taking fortunes have been built--and squandered--men have lived and died, loved and hated, gone hungry and dressed their women in silks and furs. the can of pink meat some inland chef dresses meticulously with parsley and sauces may have cost some fisherman his life; a multiplicity of cases of salmon may have produced a divorce in the packer's household. we eat this fine red fish and heave its container into the garbage tin, with no care for the tragedy or humors that have attended its getting for us. in the spring, when life takes on a new prompting, the blueback salmon shows first in the gulf. he cannot be taken by net or bait,--unless the bait be a small live herring. he may only be taken in commercial quantities by a spinner or a wobbling spoon hook of silver or brass or copper drawn through the water at slow speed. the dainty gear of the trout spinner gave birth to the trolling fleets of the pacific coast. at first the schools pass into the straits of san juan. here the joint fleets of british columbia and of puget sound begin to harry them. a week or ten days later the vanguard will be off nanaimo. and in another week they will be breaking water like trout in a still pool around the rocky base of the ballenas light and the kelp beds and reefs of squitty island. by the time they were there, in late april, there were twenty local power boats to begin taking them, for jack macrae made the rounds of squitty to tell the fishermen that he was putting on a carrier to take the first run of blueback to vancouver markets. they were a trifle pessimistic. other buyers had tried it, men gambling on a shoestring for a stake in the fish trade, buyers unable to make regular trips, whereby there was a tale of many salmon rotted in waiting fish holds, through depending on a carrier that did not come. what was the use of burning fuel, of tearing their fingers with the gear, of catching fish to rot? better to let them swim. but since the folly bay cannery never opened until the fish ran to greater size and number, the fishermen, chafing against inaction after an idle winter, took a chance and trolled for jack macrae. to the trailers' surprise they found themselves dealing with a new type of independent buyer,--a man who could and did make his market trips with clocklike precision. if macrae left squitty with a load on monday, saying that he would be at squitty cove or jenkins island or scottish bay by tuesday evening, he was there. he managed it by grace of an able sea boat, engined to drive through sea and wind, and by the nerve and endurance to drive her in any weather. there were times when the gulf spread placid as a mill pond. there were trips when he drove through with three thousand salmon under battened hatches, his decks awash from boarding seas, ten and twelve and fourteen hours of rough-and-tumble work that brought him into the narrows and the docks inside with smarting eyes and tired muscles, his head splitting from the pound and clank of the engine and the fumes of gas and burned oil. it was work, strain of mind and body, long hours filled with discomfort. but macrae had never shrunk from things like that. he was aware that few things worth while come easy. the world, so far as he knew, seldom handed a man a fortune done up in tissue paper merely because he happened to crave its possession. he was young and eager to do. there was a reasonable satisfaction in the doing, even of the disagreeable, dirty tasks necessary, in beating the risks he sometimes had to run. there was a secret triumph in overcoming difficulties as they arose. and he had an object, which, if it did not always lie in the foreground of his mind, he was nevertheless keen on attaining. the risks and work and strain, perhaps because he put so much of himself into the thing, paid from the beginning more than he had dared hope. he made a hundred dollars his first trip, paid the trollers five cents a fish more on the second trip and cleared a hundred and fifty. in the second week of his venture he struck a market almost bare of fresh salmon with thirty-seven hundred shining bluebacks in his hold. he made seven hundred dollars on that single cargo. a greek buyer followed the _blackbird_ out through the narrows that trip. macrae beat him two hours to the trolling fleet at squitty, a fleet that was growing in numbers. "bluebacks are thirty-five cents," he said to the first man who ranged alongside to deliver. "and i want to tell you something that you can talk over with the rest of the crowd. i have a market for every fish this bunch can catch. if i can't handle them with the _blackbird_, i'll put on another boat. i'm not here to buy fish just till the folly bay cannery opens. i'll be making regular trips to the end of the salmon season. my price will be as good as anybody's, better than some. if gower gets your bluebacks this season for twenty-five cents, it will be because you want to make him a present. meantime, there's another buyer an hour behind me. i don't know what he'll pay. but whatever he pays there aren't enough salmon being caught here yet to keep two carriers running. you can figure it out for yourself." macrae thought he knew his men. nor was his judgment in error. the greek hung around. in twenty-four hours he got three hundred salmon. macrae loaded nearly three thousand. once or twice after that he had competitive buyers in squitty cove and the various rendezvous of the trolling fleet. but the fishermen had a loyalty born of shrewd reckoning. they knew from experience the way of the itinerant buyer. they knew macrae. many of them had known his father. if jack macrae had a market for all the salmon he could buy on the gower grounds all season, they saw where folly bay would buy no fish in the old take-it-or-leave it fashion. they were keenly alive to the fact that they were getting mid-july prices in june, that jack macrae was the first buyer who had not tried to hold down prices by pulling a poor mouth and telling fairy tales of poor markets in town. he had jumped prices before there was any competitive spur. they admired young macrae. he had nerve; he kept his word. wherefore it did not take them long to decide that he was a good man to keep going. as a result of this decision other casual buyers got few fish even when they met macrae's price. when he had run a little over a month macrae took stock. he paid the crow harbor canning company, which was stubby abbott's trading name, two hundred and fifty a month for charter of the _blackbird_. he had operating outlay for gas, oil, crushed ice, and wages for vincent ferrara, whom he took on when he reached the limit of single-handed endurance. over and above these expenses he had cleared twenty-six hundred dollars. that was only a beginning he knew,--only a beginning of profits and of work. he purposely thrust the taking of salmon on young ferrara, let him handle the cash, tally in the fish, watched vincent nonchalantly chuck out overripe salmon that careless trollers would as nonchalantly heave in for fresh ones if they could get away with it. for jack macrae had it in his mind to go as far and as fast as he could while the going was good. that meant a second carrier on the run as soon as the folly bay cannery opened, and it meant that he must have in charge of the second boat an able man whom he could trust. there was no question about trusting vincent ferrara. it was only a matter of his ability to handle the job, and that he demonstrated to macrae's complete satisfaction. early in june macrae went to stubby abbott. "have you sold the _bluebird_ yet?" he asked. "i want to let three of those _bird_ boats go," stubby told him. "i don't need 'em. they're dead capital. but i haven't made a sale yet." "charter me the _bluebird_ on the same terms," jack proposed. "you're on. things must be going good." "not too bad," macrae admitted. "folly bay opens the twentieth. we open july first," stubby said abruptly. "how many bluebacks are you going to get for us?" "just about all that are caught around squitty island," macrae said quietly. "that's why i want another carrier." "huh!" stubby grunted. his tone was slightly incredulous. "you'll have to go some. wish you luck though. more you get the better for me." "i expect to deliver sixty thousand bluebacks to crow harbor in july," macrae said. stubby stared at him. his eyes twinkled. "if you can do that in july, and in august too," he said, "i'll _give_ you the _bluebird_." "no," macrae smiled. "i'll buy her." "where will folly bay get off if you take that many fish away?" stubby reflected. "don't know. and i don't care a hoot." macrae shrugged his shoulders. "i'm fairly sure i can do it. you don't care?" "do i? i'll shout to the world i don't," stubby replied. "it's self-preservation with me. let old horace look out for himself. he had his fingers in the pie while we were in france. i don't have to have four hundred per cent profit to do business. get the fish if you can, jack, old boy, even if it busts old horace. which it won't--and, as i told you, lack of them may bust me." "by the way," stubby said as macrae rose to go, "don't you ever have an hour to spare in town? you haven't been out at the house for six weeks." macrae held out his hands. they were red and cut and scarred, roughened, and sore from salt water and ice-handling and fish slime. "wouldn't they look well clasping a wafer and a teacup," he laughed. "i'm working, stub. when i have an hour to spare i lie down and sleep. if i stopped to play every time i came to town--do you think you'd get your sixty thousand bluebacks in july?" stubby looked at macrae a second, at his work-torn hands and weary eyes. "i guess you're right," he said slowly. "but the old stone house will still be up on the corner when the salmon run is over. don't forget that." macrae went off to coal harbor to take over the second carrier. and he wondered as he went if it would all be such clear sailing, if it were possible that at the first thrust he had found an open crack in gower's armor through which he could prick the man and make him squirm. he looked at his hands. when they fingered death as a daily task they had been soft, white, delicate,--dainty instruments equally fit for the manipulation of aerial controls, machine guns or teacups. why should honest work prevent a man from meeting pleasant people amid pleasant surroundings? well, it was not the work itself, it was simply the effects of that gross labor. on the american continent, at least, a man did not lose caste by following any honest occupation,--only he could not work with the workers and flutter with the butterflies. macrae, walking down the street, communing with himself, knew that he must pay a penalty for working with his hands. if he were a drone in uniform--necessarily a drone since the end of war--he could dance and play, flirt with pretty girls, be a welcome guest in great houses, make the heroic past pay social dividends. it took nearly as much courage and endurance to work as it had taken to fight; indeed it took rather more, at times, to keep on working. theoretically he should not lose caste. yet macrae knew he would,--unless he made a barrel of money. there had been stray straws in the past month. there were, it seemed, very nice people who could not quite understand why an officer and a gentleman should do work that wasn't,--well, not even clean. not clean in the purely objective, physical sense, like banking or brokerage, or teaching, or any of those semi-genteel occupations which permit people to make a living without straining their backs or soiling their hands. he wasn't even sure that stubby abbott--macrae was ashamed of his cynicism when he got that far. stubby was a real man. even if he needed a man or a man's activities in his business stubby wouldn't cultivate that man socially merely because he needed his producing capacity. the solace for long hours and aching flesh and sleep-weary eyes was a glimpse of concrete reward,--money which meant power, power to repay a debt, opportunity to repay an ancient score. it seemed to jack macrae that his personal honor was involved in getting back all that broad sweep of land which his father had claimed from the wilderness, that he must exact an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. that was the why of his unceasing energy, his uncomplaining endurance of long hours in sea boots, the impatient facing of storms that threatened to delay. man strives under the spur of a vision, a deep longing, an imperative squaring of needs with desires. macrae moved under the whip of all three. he was quite sanguine that he would succeed in this undertaking. but he had not looked much beyond the first line of trenches which he planned to storm. they did not seem to him particularly formidable. the scotch had been credited with uncanny knowledge of the future. jack macrae, however, though his highland blood ran undiluted, had no such gift of prescience. he did not know that the highway of modern industry is strewn with the casualties of commercial warfare. chapter viii vested rights a small balcony over the porch of gower's summer cottage commanded a wide sweep of the gulf south and east. that was one reason he had built there. he liked to overlook the sea, the waters out of which he had taken a fortune, the highway of his collecting boats. he had to keep in touch with the folly bay cannery while the rush of the pack was on. but he was getting more fastidious as he grew older, and he no longer relished the odors of the cannery. there were other places nearer the cannery than cradle bay, if none more sightly, where he could have built a summer house. people wondered why he chose the point that frowned over poor man's rock. even his own family had questioned his judgment. particularly his wife. she complained of the isolation. she insisted on a houseful of people when she was there, and as vancouver was full of eligible week-enders of both sexes her wish was always gratified. and no one except betty gower ever knew that merely to sit looking out on the gulf from that vantage point afforded her father some inscrutable satisfaction. on a day in mid-july horace gower stepped out on this balcony. he carried in his hand a pair of prism binoculars. he took a casual look around. then he put the glasses to his eyes and scanned the gulf with a slow, searching sweep. at first sight it seemed empty. then far eastward toward vancouver his glass picked up two formless dots which alternately showed and disappeared. gower put down the glasses, seated himself in a grass chair, lighted a cigar and leaned back, looking impersonally down on point old and the rock. a big, slow swell rolled up off the gulf, breaking with a precisely spaced _boom_ along the cliffs. for forty-eight hours a southeaster had swept the sea, that rare phenomenon of a summer gale which did not blow itself out between suns. this had been a wild tantrum, driving everything of small tonnage to the nearest shelter, even delaying the big coasters. one of these, trailing black smoke from two funnels, lifting white superstructure of cabins high above her main deck, standing bold and clear in the mellow sunshine, steamed out of the fairway between squitty and vancouver island. but she gained scant heed from gower. his eyes kept turning to where those distant specks showed briefly between periods in the hollows of the sea. they drew nearer. gower finished his cigar in leisurely fashion. he focused the glass again. he grunted something unintelligible. they were what he fully expected to behold as soon as the southeaster ceased to whip the gulf,--the _bluebird_ and the _blackbird_, jack macrae's two salmon carriers. they were walking up to squitty in eight-knot boots. through his glass gower watched them lift and fall, lurch and yaw, running with short bursts of speed on the crest of a wave, laboring heavily in the trough, plowing steadily up through uneasy waters to take the salmon that should go to feed the hungry machines at folly bay. gower laid aside the glasses. he smoked a second cigar down to a stub, resting his plump hands on his plump stomach. he resembled a thoughtful billiken in white flannels, a round-faced, florid, middle-aged billiken. by that time the two _bird_ boats had come up and parted on the head of squitty. the _bluebird_, captained by vin ferrara, headed into the cove. the _blackbird_, slashing along with a bone in her teeth, rounded poor man's rock, cut across the mouth of cradle bay, and stood on up the western shore. "he knows every pot-hole where a troller can lie. he's not afraid of wind or sea or work. no wonder he gets the fish. those damned--" gower cut his soliloquy off in the middle to watch the _blackbird_ slide out of sight behind a point. he knew all about jack macrae's operations, the wide swath he was cutting in the matter of blueback salmon. the folly bay showing to date was a pointed reminder. gower's cannery foreman and fish collectors gave him profane accounts of macrae's indefatigable raiding,--as it suited them to regard his operations. what gower did not know he made it his business to find out. he sat now in his grass chair, a short, compact body of a man, with a heavy-jawed, powerful face frowning in abstraction. gower looked younger than his fifty-six years. there was little gray in his light-brown hair. his blue eyes were clear and piercing. the thick roundness of his body was not altogether composed of useless tissue. even considered superficially he looked what he really was, what he had been for many years,--a man accustomed to getting things done according to his desire. he did not look like a man who would fight with crude weapons--such as a pike pole--but nevertheless there was the undeniable impression of latent force, of aggressive possibilities, of the will and the ability to rudely dispose of things which might become obstacles in his way. and the current history of him in the gulf of georgia did not belie such an impression. he left the balcony at last. he appeared next moving, with the stumpy, ungraceful stride peculiar to the short and thick-bodied, down the walk to a float. from this he hailed the _arrow_, and a boy came in, rowing a dinghy. when gower reached the cruiser's deck he cocked his ear at voices in the after cabin. he put his head through the companion hatch. betty gower and nelly abbott were curled up on a berth, chuckling to each other over some exchange of confidences. "thought you were ashore," gower grunted. "oh, the rest of the crowd went off on a hike into the woods, so we came out here to look around. nelly hasn't seen the _arrow_ inside since it was done over," betty replied. "i'm going to folly bay," gower said. "will you go ashore?" "far from such," betty returned. "i'd as soon go to the cannery as anywhere. can't we, daddy?" "oh, yes. bit of a swell though. you may be sick." betty laughed. that was a standing joke between them. she had never been seasick. nelly abbott declared that if there was anything she loved it was to ride the dead swell that ran after a storm. they came up out of the cabin to watch the mooring line cast off, and to wave handkerchiefs at the empty cottage porches as the _arrow_ backed and straightened and swept out of the bay. the _arrow_ was engined to justify her name. but the swell was heavier than it looked from shore. no craft, even a sixty-footer built for speed, finds her speed lines a thing of comfort in heavy going. until the _arrow_ passed into the lee of an island group halfway along squitty she made less time than a fishing boat, and she rolled and twisted uncomfortably. if horace gower had a mind to reach folly bay before the _blackbird_ he could not have done so. however, he gave no hint of such intention. he kept to the deck. the girls stayed below until the big cruiser struck easier going and a faster gait. then they joined gower. the three of them stood by the rail just abaft the pilot house when the _arrow_ turned into the half-mile breadth of folly bay. the cannery loomed white on shore, with a couple of purse seiners and a tender or two tied at the slips. and four hundred yards off the cannery wharf the _blackbird_ had dropped anchor and lay now, a dozen trolling boats clustered about her to deliver fish. "slow up and stop abreast of that buyer," gower ordered. the _arrow's_ skipper brought his vessel to a standstill within a boat-length of the _blackbird_. "why, that's jack macrae," nelly abbott exclaimed. "hoo-hoo, johnny!" she waved both hands for good measure. macrae, bareheaded, sleeves rolled above his elbows, standing in hip boots of rubber on a deck wet and slippery with water and fish slime, amid piles of gleaming salmon, recognized her easily enough. he waved greeting, but his gaze only for that one recognizing instant left the salmon that were landing _flop, flop_ on the _blackbird's_ deck out of a troller's fish well. he made out a slip, handed the troller some currency. there was a brief exchange of words between them. the man nodded, pushed off his boat. instantly another edged into the vacant place. salmon began to fall on the deck, heaved up on a picaroon. at the other end of the fish hold another of the ferrara boys was tallying in fish. "old crab," nelly abbott murmured. "he doesn't even look at us." "he's counting salmon, silly," betty explained. "how can he?" there was no particular inflection in her voice. nevertheless horace gower shot a sidelong glance at his daughter. she also waved a hand pleasantly to jack macrae, who had faced about now. "why don't you say you're glad to see us, old dear?" nelly abbott suggested bluntly, and smiling so that all her white teeth gleamed and her eyes twinkled mischievously. "tickled to death," macrae called back. he went through the pantomime of shaking hands with himself. his lips parted in a smile. "but i'm the busiest thing afloat right now. see you later." "nerve," horace gower muttered under his breath. "not if we see you first," nelly abbott retorted. "it's not likely you will," macrae laughed. he turned back to his work. the fisherman alongside was tall and surly looking, a leathery-faced individual with a marked scowl. he heaved half a dozen salmon up on the _blackbird_. then he climbed up himself. he towered over jack macrae, and macrae was not exactly a small man. he said something, his hands on his hips. macrae looked at him. he seemed to be making some reply. and he stepped back from the man. every other fisherman turned his face toward the _blackbird's_ deck. their clattering talk stopped short. the man leaned forward. his hands left his hips, drew into doubled fists, extended threateningly. he took a step toward macrae. and macrae suddenly lunged forward, as if propelled by some invisible spring of tremendous force. with incredible swiftness his left hand and then his right shot at the man's face. the two blows sounded like two open-handed smacks. but the fisherman sagged, went lurching backward. his heels caught on the _blackbird's_ bulwark and he pitched backward head-first into the hold of his own boat. macrae picked up the salmon and flung them one by one after the man, with no great haste, but with little care where they fell, for one or two spattered against the fellow's face as he clawed up out of his own hold. there was a smear of red on his lips. "oh! my goodness gracious, sakes alive!" nelly abbott grasped betty by the arm and murmured these expletives as much in a spirit of deviltry as of shock. her eyes danced. "did you see that?" she whispered. "i never saw two men fight before. i'd hate to have jack macrae hit _me_." but betty was holding her breath, for macrae had picked up a twelve-foot pike pole, a thing with an ugly point and a hook of iron on its tip. he only used it, however, to shove away the boat containing the man he had so savagely smashed. and while he did that gower curtly issued an order, and the _arrow_ slid on to the cannery wharf. nelly went below for something. betty stood by the rail, staring back thoughtfully, unaware that her father was keenly watching the look on her face, with an odd expression in his own eyes. "you saw quite a lot of young macrae last spring, didn't you?" he asked abruptly. "do you like him?" a faint touch of color leaped into her cheeks. she met her father's glance with an inquiring one of her own. "well--yes. rather," she said at last. "he's a nice boy." "better not," gower rumbled. his frown grew deeper. his teeth clamped a cigar in one corner of his mouth at an aggressive angle. "granted that he is what you call a nice boy. i'll admit he's good-looking and that he dances well. and he seems to pack a punch up his sleeve. i'd suggest that you don't cultivate any romantic fancy for him. because he's making himself a nuisance in my business--and i'm going to smash him." gower turned away. if he had lingered he might have observed unmistakable signs of temper. betty flew storm signals from cheek and eye. she looked after her father with something akin to defiance, likewise with an air of astonishment. "as if i--" she left the whispered sentence unfinished. she perched herself on the mahogany-capped rail, and while she waited for nelly abbott she gave herself up to thinking of herself and her father and her father's amazing warning which carried a veiled threat,--an open threat so far as jack macrae was concerned. why should he cut loose like that on her? she stared thoughtfully at the _blackbird_, marked the trollers slipping in from the grounds and clustering around the chunky carrier. it might have interested mr. horace gower could he have received a verbatim report of his daughter's reflections for the next five minutes. but whether it would have pleased him it is hard to say. chapter ix the complexity of simple matters the army, for a period extending over many months, had imposed a rigid discipline on jack macrae. the air service had bestowed upon him a less rigorous discipline, but a far more exacting self-control. he was not precisely aware of it, but those four years had saved him from being a firebrand of sorts in his present situation, because there resided in him a fiery temper and a capacity for passionate extremes, and those years in the king's uniform, whatever else they may have done for him, had placed upon his headlong impulses manifold checks, taught him the vital necessity of restraint, the value of restraint. if the war had made human life seem a cheap and perishable commodity, it had also worked to give men like macrae a high sense of honor, to accentuate a natural distaste for lying and cheating, for anything that was mean, petty, ignoble. perhaps the air service was unique in that it was at once the most dangerous and the most democratic and the most individual of all the organizations that fought the germans. it had high standards. the airmen were all young, the pick of the nations, clean, eager, vigorous boys whose ideals were still undimmed. they lived and--as it happened--died in big moments. they trained with the gods in airy spaces and became men, those who survived. and the gods may launch destroying thunderbolts, but they do not lie or cheat or steal. an honest man may respect an honest enemy, and be roused to murderous fury by a common rascal's trickery. when macrae dropped his hook in folly bay he was two days overdue, for the first time in his fish-running venture. the trollers had promised to hold their fish. the first man alongside to deliver reminded him of this. "southeaster held you up, eh?" said he. "we fished in the lee off the top end. but we might as well have laid in. held 'em too long for you." "they spoiled before you could slough them on the cannery, eh?" macrae observed. "most of mine did. they took some." "how many of your fish went bad?" jack asked. "about twenty-five, i guess." macrae finished checking the salmon the fisherman heaved up on the deck. he made out two slips and handed the man his money. "i'm paying you for the lost fish," he said. "i told you to hold them for me. i want you to hold them. if i can't get here on time, it's my loss, not yours." the fisherman looked at the money in his hand and up at macrae. "well," he said, "you're the first buyer i ever seen do that. you're all right, all right." there were variations of this. some of the trollers, weatherwise old sea-dogs, had foreseen that the _blackbird_ could not face that blow, and they had sold their fish. others had held on. these, who were all men macrae knew, he paid according to their own estimate of loss. he did not argue. he accepted their word. it was an astonishing experience for the trolling fleet. they had never found a buyer willing to make good a loss of that kind. but there were other folk afloat besides simple, honest fishermen who would not lie for the price of one salmon or forty. when the _arrow_ drew abreast and stopped, a boat had pushed in beside the _blackbird_. the fisherman in it put half a dozen bluebacks on the deck and clambered up himself. "you owe me for thirty besides them," he announced. "how's that?" macrae asked coolly. but he was not cool inside. he knew the man, a preemptor of folly bay, a truckler to the cannery because he was always in debt to the cannery,--and a quarrelsome individual besides, who took advantage of his size and strength to browbeat less able men. macrae had got few salmon off sam kaye since the cannery opened. he had never asked kaye to hold fish for him. he knew instantly what was in kaye's mind; it had flitted from one boat to another that macrae was making good the loss of salmon held for him, and kaye was going to get in on this easy money if he could bluff it through. he stood on the _blackbird's_ deck, snarlingly demanding payment for thirty fish. macrae looked at him silently. he hated brawling, acrimonious dispute. he was loth to a common row at that moment, because he was acutely conscious of the two girls watching. but he was even more conscious of gower's stare and the curious expectancy of the fishermen clustered about his stern. kaye was simply trying to do him out of fifteen dollars. macrae knew it. he knew that the fishermen knew it,--and he had a suspicion that folly bay might not be unaware, or averse, to sam kaye taking a fall out of him. folly bay had tried other unpleasant tricks. "that doesn't go for you, kaye," he said quietly. "i know your game. get off my boat and take your fish with you." sam kaye glowered threateningly. he had cowed men before with the fierceness of his look. he was long-armed and raw-boned, and he rather fancied himself in a rough and tumble. he was quite blissfully ignorant that jack macrae was stewing under his outward calmness. kaye took a step forward, with an intimidating thrust of his jaw. macrae smashed him squarely in the mouth with a straight left, and hooked him somewhere on the chin with a wicked right cross. either blow was sufficient to knock any ordinary man down. there was a deceptive power in macrae's slenderness, which was not so much slenderness as perfect bodily symmetry. he weighed within ten pounds as much as sam kaye, although he did not look it, and he was as quick as a playful kitten. kaye went down, as told before. he lifted a dazed countenance above the cockpit as macrae shoved his craft clear. the fishermen broke the silence with ribald laughter. they knew kaye's game too. macrae left folly bay later in the afternoon, poorer by many dollars paid for rotten salmon. he wasn't in a particularly genial mood. the sam kaye affair had come at an inopportune moment. he didn't care to stand out as a bruiser. still, he asked himself irritably, why should he care because nelly abbott and betty gower had seen him using his fists? he was perfectly justified. indeed, he knew very well he could have done nothing else. the trailers had chortled over the outcome. these were matters they could understand and appreciate. even steve ferrara looked at him enviously. "it makes me wish i'd dodged the gas," steve said wistfully. "it's hell to wheeze your breath in and out. by jiminy, you're wicked with your hands, jack. did you box much in france?" "quite a lot," macrae replied. "some of the fellows in our squadron were pretty clever. we used the gloves quite a bit." "and you're naturally quick," steve drawled. "now, me, the gas has cooked my goose. i'd have to bat kaye over the head with an oar. gee, he sure got a surprise." they both laughed. even upon his bloody face--as he rose out of his own fish hold--bewildered astonishment had been sam kaye's chief expression. the _blackbird_ went her rounds. at noon the next day she met vincent ferrara with her sister ship, and the two boats made one load for the _blackbird_. she headed south. with high noon, too, came the summer westerly, screeching and whistling and lashing the gulf to a brief fury. it was the regular summer wind, a yachtsman's gale. four days out of six its cycle ran the same, a breeze rising at ten o'clock, stiffening to a healthy blow, a mere sigh at sundown. midnight would find the sea smooth as a mirror, the heaving swell killed by changing tides. so the _blackbird_ ran down squitty, rolling and yawing through a following sea, and turned into squitty cove to rest till night and calm settled on the gulf. when her mudhook was down in that peaceful nook, steve ferrara turned into his bunk to get a few hours' sleep against the long night watch. macrae stirred wakeful on the sun-hot deck, slushing it down with buckets of sea water to save his ice and fish. he coiled ropes, made his vessel neat, and sat him down to think. squitty cove always stirred him to introspection. his mind leaped always to the manifold suggestions of any well-remembered place. he could shut his eyes and see the old log house behind its leafy screen of alder and maple at the cove's head. the rosebushes before it were laden with bloom now. at his hand were the gray cliffs backed by grassy patches, running away inland to virgin forest. he felt dispossessed of those noble acres. he was always seeing them through his father's eyes, feeling as donald macrae must have felt in those last, lonely years of which he had written in simple language that had wrung his son's heart. but it never occurred to jack macrae that his father, pouring out the tale of those troubled years, had bestowed upon him an equivocal heritage. he slid overboard the small skiff the _blackbird_ carried and rowed ashore. there were rowboat trollers on the beach asleep in their tents and rude lean-tos. he walked over the low ridge behind which stood peter ferrara's house. it was hot, the wooded heights of the island shutting off the cool westerly. on such a day peter ferrara should be dozing on his porch and dolly perhaps mending stockings or sewing in a rocker beside him. but the porch was bare. as macrae drew near the house a man came out the door and down the three low steps. he was short and thick-set, young, quite fair, inclined already to floridness of skin. macrae knew him at once for norman gower. he was a typical gower,--a second edition of his father, save that his face was less suggestive of power, less heavily marked with sullenness. he glanced with blank indifference at jack macrae, passed within six feet and walked along the path which ran around the head of the cove. macrae watched him. he would cross between the boathouse and the roses in macrae's dooryard. macrae had an impulse to stride after him, to forbid harshly any such trespass on macrae ground. but he smiled at that childishness. it was childish, macrae knew. but he felt that way about it, just as he often felt that he himself had a perfect right to range the whole end of squitty, to tramp across greensward and through forest depths, despite horace gower's legal title to the land. macrae was aware of this anomaly in his attitude, without troubling to analyze it. he walked into old peter's house without announcement beyond his footsteps on the floor, as he had been accustomed to do as far back as he could remember. dolly was sitting beside a little table, her chin in her palms. there was a droop to her body that disturbed macrae. she had sat for hours like that the night his father died. and there was now on her face something of the same look of sad resignation and pity. her big, dark eyes were misty, troubled, when she lifted them to macrae. "hello, jack," she said. he came up to her, put his hands on her shoulders. "what is it now?" he demanded. "i saw norman gower leaving as i came up. and here you're looking--what's wrong?" his tone was imperative. "nothing, johnny." "you don't cry for nothing. you're not that kind," macrae replied. "that chunky lobster hasn't given you the glooms, surely?" dolly's eyes flashed. "it isn't like you to call names," she declared. "it isn't nice. and--and what business of yours is it whether i laugh or cry?" macrae smiled. dolly in a temper was not wholly strange to him. he was struck with her remarkable beauty every time he saw her. she was altogether too beautiful a flower to be blushing unseen on an island in the gulf. he shook her gently. "because i'm big brother. because you and i were kids together for years before we ever knew there could be serpents in eden. because anything that hurts you hurts me. i don't like anything to make you cry, _mia dolores_. i'd wring norman gower's chubby neck with great pleasure if i thought he could do that. i didn't even know you knew him." dolly dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "there are lots of things you don't know, jack macrae," she murmured. "besides, why shouldn't i know norman?" macrae threw out his hands helplessly. "no law against it, of course," he admitted. "only--well--" he was conscious of floundering, with her grave, dark eyes searching his face. there was no reason save his own hostility to anything gower,--and dolly knew no basis for that save the fact that horace gower had acquired his father's ranch. that could not possibly be a ground for dolores ferrara to frown on any gower, male or female, who happened to come her way. "why, i suppose it really is none of my business," he said slowly. "except that i can't help being concerned in anything that makes you unhappy. that's all." he sat down on the arm of her chair and patted her cheek. to his utter amazement dolly broke into a storm of tears. long ago he had seen dolly cry when she had hurt herself, because he had teased her, because she was angry or disappointed. he had never seen any woman cry as she did now. it was not just simple grieved weeping. it was a tempest that shook her. her body quivered, her breath came in gasping bursts between racking sobs. macrae gathered her into his arms, trying to dam that wild flood. she put her face against him and clung there, trembling like some hunted thing seeking refuge, mysteriously stirring macrae with the passionate abandon of her tears, filling him with vague apprehensions, with a strange excitement. like the tornado, swift in its striking and passing, so this storm passed. dolly's sobbing ceased. she rested passively in his arms for a minute. then she sighed, brushed the cloudy hair out of her eyes, and looked up at him. "i wonder why i should go all to pieces like that so suddenly?" she muttered. "and why i should somehow feel better for it?" "i don't know," macrae said. "maybe i could tell you if i knew _why_ you went off like that. you poor little devil. something has stung you deep, i know." "yes," she admitted. "i hope nothing like it ever comes to you, jack. i'm bleeding internally. oh, it hurts, it hurts!" she laid her head against him and cried again softly. "tell me," he whispered. "why not?" she lifted her head after a little. "you could always keep things to yourself. it wasn't much wonder they called you silent john. do you know i never really grasped the ancient mariner until now? people _must_ tell their troubles to some one--or they'd corrode inside." "go ahead," macrae encouraged. "when norman gower went overseas we were engaged," she said bluntly, and stopped. she was not looking at macrae now. she stared at the opposite wall, her fingers locked together in her lap. "for four years," she went on, "i've been hoping, dreaming, waiting, loving. to-day he came home to tell me that he married in england two years ago. married in the madness of a drunken hour--that is how he puts it--a girl who didn't care for anything but the good time his rank and pay could give her." "i think you're in luck," macrae said soberly. "what queer creatures men are!" she seemed not to have heard him--to be thinking her own thoughts out loud. "he says he loves me, that he has loved me all the time, that he feels as if he had been walking in his sleep and fallen into some muddy hole. and i believe him. it's terrible, johnny." "it's impossible," macrae declared savagely. "if he's got in that kind of a hole, let him stay there. you're well out of it. you ought to be glad." "but i'm not," she said sadly. "i'm not made that way. i can't let a thing become a vital part of my life and give it up without a pang." "i don't see what else you can do," macrae observed. "only brace up and forget it." "it isn't quite so simple as that," she sighed. "norman's w--this woman presently got tired of him. evidently she had no scruples about getting what she wanted, nor how. she went away with another man. norman is getting a divorce--the decree absolute will be granted in march next. he wants me to marry him." "will you?" dolly looked up to meet macrae's wondering stare. she nodded. "you're a triple-plated fool," he said roughly. "i don't know," she replied thoughtfully. "norman certainly has been. perhaps i am too. we should get on--a pair of fools together." the bitterness in her voice stung macrae. "you really should have loved me," he said, "and i you." "but you don't, jack. you have never thought of that before." "i could, quite easily." dolly considered this a moment. "no," she said. "you like me. i know that, johnny. i like you, too. you are a man, and i'm a woman. but if you weren't bursting with sympathy you wouldn't have thought of that. if norman had some of your backbone--but it wouldn't make any difference. if you know what it is that draws a certain man and woman together in spite of themselves, in spite of things they can see in each other that they don't quite like, i dare say you'd understand. i don't think i do. norman gower has made me dreadfully unhappy. but i loved him before he went away, and i love him yet. i want him just the same. and he says--he says--that he never stopped caring for me--that it was like a bad dream. i believe him. i'm sure of it. he didn't lie to me. and i can't hate him. i can't punish him without punishing myself. i don't want to punish him, any more than i would want to punish a baby, if i had one, for a naughtiness it couldn't help." "so you'll marry him eventually?" macrae asked. dolly nodded. "if he doesn't change his mind," she murmured. "oh, i shouldn't say ugly things like that. it sounds cheap and mean." "but it hurts, it hurts me so to think of it," she broke out passionately. "i can forgive him, because i can see how it happened. still it hurts. i feel cheated--cheated!" she lay back in her chair, fingers locked together, red lips parted over white teeth that were clenched together. her eyes glowed somberly, looking away through distant spaces. and macrae, conscious that she had said her say, feeling that she wanted to be alone, as he himself always wanted to fight a grief or a hurt alone and in silence, walked out into the sunshine, where the westerly droned high above in the swaying fir tops. he went up the path around the cove's head to the porch of his own house, sat down on the top step, and cursed the gowers, root and branch. he hated them, everything of the name and blood, at that moment, with a profound and active hatred. they were like a blight, as their lives touched the lives of other people. they sat in the seats of the mighty, and for their pleasure or their whims others must sweat and suffer. so it seemed to jack macrae. home, these crowded, hurrying days, was aboard the _blackbird_. it was pleasant now to sit on his own doorstep and smell the delicate perfume of the roses and the balsamy odors from the woods behind. but the rooms depressed him when he went in. they were dusty and silent, abandoned to that forsaken air which rests upon uninhabited dwellings. macrae went out again, to stride aimlessly along the cliffs past the mouth of the cove. beyond the lee of the island the westerly still lashed the gulf. the white horses galloped on a gray-green field. macrae found a grassy place in the shade of an arbutus, and lay down to rest and watch. sunset would bring calm, a dying wind, new colors to sea and sky and mountains. it would send him away on the long run to crow harbor, driving through the night under the cool stars. no matter what happened people must be fed. food was vital. men lost their lives at the fishing, but it went on. hearts might be torn, but hands still plied the gear. life had a bad taste in jack macrae's mouth as he lay there under the red-barked tree. he was moody. it seemed a struggle without mercy or justice, almost without reason, a blind obedience to the will-to-live. a tooth-and-toenail contest. he surveyed his own part in it with cynical detachment. so long as salmon ran in the sea they would be taken for profit in the markets and the feeding of the hungry. and the salmon would run and men would pursue them, and the game would be played without slackening for such things as broken faith or aching hearts or a woman's tears. macrae grew drowsy puzzling over things like that. life was a jumble beyond his understanding, he concluded at last. men strove to a godlike mastery of circumstances,--and achieved three meals a day and a squalid place to sleep. sometimes, when they were pluming themselves on having beaten the game, destiny was laughing in her sleeve and spreading a snare for their feet. a man never knew what was coming next. it was just a damned scramble! a disorderly scramble in which a man could be sure of getting hurt. he wondered if that were really true. chapter x thrust and counterthrust by the time jack macrae was writing august on his sales slips he was conscious of an important fact; namely, that nearly a hundred gas-boat fishermen, trolling squitty island, the ballenas, gray rock, even farther afield to yellow rock light and lambert channel, were compactly behind him. they were still close to a period when they had been remorselessly exploited. they were all for macrae. prices being equal, they preferred that he should have their fish. it was still vivid in their astonished minds that he had shared profits with them without compulsion, that he had boosted prices without competition, had put a great many dollars in their pockets. only those who earn a living as precariously, as riskily and with as much patient labor as a salmon fisherman, can so well value a dollar. they had an abiding confidence, by this time, in jack macrae. they knew he was square, and they said so. in the territory his two carriers covered, macrae was becoming the uncrowned salmon king. other buyers cut in from time to time. they did not fare well. the trollers would hold their salmon, even when some sporting independent offered to shade the current price. they would shake their heads if they knew either of the _bird_ boats would be there to take the fish. for when macrae said he would be there, he was always there. in the old days they had been compelled to play one buyer against another. they did not have to do that with macrae. the folly bay collectors fared little better than outside buyers. in july gower met macrae's price by two successive raises. he stopped at that. macrae did not. each succeeding run of salmon averaged greater poundage. they were worth more. macrae paid fifty, fifty-five cents. when gower stood pat at fifty-five, macrae gave up a fourth of his contract percentage and paid sixty. it was like draw poker with the advantage of the last raise on his side. the salmon were worth the price. they were worth double to a cannery that lay mostly idle for lack of fish. the salmon, now, were running close to six pounds each. the finished product was eighteen dollars a case in the market. there are forty-eight one-pound cans in a case. to a man familiar with packing costs it is a simple sum. macrae often wondered why gower stubbornly refused to pay more, when his collecting boats came back to the cannery so often with a few scattered salmon in their holds. they were primitive folk, these salmon trollers. they jeered the unlucky collectors. gower was losing his fishermen as well as his fish. for the time, at least, the back of his long-held monopoly was broken. macrae got a little further light on this attitude from stubby abbott. "he's figuring on making out a season's pack with cohoes, humps, and dog salmon," stubby told macrae at the crow harbor cannery. "he expects to work his purse seiners overtime, and to hell with the individual fisherman. norman was telling me. old horace has put norman in charge at folly bay, you know." macrae nodded. he knew about that. "the old boy is sore as a boil at you and me," stubby chuckled. "i don't blame him much. he has had a cinch there so long he thinks it's his private pond. you've certainly put a crimp in the folly bay blueback pack--to my great benefit. i don't suppose any one but you could have done it either." "any one could," macrae declared, "if he knew the waters, the men, and was wise enough to play the game square. the trouble has been that each buyer wanted to make a clean-up on each trip. he wanted easy money. the salmon fisherman away up the coast practically has to take what is offered him day by day, or throw his fish overboard. canneries and buyers alike have systematically given him the worst of the deal. you don't cut your cannery hands' pay because on certain days your pack falls off." "hardly." "but canneries and collectors and every independent buyer have always used any old pretext to cut the price to the fisherman out on the grounds. and while a fisherman has to take what he is offered he doesn't have to keep on taking it. he can quit, and try something else. lots of them have done that. that's why there are three japanese to every white salmon fisherman on the british columbia coast. that is why we have an oriental problem. the japs are making the canneries squeal, aren't they?" "rather." stubby smiled. "they are getting to be a bit of a problem." "the packers got them in here as cheap labor in the salmon fishing," macrae went on. "the white fisherman was too independent. he wanted all he could get out of his work. he was a kicker, as well as a good fisherman. the packers thought they could keep wages down and profits up by importing the jap--cheap labor with a low standard of living. and the jap has turned the tables on the big fellows. they hang together, as aliens always do in a strange country, and the war has helped them freeze the white fisherman out on one hand and exact more and more from the canneries on the other. and that would never have happened if this had been kept a white man's country, and the white fisherman had got a square deal." "to buy as cheaply as you can and sell for as much as you can," stubby reminded him, "is a fundamental of business. you can't get away from it. my father abandoned that maxim the last two years of his life, and it nearly broke us. he was a public-spirited man. he took war and war-time conditions to heart. in a period of jumping food costs he tried to give people cheaper food. as i said, he nearly went broke trying to do a public service, because no one else in the same business departed from the business rule of making all they could. in fact, men in the same business, i have since learned, were the first to sharpen their knives for him. he was establishing a bad precedent. i don't know but their attitude is sound, after all. in sheer self-defense a man must make all he can when he has a chance. you cannot indulge in philanthropy in a business undertaking these days, silent john." "granted," macrae made answer. "i don't propose to be a philanthropist myself. but you will get farther with a salmon fisherman, or any other man whose labor you must depend on, if you accept the principle that he is entitled to make a dollar as well as yourself, if you don't stretch every point to take advantage of his necessity. these fellows who fish around squitty have been gouged and cheated a lot. they aren't fools. they know pretty well who makes the long profit, who pile up moderate fortunes while they get only a living, and not a particularly good living at that." "are you turning bolshevik?" stubby inquired with mock solicitude. macrae smiled. "hardly. nor are the fishermen. they know i'm making money. but they know also that they are getting more out of it than they ever got before, and that if i were not on the job they would get a lot less." "they certainly would," abbott drawled. "you have been, and are now, paying more for blueback salmon than any buyer on the gulf." "well, it has paid me. and it has been highly profitable to you, hasn't it?" macrae said. "you've had a hundred thousand salmon to pack which you would not otherwise have had." "certainly," stubby agreed. "i'm not questioning your logic. in this case it has paid us both, and the fisherman as well. but suppose everybody did it?" "if you can pay sixty cents a fish, and fifteen per cent, on top of that and pack profitably, why can't other canneries? why can't folly bay meet that competition? rather, why won't they?" "matter of policy, maybe," stubby hazarded. "matter of keeping costs down. apart from a few little fresh-fish buyers, you are the only operator on the gulf who is cutting any particular ice. gower may figure that he will eventually get these fish at his own price. if i were eliminated, he would." "i'd still be on the job," macrae ventured. "would you, though?" stubby asked doubtfully. "yes." macrae made his reply positive in tone. "you could buy all right. that squitty island bunch of trollers seem convinced you are the whole noise in the salmon line. but without crow harbor where could you unload such quantities of fish?" it struck macrae that there was something more than mere casual speculation in stubby's words. but he did not attempt to delve into motives. "a good general," he said with a dry smile, "doesn't advertise his plan of campaign in advance. without crow harbor as a market i could not have done what i have done this season. but crow harbor could shut down to-morrow--and i'd go on just the same." stubby poked thoughtfully with a pencil at the blotter on his desk. "well, jack, i may as well be quite frank with you," he said at last. "i have had hints that may mean something. the big run will be over at squitty in another month. i don't believe i can be dictated to on short notice. but i cannot positively say. if you can see your way to carry on, it will be quite a relief to me. another season it may be different." "i think i can." but though macrae said this confidently, he was privately not so sure. from the very beginning he had expected pressure to come on stubby, as the active head of crow harbor. it was as stubby said. unless he--macrae--had a market for his fish, he could not buy. and within the limits of british columbia the salmon market was subject to control; by just what means macrae had got inklings here and there. he had not been deceived by the smoothness of his operations so far. below the clear horizon there was a storm gathering. a man like gower did not lie down and submit passively to being beaten at his own game. but macrae believed he had gone too far to be stopped now, even if his tactics did not please the cannery interests. they could have squelched him easily enough in the beginning, when he had no funds to speak of, when his capital was mostly a capacity for hard, dirty work and a willingness to take chances. already he had run his original shoestring to fifteen thousand dollars cash in hand. it scarcely seemed possible. it gave him a startling vision of the profits in the salmon industry, and it was not a tenable theory that men who had controlled such a source of profits would sit idle while he undermined their monopoly. nevertheless he had made that much money in four months. he had at his back a hundred fishermen who knew him, liked him, trusted him, who were anxious that he should prosper, because they felt that they were sharing in that prosperity. ninety per cent. of these men had a grievance against the canneries. and he had the good will of these men with sun-browned faces and hook-scarred hands. the human equation in industrial processes is a highly important one, as older, wiser men than jack macrae had been a longer time discovering. he did not try to pin stubby to a more definite statement. a hint was enough for macrae. stubby abbott could also be depended upon to see things beyond the horizon. if a storm broke stubby was the most vulnerable, because in a sense he was involved with the cannery interests in general, and they would consider him an apostate and knife him without mercy,--if they could. if the abbott estate had debts, obligations which could be manipulated, if through the financial convolutions of marketing the crow harbor pack stubby could be reached, the abbott family had property, a standard of living that stood for comfort, appearance, luxury almost. there are always plenty of roads open to a flank attack on people like that; many levers, financial and otherwise, can be pulled for or against them. so macrae, knowing that stubby must protect himself in a showdown, set about fortifying his own approaches. for a first move he hired an engineer, put steve ferrara in charge of the _blackbird_, and started him back to squitty. then macrae took the next train to bellingham, a cannery town which looks out on the southern end of the gulf of georgia from the american side of the boundary. he extended his journey to seattle. altogether, he was gone three days. when he came back he made a series of calls,--at the vancouver offices of three different canneries and one of the biggest cold-storage concerns on the pacific coast. he got a courteous but unsatisfactory reception from the cannery men. he fared a little better with the manager of the cold-storage plant. this gentleman was tentatively agreeable in the matter of purchasing salmon, but rather vague in the way of terms. "beginning with may next i can deliver any quantity up to two thousand a day, perhaps more, for a period of about four months," macrae stated. "what i should like to know is the percentage over the up-coast price you would pay." but he could not pin the man down to anything definite. he would only speak pleasantly of the market and possible arrangements, utter vague commonplaces in business terminology. macrae rose. "i'm wasting your time and my own," he said. "you don't want my fish. why not say so?" "we always want fish," the man declared, bending a shrewdly appraising eye on macrae. "bring in the salmon and we will do business." "on your own terms when my carriers are tied to your dock with a capacity load which i must sell or throw overboard within forty-eight hours," macrae smiled. "no, i don't intend to go up against any take-it-or-leave proposition like that. i don't have to." "well, we might allow you five per cent. that's about the usual thing on salmon. and we would rather have salmon now than a promise of them next season." "oh, rats!" macrae snorted. "i'm in the business to make money--not simply to create dividends for your eastern stockholders while i eke out a living and take all the risks. come again." the cold storage man smiled. "come and see me in the spring. meantime, when you have a cargo of salmon, you might run them in to us. we'll pay market prices. it's up to you to protect yourself in the buying." macrae went on about his business. he had not expected much encouragement locally, so he did not suffer disappointment. he knew quite well what he could expect in vancouver if crow harbor canceled his contract. he would bring in boatloads of salmon, and the dealers would squeeze him, all but the terminal fish company. and if the market could be controlled, if the men behind could dictate the crow harbor policy, they might also bring the terminal into line. even if they did not the terminal could only handle a minor portion of the salmon he could get while the big run swirled around squitty island. but macrae was not downcast. he was only sober and thoughtful, which had become characteristic of him in the last four months. he was forgetting how to laugh, to be buoyant, to see the world through the rose-colored glasses of sanguine youth. he was becoming a living exampler of his nickname. even stubby abbott marked this when jack came back from bellingham. "come on out to the house," stubby urged. "your men can handle the job a day or two longer. forget the grind for once. it's getting you." "no, i don't think it is," macrae denied. "but a man can't play and produce at the same time. i have to keep going." he did go out to abbott's one evening, however, and suffered a good deal of teasing from nelly over his manhandling of sam kaye. a lot of other young people happened to foregather there. they sang and flirted and presently moved the rugs off the living-room floor and danced to a phonograph. macrae found himself a little out of it, by inclination. he was tired, without knowing quite what was the matter with him. a man, even a young and sturdy man, cannot work like a horse for months on end, eating his meals anyhow and sleeping when he can, without losing temporarily the zest for careless fun. for another thing, he found himself looking at these immaculate young people as any hard-driven worker must perforce look upon drones. they were sons and daughters of the well-to-do, divorced from all uncouthness, with pretty manners and good clothes. they seemed serene in the assurance--macrae got this impression for the first time in his social contact with them--that wearing good clothes, behaving well, giving themselves whole-heartedly to having a good time, was the most important and satisfying thing in the world. they moved in an atmosphere of considering these things their due, a birthright, their natural and proper condition of well-being. and macrae found himself wondering what they gave or ever expected to give in return for this pleasant security of mind and body. some one had to pay for it, the silks and georgettes and white flannels, furs and strings of pearls and gold trinkets, the good food, the motor cars, and the fun. he knew a little about every one he met that evening, for in vancouver as in any other community which has developed a social life beyond the purely primitive stages of association, people gravitate into sets and cliques. they lived in good homes, they had servants, they week-ended here and there. of the dozen or more young men and women present, only himself and stubby abbott made any pretense at work. yet somebody paid for all they had and did. men in offices, in shops, in fishing boats and mines and logging camps worked and sweated to pay for all this well-being in which they could have no part. macrae even suspected that a great many men had died across the sea that this sort of thing should remain the inviolate privilege of just such people as these. it was not an inspiring conclusion. he smiled to himself. how they would stare if he should voice these stray thoughts in plain english. they would cry out that he was a bolshevik. absolutely! he wondered why he should think such things. he wasn't disgruntled. he wanted a great many things which these young people of his own age had gotten from fairy godmothers,--in the shape of pioneer parents who had skimmed the cream off the resources of a developing frontier and handed it on to their children, and who themselves so frequently kept in the background, a little in awe of their gilded offspring. macrae meant to beat the game as it was being played. he felt that he was beating it. but nothing would be handed him on a silver salver. fortune would not be bestowed upon him in any easy, soft-handed fashion. he would have to render an equivalent for what he got. he wondered if the security of success so gained would have any greater value for him than it would have for those who took their blessings so lightly. this kink of analytical reasoning was new to macrae, and it kept him from entering whole-heartedly into the joyous frivolity which functioned in the abbott home that evening. he had never found himself in that critical mood before. he did not want to prattle nonsense. he did not want to think, and he could not help thinking. he had a curious sense of detachment from what was going on, even while he was a part of it. so he did not linger late. the _blackbird_ had discharged at crow harbor late in the afternoon. she lay now at a vancouver slip. by eleven o'clock he was aboard in his bunk, still thinking when he should have been asleep, staring wide-eyed at dim deck beams, his mind flitting restlessly from one thing to another. steve ferrara lay in the opposite bunk, wheezing his breath in and out of lungs seared by poison gas in flanders. smells of seaweed and tide-flat wafted in through open hatch and portholes. a full moon thrust silver fingers through deck openings. gradually the softened medley of harbor noises lulled macrae into a dreamless sleep. he only wakened at the clank of the engine and the shudder of the _blackbird's_ timbers as steve backed her out of her berth in the first faint gleam of dawn. the _blackbird_ made her trip and a second and a third, which brought the date late in august. on his delivery, when the salmon in her hold had been picarooned to the cannery floor, macrae went up to the office. stubby had sent for him. he looked uncomfortable when jack came in. "what's on your mind now?" macrae asked genially. "something damned unpleasant," stubby growled. "shoot," macrae said. he sat down and lit a cigarette. "i didn't think they could do it," abbott said slowly. "but it seems they can. i guess you'll have to lay off the gower territory after all, jack." "you mean _you_ will," macrae replied. "i've been rather expecting that. can gower hurt you?" "not personally. but the banks--export control--there are so many angles to the cannery situation. there's nothing openly threatened. but it has been made perfectly clear to me that i'll be hampered and harassed till i won't know whether i'm afoot or on horseback, if i go on paying a few cents more for salmon in order to keep my plant working efficiently. damn it, i hate it. but i'm in no position to clash with the rest of the cannery crowd and the banks too. i hate to let you down. you've pulled me out of a hole. i don't know a man who would have worked at your pitch and carried things off the way you have. if i had this pack marketed, i could snap my fingers at them. but i haven't. there's the rub. i hate to ditch you in order to insure myself--get in line at somebody else's dictation." "don't worry about me," macrae said gently. "i have no cannery and no pack to market through the regular channels. nor has the bank advanced me any funds. you are not responsible for what i do. and neither gower nor the packers' association nor the banks can stop me from buying salmon so long as i have the money to pay the fishermen and carriers to haul them, can they?" "no, but the devil of it is they can stop you _selling_," stubby lamented bitterly. "i tell you there isn't a cannery on the gulf will pay you a cent more than they pay the fishermen. what's the use of buying if you can't sell?" macrae did not attempt to answer that. "let's sum it up," he said. "you can't take any more bluebacks from gower's territory. that, i gather, is the chief object. i suppose they know as much about your business as you know yourself. am i to be deprived of the two boat charters into the bargain?" "no, by the lord," stubby swore. "not if you want them. my general policy may be subject to dictation, but not the petty details of my business. there's a limit. i won't stand for that." "put a fair price on the _birds_, and i'll buy 'em both," macrae suggested. "you had them up for sale, anyway. that will let you out, so far as my equipment is concerned." "five thousand each," stubby said promptly. "they're good value at that. and i can use ten thousand dollars to advantage, right now." "i'll give you a check. i want the registry transferred to me at once," macrae continued. "that done, you can cease worrying over me, stub. you've been square, and i've made money on the deal. you would be foolish to fight unless you have a fighting chance. oh, another thing. will the terminal shut off on me, too?" "no," stubby declared. "the terminal is one of the weapons i intend ultimately to use as a club on the heads of this group of gentlemen who want to make a close corporation of the salmon industry on the british columbia coast. if i get by this season, i shall be in shape to show them something. they will not bother about the terminal, because the terminal is small. all the salmon they could take from you wouldn't hurt gower. what they want is to enable gower to get up his usual fall pack. it has taken him this long to get things shaped so he could call me off. he can't reach a local concern like the terminal. no, the terminal will continue to buy salmon from you, jack. but you know they haven't the facilities to handle a fourth of the salmon you have been running lately." "i'll see they get whatever they can use," macrae declared. "and if it is any satisfaction to you personally, stub, i can assure you that i shall continue to do business as usual." stubby looked curious. "you've got something up your sleeve?" "yes," macrae admitted. "no stuffed club, either. it's loaded. you wait and keep your ears open." macrae's face twisted into a mirthless smile. his eyes glowed with the fire that always blazed up in them when he thought too intensely of horace gower and the past, or of gower's various shifts to defeat him in what he undertook. he had anticipated this move. he was angrily determined that gower should not get one more salmon, or buy what he got a cent cheaper, by this latest strategy. "you appear to like old horace," stubby said thoughtfully, "about as much as our fellows used to like fritz when he dropped high explosives on supposedly bomb-proof shelters." "just about as much," macrae said shortly. "well, you'll transfer that registry--when? i want to get back to squitty as soon as possible." "i'll go to town with you now, if you like," stubby offered. they acted on that. within two hours macrae was the owner of two motor launches under british registry. payment in full left him roughly with five thousand dollars working capital, enough by only a narrow margin. at sunset vancouver was a smoky smudge on a far horizon. at dusk he passed in the narrow mouth of squitty cove. the _bluebird_ was swinging about to go when her sister ship ranged alongside. vincent ferrara dropped his hook again. there were forty trollers in the cove. macrae called to them. they came in skiffs and dinghys, and when they were all about his stern and some perched in sea boots along the _blackbird's_ low bulwarks, macrae said what he had to say. "gower has come alive. my market for fish bought in gower's territory is closed, so far as crow harbor is concerned. if i can't sell salmon i can't buy them from you. how much do you think folly bay will pay for your fish?" he waited a minute. the fishermen looked at him in the yellow lantern light, at each other. they shifted uneasily. no one answered his question. macrae went on. "you can guess what will happen. you will be losers. so will i. i don't like the idea of being frozen out of the salmon-buying business, now that i have got my hand in. i don't intend to be. as long as i can handle a load of salmon i'll make the run. but i've got to run them farther, and you fellows will have to wait a bit for me now and then, perhaps. the cannery men hang together. they are making it bad for me because i'm paying a few cents more for salmon. they have choked off crow harbor. gower is hungry for cheap salmon. he'll get them, too, if you let him head off outside buyers. since i'm the only buyer covering these grounds, it's up to you, more than ever, to see that i keep coming. that's all. tell the rest of the fishermen what i say whenever you happen to run across them." they became articulate. they plied macrae with questions. he answered tersely, as truthfully as he could. they cursed folly bay and the canneries in general. but they were not downcast. they did not seem apprehensive that folly bay would get salmon for forty cents. macrae had said he would still buy. for them that settled it. they would not have to sell their catch to folly bay for whatever price gower cared to set. presently they began to drift away to their boats, to bed, for their work began in that gray hour between dawn and sunrise when the schooling salmon best strike the trolling spoon. one lingered, a returned soldier named mullen, who had got his discharge in may and gone fishing. mullen had seen two years in the trenches. he sat in his skiff, scowling up at macrae, talking about the salmon packers, about fishing. "aw, it's the same everywhere," he said cynically. "they all want a cinch, easy money, big money. looks like the more you have, the more you can grab. folly bay made barrels of coin while the war was on. why can't they give us fellers a show to make a little now? but they don't give a damn, so long as they get theirs. and then they wonder why some of us guys that went to france holler about the way we find things when we come home." he pushed his skiff away into the gloom that rested upon the cove. the _bluebird_ was packed with salmon to her hatch covers. there had been a fresh run. the trollers were averaging fifty fish to a man daily. macrae put vincent ferrara aboard the _blackbird_, himself took over the loaded vessel, and within the hour was clear of squitty's dusky headlands, pointing a course straight down the middle of the gulf. his man turned in to sleep. macrae stood watch alone, listening to the ka-_choof_, ka-_choof_ of the exhaust, the murmuring swash of calm water cleft by the _bluebird's_ stem. away to starboard the ballenas light winked and blinked its flaming eye to seafaring men as it had done in his father's time. miles to port the sand heads lightship swung to its great hawsers off the fraser river shoals. macrae smiled contentedly. there was a long run ahead. but he felt that he had beaten gower in this first definite brush. moving in devious channels to a given end gower had closed the natural markets to macrae. but there was no law against the export of raw salmon to a foreign country. macrae could afford to smile. over in bellingham there were salmon packers who, like folly bay, were hungry for fish to feed their great machines. but--unlike folly bay--they were willing to pay the price, any price in reason, for a supply of salmon. their own carriers later in the season would invade canadian waters, so many thorns in the ample sides of the british columbia packers. "the damned americans!" they sometimes growled, and talked about legislation to keep american fish buyers out. because the american buyer and canner alike would spend a dollar to make a dollar. and the british columbia packers wanted a cinch, a monopoly, which in a measure they had. they were an anachronism, macrae felt. they regarded the salmon and the salmon waters of the british columbia coast as the feudal barons of old jealously regarded their special prerogatives. macrae could see them growling and grumbling, he could see most clearly the scowl that would spread over the face of mr. horace a. gower, when he learned that ten to twenty thousand squitty island salmon were passing down the gulf each week to an american cannery; that a smooth-faced boy out of the air service was putting a crimp in the ancient order of things so far as one particular cannery was concerned. this notion amused macrae, served to while away the hours of monotonous plowing over an unruffled sea, until he drove down abreast the fraser river's mouth and passed in among the nets and lights of the sockeye fleet drifting, a thousand strong, on the broad bosom of the gulf. then he had to stand up to his steering wheel and keep a sharp lookout, lest he foul his propellor in a net or cut down some careless fisherman who did not show a riding light. chapter xi peril of the sea the last of august set the red flower of the jungle books blooming along the british columbia coast. the seeds of it were scattered on hot, dry, still days by pipe and cigarette, by sparks from donkey engines, by untended camp fires, wherever the careless white man went in the great coastwise forests. the woods were like a tinder box. one unguarded moment, and the ancient firs were wrapped in sheets of flame. smoke lay on the gulf like a pall of pungent fog, through which vessels ran by chart and compass, blind between ports, at imminent risk of collision. through this, well on into september, macrae and vincent ferrara gathered cargoes of salmon and ran them down the gulf to bellingham, making their trips with the regularity of the tides, despite the murk that hid landmarks by day and obscured the guiding lighthouse flashes when dark closed in. they took their chances in the path of coastwise traffic, straining their eyes for vessels to leap suddenly out of the thickness that shut them in, their ears for fog signals that blared warning. there were close shaves, but they escaped disaster. they got the salmon and they delivered them, and folly bay still ran a bad second wherever the _bird_ boats served the trolling fleet. even when gower at last met macrae's price, his collectors got few fish. the fishermen took no chances. they were convinced that if macrae abandoned buying for lack of salmon folly bay would cut the price in two. it had been done before. so they held their fish for the _bird_ boats. macrae got them all. even when american buyers trailed macrae to the source of his supply their competition hurt gower instead of macrae. the trollers supplied macrae with all the salmon he could carry. it was still fresh in their minds that he had come into the field that season as their special providence. but the blueback run tapered off at squitty. september ushered in the annual coho run on its way to the spawning grounds. and the coho did not school along island shores, feeding upon tiny herring. stray squadrons of coho might pass squitty, but they did not linger in thousands as the blueback did. the coho swept into the gulf from mysterious haunts in blue water far offshore, myriads of silver fish seeking the streams where they were spawned, and to which as mature fish they now returned to reproduce themselves. they came in great schools. they would loaf awhile in some bay at a stream mouth, until some irresistible urge drove them into fresh water, up rivers and creeks, over shoal and rapid, through pool and canyon, until the stream ran out to a whimpering trickle and the backs of the salmon stuck out of the water. up there, in the shadow of great mountains, in the hidden places of the coast range, those that escaped their natural enemies would spawn and die. while the coho and the humpback, which came about the same time, and the dog salmon, which comes last of all--but each to function in the same manner and sequence--laid in the salt-water bays, resting, it would seem, before the last and most terrible struggle of their brief existence, the gill-net fishermen and the cannery purse-seine boats took toll of them. the trollers harried them from the moment they showed in the gulf, because the coho will strike at a glittering spoon anywhere in salt water. but the net boats take them in hundreds at one drift, and the purse seiners gather thousands at a time in a single sweep of the great bag-like seine. when september days brought the cohoes in full force along with cooler nights and a great burst of rain that drowned the forest fires and cleared away the enshrouding smoke, leaving only the pleasant haze of autumn, the folly bay purse-seine boats went out to work. the trolling fleet scattered from squitty island. some steamed north to the troubled waters of salmon river and blackfish sound, some to the redondas where spring salmon could be taken. many put by their trolling gear and hung their gill nets. a few gas boats and a few rowboat men held to the island, depending upon stray schools and the spring salmon that haunted certain reefs and points and beds of kelp. but the main fleet scattered over two hundred miles of sea. macrae could have called it a season and quit with honor and much profit. or he might have gone north and bought salmon here and there, free-lancing. he did neither. there were enough gill-netters operating on gower's territory to give him fair cargoes. every salmon he could divert from the cans at folly bay meant,--well, he did not often stop to ask precisely what that did mean to him. but he never passed poor man's rock, bleak and brown at low tide, or with seas hissing over it when the tide was at flood, without thinking of his father, of the days and months and years old donald macrae had lived and worked in sight of the rock,--a life at the last lonely and cheerless and embittered by the sight of his ancient enemy preening his feathers in cradle bay. old donald had lived for thirty years unable to return a blow which had scarred his face and his heart in the same instant. but his son felt that he was making better headway. it is unlikely that donald macrae ever looked at gower's cottage nestling like a snowflake in the green lee of point old, or cast his eyes over that lost estate of his, with more unchristian feelings than did his son. in jack macrae's mind the golden rule did not apply to horace gower, nor to aught in which gower was concerned. so he stayed on folly bay territory with a dual purpose: to make money for himself, and to deprive gower of profit where he could. he was wise enough to know that was the only way he could hurt a man like gower. and he wanted to hurt gower. the intensity of that desire grew. it was a point of honor, the old inborn clan pride that never compromised an injury or an insult or an injustice, which neither forgave nor forgot. for weeks macrae in the _blackbird_ and vin ferrara in her sister ship flitted here and there. the purse seiners hunted the schooling salmon, the cohoes and humps. the gill-netters hung on the seiner's heels, because where the purse seine could get a haul so could they. and the carriers and buyers sought the fishermen wherever they went, to buy and carry away their catch. folly bay suffered bad luck from the beginning. gower had four purse-seine boats in commission. within a week one broke a crankshaft in half a gale off sangster island. the wind put her ashore under the nose of the sandstone elephant and the seas destroyed her. fire gutted a second not long after, so that for weeks she was laid up for repairs. that left him but two efficient craft. one operated on his concessions along the mainland shore. the other worked three stream mouths on vancouver island, straight across from folly bay. still, gower's cannery was getting salmon. in those three bays no other purse seiner could shoot his gear. folly bay held them under exclusive license. gill nets could be drifted there, but the purse seiner was king. a gill net goes out over a boat's stern. when it is strung it stands in the sea like a tennis net across a court, a web nine hundred feet long, twenty feet deep, its upper edge held afloat by corks, its lower sunk by lead weights spaced close together. the outer end is buoyed to a float which carries a flag and a lantern; the inner is fast to the bitts of the launch. thus set, and set in the evening, since salmon can only be taken by the gills in the dark, fisherman, launch, and net drift with the changing tides till dawn. then he hauls. he may have ten salmon, or a hundred, or treble that. he may have none, and the web be torn by sharks and fouled heavy with worthless dogfish. the purse seiner works in daylight, off a powerfully engined sixty-foot, thirty-ton craft. he pays the seine out over a roller on a revolving platform aft. his vessel moves slowly in a sweeping circle as the net goes out,--a circle perhaps a thousand feet in diameter. when the circle is complete the two ends of the net meet at the seiner's stern. a power winch hauls on ropes and the net closes. nothing escapes. it draws together until it is a bag, a "purse" drawn up under the vessel's counter, full of glistening fish. the salmon is a surface fish, his average depth seldom below four fathoms. he breaks water when he feeds, when he plays, when he runs in schools. the purse seiner watches the signs. when the salmon rise in numbers he makes a set. to shoot the gear and purse the seine is a matter of minutes. a thousand salmon at a haul is nothing. three thousand is common. five thousand is far below the record. purse seines have been burst by the dead weight of fish against the pull of the winch. the purse seine is a deadly trap for schooling salmon. and because the salmon schools in mass formation, crowding nose to tail and side to side, in the entrance to a fresh-water stream, the fisheries department having granted a monopoly of seining rights to a packer has also benevolently decreed that no purse seine or other net shall operate within a given distance of a stream mouth,--that the salmon, having won to fresh water, shall go free and his kind be saved from utter extinction. these regulations are not drawn for sentimental reasons, only to preserve the salmon industry. the farmer saves wheat for his next year's seeding, instead of selling the last bushel to the millers. no man willfully kills the goose that lays him golden eggs. but the salmon hunter, eagerly pursuing the nimble dollar, sometimes grows rapacious in the chase and breaks laws of his own devising,--if a big haul promises and no fisheries inspector is by to restrain him. the cannery purse seiners are the most frequent offenders. they can make their haul quickly in forbidden waters and get away. folly bay, shrewdly paying its seine crews a bonus per fish on top of wages, had always been notorious for crowding the law. solomon river takes its rise in the mountainous backbone of vancouver island. it is a wide, placid stream on its lower reaches, flowing through low, timbered regions, emptying into the gulf in a half-moon bay called the jew's mouth, which is a perfect shelter from the gulf storms and the only such shelter in thirty miles of bouldery shore line. the beach runs northwest and southeast, bleak and open, undented. in all that stretch there is no point from behind which a fisheries patrol launch could steal unexpectedly into the jew's mouth. upon a certain afternoon the _blackbird_ lay therein. at her stern, fast by light lines to her after bitts, clung half a dozen fish boats, blue wisps of smoke drifting from the galley stovepipes, the fishermen variously occupied. the _blackbird's_ hold was empty except for ice. she was waiting for fish, and the _bluebird_ was due on the same errand the following day. nearer shore another cluster of gill-netters was anchored, a jap or two, and a siwash indian with his hull painted a gaudy blue. and in the middle of the jew's mouth, which was a scant six hundred yards across at its widest, the _folly bay no. _ swung on her anchor chain. a tubby cannery tender lay alongside. the crews were busy with picaroons forking salmon out of the seiner into the tender's hold. the flip-flop of the fish sounded distinctly in that quiet place. their silver bodies flashed in the sun as they were thrown across the decks. when the tender drew clear and passed out of the bay she rode deep with the weight of salmon aboard. without the jew's mouth, around the _blackbird_ and the fish boats and the _no. _ the salmon were threshing water. _klop._ a flash of silver. bubbles. a series of concentric rings that ran away in ripples, till they merged into other widening rings. they were everywhere. the river was full of them. the bay was alive with them. a boat put off from the seiner. the man rowed out of the jew's mouth and stopped, resting on his oars. he remained there, in approximately the same position. a sentry. the _no. _ heaved anchor, the chain clanking and chattering in a hawsepipe. her exhaust spat smoky, gaseous fumes. a bell clanged. she moved slowly ahead, toward the river's mouth, a hundred yards to one side of it. then the brown web of the seine began to spin out over the stern. she crossed the mouth of the solomon, holding as close in as her draft permitted, and kept on straight till her seine was paid out to the end. then she stopped, lying still in dead water with her engine idling. the tide was on the flood. salmon run streams on a rising tide. and the seine stood like a wall across the river's mouth. every man watching knew what the seiner was about, in defiance of the law. the salmon, nosing into the stream, driven by that imperative urge which is the law of their being, struck the net, turned aside, swam in a slow circle and tried again and again, seeking free passage, until thousands of them were massed behind the barrier of the net. then the _no. _ would close the net, tauten the ropes which made it a purse, and haul out into deep water. it was the equivalent of piracy on the high seas. to be taken in the act meant fines, imprisonment, confiscation of boat and gear. but the _no. _ would not be caught. she had a guard posted. cannery seiners were never caught. when they were they got off with a warning and a reprimand. only gill-netters, the small fry of the salmon industry, ever paid the utmost penalty for raids like that. so the fishermen said, with a cynical twist of their lips. "look at 'em," one said to macrae. "they make laws and break 'em themselves. they been doin' that every day for a week. if one of us set a piece of net in the river and took three hundred salmon the canners would holler their heads off. there'd be a patrol boat on our heels all the time if they thought we'd take a chance." "well, i'm about ready to take a chance," another man growled. "they clear the bay in daylight and all we get is their leavings at night." the _no. _ pursed her seine and hauled out until she was abreast of the _blackbird_. she drew close up to her massive hull a great heap of salmon, struggling, twisting, squirming within the net. the loading began. her men laughed and shouted as they worked. the gill-net fishermen watched silently, scowling. it was like taking bread out of their mouths. it was like an honest man restrained by a policeman's club from taking food when he is hungry, and seeing a thief fill his pockets and walk off unmolested. "four thousand salmon that shot," dave mullen said, the same mullen who had talked to macrae in squitty one night. "say, why should we stand for that? we can get salmon that way too." he spoke directly to macrae. "what's sauce for the goose ought to be sauce for the gander," macrae replied. "i'll take the fish if you get them." "you aren't afraid of getting in wrong yourself?" the man asked him. macrae shook his head. he did not lean to lawlessness. but the cannery men had framed this law. they cried loudly and continually for its strict enforcement. and they violated it flagrantly themselves, or winked at its violation when that meant an added number of cases to their pack. not alone in the jew's mouth; all along the british columbia coast the purse seiners forgot the law when the salmon swarmed in a stream mouth and they could make a killing. only canneries could hold a purse-seine license. if the big men would not honor their own law, why should the lesser? so macrae felt and said. the men in the half-dozen boats about his stern had dealt all the season with macrae. they trusted him. they neither liked nor trusted folly bay. folly bay was not only breaking the law in the jew's mouth, but in breaking the law they were making it hard for these men to earn a dollar legitimately. superior equipment, special privilege, cold-blooded violation of law because it was safe and profitable, gave the purse seiner an unfair advantage. the men gathered in a little knot on the deck of one boat. they put their heads together and lowered their voices. macrae knew they were angry, that they had reached the point of fighting fire with fire. and he smiled to himself. he did not know what they were planning, but he could guess. it would not be the first time the individual fishermen had kicked over the traces and beaten the purse seiners at their own game. they did not include him in their council. he was a buyer. it was not his function to inquire how they took their fish. if they could take salmon which otherwise the _no. _ would take, so much the worse for folly bay,--and so much the better for the fishermen, who earned their living precariously at best. it was dusk when the purse seiner finished loading her catch and stowed the great net in a dripping heap on the turntable aft. at daylight or before, a cannery tender would empty her, and she would sweep the jew's mouth bare of salmon again. with dusk also the fishermen were busy over their nets, still riding to the _blackbird's_ stern. then they moved off in the dark. macrae could hear nets paying out. he saw lanterns set to mark the outer end of each net. silence fell on the bay. a single riding light glowed at the _no. 's_ masthead. her cabin lights blinked out. her crew sprawled in their bunks, sound asleep. under cover of the night the fishermen took pattern from the seiner's example. a gill net is nine hundred feet long, approximately twenty feet deep. they stripped the cork floats off one and hung it to the lead-line of another. thus with a web forty feet deep they went stealthily up to the mouth of the solomon. with a four-oared skiff manning each end of the nine hundred-foot length they swept their net around the jew's mouth, closed it like a purse seine, and hauled it out into the shallows of a small beach. they stood in the shallow water with sea boots on and forked the salmon into their rowboats and laid the rowboats alongside the _blackbird_ to deliver,--all in the dark without a lantern flicker, with muffled oarlocks and hushed voices. three times they swept the bay. at five in the morning, before it was lightening in the east, the _blackbird_ rode four inches below her load water line with a mixed cargo of coho and dog salmon, the heaviest cargo ever stowed under her hatches,--and eight fishermen divided two thousand dollars share and share alike for their night's work. macrae battened his hatch covers, started his engine, heaved up the hook, and hauled out of the bay. in the gulf the obscuring clouds parted to lay a shaft of silver on smooth, windless sea. the _blackbird_ wallowed down the moon-trail. macrae stood at the steering wheel. beside him steve ferrara leaned on the low cabin. "she's getting day," steve said, after a long silence. he chuckled. "some raid. if they can keep that lick up those boys will all have new boats for next season. you'll break old gower if you keep on, jack." the thought warmed macrae. to break gower, to pull him down to where he must struggle for a living like other common men, to deprive him of the power he had abused, to make him suffer as such a man would suffer under that turn of fortune,--that would help to square accounts. it would be only a measure of justice. to be dealt with as he had dealt with others,--macrae asked no more than that for himself. but it was not likely, he reflected. one bad season would not seriously involve a wary old bird like horace gower. he was too secure behind manifold bulwarks. still in the end,--more spectacular things had come to pass in the affairs of men on this kaleidoscopic coast. macrae's face was hard in the moonlight. his eyes were somber. it was an ugly feeling to nurse. for thirty years that sort of impotent bitterness must have rankled in his father's breast--with just cause, macrae told himself moodily. no wonder old donald had been a grave and silent man; a just, kindly, generous man, too. other men had liked him, respected him. gower alone had been implacable. well into the red and yellow dawn macrae stood at the wheel, thinking of this, an absent look in eyes which still kept keen watch ahead. he was glad when it came time for steve's watch on deck, and he could lie down and let sleep drive it out of his mind. he did not live solely to revenge himself upon horace gower. he had his own way to make and his own plans--even if they were still a bit nebulous--to fulfill. it was only now and then that the past saddened him and made him bitter. the week following brought great runs of salmon to the jew's mouth. of these the _folly bay no. _ somehow failed to get the lion's share. the gill-net men laughed in their soiled sleeves and furtively swept the bay clear each night and all night, and the daytime haul of the seine fell far below the average. the _blackbird_ and the _bluebird_ waddled down a placid gulf with all they could carry. and although there was big money-making in this short stretch, and the secret satisfaction of helping put another spoke in gower's wheel, macrae did not neglect the rest of his territory nor the few trollers that still worked squitty island. he ran long hours to get their few fish. it was their living, and macrae would not pass them up because their catch meant no profit compared to the time he spent and the fuel he burned making this round. he would drive straight up the gulf from bellingham to squitty, circle the island and then across to the mouth of the solomon. the weather was growing cool now. salmon would keep unspoiled a long time in a trailer's hold. it did not matter to him whether it was day or night around squitty. he drove his carrier into any nook or hole where a troller might lie waiting with a few salmon. the _blackbird_ came pitching and diving into a heavy southeast swell up along the western side of squitty at ten o'clock in the black of an early october night. there was a storm brewing, a wicked one, reckoned by the headlong drop of the aneroid. macrae had a hundred or so salmon aboard for all his squitty round, and he had yet to pick up those on the boats in the cove. he cocked his eye at a cloud-wrack streaking above, driving before a wind which had not yet dropped to the level of the gulf, and he said to himself that it would be wise to stay in the cove that night. a southeast gale, a beam sea, and the tiny opening of the jew's mouth was a bad combination to face in a black night. as he stood up along squitty he could hear the swells break along the shore. now and then a cold puff of air, the forerunner of the big wind, struck him. driving full speed the _blackbird_ dipped her bow deep in each sea and rose dripping to the next. he passed cradle bay at last, almost under the steep cliffs, holding in to round poor man's rock and lay a compass course to the mouth of squitty cove. and as he put his wheel over and swept around the rock and came clear of point old a shadowy thing topped by three lights in a red and green and white triangle seemed to leap at him out of the darkness. the lights showed, and under the lights white water hissing. macrae threw his weight on the wheel. he shouted to steve ferrara, lying on his bunk in the little cabin aft. he knew the boat instantly,--the _arrow_ shooting through the night at twenty miles an hour, scurrying to shelter under the full thrust of her tremendous power. for an appreciable instant her high bow loomed over him, while his hands twisted the wheel. but the _blackbird_ was heavy, sluggish on her helm. she swung a little, from square across the rushing _arrow_, to a slight angle. two seconds would have cleared him. by the rules of the road at sea the _blackbird_ had the right of way. if macrae had held by the book this speeding mass of mahogany and brass and steel would have cut him in two amidships. as it was, her high bow, the stem shod with a cast bronze cutwater edged like a knife, struck him on the port quarter, sheared through guard, planking, cabin. there was a crash of riven timbers, the crunching ring of metal, quick oaths, a cry. the _arrow_ scarcely hesitated. she had cut away nearly the entire stern works of the _blackbird_. but such was her momentum that the shock barely slowed her up. her hull bumped the _blackbird_ aside. she passed on. she did not even stand by to see what she had done. there was a sound of shouting on her decks, but she kept on. macrae could have stepped aboard her as she brushed by. her rail was within reach of his hand. but that did not occur to him. steve ferrara was asleep in the cabin, in the path of that destroying stem. for a stunned moment macrae stood as the _arrow_ drew clear. the _blackbird_ began to settle under his feet. macrae dived down the after companion. he went into water to his waist. his hands, groping blindly, laid hold of clothing, a limp body. he struggled back, up, gained the deck, dragging steve after him. the _blackbird_ was deep by the holed stern now, awash to her after fish hatch. she rose slowly, like a log, on each swell. only the buoyancy of her tanks and timbers kept her from the last plunge. there was a light skiff bottom up across her hatches by the steering wheel. macrae moved warily toward that, holding to the bulwark with one hand, dragging steve with the other lest a sea sweep them both away. he noticed, with his brain functioning unruffled, that the _arrow_ drove headlong into cradle bay. he could hear her exhaust roaring. he could still hear shouting. and he could see also that the wind and the tide and the roll of the swells carried the water-logged hulk of the _blackbird_ in the opposite direction. she was past the rock, but she was edging shoreward, in under the granite walls that ran between point old and the cove. he steadied himself, keeping his hold on steve, and reached for the skiff. as his fingers touched it a comber flung itself up out of the black and shot two feet of foam and green water across the swamped hull. it picked up the light cedar skiff like a chip and cast it beyond his reach and beyond his sight. and as he clung to the cabin pipe-rail, drenched with the cold sea, he heard that big roller burst against the shore very near at hand. he saw the white spray lift ghostly in the black. macrae held his hand over steve's heart, over his mouth to feel if he breathed. then he got steve's body between his legs to hold him from slipping away, and bracing himself against the sodden lurch of the wreck, began to take off his clothes. chapter xii between sun and sun walking when he could, crawling on hands and knees when his legs buckled under him, macrae left a blood-sprinkled trail over grass and moss and fallen leaves. he lived over and over that few minutes which had seemed so long, in which he had been battered against broken rocks, in which he had clawed over weedy ledges armored with barnacles that cut like knives, hauling steve ferrara's body with him so that it should not become the plaything of the tides. macrae was no stranger to death. he had seen it in many terrible forms. he had heard the whistle of the invisible scythe that cuts men down. he knew that steve was dead when he dragged him at last out of the surf, up where nothing but high-flung drops of spray could reach him. he left him there on a mossy ledge, knowing that he could do nothing more for steve ferrara and that he must do something for himself. so he came at last to the end of that path which led to his own house and crept and stumbled up the steps into the deeper darkness of those hushed, lonely rooms. macrae knew he had suffered no vital hurt, no broken bones. but he had been fearfully buffeted among those sea-drenched rocks, bruised from head to foot, shocked by successive blows. he had spent his strength to keep the sea from claiming steve. he had been unmercifully slashed by the barnacles. he was weak from loss of blood, and he was bleeding yet, in oozy streams,--face, hands, shoulders, knees, wherever those lance-edged shells had raked his flesh. he was sick and dizzy. but he could still think and act. he felt his way to matches on a kitchen shelf, staggered into his bedroom, lit a lamp. out of a dresser drawer he took clean white cloth, out of another carbolic acid. he got himself a basin of water. he sat down on the edge of his bed. as he tore the first strip of linen things began to swim before his eyes. he sagged back on a pillow. the room and the lamp and all that was near him blended in a misty swirl. he had the extraordinary sensation of floating lightly in space that was quiet and profoundly dark--and still he was cloudily aware of footsteps ringing hollow on the bare floor of the other room. he became aware--as if no interval had elapsed--of being moved, of hands touching him, of a stinging sensation of pain which he understood to be the smarting of the cuts in his flesh. but time must have gone winging by, he knew, as his senses grew clearer. he was stripped of his sodden, bloody undershirt and overalls, partly covered by his blanket. he could feel bandages on his legs, on one badly slashed arm. he made out betty gower's face with its unruly mass of reddish-brown hair and two rose spots of color glowing on her smooth cheeks. there was also a tall young man, coatless, showing a white expanse of flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled above his elbows. macrae could only see this out of one corner of his eye, for he was being turned gently over on his face. weak and passive as he was, the firm pressure of betty's soft hands on his skin gave him a curiously pleasant sensation. he heard her draw her breath sharply and make some exclamation as his bare back turned to the light. "this chap has been to the wars, eh, miss gower?" he heard the man say. "those are machine-gun marks, i should say--close range, too. i saw plenty of that after the argonne." "such scars. how could a man live with holes like that through his body?" betty said. "he was in the air force." "some hun got in a burst of fire on him, sometime, then," the man commented. "didn't get him, either, or he wouldn't be here. why, two or three bullet holes like that would only put a fellow out for a few weeks. look at him," he tapped macrae's back with a forefinger. "shoulders and chest and arms like a champion middle weight ready to go twenty rounds. and you can bet all your pin money, miss gower, that this man's heart and lungs and nerves are away above par or he would never have got his wings. takes a lot to down those fellows. looks in bad shape now, doesn't he? all cut and bruised and exhausted. but he'll be walking about day after to-morrow. a little stiff and sore, but otherwise well enough." "i wish he'd open his eyes and speak," betty said. "how can you tell? he may be injured internally." the man chuckled. he did not cease work as he talked. he was using a damp cloth, with a pungent medicated smell. dual odors familiar to every man who has ever been in hospital assailed macrae's nostrils. wherever that damp cloth touched a cut it burned. macrae listened drowsily. he had not the strength or the wish to do anything else. "heart action's normal. respiration and temperature, ditto," he heard above him. "unconsciousness is merely natural reaction from shock, nerve strain, loss of blood. you can guess what sort of fight he must have made in those breakers. if you were a sawbones, miss gower, you wouldn't be uneasy. i'll stake my professional reputation on his injuries being superficial. quite enough to knock a man out, i grant. but a physique of this sort can stand a tremendous amount of strain without serious effect. hand me that adhesive, will you, please?" there was an air of unreality about the whole proceeding in macrae's mind. he wondered if he would presently wake up in his bunk opposite steve and find that he had been dreaming. yet those voices, and the hands that shifted him tenderly, and the pyjama coat that was slipped on him at last, were not the stuff of dreams. no, the lights of the _arrow_, the smash of the collision, the tumbling seas which had flung him against the rocks, the dead weight of steve's body in his bleeding arms, were not illusions. he opened his eyes when they turned him on his back. "well, old man, how do you feel?" betty's companion asked genially. "all right," macrae said briefly. he found that speech required effort. his mind worked clearly enough, but his tongue was uncertain, his voice low-pitched, husky. he turned his eyes on betty. she tried to smile. but her lips quivered in the attempt. macrae looked at her curiously. but he did not say anything. in the face of accomplished facts, words were rather futile. he closed his eyes again, only to get a mental picture of the _arrow_ leaping at him out of the gloom, the thunder of the swells bursting against the foot of the cliffs, of steve lying on that ledge alone. but nothing could harm steve. storm and cold and pain and loneliness were nothing to him, now. he heard betty speak. "can we do anything more?" "um--no," the man answered. "not for some time, anyway." "then i wish you would go back to the house and tell them," betty said. "they'll be worrying. i'll stay here." "i suppose it would be as well," he agreed. "i'll come back." "there's no need for either of you to stay here," macrae said wearily. "you've stopped the bleeding, and you can't do any more. go home and go to bed. i'm as well alone." there was a brief interval of silence. macrae heard footsteps crossing the floor, receding, going down the steps. he opened his eyes. betty gower sat on a low box by his bed, her hands in her lap, looking at him wistfully. she leaned a little toward him. "i'm awfully sorry," she whispered. "so was the little boy who cut off his sister's thumb with the hatchet," macrae muttered. "but that didn't help sister's thumb. if you'll run down to old peter ferrara's house and tell him what has happened, and then go home yourself, we'll call it square." "i have already done that," betty said. "dolly is away. the fishermen are bringing steve ferrara's body to his uncle's house. they are going to try to save what is left of your boat." "it is kind of you, i'm sure, to pick up the pieces," macrae gibed. "i _am_ sorry," the girl breathed. "after the fact. belting around a point in the dark at train speed, regardless of the rules of the road. destroying a valuable boat, killing a man. property is supposed to be sacred--if life has no market value. were you late for dinner?" in his anger he made a quick movement with his arms, flinging the blanket off, sending intolerable pangs through his bruised and torn body. betty rose and bent over him, put the blanket back silently, tucked him in like a mother settling the cover about a restless child. she did not say anything for a minute. she stood over him, nervously plucking bits of lint off the blanket. her eyes grew wet. "i don't blame you for feeling that way," she said at last. "it was a terrible thing. you had the right of way. i don't know why or how robertson let it happen. he has always been a careful navigator. the nearness when he saw you under his bows must have paralyzed him, and with our speed--oh, it isn't any use, i know, to tell you how sorry i am. that won't bring that poor boy back to life again. it won't--" "you killed him--your kind of people--twice," macrae said thickly. "once in france, where he risked his life--all he had to risk--so that you and your kind should continue to have ease and security. he came home wheezing and strangling, suffering all the pains of death without death's relief. and when he was beginning to think he had another chance you finish him off. but that's nothing. a mere incident. why should you care? the country is full of ferraras. what do they matter? men of no social or financial standing, men who work with their hands and smell of fish. if it's a shock to you to see one man dead and another cut and bloody, think of the numbers that suffer as great pains and hardships that you know nothing about--and wouldn't care if you did. you couldn't be what you are and have what you have if they didn't. sorry! sympathy is the cheapest thing in the market, cheaper than salmon. you can't help steve ferrara with that--not now. don't waste any on me. i don't need it. i resent it. you may need it all for your own before i get through. i--i am--" macrae's voice trailed off into an incoherent murmur. he seemed to be floating off into those dark shadowy spaces again. in reality he was exhausted. a man with his veins half emptied of blood cannot get in a passion without a speedy reaction. macrae went off into an unconscious state which gradually became transformed into natural, healthy sleep, the deep slumber of utter exhaustion. at intervals thereafter he was hazily aware of some one beside him, of soft hands that touched him. once he wakened to find the room empty, the lamp turned low. in the dim light and the hush the place seemed unutterably desolate and forsaken, as if he were buried in a crypt. when he listened he could hear the melancholy drone of the southeaster and the rumble of the surf, two sounds that fitted well his mood. he felt a strange relief when betty came tiptoeing in from the kitchen. she bent over him. macrae closed his eyes and slept again. he awakened at last, alert, refreshed, free of that depression which had rested so heavily on him. and he found that weariness had caught betty gower in its overpowering grip. she had drawn her box seat up close beside him. her body had drooped until her arms rested on the side of the bed, and her head rested on her arms. macrae found one of his hands caught tight in both hers. she was asleep, breathing lightly, regularly. he twisted his stiffened neck to get a better look at her. he could only see one side of her face, and that he studied a long time. pretty and piquant, still it was no doll's face. there was character in that firm mouth and round chin. betty had a beautiful skin. that had been macrae's first impression of her, the first time he saw her. and she had a heavy mass of reddish-brown hair that shone in the sunlight with a decided wave in it which always made it seem unruly, about to escape from its conventional arrangement. macrae made no attempt to free his hand. he was quite satisfied to let it be. the touch of her warm flesh against his stirred him a little, sent his mind straying off into strange channels. queer that the first woman to care for him when he crept wounded and shaken to the shelter of his own roof should be the daughter of his enemy. for macrae could not otherwise regard horace gower. anything short of that seemed treason to the gray old man who had died in the next room, babbling of his son and the west wind and some one he called bessie. macrae's eyes blurred unexpectedly. what a damned shame things had to be the way they were. behind this girl, who was in herself lovely and desirable as a woman should be, loomed the pudgy figure of her father, ruthless, vindictively unjust. gower hadn't struck at him openly; but that, macrae believed, was merely for lack of suitable opening. but that did not keep jack macrae from thinking--what every normal man begins to think, or rather to feel, soon or late--that he is incomplete, insufficient, without some particular woman to love him, upon whom to bestow love. it was like a revelation. he caught himself wishing that betty would wake up and smile at him, bend over him with a kiss. he stared up at the shadowy roof beams, feeling the hot blood leap to his face at the thought. there was an uncanny magic in the nearness of her, a lure in the droop of her tired body. and macrae struggled against that seduction. yet he could not deny that betty gower, innocently sleeping with his hand fast in hers, filled him with visions and desires which had never before focused with such intensity on any woman who had come his way. mysteriously she seemed absolved of all blame for being a gower, for any of the things the gower clan had done to him and his, even to the misfortune of that night which had cost a man his life. "it isn't _her_ fault," macrae said to himself. "but, lord, i wish she'd kept away from here, if _this_ sort of thing is going to get me." what _this_ was he did not attempt to define. he did not admit that he was hovering on the brink of loving betty gower--it seemed an incredible thing for him to do--but was vividly aware that she had kindled an incomprehensible fire in him, and he suspected, indeed he feared with a fear that bordered on spiritual shrinking, that it would go on glowing after she was gone. and she would go presently. this spontaneous rushing to his aid was merely what a girl like that, with generous impulses and quick sympathy, would do for any one in dire need. she would leave behind her an inescapable longing, an emptiness, a memory of sweetly disturbing visions. macrae seemed to see with remarkable clarity and sureness that he would be penalized for yielding to that bewitching fancy. by what magic had she so suddenly made herself a shining figure in a golden dream? some necromancy of the spirit, invisible but wonderfully potent? or was it purely physical,--the soft reddish-brown of her hair; her frank gray eyes, very like his own; the marvelous, smooth clearness and coloring of her skin; her voice, that was given to soft cadences? he did not know. no man ever quite knows what positive qualities in a woman can make his heart leap. macrae was no wiser than most. but he was not prone to cherish illusions, to deceive himself. he had imagination. that gave him a key to many things which escape a sluggish mind. "well," he said to himself at last, with a fatalistic humor, "if it comes that way, it comes. if i am to be the goat, i shall be, and that's all there is to it." under his breath he cursed horace gower deeply and fervently, and he was not conscious of anything incongruous in that. and then he lay very thoughtful and a little sad, his eyes on the smooth curve of betty's cheek swept by long brown lashes, the corner of a red mouth made for kissing. his fingers were warm in hers. he smiled sardonically at a vagrant wish that they might remain there always. whom the gods would destroy they first make mad. macrae wondered if the gods thus planned his destruction? a tremulous sigh warned him. he shut his eyes, feigned sleep. he felt rather than saw betty sit up with a start, release his hand. then very gently she moved that arm back under the blanket, reached across him and patted the covers close about his body, stood looking down at him. and macrae stirred, opened his eyes. "what time is it?" he asked. she looked at a wrist watch. "four o'clock." she shivered. "you've been here all this time without a fire. you're chilled through. why didn't you go home? you should go now." "i have been sitting here dozing," she said. "i wasn't aware of the cold until now. but there is wood and kindling in the kitchen, and i am going to make a fire. aren't you hungry?" "starving," he said. "but there is nothing to eat in the house. it has been empty for months." "there is tea," she said. "i saw some on a shelf. i'll make a cup of that. it will be something warm, refreshing." macrae listened to her at the kitchen stove. there was the clink of iron lids, the smell of wood smoke, the pleasant crackle of the fire. presently she came in with two steaming cups. "i have a faint recollection of talking wild and large a while ago," macrae remarked. indeed, it seemed hazy to him now. "did i say anything nasty?" "yes," she replied frankly; "perhaps the sting of what you said lay in its being partly true. a half truth is sometimes a deadly weapon. i wonder if you do really hate us as much, as your manner implied--and why?" "us. who?" macrae asked. "my father and me," she put it bluntly. "what makes you think i do?" macrae asked. "because i have set up a fierce competition in a business where your father has had a monopoly so long that he thinks this part of the gulf belongs to him? because i resent your running down one of my boats? because i go about my affairs in my own way, regardless of gower interests?" "what do these things amount to?" betty answered impatiently. "it's in your manner, your attitude. sometimes it even shows in your eyes. it was there the morning i came across you sitting on point old, the day after the armistice was signed. i've danced with you and seen you look at me as if--as if," she laughed self-consciously, "you would like to wring my neck. i have never done anything to create a dislike of that sort. i have never been with you without being conscious that you were repressing something, out of--well, courtesy, i suppose. there is a peculiar tension about you whenever my father is mentioned. i'm not a fool," she finished, "even if i happen to be one of what you might call the idle rich. what is the cause of this bad blood?" "what does it matter?" macrae parried. "there is something, then?" she persisted. macrae turned his head away. he couldn't tell her. it was not wholly his story to tell. how could he expect her to see it, to react to it as he did? a matter involving her father and mother, and his father. it was not a pretty tale. he might be influenced powerfully in a certain direction by the account of it passed on by old donald macrae; he might be stirred by the backwash of those old passions, but he could not lay bare all that to any one--least of all to betty gower. and still macrae, for the moment, was torn between two desires. he retained the same implacable resentment toward gower, and he found himself wishing to set gower's daughter apart and outside the consequences of that ancient feud. and that, he knew, was trying to reconcile the irreconcilable. it couldn't be done. "was the _arrow_ holed in the crash?" betty stood staring at him. she blinked. her fingers began again that nervous plucking at the blanket. but her face settled presently into its normal composure and she answered evenly. "rather badly up forward. she was settling fast when they beached her in the bay." "and then," she continued after a pause, "doctor wallis and i got ashore as quickly as we could. we got a lantern and came along the cliffs. and two of the men took our big lifeboat and rowed along near the shore. they found the _blackbird_ pounding on the rocks, and we found steve ferrara where you left him. and we followed you here by the blood you spattered along the way." a line from the rhyme of the three sealers came into macrae's mind as befitting. but he was thinking of his father and not so much of himself as he quoted: "'sorrow is me, in a lonely sea, and a sinful fight i fall.'" "i'm afraid i don't quite grasp that," betty said. "although i know kipling too, and could supply the rest of those verses. i'm afraid i don't understand." "it isn't likely that you ever will," macrae answered slowly. "it is not necessary that you should." their voices ceased. in the stillness the whistle of the wind and the deep drone of the seas shattering themselves on the granite lifted a dreary monotone. and presently a quick step sounded on the porch. doctor wallis came hurriedly in. "upon my soul," he said apologetically. "i ought to be shot, miss grower. i got everybody calmed down over at the cottage and chased them all to bed. then i sat down in a soft chair before that cheerful fire in your living room. and i didn't wake up for hours. you must be worn out." "that's quite all right," betty assured him. "don't be conscience-stricken. did mamma have hysterics?" wallis grinned cheerfully. "well, not quite," he drawled. "at any rate, all's quiet along the potomac now. how's the patient getting on?" "i'm o.k.," macrae spoke for himself, "and much obliged to you both for tinkering me up. miss gower ought to go home." "i think so myself," wallis said. "i'll take her across the point. then i'll come back and have another look over you." "it isn't necessary," macrae declared. "barring a certain amount of soreness i feel fit enough. i suppose i could get up and walk now if i had to. go home and go to bed, both of you." "good night, or perhaps it would be better to say good morning." betty gave him her hand. "pleasant dreams." it seemed to macrae that there was a touch of reproach, a hint of the sardonic in her tone and words. then he was alone in the quiet house, with his thoughts for company, and the distant noises of the storm muttering in the outer darkness. they were not particularly pleasant processes of thought. the sins of the fathers shall be visited even unto the third and fourth generation. why, in the name of god, should they be, he asked himself? betty gower liked him. she had been trying to tell him so. macrae felt that. he did not question too closely the quality of the feeling for her which had leaped up so unexpectedly. he was afraid to dig too deep. he had got a glimpse of depths and eddies that night which if they did not wholly frighten him, at least served to confuse him. they were like flint and steel, himself and betty gower. they could not come together without striking sparks. and a man may long to warm himself by fire, macrae reflected gloomily, but he shrinks from being burned. chapter xiii an interlude at daybreak peter ferrara came to the house. "how are you?" he asked. "sore. wobbly." macrae had tried his legs and found them wanting. "it was a bad night all round, eh, lad?" peter rumbled in his rough old voice. "some of the boys got a line on the _blackbird_ and hauled what was left of her around into the cove. but she's a ruin. the engine went to pieces while she was poundin' on the rocks. steve lays in the house. he looks peaceful--as if he was glad to be through." "i couldn't save him. it was done like that." macrae snapped his fingers. "i know," old peter said. "you're not to blame. perhaps nobody is. them things happen. manuel'll feel it. he's lost both sons now. but steve's better off. he'd 'a' died of consumption or something, slow an' painful. his lungs was gone. i seen him set for weeks on the porch wheezin' after he come home. he didn't get no pleasure livin'. he said once a bullet would 'a' been mercy. no, don't worry about steve. we all come to it soon or late, john. it's never a pity for the old or the crippled to die." "you old spartan," macrae muttered. "what's that?" peter asked. but macrae did not explain. he asked about dolly instead. "she was up to potter's landing. i sent for her and she's back," peter told him. "she'll be up to see you presently. there's no grub in the house, is there? can you eat? well, take it easy, lad." an hour or so later dolly ferrara brought him a steaming breakfast on a tray. she sat talking to him while he ate. "gower will have to pay for the _blackbird_, won't he?" she asked. "the fishermen say so." "if he doesn't in one way he will another," macrae answered indifferently. "but that doesn't help steve. the boat doesn't matter. one can build boats. you can't bring a man back to life when he's dead." "if steve could talk he'd say he didn't care," dolly declared sadly. "you know he wasn't getting much out of living, jack. there was nothing for him to look forward to but a few years of discomfort and uncertainty. a man who has been strong and active rebels against dying by inches. steve told me--not so very long ago--that if something would finish him off quickly he would be glad." if that had been steve's wish, macrae thought, then fate had hearkened to him. he knew it was true. he had lived at elbows with steve all summer. steve never complained. he was made of different stuff. it was only a gloomy consolation, after all, to think of steve as being better off. macrae knew how men cling to life, even when it has lost all its savor. there is that imperative will-to-live which refuses to be denied. dolly went away. after a time wallis came over from the cottage at cradle bay. he was a young and genial medico from seattle, who had just returned from service with the american forces overseas, and was holidaying briefly before he took up private practice again. he had very little more than a casual interest in macrae, however, and he did not stay long once he had satisfied himself that his patient had little further need of professional services. and macrae, who was weaker than he expected to find himself, rested in his bed until late afternoon brought bars of sunlight streaming through openings in the cloud bank which still ran swift before the wind. then he rose, dressed, made his way laboriously and painfully down to the cove's edge and took a brief look at the hull of the _blackbird_ sunk to her deck line, her rail and cabins broken and twisted. after that he hailed a fisherman, engaged him to go across to solomon river and apprise the _bluebird_. that accomplished he went back to the house. thereafter he spent days lying on his bed, resting in a big chair before the fireplace while his wounds healed and his strength came back to him, thinking, planning, chafing at inaction. there was a perfunctory inquest, after which steve's body went away to hidalgo island to rest beside the bodies of other ferraras in a plot of ground their grandfather had taken for his own when british columbia was a crown colony. macrae carried insurance on both his carriers. there was no need for him to move against gower in the matter. the insurance people would attend efficiently to that. the adjusters came, took over the wreck, made inquiries. macrae made his formal claim, and it was duly paid. but long before the payment was made he was at work, he and vin ferrara together, on the _bluebird_, plowing the gulf in stormy autumn weather. the season was far gone, the salmon run slackening to its close. it was too late to equip another carrier. the cohoes were gone. the dog salmon, great-toothed, slimy fish which are canned for european export--for cheap trade, which nevertheless returned much profit to the canneries--were still running. macrae had taken ninety per cent. of the folly bay bluebacks. he had made tremendous inroads on folly bay's take of coho and humpback. he did not care greatly if gower filled his cans with "dogs." but the bellingham packers cried for salmon of whatsoever quality, and so macrae drove the _bluebird_ hard in a trade which gave him no great profit, chiefly to preserve his connection with the american canners, to harass folly bay, and to let the fishermen know that he was still a factor and could serve them well. he was sick of the smell of salmon, weary of the eternal heaving of the sea under his feet, of long cold tricks at the wheel, of days in somber, driving rain and nights without sleep. but he kept on until the salmon ceased to run, until the purse seiners tied up for the season, and the fishermen put by their gear. macrae had done well,--far better than he expected. his knife had cut both ways. he had eighteen thousand dollars in cash and the _bluebird_. the folly bay pack was twelve thousand cases short. how much that shortage meant in lost profit macrae could only guess, but it was a pretty sum. another season like that,--he smiled grimly. the next season would be better,--for him. the trollers were all for him. they went out of their way to tell him that. he had organized good will behind him. the men who followed the salmon schools believed he did not want the earth, only a decent share. he did not sit behind a mahogany desk in town and set the price of fish. these men had labored a long time under the weighty heel of a controlled industry, and they were thankful for a new dispensation. it gave macrae a pleasant feeling to know this. it gave him also something of a contempt for gower, who had sat tight with a virtual monopoly for ten years and along with his profits had earned the distrust and dislike of a body of men who might as easily have been loyal laborers in his watery vineyards,--if he had not used his power to hold them to the most meager return they could wring from the sea. he came home to the house at squitty cove with some odds and ends from town shops to make it more comfortable, flooring to replace the old, worn boards, a rug or two, pictures that caught his fancy, new cushions for the big chairs old donald macrae had fashioned by hand years before, a banjo to pick at, and a great box of books which he had promised to read some day when he had time. and he knew he would have time through long winter evenings when the land was drenched with rain, when the storm winds howled in the swaying firs and the sea beat clamorously along the cliffs. he would sit with his feet to a glowing fire and read books. he did, for a time. when late november laid down a constant barrage of rain and the cloud battalions marched and countermarched along the coast, macrae had settled down. he had no present care upon his shoulders. although he presumed himself to be resting, he was far from idle. he found many ways of occupying himself about the old place. it was his pleasure that the old log house should be neat within and without, the yard clean, the garden restored to order. it had suffered a season's neglect. he remedied that with a little labor and a little money, wishing, as the place took on a sprightlier air, that old donald could be there to see. macrae was frank in his affection for the spot. no other place that he had ever seen meant quite the same to him. he was always glad to come back to it; it seemed imperative that he should always come back there. it was home, his refuge, his castle. indeed he had seen castles across the sea from whose towers less goodly sights spread than he could command from his own front door, now that winter had stripped the maple and alder of their leafy screen. there was the sheltered cove at his feet, the far sweep of the gulf--colored according to its mood and the weather--great mountain ranges lifting sheer from blue water, their lower slopes green with forest and their crests white with snow. immensities of land and trees. all his environment pitched upon a colossal scale. it was good to look at, to live among, and macrae knew that it was good. he sat on a log at the brink of the cove one morning, in a burst of sunshine as grateful as it was rare. he looked out at the mainland shore, shading away from deep olive to a faint and misty blue. he cast his gaze along vancouver island, a three-hundred-mile barrier against the long roll of the pacific. he thought of england, with its scant area and its forty million souls. he smiled. an empire opened within range of his vision. he had had to go to europe to appreciate his own country. old, old peoples over there. outworn, bewildered aristocracies and vast populations troubled with the specter of want, swarming like rabbits, pressing always close upon the means of subsistence. no room; no chance. born in social stratas solidified by centuries. no wonder europe was full of race and class hatred, of war and pestilence. snap judgment,--but jack macrae had seen the peasants of france and belgium, the driven workmen of industrial france and england. he had seen also something of the forces which controlled them, caught glimpses of the iron hand in the velvet glove, a hand that was not so sure and steady as in days gone by. here a man still had a chance. he could not pick golden apples off the fir trees. he must use his brains as well as his hands. a reasonable measure of security was within a man's grasp if he tried for it. to pile up a fortune might be a heavy task. but getting a living was no insoluble problem. a man could accomplish either without selling his soul or cutting throats or making serfs of his fellow men. there was room to move and breathe,--and some to spare. perhaps jack macrae, in view of his feelings, his cherished projects, was a trifle inconsistent in the judgments he passed, sitting there on his log in the winter sunshine. but the wholly consistent must die young. their works do not appear in this day and hour. the normal man adjusts himself to, and his actions are guided by, moods and circumstances which are seldom orderly and logical in their sequence. macrae cherished as profound an animosity toward horace gower as any russian ever felt for bureaucratic tyranny. he could smart under injustice and plan reprisal. he could appreciate his environment, his opportunities, be glad that his lines were cast amid rugged beauty. but he did not on that account feel tolerant toward those whom he conceived to be his enemies. he was not, however, thinking concretely of his personal affairs or tendencies that bright morning. he was merely sitting more or less quiescent on his log, nursing vagrant impressions, letting the sun bathe him. he was not even conscious of trespassing on horace gower's land. when he thought of it, of course he realized that this was legally so. but the legal fact had no reality for macrae. between the cove and point old, for a mile back into the dusky woods, he felt free to come and go as he chose. he had always believed and understood and felt that area to be his, and he still held to that old impression. there was not a foot of that six hundred acres that he had not explored alone, with his father, with dolly ferrara, season after season. he had gone barefoot over the rocks, dug clams on the beaches, fished trout in the little streams, hunted deer and grouse in the thickets, as far back as he could remember. he had loved the cliffs and the sea, the woods around the cove with an affection bred in use and occupancy, confirmed by the sense of inviolate possession. old things are dear, if a man has once loved them. they remain so. the aura of beloved familiarity clings to them long after they have passed into alien hands. when macrae thought of this and turned his eyes upon this noble sweep of land and forest which his father had claimed for his own from the wilderness, it was as if some one had deprived him of an eye or an arm by trickery and unfair advantage. he was not glooming over such things this rare morning which had come like a benediction after ten days of rain and wind. he was sitting on his log bareheaded, filled with a passive content rare in his recent experience. from this perch, in the idle wandering of his gaze, his eyes at length rested upon peter ferrara's house. he saw a man and a woman come out of the front door and stand for a minute or two on the steps. he could not recognize the man at the distance, but he could guess. the man presently walked away around the end of the cove, macrae perceived that his guess was correct, for norman gower came out on the brow of the cliff that bordered the south side of the cove. he appeared a short distance away, walking slowly, his eyes on the cove and peter ferrara's house. he did not see macrae till he was quite close and glanced that way. "hello, macrae," he said. "how d' do," jack answered. there was no cordiality in his tone. if he had any desire at that moment it was not for speech with norman gower, but rather a desire that gower should walk on. but the other man sat down on macrae's log. "not much like over the pond, this," he remarked. "not much," macrae agreed indifferently. young gower took a cigarette case out of his pocket, extended it to macrae, who declined with a brief shake of his head. norman lighted a cigarette. he was short and stoutly built, a compact, muscular man somewhat older than macrae. he had very fair hair and blue eyes, and the rose-leaf skin of his mother had in him taken on a masculine floridity. but he had the gower mouth and determined chin. so had betty, macrae was reminded, looking at her brother. "you sank your harpoon pretty deep into folly bay this season," norman said abruptly. "did you do pretty well yourself?" "pretty well," macrae drawled. "did it worry you?" "me? hardly," young gower smiled. "it did not cost _me_ anything to operate folly bay at a loss while i was in charge. i had neither money nor reputation to lose. you may have worried the governor. i dare say you did. he never did take kindly to anything or any one that interfered with his projects. but i haven't heard him commit himself. he doesn't confide in me, anyway, nor esteem me very highly in any capacity. i wonder if your father ever felt that way about you?" "no," macrae said impulsively. "by god, no!" "lucky. and you came home with a record behind you. nothing to handicap you. you jumped into the fray to do something for yourself and made good right off the bat. there is such a thing as luck," norman said soberly. "a man can do his best--and fail. i have, so far. i was expected to come home a credit to the family, a hero, dangling medals on my manly chest. instead, i've lost caste with my own crowd. girls and fellows i used to know sneer at me behind my back. they put their tongues in their cheek and say i was a crafty slacker. i suppose you've heard the talk?" "no," macrae answered shortly; he had forgotten nelly abbott's questioning almost the first time he met her. "i don't run much with your crowd, anyway." "well, they can think what they damn please," young gower grumbled. "it's quite true that i was never any closer to the front than the dover cliffs. perhaps at home here in the beginning they handed me a captain's commission on the family pull. but i tried to deliver the goods. these people think i dodged the trenches. they don't know my eyesight spoiled my chances of going into action. i couldn't get to france. so i did my bit where headquarters told me i could do it or go home. and all i have got out of it is the veiled contempt of nearly everybody i know, my father included, for not killing germans with my own hands." macrae kept still. it was a curious statement. young gower twisted and ground his boot heel into the soft earth. "being a rich man's son has proved a considerable handicap in my case," he continued at last. "i was petted and coddled all my life. then the war came along. everybody expected a lot of me. and i am as good as excommunicated for not coming up to expectations. beautiful irony. if my eyes had been normal, i should be another of vancouver's heroes,--alive or dead. the spirit doesn't seem to count. the only thing that matters, evidently, is that i stayed on the safe side of the channel. they take it for granted that i did so because i valued my own skin above everything. idiots." "you can easily explain," macrae suggested. "i won't. i'd see them all in hades first," norman growled. "i'll admit it stings me to have people think so and rub it in, in their polite way. but i'm getting more or less indifferent. there are plenty of real people in england who know i did the only work i could do and did it well. do you imagine i fancied sitting on the side lines when all the fellows i knew were playing a tough game? but i can't go about telling that to people at home. i'll be damned if i will. a man has to learn to stand the gaff sometime, and the last year or so seems to be my period of schooling." "why tell all this to me?" macrae asked quietly. norman rose from the log. he chucked the butt of his cigarette away. he looked directly, rather searchingly, at macrae. "really, i don't know," he said in a flat, expressionless. then he walked on. macrae watched him pass out of sight among the thickets. young gower had succeeded in dispelling the passive contentment of basking in the sun. he had managed to start buzzing trains of not too agreeable reflection. macrae got to his feet before long and tramped back around the cove's head. he had known, of course, that the gowers still made more or less use of their summer cottage. but he had not come in personal contact with any of them since the night betty had given him that new, disturbing angle from which to view her. he had avoided her purposely. now he was afflicted with a sudden restlessness, a desire for other voices and faces besides his own, and so, as he was in the habit of doing when such a mood seized him, he went on to peter ferrara's house. he walked in through a wide-open door, unannounced by aught save his footsteps, as he was accustomed to do, and he found dolly ferrara and betty gower laughing and chatting familiarly in the kitchen over teacups and little cakes. "oh, i beg pardon," said he. "i didn't know you were entertaining." "i don't entertain, and you know it," dolly laughed. "come down from that lofty altitude and i'll give you a cup of tea." "mr. macrae, being an aviator of some note," betty put in, "probably finds himself at home in the high altitudes." "do i seem to be up in the air?" macrae inquired dryly. "i shall try to come down behind my own lines, and not in enemy territory." "you might have to make a forced landing," dolly remarked. her great dusky eyes rested upon him with a singular quality of speculation. macrae wondered if those two had been talking about him, and why. there was an astonishing contrast between these two girls, macrae thought, his mind and his eyes busy upon them while his tongue uttered idle words and his hands coped with a teacup and cakes. they were the product of totally dissimilar environments. they were the physical antithesis of each other,--in all but the peculiar feline grace of young females who are healthily, exuberantly alive. yet macrae had a feeling that they were sisters under their skins, wonderfully alike in their primary emotions. why, then, he wondered, should one be capable of moving him to violent emotional reactions (he had got that far in his self-admissions concerning betty gower), and the other move him only to a friendly concern and latterly a certain pity? certainly either one would quite justify a man in seeking her for his mate, if he found his natural instincts urging him along ways which macrae was beginning to perceive no normal man could escape traveling. and if he had to tread that road, why should it not have been his desire to tread it with dolly ferrara? that would have been so much simpler. with unconscious egotism he put aside norman gower as a factor. if he had to develop an unaccountable craving for some particular woman, why couldn't it have centered upon a woman he knew as well as he knew dolly, whose likes and dislikes, little tricks of speech and manner, habits of thought, all the inconsiderable traits that go to make up what we call personality, were pleasantly familiar? strange thoughts over a teacup, macrae decided. it seemed even more strange that he should be considering such intimately personal things in the very act of carrying on an impersonal triangular conversation; as if there were two of him present, one being occupied in the approved teacup manner while the other sat by speculating with a touch of moroseness upon distressingly important potentialities. this duality persisted in functioning even when betty looked at her watch and said, "i must go." he walked with her around to the head of the cove. he had not wanted to do that,--and still he did. he found himself filled with an intense and resentful curiosity about this calm, self-possessed young woman. he wondered if she really had any power to hurt him, if there resided in her any more potent charm than other women possessed, or if it were a mere sentimental befogging of his mind due to the physical propinquity of her at a time when he was weak and bruised and helpless. he could feel the soft warmth of her hands yet, and without even closing his eyes he could see her reddish-brown hair against the white of his bed covers and the tired droop of her body as she slept that night. curiously enough, before they were well clear of the ferrara house they had crossed swords. courteously, to be sure. macrae could not afterward recall clearly how it began,--something about the war and the after-effect of the war. british columbia nowise escaped the muddle into which the close of the war and the wrangle of the peacemakers had plunged both industry and politics. there had been a recent labor disturbance in vancouver in which demobilized soldiers had played a part. "you can't blame these men much. they're bewildered at some of the things they get up against, and exasperated by others. a lot of them have found the going harder at home than it was in france. a lot of promises and preachments don't fit in with performance since the guns have stopped talking. i suppose that doesn't seem reasonable to people like you," macrae found himself saying. "you don't have to gouge and claw a living out of the world. or at least, if there is any gouging and clawing to be done, you are not personally involved in it. you get it done by proxy." betty flushed slightly. "do you always go about with a chip on your shoulder?" she asked. "i should think you did enough fighting in france." "i learned to fight there," he said. "i was a happy-go-lucky kid before that. rich and poor looked alike to me. i didn't covet anything that anybody had, and i didn't dream that any one could possibly wish to take away from me anything that i happened to have. i thought the world was a kind and pleasant place for everybody. but things look a little different to me now. they sent us fellows to france to fight huns. but there are a few at home, i find. why shouldn't i fight them whenever i see a chance?" "but _i'm_ not a hun," betty said with a smile. "i'm not so sure about that." the words leaped out before he was quite aware of what they might imply. they had come to a point on the path directly in front of his house. betty stopped. her gray eyes flashed angrily. storm signals blazed in her cheeks, bright above the delicate white of her neck. "jack macrae," she burst out hotly, "you are a--a--a first-class idiot!" then she turned her back on him and went off up the path with a quick, springy step that somehow suggested extreme haste. macrae stood looking after her fully a minute. then he climbed the steps, went into the front room and sat himself down in a deep, cushioned chair. he glowered into the fireplace with a look as black as the charred remains of his morning fire. he uttered one brief word after a long period of fixed staring. "damn!" he said. it seemed a very inadequate manner of expressing his feelings, but it was the best he could do at the moment. he sat there until the chill discomfort of the room stirred him out of his abstraction. then he built a fire and took up a book to read. but the book presently lay unheeded on his knees. he passed the rest of the short forenoon sprawled in that big chair before the fireplace, struggling with chaotic mental processes. it made him unhappy, but he could not help it. a tremendous assortment of mental images presented themselves for inspection, flickering up unbidden out of his brain-stuff,--old visions and new, familiar things and vague, troublesome possibilities, all strangely jumbled together. his mind hopped from squitty cove to salisbury plain, to the valley of the rhone, to paris, london, vancouver, turned up all sorts of recollections, cameralike flashes of things that had happened to him, things he had seen in curious places, bits of his life in that somehow distant period when he was a youngster chumming about with his father. and always he came back to the gowers,--father, son and daughter, and the delicate elderly woman with the faded rose-leaf face whom he had seen only once. whole passages of donald macrae's written life story took form in living words. he could not disentangle himself from these gowers. and he hated them! dark came down at last. macrae went out on the porch. the few scattered clouds had vanished completely. a starry sky glittered above horizons edged by mountain ranges, serrated outlines astonishingly distinct. the sea spread duskily mysterious from duskier shores. it was very still, to macrae suddenly very lonely, empty, depressing. the knowledge that just across a narrow neck of land the gowers, father, daughter and son, went carelessly, securely about their own affairs, made him infinitely more lonely, irritated him, stirred up a burning resentment against the lot of them. he lumped them all together, despite a curious tendency on the part of betty's image to separate itself from the others. he hated them, the whole damned, profiteering, arrogant, butterfly lot. he nursed an unholy satisfaction in having made some inroad upon their comfortable security, in having "sunk his harpoon" into their only vulnerable spot. but that satisfaction did not give him relief or content as he stood looking out into the clear frost-tinged night. squitty had all at once become a ghostly place, haunted with sadness. old donald macrae was living over again in him, he had a feeling, reliving those last few cheerless, hopeless years which, macrae told himself savagely, horace gower had deliberately made more cheerless and hopeless. and he was in a fair way to love that man's flesh and blood? macrae sneered at himself in the dark. never to the point of staying his hand, of foregoing his purpose, of failing to strike a blow as chance offered. not so long as he was his father's son. "hang it, i'm getting morbid," macrae muttered at last. "i've been sticking around here too close. i'll pack a bag to-morrow and go to town for a while." he closed the door on the crisp, empty night, and set about getting himself something to eat. chapter xiv the swing of the pendulum macrae did himself rather well, as the english say, when he reached vancouver. this was a holiday, and he was disposed to make the most of it. he put up at the granada. he made a few calls and presently found himself automatically relaunched upon vancouver's social waters. there were a few maids and more than one matron who recalled pleasantly this straight up-standing youngster with the cool gray eyes who had come briefly into their ken the winter before. there were a few fellows he had known in squadron quarters overseas, home for good now that demobilization was fairly complete. macrae danced well. he had the faculty of making himself agreeable without effort. he found it pleasant to fall into the way of these careless, well-dressed folk whose greatest labor seemed to be in amusing themselves, to keep life from seeming "slow." buttressed by revenues derived from substantial sources, mines, timber, coastal fisheries, land, established industries, these sons and daughters of the pioneers, many but one degree removed from pioneering uncouthness, were patterning their lives upon the plan of equivalent classes in older regions. if it takes six generations in europe to make a gentleman, western america quite casually dispenses with five, and the resulting product seldom suffers by comparison. as the well-to-do in europe flung themselves into revelry with the signing of the armistice, so did they here. four years of war had corked the bottle of gayety. the young men were all overseas. life was a little too cloudy during that period to be gay. shadows hung over too many homes. but that was past. they had pulled the cork and thrown it away, one would think. pleasure was king, to be served with light abandon. it was a fairly vigorous place, macrae discovered. he liked it, gave himself up to it gladly,--for a while. it involved no mental effort. these people seldom spoke of money, or of work, or politics, the high cost of living, international affairs. if they did it was jocularly, sketchily, as matters of no importance. their talk ran upon dances, clothes, motoring, sports indoors and afield, on food,--and sometimes genially on drink, since the dry wave had not yet drained their cellars. macrae floated with this tide. but he was not wholly carried away with it. he began to view it impersonally, to wonder if it were the real thing, if this was what inspired men to plot and scheme and struggle laboriously for money, or if it were just the froth on the surface of realities which he could not quite grasp. he couldn't say. there was a dash and glitter about it that charmed him. he could warm and thrill to the beauty of a granada ballroom, music that seduced a man's feet, beauty of silk and satin, of face and figure, of bright eyes and gleaming jewels, a blending of all the primary colors and every shade between, flashing over a polished floor under high, carved ceilings. he had surrendered nelly abbott to a claimant and stood watching the swirl and glide of the dancers in the granada one night. his eyes were on the brilliance a little below the raised area at one end of the floor, and so was his mind, inquiringly, with the curious concentration of which his mind was capable. presently he became aware of some one speaking to him, tugging at his elbow. "oh, come out of it," a voice said derisively. he looked around at stubby abbott. "regular trance. i spoke to you twice. in love?" "uh-uh. just thinking," macrae laughed. "deep thinking, i'll say. want to go down to the billiard room and smoke?" they descended to a subterranean chamber where, in a pit lighted by low-hung shaded globes, men in shirt sleeves clicked the red and white balls on a score of tables. rows of leather-upholstered chairs gave comfort to spectators. they commandeered seats and lighted cigarettes. "look," stubby said. "there's norman gower." young gower sat across a corner from them. he was in evening clothes. he slumped in his chair. his hands were limp along the chair arms. he was not watching the billiard players. he was staring straight across the room with the sightless look of one whose mind is far away. "another deep thinker," stubby drawled. "rather rough going for norman these days." "how?" macrae asked. "funked it over across," stubby replied. "so they say. careful to stay on the right side of the channel. paying the penalty now. girls rather rub it in. fellows not too--well, cordial. pretty rotten for norman." "think he slacked deliberately?" macrae inquired. "that's the story. lord, i don't know," stubby answered. "he stuck in england four years. everybody else that was fit went up the line. that's all i know. by their deeds ye shall judge them--eh?" "perhaps. what does he say about that himself?" "nothing, so far as i know. keeps strictly mum on the war subject," stubby said. young gower did not alter his position during the few minutes they sat there. he sat staring straight ahead of him, unseeingly. macrae suddenly felt sorry for him. if he had told the truth he was suffering a peculiarly distressing form of injustice, of misconception. macrae recalled the passionate undertone in gower's voice when he said, "i did the only thing i could do in the way i was told to do it." yes, he was sorry for norman. the poor devil was not getting a square deal. but macrae's pity was swiftly blotted out. he had a sudden uncomfortable vision of old donald macrae rowing around poor man's rock, back and forth in sun and rain, in frosty dawns and stormy twilights, coming home to a lonely house, dying at last a lonely death, the sordid culmination of an embittered life. let him sweat,--the whole gower tribe. macrae was the ancient roman, for the moment, wishing all his enemies had but a single head that he might draw his sword and strike it off. something in him hardened against that first generous impulse to repeat to stubby abbott what norman had told him on the cliff at squitty. let the beggar make his own defense. yet that stubborn silence, the proud refusal to make words take the place of valiant deeds expected, wrung a gleam of reluctant admiration from macrae. he would have done just that himself. "let's get back," stubby suggested. "i've got the next dance with betty gower. i don't want to miss it." "is she here to-night? i haven't noticed her." "eyesight affected?" stubby bantered. "sure she's here. looking like a dream." macrae felt a pang of envy. there was nothing to hold stubby back,--no old scores, no deep, abiding resentment. macrae had the conviction that stubby would never take anything like that so seriously as he, jack macrae, did. he was aware that stubby had the curious dual code common in the business world,--one set of inhibitions and principles for business and another for personal and social uses. a man might be stubby's opponent in the market and his friend when they met on a common social ground. macrae could never be quite like that. stubby could fight horace gower, for instance, tooth and toenail, for an advantage in the salmon trade, and stretch his legs under gower's dining table with no sense of incongruity, no matter what shifts the competitive struggle had taken or what weapons either had used. that was business; and a man left his business at the office. a curious thing, macrae thought. a phenomenon in ethics which he found hard to understand, harder still to endorse. he stood watching stubby, knowing that stubby would go straight to betty gower. presently he saw her, marked the cut and color of her gown, watched them swing into the gyrating wave of couples that took the floor when the orchestra began. indeed, macrae stood watching them until he recalled with a start that he had this dance with etta robbin-steele, who would, in her own much-used phrase, be "simply furious" at anything that might be construed as neglect; only etta's fury would consist of showing her white, even teeth in a pert smile with a challenging twinkle in her very black eyes. he went to betty as soon as he found opportunity. he did not quite know why. he did not stop to ask himself why. it was a purely instinctive propulsion. he followed his impulse as the needle swings to the pole; as an object released from the hand at a great height obeys the force of gravity; as water flows downhill. he took her programme. "i don't see any vacancies," he said. "shall i create one?" he drew his pencil through stubby abbott's name. stubby's signature was rather liberally inscribed there, he thought. betty looked at him a trifle uncertainly. "aren't you a trifle--sweeping?" she inquired. "perhaps. stubby won't mind. do you?" he asked. "i seem to be defenseless." betty shrugged her shoulders. "what shall we quarrel about this time?" "anything you like," he made reckless answer. "very well, then," she said as they got up to dance. "suppose we begin by finding out what there is to quarrel over. are you aware that practically every time we meet we nearly come to blows? what is there about me that irritates you so easily?" "your inaccessibility." macrae spoke without weighing his words. yet that was the truth, although he knew that such a frank truth was neither good form nor policy. he was sorry before the words were out of his mouth. betty could not possibly understand what he meant. he was not sure he wanted her to understand. macrae felt himself riding to a fall. as had happened briefly the night of the _blackbird's_ wrecking, he experienced that feeling of dumb protest against the shaping of events in which he moved helpless. this bit of flesh and blood swaying in his arms in effortless rhythm to sensuous music was something he had to reckon with powerfully, whether he liked or not. macrae was beginning dimly to see that. when he was with her-- "but i'm not inaccessible." she dropped her voice to a cooing whisper. her eyes glowed as they met his with steadfast concern. there was a smile and a question in them. "what ever gave you that idea?" "it isn't an idea; it's a fact." the resentment against circumstances that troubled macrae crept into his tone. "oh, silly!" there was a railing note of tenderness in betty's voice. macrae felt his moorings slip. a heady recklessness of consequences seized him. he drew her a little closer to him. irresistible prompting from some wellspring of his being urged him on to what his reason would have called sheer folly, if that reason had not for the time suffered eclipse, which is a weakness of rational processes when they come into conflict with a genuine emotion. "do you like me, betty?" her eyes danced. they answered as well as her lips: "of course i do. haven't i been telling you so plainly enough? i've been ashamed of myself for being so transparent--on such slight provocation." "how much?" he demanded. "oh--well--" the ballroom was suddenly shrouded in darkness, saved only from a cavelike black by diffused street light through the upper windows. a blown fuse. a mis-pulled switch. one of those minor accidents common to electric lighting systems. the orchestra hesitated, went on. from a momentary silence the dancers broke into chuckles, amused laughter, a buzz of exclamatory conversation. but no one moved, lest they collide with other unseen couples. jack and betty stood still. they could not see. but macrae could feel the quick beat, of betty's heart, the rise and fall of her breast, a trembling in her fingers. there was a strange madness stirring in him. his arm tightened about her. he felt that she yielded easily, as if gladly. their mouths sought and clung in the first real kiss jack macrae had ever known. and then, as they relaxed that impulse-born embrace, the lights flashed on again, blazed in a thousand globes in great frosted clusters high against the gold-leaf decorations of the ceiling. the dancers caught step again. macrae and betty circled the polished floor silently. she floated in his arms like thistledown, her eyes like twin stars, a deeper color in her cheeks. then the music ceased, and they were swept into a chattering group, out of which presently materialized another partner to claim betty. so they parted with a smile and a nod. but macrae had no mind for dancing. he went out through the lobby and straight to his room. he flung off his coat and sat down in a chair by the window and blinked out into the night. he had looked, it seemed to him, into the very gates of paradise,--and he could not go in. it wasn't possible. he sat peering out over the dusky roofs of the city, damning with silent oaths the coil in which he found himself inextricably involved. history was repeating itself. like father, like son. there was a difference though. macrae, as he grew calmer, marked that. old donald had lost his sweetheart by force and trickery. his son must forego love--if it were indeed love--of his own volition. he had no choice. he saw no way of winning betty gower unless he stayed his hand against her father. and he would not do that. he could not. it would be like going over to the enemy in the heat of battle. gower had wronged and persecuted his father. he had beaten old donald without mercy in every phase of that thirty-year period. he had taken donald macrae's woman from him in the beginning and his property in the end. jack macrae had every reason to believe gower merely sat back awaiting a favorable opportunity to crush him. so there could be no compromising there; no inter-marrying and sentimental burying of the old feud. betty would tie his hands. he was afraid of her power to do that. he did not want to be a samson shorn. his ego revolted against love interfering with the grim business of everyday life. he bit his lip and wished he could wipe out that kiss. he cursed himself for a slavish weakness of the flesh. the night was old when macrae lay down on his bed. but he could find no ease for the throbbing ferment within him. he suffered with a pain as keen as if he had been physically wounded, and the very fact that he could so suffer filled him with dismay. he had faced death many times with less emotion than he now was facing life. he had no experience of love. nothing remotely connected with women had ever suggested such possibilities of torment. he had known first-hand the pangs of hunger and thirst, of cold and weariness, of anger and hate, of burning wounds in his flesh. he had always been able to grit his teeth and endure; none of it had been able to wring his soul. this did. he had come to manhood, to a full understanding of sex, at a time when he played the greatest game of all, when all his energies were fiercely centered upon preservation for himself and certain destruction for other men. perhaps because he had come back clean, having never wasted himself in complaisant liaisons overseas, the inevitable focusing of passion stirred him more profoundly. he was neither a varietist nor a male prude. he was aware of sex. he knew desire. but the flame betty gower had kindled in him made him look at women out of different eyes. desire had been revealed to him not as something casual, but as an imperative. as if nature had pulled the blinkers off his eyes and shown him his mate and the aim and object and law and fiery urge of the mating instinct all in one blinding flash. he lay hot and fretful, cursing himself for a fool, yet unable to find ease, wondering dully if betty gower must also suffer as he should, or if it were only an innocent, piquant game that betty played. always in the background of his mind lurked a vision of her father, sitting back complacently, fat, smug, plump hands on a well-rounded stomach, chuckling a brutal satisfaction over another macrae beaten. macrae wakened from an uneasy sleep at ten o'clock. he rose and dressed, got his breakfast, went out on the streets. but vancouver had all at once grown insufferable. the swarming streets irritated him. he smoldered inside, and he laid it to the stir and bustle and noise. he conceived himself to crave hushed places and solitude, where he could sit and think. by mid-afternoon he was far out in the gulf of georgia, aboard a coasting steamer sailing for island ports. if it occurred to him that he was merely running away from temptation, he did not admit the fact. chapter xv hearts are not always trumps if macrae reckoned on tranquillity in his island seclusion he failed in his reckoning. a man may fly from temptation, run from a threatening danger, but he cannot run away from himself. he could not inhibit thought, reflection, surges of emotion generated mysteriously within himself. he did his best. he sought relief in action. there were a great many things about his freehold upon which he bestowed feverish labor for a time. he cleared away all the underbrush to the outer limits of his shrunken heritage. he built a new enclosing fence of neatly split cedar, installed a pressure system of water in the old house. "you goin' to get married?" old peter inquired artlessly one day. "you got all the symptoms--buzzin' around in your nest like a bumblebee." and dolly smiled her slow, enigmatic smile. whereupon macrae abandoned his industry and went off to blackfish sound with vincent in the _bluebird_. the salmon run was long over, but the coastal waters still yielded a supply of edible fish. there were always a few spring salmon to be taken here and there. ling, red and rock cod knew no seasons. nor the ground fish, plaice, sole, flounders, halibut. already the advance guard of the great run of mature herring began to show. for a buyer there was no such profit in running these fish to market as the profit of the annual salmon run. still it paid moderately. so macrae had turned the _bluebird_ over to vin to operate for a time on a share basis. it gave vin, who was ambitious and apparently tireless, a chance to make a few hundred dollars in an off season. wherefore macrae, grown suddenly restless beyond all restraining upon his island, made a trip or two north with vin--a working guest on his own vessel--up where the gulf of georgia is choked to narrow passages through which the tidal currents race like mountain streams pent in a gorge, up where the sea is a maze of waterways among wooded islands. they anchored in strange bays. they fared once into queen charlotte sound and rode the great ground swell that heaves up from the far coast of japan to burst against the rocky outpost of cape caution. they doubled on their tracks and gathered their toll of the sea from fishing boats here and there until the _bluebird_ rode deep with cargo, fresh fish to be served on many tables far inland. macrae often wondered if the housewife who ordered her weekly ration of fish and those who picked daintily at the savory morsels with silver forks ever thought how they came by this food. men till the sea with pain and risk and infinite labor, as they till the land; only the fisherman with his nets and hooks and gear does not sow, he only reaps. nature has attended diligently to the sowing, from the cape of good hope to martha's vineyard, from bering strait to botany bay. but macrae soon had enough of that and came back to squitty, to his fireplace and his books. he had been accustomed to enjoy the winters, the clear crisp mornings that varied weeks of drenching rain which washed the land clean; to prowl about in the woods with a gun when he needed meat; to bask before a bed of coals in the fireplace through long evenings when the wind howled and the rain droned on the roof and the sea snored along the rocky beaches. that had been in days before he learned the weight of loneliness, when his father had been there to sit quietly beside the fire smoking a pipe, when dolly ferrara ran wild in the woods with him or they rode for pure sport the tumbling seas in a dugout canoe. now winter was a dull inaction, a period of discontent, in which thought gnawed at him like an ingrowing toenail. everything seemed out of joint. he found himself feverishly anxious for spring, for the stress and strain of another tilt with folly bay. sometimes he asked himself where he would come out, even if he won all along the line, if he made money, gained power, beat gower ultimately to his knees, got back his land. he did not try to peer too earnestly into the future. it seemed a little misty. he was too much concerned with the immediate present, looming big with possibilities of good or evil for himself. things did not seem quite so simple as at first. a great many complications, wholly unforeseen, had arisen since he came back from france. but he was committed to certain undertakings from which he neither wished nor intended to turn aside,--not so long as he had the will to choose. christmas came again, and with it the gathering of the ferraras for their annual reunion,--old manuel and joaquin, young manuel and ambrose and vincent. steve they could speak of now quite casually. he had died in his sea boots like many another ferrara. it was a pity, of course, but it was the chance of his calling. and the gathering was stronger in numbers, even with steve gone. ambrose had taken himself a wife, a merry round-cheeked girl whose people were coaxing ambrose to quit the sea for a more profitable undertaking in timber. and also norman gower was there. macrae did not quite know how to take that young man. he had had stray contacts with norman during the last few weeks. for a rich man's son he was not running true to form. he and long tom spence had struck up a partnership in a group of mineral claims on the knob, that conical mountain which lifted like one of the pyramids out of the middle of squitty island. there had been much talk of those claims. years ago bill munro--he who died of the flu in his cabin beside the cove--had staked those claims. munro was a young man then, a prospector. he had inveigled other men to share his hopes and labors, to grubstake him while he drove the tunnel that was to cut the vein. macrae's father had taken a hand in this. so had peter ferrara. but these informal partnerships had always lapsed. old bill munro's prospects had never got beyond the purely prospective stage. the copper was there, ample traces of gold and silver. but he never developed a showing big enough to lure capital. when munro died the claims had been long abandoned. long tom spence had suddenly relocated them. some working agreement had included uncle peter and young gower. long tom went about hinting mysteriously of fortunes. peter ferrara even admitted that there was a good showing. norman had been there for weeks, living with spence in a shack, sweating day after day in the tunnel. they were all beginning to speak of it as "the mine." norman had rid himself of that grouchy frown. he was always singing or whistling or laughing. his fair, rather florid face glowed with a perpetual good nature. he treated macrae to the same cheerful, careless air that he had for everything and everybody. and when he was about uncle peter's house at the cove he monopolized dolly, an attitude which dolly herself as well as her uncle seemed to find agreeable and proper. macrae finally found himself compelled to accept norman gower as part of the group. he was a little surprised to find that he harbored no decided feeling about young gower, one way or the other. if he felt at all, it was a mild impatience that another man had established a relation with dolly ferrara which put aside old friendships. he found himself constrained more and more to treat dolly like any other pleasant young woman of his acquaintance. he did not quite like that. he and dolly ferrara had been such good chums. besides, he privately considered that dolly was throwing herself away on a man weak enough to make the tragic blunder young gower had made in london. but that was their own affair. altogether, macrae found it quite impossible to muster up any abiding grudge against young gower on his own account. so he let matters stand and celebrated christmas with them. afterward they got aboard the _bluebird_ and went to a dance at potter's landing, where for all that jack macrae was the local hero, both of the great war and the salmon war of the past season, both dolly and norman, he privately conceded, enjoyed themselves a great deal more than he did. their complete absorption in each other rather irritated him. they came back to the cove early in the morning. the various ferraras disposed themselves about peter's house to sleep, and macrae went on to his own place. about an hour after daybreak he saw norman gower pass up the bush trail to the mine with a heavy pack of provisions on his back. and macrae wondered idly if norman was bucking the game in earnest, strictly on his own, and why? late in january the flash of a white skirt and a sky-blue sweater past his dooryard apprised macrae that betty was back. and he did not want to see betty or talk with her. he hoped her stay would be brief. he even asked himself testily why people like that wanted to come to a summer dwelling in the middle of winter. but her sojourn was not so brief as he hoped. at divers times thereafter he saw her in the distance, faring to and fro from peter ferrara's house, out on the trail that ran to the knob, several times when the sea was calm paddling a canoe or rowing alongshore. also he had glimpses of the thickset figure of horace gower walking along the cliffs. macrae avoided both. that was easy enough, since he knew every nook and bush and gully on that end of the island. but the mere sight of gower was an irritation. he resented the man's presence. it affected him like a challenge. it set him always pondering ways and means to secure ownership of those acres again and forever bar gower from walking along those cliffs with that masterful air of possession. only a profound distaste for running away from anything kept him from quitting the island while they were there, those two, one of whom he was growing to hate far beyond the original provocation, the other whom he loved,--for macrae admitted reluctantly, resentfully, that he did love betty, and he was afraid of where that emotion might lead him. he recognized the astonishing power of passion. it troubled him, stirred up an amazing conflict at times between his reason and his impulses. he fell back always upon the conclusion that love was an irrational thing anyway, that it should not be permitted to upset a man's logical plan of existence. but he was never very sure that this conclusion would stand a practical test. the southern end of squitty was not of such vast scope that two people could roam here and there without sometime coming face to face, particularly when these two were a man and a woman, driven by a spirit of restlessness to lonely wanderings. macrae went into the woods with his rifle one day in search of venison. he wounded a buck, followed him down a long canyon, and killed his game within sight of the sea. he took the carcass by a leg and dragged it through the bright green salal brush. as he stepped out of a screening thicket on to driftwood piled by storm and tide, he saw a rowboat hauled up on the shingle above reach of short, steep breakers, and a second glance showed him betty sitting on a log close by, looking at him. "stormbound?" he asked her. "yes. i was rowing and the wind came up." she rose and came over to look at the dead deer. "what beautiful animals they are!" she said. "isn't it a pity to kill them?" "it's a pity, too, to kill cattle and sheep and pigs, to haul fish by the gills out of the sea," macrae replied; "to trap marten and mink and fox and beaver and bear for their skins. but men must eat and women must wear furs." "how horribly logical you are," betty murmured. "you make a natural sympathy appear wishy-washy sentimentalism." she reseated herself on the log. macrae sat down beside her. he looked at her searchingly. he could not keep his eyes away. a curious inconsistency was revealed to him. he sat beside betty, responding to the potent stimuli of her nearness and wishing pettishly that she were a thousand miles away, so that he would not be troubled by the magic of her lips and eyes and unruly hair, the musical cadences of her voice. there was a subtle quality of expectancy about her, as if she sat there waiting for him to say something, do something, as if her mere presence were powerful to compel him to speak and act as she desired. macrae realized the fantasy of those impressions. betty sat looking at him calmly, her hands idle in her lap. if there were in her soul any of the turmoil that was fast rising in his, it was not outwardly manifested by any sign whatever. for that matter, macrae knew that he himself was placid enough on the surface. nor did he feel the urge of inconsequential speech. there was no embarrassment in that mutual silence, only the tug of a compelling desire to take her in his arms, which he must resist. "there are times," betty said at last, "when you live up to your nickname with a vengeance." "there are times," macrae replied slowly, "when that is the only wise thing for a man to do." "and you, i suppose, rather pride yourself on being wise in your day and generation." there was gentle raillery in her tone. "i don't like you to be sarcastic," he said. "i don't think you like me sarcastic or otherwise," betty observed, after a moment's silence. "but i do," he protested. "that's the devil of it. i do--and you know i do. it would be a great deal better if i didn't." betty's fingers began to twist in her lap. the color rose faintly in her smooth cheeks. her eyes turned to the sea. "i don't know why," she said gently. "i'd hate to think it would." macrae did not find any apt reply to that. his mind was in an agonized muddle, in which he could only perceive one or two things with any degree of clearness. betty loved him. he was sure of that. he could tell her that he loved her. and then? therein arose the conflict. marriage was the natural sequence of love. and when he contemplated marriage with betty he found himself unable to detach her from her background, in which lurked something which to macrae's imagination loomed sinister, hateful. to make peace with horace gower--granting that gower was willing for such a consummation--for love of his daughter struck macrae as something very near to dishonor. and if, contrariwise, he repeated to betty the ugly story which involved her father and his father, she would be harassed by irreconcilable forces even if she cared enough to side with him against her own people. macrae was gifted with acute perception, in some things. he said to himself despairingly--nor was it the first time that he had said it--that you cannot mix oil and water. he could do nothing at all. that was the sum of his ultimate conclusions. his hands were tied. he could not go back and he could not go on. he sat beside betty, longing to take her in his arms and still fighting stoutly against that impulse. he was afraid of his impulses. a faint moisture broke out on his face with that acute nervous strain. a lump rose chokingly in his throat. he stared out at the white-crested seas that came marching up the gulf before a rising wind until his eyes grew misty. then he slid down off the log and laid his head on betty's knee. a weight of dumb grief oppressed him. he wanted to cry, and he was ashamed of his weakness. betty's fingers stole caressingly over his bare head, rumpled his hair, stroked his hot cheek. "johnny-boy," she said at last, "what is it that comes like a fog between you and me?" macrae did not answer. "i make love to you quite openly," betty went on. "and i don't seem to be the least bit ashamed of doing so. i'm not a silly kid. i'm nearly as old as you are, and i know quite well what i want--which happens to be you. i love you, silent john. the man is supposed to be the pursuer. but i seem to have that instinct myself. besides," she laughed tremulously, "this is leap year. and, remember, you kissed me. or did i kiss you? which was it, jack?" macrae seated himself on the log beside her. he put his arm around her and drew her close to him. that disturbing wave of emotion which had briefly mastered him was gone. he felt only a passionate tenderness for betty and a pity for them both. but he had determined what to do. "i do love you, betty," he said--"your hair and your eyes and your lips and the sound of your voice and the way you walk and everything that is you. is that quite plain enough? it's a sort of emotional madness." "well, i am afflicted with the same sort of madness," she admitted. "and i like it. it is natural." "but you wouldn't like it if you knew it meant a series of mental and spiritual conflicts that would be almost like physical torture," he said slowly. "you'd be afraid of it." "and you?" she demanded. "yes," he said simply. "i am." "then you're a poor sort of lover," she flung at him, and freed herself from his arms with a quick twist of her body. her breast heaved. she moved away from him. "i'll admit being a poor lover, perhaps," macrae said. "i didn't want to love you. i shouldn't love you. i really ought to hate you. i don't, but if i was consistent, i should. i ought to take every opportunity to hurt you just because you are a gower. i have good reason to do so. i can't tell you why--or at least i am not going to tell you why. i don't think it would mend matters if i did. i dare say i'm a better fighter than a lover. i fight in the open, on the square. and because i happen to care enough to shrink from making you risk things i can't dodge, i'm a poor lover. well, perhaps i am." "i didn't really mean that, jack," betty muttered. "i know you didn't," he returned gently. "but i mean what i have just said." "you mean that for some reason which i do not know and which you will not tell me, there is such bad blood between you and my father that you can't--you won't--won't even take a chance on me?" "something like that," macrae admitted. "only you put it badly. you'd either tie my hands, which i couldn't submit to, or you'd find yourself torn between two factions, and life would be a pretty sad affair." "i asked you once before, and you told me it was something that happened before either of us was born," betty said thoughtfully. "i am going to get at the bottom of this somehow. i wonder if you do really care, or if this is all camouflage,--if you're just playing with me to see how big a fool i _will_ make of myself." that queer mistrust of him which suddenly clouded betty's face and made her pretty mouth harden roused jack macrae to an intolerable fury. it was like a knife in a tender spot. he had been stifling the impulse to forget and bury all these ancient wrongs and injustices for which neither of them was responsible but for which, so far as he could see, they must both suffer. something cracked in him at betty's words. she jumped, warned by the sudden blaze in his eyes. but he caught her with a movement quicker than her own. he held her by the arms with fingers that gripped like iron clamps. he shook her. "you wonder if i really care," he cried. "my god, can't you see? can't you feel? must a man grovel and weep and rave?" betty whitened a little at this storm which she had evoked. but she did not flinch. her eyes looked straight into his, fearlessly. "you are raving now," she said. "and you are hurting my arms terribly." macrae released his hold on her. his hands dropped to his sides. "i suppose i was," he said in a flat, lifeless tone. "but don't say that to me again, ever. you can say anything you like, betty, except that i'm not in earnest. i don't deserve that." betty retreated a little. macrae was not even looking at her now. his eyes were turned to the sea, to hide the blur that crept into them in spite of his will. "you don't deserve anything," betty said distinctly. she moved warily away as she spoke. "you have the physical courage to face death; but you haven't the moral courage to face a problem in living, even though you love me. you take it for granted that i'm as weak as you are. you won't even give me a chance to prove whether love is strong or weak in the face of trouble. and i will never give you another chance--never." she sprang from the beach to the low pile of driftwood and from that plunged into the thicket. macrae did not try to follow. he did not even move. he looked after her a minute. then he sat down on the log again and stared at the steady march of the swells. there was a sense of finality in this thing which made him flounder desperately. still, he assured himself, it had to be. and if it had to be that way it was better to have it so understood. betty would never look at him again with that disturbing message in her eyes. he would not be troubled by a futile longing. but it hurt. he had never imagined how so abstract a thing as emotion could breed such an ache in a man's heart. after a little he got up. there was a trail behind that thicket, an old game trail widened by men's feet, that ran along the seaward slope to cradle bay. he went up now to this path. his eye, used to the practice of woodcraft, easily picked up tiny heel marks, toe prints, read their message mechanically. betty had been running. she had gone home. he went back to the beach. the rowboat and the rising tide caught his attention. he hauled the boat up on the driftwood so that it should not float away. then he busied himself on the deer's legs with a knife for a minute and shouldered the carcass. it was a mile and a half across country to the head of squitty cove. he had intended to hang his deer in a tree by the beach and come for it later with a boat. now he took up this hundred-pound burden for the long carry over steep hills and through brushy hollows in the spirit of the medieval flagellantes, mortifying his flesh for the ease of his soul. an hour or so later he came out on a knoll over-looking all the southeastern face of squitty. below, the wind-harassed gulf spread its ruffled surface. he looked down on the cliffs and the cove and cradle bay. he could see gower's cottage white among the green, one chimney spitting blue smoke that the wind carried away in a wispy banner. he could see a green patch behind his own house with the white headboard that marked his father's grave. he could see poor man's rock bare its kelp-grown head between seas, and on the point above the rock a solitary figure, squat and brown, that he knew must be horace gower. macrae laid down his pack to rest his aching shoulders. but there was no resting the ache in his heart. nor was it restful to gaze upon any of these things within the span of his eye. he was reminded of too much which it was not good to remember. as he sat staring down on the distant rock and a troubled sea with an intolerable heaviness in his breast, he recalled that so must his father have looked down on poor man's rock in much the same anguished spirit long ago. and jack macrae's mind reacted morbidly to the suggestion, the parallel. his eyes turned with smoldering fire to the stumpy figure on the tip of point old. "i'll pay it all back yet," he gritted. "betty or no betty, i'll make him wish he'd kept his hands off the macraes." * * * * * about the time jack macrae with his burden of venison drew near his own dooryard, betty gower came out upon the winter-sodden lawn before their cottage and having crossed it ran lightly up the steps to the wide porch. from there she saw her father standing on the point. she called to him. at her hail he came trudging to the house. betty was piling wood in the living-room fireplace when he came in. "i was beginning to worry about you," he said. "the wind got too much for me," she answered, "so i put the boat on the beach a mile or so along and walked home." gower drew a chair up to the fire. "blaze feels good," he remarked. "there's a chill in this winter air." betty made no comment. "getting lonesome?" he inquired after a minute. "it seems to me you've been restless the last day or two. want to go back to town, betty?" "i wonder why we come here and stay and stay, out of reach of everything and everybody?" she said at last. "blest if i know," gower answered casually. "except that we like to. it's a restful place, isn't it? you work harder at having a good time in town than i ever did making money. well, we don't have to be hermits unless we like. we'll go back to mother and the giddy whirl to-morrow, if you like." "we might as well, i think," she said absently. for a minute neither spoke. the fire blazed up in a roaring flame. raindrops slashed suddenly against the windows out of a storm-cloud driven up by the wind. betty turned her eyes on her father. "did you ever do anything to jack macrae that would give him reason to hate you?" she asked bluntly. gower shook his head without troubling to look at her. he kept his face steadfastly to the fire. "no," he said. "the other way about, if anything. he put a crimp in me last season." "i remember you said you were going to smash him," she said thoughtfully. "did i?" he made answer in an indifferent tone. "well, i might. and then again i might not. he may do the smashing. he's a harder proposition than i figured he would be, in several ways." "that isn't it," betty said, as if to herself. "then you must have had some trouble with his father--long ago. something that hurt him enough for him to pass a grudge on to jack. what was it, daddy? anything real?" "jack, eh?" gower passed over the direct question. "you must be getting on. have you been seeing much of that young man lately?" "what does that matter?" betty returned impatiently. "of course i see him. is there any reason i shouldn't?" gower picked up a brass poker. he leaned forward, digging aimlessly at the fire, stirring up tiny cascades of sparks that were sucked glowing into the black chimney throat. "perhaps no reason that would strike you as valid," he said slowly. "still--i don't know. do you like him?" "you won't answer my questions," betty complained. "why should i answer yours?" "there are plenty of nice young fellows in your own crowd," gower went on, still poking mechanically at the fire. "why pick on young macrae?" "you're evading, daddy," betty murmured. "why _shouldn't_ i pick on jack macrae if i like him--if he likes me? that's what i'm trying to find out." "does he?" gower asked pointblank. "yes," betty admitted in a reluctant whisper. "he does--but--why don't you tell me, daddy, what i'm up against, as you would say? what did you ever do to old donald macrae that his son should have a feeling that is stronger than love?" "you think he loves you?" "i know it," betty murmured. "and you?" gower's deep voice seemed harsh. betty threw out her hands in an impatient gesture. "must i shout it out loud?" she cried. "you always were different from most girls, in some things," gower observed reflectively. "iron under your softness. i never knew you to stop trying to get anything you really wanted, not while there was a chance to get it. still--don't you think it would be as well for you to stop wanting young macrae--since he doesn't want you bad enough to try to get you? eh?" he still kept his face studiously averted. his tone was kind, full of a peculiar tenderness that he kept for betty alone. she rose and perched herself on the arm of his chair, caught and drew his head against her, forced him to look up into eyes preternaturally bright. "you don't seem to understand," she said. "it isn't that jack doesn't want me badly enough. he could have me, and i think he knows that too. but there is something, something that drives him the other way. he loves me. i know he does. and still he has spells of hating all us gowers--especially you. i know he wouldn't do that without reason." "doesn't he tell you the reason?" betty shook her head. "would i be asking you, daddy?" "i can't tell you, either," gower rumbled deep in his throat. "is it something that can't be mended?" betty put her face down against his, and he felt the tears wet on her cheek. "think, daddy. i'm beginning to be terribly unhappy." "that seems to be a family failing," gower muttered. "i can't mend it, betty. i don't know what young macrae knows or what he feels, but i can guess. i'd make it worse if i meddled. should i go to this hot-headed young fool and say, 'come on, let's shake hands, and you marry my daughter'?" "don't be absurd," betty flashed. "i'm not asking you to _do_ anything." "i couldn't do anything in this case if i wanted to," gower declared. "as a matter of fact, i think i'd put young macrae out of my head, if i were you. i wouldn't pick him for a husband, anyway." betty rose to her feet. "you brought me into the world," she said passionately. "you have fed me and clothed me and educated me and humored all my whims ever since i can remember. but you can't pick a husband for me. i shall do that for myself. it's silly to tell me to put jack macrae out of my head. he isn't in my head. he's in my--my--heart. and i can keep him there, if i can't have him in my arms. put him out of my head! you talk as if loving and marrying were like dealing in fish." "i wish it were," gower rumbled. "i might have had some success at it myself." betty did not even vouchsafe reply. probably she did not even hear what he said. she turned and went to the window, stood looking out at the rising turmoil of the sea, at the lowering scud of the clouds, dabbing surreptitiously at her eyes with a handkerchief. after a little she walked out of the room. her feet sounded lightly on the stairs. gower bent to the fire again. he resumed his aimless stirring of the coals. a grim, twisted smile played about his lips. but his eyes were as somber as the storm-blackened winter sky. chapter xvi en famille horace gower's town house straddled the low crest of a narrow peninsula which juts westward into the gulf from the heart of the business section of vancouver. the tip of this peninsula ends in the green forest of stanley park, which is like no other park in all north america, either in its nature or its situation. it is a sizable stretch of ancient forest, standing within gunshot of skyscrapers, modern hotels, great docks where china freighters unload tea and silk. hard on the flank of a modern seaport this area of primitive woodland broods in the summer sun and the winter rains not greatly different from what it must have been in those days when only the siwash indians penetrated its shadowy depths. the rear of gower's house abutted against the park, neighbor to great tall firs and massive, branchy cedars and a jungle of fern and thicket bisected by a few paths and drives, with the sea lapping all about three sides of its seven-mile boundary. from gower's northward windows the capilano canyon opened between two mountains across the inlet. southward other windows gave on english bay and beach sands where one could count a thousand swimmers on a summer afternoon. the place was only three blocks from abbott's. the house itself was not unlike abbott's, built substantially of gray stone and set in ample grounds. but it was a good deal larger, and both within and without it was much more elaborate, as befitted the dwelling of a successful man whose wife was socially a leader instead of a climber,--like so many of vancouver's newly rich. there was order and system and a smooth, unobtrusive service in that home. mrs. horace a. gower rather prided herself on the noiseless, super-efficient operation of her domestic machinery. any little affair was sure to go off without a hitch, to be quite charming, you know. mrs. gower had a firmly established prestige along certain lines. her business in life was living up to that prestige, not only that it might be retained but judiciously expanded. upon a certain march morning, however, mrs. gower seemed to be a trifle shaken out of her usual complacency. she sat at a rather late breakfast, facing her husband, flanked on either hand by her son and daughter. there was an injured droop to mrs. gower's mouth, a slightly indignant air about her. the conversation had reached a point where mrs. gower felt impelled to remove her pince-nez and polish them carefully with a bit of cloth. this was an infallible sign of distress. "i cannot see the least necessity for it, norman," she resumed in a slightly agitated, not to say petulant tone. "it's simply ridiculous for a young man of your position to be working at common labor with such terribly common people. it's degrading." norman was employing himself upon a strip of bacon. "that's a mere matter of opinion," he replied at length. "somebody has to work. i have to do something for myself sometime, and it suits me to begin now, in this particular manner which annoys you so much. i don't mind work. and those copper claims are a rattling good prospect. everybody says so. we'll make a barrel of money out of them yet. why shouldn't i peel off my coat and go at it?" "by the way," gower asked bluntly, "what occasioned this flying trip to england?" norman pushed back his chair a trifle, thrust his hands in his trousers pockets and looked straight at his father. "my own private business," he answered as bluntly. "you people," he continued after a brief interval, "seem to think i'm still in knee breeches." but this did not serve to turn his mother from her theme. "it is quite unnecessary for you to attempt making money in such a primitive manner," she observed. "we have plenty of money. there is plenty of opportunity for you in your father's business, if you must be in business." "huh!" norman grunted. "i'm no good in my father's business, nor anywhere else, in his private opinion. it's no good, mamma. i'm on my own for keeps. i'm going through with it. i've been a jolly fizzle so far. i'm not even a blooming war hero. you just stop bothering about me." "i really can't think what's got into you," mrs. gower complained in a tone which implied volumes of reproach. "it's bad enough for your father and betty to be running off and spending so much time at that miserable cottage when so much is going on here. i'm simply exhausted keeping things up without any help from them. but this vagary of yours--i really can't consider it anything else--is most distressing. to live in a dirty little cabin and cook your own food, to associate with such men--it's simply dreadful! haven't you any regard for our position?" "i'm fed up with our position," norman retorted. a sullen look was gathering about his mouth. "what does it amount to? a lot of people running around in circles, making a splash with their money. you, and the sort of thing you call our position, made a sissy of me right up till the war came along. there was nothing i was good for but parlor tricks. and you and everybody else expected me to react from that and set things afire overseas. i didn't. i didn't begin to come up to your expectations at all. but if i didn't split germans with a sword or do any heroics i did get some horse sense knocked into me--unbelievable as that may appear to you. i learned that there was a sort of satisfaction in doing things. i'm having a try at that now. and you needn't imagine i'm going to be wet-nursed along by your money. "as for my associates, and the degrading influences that fill you with such dismay," norman's voice flared into real anger, "they may not have much polish--but they're human. i like them, so far as they go. i've been frostbitten enough by the crowd i grew up with, since i came home, to appreciate being taken for what i am, not what i may or may not have done. since i have discovered myself to have a funny sort of feeling about living on your money, it behooves me to get out and make what money i need for myself--in view of the fact that i'm going to be married quite soon. i am going to marry"--norman rose and looked down at his mother with something like a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he exploded his final bombshell--"a fisherman's daughter. a poor but worthy maiden," he finished with unexpected irony. "norman!" his mother's voice was a wail. "a common fisherman's daughter? oh, my son, my son." she shed a few beautifully restrained tears. "a common fisherman's daughter. exactly," norman drawled. "terrible thing, of course. funny the fish scales on the family income never trouble you." mrs. gower glared at him through her glasses. "who is this--this woman?" she demanded. "dolly," betty whispered under her breath. "miss dolores ferrara of squitty cove," norman answered imperturbably. "a foreigner besides. great heavens! horace," mrs. gower appealed to her husband, "have you no influence whatever with your son?" "mamma," betty put in, "i assure you you are making a tremendous fuss about nothing. i can tell you that dolly ferrara is really quite a nice girl. _i_ think norman is rather lucky." "thanks, bet," norman said promptly. "that's the first decent thing i've heard in this discussion." mrs. gower turned the battery of her indignant eyes on her daughter. "you, i presume," she said spitefully, "will be thinking of marrying some fisherman next?" "if she did, bessie," gower observed harshly, "it would only be history repeating itself." mrs. gower flushed, paled a little, and reddened again. she glared--no other word describes her expression--at her husband for an instant. then she took refuge behind her dignity. "there is a downright streak of vulgarity in you, horace," she said, "which i am sorry to see crop out in my children." "thank you, mamma," betty remarked evenly. mrs. gower whirled on norman. "i wash my hands of you completely," she said imperiously. "i am ashamed of you." "i'd rather you'd be ashamed of me," norman retorted, "than that i should be ashamed of myself." "and you, sir,"--he faced his father, speaking in a tone of formal respect which did not conceal a palpable undercurrent of defiance--"you also, i suppose, wash your hands of me?" gower looked at him for a second. his face was a mask, devoid of expression. "you're a man grown," he said. "your mother has expressed herself as she might be expected to. i say nothing." norman walked to the door. "i don't care a deuce of a lot what you say or what you don't say, nor even what you think," he flung at them angrily, with his hand on the knob. "i have my own row to hoe. i'm going to hoe it my own style. and that's all there is to it. if you can't even wish me luck, why, you can go to the devil!" "norman!" his mother lifted her voice in protesting horror. gower himself only smiled, a bit cynically. and betty looked at the door which closed upon her brother with a wistful sort of astonishment. gower first found occasion for speech. "while we are on the subject of intimate family affairs, bessie," he addressed his wife casually, "i may as well say that i shall have to call on you for some funds--about thirty thousand dollars. forty thousand would be better." mrs. gower stiffened to attention. she regarded her husband with an air of complete disapproval, slightly tinctured with surprise. "oh," she said, "really?" "i shall need that much properly to undertake this season's operations," he stated calmly, almost indifferently. "really?" she repeated. "are you in difficulties again?" "again?" he echoed. "it is fifteen years since i was in a corner where i needed any of your money." "it seems quite recent to me," mrs. gower observed stiffly. "am i to understand from that that you don't care to advance me whatever sum i require?" he asked gently. "i don't see why i should," mrs. gower replied after a second's reflection, "even if i were quite able to do so. this place costs something to keep up. i can't very well manage on less than two thousand a month. and betty and i must be clothed. you haven't contributed much recently, horace." "no? i had the impression that i had been contributing pretty freely for thirty years," gower returned dryly. "i paid the bills up to december. last season wasn't a particularly good one--for me." "that was chiefly due to your own mismanagement, i should say," mrs. gower commented tartly. "putting the whole cannery burden on norman when the poor boy had absolutely no experience. really, you must have mismanaged dreadfully. i heard only the other day that the robbin-steele plants did better last season than they ever did. i'm sure the abbotts made money last year. if the banks have lost faith in your business ability, i--well, i should consider you a bad risk, horace. i can't afford to gamble." "you never do. you only play cinches," gower grunted. "however, your money will be safe enough. i didn't say the banks refuse me credit. i have excellent reasons for borrowing of you." "i really do not see how i can possibly let you have such a sum," she said. "you already have twenty thousand dollars of my money tied up in your business, you know." "you have an income of twelve thousand a year from the maple point place," gower recited in that unchanging, even tone. "you have over twenty thousand cash on deposit. and you have eighty thousand dollars in victory bonds. you mean you don't want to, bessie." "you may accept that as my meaning," she returned. "there are times in every man's career," gower remarked dispassionately, "when the lack of a little money might break him." "that is all the more reason why i should safeguard my funds," mrs. gower replied. "you are not as young as you were, horace. if you should fail now, you would likely never get on your feet again. but we could manage, i dare say, on what i have. that is why i do not care to risk any of it." "you refuse then, absolutely, to let me have this money?" he asked. "i do," mrs. gower replied, with an air of pained but conscious rectitude. "i should consider myself most unwise to do so." "all right," gower returned indifferently. "you force me to a showdown. i have poured money into your hands for years for you to squander in keeping up your position--as you call it. i'm about through doing that. i'm sick of aping millionaires. all i need is a comfortable place where i can smoke a pipe in peace. this house is mine. i shall sell it and repay you your twenty thousand. you--" "horace! sell this house. our home! _horace._" "our home?" gower continued inflexibly. "the place where we eat and sleep and entertain, you mean. we never had a home, bessie. you will have your ancestral hall at maple point. you will be quite able to afford a vancouver house if you choose. but this is mine, and it's going into the discard. i shall owe you nothing. i shall still have the cottage at cradle bay, if i go smash, and that is quite good enough for me. do i make myself clear?" mrs. gower was sniffing. she had taken refuge with the pince-nez and the polishing cloth. but her fingers were tremulous, and her expression was that of a woman who feels herself sadly abused and who is about to indulge in luxurious weeping. "but, horace, to sell this house over my head--what will p-people say?" "i don't care two whoops what people say," mr. gower replied unfeelingly. "this is simp-ply outrageous! how is betty going to m-meet p-people?" "you mean," her husband retorted, "how are you going to contrive the proper background against which betty shall display her charms to the different varieties of saphead which you hit upon as being eligible to marry her? don't worry. with the carefully conserved means at your disposal you will still be able to maintain yourself in the station in which it has pleased god to place you. you will be able to see that betty has the proper advantages." this straw broke the camel's back, if it is proper so to speak of a middle-aged, delicate-featured lady, delightfully gowned and coiffed and manicured. mrs. gower's grief waxed crescendo. whereupon her husband, with no manifest change of expression beyond an unpleasant narrowing of his eyes, heaved his short, flesh-burdened body out of the chair and left the room. betty had sat silent through this conversation, a look of profound distaste slowly gathering on her fresh young face. she gazed after her father. when the door closed upon him betty's gray eyes came to rest on her mother's bowed head and shaking shoulders. there was nothing in betty gower's expression which remotely suggested sympathy. she said nothing. she leaned her elbows on the table and rested her pretty chin in her cupped palms. mrs. gower presently became aware of this detached, observing, almost critical attitude. "your f-father is p-positively b-brutal," she found voice to declare. "there are various sorts of brutality," betty observed enigmatically. "i don't think daddy has a corner on the visible supply. are you going to let him have that money?" "no. never," mrs. gower snapped. "you may lose a great deal more than the house by that," betty murmured. but if mrs. gower heard the words they conveyed no meaning to her agitated mind. she was rapidly approaching that incomprehensible state in which a woman laughs and cries in the same breath, and betty got up with a faintly contemptuous curl to her red lips. she went out into the hall and pressed a button. a maid materialized. "go into the dining room and attend to mamma, if you please, mary," betty said. then she skipped nimbly upstairs, two steps at a time, and went into a room on the second floor, a room furnished something after the fashion of a library in which her father sat in a big leather chair chewing on an unlighted cigar. betty perched on the arm of his chair and ran her fingers through a patch on top of his head where the hair was growing a bit thin. "daddy," she asked, "did you mean that about going smash?" "possibility," he grunted. "are you really going to sell this house and live at cradle bay?" "sure. you sorry?" "about the house? oh, no. it's only a place for mamma to make a splash, as norman said. if you hibernate at the cottage i'll come and keep house for you." gower considered this. "you ought to stay with your mother," he said finally. "she'll be able to give you a lot i wouldn't make an effort to provide. you don't know what it means really to work. you'd find it pretty slow at squitty." "maybe," betty said. "but we managed very well last winter, just you and me. if there is going to be a break-up of the family i shall stay with you. i'm a daddy's girl." gower drew her face down and kissed it. "you are that," he said huskily. "you're all gower. there's real stuff in you. you're free of that damned wishy-washy morton blood. she made a poodle dog of norman, but she couldn't spoil you. we'll manage, eh, betty?" "of course," betty returned. "but i don't know that norman is such a hopeless case. didn't he rather take your breath away with his declaration of independence?" "it takes more than a declaration to win independence," gower answered grimly. "wait till the going gets hard. however, i'll say there's a chance for norman. now, you run along, betty. i've got some figuring to do." chapter xvii business as usual late in march jack macrae came down to vancouver and quartered himself at the granada again. he liked the quiet luxury of that great hostelry. it was a trifle expensive, but he was not inclined to worry about expense. at home, or aboard his carriers in the season, living was a negligible item. he found a good deal of pleasure in swinging from one extreme to the other. besides, a man stalking big game does not arm himself with a broomstick. he had not come to town solely for his pleasure, although he was not disposed to shy from any diversion that offered. he had business in hand, business of prime importance since it involved spending a little matter of twelve thousand dollars. in brief, he had to replace the _blackbird_, and he was replacing her with a carrier of double the capacity, of greater speed, equipped with special features of his own choosing. the new boat was designed to carry ten thousand salmon. there was installed in her holds an ammonia refrigerating plant which would free him from the labor and expense and uncertainty of crushed ice. science bent to the service of money-making. macrae grinned to himself when he surveyed the coiled pipes, the pumping engine. his new boat was a floating, self-contained cold-storage plant. he could maintain a freezing temperature so long as he wished by chemico-mechanical means. that meant a full load every trip, since he could follow the trollers till he got a load, if it took a week, and his salmon would still be fresh. he wondered why this had not been done before. stubby enlightened him. "partly because it's a costly rig to install. but mostly because salmon and ice have always been both cheap and plentiful, and people have got into a habit of doing things in the same old way. you know. until the last season or two salmon have been so cheap that neither canneries nor buyers bothered about anything so up-to-date. if they lost their ice in hot weather and the fish rotted--why, there were plenty more fish. there have been times when the fraser river stunk with rotten salmon. they used to pay the fishermen ten cents apiece for six-pound sockeyes and limit them to two hundred fish to the boat if there was a big run. the gill-netter would take five hundred in one drift, come in to the cannery loaded to the guards, find himself up against a limit. he would sell the two hundred and dump more than that overboard. and the fraser river canneries wonder why sockeye is getting scarce. my father used to rave about the waste. criminal, he used to say." "when the fishermen were getting only ten cents apiece for sockeyes, salmon was selling at fifteen cents a pound tin," macrae observed. "oh, the canneries made barrels of money." stubby shrugged his shoulders. "they thought the salmon would always run in millions, no matter how many they destroyed. some of 'em think so yet." "we're a nation of wasters, compared to europe," macrae said thoughtfully. "the only thing they are prodigal with over there is human flesh and blood. that is cheap and plentiful. but they take care of their natural resources. we destroy as much as we use, fish, timber--everything. everybody for himself and the devil take the hindmost." "well, i don't know what _we_ can do about it," stubby drawled. "keep from being the hindmost," macrae answered. "but i sometimes feel sorry for those who are." "man," stubby observed, "is a predatory animal. you can't make anything else of him. nobody develops philanthropy and the public spirit until he gets rich and respectable. social service is nothing but a theory yet. god only helps those who help themselves." "how does he arrange it for those who _can't_ help themselves?" macrae inquired. stubby shrugged his shoulders. "search me," he said. "do you even believe in this anthropomorphic god of the preachers?" macrae asked curiously. "well, there must be something, don't you think?" stubby hedged. "there may be," macrae pursued the thought. "i read a book by wells not long ago in which he speaks of god as the great experimenter. if there is an all-powerful deity, it strikes me that in his attitude toward humanity he is a good deal like a referee at a football game who would say to the teams, 'here is the ball and the field and the two goals. go to it,' and then goes off to the side lines to smoke his pipe while the players foul and gouge and trip and generally run amuck in a frenzied effort to win the game." "you're a pessimist," stubby declared. "what is a pessimist?" macrae demanded. but stubby changed the subject. he was not concerned with abstractions. and he was vitally concerned with the material factors of his everyday life, believing that he was able to dominate those material factors and bend them to his will if only he were clever enough and energetic enough. stubby wanted to get in on the blueback salmon run again. he had put a big pack through crow harbor and got a big price for the pack. in a period of mounting prices canned salmon was still ascending. food in any imperishable, easily transported form was sure of a market in europe. there was a promise of even bigger returns for pacific salmon packers in the approaching season. but stubby was not sure enough yet of where he stood to make any definite arrangement with macrae. he wanted to talk things over, to feel his way. there were changes in the air. for months the industrial pot had been spasmodically boiling over in strikes, lockouts, boycotts, charges of profiteering, loud and persistent complaints from consumers, organized labor and rapidly organizing returned soldiers. among other things the salmon packers' monopoly and the large profits derived therefrom had not escaped attention. from her eight millions of population during those years of war effort canada had withdrawn over six hundred thousand able-bodied men. yet the wheels of industry turned apace. she had supplied munitions, food for armies, ships, yet her people had been fed and clothed and housed,--all their needs had been liberally supplied. and in a year these men had come back. not all. there were close on to two hundred thousand to be checked off the lists. there was the lesser army of the slightly and totally disabled, the partially digested food of the war machine. but there were still a quarter of a million men to be reabsorbed into a civil and industrial life which had managed to function tolerably well without them. these men, for the most part, had somehow conceived the idea that they were coming back to a better world, a world purged of dross by the bloody sweat of the war. and they found it pretty much the same old world. they had been uprooted. they found it a little difficult to take root again. they found living costly, good jobs not so plentiful, masters as exacting as they had been before. the golden rule was no more a common practice than it had ever been. yet the country was rich, bursting with money. big business throve, even while it howled to high heaven about ruinous, confiscatory taxation. the common man himself lifted up his voice in protest and backed his protest with such action as he could take. besides the parent body of the great war veterans' association other kindred groups of men who had fought on both sea and land sprang into being. the labor organizations were strengthened in their campaign for shorter hours and longer pay by thousands of their own members returned, all semi-articulate, all more or less belligerent. the war had made fighters of them. war does not teach men sweet reasonableness. they said to themselves and to each other that they had fought the greatest war in the world's history and were worse off than they were before. from coast to coast society was infiltrated with men who wore a small bronze button in the left lapel of their coats, men who had acquired a new sense of their relation to society, men who asked embarrassing questions in public meetings, in clubs, in legislative assemblies, in parliament, and who demanded answers to the questions. british columbia was no exception. the british columbia coast fishermen did not escape the influence of this general unrest, this critical inquiry. wealthy, respectable, middle-aged citizens viewed with alarm and denounced pernicious agitation. the common man retorted with the epithet of "damned profiteer" and worse. army scandals were aired. ancient political graft was exhumed. strident voices arose in the wilderness of contention crying for a fresh deal, a clean-up, a new dispensation. when macrae first began to run bluebacks there were a few returned soldiers fishing salmon, men like the ferrara boys who had been fishermen before they were soldiers, who returned to their old calling when they put off the uniform. later, through the season, he came across other men, frankly neophytes, trying their hand at a vocation which at least held the lure of freedom from a weekly pay check and a boss. these men were not slow to comprehend the cannery grip on the salmon grounds and the salmon fishermen. they chafed against the restrictions which, they said, put them at the canneries' mercy. they growled about the swarms of japanese who could get privileges denied a white man because the japs catered to the packers. they swelled with their voices the feeble chorus that white fishermen had raised long before the war. all of this, like wavering gusts, before the storm, was informing the sentient ears of politicians who governed by grace of electoral votes. soldiers, who had been citizens before they became soldiers, who were frankly critical of both business and government, won in by-elections. in the british columbia legislature there was a major from an island district and a lieutenant from north vancouver. they were exponents of a new deal, enemies of the profiteer and the professional politician, and they were thorns in the side of a provincial government which yearned over vested rights as a mother over her ailing babe. in the dominion capital it was much the same as elsewhere,--a government which had grasped office on a win-the-war platform found its grasp wavering over the knotty problems of peace. the british columbia salmon fisheries were controlled by the dominion, through a department political in its scope. whether the macedonian cry penetrated through bureaucratic swaddlings, whether the fact that fishermen had votes and might use them with scant respect for personages to whom votes were a prerequisite to political power, may remain a riddle. but about the time jack macrae's new carrier was ready to take the water, there came a shuffle in the fishery regulations which fell like a bomb in the packers' camp. the ancient cannery monopoly of purse-seining rights on given territory was broken into fine large fragments. the rules which permitted none but a cannery owner to hold a purse-seine license and denied all other men that privilege were changed. the new regulations provided that any male citizen of british birth or naturalization could fish if he paid the license fee. the cannery men shouted black ruin,--but they girded up their loins to get fish. macrae was still in vancouver when this change of policy was announced. he heard the roaring of the cannery lions. their spokesmen filled the correspondence columns of the daily papers with their views. macrae had not believed such changes imminent or even possible. but taking them as an accomplished fact, he foresaw strange developments in the salmon industry. until now the packers could always be depended upon to stand shoulder to shoulder against the fishermen and the consumer, to dragoon one another into the line of a general policy. the american buyers, questing adventurously from over the line, had alone saved the individual fisherman from eating humbly out of the british columbia canner's hand. the fishermen had made a living, such as it was. the cannery men had dwelt in peace and amity with one another. they had their own loosely knit organization, held together by the ties of financial interest. they sat behind mahogany desks and set the price of salmon to the fishermen and very largely the price of canned fish to the consumer, and their most arduous labor had been to tot up the comfortable balance after each season's operations. all this pleasantness was to be done away with, they mourned. every tom, dick, and harry was to be turned loose on the salmon with deadly gear and greedy intent to exterminate a valuable species of fish and wipe out a thriving industry. the salmon would all be killed off, so did the packers cry. what few small voices arose, suggesting that the deadly purse seine had never been considered deadly when only canneries had been permitted to use such gear and that _they_ had not worried about the extermination of the salmon so long as they did the exterminating themselves and found it highly profitable,--these few voices, alas, arose only in minor strains and were for the most part drowned by the anvil chorus of the cannery men. macrae observed, listened, read the papers, and prophesied to himself a scramble. but he did not see where it touched him,--not until robbin-steele senior asked him to come to his office in the bond building one afternoon. macrae faced the man over a broad table in an office more like the library of a well-appointed home than a place of calculated profit-mongering. robbin-steele, senior, was tall, thin, sixty years of age, sandy-haired, with a high, arched nose. his eyes, macrae thought, were disagreeably like the eyes of a dead fish, lusterless and sunken; a cold man with a suave manner seeking his own advantage. robbin-steele was a scotchman of tolerably good family who had come to british columbia with an inherited fortune and made that fortune grow to vast proportions in the salmon trade. he had two pretty and clever daughters, and three of his sons had been notable fighters overseas. macrae knew them all, liked them well enough. but he had never come much in contact with the head of the family. what he had seen of robbin-steele, senior, gave him the impression of cold, calculating power. "i wonder," macrae heard him saying after a brief exchange of courtesies, "if we could make an arrangement with you to deliver all the salmon you can get this season to our fraser river plant." "possibly," macrae replied. "but there is no certainty that i will get any great number of salmon." "if you were as uncertain as that," robbin-steele said dryly, "you would scarcely be putting several thousand dollars into an elaborately equipped carrier. we may presume that you intend to get the salmon--as you did last year." "you seem to know a great deal about my business," macrae observed. "it is our policy to know, in a general way, what goes on in the salmon industry," robbin-steele assented. macrae waited for him to continue. "you have a good deal of both energy and ability," robbin-steele went on. "it is obvious that you have pretty well got control of the blueback situation around squitty island. you must, however, have an outlet for your fish. we can use these salmon to advantage. on what basis will you deliver them to us on the fraser if we give you a contract guaranteeing to accept all you can deliver?" "twenty per cent, over folly bay prices," macrae answered promptly. the cannery man shook his head. "no. we can't afford to boost the cost of salmon like that. it'll ruin the business, which is in a bad enough way as it is. the more you pay a fisherman, the more he wants. we must keep prices down. that is to your interest, too." "no," macrae disagreed. "i think it is to my interest to pay the fishermen top prices, so long as i make a profit on the deal. i don't want the earth--only a moderate share of it." "twenty per cent. on folly bay prices is too uncertain a basis." robbin-steele changed his tactics. "we can send our own carriers there to buy at far less cost." macrae smiled. "you can send your carriers," he drawled, "but i doubt if you would get many fish. i don't think you quite grasp the squitty situation." "yes, i think i do," robbin-steele returned. "gower had things pretty much his own way until you cut in on his grounds. you have undoubtedly secured quite an advantage in a peculiar manner, and possibly you feel secure against competition. but your hold is not so strong as gower's once was. let me tell you, your hold on that business can be broken, my young friend." "undoubtedly," macrae readily admitted. "but there is a world-wide demand for canned salmon, and i have not suffered for a market--even when influence was used last season to close the home market against me, on folly bay's behalf. and i am quite sure, from what i have seen and heard, that many of the big british columbia packers like yourself are so afraid the labor situation will get out of hand that they would shut down their plants rather than pay fishermen what they could afford to pay if they would be content with a reasonable profit. so i am not at all afraid of you seducing the squitty trollers with high prices." "you are laboring under the common error about cannery profits," robbin-steele declared pointedly. "considering the capital invested, the total of the pack, the risk and uncertainty of the business, our returns are not excessive." macrae smiled amusedly. "that all depends on what you regard as excessive. but there is nothing to be gained by an argument on that subject. canning salmon is a highly profitable business, but it would not be the gold mine it has been if canneries hadn't been fostered at the expense of the men who actually catch the fish, if the government hadn't bestowed upon cannery men the gift of a strangle hold on the salmon grounds, and license privileges that gave them absolute control. i haven't any quarrel with cannery men for making money. you only amuse me when you speak of doubtful returns. i wish i could have your cinch for a season or two." "you shouldn't have any quarrel with us. you started with nothing and made twenty thousand dollars in a single season," robbin-steele reminded. "i worked like a dog. i took chances. and i was very lucky," macrae agreed. "i did make a lot of money. but i paid the fishermen more than they ever got for salmon--a great deal more than they would have got if i hadn't broken into the game. abbott made money on the salmon i delivered him. so everybody was satisfied, except gower--who perhaps feels that he is ordained by the almighty to get cheap salmon." "you're spoiling those men," robbin-steele declared irritably. "my observation of that class of labor is that the more money they get the less they will do and the more they will want. you can't carry on any industry on that basis. but that's beside the point. we're getting away from the question. we want you to deliver those fish to us, if you can do so at a reasonable price. we should like to have some sort of agreement, so that we may know what to expect." "i can deliver the fish," macrae asserted confidently. "but i don't care to bind myself to anything. not this far in advance. wait till the salmon run." "you are a very shrewd young man, i should say." robbin-steele paid him a reluctant compliment and let a gleam of appreciation flicker in his dead-fish eyes. "i imagine you will get on. come and see me when you feel like considering this matter seriously." macrae went down the elevator wondering if the gentleman's agreement among the packers was off, if there was going to be something in the nature of competition among them for the salmon. there would be a few more gill-net licenses issued. more important, the gill-netters would be free to fish where they chose, for whosoever paid the highest price, and not for the cannery which controlled their license. there would be scores of independent purse seiners. would the packers bid against one another for the catch? it rather seemed to macrae as if they must. they could no longer sit back secure in the knowledge that the salmon from a given area must come straight to their waiting cans. and british columbia packers had always dreaded american competition. following that, macrae took train for bellingham. the people he had dealt with there at the close of the last season had dealt fairly. american salmon packers had never suffered the blight of a monopoly. they had established their industry in legitimate competition, without governmental favors. they did not care how much money a fisherman made so long as he caught fish for them which they could profitably can. macrae had no contract with them. he did not want a contract. if he made hard and fast agreements with any one it would be with stubby abbott. but he did want to fortify himself with all the information he could get. he did not know what line folly bay would take when the season opened. he was not sure what shifts might occur among the british columbia canneries. if such a thing as free and unlimited competition for salmon took place he might need more than one outlet for his carriers. macrae was not engaged in a hazardous business for pastime. he had an objective, and this objective was contingent upon making money. from the american source he learned that a good season was anticipated for the better grades of salmon. he found out what prices he could expect. they were liberal enough to increase his confidence. these men were anxious to get the thousands of british columbia salmon macrae could supply. macrae returned to vancouver. before he had finished unpacking his bag the telephone rang. hurley, of the northwest cold storage, spoke when he took down the receiver. could he drop into the northwest office? macrae grinned to himself and went down to the grimy wharf where deep-sea halibut schooners rubbed against the dock, their stubby top-hamper swaying under the office windows as they rocked to the swell of passing harbor craft. he talked with hurley,--the same gentleman whom he had once approached with no success in the matter of selling salmon. the situation was reversed now. the northwest was eager to buy. they would pay him, _sub rosa_, two cents a pound over the market price for fresh salmon if he would supply them with the largest possible quantity from the beginning of the blueback run. as with robbin-steele, macrae refused to commit himself. more clearly he perceived that the scramble was beginning. the packers and the cold-storage companies had lost control. they must have fish to function, to make a profit. they would cut one another's throats for salmon. so much the better, macrae cynically reflected. he told hurley, at last, as he had told robbin-steele, to wait till the salmon began to run. he left the northwest offices with the firm conviction that it was not going to be a question of markets, but a question of getting the salmon. and he rather fancied he could do that. last of all on the list of these men who approached him in this fashion came stubby abbott. stubby did not ask him to call. he came to the granada in search of jack and haled him, nothing loth, out to the stone house in the west end. it happened that betty gower, etta robbin-steele, and two gilded youths, whom macrae did not know, were there. they had been walking in the park. nelly and her mother were serving tea. it happened, too, that as they chatted over the teacups, a blue-bodied limousine drew up under the abbott pergola and deposited mrs. horace a. gower for a brief conversation with mrs. abbott. it was macrae's first really close contact with the slender, wonderfully preserved lady whose life had touched his father's so closely in the misty long ago. he regarded her with a reflective interest. she must have been very beautiful then, he thought. she was almost beautiful still. certainly she was a very distinguished person, with her costly clothing, her rich furs, her white hair, and that faded rose-leaf skin. the petulant, querulous droop of her mouth escaped macrae. he was not a physiognomist. but the distance of her manner did not escape him. she acknowledged the introduction and thereafter politely overlooked macrae. he meant nothing at all to mrs. horace a. gower, he saw very clearly. merely a young man among other young men; a young man of no particular interest. thirty years is a long time, macrae reflected. but his father had not forgotten. he wondered if she had; if those far-off hot-blooded days had grown dim and unreal to her? he turned his head once and caught betty as intent upon him as he was upon her mother, under cover of the general conversation. he gathered that there was a shade of reproach, of resentment, in her eyes. but he could not be sure. certainly there was nothing like that in her manner. but the manner of these people, he understood very well, was pretty much a mask. whatever went on in their secret bosoms, they smiled and joked and were unfailingly courteous. he made another discovery within a few minutes. stubby maneuvered himself close to etta robbin-steele. stubby was not quite so adept at repression as most of his class. he was a little more naïve, more prone to act upon his natural, instinctive impulses. macrae was aware of that. he saw now a swift by-play that escaped the rest. nothing of any consequence,--a look, the motion of a hand, a fleeting something on the girl's face and stubby's. jack glanced at nelly abbott sitting beside him, her small blonde head pertly inclined. nelly saw it too. she smiled knowingly. "has the brunette siren hooked stubby?" macrae inquired in a discreet undertone. "i think so. i'm not sure. etta's such an outrageous flirt," nelly said. "i hope not, anyway. i'm afraid i can't quite appreciate etta as a prospective sister-in-law." "no?" "she's catty--and vain as a peacock. stubby ought to marry a nice sensible girl who'd mother him," nelly observed with astonishing conviction; "like betty, for instance." "oh, you seem to have very definite ideas on that subject," macrae smiled. he did not commit himself further. but he resented the suggestion. there was also an amusing phase of nelly's declaration which did not escape him,--the pot calling the kettle black. etta robbin-steele did flirt. she had dancing black eyes that flung a challenge to men. but nelly herself was no shrinking violet, for all her baby face. she was like an elf. her violet eyes were capable of infinite shades of expression. she, herself, had a way of appropriating men who pleased her, to the resentful dismay of other young women. it pleased her to do that with jack macrae whenever he was available. and until betty had preëmpted a place in his heart without even trying, jack macrae had been quite willing to let his fancy linger romantically on nelly abbott. as it was,--he looked across the room at betty chatting with young lane. what a damned fool he was,--he, macrae! all his wires were crossed. if some inescapable human need urged him to love, how much better to love this piquant bit of femininity beside him? but he couldn't do it. it wasn't possible. all the old rebellion stirred in him. the locked chambers of his mind loosed pictures of squitty, memories of things which had happened there, as he let his eyes drift from betty, whom he loved, to her mother, whom his father had loved and lost. she had made his father suffer through love. her daughter was making donald macrae's son suffer likewise. again, through some fantastic quirk of his imagination, the stodgy figure of horace gower loomed in the background, shadowy and sinister. there were moments, like the present, when he felt hatred of the man concretely, as he could feel thirst or hunger. "a penny for your thoughts," nelly bantered. "they'd be dear at half the price," macrae said, forcing a smile. he was glad when those people went their way. nelly put on a coat and went with them. stubby drew jack up to his den. "i have bought up the controlling interest in the terminal fish company since i saw you last," stubby began abruptly. "i'm going to put up a cold-storage plant and do what my father started to do early in the war--give people cheaper fish for food." "can you make it stick," macrae asked curiously, "with the other wholesalers against you? their system seems to be to get all the traffic will bear, to boost the price to the consumer by any means they can use. and there is the packers' association. they are not exactly--well, favorable to cheap retailing of fish. everybody seems to think the proper caper is to tack on a cent or two a pound wherever he can." "i know i can," stubby declared. "the pater would have succeeded only he trusted too much to men who didn't see it his way. look at cunningham--" stubby mentioned a fish merchant who had made a resounding splash in matters piscatorial for a year or two, and then faded, along with his great cheap-fish markets, into oblivion--"he made it go like a house afire until he saw a chance to make a quick and easy clean-up by sticking people. it can be done, all right, if a man will be satisfied with a small profit on a big turnover. i know it." macrae made no comment on that. stubby was full of his plan, eager to talk about its possibilities. "i wanted to do it last year," he said, "but i couldn't. i had to play the old game--make a bunch of money and make it quick. between you and gower's pig-headedness, and the rest of the cannery crowd letting me go till it was too late to stop me, and a climbing market, i made more money in one season than i thought was possible. i'm going to use that money to make more money and to squash some of these damned fish pirates. i tell you it's jolly awful. we had baked cod for lunch to-day. that fish cost twenty cents a pound. think of it! when the fisherman sells it for six cents within fifty miles of us. no wonder everybody is howling. i don't know anything about other lines of food supply, but i can sure put my finger on a bunch of fish profiteers. and i feel like putting my foot on them. anyway, i've got the terminal for a starter; also i have a twenty-five-year lease on the water frontage there. i have the capital to go ahead and build a cold-storage plant. the wholesale crowd can't possibly bother me. and the canneries are going to have their hands full this season without mixing into a scrap over local prices of fresh fish. you've heard about the new regulations?" macrae nodded assent. "there's going to be a free-for-all," stubby chuckled. "there'll be a lot of independent purse seiners. if the canneries don't pay good prices these independent fishermen, with their fast, powerful rigs, will seine the salmon under the packers' noses and run their catch down to the puget sound plants. this is no time for the british columbia packers to get uppish. good-by, four hundred per cent." "they'll wiggle through legislation to prevent export of raw salmon," macrae suggested; "same as they have on the sockeye." "no chance. they've tried, and it can't be done," stubby grinned. "there aren't going to be any special privileges for british columbia salmon packers any more. i know, because i'm on the inside. the fishermen have made a noise that disturbs the politicians, i guess. another thing, there's a slack in the demand for all but the best grades of salmon. but the number one grades, sockeye and blueback and coho, are short. so that a cannery man with an efficient plant can pay big for those fish. if you can hold that squitty fleet of trollers like you did last year, you'll make some money." "do you want those salmon?" macrae asked. "sure i want them. i want them as soon as they begin to run big enough to be legally taken for sale," stubby declared. "i'm going to rush that cold-storage construction. by the time you begin collecting bluebacks i'll have a place for them, all you can buy. i'll have storage for three hundred thousand fish. i'm going to buy everything and start half a dozen retail stores at the same time. just imagine the situation in this burg of a hundred and fifty thousand people with waters that swarm with fish right at our doors--salmon selling for thirty cents a pound, hardly ever below twenty, other fish in about the same proportion. it's a damned scandal, and i don't much blame a man who works for four dollars a day thinking he might as well turn bolshevik. i know that i can pay twelve cents for salmon and make a good profit selling for sixteen. can you make money supplying me with bluebacks at twelve cents a pound?" "yes, more money than i made last year," macrae replied--"unless folly bay boosts prices to the sky in an effort to drive me out of business." "i don't think there's much danger of that," stubby said. "i doubt if folly bay opens this season. it's reported that gower is broke." "eh?" macrae looked his doubt. "that's what they say," stubby went on. "it's common talk. he sold his place in town a short while ago. he has the cannery on the market. and there are no takers. folly bay used to be a little gold mine. but gower rode the fishermen too hard. and you balled things up last season. he lost his grip. i suppose he was involved other ways, too. lots of these old-timers are, you know. anyway, he seems to be trying to get out from under. but nobody wants to take over a plant that has a black eye among the men who catch the fish, in a territory where you appear to have a pretty strong hold." "at the same time, if i can pay so much for salmon, haul them up the coast and make a profit on that, and if you can pay this advanced price and pack them at a still bigger profit, why in blazes can't a plant right there on the grounds pay top price and still make money?" macrae asked impatiently. "could," stubby declared. "certainly. but most men in the salmon canning business aren't like you and me, jack. they are used to big returns on a three months' season. they simply can't stand the idea of paying out big gobs of money to a sulky, un-shaven bohunk whose whole equipment isn't worth a thousand dollars. they think any man in sea boots ought to be damn well satisfied if he makes a living. they say high wages, or returns, spoil fishermen. on top of these new regulations nobody hankers to buy a plant where they might have to indulge in a price war with a couple of crazy young fools like you and me--that's what they call us, you know. that is why no experienced cannery man will touch folly bay the way things stand now. it's a fairly good plant, too. i don't know how gower has managed to get in a hole. i don't believe one poor season could do that to him. but he sure wants to get rid of folly bay. it is a forty-thousand-dollar plant, including the gas boats. he has been nibbling at an offer of twenty-five thousand. i know, because i made it myself." "what'll you do with it if you get it?" macrae asked curiously. "it's no good unless you get the fish. you'd have to put me out of business." "well, i wasn't exactly figuring on that," stubby grinned. "in the first place, the machinery and equipment is worth that much in the open market. and if i get it, we'll either make a deal for collecting the fish, or you can take a half-interest in the plant at the ground-floor price. either way, we can make it a profitable investment for both of us." "you really think gower is in a bad way?" jack asked reflectively. "i know it," stubby replied emphatically. "oh, i don't mean to say that abject poverty is staring him in the face, or anything like that. but it looks to me as if he had lost a barrel of money somehow and was anxious to get folly bay off his hands before it sets him further in the hole. you could make folly bay pay big dividends. so could i. but so long as you cover his ground with carriers, every day he operates is a dead loss. i haven't much sympathy for him. he has made a fortune out of that place and those fishermen and spent it making a big splurge in town. anyway, his wife has all kinds of kale, so we should worry about old horace a." macrae lit a cigarette and listened to the flow of stubby's talk, with part of his mind mulling over this information about horace gower. he wondered if that was why robbin-steele was so keen on getting a contract for those squitty bluebacks, why hurley of the northwest wanted to make a deal for salmon; if they reckoned that gower had ceased to be a factor and that jack macrae held the squitty island business in the hollow of his hand. macrae smiled to himself. if that were true it was an advantage he meant to hold for his own good and the good of all those hard-driven men who labored at the fishing. in a time that was economically awry macrae's sympathy turned more to those whose struggle was to make a living, or a little more if they could, than to men who already had more than they needed, men who had no use for more money except to pile it up, to keep piling it up. macrae was neither an idealist nor a philanthropic dreamer. but he knew the under dog of the great industrial scramble. in his own business he would go out of his way to add another hundred dollars a year to a fisherman's earnings. he did not know quite clearly why he felt like that. it was more or less instinctive. he expected to make money out of his business, he was eager to make money, but he saw very clearly that it was only in and through the tireless labor of the fishermen that he could reap a profit. and he was young enough to be generous in his impulses. he was not afraid, like the older men, that if those who worked with their hands got a little more than sufficient to live on from season to season they would grow fat and lazy and arrogant, and refuse to produce. money was a necessity. without it, without at least a reasonable amount of money, a man could not secure any of the things essential to well-being of either body or mind. the moneyless man was a slave so long as he was moneyless. macrae smiled at those who spoke slightingly of the power of money. he knew they were mistaken. money was king. no amount of it, cash in hand, would purchase happiness, perhaps, but lack of it made a man fall an easy victim to dire misfortunes. without money a man was less than the dirt beneath the feet of such as robbin-steele and hurley and gower, because their criterion of another man's worth was his ability to get money, to beat the game they all played. macrae put himself and stubby abbott in a different category. they wanted to get on. they were determined to get on. but their programme of getting on, macrae felt, was a better one for themselves and for other men than the mere instinct to grab everything in sight. macrae was not exactly a student of economics or sociology, but he had an idea that the world, and particularly his group-world, was suffering from the grab-instinct functioning without control. he had a theory that society would have to modify that grab-instinct by legislation and custom before the world was rid of a lot of its present ills. and both his reason and his instinct was to modify it himself, in his dealings with his fellows, more particularly when those he dealt with were simple, uneducated men who worked as hard and complained as little as salmon fishermen. he talked with stubby in the den until late in the afternoon, and then walked downtown. when he reached the granada he loafed uneasily in the billiard room until dinner. his mind persistently turned from material considerations of boats and gear and the season's prospects to dwell upon betty gower. this wayward questing of his mind irritated him. but he could not help it. whenever he met her, even if it were only a brief, casual contact, for hours afterward he could not drive her out of his mind. and he was making a conscious effort to do that. it was a matter of sheer self-defense. only when he shut betty resolutely out of the chambers of his brain could he be free of that hungry longing for her. while he suffered from that vain longing there was neither peace nor content in his life; he could get no satisfaction out of working or planning or anything that he undertook. that would wear off, he assured himself. but he did not always have complete confidence in this assurance. he was aware of a tenacity of impressions and emotions and ideas, once they took hold of him. old donald macrae had been afflicted with just such characteristics, he remembered. it must be in the blood, that stubborn constancy to either an affection or a purpose. and in him these two things were at war, pulling him powerfully in opposite directions, making him unhappy. sitting deep in a leather chair, watching the white and red balls roll and click on the green cloth, macrae recalled one of the maxims of hafiz: "'two things greater than all things are and one is love and the other is war.'" macrae doubted this. he had had experience of both. at the moment he could see nothing in either but vast accumulations of futile anguish both of the body and the soul. chapter xviii a renewal of hostilities the pussy willows had put out their fuzzy catkins and shed them for delicate foliage when macrae came back to squitty cove. the alder, the maple and the wild cherry, all the spring-budding trees and shrubs, were making thicket and foreshore dainty green and full of pleasant smells. jack wakened the first morning at daybreak to the muted orchestration of mating birds, the song of a thousand sweet-voiced, unseen warblers. the days were growing warm, full of sunshine. distant mountain ranges stood white-capped and purple against sapphire skies. the air was full of the ancient magic of spring. yet macrae himself, in spite of these pleasant sights and sounds and smells, in spite of his books and his own rooftree, found the cove haunted by the twin ghosts he dreaded most, discontent and loneliness. he was more isolated than he had ever been in his life. there was no one in the cove save an old, unkempt swede, doug sproul, who slept eighteen hours a day in his cabin while he waited for the salmon to run again, a withered portuguese who sat in the sun and muttered while he mended gear. they were old men, human driftwood, beached in their declining years, crabbed and sour, looking always backward with unconscious regret. vin ferrara was away with the _bluebird_, still plying his fish venture. dolly and norman gower were married, and dolly was back on the knob in the middle of squitty island, keeping house for her husband and uncle peter and long tom spence while they burrowed in the earth to uncover a copper-bearing lead that promised a modest fortune for all three. peter ferrara's house at the cove stood empty and deserted in the spring sun. people had to shift, to grasp opportunities as they were presented, macrae knew. they could not take root and stand still in one spot like the great douglas firs. but he missed the familiar voices, the sight of friendly faces. he had nothing but his own thoughts to keep him company. a man of twenty-five, a young and lusty animal of abounding vitality, needs more than his own reflections to fill his days. denied the outlet of purposeful work in which to release pent-up energy, macrae brooded over shadows, suffered periods of unaccountable depression. nature had not designed him for either a hermit or a celibate. something in him cried out for affection, for companionship, for a woman's tenderness bestowed unequivocally. the mating instinct was driving him, as it drove the birds. but its urge was not the general, unspecified longing which turns a man's eyes upon any desirable woman. very clearly, imperiously, this dominant instinct in macrae had centered upon betty gower. he was at war with his instincts. his mind stipulated that he could not have her without a revolutionary overturning of his convictions, inhibitions, soundly made and passionately cherished plans of reprisal for old injustices. that peculiar tenacity of idea and purpose which was inherent with him made him resent, refuse soberly to consider any deviation from the purpose which had taken form with such bitter intensity when he kindled to his father's account of those drab years which horace gower had laid upon him. jack macrae was no angel. under his outward seeming his impulses were primitive, like the impulses of all strong men. he nursed a vision of beating gower at gower's own game. he hugged to himself the ultimate satisfaction of that. even when he was dreaming of betty, he was mentally setting her aside until he had beaten her father to his knees under the only sort of blows he could deal. until he had made gower know grief and disappointment and helplessness, and driven him off the south end of squitty landless and powerless, he would go on as he had elected. when he got this far jack would sometimes say to himself in a spirit of defiant recklessness that there were plenty of other women for whom ultimately he could care as much. but he knew also that he would not say that, nor even think it, whenever betty gower was within reach of his hand or sound of his voice. he walked sometimes over to point old and stared at the cottage, snowy white against the tender green, its lawn growing rank with uncut grass, its chimney dead. there were times when he wished he could see smoke lifting from that chimney and know that he could find betty somewhere along the beach. but these were only times when his spirits were very low. also he occasionally wondered if it were true, as stubby abbott declared, that gower had fallen into a financial hole. macrae doubted that. men like gower always got out of a hole. they were fierce and remorseless pursuers of the main chance. when they were cast down they climbed up straightway over the backs of lesser men. he thought of robbin-steele. a man like that would die with the harness of the money-game on his back, reaching for more. gower was of the same type, skillful in all the tricks of the game, ruthless, greedy for power and schooled to grasp it in a bewildering variety of ways. no, he rather doubted that gower was broke, or even in any danger of going broke. he hoped this might be true, in spite of his doubts, for it meant that gower would be compelled to sacrifice this six hundred acres of macrae land. the sooner the better. it was a pain to macrae to see it going wild. the soil donald macrae had cleared and turned to meadow, to small fields of grain, was growing up to ferns and scrub. it had been a source of pride to old donald. he had visualized for his son more than once great fields covered with growing crops, a rich and fruitful area, with a big stone house looking out over the cliffs where ultimate generations of macraes should live. if luck had not gone against old donald he would have made this dream come true. but life and gower had beaten him. jack macrae knew this. it maddened him to think that this foundation of a dream had become the plaything of his father's enemy, a neglected background for a summer cottage which he only used now and then. there might, however, be something in the statements stubby had made. macrae recalled that gower had not replaced the _arrow_. the underwriters had raised and repaired the mahogany cruiser, and she had passed into other hands. when betty and her father came to cradle bay they came on a cannery tender or a hired launch. macrae hoped it might be true that gower was slipping, that he had helped to start him on this decline. presently the loneliness of the cove was broken by the return of vincent ferrara. they skidded the _bluebird_ out on the beach at the cove's head and overhauled her inside and out, hull and machinery. that brought them well into april. the new carrier was complete from truck to keelson. she had been awaiting only macrae's pleasure for her maiden sea-dip. so now, with the _bluebird_ sleeked with new paint, he went down for the launching. there was a little ceremony over that. "it's bad luck, the very worst sort of luck, to launch a boat without christening her in the approved manner," nelly abbott declared. "i insist on being sponsor. do let me, jack." so the new sixty-footer had a bottle of wine from the abbott cellar broken over her brass-bound stemhead as her bows sliced into the salt water, and nelly's clear treble chanted: "i christen thee _agua blanco_." vin ferrara's dark eyes gleamed, for _agua blanco_ means "white water" in the spanish tongue. the terminal fish company's new coolers were yawning for fish when the first blueback run of commercial size showed off gray rock and the ballenas. all the squitty boats went out as soon as the salmon came. macrae skippered the new and shining _blanco_, brave in white paint and polished brass on her virgin trip. he followed the main fleet, while the _bluebird_ scuttled about to pick up stray trollers' catches and to tend the rowboat men. she would dump a day's gathering on the _blanco's_ deck, and the two crews would dress salmon till their hands were sore. but it saved both time and fuel to have that great carrying capacity, and the freezing plant which automatically chilled the fish. macrae could stay on the grounds till he was fully loaded. he could slash through to vancouver at nine knots instead of seven. a sea that would toss the old wrecked _blackbird_ like a dory and keep her low decks continually awash let the _blanco_ pass with only a moderate pitch and roll. macrae worked hard. he found ease in work. when the last salmon was dressed and stowed below, many times under the glow of electric bulbs strung along the cargo boom, he would fall into his bunk and sleep dreamlessly. decks streaming with blood and offal, plastered with slime and clinging scales--until such time as they were washed down--ceased to annoy him. no man can make omelettes without breaking eggs. only the fortunate few can make money without soiling their hands. there is no room in the primary stages of taking salmon for those who shrink from sweat and strain, from elemental stress. the white-collared and the lily-fingered cannot function there. the pink meat my lady toys with on limoges china comes to her table by ways that would appal her. only the men who toil aboard the fishing boats, with line and gear and gutting knife know in what travail this harvest of the sea is reaped. macrae played fair, according to his conception of fair play. he based his payments on a decent profit, without which he could not carry on. running heavier cargoes at less cost he raised the price to the fishermen as succeeding runs of blueback salmon were made up of larger, heavier fish. other buyers came, lingered awhile, cursed him and went away. they could not run to vancouver with small quantities of salmon and meet his price. but macrae in the _blanco_ could take six, eight, ten thousand salmon profitably on a margin which the other buyers said was folly. the trolling fleet swelled in numbers. the fish were there. the old-timers had prophesied a big blueback year, and for once their prophecy was by way of being fulfilled. the fish schooled in great shoals off nanaimo, around gray rock, the ballenas, passed on to sangster and squitty. and the fleet followed a hundred strong, each day increasing,--indians, greeks, japanese, white men, raking the salmon grounds with glittering spoon hooks, gathering in the fish. in early june macrae was delivering eighteen thousand salmon a week to the terminal fish company. he was paying forty cents a fish, more than any troller in the gulf of georgia had ever got for june bluebacks, more than any buyer had ever paid before the opening of the canneries heightened the demand. he was clearing nearly a thousand dollars a week for himself, and he was putting unheard-of sums in the pockets of the fishermen. macrae believed these men understood how this was possible, that they had a feeling of coöperating with him for their common good. they had sold their catches on a take-it-or-leave-it basis for years. he had put a club in their hands as well as money in their pockets. they would stand with him against less scrupulous, more remorseless exploiters of their labor. they would see that he got fish. they told him that. "if somebody else offered sixty cents you'd sell to him, wouldn't you?" macrae asked a dozen of them sitting on the _blanco's_ deck one afternoon. they had been talking about canneries and competition. "not if he was boosting the price up just to make you quit, and then cut it in two when he had everything to himself," one man said. "that's been done too often." "remember that when the canneries open, then," macrae said dryly. "there is not going to be much, of a price for humps and dog salmon this fall. but there is going to be a scramble for the good canning fish. i can pay as much as salmon are worth, but i can't go any further. if i should have to pull my boats off in mid-season you can guess what they'll pay around squitty." macrae was not crying "wolf." there were signs and tokens of uneasiness and irritation among those who still believed it was their right and privilege to hold the salmon industry in the hollows of their grasping hands. stubby abbott was a packer. he had the ears of the other packers. they were already complaining to stubby, grouching about macrae, unable to understand that stubby listened to them with his tongue in his cheek, that one of their own class should have a new vision of industrial processes, a vision that was not like their own. "they're cultivating quite a grievance about the price you're paying," stubby told jack in confidence. "they say you are a damned fool. you could get those fish for thirty cents and you are paying forty. the fishermen will want the earth when the canneries open. they hint around that something will drop with a loud bang one of these days. i think it's just hot air. they can't hurt either of us. i'll get a fair pack at crow harbor, and i'll have this plant loaded. i've got enough money to carry on. it makes me snicker to myself to imagine how they'll squirm and squeal next winter when i put frozen salmon on the market ten cents a pound below what they figure on getting. oh, yes, our friends in the fish business are going to have a lot of grievances. but just now they are chiefly grouching at you." macrae seldom set foot ashore those crowded days. but he passed within sight of squitty cove and poor man's rock once at least in each forty-eight hours. for weeks he had seen smoke drifting blue from the cottage chimney in cradle bay. he saw now and then the flutter of something white or blue on the lawn that he knew must be betty. part of the time a small power boat swung to the mooring in the bay where the shining _arrow_ nosed to wind and tide in other days. he heard current talk among the fishermen concerning the gowers. gower himself was spending his time between the cottage and folly bay. the cannery opened five days in advance of the sockeye season on the fraser. when the gower collecting boats made their first round macrae knew that he had a fight on his hands. gower, it seemed to him, had bared his teeth at last. the way of the blueback salmon might have furnished a theme for solomon. in all the years during which these fish had run in the gulf of georgia neither fishermen, canners, nor the government ichthyologists were greatly wiser concerning their nature or habits or life history. grounds where they swarmed one season might prove barren the next. where they came from, out of what depths of the far pacific those silvery hordes marshaled themselves, no man knew. nor, when they vanished in late august, could any man say whither they went. they did not ascend the streams. no blueback was ever taken with red spawn in his belly. they were a mystery which no man had unraveled, no matter that he took them by thousands in order that he himself might subsist upon their flesh. one thing the trollers did know,--where the small feed swarmed, in shoal water or deep, those myriads of tiny fish, herring and nameless smaller ones, there the blueback would appear, and when he did so appear he could be taken by a spoon hook. away beyond the sisters--three gaunt gray rocks rising out of the sea miles offshore in a fairway down which passed all the alaska-bound steamers, with a lone lighthouse on the middle rock--away north of folly bay there opened wide trolling grounds about certain islands which lay off the vancouver island shore,--hornby, lambert channel, yellow rock, cape lazo. in other seasons the blueback runs lingered about squitty for a while and then passed on to those kelp-grown and reef-strewed grounds. this season these salmon appeared first far south of squitty. the trolling scouts, the restless wanderers of the fleet, who could not abide sitting still and waiting in patience for the fish to come, first picked them up by the gulf islands, very near that great highway to the open sea known as the strait of san juan. the blueback pushed on the gray rock to the ballenas, as if the blackfish and seal and shark that hung always about the schools to prey were herding them to some given point. very shortly after they could be taken in the shadow of the ballenas light the schools swarmed about the cove end of squitty island, between the elephant on sangster and poor man's rock. for days on end the sea was alive with them. in the gray of dawn and the reddened dusk they played upon the surface of the sea as far as the eye reached. and always at such times they struck savagely at a glittering spoon hook. beyond squitty they vanished. fifty and sixty salmon daily to a boat off the squitty headlands dwindled to fifteen and twenty at the folly bay end. those restless trollers who crossed the gulf to hornby and yellow rock light got little for their pains. between folly bay and the swirling tide races off the desolate head of cape mudge the blueback disappeared. but at squitty the runs held constant. there were off days, but the fish were always there. the trollers hung at the south end, sheltering at night in the cove, huddled rubstrake to rubstrake and bow to stern, so many were they in that little space, on days when the southeaster made the cliffs shudder under the shock of breaking seas. if fishing slackened for a day or two they did not scatter as in other days. there would be another run hard on the heels of the last. and there was. macrae ran the _blanco_ into squitty cove one afternoon and made fast alongside the _bluebird_ which lay to fore and aft moorings in the narrow gut of the cove. the gulf outside was speckled with trollers, but there were many at anchor, resting, or cooking food. one of the mustard pots was there, a squat fifty-foot carrier painted a gaudy yellow--the folly bay house color--flying a yellow flag with a black c in the center. she was loading fish from two trollers, one lying on each side. one or two more were waiting, edging up. "he came in yesterday afternoon after you left," vin ferrara told jack. "and he offered forty-five cents. some of them took it. to-day he's paying fifty and hinting more if he has to." macrae laughed. "we'll match gower's price till he boosts us out of the bidding," he said. "and he won't make much on his pack if he does that." "say, folly bay," jack called across to the mustard-pot carrier, "what are you paying for bluebacks?" the skipper took his eye off the tallyman counting in fish. "fifty cents," he answered in a voice that echoed up and down the cove. "that must sound good to the fishermen," macrae called back pleasantly. "folly bay's getting generous in its declining years." it was the off period between tides. there were forty boats at rest in the cove and more coming in. the ripple of laughter that ran over the fleet was plainly audible. they could appreciate that. macrae sat down on the _blanco's_ after cabin and lit a cigarette. "looks like they mean to get the fish," vin hazarded. "can you tilt that and make anything?" "let them do the tilting," macrae answered. "if the fish run heavy i can make a little, even if prices go higher. if he boosts them to seventy-five, i'd have to quit. at that price only the men who catch the fish will make anything. i really don't know how much we will be able to pay when crow harbor opens up." "we'll have some fun anyway." vin's black eyes sparkled. it took macrae three days to get a load. human nature functions pretty much the same among all men. the trollers distrusted folly bay. they said to one another that if gower could kill off competition he would cut the price to the bone. he had done that before. but when a fisherman rises wearily from his bunk at three in the morning and spends the bulk of the next eighteen hours hauling four one hundred and fifty foot lines, each weighted with from six to fifteen pounds of lead, he feels that he is entitled to every cent he can secure for his day's labor. the gower boats got fish. the mustard pot came back next day, paying fifty-five cents. a good many trollers sold him their fish before they learned that macrae was paying the same. and the mustard pot evidently had his orders, for he tilted the price to sixty, which forced macrae to do the same. when the _blanco_ unloaded her cargo of eight-thousand-odd salmon into the terminal and macrae checked his receipts and expenditures for that trip, he discovered that he had neither a profit nor a loss. he went to see stubby, explained briefly the situation. "you can't get any more cheap salmon for cold storage until the seiners begin to take coho, that's certain," he declared. "how far can you go in this price fight when you open the cannery?" "gower appears to have gone a bit wild, doesn't he?" stubby ruminated. "let's see. those fish are running about five pounds now. they'll get a bit heavier as we go along. well, i can certainly pack as cheaply as he can. i tell you, go easy for a week, till i get crow harbor under way. then you can pay up to seventy-five cents and i'll allow you five cents a fish commission. i don't believe he'll dare pay more than that before late in july. if he does, why, we'll see what we can do." macrae went back to squitty. he could make money with the _blanco_ on a five-cent commission,--if he could get the salmon within the price limit. so for the next trip or two he contented himself with meeting gower's price and taking what fish came to him. the folly bay mustard pots--three of them great and small--scurried here and there among the trollers, dividing the catch with the _bluebird_ and the _blanco_. there was always a mustard-pot collector in sight. the weather was getting hot. salmon would not keep in a troller's hold. part of the old guard stuck tight to macrae. but there were new men fishing; there were japanese and illiterate greeks. it was not to be expected that these men should indulge in far-sighted calculations. but it was a trifle disappointing to see how readily any troller would unload his catch into a mustard pot if neither of macrae's carriers happened to be at hand. "why don't you tie up your boats, jack?" vin asked angrily. "you know what would happen. gower would drop the price with a bang. you'd think these damned idiots would know that. yet they're feeding him fish by the thousand. they don't appear to care a hoot whether you get any or not. i used to think fishermen had some sense. these fellows can't see an inch past their cursed noses. pull off your boats for a couple of weeks and let them get their bumps." "what do you expect?" macrae said lightly. "it's a scramble, and they are acting precisely as they might be expected to act. i don't blame them. they're under the same necessity as the rest of us--to get it while they can. did you think they'd sell me fish for sixty if somebody else offered sixty-five? you know how big a nickel looks to a man who earns it as hard as these fellows do." "no, but they don't seem to care who gets their salmon," vin growled. "even when you're paying the same, they act like they'd just as soon gower got 'em as you. you paid more than folly bay all last season. you put all kinds of money in their pockets that you didn't have to." "and when the pinch comes, they'll remember that," macrae said. "you watch, vin. the season is young yet. gower may beat me at this game, but he won't make any money at it." macrae kept abreast of folly bay for ten days and emerged from that period with a slight loss, because at the close he was paying more than the salmon were worth at the terminal warehouse. but when he ran his first load into crow harbor stubby looked over the pile of salmon his men were forking across the floor and drew jack into his office. "i've made a contract for delivery of my entire sockeye and blueback pack," he said. "i know precisely where i stand. i can pay up to ninety cents for all july fish. i want all the squitty bluebacks you can get. go after them, jack." and macrae went after them. wherever a folly bay collector went either the _blanco_ or the _bluebird_ was on his heels. macrae could cover more ground and carry more cargo, and keep it fresh, than any mustard pot. the _bluebird_ covered little outlying nooks, the stragglers, the rowboat men in their beach camps. the _blanco_ kept mostly in touch with the main fleet patrolling the southeastern end of squitty like a naval flotilla, wheeling and counterwheeling over the grounds where the blueback played. macrae forced the issue. he raised the price to sixty-five, to seventy, to seventy-five, to eighty, and the boats under the yellow house flag had to pay that to get a fish. macrae crowded them remorselessly to the limit. so long as he got five cents a fish he could make money. he suspected that it cost gower a great deal more than five cents a salmon to collect what he got. and he did not get so many now. with the opening of the sockeye season on the fraser and in the north the japs abandoned trolling for the gill net. the white trollers returned to their first love because he courted them assiduously. there was always a macrae carrier in the offing. it cost macrae his sleep and rest, but he drove himself tirelessly. he could leave squitty at dusk, unload his salmon at crow harbor, and be back at sunrise. he did it many a time, after tallying fish all day. three hours' sleep was like a gift from the gods. but he kept it up. he had a sense of some approaching crisis. by the third week in july macrae was taking three fourths of the bluebacks caught between the ballenas and folly bay. he would lie sometimes within a stone's throw of gower's cannery, loading salmon. he was swinging at anchor there one day when a rowboat from the cannery put out to the _blanco_. the man in it told macrae that gower would like to see him. macrae's first impulse was to grin and ignore the request. then he changed his mind, and taking his own dinghy rowed ashore. some time or other he would have to meet his father's enemy, face him, talk to him, listen to what he might say, tell him things. curiosity was roused in him a little now. he desired to know what gower had to say. he wondered if gower was weakening; what he could want. he found gower in a cubby-hole of an office behind the cannery store. "you wanted to see me," macrae said curtly. he was in sea boots, bareheaded. his shirt sleeves were rolled above sun-browned forearms. he stood before gower with his hands thrust in the pockets of duck overalls speckled with fish scales, smelling of salmon. gower stared at him silently, critically, it seemed to macrae, for a matter of seconds. "what's the sense in our cutting each other's throats over these fish?" gower asked at length. "i've been wanting to talk to you for quite a while. let's get together. i--" macrae's temper flared. "if that's what you want," he said, "i'll see you in hell first." he turned on his heel and walked out of the office. when he stepped into his dinghy he glanced up at the wharf towering twenty feet above his head. betty gower was sitting on a pile head. she was looking down at him. but she was not smiling. and she did not speak. macrae rowed back to the _blanco_ in an ugly mood. in the next forty-eight hours folly bay jumped the price of bluebacks to ninety cents, to ninety-five, to a dollar. the _blanco_ wallowed down to crow harbor with a load which represented to macrae a dead loss of four hundred dollars cash. "he must be crazy," stubby fumed. "there's no use canning salmon at a loss." "has he reached the loss point yet?" macrae inquired. "he's shaving close. no cannery can make anything worth reckoning at a dollar or so a case profit." "is ninety cents and five cents' commission your limit?" macrae demanded. "just about," stubby grunted. "well"--reluctantly--"i can stand a dollar. that's the utmost limit, though. i can't go any further." "and if he gets them all at a dollar or more, he'll be canning at a dead loss, eh?" "he certainly will," stubby declared. "unless he cans 'em heads, tails, and scales, and gets a bigger price per case than has been offered yet." macrae went back to squitty with a definite idea in his mind. gower had determined to have the salmon. very well, then, he should have them. but he would have to take them at a loss, in so far as macrae could inflict loss upon him. he knew of no other way to hurt effectively such a man as gower. money was life blood to him, and it was not of great value to macrae as yet. with deliberate calculation he decided to lose the greater part of what he had made, if for every dollar he lost himself he could inflict equal or greater loss on gower. the trailers who combed the squitty waters were taking now close to five thousand salmon a day. approximately half of these went to folly bay. macrae took the rest. in this battle of giants the fishermen had lost sight of the outcome. they ceased to care who got fish. they only watched eagerly for him who paid the biggest price. they were making thirty, forty, fifty dollars a day. they no longer held salmon--only a few of the old-timers--for macrae's carriers. it was nothing to them who made a profit or suffered a loss. only a few of the older men wondered privately how long macrae could stand it and what would happen when he gave up. macrae met every raise folly bay made. he saw bluebacks go to a dollar ten, then to a dollar fifteen. he ran cargo after cargo to crow harbor and dropped from three to seven hundred dollars on each load, until even stubby lost patience with him. "what's the sense in bucking him till you go broke? i'm in too deep to stand any loss myself. quit. tie up your boats, jack. let him have the salmon. let those blockheads of fishermen see what he'll do to 'em once you stop." but macrae held on till the first hot days of august were at hand and his money was dwindling to the vanishing point. then he ran the _blanco_ and the _bluebird_ into squitty cove and tied them to permanent moorings in shoal water near the head. for a day or two the salmon had shifted mysteriously to the top end, around folly bay and the siwash islands and jenkins pass. the bulk of the fleet had followed them. only a few stuck to the cove and poor man's rock. to these and the rowboat trollers macrae said: "sell your fish to folly bay. i'm through." then he lay down in his bunk in the airy pilot house of the _blanco_ and slept the clock around, the first decent rest he had taken in two months. he had not realized till then how tired he was. when he wakened he washed, ate, changed his clothes and went for a walk along the cliffs to stretch his legs. vin had gone up to the knob to see dolly and uncle peter. his helper on the _bluebird_ was tinkering about his engine. macrae's two men loafed on the clean-slushed deck. they were none of them company for macrae in his present mood. he sought the cliffs to be alone. gower had beaten him, it would seem. and macrae did not take kindly to being beaten. but he did not think this was the end yet. gower would do as he had done before. when he felt himself secure in his monopoly he would squeeze the fishermen, squeeze them hard. and as soon as he did that macrae would buy again. he could not make any money himself, perhaps. but he could make gower operate at a loss. that would be something accomplished. macrae walked along the cliffs until he saw the white cottage, and saw also that some one sat on the steps in the sun. whereupon he turned back. he didn't want to see betty. he conceived that to be an ended chapter in his experiences. he had hurt her, and she had put on her armor against another such hurt. there was a studied indifference about her now, when he met her, which hurt him terribly. he supposed that in addition to his own incomprehensible attitude which she resented, she took sides with her father in this obvious commercial warfare which was bleeding them both financially. very likely she saw in this only the open workings of his malice toward gower. in which macrae admitted she would be quite correct. he had not been able to discover in that flaring-up of passion for betty any reason for a burial of his feud with gower. there was in him some curious insistence upon carrying this to the bitter end. and his hatred of gower was something alive, vital, coloring his vision somberly. the shadow of the man lay across his life. he could not ignore this, and his instinct was for reprisal. the fighting instinct in macrae lurked always very near the surface. he spent a good many hours during the next three or four days lying in the shade of a gnarly arbutus which gave on the cliffs. he took a book up there with him, but most of the time he lay staring up at the blue sky through the leaves, or at the sea, or distant shore lines, thinking always in circles which brought him despairingly out where he went in. he saw a mustard pot slide each day into the cove and pass on about its business. there was not a great deal to be got in the cove. the last gas boat had scuttled away to the top end, where the blueback were schooling in vast numbers. there were still salmon to be taken about poor man's rock. the rowboat men took a few fish each day and hoped for another big run. there came a day when the mustard pot failed to show in the cove. the rowboat men had three hundred salmon, and they cursed folly bay with a fine flow of epithet as they took their rotting fish outside the cove and dumped them in the sea. nor did a gower collector come, although there was nothing in the wind or weather to stop them. the rowboat trollers fumed and stewed and took their troubles to jack macrae. but he could neither inform nor help them. then upon an evening when the sun rested on the serrated backbone of vancouver island, a fiery ball against a sky of burnished copper, flinging a red haze down on a slow swell that furrowed the gulf, jack macrae, perched on a mossy boulder midway between the cove and point old, saw first one boat and then another come slipping and lurching around poor man's rock. converted columbia river sailboats, cape flattery trollers, double-enders, all the variegated craft that fishermen use and traffic with, each rounded the rock and struck his course for the cove, broadside on to the rising swell, their twenty-foot trolling poles lashed aloft against a stumpy mast and swinging in a great arc as they rolled. one, ten, a dozen, an endless procession, sometimes three abreast, again a string in single file. macrae was reminded of the march of the oysters-- "so thick and fast they came at last, and more and more and more." he sat watching them pass, wondering why the great trek. the trolling fleet normally shifted by pairs and dozens. this was a squadron movement, the grand fleet steaming to some appointed rendezvous. macrae watched till the sun dipped behind the hills, and the reddish tint left the sea to linger briefly on the summit of the coast range flanking the mainland shore. the fish boats were still coming, one behind the other, lurching and swinging in the trough of the sea, rising and falling, with wheeling gulls crying above them. on each deck a solitary fisherman humped over his steering gear. from each cleaving stem the bow-wave curled in white foam. there was something in the wind. macrae felt it like a premonition. he left his boulder and hurried back toward the cove. the trolling boats were packed about the _blanco_ so close that macrae left his dinghy on the outer fringe and walked across their decks to the deck of his own vessel. the _blanco_ loomed in the midst of these lesser craft like a hen over her brood of chicks. the fishermen had gathered on the nearest boats. a dozen had clambered up and taken seats on the _blanco's_ low bulwarks. macrae gained his own deck and looked at them. "what's coming off?" he asked quietly. "you fellows holding a convention of some sort?" one of the men sitting on the big carrier's rail spoke. "folly bay's quit--shut down," he said sheepishly. "we come to see if you'd start buying again." macrae sat down on one sheave of his deck winch. he took out a cigarette and lighted it, swung one foot back and forth. he did not make haste to reply. an expectant hush fell on the crowd. in the slow-gathering dusk there was no sound but the creak of rubbing gunwales, the low snore of the sea breaking against the cliffs, and the chug-chug of the last stragglers beating into the shelter of the cove. "he shut down the cannery," the fishermen's spokesman said at last. "we ain't seen a buyer or collector for three days. the water's full of salmon, an' we been suckin' our thumbs an' watching 'em play. if you won't buy here again we got to go where there is buyers. and we'd rather not do that. there's no place on the gulf as good fishin' as there is here now." "what was the trouble?" macrae asked absently. "couldn't you supply him with fish?" "nobody knows. there was plenty of salmon. he cut the price the day after you tied up. he cut it to six bits. then he shut down. anyway, we don't care why he shut down. it don't make no difference. what we want is for you to start buyin' again. hell, we're losin' money from daylight to dark! the water's alive with salmon. an' the season's short. be a sport, macrae." macrae laughed. "be a sport, eh?" he echoed with a trace of amusement in his tone. "i wonder how many of you would have listened to me if i'd gone around to you a week ago and asked you to give me a sporting chance?" no one answered. macrae threw away his half-smoked cigarette. he stood up. "all right, i'll buy salmon again," he said quietly. "and i won't ask you to give me first call on your catch or a chance to make up some of the money i lost bucking folly bay, or anything like that. but i want to tell you something. you know it as well as i do, but i want to jog your memory with it." he raised his voice a trifle. "you fellows know that i've always given you a square deal. you aren't fishing for sport. you're at this to make a living, to make money if you can. so am i. you are entitled to all you can get. you earn it. you work for it. so am i entitled to what i can make. i work, i take certain chances. neither of us is getting something for nothing. but there is a limit to what either of us can get. we can't dodge that. you fellows have been dodging it. now you have to come back to earth. "no fisherman can get the prices you have had lately. no cannery can pack salmon at those prices. sockeye, the finest canning salmon that swims in the sea, is bringing eighty cents on the fraser. bluebacks are sixty-five cents at nanaimo, sixty at cape mudge, sixty at the euclataws. "i can do a little better than that," macrae hesitated a second. "i can pay a little more, because the cannery i'm supplying is satisfied with a little less profit than most. stubby abbott is not a hog, and neither am i. i can pay seventy-five cents and make money. i have told you before that it is to your interest as well as mine to keep me running. i will always pay as much as salmon are worth. but i cannot pay more. if your appreciation of folly bay's past kindness to you is so keen that you would rather sell him your fish, why, that's your privilege." "aw, that's bunk," a man called. "you know blamed well we wouldn't. not after him blowin' up like this." "how do i know?" macrae laughed. "if gower opened up to-morrow again and offered eighty or ninety cents, he'd get the salmon--even if you knew he would make you take thirty once he got you where he wanted you." "would he?" another voice uprose. "the next time a mustard pot gets any salmon from me, it'll be because there's no other buyer and no other grounds to fish." a growled chorus backed this reckless statement. "that's all right," macrae said good-naturedly. "i don't blame you for picking up easy money. only easy money isn't always so good as it looks. fly at it in the morning, and i'll take the fish at the price i've said. if folly bay gets into the game again, it's up to you." when the lights were doused and every fisherman was stretched in his bunk, falling asleep to the slow beat of a dead swell breaking in the cove's mouth, vin ferrara stood up to seek his own bed. "i wonder," he said to jack, "i wonder why gower shut down at this stage of the game?" macrae shook his head. he was wondering that himself. chapter xix top dog some ten days later the _bluebird_ swung at anchor in the kelp just clear of poor man's rock. from a speck on the horizon the _blanco_ grew to full shape, flaring bow and pilot house, walking up the gulf with a bone in her teeth. she bore down upon her consort, sidled alongside and made fast with lines to the bitts fore and aft. vin ferrara threw back his hatch covers. his helper forked up salmon with a picaroon. vin tossed them across into the _blanco's_ hold. at the same time the larger carrier's short, stout boom swung back and forth, dumping into the _bluebird's_ fish pens at each trip a hundred pounds of cracked ice. presently this work was done, the _bluebird's_ salmon transferred to the _blanco_, the _bluebird's_ pens replenished with four tons of ice. vin checked his tabs with the count of fish. the other men slushed decks clean with buckets of sea water. "twenty-seven hundred," macrae said. "big morning. every troller in the gulf must be here." "no, i have to go to folly bay and siwash islands to-night," vin told him. "there's about twenty boats working there and at jenkins pass. salmon everywhere." they sat in the shade of the _blanco's_ pilot house. the sun beat mercilessly, a dog-day sun blazing upon glassy waters, reflected upward in eye-straining shafts. the heat seared. within a radius of a mile outside the rock the trollers chug-chugged here and there, driving straight ahead, doubling short, wheeling in slow circles, working the eddies. they stood in the small cockpit aft, the short tiller between their legs, leaving their hands free to work the gear. they stood out in the hot sun without shade or cover, stripped to undershirt and duck trousers, many of them barefooted, brown arms bare, wet lines gleaming. wherever a man looked some fisherman hauled a line. and everywhere the mirror of the sea was broken by leaping salmon, silver crescents flashing in the sun. "say, what do you know about it?" vin smiled at macrae. "old gower is trolling." "trolling!" "rowboat. plugging around the rock. he was at it when daylight came. he sold me fifteen fish. think of it. old h.a. rowboat trolling. selling his fish to you." vincent chuckled. his eyes rested curiously on jack's face. "haughty spirit that goes before destruction, as dolly used to say," he rambled on. "some come-down for him. he must be broke flat as a flounder." "he sold you his salmon?" "sure. nobody else to sell 'em to, is there? said he was trying his hand. seemed good-natured about it. kinda pleased, in fact, because he had one more than doug sproul. he started joshin' doug. you know what a crab old doug is. he got crusty as blazes. old gower just grinned at him and rowed off." macrae made no comment, and their talk turned into other channels until vin hauled his hook and bore away. macrae saw to dropping the _blanco's_ anchor. he would lie there till dusk. then he sat in the shade again, looking up at the gower cottage. gower was finished as an exploiter. there was no question about that. when a man as big as he went down the crash set tongues wagging. all the current talk reached macrae through stubby. that price-war had been gower's last kick, an incomprehensible, ill-judged effort to reëstablish his hold on the squitty grounds, so it was said. "he never was such a terribly big toad in the cannery puddle," stubby recited, "and i guess he has made his last splash. they always cut a wide swath in town, and that sort of thing can sure eat up coin. i'm kind of sorry for betty. still, she'll probably marry somebody with money. i know two or three fellows who would be tickled to death to get her." "why don't _you_ go to the rescue?" macrae had suggested, with an irony that went wide of the mark. stubby looked reflectively at his crippled arm. "last summer i would have," he said. "but she couldn't see me with a microscope. and i've found a girl who seems to think a winged duck is worth while." "you'll be able to get hold of that ranch of yours again, probably," stubby had also said. "the chances are old h.a. will raise what cash he can and try to make a fresh start. it seems there has been friction in the family, and his wife refused to come through with any of her available cash. seems kind of a complicated hole he got into. he's cleaned, anyway. robbin-steele got all his cannery tenders and took over several thousand cases of salmon. i hear he still has a few debts to be settled when the cannery is sold. why don't you figure a way of getting hold of that cannery, jack?" "i'm no cannery man," macrae replied. "why don't you? i thought you made him an offer." "i withdrew it," stubby said. "i have my hands full without that. you've knocked about a hundred per cent off its value anyway." "if i can get my father's land back i'll be satisfied," macrae had said. he was thinking about that now. he had taken the first steps toward that end, which a year ago had seemed misty and rather hopeless. gower rich, impregnable, would hold that land for his own pleasure and satisfaction. beaten in the commercial scramble he might be forced to let it go. and macrae was ready to pay any price in reason to get it back. that seemed a debt he owed old donald macrae, apart from his own craving to sometime carry out plans they had made together long before he went away to france. the lives of some men are rooted in the soil where they were born, where they grow to manhood. jack macrae was of that type. he loved the sea in all its moods and colors, its quiet calm and wildest storms. but the sea was only his second love. he was a landsman at heart. all seamen are. they come ashore when they are old and feeble, to give their bodies at last to the earth. macrae loved the sea, but he loved better to stand on the slopes running back from squitty's cliffs, to look at those green meadows and bits of virgin forest and think that it would all be his again, to have and to hold. so he had set a firm in vancouver the task of approaching gower, to sound him, to see if he would sell, while he kept in the background. he believed that it was necessary for him to remain in the background. he believed that gower would never willingly relinquish that land into his hands. macrae sat on the _blanco's_ deck, nursing his chin in his palms, staring at poor man's rock with a grim satisfaction. about that lonely headland strange things had come to pass. donald macrae had felt his first abiding grief there and cried his hurt to a windy sky. he had lived his last years snatching a precarious living from the seas that swirled about the rock. the man who had been the club with which fate bludgeoned old donald was making his last stand in sight of the rock, just as donald macrae had done. and when they were all dead and gone, poor man's rock would still bare its brown hummock of a head between tides, the salmon would still play along the kelp beds, in the eddies about the rock. other men would ply the gear and take the silver fish. it would all be as if it had never happened. the earth and the sea endured and men were passing shadows. afternoon waned. faint, cool airs wavered off the land, easing the heat and the sun-glare. macrae saw betty and her father come down to the beach. she helped him slide his rowboat afloat. then gower joined the rowers who were putting out to the rock for the evening run. he passed close by the _blanco_ but macrae gave him scant heed. his eyes were all for the girl ashore. betty sat on a log, bareheaded in the sun. macrae had a feeling that she looked at him. and she would be thinking,--god only knew what. in macrae's mind arose the inevitable question,--one that he had choked back dozens of times: was it worth while to hurt her so, and himself, because their fathers had fought, because there had been wrongs and injustices? macrae shook himself impatiently. he was backsliding. besides that unappeasable craving for her, vivid images of her with tantalizing mouth, wayward shining hair, eyes that answered the passion in his own, besides these luring pictures of her which troubled him sometimes both in waking hours and sleeping, there was a strange, deep-seated distrust of betty because she was the daughter of her father. that was irrational, and jack macrae knew it was irrational. but he could not help it. it colored his thought of her. it had governed his reactions. macrae himself could comprehend all too clearly the tragedy of his father's life. but he doubted if any one else could. he shrank from unfolding it even to betty,--even to make clear to her why his hand must be against her father. macrae knew, or thought he knew--he had reasoned the thing out many times in the last few months--that betty would not turn to him against her own flesh and blood without a valid reason. he could not, even, in the name of love, cut her off from all that she had been, from all that had made her what she was, and make her happy. and macrae knew that if they married and betty were not happy and contented, they would both be tigerishly miserable. there was only one possible avenue, one he could not take. he could not seek peace with gower, even for betty's sake. macrae considered moodily, viewing the matter from every possible angle. he could not see where he could do other than as he was doing: keep betty out of his mind as much as possible and go on determinedly making his fight to be top dog in a world where the weak get little mercy and even the strong do not always come off unscarred. jack macrae was no philosopher, nor an intellectual superman, but he knew that love did not make the world go round. it was work. work and fighting. men spent most of their energies in those two channels. this they could not escape. love only shot a rosy glow across life. it did not absolve a man from weariness or scars. by it, indeed, he might suffer greater stress and deeper scars. to macrae, love, such as had troubled his father's life and his own, seemed to be an emotion pregnant with sorrow. but he could not deny the strange power of this thing called love, when it stirred men and women. his deck hand, who was also cook, broke into macrae's reflections with a call to supper. jack went down the companion steps into a forepeak stuffy with the heat of the sun and a galley stove, a cramped place where they ate heartily despite faint odors of distillate and burned lubricating oil from the engine room and bilge water that smelled of fish. a troller's boat was rubbing against the _blanco's_ fenders when they came on deck again. others were hoisting the trolling poles, coming in to deliver. the sun was gone. the long northern twilight cast a pearly haze along far shores. macrae threw open his hatches and counted the salmon as they came flipping off the point of a picaroon. for over an hour he stood at one hatch and his engineer at the other, counting fish, making out sale slips, paying out money. it was still light--light enough to read. but the bluebacks had stopped biting. the rowboat men quit last of all. they sidled up to the _blanco_, one after the other, unloaded, got their money, and tied their rowboats on behind for a tow around to the cove. gower had rowed back and forth for three hours. macrae had seen him swing around the rock, up under the cliffs and back again, pulling slow and steady. he was last to haul in his gear. he came up to the carrier and lay alongside doug sproul while that crabbed ancient chucked his salmon on deck. then he moved into the place sproul vacated. the bottom of his boat was bright with salmon. he rested one hand on the _blanco's_ guard rail and took the pipe out of his mouth with the other. "hello, macrae," he said, as casually as a man would address another with whom he had slight acquaintance. "i've got some fish. d'you want 'em?" macrae looked down at him. he did not want gower's fish or anything that was gower's. he did not want to see him or talk to him. he desired, in so far as he was conscious of any desire in the matter, that gower should keep his distance. but he had a horror of meanness, of petty spite. he could knock a man down with a good heart, if occasion arose. it was not in him to kick a fallen enemy. "chuck them up," he said. he counted them silently as they flipped over the bulwark and fell into the chilly hold, marked a slip, handed gower the money for them. the hand that took the money, a pudgy hand all angry red from beating sun, had blisters in the palm. gower's face, like his hands, was brick red. already shreds of skin were peeling from his nose and cheeks. august sun on the gulf. macrae knew its bite and sting. so had his father known. he wondered if gower ever thought about that now. but there was in gower's expression no hint of any disturbing thought. he uttered a brief "thanks" and pocketed his money. he sat down and took his oars in hand, albeit a trifle gingerly. and he said to old doug sproul, almost jovially: "well, doug, i got as many as you did, this trip." "didja?" sproul snarled. "kain't buy 'em cheap enough, no more, huh? gotta ketch 'em yourself, huh?" "hard-boiled old crab, aren't you, doug?" gower rumbled in his deep voice. but he laughed. and he rowed away to the beach before his house. macrae watched. betty came down to meet him. together they hauled the heavy rowboat out on skids, above the tide mark. nearly every day after that he saw gower trolling around the rock, sometimes alone, sometimes with betty sitting forward, occasionally relieving him at the oars. no matter what the weather, if a rowboat could work a line gower was one of them. rains came, and he faced them in yellow oilskins. he sweltered under that fiery sun. if his life had been soft and easy, softness and ease did not seem to be wholly necessary to his existence, not even to his peace of mind. for he had that. macrae often wondered at it, knowing the man's history. gower joked his way to acceptance among the rowboat men, all but old doug sproul, who had forgotten what it was to speak pleasantly to any one. he caught salmon for salmon with these old men who had fished all their lives. he sold his fish to the _blanco_ or the _bluebird_, whichever was on the spot. the run held steady at the cove end of squitty, a phenomenal abundance of salmon at that particular spot, and the _blanco_ was there day after day. and macrae could not help pondering over gower and his ways. he was puzzled, not alone about gower, but about himself. he had dreamed of a fierce satisfaction in beating this man down, in making him know poverty and work and privation,--rubbing his nose in the dirt, he had said to himself. he had managed it. gower had joined the ranks of broken men. he was finished as a figure in industry, a financial power. macrae knew that, beyond a doubt. gower had debts and no assets save his land on the squitty cliffs and the closed cannery at folly bay. the cannery was a white elephant, without takers in the market. no cannery man would touch it unless he could first make a contract with macrae for the bluebacks. they had approached him with such propositions. like wolves, macrae thought, seeking to pick the bones of one of their own pack who had fallen. and if macrae needed other evidence concerning gower, he had it daily before his eyes. to labor at the oars, to troll early and late in drizzling rain or scorching sunshine, a man only does that because he must. macrae's father had done it. as a matter of course, without complaint, with unprotesting patience. so did gower. that did not fit jack macrae's conception of the man. if he had not known gower he would have set him down as a fat, good-natured, kindly man with an infinite capacity for hard, disagreeable work. he never attempted to talk to macrae. he spoke now and then. but there was no hint of rancor in his silences. it was simply as if he understood that macrae did not wish to talk to him, and that he conceded this to be a proper attitude. he talked with the fishermen. he joked with them. if one slammed out at him now and then with a touch of the old resentment against folly bay he laughed as if he understood and bore no malice. he baffled macrae. how could this man who had walked on fishermen's faces for twenty years, seeking and exacting always his own advantage, playing the game under harsh rules of his own devising which had enabled him to win--until this last time--how could he see the last bit of prestige wrested from him and still be cheerful? how could he earn his daily bread in the literal sweat of his brow, endure blistered hands and sore muscles and the sting of slime-poison in fingers cut by hooks and traces, with less outward protest than men who had never known anything else? macrae could find no answer to that. he could only wonder. he only knew that some shift of chance had helped him to put gower where gower had put his father. and there was no satisfaction in the achievement, no sense of victory. he looked at the man and felt sorry for him, and was uncomfortably aware that gower, taking salmon for his living with other poor men around poor man's rock, was in no need of pity. this podgy man with the bright blue eyes and heavy jaw, who had been donald macrae's jealous nemesis, had lost everything that was supposed to make life worth living to men of his type. and he did not seem to care. he seemed quite content to smoke a pipe and troll for salmon. he seemed to be a stranger to suffering. he did not even seem to be aware of discomfort, or of loss. macrae had wanted to make him suffer. he had imagined that poverty and hard, dirty work would be the fittest requital he could bestow. if jack macrae had been gifted with omnipotence when he read that penned history of his father's life, he would have devised no fitter punishment, no more fitting vengeance for gower than that he should lose his fortune and his prestige and spend his last years getting his bread upon the waters by poor man's rock in sun and wind and blowy weather. and macrae was conscious that if there were any suffering involved in this matter now, it rested upon him, not upon gower. most men past middle age, who have drunk deeply the pleasant wine of material success, shrink from the gaunt specter of poverty. they have shot their bolt. they cannot stand up to hard work. they cannot endure privation. they lose heart. they go about seeking sympathy, railing against the fate. they lie down and the world walks unheeding over their prone bodies. gower was not doing that. if he had done so, macrae would have sneered at him with contempt. as it was, in spite of the rancor he had nursed, the feeling which had driven him to reprisal, he found himself sorry--sorry for himself, sorry for betty. he had set out to bludgeon gower, to humiliate him, and the worst arrows he could sling had blunted their points against the man's invulnerable spirit. betty had been used to luxury. it had not spoiled her. macrae granted that. it had not made her set great store by false values. macrae was sure of that. she had loved him simply and naturally, with an almost primitive directness. spoiled daughters of the leisure class are not so simple and direct. macrae began to wonder if she could possibly escape resenting his share in the overturning of her father's fortunes, whereby she herself must suffer. by the time macrae came slowly to these half-formed, disturbing conclusions he was already upon the verge of other disturbing discoveries in the realm of material facts. for obvious reasons he could not walk up to gower's house and talk to betty. at least he did not see how he could, although there were times when he was tempted. when he did see her he was acutely sensitive to a veiled reproach in her eyes, a courteous distance in her speech. she came off the beach one day alone, a few minutes after macrae dropped anchor in the usual spot. she had a dozen salmon in the boat. when she came alongside macrae set foot over the bulwark with intent to load them himself. she forestalled him by picking the salmon up and heaving them on the _blanco's_ deck. she was dressed for the work, in heavy nailed shoes, a flannel blouse, a rough tweed skirt. "oh, say, take the picaroon, won't you?" he held it out to her, the six-foot wooden shaft with a slightly curving point of steel on the end. she turned on him with a salmon dangling by the gills from her fingers. "you don't think i'm afraid to get my hands dirty, do you?" she asked. "me--a fisherman's daughter. besides, i'd probably miss the salmon and jab that pointed thing through the bottom of the boat." she laughed lightly, with no particular mirth in her voice. and macrae was stricken dumb. she was angry. he knew it, felt it intuitively. angry at him, warning him to keep his distance. he watched her dabble her hands in the salt chuck, dry them coolly on a piece of burlap. she took the money for the fish with a cool "thanks" and rowed back to shore. jack lay in his bunk that night blasted by a gloomy sense of futility in everything. he had succeeded in his undertaking beyond all the expectations which had spurred him so feverishly in the beginning. but there was no joy in it; not when betty gower looked at him with that cold gleam in her gray eyes. yet he told himself savagely that if he had to take his choice he would not have done otherwise. and when he had accomplished the last move in his plan and driven gower off the island, then he would have a chance to forget that such people had ever existed to fill a man's days with unhappiness. that, it seemed to him, must be the final disposition of this problem which his father and horace gower and elizabeth morton had set for him years before he was born. there came a burst of afternoon westerlies which blew small hurricanes from noon to sundown. but there was always fishing under the broad lee of the cliffs. the _bluebird_ continued to scuttle from one outlying point to another, and the _blanco_ wallowed down to crow harbor every other day with her hold crammed. when she was not under way and the sea was fit the big carrier rode at anchor in the kelp close by poor man's rock, convenient for the trollers to come alongside and deliver when they chose. there were squalls that blew up out of nowhere and drove them all to cover. there were days when a dead swell rolled and the trolling boats dipped and swung and pointed their bluff bows skyward as they climbed the green mountains,--for the salmon strike when a sea is on, and a troller runs from heavy weather only when he can no longer handle his gear. macrae was much too busy to brood long at a time. the phenomenal run of blueback still held, with here and there the hook-nosed coho coming in stray schools. he had a hundred and forty fishermen to care for in the matter of taking their catch, keeping them supplied with fuel, bringing them foodstuffs such as they desired. the _blanco_ came up from vancouver sometimes as heavily loaded as when she went down. but he welcomed the work because it kept him from too intense thinking. he shepherded his seafaring flock for his profit and theirs alike and poured salmon by tens of thousands into the machines at crow harbor,--red meat to be preserved in tin cans which in months to come should feed the hungry in the far places of the earth. macrae sometimes had the strange fancy of being caught in a vast machine for feeding the world, a machine which did not reckon such factors as pain and sorrow in its remorseless functioning. men could live without love or ease or content. they could not survive without food. he came up to squitty one bright afternoon when the sea was flat and still, unharassed by the westerly. the cove was empty. all the fleet was scattered over a great area. the _bluebird_ was somewhere on her rounds. macrae dropped the _blanco's_ hook in the middle of cradle bay, a spot he seldom chose for anchorage. but he had a purpose in this. when the bulky carrier swung head to the faint land breeze macrae was sitting on his berth in the pilot house, glancing over a letter he held in his hand. it was from a land-dealing firm in vancouver. one paragraph is sufficiently illuminating: in regard to the purchase of this squitty island property we beg to advise you that mr. gower, after some correspondence, states distinctly that while he is willing to dispose of this property he will only deal directly with a _bona fide_ purchaser. we therefore suggest that you take the matter up with mr. gower personally. macrae put the sheet back in its envelope. he stared thoughtfully through an open window which gave on shore and cottage. he could see gower sitting on the porch, the thick bulk of the man clean-cut against the white wall. as he looked he saw betty go across the untrimmed lawn, up the path that ran along the cliffs, and pass slowly out of sight among the stunted, wind-twisted firs. he walked to the after deck, laid hold of the dinghy, and slid it overboard. five minutes later he had beached it and was walking up the gravel path to the house. he was conscious of a queer irritation against gower. if he were willing to sell the place, why did he sit like a spider in his web and demand that victims come to him? macrae was wary, distrustful, suspicious, as he walked up the slope. some of the old rancor revived in him. gower might have a shaft in his quiver yet, and the will to use it. chapter xx the dead and dusty past gower sat in a deep grass chair, a pipe sagging one corner of his mouth, his slippered feet crossed on a low stool. his rubber sea boots lay on the porch floor as if he had but discarded them. macrae took in every detail of his appearance in one photographic glance, as a man will when his gaze rests upon another with whom he may be about to clash. gower no longer resembled the well-fed plutocrat. he scarcely seemed the same man who, nearly two years before, had absently bestowed upon macrae a dollar for an act of simple courtesy. he wore nondescript trousers which betrayed a shrunken abdominal line, a blue flannel shirt that bared his short, thick neck. and in that particular moment, at least, the habitual sullenness of his heavy face was not in evidence. he looked placid in spite of the fiery redness which sun and wind had burned into his skin. he betrayed no surprise at macrae's coming. the placidity of his blue eyes did not alter in any degree. "hello, macrae," he said. "how d' do," macrae answered. "i came to speak to you about a little matter of business." "yes?" gower rumbled. "i've been sort of expecting you." "oh?" macrae failed to conceal altogether his surprise at this statement. "i understand you are willing to sell this place. i want to buy it." "it was yours once, wasn't it?" the words were more of a comment than a question, but macrae answered: "you know that, i think." "and you want it back?" "naturally." "if that's what you want," gower said slowly. "i'll see you in----" he cut off the sentence. his round stomach--less round by far than it had been two months earlier--shook with silent laughter. his eyes twinkled. his thick, stubby fingers drummed on the chair arm. macrae's face grew hot. he recognized the unfinished sentence as one of his own, words he had flung in gower's face not so long since. if that was the way of it he could save his breath. he turned silently. "wait." he faced about at the changed quality of gower's tone. the amused expression had vanished. gower leaned forward a little. there was something very like appeal in his expression. macrae was suddenly conscious of facing a still different man,--an oldish, fat man with thinning hair and tired, wistful eyes. "i just happened to think of what you said to me not long ago," gower explained. "it struck me as funny. but that isn't how i feel. if you want this land you can have it. take a chair. sit down. i want to talk to you." "there is nothing the matter with my legs," macrae said shortly. "i do want this land. i will pay you the price you paid for it, in cash, when you execute a legal transfer. is that satisfactory?" "what about this house?" gower asked casually. "it's worth something, isn't it?" "not to me," macrae replied. "i don't want the house. you can take it away with you, if you like." gower looked at him thoughtfully. "the scotch," he said, "cherish a grudge like a family heirloom." "perhaps they do," macrae answered. "why not? if you knock a man down you don't expect him to jump up and shake hands with you. you had your inning. it was a long one." "i wonder," gower said slowly, "why old donald macrae kept his mouth closed to you about trouble between us until he was ready to die?" "how do you know he did that?" macrae demanded harshly. "the night you came to ask for the _arrow_ to take him to town you had no such feeling against me as you have had since," gower said. "i know you didn't. you wouldn't have come if you had. i cut no figure in your eyes, one way or the other, until after he was dead. so he must have told you at the very last. what did he tell you? why did he have to pass that old poison on to another generation?" "why shouldn't he?" macrae demanded. "you made his life a failure. you put a scar on his face--i can remember when i was a youngster wondering how he got that mark--i remember how it stood like a ridge across his cheek bone when he was dead. you put a scar upon his soul that no one but himself ever saw or felt--except as i have been able to feel it since i knew. you weren't satisfied with that. you had to keep on throwing your weight against him for thirty years. you didn't even stop when the war made everything seem different. you might have let up then. we were doing our bit. but you didn't. you kept on until you had deprived him of everything but the power to row around the rock day after day and take a few salmon in order to live. you made a pauper of him and sat here gloating over it. it preyed on his mind to think that i should come back from france and find myself a beggar because he was unable to cope with you. he lived his life without whimpering to me, except to say he did not like you. he only wrote this down for me to read--when he began to feel that he would never see me again--the reasons why he had failed in everything, lost everything. when i pieced out the story, from the day you used your pike pole to knock down a man whose fighting hands were tied by a promise to a woman he loved, from then till the last cold-blooded maneuver by which you got this land of ours, i hated you, and i set out to pay you back in your own coin. "but," macrae continued after a momentary hesitation, "that is not what i came here to say. talk--talk's cheap. i would rather not talk about these things, or think of them, now. i want to buy this land from you if you are willing to sell. that's all." gower scarcely seemed to hear him. he was nursing his heavy chin with one hand, looking at macrae with a curious concentration, looking at him and seeing something far beyond. "hell; it is a true indictment, up to a certain point," he said at last. "what a curse misunderstanding is--and pride! by god, i have envied your father, macrae, many a time. i struck him an ugly blow once. yes. i was young and hot-headed, and i was burning with jealousy. but i did him a good turn at that, i think. i--oh, well, maybe you wouldn't understand. i suppose you wouldn't believe me if i say i didn't swoop down on him every time i got a chance; that i didn't bushwhack--no matter if he believed i did." "no?" macrae said incredulously. "you didn't break up a logging venture on the claha when he had a chance to make a stake? you didn't show your fine italian hand in that marble quarry undertaking on texada? nor other things that i could name as he named them. why crawl now? it doesn't matter. i'm not swinging a club over your head." gower shook himself. "no," he declared slowly. "he interfered with the morton interests in that claha logging camp, and they did whatever was done. the quarry business i know nothing about, except that i had business dealings with the people whom he ran foul of. i tell you, macrae, after the first short period of time when i was afire with the fury of jealousy, i did not do these things. i didn't even want to do them. i wish you would get that straight. i wanted bessie morton and i got her. that was an issue between us, i grant. i gained my point there. i would have gone farther to gain that point. but i paid for it. it was not so long before i knew that i was going to pay dearly for it. i tell you i came to envy donald macrae. i don't know if he nursed a disappointment--which i came to know was an illusion. perhaps he did. but he had nothing real to regret, nothing to prick, prick him all the time. he married a woman who seemed to care for him. at any rate, she respected him and was a mate, living his life while she did live. "look, macrae. i married bessie morton because i wanted her, wanted her on any terms. she didn't want me. she wanted donald macrae. but she had wanted other men. that was the way she was made. she was facile. and she never loved any one half so much as she loved herself. she was only a beautiful peacock preening her feathers and sighing for homage. she was--she is--the essence of self from the top of her head to her shoes. her feelings, her wants, her wishes, her whims, her two-by-four outlook, nothing else counted. she couldn't comprehend anything outside of herself. she would have made donald macrae's life a misery to him when the novelty of that infatuation wore off. the mortons are like that. they want everything. they give nothing. "she was cowardly too. do you think two old men and myself would have taken her, or anything else, from your father out in the middle of the gulf, if she had had any spirit? you knew your father. he wasn't a tame man. he would have fought--fought like a tiger. we might have killed him. it is more likely that he would have killed us. but we could not have beaten him. but she had to knuckle down--take the easy way for her. she cried; and he promised." gower lay back in his chair. his chin sunk on his breast. he spoke slowly, groping for his words. macrae did not interrupt. something compelled him to listen. there was a pained ring in gower's voice that held him. the man was telling him these things with visible reluctance, with a simple dignity that arrested him, even while he felt that he should not listen. "she used to taunt me with that," he went on, "taunt me with striking donald macrae. for years after we were married she used to do that. long after--and that wasn't so long--she had ceased to care if such a man as your father existed. that was only an episode to her, of which she was snobbishly ashamed in time. but she often reminded me that i had struck him like a hardened butcher, because she knew she could hurt me with that. so that i used to wish to god i had never followed her out into the gulf. "for thirty years i've lived and worked and never known any real satisfaction in living--or happiness. i've played the game, played it hard. i've been hard, they say. probably i have. i didn't care. a man had to walk on others or be walked on himself. i made money. money--i poured it into her hands, like pouring sand in a rat-hole. she lived for herself, her whims, her codfish-aristocracy standards, spending my money like water to make a showing, giving me nothing in return, nothing but whining and recrimination if i crossed her ever so little. she made a lap dog of her son the first twenty-five years of his life. she would have made betty a cheap imitation of herself. but she couldn't do that." he stopped a moment and shook his head gently. "no," he resumed, "she couldn't do that. there's iron in that girl. she's all gower. i think i should have thrown up my hands long ago only for betty's sake." macrae shifted uneasily. "you see," gower continued, "my life has been a failure, too. when donald macrae and i clashed, i prevailed. i got what i wanted. but it was only a shadow. there was no substance. it didn't do me any good. i have made money, barrels of it, and that has not done me any good. i've been successful at everything i undertook--except lately--but succeeding as the world reckons success hasn't made me happy. in my personal life i've been a damned failure. i've always been aware of that. and if i have held a feeling toward donald macrae these thirty-odd years, it was a feeling of envy. i would have traded places with him and been the gainer. i would have liked to tell him so. but i couldn't. he was a dour scotchman and i suppose he hated me, although he kept it to himself. i suppose he loved bessie. i know i did. perhaps he cherished hatred of me for wrecking his dream, and so saw my hand in things where it never was. but he was wrong. bessie would have wrecked it and him too. she would have whined and sniffled about being a poor man's wife, once she learned what it was to be poor. she could never understand anything but a silk-lined existence. she loved herself and her own illusions. she would have driven him mad with her petty whims, her petty emotions. she doesn't know the meaning of loyalty, consideration, or even an open, honest hatred. and i've stood it all these years--because i don't shirk responsibilities, and i had brought it on myself." he stopped a second, staring out across the gulf. "but apart from that one thing, i never consciously or deliberately wronged donald macrae. he may honestly have believed i did. i have the name of being hard. i dare say i am. the world is a hard place. when i had to choose between walking on a man's face and having my own walked on, i never hesitated. there was nothing much to make me soft. i moved along the same lines as most of the men i know. "but, i repeat, i never put a straw in your father's way. i know that things went against him. i could see that. i knew why, too. he was too square for his time and place. he trusted men too much. you can't always do that. he was too scrupulously honest. he always gave the other fellow the best of it. that alone beat him. he didn't always consider his own interest and follow up every advantage. i don't think he cared to scramble for money, as a man must scramble for it these days. he could have held this place if he had cast about for ways to do so. there were plenty of loopholes. but he had that old-fashioned honor which doesn't seek loopholes. he had borrowed money on it. he would have taken the coat off his back, beggared himself any day to pay a debt. isn't that right?" macrae nodded. "so this place came into my hands. it was deliberate on my part--but only, mind you, when i knew that he was bound to lose it. perhaps it was bad judgment on my part. i didn't think that he would see it as an end i'd been working for. as i grew older, i found myself wanting now and then to wipe out that old score between us. i would have given a good deal to sit down with him over a pipe. a woman, who wasn't much as women go, had made us both suffer. so i built this cottage and came here to stay now and then. i liked the place. i liked to think that now he and i were getting to be old men, we could be friends. but he was too bitter. and i'm human. i've got a bit of pride. i couldn't crawl. so i never got nearer to him than to see him rowing around the rock. and he died full of that bitterness. i don't like to think of that. still, it cannot be helped. do you grasp this, macrae? do you believe me?" incredible as it seemed, macrae had no choice but to accept that explanation of strangely twisted motives, those misapprehensions, the murky cloud of misunderstanding. the tone of gower's voice, his attitude, carried supreme conviction. and still-- "yes," he said at last. "it is all a contradiction of things i have been passionately sure of for nearly two years. but i can see--yes, it must be as you say. i'm sorry." "sorry? for what?" gower regarded him soberly. "many things. why did you tell me this?" "why should the anger and bitterness of two old men be passed on to their children?" gower asked him gently. macrae stared at him. did he know? had he guessed? had betty told him? he wondered. it was not like betty to have spoken of what had passed between them. yet he did not know how close a bond might exist between this father and daughter, who were, macrae was beginning to perceive, most singularly alike. and this was a shrewd old man, sadly wise in human weaknesses, and much more tolerant than macrae had conceived possible. he felt a little ashamed of the malice with which he had fought this battle of the salmon around squitty island. yet gower by his own admission was a hard man. he had lived with a commercial sword in his hand. he knew what it was to fall by that weapon. he had been hard on the fishermen. he had exploited them mercilessly. therein lay his weakness, whereby he had fallen, through which macrae had beaten him. but had he beaten him? macrae was not now so sure about that. but it was only a momentary doubt. he struggled a little against the reaction of kindliness, this curious sympathy for gower which moved him now. he hated sentimentalism, facile yielding to shallow emotions. he wanted to talk and he was dumb. dumb for appropriate words, because his mind kept turning with passionate eagerness upon betty gower. "does betty know what you have just told me?" he asked at last. gower shook his head. "she knows there is something. i can't tell her. i don't like to. it isn't a nice story. i don't shine in it--nor her mother." "nor do i," macrae muttered to himself. he stood looking over the porch rail down on the sea where the _blanco_ swung at her anchor chain. there seemed nothing more to say. yet he was aware of gower's eyes upon him with something akin to expectancy. an uncertain smile flitted across macrae's face. "this has sort of put me on my beam ends," he said, using a sailor's phrase. "don't you feel as if i'd rather done you up these two seasons?" gower's heavy features lightened with a grimace of amusement. "well," he said, "you certainly cost me a lot of money, one way and another. but you had the nerve to go at it--and you used better judgment of men and conditions than anybody has manifested in the salmon business lately, unless it's young abbott. so i suppose you are entitled to win on your merits. by the way, there is one condition tacked to selling you this ranch. i hesitated about bringing it up at first. i would like to keep this cottage and a strip of ground a hundred and fifty feet wide running down to the beach." "all right," macrae agreed. "we can arrange that later. i'll come again." he set foot on the porch steps. then he turned back. a faint flush stole up in his sun-browned face. he held out his hand. "shall we cry quits?" he asked. "shall we shake hands and forget it?" gower rose to his feet. he did not say anything, but the grip in his thick, stubby fingers almost made jack macrae wince,--and he was a strong-handed man himself. "i'm glad you came to-day," gower said huskily. "come again--soon." he stood on the porch and watched macrae stride down to the beach and put off in his dinghy. then he took out a handkerchief and blew his nose with a tremendous amount of unnecessary noise and gesture. there was something suspiciously like moisture brightening his eyes. but when he saw macrae stand in the dinghy alongside the _blanco_ and speak briefly to his men, then row in under point old behind poor man's rock which the tide was slowly baring, when he climbed up over the point and took the path along the cliff edge, that suspicious brightness in gower's keen old eyes was replaced by a twinkle. he sat down in his grass chair and hummed a little tune, the while one slippered foot kept time, rat-a-pat, on the floor of the porch. chapter xxi as it was in the beginning macrae followed the path along the cliffs. he did not look for betty. his mind was on something else, engrossed in considerations which had little to do with love. if it be true that a man keeps his loves and hates and hobbies and ambitions and appetites in separate chambers, any of which may be for a time so locked that what lies therein neither troubles nor pleases him, then that chamber in which he kept betty gower's image was hermetically sealed. her figure was obscured by other figures,--his father and horace gower and himself. not until he had reached the cove's head and come to his own house did he recall that betty had gone along the cliffs, and that he had not seen her as he passed. but that could easily happen, he knew, in that mile stretch of trees and thickets, those deep clefts and pockets in the rocky wall that frowned upon the sea. he went into the house. out of a box on a shelf in his room he took the message his father had left him and sitting down in the shadowy coolness of the outer room began to read it again, slowly, with infinite care for the reality his father had meant to convey. all his life, as jack remembered him, donald macrae had been a silent man, who never talked of how he felt, how things affected him, who never was stricken with that irresistible impulse to explain and discuss, to relieve his troubled soul with words, which afflicts so many men. it seemed as if he had saved it all for that final summing-up which was to be delivered by his pen instead of his lips. he had become articulate only at the last. it must have taken him weeks upon weeks to write it all down, this autobiography which had been the mainspring of his son's actions for nearly two years. there was wind and sun in it, and blue sky and the gray gulf heaving; somber colors, passion and grief, an apology and a justification. macrae laid down the last page and went outside to sit on the steps. shadows were gathering on the cove. far out, the last gleam of the sun was touching the gulf. a slow swell was rising before some far, unheralded wind. the _blanco_ came gliding in and dropped anchor. trollers began to follow. they clustered about the big carrier like chickens under the mother wing. by these signs macrae knew that the fish had stopped biting, that it was lumpy by poor man's rock. he knew there was work aboard. but he sat there, absent-eyed, thinking. he was full of understanding pity for his father, and also for horace gower. he was conscious of being a little sorry for himself. but then he had only been troubled a short two years by this curious aftermath of old passions, whereas they had suffered all their lives. he had got a new angle from which to approach his father's story. he knew now that he had reacted to something that was not there. he had been filled with a thirst for vengeance, for reprisal, and he had declared war on gower, when that was not his father's intent. old donald macrae had hated gower profoundly in the beginning. he believed that gower hated him and had put the weight of his power against him, wherever and whenever he could. but life itself had beaten him,--and not gower. that was what he had been trying to tell his son. and life itself had beaten gower in a strangely similar fashion. he too was old, a tired, disappointed man. he had reached for material success with one hand and happiness with the other. one had always eluded him. the other jack macrae had helped wrest from him. macrae could see gower's life in detached pictures, life that consisted of making money and spending it, life with a woman who whined and sniffled and complained. these things had been a slow torture. macrae could no longer regard this man as a squat ogre, merciless, implacable, ready and able to crush whatsoever opposed him. he was only a short, fat, oldish man with tired eyes, who had been bruised by forces he could not understand or cope with until he had achieved a wistful tolerance for both things and men. both these old men, macrae perceived, had made a terrible hash of their lives. neither of them had succeeded in getting out of life much that a man instinctively feels that he should get. both had been capable of happiness. both had struggled for happiness as all men struggle. neither had ever securely grasped any measure of it, nor even much of content. macrae felt a chilly uncertainty as he sat on his doorstep considering this. he had been traveling the same road for many months,--denying his natural promptings, stifling a natural passion, surrendering himself to an obsession of vindictiveness, planning and striving to return evil for what he conceived to be evil, and being himself corrupted by the corrosive forces of hatred. he had been diligently bestowing pain on betty, who loved him quite openly and frankly as he desired to be loved; betty, who was innocent of these old coils of bitterness, who was primitive enough in her emotions, macrae suspected, to let nothing stand between her and her chosen mate when that mate beckoned. but she was proud. he knew that he had puzzled her to the point of anger, hurt her in a woman's most vital spot. "i've been several kinds of a fool," macrae said to himself. "i have been fooling myself." he had said to himself once, in a somber mood, that life was nothing but a damned dirty scramble in which a man could be sure of getting hurt. but it struck him now that he had been sedulously inflicting those hurts upon himself. nature cannot be flouted. she exacts terrible penalties for the stifling, the inhibition, the deflection of normal instincts, fundamental impulses. he perceived the operation of this in his father's life, in the thirty years of petty conflict between horace gower and his wife. and he had unconsciously been putting himself and betty in the way of similar penalties by exalting revenge for old, partly imagined wrongs above that strange magnetic something which drew them together. twilight was at hand. looking through the maple and alder fringe before his house macrae saw the fishing boats coming one after the other, clustering about the _blanco_. he went down and slid the old green dugout afloat and so gained the deck of his vessel. for an hour thereafter he worked steadily until all the salmon were delivered and stowed in the _blanco's_ chilly hold. he found it hard to keep his mind on the count of salmon, on money to be paid each man, upon these common details of his business. his thought reached out in wide circles, embracing many things, many persons: norman gower and dolly, who had had courage to put the past behind them and reach for happiness together; stubby abbott and etta robbin-steele, who were being flung together by the same inscrutable forces within them. love might not truly make the world go round, but it was a tremendous motive power in human actions. like other dynamic forces it had its dangerous phases. love, as macrae had experienced it, was a curious mixture of affection and desire, of flaming passion and infinite tenderness. betty gower warmed him like a living flame when he let her take possession of his thought. she was all that his fancy could conjure as desirable. she was his mate. he had felt that, at times, with a conviction beyond reason or logic ever since the night he kissed her in the granada. if fate, or the circumstances he had let involve him, should juggle them apart, he felt that the years would lead him down long, drab corridors. and he was suddenly determined that should not happen. his imagination flung before him kinetoscopic flashes of what his father's life had been and horace gower's. that vision appalled macrae. he would not let it happen,--not to him and betty. he washed, ate his supper, lay on his bunk in the pilot house and smoked a cigarette. then he went out on deck. the moon crept up in a cloudless sky, dimming the stars. there was no wind about the island. but there was wind loose somewhere on the gulf. the glass was falling. the swells broke more heavily along the cliffs. at the mouth of the cove white sheets of spray lifted as each comber reared and broke in that narrow place. he recollected that he had left the _blanco's_ dinghy hauled up on the beach on the tip of point old. he got ashore now in the green dugout and walked across to the point. a man is seldom wholly single-track in his ideas, his impulses. macrae thought of the dinghy. he had a care for its possible destruction by the rising sea. but he thought also of betty. there was a pleasure in simply looking at the house in which she lived. lights glowed in the windows. the cottage glistened in the moonlight. when he came out on the tip of the point the dinghy, he saw, lay safe where he had dragged it up on the rocks. and when he had satisfied himself of this he stood with hands thrust deep in his pockets, looking down on poor man's rock, watching the swirl and foam as each swell ran over its sunken head. macrae had a subconscious perception of beauty, beauty of form and color. it moved him without his knowing why. he was in a mood to respond to beauty this night. he had that buoyant, grateful feeling which comes to a man when he has escaped some great disaster, when he is suddenly freed from some grim apprehension of the soul. the night was one of wonderful beauty. the moon laid its silver path across the sea. the oily swells came up that moon-path in undulating folds to break in silver fragments along the shore. the great island beyond the piercing shaft of the ballenas light and the mainland far to his left lifted rugged mountains sharp against the sky. from the southeast little fluffs of cloud, little cottony flecks white as virgin snow, sailed before the wind that mothered the swells. but there was no wind on squitty yet. there was breathless stillness except for the low, spaced mutter of the surf. he stood a long time, drinking in the beauty of it all,--the sea and the moon-path, and the hushed, dark woods behind. then his gaze, turning slowly, fell on something white in the shadow of a bushy, wind-distorted fir a few feet away. he looked more closely. his eyes gradually made out a figure in a white sweater sitting on a flat rock, elbows on knees, chin resting in cupped palms. he walked over. betty's eyes were fixed on him. he stared down at her, suddenly tongue-tied, a queer constricted feeling in his throat. she did not speak. "were you sitting here when i came along?" he asked at last. "yes," she said. "i often come up here. i have been sitting here for half an hour." macrae sat down beside her. his heart seemed to be trying to choke him. he did not know where to begin, or how, and there was much he wanted to say that he must say. betty did not even take her chin out of her palms. she stared out at the sea, rolling up to squitty in silver windrows. macrae put one arm around her and drew her up close to him, and betty settled against him with a little sigh. her fingers stole into his free hand. for a minute they sat like that. then he tilted her head back, looked down into the gray pools of her eyes, and kissed her. "you stood there looking down at the sea as if you were in a dream," she whispered; "and all the time i was crying inside of me for you to come to me. and presently, i suppose, you will go away." "no," he said. "this time i have come for good." "i knew you would, sometime," she murmured. "at least, i hoped you would. i wanted you so badly." "but because one wants a thing badly it doesn't always follow that one gets it." macrae was thinking of his father when he spoke. "i know that," betty said. "but i knew that you wanted me, you see. and i had faith that you would brush away the cobwebs somehow. i've been awfully angry at you sometimes. it's horrible to feel that there is an imaginary wall between you and some one you care for." "there is no wall now," macrae said. "was there ever one, really?" "there seemed to be." "and now there is none?" "none at all." "sure?" she murmured. "honest injun," macrae smiled. "i went to see your father to-day about a simple matter of business. and i found--i learned--oh, well, it doesn't matter. i buried the hatchet. we are going to be married and live happily ever after." "well," betty said judiciously, "we shall have as good a chance as any one, i think. look at norman and dolly. i positively trembled for them--after norman getting into that mess over in england. he never exactly shone as a real he-man, that brother of mine, you know. but they are really happy, jack. they make me envious." "i think you're a little hard on that brother of yours," macrae said. he was suddenly filled with a great charity toward all mankind. "he never had much of a chance, from all i can gather." he went on to tell her what norman had told him that afternoon on the hill above the cove. but betty interrupted. "oh, i know that now," she declared. "daddy told me just recently. daddy knew what norman was doing over there. in fact, he showed me a letter from some british military authority praising norman for the work he did. but daddy kept mum when norman came home and those nasty rumors began to go around. he thought it better for norman to take his medicine. he was afraid mother would smother him with money and insist on his being a proper lounge lizard again, and so he would gradually drop back into his old uselessness. daddy was simply tickled stiff when norman showed his teeth--when he cut loose from everything and married dolly, and all that. he's a very wise old man, that father of mine, jack. he hasn't ever got much real satisfaction in his life. he has been more content this last month or so than i can ever remember him. we have always had loads of money, and while it's nice to have plenty, i don't think it did him any good. my whole life has been lived in an atmosphere of domestic incompatibility. i think i should make a very capable wife--i have had so many object lessons in how not to be. my mother wasn't a success either as a wife or a mother. it is a horrible thing to say, but it's really true, jack. mamma's a very well-bred, distinguished-looking person with exquisite taste in dress and dinner parties, and that's about the only kind thing i can say for her. do you really love me, jack? heaps and heaps?" she shot this question at him with a swift change of tone and an earnestness which straightway drove out of macrae's mind every consideration save the proper and convincing answer to such intimate questions. "look," betty said after a long interval. "daddy has built a fire on the beach. he does that sometimes, and we sit around it and roast clams in the coals. johnny, johnny," she squeezed his arm with a quick pressure, "we're going to have some good times on this island now." macrae laughed indulgently. he was completely in accord with that prophecy. the blaze gower had kindled flickered and wavered, a red spot on the duskier shore, with a yellow nimbus in which they saw him move here and there, and sit down at last with his back to a log and his feet stretched to the fire. "let's go down," macrae suggested, "and break the news to him." "i wonder what he'll say?" betty murmured thoughtfully. "haven't you any idea?" macrae asked curiously. "no. honestly, i haven't," betty replied. "daddy's something like you, jack. that is, he does and says unexpected things, now and then. no, i really don't know what he will say." "we'll soon find out." macrae took her hand. they went down off the backbone of the point, through ferns and over the long uncut grass, down to the fire where the wash from the heavy swell outside made watery murmurs along the gravelly beach. gower looked up at them, waited for them to speak. "betty and i are going to be married soon," macrae announced abruptly. "oh?" gower took the pipe out of his mouth and rapped the ash out of it in the palm of his hand. "you don't do things half-heartedly, do you, macrae? you deprive me of a very profitable business. you want my ranch--and now my housekeeper." "daddy!" betty remonstrated. "oh, well, i suppose i can learn to cook for myself," gower rumbled. he was frowning. he looked at them staring at him, nonplussed. suddenly he burst into deep, chuckling laughter. "sit down, sit down, and look at the fire," he said. "bless your soul, if you want to get married that's your own business. "mind you," he chuckled after a minute, when betty had snuggled down beside him, and macrae perched on the log by her, "i don't say i like the idea. it don't seem fair for a man to raise a daughter and then have some young fellow sail up and take her away just when she is beginning to make herself useful." "daddy, you certainly do talk awful nonsense," betty reproved. "i expect you haven't talked much else the last little while," he retorted. betty subsided. macrae smiled. there was a whimsicality about gower's way of taking this that pleased macrae. they toasted their feet at the fire until the wavering flame burned down to a bed of glowing coals. they talked of this and that, of everything but themselves until the moon was swimming high and the patches of cottony cloud sailing across the moon's face cast intense black patches on the silvery radiance of the sea. "i've got some clams in a bucket," gower said at last. "let's roast some. you get plates and forks and salt and pepper and butter, bet, while i put the clams on the fire." betty went away to the house. gower raked a flat rock, white-hot, out to the edge of the coals and put fat quahaugs on it to roast. then he sat back and looked at macrae. "i wonder if you realize how lucky you are?" he said. "i think i do," macrae answered. "you don't seem much surprised." gower smiled. "well, no. i can't say i am. that first night you came to the cottage to ask for the _arrow_ i got a good look at you, and you struck me as a fine, clean sort of boy, and i said to myself, 'old donald has never told him anything and he has no grudge against me, and wouldn't it be a sort of compensation if those two should fall naturally and simply in love with each other?' yes, it may seem sentimental, but that idea occurred to me. of course, it was just an idea. betty would marry whoever she wanted to marry. i knew that. nothing but her own judgment would influence her in a matter of that sort. i know. i've watched her grow up. maybe it's a good quality or maybe it's a bad one, but she has always had a bull-dog sort of persistence about anything that strikes her as really important. "and of course i had no way of knowing whether she would take a fancy to you or you to her. so i just watched. and maybe i boosted the game a little, because i'm a pretty wise old fish in my own way. i took a few whacks at you, now and then, and she flew the storm signals without knowing it." gower smiled reminiscently, stroking his chin with his hand. "i had to fight you, after a fashion, to find out what sort of stuff you were, for my own satisfaction," he continued. "i saw that you had your scotch up and were after my scalp, and i knew it couldn't be anything but that old mess. that was natural. but i thought i could square that if i could ever get close enough to you. only i couldn't manage that naturally. and this scramble for the salmon got me in deep before i realized where i was. i used to feel sorry for you and betty. i could see it coming. you both talk with your eyes. i have seen you both when you didn't know i was near. "so when i saw that you would fight me till you broke us both, and also that if i kept on i would not only be broke but so deep in the hole that i could never get out, i shut the damned cannery up and let everything slide. i knew as soon as you were in shape you would try to get this place back. that was natural. and you would have to come and talk to me about it. i was sure i could convince you that i was partly human. so you see this is no surprise to me. lord, no! why, i've been playing chess for two years--old donald macrae's knight against my queen." he laughed and thumped macrae on the flat of his sturdy back. "it might have been a stalemate, at that," macrae said. "but it wasn't," gower declared. "well, i'll get something out of living, after all. i've often thought i'd like to see a big, roomy house somewhere along these cliffs, and kids playing around. you and betty may have your troubles, but you're starting right. you ought to get a lot out of life. i didn't. i made money. that's all. poured it into a rat hole. bessie is sitting over on maple point in a big drafty house with two maids and a butler, a two-thousand-acre estate, and her pockets full of victory bonds. she isn't happy, and she never can be. she never cared for anybody but herself, not even her children, and nobody cares for her, i'm all but broke, and i'm better off than she is. i hate to think i ever fought for her. she wasn't worth it, macrae. that's a hell of a thing for a man to say about a woman he lived with for over thirty years. but it's true. it took me a good many miserable years to admit that to myself. "i suppose she'll cling to her money and go on playing the _grande dame_. and if she can get any satisfaction out of that i'm willing. i've never known as much real peace and satisfaction as i've got now. all i need is a place to sleep and a comfortable chair to sit in. i don't want to chase dollars any more. all i want is to row around the rock and catch a few salmon now and then and sit here and look at the sea when i'm tired. you're young, and you have all your life before you--you and betty. if you need money, you are pretty well able to get it for yourself. but i'm old, and i don't want to bother." he rambled on until betty came down with plates and other things. the fat clams were opening their shells on the hot rock. they put butter and seasoning on the tender meat and ate, talking of this and that. and when the last clam had vanished, gower stuffed his pipe and lit it with a coal. he gathered up the plates and forks and rose to his feet. "good night," he said benevolently. "i'm going to the house and to bed. don't sit out here dreaming all night, you two." he stumped away up the path. macrae piled driftwood on the fire. then he sat down with his back against the log, and betty snuggled beside him, in the crook of his arm. beyond the point the booming of the surf rose like far thunder. the tide was on the ebb. poor man's rock bared its kelp-thatched head. the racing swells covered it with spray that shone in the moonlight. they did not talk. speech had become nonessential. it was enough to be together. so they sat, side by side, their backs to the cedar log and their feet to the fire, talking little, dreaming much, until the fluffy clouds scudding across the face of the moon came thicker and faster and lost their snowy whiteness, until the radiance of the night was dimmed. across the low summit of point old a new sound was carried to them. where the moonlight touched the gulf in patches, far out, whitecaps showed. "listen," macrae murmured. the wind struck them with a puff that sent sparks flying. it rose and fell and rose again until it whistled across the point in a steady drone,--the chill breath of the storm-god. macrae turned up betty's wrist and looked at her watch. "look at the time, betty mine," he said. "and it's getting cold. there'll be another day." he walked with her to the house. when she vanished within, blowing him a kiss from her finger tips, macrae cut across the point. he laid hold of the _blanco's_ dinghy and drew it high to absolute safety, then stood a minute gazing seaward, looking down on the rock. clouds obscured the moon now. a chill darkness hid distant shore lines and mountain ranges which had stood plain in the moon-glow, a darkness full of rushing, roaring wind and thundering seas. poor man's rock was a vague bulk in the gloom, forlorn and lonely, hidden under great bursts of spray as each wave leaped and broke with a hiss and a roar. macrae braced himself against the southeaster. it ruffled his hair, clawed at him with strong, invisible fingers. it shrieked its fury among the firs, stunted and leaning all awry from the buffeting of many storms. he took a last look behind him. the lights in gower's house were out and the white-walled cottage stood dim against the darkened hillside. then macrae, smiling to himself in the dark, set out along the path that led to squitty cove. the end by the author of "big timber" north of fifty-three by bertrand w. sinclair illustrated. mo. cloth. * * * * * he has created the atmosphere of the frozen north with wonderful realism.--_boston globe_. mr. sinclair's two characters are exceptionally well-drawn and sympathetic. his style is robust and vigorous. his pictures of canadian life stimulating.--_new york nation_. mr. sinclair sketches with bold strokes as befits a subject set amid limitless surroundings. the book is readable and shows consistent progress in the art of novel writing.--_st. louis globe-democrat_. an unusually good story of the conflict between a man and a woman. it is a readable, well written book showing much observation and good sense. the hero is a fine fellow and manages to have his fling at a good many conventions without being tedious.--_new york sun_. the story is well written. it is rich in strong situation, romance and heart-stirring scenes, both of the emotional and courage-stirring order. it ranks with the best of its type.--_springfield republican_. * * * * * little, brown & co., publishers beacon st., boston. [illustration: cover art] [frontispiece: e. pauline johnson] legends of vancouver by e. pauline johnson (tekahionwake) _eighth edition_ illustrated published by saturday sunset presses vancouver, b. c. copyright, , by e. pauline johnson these legends are printed by courtesy of the "vancouver daily province," in which journal they first appeared. printed by saturday sunset presses vancouver, b. c. preface i have been asked to write a preface to these legends of vancouver, which, in conjunction with the members of the publication sub-committee--mrs. lefevre, mr. l. w. makovski and mr. r. w. douglas--i have helped to put through the press. but scarcely any prefatory remarks are necessary. this book may well stand on its own merits. still, it may be permissible to record one's glad satisfaction that a poet has arisen to cast over the shoulders of our grey mountains, our trail-threaded forests, our tide-swept waters, and the streets and skyscrapers of our hurrying city, a gracious mantle of romance. pauline johnson has linked the vivid present with the immemorial past. vancouver takes on a new aspect as we view it through her eyes. in the imaginative power that she has brought to these semi-historical sagas, and in the liquid flow of her rhythmical prose, she has shown herself to be a literary worker of whom we may well be proud: she has made a most estimable contribution to purely canadian literature. bernard mcevoy author's foreword these legends (with two or three exceptions) were told to me personally by my honored friend, the late chief joe capilano, of vancouver, whom i had the privilege of first meeting in london in , when he visited england and was received at buckingham palace by their majesties king edward vii and queen alexandra. to the fact that i was able to greet chief capilano in the chinook tongue, while we were both many thousands of miles from home, i owe the friendship and the confidence which he so freely gave me when i came to reside on the pacific coast. these legends he told me from time to time, just as the mood possessed him, and he frequently remarked that they had never been revealed to any other english-speaking person save myself. e. pauline johnson (tekahionwake) biographical notice e. pauline johnson (tekahionwake) is the youngest child of a family of four born to the late g. h. m. johnson (onwanonsyshon), head chief of the six nations indians, and his wife emily s. howells. the latter was of english parentage, her birthplace being bristol, but the land of her adoption canada. chief johnson was of the renowned mohawk tribe, being a scion of one of the fifty noble families which composed the historical confederation founded by hiawatha upwards of four hundred years ago, and known at that period as the brotherhood of the five nations, but which was afterwards named the iroquois by the early french missionaries and explorers. for their loyalty to the british crown they were granted the magnificent lands bordering the grand river, in the county of brant, ontario, on which the tribes still live. it was upon this reserve, on her father's estate, "chiefswood," that pauline johnson was born. the loyalty of her ancestors breathes in her prose, as well as in her poetic writings. her education was neither extensive nor elaborate. it embraced neither high school nor college. a nursery governess for two years at home, three years at an indian day school half a mile from her home, and two years in the central school of the city of brantford, was the extent of her educational training. but, besides this, she acquired a wide general knowledge, having been through childhood and early girlhood a great reader, especially of poetry. before she was twelve years old she had read scott, longfellow, byron, shakespeare, and such books as addison's "spectator," foster's essays and owen meredith's writings. the first periodicals to accept her poems and place them before the public were "gems of poetry," a small magazine published in new york, and "the week," established by the late prof. goldwin smith, of toronto, the new york "independent" and toronto "saturday night." since then she has contributed to most of the high-grade magazines, both on this continent and england. her writings having brought her into notice, the next step in miss johnson's career was her appearance on the public platform as a reciter of her own poems. for this she had natural talent, and in the exercise of it she soon developed a marked ability, joined with a personal magnetism, that was destined to make her a favorite with audiences from the atlantic to the pacific. her friend, mr. frank yeigh, of toronto, provided for a series of recitals having that scope, with the object of enabling her to go to england to arrange for the publication of her poems. within two years this aim was accomplished, her book of poems, "the white wampum," being published by john lane, of the bodley head. she took with her numerous letters of introduction, including one from the governor-general, the earl of aberdeen, and she soon gained both social and literary standing. her book was received with much favor, both by reviewers and the public. after giving many recitals in fashionable drawing-rooms, she returned to canada, and made her first tour to the pacific coast, giving recitals at all the cities and towns en route. since then she has crossed the rocky mountains no fewer than nineteen times. miss johnson's pen had not been idle, and in the geo. n. morang co., of toronto, published her second book of poems, entitled "canadian born," which was also well received. after a number of recitals, which included newfoundland and the maritime provinces, she went to england again in and made her first appearance in steinway hall, under the distinguished patronage of lord and lady strathcona. in the following year she again visited london, returning by way of the united states, where she gave many recitals. after another tour of canada she decided to give up public work, to make vancouver, b. c., her home, and to devote herself to literary work. only a woman of remarkable powers of endurance could have borne up under the hardships necessarily encountered in travelling through north-western canada in pioneer days as miss johnson did; and shortly after settling down in vancouver the exposure and hardship she had endured began to tell on her, and her health completely broke down. for almost a year she has been an invalid, and as she is unable to attend to the business herself, a trust has been formed by some of the leading citizens of her adopted city for the purpose of collecting and publishing for her benefit her later works. among these are the beautiful indian legends contained in this volume, which she has been at great pains to collect, and a series of boys' stories, which have been exceedingly well received by magazine readers. during the sixteen years miss johnson was travelling, she had many varied and interesting experiences. she travelled the old battleford trail before the railroad went through, and across the boundary country in british columbia in the romantic days of the early pioneers. once she took an eight hundred and fifty mile drive up the cariboo trail to the gold fields. she has always been an ardent canoeist, and has run many strange rivers, crossed many a lonely lake, and camped in many an unfrequented place. these venturesome trips she made more from her inherent love of nature and adventure than from any necessity of her profession. * * * * * miss pauline johnson died in vancouver on march , . in accordance with her last wish her ashes were buried in stanley park within sight and sound of siwash rock, where the main driveway round the park, coming from the english bay entrance, divides east and west--the western branch sloping down towards the rock and the eastern going to the big tree. an editorial in the "vancouver daily province" of march said: "the keynote of her whole disposition was a generous charity towards everything and everybody with whom she came in contact. there was no trouble too great for her to take, no detail too small for her to neglect when it was a matter of giving happiness to others. she was one of those great souls who would starve themselves on the trail, work unwearingly [transcriber's note: unwearyingly?] for her companions, cheer them ever onwards through good times and bad, and rejoice with them when the goal was achieved. she loved life with a passionate devotion that was almost pathetic in its intensity. in spite of all her travelling, all her experiences, which were by no means easy, pauline johnson never lost her capacity for getting the best out of life. she was absolutely natural and simple in her love of happiness. she disliked artificiality of any kind. the seasons as they came and went were in themselves a constant source of pleasure to her. she loved the pacific coast with its ever-changing colors, the sea and the deeply gashed mountains. the wind in the great firs and the roaring of the mountain torrents were music in her ears. with the passing of winter passed also the soul of pauline johnson to the happy hunting grounds, there to find eternal freedom untrammeled by mortality. to all who knew her she was the 'best beloved vagabond.' it was always fine weather and good going on the trail of life when pauline johnson blazed the way." contents preface author's foreword biographical notice the two sisters the siwash rock the recluse the lost salmon run the deep waters the sea-serpent the lost island point grey the tulameen trail the grey archway deadman's island a squamish legend of napoleon the lure in stanley park deer lake a royal mohawk chief list of illustrations frontispiece--portrait the lions (the two sisters) the siwash rock capilano canyon the capilano river entrance to the narrows kitsilano beach the seven sisters, stanley park the two sisters the lions you can see them as you look towards the north and the west, where the dream hills swim into the sky amid their ever-drifting clouds of pearl and grey. they catch the earliest hint of sunrise, they hold the last color of sunset. twin mountains they are, lifting their twin peaks above the fairest city in all canada, and known throughout the british empire as "the lions of vancouver." sometimes the smoke of forest fires blurs them until they gleam like opals in a purple atmosphere, too beautiful for words to paint. sometimes the slanting rains festoon scarfs of mist about their crests, and the peaks fade into shadowy outlines, melting, melting, forever melting into the distances. but for most days in the year the sun circles the twin glories with a sweep of gold. the moon washes them with a torrent of silver. often-times, when the city is shrouded in rain, the sun yellows their snows to a deep orange, but through sun and shadow they stand immovable, smiling westward above the waters of the restless pacific, eastward above the superb beauty of the capilano canyon. but the indian tribes do not know these peaks as "the lions." even the chief, whose feet have so recently wandered to the happy hunting grounds, never heard the name given them until i mentioned it to him one dreamy august day, as together we followed the trail leading to the canyon. he seemed so surprised at the name that i mentioned the reason it had been applied to them, asking him if he recalled the landseer lions in trafalgar square. yes, he remembered those splendid sculptures, and his quick eye saw the resemblance instantly. it appeared to please him, and his fine face expressed the haunting memories of the far-away roar of old london. but the "call of the blood" was stronger, and presently he referred to the indian legend of those peaks--a legend that i have reason to believe is absolutely unknown to thousands of palefaces who look upon "the lions" daily, without the love for them that is in the indian heart; without knowledge of the secret of "the two sisters." the legend was intensely fascinating as it left his lips in the quaint broken english that is never so dulcet as when it slips from an indian tongue. his inimitable gestures, strong, graceful, comprehensive, were like a perfectly chosen frame embracing a delicate painting, and his brooding eyes were as the light in which the picture hung. "many thousands of years ago," he began, "there were no twin peaks like sentinels guarding the outposts of this sunset coast. they were placed there long after the first creation, when the sagalie tyee moulded the mountains, and patterned the mighty rivers where the salmon run, because of his love for his indian children, and his wisdom for their necessities. in those times there were many and mighty indian tribes along the pacific--in the mountain ranges, at the shores and sources of the great fraser river. indian law ruled the land. indian customs prevailed. indian beliefs were regarded. those were the legend-making ages when great things occurred to make the traditions we repeat to our children today. perhaps the greatest of these traditions is the story of 'the two sisters,' for they are known to us as 'the chief's daughters,' and to them we owe the great peace in which we live, and have lived for many countless moons. there is an ancient custom amongst the coast tribes that when our daughters step from childhood into the great world of womanhood the occasion must be made one of extreme rejoicing. the being who possesses the possibility of someday mothering a man child, a warrior, a brave, receives much consideration in most nations, but to us, the sunset tribes, she is honored above all people. the parents usually give a great potlatch, and a feast that lasts many days. the entire tribe and the surrounding tribes are bidden to this festival. more than that, sometimes when a great tyee celebrates for his daughter, the tribes from far up the coast, from the distant north, from inland, from the island, from the cariboo country, are gathered as guests to the feast. during these days of rejoicing, the girl is placed in a high seat, an exalted position, for is she not marriageable? and does not marriage mean motherhood? and does not motherhood mean a vaster nation of brave sons and of gentle daughters, who, in their turn, will give us sons and daughters of their own? "but it was many thousands of years ago that a great tyee had two daughters that grew to womanhood at the same springtime, when the first great run of salmon thronged the rivers, and the ollallie bushes were heavy with blossoms. these two daughters were young, lovable, and oh! very beautiful. their father, the great tyee, prepared to make a feast such as the coast had never seen. there were to be days and days of rejoicing, the people were to come for many leagues, were to bring gifts to the girls and to receive gifts of great value from the chief, and hospitality was to reign as long as pleasuring feet could dance, and enjoying lips could laugh, and mouths partake of the excellence of the chief's fish, game and ollallies. [illustration: the lions (the two sisters) bishop & christie, photo.] "the only shadow on the joy of it all was war, for the tribe of the great tyee was at war with the upper coast indians, those who lived north, near what is named by the paleface as the port of prince rupert. giant war canoes slipped along the entire coast, war parties paddled up and down, war songs broke the silences of the nights, hatred, vengeance, strife, horror festered everywhere like sores on the surface of the earth. but the great tyee, after warring for weeks, turned and laughed at the battle and the bloodshed, for he had been victor in every encounter, and he could well afford to leave the strife for a brief week and feast in his daughters' honor, nor permit any mere enemy to come between him and the traditions of his race and household. so he turned insultingly deaf ears to their war cries; he ignored with arrogant indifference their paddle dips that encroached within his own coast waters, and he prepared, as a great tyee should, to royally entertain his tribesmen in honor of his daughters. "but seven suns before the great feast, these two maidens came before him, hand clasped in hand. "'oh! our father,' they said, 'may we speak?' "'speak, my daughters, my girls with the eyes of april, the hearts of june'" (early spring and early summer would be the more accurate indian phrasing). "'some day, oh! our father, we may mother a man child, who may grow to be just such a powerful tyee as you are, and for this honor that may some day be ours we have come to crave a favor of you--you, oh! our father.' "'it is your privilege at this celebration to receive any favor your hearts may wish,' he replied graciously, placing his fingers beneath their girlish chins. 'the favor is yours before you ask it, my daughters.' "'will you, for our sakes, invite the great northern hostile tribe--the tribe you war upon--to this, our feast?' they asked fearlessly. "'to a peaceful feast, a feast in the honor of women?' he exclaimed incredulously. "'so we would desire it,' they answered. "'and so shall it be,' he declared. 'i can deny you nothing this day, and some time you may bear sons to bless this peace you have asked, and to bless their mother's sire for granting it.' then he turned to all the young men of the tribe and commanded, 'build fires at sunset on all the coast headlands--fires of welcome. man your canoes and face the north, greet the enemy, and tell them that i, the tyee of the capilanos, ask--no, command that they join me for a great feast in honor of my two daughters.' and when the northern tribes got this invitation they flocked down the coast to this feast of a great peace. they brought their women and their children: they brought game and fish, gold and white stone beads, baskets and carven ladles, and wonderful woven blankets to lay at the feet of their now acknowledged ruler, the great tyee. and he, in turn, gave such a potlatch that nothing but tradition can vie with it. there were long, glad days of joyousness, long pleasurable nights of dancing and camp fires, and vast quantities of food. the war canoes were emptied of their deadly weapons and filled with the daily catch of salmon. the hostile war songs ceased, and in their place were heard the soft shuffle of dancing feet, the singing voices of women, the play-games of the children of two powerful tribes which had been until now ancient enemies, for a great and lasting brotherhood was sealed between them--their war songs were ended forever. "then the sagalie tyee smiled on his indian children: 'i will make these young-eyed maidens immortal,' he said. in the cup of his hands he lifted the chief's two daughters and set them forever in a high place, for they had borne two offspring--peace and brotherhood--each of which is now a great tyee ruling this land. "and on the mountain crest the chief's daughters can be seen wrapped in the suns, the snows, the stars of all seasons, for they have stood in this high place for thousands of years, and will stand for thousands of years to come, guarding the peace of the pacific coast and the quiet of the capilano canyon." * * * * * this is the indian legend of "the lions of vancouver" as i had it from one who will tell me no more the traditions of his people. the siwash rock unique, and so distinct from its surroundings as to suggest rather the handicraft of man than a whim of nature, it looms up at the entrance to the narrows, a symmetrical column of solid grey stone. there are no similar formations within the range of vision, or indeed within many a day's paddle up and down the coast. amongst all the wonders, the natural beauties that encircle vancouver, the marvels of mountains shaped into crouching lions and brooding beavers, the yawning canyons, the stupendous forest firs and cedars, siwash rock stands as distinct, as individual, as if dropped from another sphere. i saw it first in the slanting light of a redly setting august sun; the little tuft of green shrubbery that crests its summit was black against the crimson of sea and sky, and its colossal base of grey stone gleamed like flaming polished granite. my old tillicum lifted his paddle blade to point towards it. "you know the story?" he asked. i shook my head (experience had taught me his love of silent replies, his moods of legend-telling). for a time we paddled slowly; the rock detached itself from its background of forest and shore, and it stood forth like a sentinel--erect, enduring, eternal. "do you think it stands straight--like a man?" he asked. "yes, like some noble-spirited, upright warrior," i replied. "it is a man," he said, "and a warrior man, too; a man who fought for everything that was noble and upright." "what do you regard as everything that is noble and upright, chief?" i asked, curious as to his ideas. i shall not forget the reply: it was but two words--astounding, amazing words. he said simply: "clean fatherhood." through my mind raced tumultuous recollections of numberless articles in yet numberless magazines, all dealing with the recent "fad" of motherhood, but i had to hear from the lips of a squamish indian chief the only treatise on the nobility of "clean fatherhood" that i have yet unearthed. and this treatise has been an indian legend for centuries; and lest they forget how all-important those two little words must ever be, siwash rock stands to remind them, set there by the deity as a monument to one who kept his own life clean, that cleanliness might be the heritage of the generations to come. it was "thousands of years ago" (all indian legends begin in extremely remote times) that a handsome boy chief journeyed in his canoe to the upper coast for the shy little northern girl whom he brought home as his wife. boy though he was, the young chief had proved himself to be an excellent warrior, a fearless hunter, and an upright, courageous man among men. his tribe loved him, his enemies respected him, and the base and mean and cowardly feared him. the customs and traditions of his ancestors were a positive religion to him, the sayings and the advices of the old people were his creed. he was conservative in every rite and ritual of his race. he fought his tribal enemies like the savage that he was. he sang his war songs, danced his war dances, slew his foes, but the little girl-wife from the north he treated with the deference that he gave his own mother, for was she not to be the mother of his warrior son? the year rolled round, weeks merged into months, winter into spring, and one glorious summer at daybreak he wakened to her voice calling him. she stood beside him, smiling. "it will be to-day," she said proudly. he sprang from his couch of wolf skins and looked out upon the coming day: the promise of what it would bring him seemed breathing through all his forest world. he took her very gently by the hand and led her through the tangle of wilderness down to the water's edge, where the beauty spot we moderns call stanley park bends about prospect point. "i must swim," he told her. "i must swim, too," she smiled with the perfect understanding of two beings who are mated. for to them the old indian custom was law--the custom that the parents of a coming child must swim until their flesh is so clear and clean that a wild animal cannot scent their proximity. if the wild creatures of the forests have no fear of them, then, and only then, are they fit to become parents, and to scent a human is in itself a fearsome thing to all wild creatures. so those two plunged into the waters of the narrows as the grey dawn slipped up the eastern skies and all the forest awoke to the life of a new, glad day. presently he took her ashore, and smilingly she crept away under the giant trees. "i must be alone," she said, "but come to me at sunrise: you will not find me alone then." he smiled also, and plunged back into the sea. he must swim, swim, swim through this hour when his fatherhood was coming upon him. it was the law that he must be clean, spotlessly clean, so that when his child looked out upon the world it would have the chance to live its own life clean. if he did not swim hour upon hour his child would come to an unclean father. he must give his child a chance in life; he must not hamper it by his own uncleanliness at its birth. it was the tribal law--the law of vicarious purity. as he swam joyously to and fro, a canoe bearing four men headed up the narrows. these men were giants in stature, and the stroke of their paddles made huge eddies that boiled like the seething tides. "out from our course!" they cried as his lithe, copper-colored body arose and fell with his splendid stroke. he laughed at them, giants though they were, and answered that he could not cease his swimming at their demand. "but you shall cease!" they commanded. "we are the men (agents) of the sagalie tyee (god), and we command you ashore out of our way!" (i find in all these coast indian legends that the deity is represented by four men, usually paddling an immense canoe.) he ceased swimming, and, lifting his head, defied them. "i shall not stop, nor yet go ashore," he declared, striking out once more to the middle of the channel. "do you dare disobey us," they cried--"we, the men of the sagalie tyee? we can turn you into a fish, or a tree, or a stone for this; do you dare disobey the great tyee?" "i dare anything for the cleanliness and purity of my coming child. i dare even the sagalie tyee himself, but my child must be born to a spotless life." the four men were astounded. they consulted together, lighted their pipes and sat in council. never had they, the men of the sagalie tyee, been defied before. now, for the sake of a little unborn child, they were ignored, disobeyed, almost despised. the lithe young copper-colored body still disported itself in the cool waters; superstition held that should their canoe, or even their paddle blades, touch a human being their marvellous power would be lost. the handsome young chief swam directly in their course. they dared not run him down; if so, they would become as other men. while they yet counselled what to do, there floated from out the forest a faint, strange, compelling sound. they listened, and the young chief ceased his stroke as he listened also. the faint sound drifted out across the waters once more. it was the cry of a little, little child. then one of the four men, he that steered the canoe, the strongest and tallest of them all, arose and, standing erect, stretched out his arms towards the rising sun and chanted, not a curse on the young chief's disobedience, but a promise of everlasting days and freedom from death. "because you have defied all things that came in your path we promise this to you," he chanted; "you have defied what interferes with your child's chance for a clean life, you have lived as you wish your son to live, you have defied us when we would have stopped your swimming and hampered your child's future. you have placed that child's future before all things, and for this the sagalie tyee commands us to make you forever a pattern for your tribe. you shall never die, but you shall stand through all the thousands of years to come, where all eyes can see you. you shall live, live, live as an indestructible monument to clean fatherhood." the four men lifted their paddles and the handsome young chief swam inshore; as his feet touched the line where sea and land met, he was transformed into stone. then the four men said, "his wife and child must ever be near him; they shall not die, but live also." and they, too, were turned into stone. if you penetrate the hollows in the woods near siwash rock you will find a large rock and a smaller one beside it. they are the shy little bride-wife from the north, with her hour-old baby beside her. and from the uttermost parts of the world vessels come daily throbbing and sailing up the narrows. from far trans-pacific ports, from the frozen north, from the lands of the southern cross, they pass and repass the living rock that was there before their hulls were shaped, that will be there when their very names are forgotten, when their crews and their captains have taken their long last voyage, when their merchandise has rotted, and their owners are known no more. but the tall, grey column of stone will still be there--a monument to one man's fidelity to a generation yet unborn--and will endure from everlasting to everlasting. [illustration: native cradle] [illustration: the siwash rock bishop & christie, photo.] the recluse journeying toward the upper course of the capilano river, about a mile citywards from the dam, you will pass a disused logger's shack. leave the trail at this point and strike through the undergrowth for a few hundred yards to the left, and you will be on the rocky borders of that purest, most restless river in all canada. the stream is haunted with tradition, teeming with a score of romances that vie with its grandeur and loveliness, and of which its waters are perpetually whispering. but i learned this legend from one whose voice was as dulcet as the swirling rapids; but, unlike them, that voice is hushed today, while the river still sings on--sings on. it was singing in very melodious tones through the long august afternoon two summers ago, while we, the chief, his happy-hearted wife and bright, young daughter, all lounged amongst the boulders and watched the lazy clouds drift from peak to peak far above us. it was one of his inspired days; legends crowded to his lips as a whistle teases the mouth of a happy boy, his heart was brimming with tales of the bygones, his eyes were dark with dreams and that strange mournfulness that always haunted them when he spoke of long-ago romances. there was not a tree, a boulder, a dash of rapid upon which his glance fell which he could not link with some ancient poetic superstition. then abruptly, in the very midst of his verbal reveries, he turned and asked me if i were superstitious. of course i replied that i was. "do you think some happenings will bring trouble later on--will foretell evil?" he asked. i made some evasive answer, which, however, seemed to satisfy him, for he plunged into the strange tale of the recluse of the canyon with more vigor than dreaminess; but first he asked me the question: "what do your own tribes, those east of the great mountains, think of twin children?" i shook my head. "that is enough," he said before i could reply. "i see, your people do not like them." "twin children are almost unknown with us," i hastened. "they are rare, very rare; but it is true we do not welcome them." "why?" he asked abruptly. i was a little uncertain about telling him. if i said the wrong thing, the coming tale might die on his lips before it was born to speech, but we understood each other so well that i finally ventured the truth: "we iroquois say that twin children are as rabbits," i explained. "the nation always nicknames the parents 'tow-wan-da-na-ga.' that is the mohawk for rabbit." "is that all?" he asked curiously. "that is all. is it not enough to render twin children unwelcome?" i questioned. he thought awhile, then with evident desire to learn how all races regarded this occurrence, he said, "you have been much among the palefaces, what do they say of twins?" "oh! the palefaces like them. they are--they are--oh! well, they say they are very proud of having twins," i stammered. once again i was hardly sure of my ground. he looked most incredulous, and i was led to enquire what his own people of the squamish thought of this discussed problem. "it is no pride to us," he said decidedly; "nor yet is it disgrace of rabbits, but it is a fearsome thing--a sign of coming evil to the father, and, worse than that, of coming disaster to the tribe." then i knew he held in his heart some strange incident that gave substance to the superstition. "won't you tell it to me?" i begged. he leaned a little backward against a giant boulder, clasping his thin, brown hands about his knees; his eyes roved up the galloping river, then swept down the singing waters to where they crowded past the sudden bend, and during the entire recital of the strange legend his eyes never left that spot where the stream disappeared in its hurrying journey to the sea. without preamble he began: "it was a grey morning when they told him of this disaster that had befallen him. he was a great chief, and he ruled many tribes on the north pacific coast; but what was his greatness now? his young wife had borne him twins, and was sobbing out her anguish in the little fir-bark lodge near the tidewater. "beyond the doorway gathered many old men and women--old in years, old in wisdom, old in the lore and learning of their nations. some of them wept, some chanted solemnly the dirge of their lost hopes and happiness, which would never return because of this calamity; others discussed in hushed voices this awesome thing, and for hours their grave council was broken only by the infant cries of the two boy-babies in the bark lodge, the hopeless sobs of the young mother, the agonized moans of the stricken chief--their father. "'something dire will happen to the tribe,' said the old men in council. "'something dire will happen to him, my husband,' wept the afflicted young mother. "'something dire will happen to us all,' echoed the unhappy father. "then an ancient medicine man arose, lifting his arms, outstretching his palms to hush the lamenting throng. his voice shook with the weight of many winters, but his eyes were yet keen and mirrored the clear thought and brain behind them, as the still trout pools in the capilano mirror the mountain tops. his words were masterful, his gestures commanding, his shoulders erect and kindly. his was a personality and an inspiration that no one dared dispute, and his judgment was accepted as the words fell slowly, like a doom. "'it is the olden law of the squamish that lest evil befall the tribe the sire of twin children must go afar and alone into the mountain fastnesses, there by his isolation and his loneliness to prove himself stronger than the threatened evil, and thus to beat back the shadow that would otherwise follow him and all his people. i, therefore, name for him the length of days that he must spend alone fighting his invisible enemy. he will know by some great sign in nature the hour that the evil is conquered, the hour that his race is saved. he must leave before this sun sets, taking with him only his strongest bow, his fleetest arrows, and going up into the mountain wilderness remain there ten days--alone, alone.' "the masterful voice ceased, the tribe wailed their assent, the father arose speechless, his drawn face revealing great agony over this seemingly brief banishment. he took leave of his sobbing wife, of the two tiny souls that were his sons, grasped his favorite bow and arrows, and faced the forest like a warrior. but at the end of the ten days he did not return, nor yet ten weeks, nor yet ten months. "'he is dead,' wept the mother into the baby ears of her two boys. 'he could not battle against the evil that threatened; it was stronger than he--he so strong, so proud, so brave.' "'he is dead,' echoed the tribesmen and the tribeswomen. 'our strong, brave chief, he is dead.' so they mourned the long year through, but their chants and their tears but renewed their grief; he did not return to them. "meanwhile, far up the capilano the banished chief had built his solitary home; for who can tell what fatal trick of sound, what current of air, what faltering note in the voice of the medicine man had deceived his alert indian ears? but some unhappy fate had led him to understand that his solitude must be of ten years' duration, not ten days, and he had accepted the mandate with the heroism of a stoic. for if he had refused to do so his belief was that although the threatened disaster would be spared him, the evil would fall upon his tribe. thus was one more added to the long list of self-forgetting souls whose creed has been, 'it is fitting that one should suffer for the people.' it was the world-old heroism of vicarious sacrifice. "with his hunting-knife the banished squamish chief stripped the bark from the firs and cedars, building for himself a lodge beside the capilano river, where leaping trout and salmon could be speared by arrow-heads fastened to deftly shaped, long handles. all through the salmon run he smoked and dried the fish with the care of a housewife. the mountain sheep and goats, and even huge black and cinnamon bears, fell before his unerring arrows; the fleet-footed deer never returned to their haunts from their evening drinking at the edge of the stream--their wild hearts, their agile bodies were stilled when he took aim. smoked hams and saddles hung in rows from the cross poles of his bark lodge, and the magnificent pelts of animals carpeted his floors, padded his couch and clothed his body. he tanned the soft doe hides, making leggings, moccasins and shirts, stitching them together with deer sinew as he had seen his mother do in the long-ago. he gathered the juicy salmonberries, their acid a sylvan, healthful change from meat and fish. month by month and year by year he sat beside his lonely camp-fire, waiting for his long term of solitude to end. one comfort alone was his--he was enduring the disaster, fighting the evil, that his tribe might go unscathed, that his people be saved from calamity. slowly, laboriously the tenth year dawned; day by day it dragged its long weeks across his waiting heart, for nature had not yet given the sign that his long probation was over. "then one hot summer day the thunder bird came crashing through the mountains about him. up from the arms of the pacific rolled the storm cloud, and the thunder bird, with its eyes of flashing light, beat its huge vibrating wings on crag and canyon. "upstream, a tall shaft of granite rears its needle-like length. it is named 'thunder rock,' and wise men of the paleface people say it is rich in ore--copper, silver and gold. at the base of this shaft the squamish chief crouched when the storm cloud broke and bellowed through the ranges, and on its summit the thunder bird perched, its gigantic wings threshing the air into booming sounds, into splitting terrors, like the crash of a giant cedar hurtling down the mountain side. "but when the beating of those black pinions ceased and the echo of their thunder waves died down the depths of the canyon, the squamish chief arose as a new man. the shadow on his soul had lifted, the fears of evil were cowed and conquered. in his brain, his blood, his veins, his sinews, he felt that the poison of melancholy dwelt no more. he had redeemed his fault of fathering twin children; he had fulfilled the demands of the law of his tribe. "as he heard the last beat of the thunder bird's wings dying slowly, slowly, faintly, faintly, among the crags, he knew that the bird, too, was dying, for its soul was leaving its monster black body, and presently that soul appeared in the sky. he could see it arching overhead, before it took its long journey to the happy hunting grounds, for the soul of the thunder bird was a radiant half-circle of glorious color spanning from peak to peak. he lifted his head then, for he knew it was the sign the ancient medicine man had told him to wait for--the sign that his long banishment was ended. "and all these years, down in the tidewater country, the little brown-faced twins were asking childwise, 'where is our father? why have we no father, like other boys?' to be met only with the oft-repeated reply, 'your father is no more. your father, the great chief, is dead.' "but some strange filial intuition told the boys that their sire would some day return. often they voiced this feeling to their mother, but she would only weep and say that not even the witchcraft of the great medicine man could bring him to them. but when they were ten years old the two children came to their mother, hand within hand. they were armed with their little hunting-knives, their salmon spears, their tiny bows and arrows. "'we go to find our father,' they said. "'oh! useless quest,' wailed the mother. "'oh! useless quest,' echoed the tribes-people. "but the great medicine man said, 'the heart of a child has invisible eyes, perhaps the child-eyes see him. the heart of a child has invisible ears, perhaps the child-ears hear him call. let them go.' so the little children went forth into the forest; their young feet flew as though shod with wings, their young hearts pointed to the north as does the white man's compass. day after day they journeyed up-stream, until rounding a sudden bend they beheld a bark lodge with a thin blue curl of smoke drifting from its roof. "'it is our father's lodge,' they told each other, for their childish hearts were unerring in response to the call of kinship. hand-in-hand they approached, and entering the lodge, said the one word, 'come.' "the great squamish chief outstretched his arms towards them, then towards the laughing river, then towards the mountains. "'welcome, my sons!' he said. 'and good-bye, my mountains, my brothers, my crags and my canyons!' and with a child clinging to each hand he faced once more the country of the tidewater." * * * * * the legend was ended. for a long time he sat in silence. he had removed his gaze from the bend in the river, around which the two children had come and where the eyes of the recluse had first rested on them after ten years of solitude. the chief spoke again, "it was here, on this spot we are sitting, that he built his lodge: here he dwelt those ten years alone, alone." i nodded silently. the legend was too beautiful to mar with comments, and as the twilight fell, we threaded our way through the underbrush, past the disused logger's camp and into the trail that leads citywards. [illustration: decoration] [illustration: capilano canyon. bishop & christie, photo.] the lost salmon run great had been the "run," and the sockeye season was almost over. for that reason i wondered many times why my old friend, the klootchman, had failed to make one of the fishing fleet. she was an indefatigable workwoman, rivalling her husband as an expert catcher, and all the year through she talked of little else but the coming run. but this especial season she had not appeared amongst her fellow-kind. the fleet and the canneries knew nothing of her, and when i enquired of her tribes-people they would reply without explanation, "she not here this year." but one russet september afternoon i found her. i had idled down the trail from the swans' basin in stanley park to the rim that skirts the narrows, and i saw her graceful, high-bowed canoe heading for the beach that is the favorite landing place of the "tillicums" from the mission. her canoe looked like a dream-craft, for the water was very still, and everywhere a blue film hung like a fragrant veil, for the peat on lulu island had been smoldering for days and its pungent odors and blue-grey haze made a dream-world of sea and shore and sky. i hurried upshore, hailing her in the chinook, and as she caught my voice she lifted her paddle directly above her head in the indian signal of greeting. as she beached, i greeted her with extended eager hands to assist her ashore, for the klootchman is getting to be an old woman; albeit she paddles against tidewater like a boy in his teens. "no," she said, as i begged her to come ashore. "i not wait--me. i just come to fetch maarda; she been city; she come soon--now." but she left her "working" attitude and curled like a schoolgirl in the bow of the canoe, her elbows resting on her paddle which she had flung across the gunwales. "i have missed you, klootchman; you have not been to see me for three moons, and you have not fished or been at the canneries," i remarked. "no," she said. "i stay home this year." then leaning towards me with grave import in her manner, her eyes, her voice, she added, "i have a grandchild, born first week july, so--i stay." so this explained her absence. i, of course, offered congratulations and enquired all about the great event, for this was her first grandchild, and the little person was of importance. "and are you going to make a fisherman of him?" i asked. "no, no, not boy-child, it is girl-child," she answered with some indescribable trick of expression that led me to know she preferred it so. "you are pleased it is a girl?" i questioned in surprise. "very pleased," she replied emphatically. "very good luck to have girl for first grandchild. our tribe not like yours; we want girl children first; we not always wish boy-child born just for fight. your people, they care only for war-path; our tribe more peaceful. very good sign first grandchild to be girl. i tell you why: girl-child maybe some time mother herself; very grand thing to be mother." i felt i had caught the secret of her meaning. she was rejoicing that this little one should some time become one of the mothers of her race. we chatted over it a little longer and she gave me several playful "digs" about my own tribe thinking so much less of motherhood than hers, and so much more of battle and bloodshed. then we drifted into talk of the sockeye run and of the hyiu chickimin the indians would get. "yes, hyiu chickimin," she repeated with a sigh of satisfaction. "always; and hyiu muck-a-muck when big salmon run. no more ever come that bad year when not any fish." "when was that?" i asked. "before you born, or i, or"--pointing across the park to the distant city of vancouver, that breathed its wealth and beauty across the september afternoon--"before that place born, before white man came here--oh! long before." dear old klootchman! i knew by the dusk in her eyes that she was back in her land of legends, and that soon i would be the richer in my hoard of indian lore. she sat, still leaning on her paddle; her eyes, half-closed, rested on the distant outline of the blurred heights across the inlet. i shall not further attempt her broken english, for this is but the shadow of her story, and without her unique personality the legend is as a flower that lacks both color and fragrance. she called it "the lost salmon run." "the wife of the great tyee was but a wisp of a girl, but all the world was young in those days; even the fraser river was young and small, not the mighty water it is today; but the pink salmon crowded its throat just as they do now, and the tillicums caught and salted and smoked the fish just as they have done this year, just as they will always do. but it was yet winter, and the rains were slanting and the fogs drifting, when the wife of the great tyee stood before him and said: "'before the salmon run i shall give to you a great gift. will you honor me most if it is the gift of a boy-child or a girl-child?' the great tyee loved the woman. he was stern with his people, hard with his tribe; he ruled his council fires with a will of stone. his medicine men said he had no human heart in his body; his warriors said he had no human blood in his veins. but he clasped this woman's hands, and his eyes, his lips, his voice, were gentle as her own, as he replied: "'give to me a girl-child--a little girl-child--that she may grow to be like you, and, in her turn, give to her husband children.' "but when the tribes-people heard of his choice they arose in great anger. they surrounded him in a deep, indignant circle. 'you are a slave to the woman,' they declared, 'and now you desire to make yourself a slave to a woman-baby. we want an heir--a man-child to be our great tyee in years to come. when you are old and weary of tribal affairs, when you sit wrapped in your blanket in the hot summer sunshine, because your blood is old and thin, what can a girl-child do to help either you or us? who, then, will be our great tyee?' "he stood in the centre of the menacing circle, his arms folded, his chin raised, his eyes hard as flint. his voice, cold as stone, replied: "'perhaps she will give you such a man-child, and, if so, the child is yours; he will belong to you, not to me; he will become the possession of the people. but if the child is a girl she will belong to me--she will be mine. you cannot take her from me as you took me from my mother's side and forced me to forget my aged father in my service to my tribe; she will belong to me, will be the mother of my grandchildren, and her husband will be my son.' "'you do not care for the good of your tribe. you care only for your own wishes and desires,' they rebelled. 'suppose the salmon run is small, we will have no food; suppose there is no man-child, we will have no great tyee to show us how to get food from other tribes, and we shall starve.' "'your hearts are black and bloodless,' thundered the great tyee, turning upon them fiercely, 'and your eyes are blinded. do you wish the tribe to forget how great is the importance of a child that will some day be a mother herself, and give to your children and grandchildren a great tyee? are the people to live, to thrive, to increase, to become more powerful with no mother-women to bear future sons and daughters? your minds are dead, your brains are chilled. still, even in your ignorance, you are my people: you and your wishes must be considered. i call together the great medicine men, the men of witchcraft, the men of magic. they shall decide the laws which will follow the bearing of either boy or girl-child. what say you, oh! mighty men?' "messengers were then sent up and down the coast, sent far up the fraser river, and to the valley lands inland for many leagues, gathering as they journeyed all the men of magic that could be found. never were so many medicine men in council before. they built fires and danced and chanted for many days. they spoke with the gods of the mountains, with the gods of the sea, then 'the power' of decision came to them. they were inspired with a choice to lay before the tribes-people, and the most ancient medicine man in all the coast region arose and spoke their resolution: "'the people of the tribe cannot be allowed to have all things. they want a boy-child and they want a great salmon run also. they cannot have both. the sagalie tyee has revealed to us, the great men of magic, that both these things will make the people arrogant and selfish. they must choose between the two.' "'choose, oh! you ignorant tribes-people,' commanded the great tyee. 'the wise men of our coast have said that the girl-child who will some day bear children of her own, will also bring abundance of salmon at her birth; but the boy-child brings to you but himself.' "'let the salmon go," shouted the people, 'but give us a future great tyee. give us the boy-child.' "and when the child was born it was a boy. "'evil will fall upon you,' wailed the great tyee. 'you have despised a mother-woman. you will suffer evil and starvation and hunger and poverty, oh! foolish tribes-people. did you not know how great a girl-child is?' "that spring, people from a score of tribes came up to the fraser for the salmon run. they came great distances--from the mountains, the lakes, the far-off dry lands, but not one fish entered the vast rivers of the pacific coast. the people had made their choice. they had forgotten the honor that a mother-child would have brought them. they were bereft of their food. they were stricken with poverty. through the long winter that followed they endured hunger and starvation. since then our tribe has always welcomed girl-children--we want no more lost runs." the klootchman lifted her arms from her paddle as she concluded; her eyes left the irregular outline of the violet mountains. she had come back to this year of grace--her legend land had vanished. "so," she added, "you see now, maybe, why i glad my grandchild is girl; it means big salmon run next year." "it is a beautiful story, klootchman," i said, "and i feel a cruel delight that your men of magic punished the people for their ill-choice." "that because you girl-child yourself," she laughed. there was the slightest whisper of a step behind me. i turned to find maarda almost at my elbow. the rising tide was unbeaching the canoe, and as maarda stepped in and the klootchman slipped astern, it drifted afloat. "kla-how-ya," nodded the klootchman as she dipped her paddle-blade in exquisite silence. "kla-how-ya," smiled maarda. "kla-how-ya, tillicums," i replied, and watched for many moments as they slipped away into the blurred distance, until the canoe merged into the violet and grey of the farther shore. [illustration: native tool] the deep waters far over your left shoulder as your boat leaves the narrows to thread the beautiful waterways that lead to vancouver island, you will see the summit of mount baker robed in its everlasting whiteness and always reflecting some wonderful glory from the rising sun, the golden noontide, or the violet and amber sunset. this is the mount ararat of the pacific coast peoples; for those readers who are familiar with the ways and beliefs and faiths of primitive races will agree that it is difficult to discover anywhere in the world a race that has not some story of the deluge, which they have chronicled and localized to fit the understanding and the conditions of the nation that composes their own immediate world. amongst the red nations of america i doubt if any two tribes have the same ideas regarding the flood. some of the traditions concerning this vast whim of nature are grotesque in the extreme; some are impressive; some even profound; but of all the stories of the deluge that i have been able to collect i know of not a single one that can even begin to equal in beauty of conception, let alone rival in possible reality and truth, the squamish legend of "the deep waters." i here quote the legend of "mine own people," the iroquois tribes of ontario, regarding the deluge. i do this to paint the color of contrast in richer shades, for i am bound to admit that we who pride ourselves on ancient intellectuality have but a childish tale of the flood when compared with the jealously preserved annals of the squamish, which savour more of history than tradition. with "mine own people," animals always play a much more important part and are endowed with a finer intelligence than humans. i do not find amid my notes a single tradition of the iroquois wherein animals do not figure, and our story of the deluge rests entirely with the intelligence of sea-going and river-going creatures. with us, animals in olden times were greater than man; but it is not so with the coast indians, except in rare instances. when a coast indian consents to tell you a legend he will, without variation, begin it with, "it was before the white people came." the natural thing for you then to ask is, "but who were here then?" he will reply, "indians, and just the trees, and animals, and fishes, and a few birds." so you are prepared to accept the animal world as intelligent co-habitants of the pacific slope, but he will not lead you to think he regards them as equals, much less superiors. but to revert to "mine own people": they hold the intelligence of wild animals far above that of man, for perhaps the one reason that when an animal is sick it effects its own cure; it knows what grasses and herbs to eat, what to avoid, while the sick human calls the medicine man, whose wisdom is not only the result of years of study, but also heredity; consequently any great natural event, such as the deluge, has much to do with the wisdom of the creatures of the forests and the rivers. iroquois tradition tells us that once this earth was entirely submerged in water, and during this period for many days a busy little muskrat swam about vainly looking for a foothold of earth wherein to build his house. in his search he encountered a turtle also leisurely swimming, so they had speech together, and the muskrat complained of weariness; he could find no foothold; he was tired of incessant swimming, and longed for land such as his ancestors enjoyed. the turtle suggested that the muskrat should dive and endeavor to find earth at the bottom of the sea. acting on this advice the muskrat plunged down, then arose with his two little forepaws grasping some earth he had found beneath the waters. "place it on my shell and dive again for more," directed the turtle. the muskrat did so, but when he returned with his paws filled with earth he discovered the small quantity he had first deposited on the turtle's shell had doubled in size. the return from the third trip found the turtle's load again doubled. so the building went on at double compound increase, and the world grew its continents and its islands with great rapidity, and now rests on the shell of a turtle. if you ask an iroquois, "and did no men survive this flood?" he will reply, "why should men survive? the animals are wiser then men; let the wisest live." how, then, was the earth re-peopled? the iroquois will tell you that the otter was a medicine man; that in swimming and diving about he found corpses of men and women; he sang his medicine songs and they came to life, and the otter brought them fish for food until they were strong enough to provide for themselves. then the iroquois will conclude his tale with, "you know well that the otter has greater wisdom than a man." so much for "mine own people" and our profound respect for the superior intelligence of our little brothers of the animal world. but the squamish tribe hold other ideas. it was on a february day that i first listened to this beautiful, humane story of the deluge. my royal old tillicum had come to see me through the rains and mists of late winter days. the gateways of my wigwam always stood open--very widely open--for his feet to enter, and this especial day he came with the worst downpour of the season. womanlike, i protested with a thousand contradictions in my voice that he should venture out to see me on such a day. it was "oh! chief, i am so glad to see you!" and it was "oh! chief, why didn't you stay at home on such a wet day--your poor throat will suffer." but i soon had quantities of hot tea for him, and the huge cup my own father always used was his--as long as the sagalie tyee allowed his dear feet to wander my way. the immense cup stands idle and empty now for the second time. helping him off with his great-coat, i chatted on about the deluge of rain, and he remarked it was not so very bad, as one could yet walk. "fortunately, yes, for i cannot swim," i told him. he laughed, replying, "well, it is not so bad as when the great deep waters covered the world." immediately i foresaw the coming legend, so crept into the shell of monosyllables. "no?" i questioned. "no," he replied. "for one time there was no land here at all; everywhere there was just water." "i can quite believe it," i remarked caustically. he laughed--that irresistible, though silent, david warfield laugh of his that always brought a responsive smile from his listeners. then he plunged directly into the tradition, with no preface save a comprehensive sweep of his wonderful hands towards my wide window, against which the rains were beating. "it was after a long, long time of this--this rain. the mountain streams were swollen, the rivers choked, the sea began to rise--and yet it rained; for weeks and weeks it rained." he ceased speaking, while the shadows of centuries gone crept into his eyes. tales of the misty past always inspired him. "yes," he continued. "it rained for weeks and weeks, while the mountain torrents roared thunderingly down, and the sea crept silently up. the level lands were first to float in sea water, then to disappear. the slopes were next to slip into the sea. the world was slowly being flooded. hurriedly the indian tribes gathered in one spot, a place of safety far above the reach of the on-creeping sea. the spot was the circling shore of lake beautiful, up the north arm. they held a great council and decided at once upon a plan of action. a giant canoe should be built, and some means contrived to anchor it in case the waters mounted to the heights. the men undertook the canoe, the women the anchorage. "a giant tree was felled, and day and night the men toiled over its construction into the most stupendous canoe the world has ever known. not an hour, not a moment, but many worked, while the toil-wearied ones slept, only to awake to renewed toil. meanwhile the women also worked at a cable--the largest, the longest, the strongest that indian hands and teeth had ever made. scores of them gathered and prepared the cedar fibre; scores of them plaited, rolled and seasoned it; scores of them chewed upon it inch by inch to make it pliable; scores of them oiled and worked, oiled and worked, oiled and worked it into a sea-resisting fabric. and still the sea crept up, and up, and up. it was the last day; hope of life for the tribe, of land for the world, was doomed. strong hands, self-sacrificing hands fastened the cable the women had made--one end to the giant canoe, the other about an enormous boulder, a vast immovable rock as firm as the foundations of the world--for might not the canoe with its priceless freight drift out, far out, to sea, and when the water subsided might not this ship of safety be leagues and leagues beyond the sight of land on the storm-driven pacific? "then with the bravest hearts that ever beat, noble hands lifted every child of the tribe into this vast canoe; not one single baby was overlooked. the canoe was stocked with food and fresh water, and lastly, the ancient men and women of the race selected as guardians to these children the bravest, most stalwart, handsomest young man of the tribe, and the mother of the youngest baby in the camp--she was but a girl of sixteen, her child but two weeks old; but she, too, was brave and very beautiful. these two were placed, she at the bow of the canoe to watch, he at the stern to guide, and all the little children crowded between. "and still the sea crept up, and up, and up. at the crest of the bluffs about lake beautiful the doomed tribes crowded. not a single person attempted to enter the canoe. there was no wailing, no crying out for safety. 'let the little children, the young mother, and the bravest and best of our young men live,' was all the farewell those in the canoe heard as the waters reached the summit, and--the canoe floated. last of all to be seen was the top of the tallest tree, then--all was a world of water. "for days and days there was no land--just the rush of swirling, snarling sea; but the canoe rode safely at anchor, the cable those scores of dead, faithful women had made held true as the hearts that beat behind the toil and labor of it all. "but one morning at sunrise, far to the south a speck floated on the breast of the waters; at midday it was larger; at evening it was yet larger. the moon arose, and in its magic light the man at the stern saw it was a patch of land. all night he watched it grow, and at daybreak looked with glad eyes upon the summit of mount baker. he cut the cable, grasped his paddle in his strong, young hands, and steered for the south. when they landed, the waters were sunken half down the mountain side. the children were lifted out; the beautiful young mother, the stalwart young brave, turned to each other, clasped hands, looked into each others eyes--and smiled. "and down in the vast country that lies between mount baker and the fraser river they made a new camp, built new lodges, where the little children grew and thrived, and lived and loved, and the earth was re-peopled by them. "the squamish say that in a gigantic crevice half way to the crest of mount baker may yet be seen the outlines of an enormous canoe, but i have never seen it myself." he ceased speaking with that far-off cadence in his voice with which he always ended a legend, and for a long time we both sat in silence listening to the rains that were still beating against the window. [illustration: native canoe] the sea-serpent there is one vice that is absolutely unknown to the red man; he was born without it, and amongst all the deplorable things he has learned from the white races, this, at least, he has never acquired. that is the vice of avarice. that the indian looks upon greed of gain, miserliness, avariciousness and wealth accumulated above the head of his poorer neighbor as one of the lowest degradations he can fall to, is perhaps more aptly illustrated in this legend than anything i could quote to demonstrate his horror of what he calls "the white man's unkindness." in a very wide and varied experience with many tribes, i have yet to find even one instance of avarice, and i have encountered but one single case of a "stingy indian," and this man was so marked amongst his fellows that at mention of his name his tribes-people jeered and would remark contemptuously that he was like a white man--hated to share his money and his possessions. all red races are born socialists, and most tribes carry out their communistic ideas to the letter. amongst the iroquois it is considered disgraceful to have food if your neighbor has none. to be a creditable member of the nation you must divide your possessions with your less fortunate fellows. i find it much the same amongst the coast indians, though they are less bitter in their hatred of the extremes of wealth and poverty than are the eastern tribes. still, the very fact that they have preserved this legend, in which they liken avarice to a slimy sea-serpent, shows the trend of their ideas; shows, too, that an indian is an indian, no matter what his tribe; shows that he cannot or will not hoard money; shows that his native morals demand that the spirit of greed must be strangled at all cost. the chief and i had sat long over our luncheon. he had been talking of his trip to england and of the many curious things he had seen. at last, in an outburst of enthusiasm, he said: "i saw everything in the world--everything but a sea-serpent!" "but there is no such thing as a sea-serpent," i laughed, "so you must have really seen everything in the world." his face clouded; for a moment he sat in silence; then looking directly at me said, "maybe none now, but long ago there was one here--in the inlet." "how long ago?" i asked. "when first the white gold-hunters came," he replied. "came with greedy, clutching fingers, greedy eyes, greedy hearts. the white men fought, murdered, starved, went mad with love of that gold far up the fraser river. tillicums were tillicums no more, brothers were foes, fathers and sons were enemies. their love of the gold was a curse." "was it then the sea-serpent was seen?" i asked, perplexed with the problem of trying to connect the gold-seekers with such a monster. "yes, it was then, but----"--he hesitated, then plunged into the assertion, "but you will not believe the story if you think there is no such thing as a sea-serpent." "i shall believe whatever you tell me, chief," i answered; "i am only too ready to believe. you know i come of a superstitious race, and all my association with the palefaces has never yet robbed me of my birthright to believe strange traditions." "you always understand," he said after a pause. "it's my heart that understands," i remarked quietly. he glanced up quickly, and with one of his all too few radiant smiles, he laughed. "yes, skookum tum-tum." then without further hesitation he told the tradition, which, although not of ancient happening, is held in great reverence by his tribe. during its recital he sat with folded arms, leaning on the table, his head and shoulders bending eagerly towards me as i sat at the opposite side. it was the only time he ever talked to me when he did not use emphasising gesticulations, but his hands never once lifted: his wonderful eyes alone gave expression to what he called "the legend of the 'salt-chuck oluk'" (sea-serpent). [illustration: the capilano river bishop & christie, photo.] "yes, it was during the first gold craze, and many of our young men went as guides to the whites far up the fraser. when they returned they brought these tales of greed and murder back with them, and our old people and our women shook their heads and said evil would come of it. but all our young men, except one, returned as they went--kind to the poor, kind to those who were foodless, sharing whatever they had with their tillicums. but one, by name shak-shak (the hawk), came back with hoards of gold nuggets, chickimin,[ ] everything; he was rich like the white men, and, like them, he kept it. he would count his chickimin, count his nuggets, gloat over them, toss them in his palms. he rested his head on them as he slept, he packed them about with him through the day. he loved them better than food, better than his tillicums, better than his life. the entire tribe arose. they said shak-shak had the disease of greed; that to cure it he must give a great potlatch, divide his riches with the poorer ones, share them with the old, the sick, the foodless. but he jeered and laughed and told them no, and went on loving and gloating over his gold. "then the sagalie tyee spoke out of the sky and said, 'shak-shak, you have made of yourself a loathsome thing; you will not listen to the cry of the hungry, to the call of the old and sick; you will not share your possessions; you have made of yourself an outcast from your tribe and disobeyed the ancient laws of your people. now i will make of you a thing loathed and hated by all men, both white and red. you will have two heads, for your greed has two mouths to bite. one bites the poor, and one bites your own evil heart--and the fangs in these mouths are poison, poison that kills the hungry, and poison that kills your own manhood. your evil heart will beat in the very centre of your foul body, and he that pierces it will kill the disease of greed forever from amongst his people.' and when the sun arose above the north arm the next morning the tribes-people saw a gigantic sea-serpent stretched across the surface of the waters. one hideous head rested on the bluffs at brockton point, the other rested on a group of rocks just below mission, at the western edge of north vancouver. if you care to go there some day i will show you the hollow in one great stone where that head lay. the tribes-people were stunned with horror. they loathed the creature, they hated it, they feared it. day after day it lay there, its monstrous heads lifted out of the waters, its mile-long body blocking all entrance from the narrows, all outlet from the north arm. the chiefs made council, the medicine men danced and chanted, but the salt-chuck oluk never moved. it could not move, for it was the hated totem of what now rules the white man's world--greed and love of chickimin. no one can ever move the love of chickimin from the white man's heart, no one can ever make him divide all with the poor. but after the chiefs and medicine men had done all in their power, and still the salt-chuck oluk lay across the waters, a handsome boy of sixteen approached them and reminded them of the words of the sagalie tyee, 'that he that pierced the monster's heart would kill the disease of greed forever amongst his people.' "'let me try to find this evil heart, oh! great men of my tribe,' he cried. 'let me war upon this creature; let me try to rid my people of this pestilence.' "the boy was brave and very beautiful. his tribes-people called him the tenas tyee (little chief) and they loved him. of all his wealth of fish and furs, of game and hykwa (large shell money) he gave to the boys who had none; he hunted food for the old people; he tanned skins and furs for those whose feet were feeble, whose eyes were fading, whose blood ran thin with age. "'let him go!' cried the tribes-people. 'this unclean monster can only be overcome by cleanliness, this creature of greed can only be overthrown by generosity. let him go!' the chiefs and the medicine men listened, then consented. 'go,' they commanded, 'and fight this thing with your strongest weapons--cleanliness and generosity.' "the tenas tyee turned to his mother. 'i shall be gone four days,' he told her, 'and i shall swim all that time. i have tried all my life to be generous, but the people say i must be clean also to fight this unclean thing. while i am gone put fresh furs on my bed every day, even if i am not here to lie on them; if i know my bed, my body and my heart are all clean i can overcome this serpent.' "'your bed shall have fresh furs every morning,' his mother said simply. "the tenas tyee then stripped himself and, with no clothing save a buckskin belt into which he thrust his hunting-knife, he flung his lithe young body into the sea. but at the end of four days he did not return. sometimes his people could see him swimming far out in mid-channel, endeavoring to find the exact centre of the serpent, where lay its evil, selfish heart; but on the fifth morning they saw him rise out of the sea, climb to the summit of brockton point and greet the rising sun with outstretched arms. weeks and months went by, still the tenas tyee would swim daily searching for that heart of greed; and each morning the sunrise glinted on his slender young copper-colored body as he stood with outstretched arms at the tip of brockton point, greeting the coming day and then plunging from the summit into the sea. "and at his home on the north shore his mother dressed his bed with fresh furs each morning. the seasons drifted by, winter followed summer, summer followed winter. but it was four years before the tenas tyee found the centre of the great salt-chuck oluk and plunged his hunting-knife into its evil heart. in its death-agony it writhed through the narrows, leaving a trail of blackness on the waters. its huge body began to shrink, to shrivel; it became dwarfed and withered, until nothing but the bones of its back remained, and they, sea-bleached and lifeless, soon sank to the bed of the ocean leagues off from the rim of land. but as the tenas tyee swam homeward and his clean, young body crossed through the black stain left by the serpent, the waters became clear and blue and sparkling. he had overcome even the trail of the salt-chuck oluk. "when at last he stood in the doorway of his home he said, 'my mother, i could not have killed the monster of greed amongst my people had you not helped me by keeping one place for me at home fresh and clean for my return.' "she looked at him as only mothers look. 'each day these four years, fresh furs have i laid for your bed. sleep now, and rest, oh! my tenas tyee,' she said." * * * * * the chief unfolded his arms, and his voice took another tone as he said, "what do you call that story--a legend?" "the white people would call it an allegory," i answered. he shook his head. "no savvy," he smiled. i explained as simply as possible, and with his customary alertness he immediately understood. "that's right," he said. "that's what we say it means, we squamish, that greed is evil and not clean, like the salt-chuck oluk. that it must be stamped out amongst our people, killed by cleanliness and generosity. the boy that overcame the serpent was both these things." "what became of this splendid boy?" i asked. "the tenas tyee? oh! some of our old, old people say they sometimes see him now, standing on brockton point, his bare young arms outstretched to the rising sun," he replied. "have you ever seen him, chief?" i questioned. "no," he answered simply. but i have never heard such poignant regret as his wonderful voice crowded into that single word. [ ] money. the lost island "yes," said my old tillicum, "we indians have lost many things. we have lost our lands, our forests, our game, our fish; we have lost our ancient religion, our ancient dress; some of the younger people have even lost their fathers' language and the legends and traditions of their ancestors. we cannot call those old things back to us; they will never come again. we may travel many days up the mountain trails, and look in the silent places for them. they are not there. we may paddle many moons on the sea, but our canoes will never enter the channel that leads to the yesterdays of the indian people. these things are lost, just like 'the island of the north arm.' they may be somewhere nearby, but no one can ever find them." "but there are many islands up the north arm," i asserted. "not the island we indian people have sought for many tens of summers," he replied sorrowfully. "was it ever there?" i questioned. "yes, it was there," he said. "my grand-sires and my great-grandsires saw it; but that was long ago. my father never saw it, though he spent many days in many years searching, always searching, for it. i am an old man myself, and i have never seen it, though from my youth i, too, have searched. sometimes in the stillness of the nights i have paddled up in my canoe." then, lowering his voice: "twice i have seen its shadow: high rocky shores, reaching as high as the tree tops on the mainland, then tall pines and firs on its summit like a king's crown. as i paddled up the arm one summer night, long ago, the shadow of these rocks and firs fell across my canoe, across my face, and across the waters beyond. i turned rapidly to look. there was no island there, nothing but a wide stretch of waters on both sides of me, and the moon almost directly overhead. don't say it was the shore that shadowed me," he hastened, catching my thought. "the moon was above me; my canoe scarce made a shadow on the still waters. no, it was not the shore." "why do you search for it?" i lamented, thinking of the old dreams in my own life whose realization i have never attained. "there is something on that island that i want. i shall look for it until i die, for it is there," he affirmed. there was a long silence between us after that. i had learned to love silences when with my old tillicum, for they always led to a legend. after a time he began voluntarily: "it was more than one hundred years ago. this great city of vancouver was but the dream of the sagalie tyee (god) at that time. the dream had not yet come to the white man; only one great indian medicine man knew that some day a great camp for palefaces would lie between false creek and the inlet. this dream haunted him; it came to him night and day--when he was amid his people laughing and feasting, or when he was alone in the forest chanting his strange songs, beating his hollow drum, or shaking his wooden witch-rattle to gain more power to cure the sick and the dying of his tribe. for years this dream followed him. he grew to be an old, old man, yet always he could hear voices, strong and loud, as when they first spoke to him in his youth, and they would say: 'between the two narrow strips of salt water the white men will camp--many hundreds of them, many thousands of them. the indians will learn their ways, will live as they do, will become as they are. there will be no more great war dances, no more fights with other powerful tribes; it will be as if the indians had lost all bravery, all courage, all confidence.' he hated the voices, he hated the dream; but all his power, all his big medicine, could not drive them away. he was the strongest man on all the north pacific coast. he was mighty and very tall, and his muscles were as those of leloo, the timber wolf, when he is strongest to kill his prey. he could go for many days without food; he could fight the largest mountain lion; he could overthrow the fiercest grizzly bear; he could paddle against the wildest winds and ride the highest waves. he could meet his enemies and kill whole tribes single-handed. his strength, his courage, his power, his bravery, were those of a giant. he knew no fear; nothing in the sea, or in the forest, nothing in the earth or the sky, could conquer him. he was fearless, fearless. only this haunting dream of the coming white man's camp he could not drive away; it was the one thing in life he had tried to kill and failed. it drove him from the feasting, drove him from the pleasant lodges, the fires, the dancing, the story-telling of his people in their camp by the water's edge, where the salmon thronged and the deer came down to drink of the mountain streams. he left the indian village, chanting his wild songs as he went. up through the mighty forests he climbed, through the trailless deep mosses and matted vines, up to the summit of what the white men call grouse mountain. for many days he camped there. he ate no food, he drank no water, but sat and sang his medicine songs through the dark hours and through the day. before him--far beneath his feet--lay the narrow strip of land between the two salt waters. then the sagalie tyee gave him the power to see far into the future. he looked across a hundred years, just as he looked across what you call the inlet, and he saw mighty lodges built close together, hundreds and thousands of them; lodges of stone and wood, and long straight trails to divide them. he saw these trails thronging with palefaces; he heard the sound of the white man's paddle-dip on the waters, for it is not silent like the indian's; he saw the white man's trading posts, saw the fishing nets, heard his speech. then the vision faded as gradually as it came. the narrow strip of land was his own forest once more. "'i am old,' he called, in his sorrow and his trouble for his people. 'i am old, oh, sagalie tyee! soon i shall die and go to the happy hunting grounds of my fathers. let not my strength die with me. keep living for all time my courage, my bravery, my fearlessness. keep them for my people that they may be strong enough to endure the white man's rule. keep my strength living for them; hide it so that the paleface may never find or see it.' "then he came down from the summit of grouse mountain. still chanting his medicine songs he entered his canoe, and paddled through the colors of the setting sun far up the north arm. when night fell he came to an island with misty shores of great grey rock; on its summit tall pines and firs circled like a king's crown. as he neared it he felt all his strength, his courage, his fearlessness, leaving him; he could see these things drift from him on to the island. they were as the clouds that rest on the mountains, grey-white and half transparent. weak as a woman he paddled back to the indian village; he told them to go and search for 'the island,' where they would find all his courage, his fearlessness and his strength, living, living forever. he slept then, but--in the morning he did not awake. since then our young men and our old have searched for 'the island.' it is there somewhere, up some lost channel, but we cannot find it. when we do, we will get back all the courage and bravery we had before the white man came, for the great medicine man said those things never die--they live for one's children and grandchildren." his voice ceased. my whole heart went out to him in his longing for the lost island. i thought of all the splendid courage i knew him to possess, so made answer: "but you say that the shadow of this island has fallen upon you; is it not so, tillicum?" "yes," he said half mournfully. "but only the shadow." [illustration: native cradle?] point grey "have you ever sailed around point grey?" asked a young squamish tillicum of mine who often comes to see me, to share a cup of tea and a taste of muck-a-muck, that otherwise i should eat in solitude. "no," i admitted, i had not had that pleasure, for i did not know the uncertain waters of english bay sufficiently well to venture about its headlands in my frail canoe. "some day, perhaps next summer, i'll take you there in a sail-boat, and show you the big rock at the southwest of the point. it is a strange rock; we indian people call it homolsom." "what an odd name," i commented. "is it a squamish word?--it does not sound to me like one." "it is not altogether squamish, but half fraser river language. the point was the dividing line between the grounds and waters of the two tribes, so they agreed to make the name 'homolsom' from the two languages." i suggested more tea, and, as he sipped it, he told me the legend that few of the younger indians know. that he believes the story himself is beyond question, for many times he admitted having tested the virtues of this rock, and it had never once failed him. all people that have to do with water craft are superstitious about some things, and i freely acknowledge that times innumerable i have "whistled up" a wind when dead calm threatened, or stuck a jack-knife in the mast, and afterwards watched with great contentment the idle sail fill, and the canoe pull out to a light breeze. so, perhaps, i am prejudiced in favor of this legend of homolsom rock, for it strikes a very responsive chord in that portion of my heart that has always throbbed for the sea. "you know," began my young tillicum, "that only waters unspoiled by human hands can be of any benefit. one gains no strength by swimming in any waters heated or boiled by fires that men build. to grow strong and wise one must swim in the natural rivers, the mountain torrents, the sea, just as the sagalie tyee made them. their virtues die when human beings try to improve them by heating or distilling, or placing even tea in them, and so--what makes homolsom rock so full of 'good medicine' is that the waters that wash up about it are straight from the sea, made by the hand of the great tyee, and unspoiled by the hand of man. "it was not always there, that great rock, drawing its strength and its wonderful power from the seas, for it, too, was once a great tyee, who ruled a mighty tract of waters. he was god of all the waters that wash the coast, of the gulf of georgia, of puget sound, of the straits of juan de fuca, of the waters that beat against even the west coast of vancouver island, and of all the channels that cut between the charlotte islands. he was tyee of the west wind, and his storms and tempests were so mighty that the sagalie tyee himself could not control the havoc that he created. he warred upon all fishing craft, he demolished canoes and sent men to graves in the sea. he uprooted forests and drove the surf on shore heavy with wreckage of despoiled trees and with beaten and bruised fish. he did all this to reveal his powers, for he was cruel and hard of heart, and he would laugh and defy the sagalie tyee, and looking up to the sky he would call, 'see how powerful i am, how mighty, how strong; i am as great as you.' "it was at this time that the sagalie tyee in the persons of the four men came in the great canoe up over the rim of the pacific, in that age thousands of years ago when they turned the evil into stone, and the kindly into trees. "'now,' said the god of the west wind, 'i can show how great i am. i shall blow a tempest that these men may not land on my coast. they shall not ride my seas and sounds and channels in safety. i shall wreck them and send their bodies into the great deeps, and i shall be sagalie tyee in their place and ruler of all the world.' so the god of the west wind blew forth his tempests. the waves arose mountain high, the seas lashed and thundered along the shores. the roar of his mighty breath could be heard wrenching giant limbs from the forest trees, whistling down the canyons and dealing death and destruction for leagues and leagues along the coast. but the canoe containing the four men rode upright through all the heights and hollows of the seething ocean. no curling crest or sullen depth could wreck that magic craft, for the hearts it bore were filled with kindness for the human race, and kindness cannot die. "it was all rock and dense forest, and unpeopled; only wild animals and sea birds sought the shelter it provided from the terrors of the west wind; but he drove them out in sullen anger, and made on this strip of land his last stand against the four men. the paleface calls the place point grey, but the indians yet speak of it as 'the battle ground of the west wind.' all his mighty forces he now brought to bear against the oncoming canoe; he swept great hurricanes about the stony ledges; he caused the sea to beat and swirl in tempestuous fury along its narrow fastnesses, but the canoe came nearer and nearer, invincible as those shores, and stronger than death itself. as the bow touched the land the four men arose and commanded the west wind to cease his war cry, and, mighty though he had been, his voice trembled and sobbed itself into a gentle breeze, then fell to a whispering note, then faded into exquisite silence. "'oh, you evil one with the unkind heart,' cried the four men, 'you have been too great a god for even the sagalie tyee to obliterate you forever, but you shall live on, live now to serve, not to hinder mankind. you shall turn into stone where you now stand, and you shall rise only as men wish you to. your life from this day shall be for the good of man, for when the fisherman's sails are idle and his lodge is leagues away you shall fill those sails and blow his craft free, in whatever direction he desires. you shall stand where you are through all the thousands upon thousands of years to come, and he who touches you with his paddle-blade shall have his desire of a breeze to carry him home.'" my young tillicum had finished his tradition, and his great solemn eyes regarded me half-wistfully. "i wish you could see homolsom rock," he said. "for that is he who was once the tyee of the west wind." "were you ever becalmed around point grey?" i asked irrelevantly. "often," he replied. "but i paddle up to the rock and touch it with the tip of my paddle-blade, and no matter which way i want to go the wind will blow free for me, if i wait a little while." "i suppose your people all do this?" i replied. "yes, all of them," he answered. "they have done it for hundreds of years. you see the power in it is just as great now as at first, for the rock feeds every day on the unspoiled sea that the sagalie tyee made." the tulameen trail did you ever "holiday" through the valley lands of the dry belt? ever spend days and days in a swinging, swaying coach, behind a four-in-hand, when "curly" or "nicola ned" held the ribbons, and tooled his knowing little leaders and wheelers down those horrifying mountain trails that wind like russet skeins of cobweb through the heights and depths of the okanagan, the nicola and the similkameen countries? if so, you have listened to the call of the skookum chuck, as the chinook speakers call the rollicking, tumbling streams that sing their way through the canyons with a music so dulcet, so insistent, that for many moons the echo of it lingers in your listening ears, and you will, through all the years to come, hear the voices of those mountain rivers calling you to return. but the most haunting of all the melodies is the warbling laughter of the tulameen; its delicate note is far more powerful, more far-reaching than the throaty thunders of niagara. that is why the indians of the nicola country still cling to their old-time story that the tulameen carries the spirit of a young girl enmeshed in the wonders of its winding course; a spirit that can never free itself from the canyons, to rise above the heights and follow its fellows to the happy hunting grounds, but which is contented to entwine its laughter, its sobs, its lonely whispers, its still lonelier call for companionship, with the wild music of the waters that sing forever beneath the western stars. as your horses plod up and up the almost perpendicular trail that leads out of the nicola valley to the summit, a paradise of beauty outspreads at your feet; the color is indescribable in words, the atmosphere thrills you. youth and the pulse of rioting blood are yours again, until, as you near the heights, you become strangely calmed by the voiceless silence of it all, a silence so holy that it seems the whole world about you is swinging its censer before an altar in some dim remote cathedral! the choir voices of the tulameen are yet very far away across the summit, but the heights of the nicola are the silent prayer that holds the human soul before the first great chords swell down from the organ loft. in this first long climb up miles and miles of trail, even the staccato of the drivers' long black-snake whip is hushed. he lets his animals pick their own sure-footed way, but once across the summit he gathers the reins in his steely fingers, gives a low, quick whistle, the whiplash curls about the ears of the leaders and the plunge down the dip of the mountain begins. every foot of the way is done at a gallop. the coach rocks and swings as it dashes through a trail rough-hewn from the heart of the forest; at times the angles are so abrupt that you cannot see the heads of the leaders as they swing around the grey crags that almost scrape the tires on the left, while within a foot of the rim of the trail the right wheels whirl along the edge of a yawning canyon. the rhythm of the hoof-beats, the recurrent low whistle and crack of the whiplash, the occasional rattle of pebbles showering down to the depths, loosened by rioting wheels, have broken the sacred silence. yet above all those nearby sounds there seems to be an indistinct murmur, which grows sweeter, more musical, as you gain the base of the mountains, where it rises above all harsher notes. it is the voice of the restless tulameen as it dances and laughs through the rocky throat of the canyon, three hundred feet below. then, following the song, comes a glimpse of the river itself--white garmented in the film of its countless rapids, its showers of waterfalls. it is as beautiful to look at as to listen to, and it is here, where the trail winds about and above it for leagues, that the indians say it caught the spirit of the maiden that is still interlaced in its loveliness. it was in one of the terrible battles that raged between the valley tribes before the white man's footprints were seen along these trails. none can now tell the cause of this warfare, but the supposition is that it was merely for tribal supremacy--that primeval instinct that assails the savage in both man and beast, that drives the hill men to bloodshed and the leaders of buffalo herds to conflict. it is the greed to rule; the one barbarous instinct that civilization has never yet been able to eradicate from armed nations. this war of the tribes of the valley lands was of years in duration; men fought and women mourned, and children wept, as all have done since time began. it seemed an unequal battle, for the old experienced war-tried chief and his two astute sons were pitted against a single young tulameen brave. both factors had their loyal followers, both were indomitable as to courage and bravery, both were determined and ambitious, both were skilled fighters. [illustration: entrance to the narrows, vancouver, b.c. bishop & christie, photo.] but on the older man's side were experience and two other wary, strategic brains to help him, while on the younger was but the advantage of splendid youth and unconquerable persistence. but at every pitched battle, at every skirmish, at every single-handed conflict the younger man gained little by little, the older man lost step by step. the experience of age was gradually but inevitably giving way to the strength and enthusiasm of youth. then one day they met face to face and alone--the old war-scarred chief, the young battle-inspired brave. it was an unequal combat, and at the close of a brief but violent struggle the younger had brought the older to his knees. standing over him with up-poised knife the tulameen brave laughed sneeringly, and said: "would you, my enemy, have this victory as your own? if so, i give it to you; but in return for my submission i demand of you--your daughter." for an instant the old chief looked in wonderment at his conqueror; he thought of his daughter only as a child who played about the forest trails or sat obediently beside her mother in the lodge, stitching her little moccasins or weaving her little baskets. "my daughter!" he answered sternly. "my daughter--who is barely out of her own cradle basket--give her to you, whose hands, are blood-dyed with the killing of a score of my tribe? you ask for this thing?" "i do not ask it," replied the young brave. "i demand it; i have seen the girl and i shall have her." the old chief sprang to his feet and spat out his refusal. "keep your victory, and i keep my girl-child," though he knew he was not only defying his enemy, but defying death as well. the tulameen laughed lightly, easily. "i shall not kill the sire of my wife," he taunted. "one more battle must we have, but your girl-child will come to me." then he took his victorious way up the trail, while the old chief walked with slow and springless step down into the canyon. the next morning the chief's daughter was loitering along the heights, listening to the singing river, and sometimes leaning over the precipice to watch its curling eddies and dancing waterfalls. suddenly she heard a slight rustle, as though some passing bird's wing had dipt the air. then at her feet there fell a slender, delicately shaped arrow. it fell with spent force, and her indian woodcraft told her it had been shot to her, not at her. she started like a wild animal. then her quick eye caught the outline of a handsome, erect figure that stood on the heights across the river. she did not know him as her father's enemy. she only saw him to be young, stalwart and of extraordinary, manly beauty. the spirit of youth and of a certain savage coquetry awoke within her. quickly she fitted one of her own dainty arrows to the bow string and sent it winging across the narrow canyon; it fell, spent, at his feet, and he knew she had shot it to him, not at him. next morning, woman-like, she crept noiselessly to the brink of the heights. would she see him again--that handsome brave? would he speed another arrow to her? she had not yet emerged from the tangle of forest before it fell, its faint-winged flight heralding its coming. near the feathered end was tied a tassel of beautiful ermine tails. she took from her wrist a string of shell beads, fastened it to one of her little arrows and winged it across the canyon, as yesterday. the following morning before leaving the lodge she fastened the tassel of ermine tails in her straight, black hair. would he see them? but no arrow fell at her feet that day, but a dearer message was there on the brink of the precipice. he himself awaited her coming--he who had never left her thoughts since that first arrow came to her from his bow-string. his eyes burned with warm fires, as she approached, but his lips said simply: "i have crossed the tulameen river." together they stood, side by side, and looked down at the depths before them, watching in silence the little torrent rollicking and roystering over its boulders and crags. "that is my country," he said, looking across the river. "this is the country of your father, and of your brothers; they are my enemies. i return to my own shore tonight. will you come with me?" she looked up into his handsome young face. so this was her father's foe--the dreaded tulameen! "will you come?" he repeated. "i will come," she whispered. it was in the dark of the moon and through the kindly night he led her far up the rocky shores to the narrow belt of quiet waters, where they crossed in silence into his own country. a week, a month, a long golden summer, slipped by, but the insulted old chief and his enraged sons failed to find her. then one morning as the lovers walked together on the heights above the far upper reaches of the river, even the ever-watchful eyes of the tulameen failed to detect the lurking enemy. across the narrow canyon crouched and crept the two outwitted brothers of the girl-wife at his side; their arrows were on their bow-strings, their hearts on fire with hatred and vengeance. like two evil-winged birds of prey those arrows sped across the laughing river, but before they found their mark in the breast of the victorious tulameen the girl had unconsciously stepped before him. with a little sigh, she slipped into his arms, her brothers' arrows buried into her soft, brown flesh. it was many a moon before his avenging hand succeeded in slaying the old chief and those two hated sons of his. but when this was finally done the handsome young tulameen left his people, his tribe, his country, and went into the far north. "for," he said, as he sang his farewell war song, "my heart lies dead in the tulameen river." * * * * * but the spirit of his girl-wife still sings through the canyon, its song blending with the music of that sweetest-voiced river in all the great valleys of the dry belt. that is why this laughter, the sobbing murmur of the beautiful tulameen will haunt for evermore the ear that has once listened to its song. the grey archway the steamer, like a huge shuttle, wove in and out among the countless small islands; its long trailing scarf of grey smoke hung heavily along the uncertain shores, casting a shadow over the pearly waters of the pacific, which swung lazily from rock to rock in indescribable beauty. after dinner i wandered astern with the traveller's ever-present hope of seeing the beauties of a typical northern sunset, and by some happy chance i placed my deck stool near an old tillicum, who was leaning on the rail, his pipe between his thin curved lips, his brown hands clasped idly, his sombre eyes looking far out to sea, as though they searched the future--or was it that they were seeing the past? "kla-how-ya, tillicum!" i greeted. he glanced round, and half smiled. "kla-how-ya, tillicum!" he replied, with the warmth of friendliness i have always met with among the pacific tribes. i drew my deck stool nearer to him, and he acknowledged the action with another half smile, but did not stir from his entrenchment, remaining as if hedged about with an inviolable fortress of exclusiveness. yet i knew that my chinook salutation would be a drawbridge by which i might hope to cross the moat into his castle of silence. indian-like, he took his time before continuing the acquaintance. then he began in most excellent english: "you do not know these northern waters?" i shook my head. after many moments he leaned forward, looking along the curve of the deck, up the channels and narrows we were threading, to a broad strip of waters off the port bow. then he pointed with that peculiar, thoroughly indian gesture of the palm uppermost. "do you see it--over there? the small island? it rests on the edge of the water, like a grey gull." it took my unaccustomed eyes some moments to discern it; then all at once i caught its outline, veiled in the mists of distance--grey, cobwebby, dreamy. "yes," i replied, "i see it now. you will tell me of it--tillicum?" he gave a swift glance at my dark skin, then nodded. "you are one of us," he said, with evidently no thought of a possible contradiction. "and you will understand, or i should not tell you. you will not smile at the story, for you are one of us." "i am one of you, and i shall understand," i answered. it was a full half-hour before we neared the island, yet neither of us spoke during that time; then, as the "grey gull" shaped itself into rock and tree and crag, i noticed in the very centre a stupendous pile of stone lifting itself skyward, without fissure or cleft; but a peculiar haziness about the base made me peer narrowly to catch the perfect outline. "it is the 'grey archway,'" he explained, simply. only then did i grasp the singular formation before us; the rock was a perfect archway, through which we could see the placid pacific shimmering in the growing colors of the coming sunset at the opposite rim of the island. "what a remarkable whim of nature!" i exclaimed, but his brown hand was laid in a contradictory grasp on my arm, and he snatched up my comment almost with impatience. "no, it was not nature," he said. "that is the reason i say you will understand--you are one of us--you will know what i tell you is true. the great tyee did not make that archway, it was--"here his voice lowered--"it was magic, red man's medicine and magic--you savvy?" "yes," i said. "tell me, for i--savvy." "long time ago," he began, stumbling into a half-broken english language, because, i think, of the atmosphere and environment, "long before you were born, or your father, or grandfather, or even his father, this strange thing happened. it is a story for women to hear, to remember. women are the future mothers of the tribe, and we of the pacific coast hold such in high regard, in great reverence. the women who are mothers--o-ho!--they are the important ones, we say. warriors, fighters, brave men, fearless daughters, owe their qualities to these mothers--eh, is it not always so?" i nodded silently. the island was swinging nearer to us, the "grey archway" loomed almost above us, the mysticism crowded close, it enveloped me, caressed me, appealed to me. "and?" i hinted. "and," he proceeded, "this 'grey archway' is a story of mothers, of magic, of witchcraft, of warriors, of--love." an indian rarely uses the word "love," and when he does it expresses every quality, every attribute, every intensity, emotion and passion embraced in those four little letters. surely this was an exceptional story i was to hear. i did not answer, only looked across the pulsing waters toward the "grey archway," which the sinking sun was touching with soft pastels, tints one could give no name to, beauties impossible to describe. "you have not heard of yaada?" he questioned. then fortunately he continued without waiting for a reply. he well knew that i had never heard of yaada, so why not begin without preliminary to tell me of her?--so-- "yaada was the loveliest daughter of the haida tribe. young braves from all the islands, from the mainland, from the upper skeena country came, hoping to carry her to their far-off lodges, but they always returned alone. she was the most desired of all the island maidens, beautiful, brave, modest, the daughter of her own mother. "but there was a great man, a very great man--a medicine man, skilful, powerful, influential, old, deplorably old, and very, very rich; he said, 'yaada shall be my wife.' and there was a young fisherman, handsome, loyal, boyish, poor, oh! very poor, and gloriously young, and he, too, said, 'yaada shall be my wife.' "but yaada's mother sat apart and thought and dreamed, as mothers will. she said to herself, 'the great medicine man has power, has vast riches, and wonderful magic, why not give her to him? but ulka has the boy's heart, the boy's beauty, he is very brave, very strong; why not give her to him?' "but the laws of the great haida tribe prevailed. its wise men said, 'give the girl to the greatest man, give her to the most powerful, the richest. the man of magic must have his choice.' "but at this the mother's heart grew as wax in the summer sunshine--it is a strange quality that mothers' hearts are made of! 'give her to the best man--the man her heart holds highest,' said this haida mother. "then yaada spoke: 'i am the daughter of my tribe; i would judge of men by their excellence. he who proves most worthy i shall marry; it is not riches that make a good husband; it is not beauty that makes a good father for one's children. let me and my tribe see some proof of the excellence of these two men--then, only, shall i choose who is to be the father of my children. let us have a trial of their skill; let them show me how evil or how beautiful is the inside of their hearts. let each of them throw a stone with some intent, some purpose in their hearts. he who makes the noblest mark may call me wife.' "'alas! alas!' wailed the haida mother. 'this casting of stones does not show worth. it but shows prowess.' "'but i have implored the sagalie tyee of my father, and of his fathers before him, to help me to judge between them by this means,' said the girl. 'so they must cast the stones. in this way only shall i see their innermost hearts.' "the medicine man never looked so old as at that moment; so hopelessly old, so wrinkled, so palsied: he was no mate for yaada. ulka never looked so god-like in his young beauty, so gloriously young, so courageous. the girl, looking at him, loved him--almost was she placing her hand in his, but the spirit of her forefathers halted her. she had spoken the word--she must abide by it. 'throw!' she commanded. "into his shrivelled fingers the great medicine man took a small, round stone, chanting strange words of magic all the while; his greedy eyes were on the girl, his greedy thoughts about her. "into his strong, young fingers ulka took a smooth, flat stone; his handsome eyes were lowered in boyish modesty, his thoughts were worshipping her. the great medicine man cast his missile first; it swept through the air like a shaft of lightning, striking the great rock with a force that shattered it. at the touch of that stone the 'grey archway' opened and has remained opened to this day. "'oh, wonderful power and magic!' clamored the entire tribe. 'the very rocks do his bidding.' "but yaada stood with eyes that burned in agony. ulka could never command such magic--she knew it. but at her side ulka was standing erect, tall, slender and beautiful, but just as he cast his missile the evil voice of the old medicine man began a still more evil incantation. he fixed his poisonous eyes on the younger man, eyes with hideous magic in their depths--ill-omened and enchanted with 'bad medicine.' the stone left ulka's fingers; for a second it flew forth in a straight line, then as the evil voice of the old man grew louder in its incantations the stone curved. magic had waylaid the strong arm of the young brave. the stone poised an instant above the forehead of yaada's mother, then dropped with the weight of many mountains, and the last long sleep fell upon her. "'slayer of my mother!' stormed the girl, her suffering eyes fixed upon the medicine man. 'oh, i now see your black heart through your black magic. through, good magic you cut the 'great archway,' but your evil magic you used upon young ulka. i saw your wicked eyes upon him; i heard your wicked incantations; i know your wicked heart. you used your heartless magic in hope of winning me--in hope of making him an outcast of the tribe. you cared not for my sorrowing heart, my motherless life to come.' then, turning to the tribe, she demanded: 'who of you saw his evil eyes fixed on ulka? who of you heard his evil song?' "'i,' and 'i,' and 'i,' came voice after voice. "'the very air is poisoned that we breathe about him,' they shouted. 'the young man is blameless, his heart is as the sun, but the man who has used his evil magic has a heart black and cold as the hours before the dawn.' "then yaada's voice arose in a strange, sweet, sorrowful chant: my feet shall walk no more upon this island, with its great, grey archway. my mother sleeps forever on this island, with its great, grey archway. my heart would break without her on this island, with its great, grey archway. my life was of her life upon this island, with its great, grey archway. my mother's soul has wandered from this island, with its great, grey archway. my feet must follow hers beyond this island, with its great, grey archway. "as yaada chanted and wailed her farewell, she moved slowly towards the edge of the cliff. on its brink she hovered a moment with outstretched arms, as a sea gull poises on its weight--then she called: "'ulka, my ulka! your hand is innocent of wrong; it was the evil magic of your rival that slew my mother. i must go to her; even you cannot keep me here; will you stay, or come with me? oh! my ulka!' "the slender, gloriously young boy sprang toward her; their hands closed one within the other; for a second they poised on the brink of the rocks, radiant as stars; then together they plunged into the sea." * * * * * the legend was ended. long ago we had passed the island with its "grey archway"; it was melting into the twilight, far astern. as i brooded over this strange tale of a daughter's devotion, i watched the sea and sky for something that would give me a clue to the inevitable sequel that the tillicum, like all his race, was surely withholding until the opportune moment. something flashed through the darkening waters not a stone's throw from the steamer. i leaned forward, watching it intently. two silvery fish were making a succession of little leaps and plunges along the surface of the sea, their bodies catching the last tints of sunset, like flashing jewels. i looked at the tillicum quickly. he was watching me--a world of anxiety in his half-mournful eyes. "and those two silvery fish?" i questioned. he smiled. the anxious look vanished. "i was right," he said; "you do know us and our ways, for you are one of us. yes, those fish are seen only in these waters; there are never but two of them. they are yaada and her mate, seeking for the soul of the haida woman--her mother." [illustration: native art] deadman's island it is dusk on the lost lagoon, and we two dreaming the dusk away, beneath the drift of a twilight grey-- beneath the drowse of an ending day. and the curve of a golden moon. it is dark in the lost lagoon. and gone are the depths of haunting blue, the grouping gulls, and the old canoe, the singing firs, and the dusk and--you, and gone is the golden moon. o! lure of the lost lagoon-- i dream tonight that my paddle blurs the purple shade where the seaweed stirs-- i hear the call of the singing firs in the hush of the golden moon. for many minutes we stood silently, leaning on the western rail of the bridge as we watched the sun set across that beautiful little water known as coal harbor. i have always resented that jarring, unattractive name, for years ago, when i first plied paddle across the gunwale of a light little canoe, and idled about its margin, i named the sheltered little cove the lost lagoon. this was just to please my own fancy, for as that perfect summer month drifted on, the ever-restless tides left the harbor devoid of water at my favorite canoeing hour, and my pet idling place was lost for many days--hence my fancy to call it the lost lagoon. but the chief, indian-like, immediately adopted the name, at least when he spoke of the place to me, and as we watched the sun slip behind the rim of firs, he expressed the wish that his dugout were here instead of lying beached at the farther side of the park. "if canoe was here, you and i we paddle close to shores all 'round your lost lagoon: we make track just like half moon. then we paddle under this bridge, and go channel between deadman's island and park. then 'round where cannon speak time at nine o'clock. then 'cross inlet to indian side of narrows." i turned to look eastward, following in fancy the course he had sketched; the waters were still as the footstep of the oncoming twilight, and, floating in a pool of soft purple, deadman's island rested like a large circle of candle moss. "have you ever been on it?" he asked as he caught my gaze centering on the irregular outline of the island pines. "i have prowled the length and depth of it," i told him. "climbed over every rock on its shores, crept under every tangled growth of its interior, explored its overgrown trails, and more than once nearly got lost in its very heart." "yes," he half laughed, "it pretty wild; not much good for anything." "people seem to think it valuable," i said. "there is a lot of litigation--of fighting going on now about it." "oh! that the way always," he said as though speaking of a long accepted fact. "always fight over that place. hundreds of years ago they fight about it; indian people; they say hundreds of years to come everybody will still fight--never be settled what that place is, who it belong to, who has right to it. no, never settle. deadman's island always mean fight for someone." "so the indians fought amongst themselves about it?" i remarked, seemingly without guile, although my ears tingled for the legend i knew was coming. "fought like lynx at close quarters," he answered. "fought, killed each other, until the island ran with blood redder than that sunset, and the sea water about it was stained flame color--it was then, my people say, that the scarlet fire-flower was first seen growing along this coast." "it is a beautiful color--the fire-flower," i said. "it should be fine color, for it was born and grew from the hearts of fine tribes-people--very fine people," he emphasized. we crossed to the eastern rail of the bridge, and stood watching the deep shadows that gathered slowly and silently about the island; i have seldom looked upon anything more peaceful. the chief sighed. "we have no such men now, no fighters like those men, no hearts, no courage like theirs. but i tell you the story; you understand it then. now all peace; to-night all good tillicums; even dead man's spirit does not fight now, but long time after it happen those spirits fought." "and the legend?" i ventured. "oh! yes," he replied, as if suddenly returning to the present from out a far country in the realm of time. "indian people, they call it the 'legend of the island of dead men.' "there was war everywhere. fierce tribes from the northern coast, savage tribes from the south, all met here and battled and raided, burned and captured, tortured and killed their enemies. the forests smoked with camp fires, the narrows were choked with war canoes, and the sagalie tyee--he who is a man of peace--turned his face away from his indian children. about this island there was dispute and contention. the medicine men from the north claimed it as their chanting ground. the medicine men from the south laid equal claim to it. each wanted it as the stronghold of their witchcraft, their magic. great bands of these medicine men met on the small space, using every sorcery in their power to drive their opponents away. the witch doctors of the north made their camp on the northern rim of the island; those from the south settled along the southern edge, looking towards what is now the great city of vancouver. both factions danced, chanted, burned their magic powders, built their magic fires, beat their magic rattles, but neither would give way, yet neither conquered. about them, on the waters, on the mainlands, raged the warfare of their respective tribes--the sagalie tyee had forgotten his indian children. "after many months, the warriors on both sides weakened. they said the incantations of the rival medicine men were bewitching them, were making their hearts like children's, and their arms nerveless as women's. so friend and foe arose as one man and drove the medicine men from the island, hounded them down the inlet, herded them through the narrows and banished them out to sea, where they took refuge on one of the outer islands of the gulf. then the tribes once more fell upon each other in battle. "the warrior blood of the north will always conquer. they are the stronger, bolder, more alert, more keen. the snows and the ice of their country make swifter pulse than the sleepy suns of the south can awake in a man; their muscles are of sterner stuff, their endurance greater. yes, the northern tribes will always be victors.[ ] but the craft and the strategy of the southern tribes are hard things to battle against. while those of the north followed the medicine men farther out to sea to make sure of their banishment, those from the south returned under cover of night and seized the women and children and the old, enfeebled men in their enemy's camp, transported them all to the island of dead men, and there held them as captives. their war canoes circled the island like a fortification, through which drifted the sobs of the imprisoned women, the mutterings of the aged men, the wail of little children. "again and again the men of the north assailed that circle of canoes, and again and again were repulsed. the air was thick with poisoned arrows, the water stained with blood. but day by day the circle of southern canoes grew thinner and thinner; the northern arrows were telling, and truer of aim. canoes drifted everywhere, empty, or worse still, manned only by dead men. the pick of the southern warriors had already fallen, when their greatest tyee mounted a large rock on the eastern shore. brave and unmindful of a thousand weapons aimed at his heart, he uplifted his hand, palm outward--the signal for conference. instantly every northern arrow was lowered, and every northern ear listened for his words. [illustration: kitsilano beach, vancouver, b.c. bishop & christie, photo.] "'oh! men of the upper coast,' he said, 'you are more numerous than we are; your tribe is larger; your endurance greater. we are growing hungry, we are growing less in numbers. our captives--your women and children and old men--have lessened, too, our stores of food. if you refuse our terms we will yet fight to the finish. tomorrow we will kill all our captives before your eyes, for we can feed them no longer, or you can have your wives, your mothers, your fathers, your children, by giving us for each and every one of them one of your best and bravest young warriors, who will consent to suffer death in their stead. speak! you have your choice.' "in the northern canoes scores and scores of young warriors leapt to their feet. the air was filled with glad cries, with exultant shouts. the whole world seemed to ring with the voices of those young men who called loudly, with glorious courage: "'take me, but give me back my old father.' "'take me, but spare to my tribe my little sister.' "'take me, but release my wife and boy-baby.' "so the compact was made. two hundred heroic, magnificent young men paddled up to the island, broke through the fortifying circle of canoes and stepped ashore. they flaunted their eagle plumes with the spirit and boldness of young gods. their shoulders were erect, their step was firm, their hearts strong. into their canoes they crowded the two hundred captives. once more their women sobbed, their old men muttered, their children wailed, but those young copper-colored gods never flinched, never faltered. their weak and their feeble were saved. what mattered to them such a little thing as death? "the released captives were quickly surrounded by their own people, but the flower of their splendid nation was in the hands of their enemies, those valorous young men who thought so little of life that they willingly, gladly laid it down to serve and to save those they loved and cared for. amongst them were war-tried warriors who had fought fifty battles, and boys not yet full grown, who were drawing a bow string for the first time, but their hearts, their courage, their self-sacrifice were as one. "out before a long file of southern warriors they stood. their chins uplifted, their eyes defiant, their breasts bared. each leaned forward and laid his weapons at his feet, then stood erect, with empty hands, and laughed forth their challenge to death. a thousand arrows ripped the air, two hundred gallant northern throats flung forth a death cry exultant, triumphant as conquering kings--then two hundred fearless northern hearts ceased to beat. "but in the morning the southern tribes found the spot where they fell peopled with flaming fire-flowers. dread terror seized upon them. they abandoned the island, and when night again shrouded them they manned their canoes and noiselessly slipped through the narrows, turned their bows southward and this coast line knew them no more." "what glorious men," i half whispered as the chief concluded the strange legend. "yes, men!" he echoed. "the white people call it deadman's island. that is their way; but we of the squamish call it the island of dead men." the clustering pines and the outlines of the island's margin were now dusky and indistinct. peace, peace lay over the waters, and the purple of the summer twilight had turned to grey, but i knew that in the depths of the undergrowth on deadman's island there blossomed a flower of flaming beauty; its colors were veiled in the coming nightfall, but somewhere down in the sanctuary of its petals pulsed the heart's blood of many and valiant men. [ ] note.--it would almost seem that the chief knew that wonderful poem of "the khan's," "the men of the northern zone," wherein he says: if ever a northman lost a throne did the conqueror come from the south? nay, the north shall ever be free ... etc. [illustration: gold panning pan, pick, shovel] a squamish legend of napoleon holding an important place among the majority of curious tales held in veneration by the coast tribes are those of the sea-serpent. the monster appears and reappears with almost monotonous frequency in connection with history, traditions, legends and superstitions; but perhaps the most wonderful part it ever played was in the great drama that held the stage of europe, and incidentally all the world during the stormy days of the first napoleon. throughout canada i have never failed to find an amazing knowledge of napoleon bonaparte amongst the very old and "uncivilized" indians. perhaps they may be unfamiliar with every other historical character from adam down, but they will all tell you they have heard of the "great french fighter," as they call the wonderful little corsican. whether this knowledge was obtained through the fact that our earliest settlers and pioneers were french, or whether napoleon's almost magical fighting career attracted the indian mind to the exclusion of lesser warriors, i have never yet decided. but the fact remains that the indians of our generation are not as familiar with bonaparte's name as were their fathers and grandfathers, so either the predominance of english-speaking settlers or the thinning of their ancient war-loving blood by modern civilization and peaceful times, must one or the other account for the younger indian's ignorance of the emperor of the french. in telling me the legend of the lost talisman, my good tillicum, the late chief capilano, began the story with the almost amazing question, had i ever heard of napoleon bonaparte? it was some moments before i just caught the name, for his english, always quaint and beautiful, was at times a little halting; but when he said by way of explanation, "you know big fighter, frenchman. the english they beat him in big battle," i grasped immediately of whom he spoke. "what do you know of him?" i asked. his voice lowered, almost as if he spoke a state secret. "i know how it is that english they beat him." i have read many historians on this event, but to hear the squamish version was a novel and absorbing thing. "yes?" i said--my usual "leading" word to lure him into channels of tradition. "yes," he affirmed. then, still in a half whisper, he proceeded to tell me that it all happened through the agency of a single joint from the vertebra of a sea-serpent. in telling me the story of brockton point and the valiant boy who killed the monster, he dwelt lightly on the fact that all people who approach the vicinity of the creature are palsied, both mentally and physically--bewitched, in fact--so that their bones become disjointed and their brains incapable; but to-day he elaborated upon this peculiarity until i harked back to the boy of brockton point and asked how it was that his body and brain escaped this affliction. "he was all good, and had no greed," he replied. "he proof against all bad things." i nodded understandingly, and he proceeded to tell me that all successful indian fighters and warriors carried somewhere about their person a joint of a sea-serpent's vertebra, that the medicine men threw "the power" about them so that they were not personally affected by this little "charm," but that immediately they approached an enemy the "charm" worked disaster, and victory was assured to the fortunate possessor of the talisman. there was one particularly effective joint that had been treasured and carried by the warriors of a great squamish family for a century. these warriors had conquered every foe they encountered, until the talisman had become so renowned that the totem pole of their entire "clan" was remodelled, and the new one crested by the figure of a single joint of a sea-serpent's vertebra. about this time stories of napoleon's first great achievements drifted across the seas; not across the land--and just here may be a clue to buried coast-indian history, which those who are cleverer at research than i, can puzzle over. the chief was most emphatic about the source of indian knowledge of napoleon. "i suppose you heard of him from quebec, through, perhaps, some of the french priests," i remarked. "no, no," he contradicted hurriedly. "not from east; we hear it from over the pacific, from the place they call russia." but who conveyed the news or by what means it came he could not further enlighten me. but a strange thing happened to the squamish family about this time. there was a large blood connection, but the only male member living was a very old warrior, the hero of many battles, and the possessor of the talisman. on his death-bed his women of three generations gathered about him; his wife, his sisters, his daughters, his granddaughters, but not one man, nor yet a boy of his own blood stood by to speed his departing warrior spirit to the land of peace and plenty. "the charm cannot rest in the hands of women," he murmured almost with his last breath. "women may not war and fight other nations or other tribes; women are for the peaceful lodge and for the leading of little children. they are for holding baby hands, teaching baby feet to walk. no, the charm cannot rest with you, women. i have no brother, no cousin, no son, no grandson, and the charm must not go to a lesser warrior than i. none of our tribe, nor of any tribe on the coast, ever conquered me. the charm must go to one as unconquerable as i have been. when i am dead send it across the great salt chuck, to the victorious 'frenchman'; they call him napoleon bonaparte." they were his last words. the older women wished to bury the charm with him, but the younger women, inspired with the spirit of their generation, were determined to send it over seas. "in the grave it will be dead," they argued. "let it still live on. let it help some other fighter to greatness and victory." as if to confirm their decision, the next day a small sealing vessel anchored in the inlet. all the men aboard spoke russian, save two thin, dark, agile sailors, who kept aloof from the crew and conversed in another language. these two came ashore with part of the crew and talked in french with a wandering hudson's bay trapper, who often lodged with the squamish people. thus the women, who yet mourned over their dead warrior, knew these two strangers to be from the land where the great "frenchman" was fighting against the world. here i interrupted the chief. "how came the frenchmen in a russian sealer?" i asked. "captives," he replied. "almost slaves, and hated by their captors, as the majority always hate the few. so the women drew those two frenchmen apart from the rest and told them the story of the bone of the sea-serpent, urging them to carry it back to their own country and give it to the great 'frenchman' who was as courageous and as brave as their dead leader. "the frenchmen hesitated; the talisman might affect them, they said; might jangle their own brains, so that on their return to russia they would not have the sagacity to plan an escape to their own country; might disjoint their bodies, so that their feet and hands would be useless, and they would become as weak as children. but the women assured them that the charm only worked its magical powers over a man's enemies, that the ancient medicine men had 'bewitched' it with this quality. so the frenchmen took it and promised that if it were in the power of man they would convey it to 'the emperor.' "as the crew boarded the sealer, the women watching from the shore observed strange contortions seize many of the men; some fell on the deck; some crouched, shaking as with palsy; some writhed for a moment, then fell limp and seemingly boneless; only the two frenchmen stood erect and strong and vital--the squamish talisman had already overcome their foes. as the little sealer set sail up the gulf she was commanded by a crew of two frenchmen--men who had entered these waters as captives, who were leaving them as conquerors. the palsied russians were worse than useless, and what became of them the chief could not state; presumably they were flung overboard, and by some trick of a kindly fate the frenchmen at last reached the coast of france. "tradition is so indefinite about their movements subsequent to sailing out of the inlet, that even the ever-romantic and vividly colored imaginations of the squamish people have never supplied the details of this beautifully childish, yet strangely historical fairy tale. but the voices of the trumpets of war, the beat of drums throughout europe heralded back to the wilds of the pacific coast forests the intelligence that the great squamish 'charm' eventually reached the person of napoleon; that from this time onward his career was one vast victory, that he won battle after battle, conquered nation after nation, and but for the direst calamity that could befall a warrior would eventually have been master of the world." "what was this calamity, chief?" i asked, amazed at his knowledge of the great historical soldier and strategist. the chief's voice again lowered to a whisper--his face was almost rigid with intentness as he replied: "he lost the squamish charm--lost it just before one great fight with the english people." i looked at him curiously; he had been telling me the oddest mixture of history and superstition, of intelligence and ignorance, the most whimsically absurd, yet impressive, tale i ever heard from indian lips. "what was the name of the great fight--did you ever hear it?" i asked, wondering how much he knew of events which took place at the other side of the world a century agone. "yes," he said, carefully, thoughtfully; "i hear the name sometime in london when i there. railroad station there--same name." "was it waterloo?" i asked. he nodded quickly, without a shadow of hesitation. "that the one," he replied; "that's it, waterloo." [illustration: native bowl] the lure in stanley park there is a well-known trail in stanley park that leads to what i always love to call the "cathedral trees"--that group of some half-dozen forest giants that arch overhead with such superb loftiness. but in all the world there is no cathedral whose marble or onyx columns can vie with those straight, clean, brown tree-boles that teem with the sap and blood of life. there is no fresco that can rival the delicacy of lace-work they have festooned between you and the far skies. no tiles, no mosaic or inlaid marbles, are as fascinating as the bare, russet, fragrant floor outspreading about their feet. they are the acme of nature's architecture, and in building them she has outrivalled all her erstwhile conceptions. she will never originate a more faultless design, never erect a more perfect edifice. but the divinely moulded trees and the man-made cathedral have one exquisite characteristic in common. it is the atmosphere of holiness. most of us have better impulses after viewing a stately cathedral, and none of us can stand amid that majestic forest group without experiencing some elevating thoughts, some refinement of our coarser nature. perhaps those who read this little legend will never again look at those cathedral trees without thinking of the glorious souls they contain, for according to the coast indians they do harbor human souls, and the world is better because they once had the speech and the hearts of mighty men. my tillicum did not use the word "lure" in telling me this legend. there is no equivalent for the word in the chinook tongue, but the gestures of his voiceful hands so expressed the quality of something between magnetism and charm that i have selected this word "lure" as best fitting what he wished to convey. some few yards beyond the cathedral trees, an overgrown disused trail turns into the dense wilderness to the right. only indian eyes could discern that trail, and the indians do not willingly go to that part of the park to the right of the great group. nothing in this, nor yet the next world would tempt a coast indian into the compact centres of the wild portions of the park, for therein, concealed cunningly, is the "lure" they all believe in. there is not a tribe in the entire district that does not know of this strange legend. you will hear the tale from those that gather at eagle harbor for the fishing, from the fraser river tribes, from the squamish at the narrows, from the mission, from up the inlet, even from the tribes at north bend, but no one will volunteer to be your guide, for having once come within the "aura" of the lure it is a human impossibility to leave it. your will-power is dwarfed, your intelligence blighted, your feet will refuse to lead you out by a straight trail, you will circle, circle for evermore about this magnet, for if death kindly comes to your aid your immortal spirit will go on in that endless circling that will bar it from entering the happy hunting grounds. and, like the cathedral trees, the lure once lived, a human soul, but in this instance it was a soul depraved, not sanctified. the indian belief is very beautiful concerning the results of good and evil in the human body. the sagalie tyee (god) has his own way of immortalizing each. people who are wilfully evil, who have no kindness in their hearts, who are bloodthirsty, cruel, vengeful, unsympathetic, the sagalie tyee turns to solid stone that will harbor no growth, even that of moss or lichen, for these stones contain no moisture, just as their wicked hearts lacked the milk of human kindness. the one famed exception, wherein a good man was transformed into stone, was in the instance of siwash rock, but as the indian tells you of it he smiles with gratification as he calls your attention to the tiny tree cresting that imperial monument. he says the tree was always there to show the nations that the good in this man's heart kept on growing even when his body had ceased to be. on the other hand the sagalie tyee transforms the kindly people, the humane, sympathetic, charitable, loving people into trees, so that after death they may go on forever benefiting all mankind; they may yield fruit, give shade and shelter, afford unending service to the living, by their usefulness as building material and as firewood. their saps and gums, their fibres, their leaves, their blossoms, enrich, nourish and sustain the human form; no evil is produced by trees--all, all is goodness, is hearty, is helpfulness and growth. they give refuge to the birds, they give music to the winds, and from them are carved the bows and arrows, the canoes and paddles, bowls, spoons and baskets. their service to mankind is priceless; the indian that tells you this tale will enumerate all these attributes and virtues of the trees. no wonder the sagalie tyee chose them to be the abode of souls good and great. but the lure in stanley park is that most dreaded of all things, an evil soul. it is embodied in a bare, white stone, which is shunned by moss and vine and lichen, but over which are splashed innumerable jet-black spots that have eaten into the surface like an acid. this condemned soul once animated the body of a witch-woman, who went up and down the coast, over seas and far inland, casting her evil eye on innocent people, and bringing them untold evils and diseases. about her person she carried the renowned "bad medicine" that every indian believes in--medicine that weakened the arm of the warrior in battle, that caused deformities, that poisoned minds and characters, that engendered madness, that bred plagues and epidemics; in short, that was the seed of every evil that could befall mankind. this witch-woman herself was immune from death; generations were born and grew to old age, and died, and other generations arose in their stead, but the witch-woman went about, her heart set against her kind; her acts were evil, her purposes wicked, she broke hearts and bodies, and souls; she gloried in tears, and revelled in unhappiness, and sent them broadcast wherever she wandered. and in his high heaven the sagalie tyee wept with sorrow for his afflicted human children. he dared not let her die, for her spirit would still go on with its evil doing. in mighty anger he gave command to his four men (always representing the deity) that they should turn this witch-woman into a stone and enchain her spirit in its centre, that the curse of her might be lifted from the unhappy race. so the four men entered their giant canoe, and headed, as was their custom, up the narrows. as they neared what is now known as prospect point they heard from the heights above them a laugh, and looking up they beheld the witch-woman jeering defiantly at them. they landed and, scaling the rocks, pursued her as she danced away, eluding them like a will-o'-the-wisp as she called out to them sneeringly: "care for yourselves, oh! men of the sagalie tyee, or i shall blight you with my evil eye. care for yourselves and do not follow me." on and on she danced through the thickest of the wilderness, on and on they followed until they reached the very heart of the seagirt neck of land we know as stanley park. then the tallest, the mightiest of the four men, lifted his hand and cried out: "oh! woman of the stony heart, be stone for evermore, and bear forever a black stain for each one of your evil deeds." and as he spoke the witch-woman was transformed into this stone that tradition says is in the centre of the park. such is the legend of the lure. whether or not this stone is really in existence--who knows? one thing is positive, however, no indian will ever help to discover it. three different indians have told me that fifteen or eighteen years ago two tourists--a man and a woman--were lost in stanley park. when found a week later, the man was dead, the woman mad, and each of my informants firmly believed they had, in their wanderings, encountered "the stone" and were compelled to circle around it, because of its powerful lure. but this wild tale fortunately has a most beautiful conclusion. the four men, fearing that the evil heart imprisoned in the stone would still work destruction, said: "at the end of the trail we must place so good and great a thing that it will be mightier, stronger, more powerful than this evil." so they chose from the nations the kindliest, most benevolent men, men whose hearts were filled with the love of their fellow-beings, and transformed these merciful souls into the stately group of "cathedral trees." how well the purpose of the sagalie tyee has wrought its effect through time! the good has predominated as he planned it to, for is not the stone hidden in some unknown part of the park where eyes do not see it and feet do not follow--and do not the thousands who come to us from the uttermost parts of the world seek that wondrous beauty spot, and stand awed by the majestic silence, the almost holiness of that group of giants? more than any other legend that the indians about vancouver have told me does this tale reveal the love of the coast native for kindness, and his hatred of cruelty. if these tribes really have ever been a warlike race i cannot think they pride themselves much on the occupation. if you talk with any of them and they mention some man they particularly like or admire, their first qualification of him is: "he's a kind man." they never say he is brave, or rich, or successful, or even strong, that characteristic so loved by the red man. to these coast tribes if a man is "kind" he is everything. and almost without exception their legends deal with rewards for tenderness and self-abnegation, and personal and mental cleanliness. call them fairy tales if you wish to, they all have a reasonableness that must have originated in some mighty mind, and better than that, they all tell of the indian's faith in the survival of the best impulses of the human heart, and the ultimate extinction of the worst. in talking with my many good tillicums, i find this witch-woman legend is the most universally known and thoroughly believed in of all traditions they have honored me by revealing to me. deer lake few white men ventured inland, a century ago, in the days of the first chief capilano, when the spoils of the mighty fraser river poured into copper-colored hands, but did not find their way to the remotest corners of the earth, as in our times, when the gold from its sources, the salmon from its mouth, the timber from its shores are world-known riches. the fisherman's craft, the hunter's cunning were plied where now cities and industries, trade and commerce, buying and selling hold sway. in those days the moccasined foot awoke no echo in the forest trails. primitive weapons, arms, implements, and utensils were the only means of the indians' food-getting. his livelihood depended upon his own personal prowess, his skill in woodcraft and water lore. and, as this is a story of an elk-bone spear, the reader must first be in sympathy with the fact that this rude instrument, most deftly fashioned, was of priceless value to the first capilano, to whom it had come through three generations of ancestors, all of whom had been experienced hunters and dexterous fishermen. capilano himself was without a rival as a spearsman. he knew the moods of the fraser river, the habits of its thronging tenants, as no other man has ever known them before or since. he knew every isle and inlet along the coast, every boulder, the sand-bars, the still pools, the temper of the tides. he knew the spawning grounds, the secret streams that fed the larger rivers, the outlets of rock-bound lakes, the turns and tricks of swirling rapids. he knew the haunts of bird and beast and fish and fowl, and was master of the arts and artifice that man must use when matching his brain against the eluding wiles of the untamed creatures of the wilderness. once only did his cunning fail him, once only did nature baffle him with her mysterious fabric of waterways and land lures. it was when he was led to the mouth of the unknown river, which has evaded discovery through all the centuries, but which--so say the indians--still sings on its way through some buried channel that leads from the lake to the sea. he had been sealing along the shores of what is now known as point grey. his canoe had gradually crept inland, skirting up the coast to the mouth of false creek. here he encountered a very king of seals, a colossal creature that gladdened the hunter's eyes as game worthy of his skill. for this particular prize he would cast the elk-bone spear. it had never failed his sire, his grandsire, his great-grandsire. he knew it would not fail him now. a long, pliable, cedar-fibre rope lay in his canoe. many expert fingers had woven and plaited that rope, had beaten and oiled it until it was soft and flexible as a serpent. this he attached to the spearhead, and with deft, unerring aim cast it at the king seal. the weapon struck home. the gigantic creature shuddered and, with a cry like a hurt child, it plunged down into the sea. with the rapidity and strength of a giant fish it scudded inland with the rising tide, while capilano paid out the rope its entire length, and, as it stretched taut, felt the canoe leap forward, propelled by the mighty strength of the creature which lashed the waters into whirlpools, as though it was possessed with the power and properties of a whale. [illustration: the seven sisters, stanley park. bishop & christie, photo.] up the stretch of false creek the man and monster drove their course, where a century hence great city bridges were to over-arch the waters. they strove and struggled each for the mastery, neither of them weakened, neither of them faltered--the one dragging, the other driving. in the end it was to be a matching of brute and human wits, not forces. as they neared the point where now main street bridge flings its shadow across the waters, the brute leaped high into the air, then plunged headlong into the depths. the impact ripped the rope from capilano's hands. it rattled across the gunwale. he stood staring at the spot where it had disappeared--the brute had been victorious. at low tide the indian made search. no trace of his game, of his precious elk-bone spear, of his cedar-fibre rope, could be found. with the loss of the latter he firmly believed his luck as a hunter would be gone. so he patrolled the mouth of false creek for many moons. his graceful, high-bowed canoe rarely touched other waters, but the seal king had disappeared. often he thought long strands of drifting sea grasses were his lost cedar-fibre rope. with other spears, with other cedar-fibres, with paddle blade and cunning traps he dislodged the weeds from their moorings, but they slipped their slimy lengths through his eager hands: his best spear with its attendant coil was gone. the following year he was sealing again off the coast of point grey, and one night after sunset he observed the red reflection from the west, which seemed to transfer itself to the eastern skies. far into the night dashes of flaming scarlet pulsed far beyond the head of false creek. the color rose and fell like a beckoning hand, and, indian-like, he immediately attached some portentous meaning to the unusual sight. that it was some omen he never doubted, so he paddled inland, beached his canoe, and took the trail towards the little group of lakes that crowd themselves into the area that lies between the present cities of vancouver and new westminster. but long before he reached the shores of deer lake he discovered that the beckoning hand was in reality flame. the little body of water was surrounded by forest fires. one avenue alone stood open. it was a group of giant trees that as yet the flames had not reached. as he neared the point he saw a great moving mass of living things leaving the lake and hurrying northward through this one egress. he stood, listening, intently watching with alert eyes; the swirr of myriads of little travelling feet caught his quick ear--the moving mass was an immense colony of beaver. thousands upon thousands of them. scores of baby beavers staggered along, following their mothers; scores of older beavers that had felled trees and built dams through many seasons; a countless army of trekking fur bearers, all under the generalship of a wise old leader, who, as king of the colony, advanced some few yards ahead of his battalions. out of the waters through the forest towards the country to the north they journeyed. wandering hunters said they saw them cross burrard inlet at the second narrows, heading inland as they reached the farther shore. but where that mighty army of royal little canadians set up their new colony, no man knows. not even the astuteness of the first capilano ever discovered their destination. only one thing was certain. deer lake knew them no more. after their passing, the indian retraced their trail to the water's edge. in the red glare of the encircling fires he saw what he at first thought was some dead and dethroned king beaver on the shore. a huge carcass lay half in, half out, of the lake. approaching it he saw the wasted body of a giant seal. there could never be two seals of that marvellous size. his intuition now grasped the meaning of the omen of the beckoning flame that had called him from the far coasts of point grey. he stooped above his dead conqueror and found, embedded in its decaying flesh, the elk-bone spear of his forefathers, and trailing away at the water's rim was a long flexible cedar-fibre rope. as he extracted this treasured heirloom he felt the "power," that men of magic possess, creep up his sinewy arms. it entered his heart, his blood, his brain. for a long time he sat and chanted songs that only great medicine men may sing, and, as the hours drifted by, the heat of the forest fires subsided, the flames diminished into smouldering blackness. at daybreak the forest fire was dead, but its beckoning fingers had served their purpose. the magic elk-bone spear had come back to its own. until the day of his death the first capilano searched for the unknown river up which the seal travelled from false creek to deer lake, but its channel is a secret that even indian eyes have not seen. but although those of the squamish tribe tell and believe that the river still sings through its hidden trail that leads from deer lake to the sea, its course is as unknown, its channel is as hopelessly lost as the brave little army of beavers that a century ago marshalled their forces and travelled up into the great lone north. a royal mohawk chief how many canadians are aware that in prince arthur, duke of connaught, and only surviving son of queen victoria, who has been appointed to represent king george v. in canada, they undoubtedly have what many wish for--one bearing an ancient canadian title as governor-general of all the dominion? it would be difficult to find a man more canadian than any one of the fifty chiefs who compose the parliament of the ancient iroquois nation, that loyal race of redskins that has fought for the british crown against all of the enemies thereof, adhering to the british flag through the wars against both the french and the colonists. arthur duke of connaught is the only living white man who to-day has an undisputed right to the title of "chief of the six nations indians" (known collectively as the iroquois). he possesses the privilege of sitting in their councils, of casting his vote on all matters relative to the governing of the tribes, the disposal of reservation lands, the appropriation of both the principal and interest of the more than half a million dollars these tribes hold in government bonds at ottawa, accumulated from the sales of their lands. in short, were every drop of blood in his royal veins red, instead of blue, he could not be more fully qualified as an indian chief than he now is, not even were his title one of the fifty hereditary ones whose illustrious names composed the iroquois confederacy before the paleface ever set foot in america. it was on the occasion of his first visit to canada in , when he was little more than a boy, that prince arthur received, upon his arrival at quebec, an address of welcome from his royal mother's "indian children" on the grand river reserve, in brant county, ontario. in addition to this welcome they had a request to make of him: would he accept the title of chief and visit their reserve to give them the opportunity of conferring it? one of the great secrets of england's success with savage races has been her consideration, her respect, her almost reverence of native customs, ceremonies and potentates. she wishes her own customs and kings to be honored, so she freely accords like honor to her subjects, it matters not whether they be white, black or red. young arthur was delighted--royal lads are pretty much like all other boys; the unique ceremony would be a break in the endless round of state receptions, banquets and addresses. so he accepted the red indians' compliment, knowing well that it was the loftiest honor those people could confer upon a white man. it was the morning of october first when the royal train steamed into the little city of brantford, where carriages awaited to take the prince and his suite to the "old mohawk church," in the vicinity of which the ceremony was to take place. as the prince's especial escort, onwanonsyshon, head chief of the mohawks, rode on a jet-black pony beside the carriage. the chief was garmented in full native costume--a buckskin suit, beaded moccasins, headband of owl's and eagle's feathers, and ornaments hammered from coin silver that literally covered his coat and leggings. about his shoulders was flung a scarlet blanket, consisting of the identical broadcloth from which the british army tunics are made; this he "hunched" with his shoulders from time to time in true indian fashion. as they drove along, the prince chatted boyishly with his mohawk escort, and once leaned forward to pat the black pony on its shining neck and speak admiringly of it. it was a warm autumn day: the roads were dry and dusty, and, after a mile or so, the boy-prince brought from beneath the carriage seat a basket of grapes. with his handkerchief he flicked the dust from them, handed a bunch to the chief and took one himself. an odd spectacle to be traversing a country road: an english prince and an indian chief, riding amicably side-by-side, enjoying a banquet of grapes like two schoolboys. on reaching the church, arthur leapt lightly to the green sward. for a moment he stood, rigid, gazing before him at his future brother-chiefs. his escort had given him a faint idea of what he was to see, but he certainly never expected to be completely surrounded by three hundred full-blooded iroquois braves and warriors, such as now encircled him on every side. every indian was in war paint and feathers, some stripped to the waist, their copper-colored skins brilliant with paints, dyes and "patterns"; all carried tomahawks, scalping-knives, and bows and arrows. every red throat gave a tremendous war-whoop as he alighted, which was repeated again and again, as for that half moment he stood silent, a slim boyish figure, clad in light grey tweeds--a singular contrast to the stalwarts in gorgeous costumes who crowded about him. his young face paled to ashy whiteness, then with true british grit he extended his right hand and raised his black "billy-cock" hat with his left. at the same time he took one step forward. then the war cries broke forth anew, deafening, savage, terrible cries, as one by one the entire three hundred filed past, the prince shaking hands with each one, and removing his glove to do so. this strange reception over, onwanonsyshon rode up, and, flinging his scarlet blanket on the grass, dismounted, and asked the prince to stand on it. then stepped forward an ancient chief, father of onwanonsyshon, and speaker of the council. he was old in inherited and personal loyalty to the british crown. he had fought under sir isaac brock at queenston heights in , while yet a mere boy, and upon him was laid the honor of making his queen's son a chief. taking arthur by the hand this venerable warrior walked slowly to and fro across the blanket, chanting as he went the strange, wild formula of induction. from time to time he was interrupted by loud expressions of approval and assent from the vast throng of encircling braves, but apart from this no sound was heard but the low, weird monotone of a ritual older than the white man's footprints in north america. it is necessary that a chief of each of the three "clans" of the mohawks shall assist in this ceremony. the veteran chief, who sang the formula, was of the bear clan. his son, onwanonsyshon, was of the wolf (the clan-ship descends through the mother's side of the family). then one other chief, of the turtle clan, and in whose veins coursed the blood of the historic brant, now stepped to the edge of the scarlet blanket. the chant ended, these two young chiefs received the prince into the mohawk tribe, conferring upon him the name of "kavakoudge," which means "the sun flying from east to west under the guidance of the great spirit." onwanonsyshon then took from his waist a brilliant deep-red sash, heavily embroidered with beads, porcupine quills and dyed moose hair, placing it over the prince's left shoulder and knotting it beneath his right arm. the ceremony was ended. the constitution that hiawatha had founded centuries ago, a constitution wherein fifty chiefs, no more, no less, should form the parliament of the "six nations," had been shattered and broken, because this race of loyal red men desired to do honor to a slender young boy-prince, who now bears the fifty-first title of the iroquois. many white men have received from these same people honorary titles, but none has been bestowed through the ancient ritual, with the imperative members of the three clans assisting, save that borne by arthur of connaught. after the ceremony the prince entered the church to autograph his name in the ancient bible, which, with a silver holy communion service, a bell, two tablets inscribed with the ten commandments, and a bronze british coat-of-arms, had been presented to the mohawks by queen anne. he inscribed "arthur" just below the "albert edward," which, as prince of wales, the late king wrote when he visited canada in . when he returned to england, chief kavakoudge sent his portrait, together with one of queen victoria and the prince consort, to be placed in the council house of the "six nations," where they decorate the walls today. as i write, i glance up to see, in a corner of my room, a draping scarlet blanket, made of british army broadcloth, for the chief who rode the jet-black pony so long ago was the writer's father. he was not here to wear it when arthur of connaught again set foot on canadian shores. many of these facts i have culled from a paper that lies on my desk; it is yellowing with age, and bears the date, "toronto, october , ," and on the margin is written in a clear, half-boyish hand, "onwanonsyshon, with kind regards from your brother-chief, arthur." [illustration: native tools] the spoilers of the valley robert watson the spoilers of the valley by robert watson author of "the girl of o. k. valley", etc. a. l. burt company publishers--new york published by arrangement with george h. doran company printed in u. s. a. copyright, , by george h. doran company printed in the united states of america to a lady called nan contents chapter page i the man hunt ii the wolf note iii at pederstone's forge iv wayward langford v the wolf in sheep's clothing vi a bird to pluck vii wild man hanson goes wild viii like man, like horse ix the doings of percival x jim's grand toot xi sol wants a good wife--bad xii the dance xiii the big steal xiv the round-up xv sol's matrimonial mix-up xvi the breakaway xvii wayward langford's grand highland fling xviii the coat of many colours xix ranching de luxe xx a breach and a confession xxi a maiden, a lover and a heathen chinee xxii fire begets hot air xxiii so deep in love am i xxiv the landslide xxv the bank robbery xxvi the dawn of a new day the spoilers of the valley the spoilers of the valley chapter i the man hunt up on the hill, high above the twinkling lights of the busy little ranching town of vernock, at the open dining-room window of a pretty, leafy-bowered, six-roomed bungalow, a girl, just blossoming into womanhood, stood in her night robes and dressing gown, braiding her dark hair. she was slight of form, but health glowed from her expressive face. she was dreamily contemplating the beauties of the night. below her, stretching like a fan, was the valley upon which was built the merry, happy-go-lucky, scattered little town she loved. everywhere around were the eternal, undulating hills, enclosing the valley in a world by itself. the night had just lately closed in. the sky was clear and presented a wall and a dome of almost inky blue. away due south, right over the peak of a hill, on the wall of blue hung a great star, bright and scintillating like a floating soap bubble, while a handspan straight above that again a thin, crescent moon lay coldly on its back sending up a reflection of its own streaky, ghostly light from the distant lake which was no more than visible through a rift in the hills. as the girl drank in the delights of the peaceful panorama spreading away right from her very feet, she was aroused sharply from her meditation. she heard, or fancied she heard, a distant shot, followed by the sound of excited voices and the barking of dogs. she went to the door, threw it open fearlessly and peered down the hill; but all was silent again save for this barking which travelled farther and farther away all the time, being caught up and carried along in a desultory fashion by the dogs of all the neighbouring houses and ranches. she stood for a moment, looking about her, then, shivering slightly with the cold, she threw a kiss to the valley, closed the door again and turned slowly toward her bedroom. her fingers were upon the lamp to turn down the light, when three short peremptory raps at the back door caused her to start nervously. she took up the lamp and tiptoed into the kitchen. "who's there?" she called. the rapping was repeated; this time with a much greater insistence. "quick,--quick! for god's sake let me in!" came a hoarse, muffled voice which sounded strangely tired. the girl set the lamp on the kitchen table and went cautiously forward to the door. "who's there?" she repeated, her hand on the door fastenings. "let me in!" came the voice in desperation. "if you have a heart, please open." "i cannot until i know who you are. i am a girl. i am alone." a groan escaped the man on the outside, and the anguish of it struck into the bosom of eileen pederstone. once more the voice came pleadingly:-- "and i am a man! i am hunted,--i need help." the girl shot back the bolt, threw wide the door and stood back with bated breath. a masculine figure, panting and dishevelled, staggered in, blinking in the lamplight. eileen slowly pushed the door shut, keeping her frightened eyes upon the incomer who tottered weakly to the wall and leaned against it for support. dirty from head to heel, he was dressed only in a pair of ragged trousers and a torn, mud-stained shirt. his stockingless feet were partly hidden in a pair of broken boots. several days' growth of beard made it hard to guess him young or old. but his blue eyes, despite their tired and bloodshot appearance, betrayed, as they gazed in wonder at the girl, many characteristics of a youthfulness not yet really past. while the two stood thus, the far-away sound of voices floated up the hill from below. the fugitive's eyes roved like those of a hunted animal. he braced himself as if ashamed of his momentary show of fear. he tried hard to smile, but the smile was a dismal failure. "sorry," he panted, "but--but----" his voice sounded harsh and hoarse from exposure. "is there anywhere--any place where you could hide me till they pass. they were only--only a little behind me. guess--i--shouldn't--shouldn't have got you mixed up in this. they are coming this way. they want to take me back--but i can't--i won't go back there. ah!" he clung with his fingers against the wall to prevent him from collapsing. in a moment, anxious and all alert, eileen searched the kitchen for a place of safe hiding. she thought of the cupboards, the clothes-closets in her own bedroom, even her bed of spotless linen; but none of these afforded security. at last, her ready eyes found what her nimble mind was seeking. "quick--here!" she cried, turning to the huge box in the corner which she used for holding the short firewood for her stove. "help me unload this wood. the box is good and big. you can get inside; i'll pile the wood on top of you. they'll never guess." the girl, although slight in appearance, set to with a vigour and an agility that carried a swift contagion. the man was by her side at once. he gave a little crackle of a laugh in his throat, and shot a glance of admiration at her. in sixty seconds more, the box was emptied of its contents. the man clambered inside and crouched in the bottom of it. it was only then that the girl noticed his very great physical weakness. "oh, what shall i do?" she cried in sudden alarm. "i can't leave you this way. you have been hurt. there is blood on your shirt. the cowards!--they've shot you." "never mind me--hurry! it is nothing at all--only a scratch! quick!" he gasped. "wait a moment then!" she whispered. the man raised himself on his elbow and watched her as she ran to the tap in the pantry and filled a tumbler to the brim with water. greedy hands clutched the glass from her, and the contents were swallowed in great gulps. the man sighed like a tired child. he smiled slightly, showing teeth of delightful regularity. "water's great--isn't it?" he said childishly. and as eileen looked into his eyes she saw that they were young eyes; eyes filled with tears, and eyes that were ever so blue. "quick! they're pretty nearly here." eileen commenced cautiously to pile the wood on top of him. "don't mind me!" he whispered huskily. "tumble it in. i'm--i'm only a runaway convict." she worked fast and furiously, and had just turned away from the innocent-looking, well-piled box of split wood in the corner, when she heard the excited voices of hurrying men at her front door. they tapped sharply. she took the lamp from the kitchen table, carried it with her to the door, shot the bolt back again and threw the door wide open. three men stepped into the semi-circle of light. all were tall and of agile build. "poor boy!" was eileen's first thought. "what chance has he against these?" one of the men carried a rifle. she knew him. everybody in vernock knew him. she had known him ever since his coming to the valley five years before. she had marked with childlike wonder--as others had done--his meteoric progress in wealth and power. he was a man, disliked by some, feared by many, and obeyed by all; a land-owner; a cattle breeder; a grain dealer; a giant in body as well as will; and--the new mayor of vernock. the other men were strangers to the girl. all three walked straight through to the kitchen. the one nearest to eileen addressed her. "sorry miss, for intrudin' so late, 'specially as we hear your dad's at enderby and you're all alone to-night. but we're after a man--a convict--escaped from ukalla jail. saw your light! thought we saw your door open!" he peered about suspiciously. "didn't see anything of him--did you?" eileen looked away from the ferrety eyes that searched hers. "i was just going to bed," she answered nervously. "i--i fancied i heard voices and a shot." "wasn't any fancy, miss!" "i--i opened the door and looked out, but didn't hear anything more, so i closed the door again." "hum!" put in her interlocutor, rubbing his chin. "you didn't see any signs of our man when you looked out?" eileen shivered, for she did not know how much these men knew or how much they had really seen. "yes or no, miss!" he snapped. "no!--most certainly, no!" eileen shot back at him in defiance. "how dare you talk to me in that way!" tears of vexation sprang to her eyes; vexation that she should have had to lie, although it was forced upon her unless she meant to betray the man who had trusted himself to her safe-keeping. "easy, officer;--easy! miss pederstone is all right," put in the man with the rifle. "what she says you can bank on." "oh, pshaw!--you don't have to teach me my business," retorted the detective. "maybe not; but you can stand some teaching in manners," returned the other. "see here, sir!" came the quick answer, "if you don't like this, you had better get down the hill and home. you village mayors give me a pain." the man with the rifle bit his lip and remained silent. "you don't mind me having a look round, miss?" inquired the officer a little bit less brusquely, but starting in to search without waiting for her permission. he threw open the cupboards and the closets. he examined every room in the house. he even went into eileen's bedroom. she followed him there, carrying the lamp. he looked into her bed and searched under it. he examined her clothes chest. at last both returned to the kitchen. the moment she got there, eileen's heart stood still. she gave vent to a startled exclamation, which, however, she quickly covered up by stumbling slightly forward as if she had tripped on the rug and almost upset the lamp. the second officer, who all along had remained silent and simply an onlooker, was seated on the top of the wood box, rapping his heels on the side of it and whistling softly to himself with a look on his face which might have been taken for one of blissful ignorance or secret knowledge, so bland was it. "all through, barney?" he asked. "ya!" "satisfied?" "ya!--come on!" the second officer turned to the box upon which he had been sitting. "some box this!" he exclaimed, kicking it with his foot. "guess we'd better see if there's anyone under the wood pile." he got down and commenced to throw a few pieces off the top. eileen's heart stopped beating. the detective at the door came over with a look of supreme contempt on his face. he lifted the lid of the stove and spat some tobacco juice into the fire, then he went over to his companion. "say, jim!--are you a detective or a country boob on his vacation?" "why? what's the matter with you?" "aw, quit! can't you see the lady wants to get to bed! why don't you look inside the teapot?" "oh, all right!" replied the other, dusting off his hands. "this is your hunt:--if you are satisfied, so am i." eileen's heart thumped as if it would burst through her body, and she feared for the very noise of it. slowly the second detective followed the other two men out. chapter ii the wolf note at the door, the man carrying the rifle came close to eileen. he caught her hand in his and tapped it lightly. "don't worry, little girl! i tried my best to keep them from disturbing you," he said in low tones, "but you know what these fellows are like." "thank you! you are very kind," answered eileen quietly. "father will thank you, too, when he comes back." the mayor wished her good-night, raised his hat and followed the others, who were already well on their way down the hill. eileen waited at the door until they were no longer within sight or earshot. then she closed and bolted it. she ran over to the wood-box. she tossed the chunks of wood about her in frantic haste, whispering, almost crooning, to the man underneath, who did not hear her for he was lying there crumpled in a senseless heap. with a cry she freed him and bent over him. her supple young arms went under his shoulders. she raised him, half dragging, half lifting, until she had him stretched upon the floor in front of the stove. she ran for a basin of water, cut some linen into strips and, on her knees beside him, she bathed and dressed the raw, open wound in his side, where a bullet had ripped and torn along the white flesh. when she finished, she raised his limp head and bathed his brow with cold water. the fugitive groaned and opened his eyes. he smiled a wan sort of smile through a grimy, unshaven mask, as he looked into the sweet face above him. then he closed his eyes again, as if he feared the picture might vanish. "oh, brace up!" eileen whispered tearfully, almost shaking him in her fear. "you must brace up. they've gone. but they may come back. if they do, they'll be sure to get you." gathering his scattered senses, the man on the floor raised himself with an effort on to his elbow. he struggled to his feet and swayed unsteadily. he passed his hand over his eyes and made an involuntary movement as if to thrust his fingers through his hair. as he did so, a pained expression crossed his face, for his fingers encountered nothing but a short stubble of hair close cropped to his skin. eileen lent him her support, as he tried to brace himself. she set him in an armchair, then brought him bread, butter, some cold meat and fresh milk from the cupboard, placing them on the table before him. only his eyes expressed thanks, but they did it eloquently. ravenously he turned to, while his young hostess watched him in curiosity and wonder, for never before had she seen one really famishingly hungry. when not a morsel remained, the man pushed back his chair and turned to the young lady apologetically. "you'll excuse me if i forgot my table manners, but--but that was my first food for three days." he rose. "i guess i will be able to make it now. i feel all right;--thanks to you." "no, no!" exclaimed eileen, "you mustn't go just yet. you must rest if only for a few minutes. i was anxious before these men were clear away, but they have gone. the rest will do you good." "no!--i must go. it--it would mean trouble for you if they found me here." "you shan't! sit down!" she commanded. "you may require all your strength before morning." she set him in the chair again, and he obeyed her helplessly and with a sigh of weariness. "but----" he protested feebly, raising his hand. "trouble for me!" she interposed; "i am not afraid of trouble." "you are indeed a good samaritan," he said in a voice which sounded less forlorn. "if i wasn't a jailbird, i'd thank you in my prayers." he smiled crookedly. "you know, convicts' prayers don't seem to rise very high, miss--don't seem to reach anywhere. we haven't got the stand-in with the boss that others seem to have," he said in some bitterness. "hush!" she whispered. "you must not say that, for it isn't true. those men might have caught you,--but they didn't. but, but," she added seriously, "surely you are not a convict; not a criminal, i mean?" he turned his hands outwards with a shrug. "you don't look like one who loved doing wrong. if you have ever done wrong, i am sure it was done in a moment of rashness; maybe thoughtlessness." she clasped her hands in front of her. "you would never do it again." he shook his head. "no,--never, never again!" but his voice had no sound of contrition in it. "when you are free--really free--you will try to be what god meant you to be; a real man; good, honest and earnest." he moved uneasily, then he got up once more, went over to the window and looked out into the night. he remained with his back to her for some time, and she did not seek to break into his thoughts. finally he turned, and, as he leaned against the wall by the door, he gazed at her curiously. "they nick-named me 'silent' in jail, because i wouldn't talk," he said in a husky tone. "god knows!--what inducement had a man to talk--there?" "maybe i shouldn't talk now--but i might feel better if i did, and you cared to listen." "yes, oh yes!--please tell me," replied the girl earnestly. "i have never committed any crime against anyone. the only wrong i have done is to myself. like a fool, i took the blame to save the other fellow, because, oh, because i thought i was better able to--that was all. but that other fellow skulked away, deserted me;--the low coward!" the man's voice rose in the quiet of that little bungalow upon the hill where the only other sounds were the ticking of the clock and the quick breathing of an anxious listener. "god help him when we meet!" "hush!" cautioned the girl again. "when i took on his troubles," he continued, more quietly, "i did not think of anything more than a few months in prison, but, great god! they gave me five years:--five years!" his eyes widened at the awfulness of the thought and a look of agony came into his face. eileen pederstone gasped, and her lips parted. "five years," she whispered. the man continued in bitterness. "yes! five years in hell--buried alive--away from humanity--from light--air--freedom; from the sunshine, the hills, and the valleys; from the sea, the wind, and, and, the higher things--literature, music, art: truth--love--life:--buried from the combination of all these, from god himself." he shuddered. he almost wept in his frailness. "and now the very sunshine hurts like an electric shock, the open spaces make me feel lost and afraid; make me long for the confinement of a cell again." he stopped suddenly and brushed his eyes with the back of his hand. eileen went over to him, laid a hand tenderly on his torn shirt-sleeve and led him over to the chair again, for he still showed signs of his physical exhaustion. he sat back and closed his eyes. when he opened them again, eileen spoke to him. "and you ran away? why, oh, why did you do that? couldn't you see that it would mean recapture; more imprisonment? and you were probably so near the end of it." her whole soul was speaking compassionately. "near the end!" he said bitterly. "it was the end. i broke prison because they had no right to keep me there any longer." "but why? how could that possibly be?" she asked, closing her hands nervously. he gave expression to a sound of surprise at her innocence. "you don't know them, miss. anything, everything is possible in there. they are masters, kings, gods. my conduct was good. after three years and eight months i was due to get out in one month more. but i was useful to them in there. i had education. i was the only accountant; the greatest book-lover in jail. to keep me from thinking--for the thinking is what drives men mad--i worked and slaved night and day. they had no one to take my place. i was trusted. i did the work of three men. "one day i interfered in behalf of a fellow prisoner--a horse thief--who was wrongly accused at this particular time of breaking some trivial prison law. my good conduct sheet was cancelled. i was told that i must serve my full time. that's what i got for trying, for the second time, to help my fellow-man." he laughed. "that--and a peculiar-sounding word which that strange little jailbird gave to me, on condition that i would never sell it, stating it was all he had and that it might be useful to me some day if i ever had the handling of horses. "yes!--i should have been wise that time. it was my second offence of helping my neighbour. three years and nine months in jail for a kindly act! fifteen months more in hell in exchange for a word! what bargains!" he grew bitter again. "the hell-hounds!--they thought i didn't tumble to their little game." he stopped again, closing his mouth tightly as if inquiring of himself why he should be telling this young lady so much. "please--please go on," eileen pleaded, divining his thoughts. "why?" he asked bluntly, surveying the slight, lissom figure before him. "oh, because--because i am interested. i am so sorry for you and for so many others like you," she said. "well!--i served my full time--five years--three years with days each and two leap years with an extra day in them,-- , days and nights, , hours; , , minutes; , , second strokes on the clock. you see i remember it all. great god, how i used to figure it out! "eight days ago my time was up. i asked them regarding my release. and simply because i inquired instead of waiting their good pleasure, they told me i had two weeks more to serve. the damnable lie! as if i didn't know, as if every jailbird doesn't know the day and the very minute his release is due! "two weeks more!" he went on, his face flushed with indignation and his breath coming in short jerks. the clock on eileen's mantelshelf struck midnight, slowly and clearly. the convict looked at it and gasped. when it stopped striking, he turned to eileen and his eyes twinkled for a second. "the governor of the prison has a little clock just the same as that in his private room," he said. "do you know, i'm afraid all the time that i'm going to wake up from this and find myself back there." he jerked his torn garments together. "guess i'd better be going, though. i've stayed far too long already. i feel rested now." "won't you finish your story first?" pleaded eileen. "i think you are safer here--for a while longer--than you would be outside. it won't hurt to let those horrid, prying, suspicious creatures get well away from here." "i have already said more than i intended to," he remarked. the pair presented a strange contrast as they sat opposite each other in the lamplight; the one, wet-eyed, sympathetic and earnest; the other, gaunt, indignant and breathless as he gasped out his story with the hunger of one to whom sympathy was a rediscovered friend. "where was i at?" he asked. "ah, yes! "the governor's dirty-worker wouldn't listen when i tried to explain. he ordered me back. "at work in the office next day, i took advantage of a warder's slackness and broke clear away. "i didn't care what happened then. i was crazed. an old lady in a cottage--god bless her!--fed me and gave me these clothes--her son's castaways--and three dollars; all the money she had. "i walked twenty miles without stop or let-up. after that i slept during the day and walked at night. three days after my breakaway, i got on to a freight train and stole a ride as far as sicamous. i slept overnight in a barn there. next morning i tried to bribe a boy to get me some food at the grocery store. i gave him a dollar. he never came back. i heard some men talking at the door of the barn about a suspicious character who had been seen skulking about. that decided me. i got out when night came and slipped under an empty fruit car which was being shunted on the siding. i got off yesterday, slipping away between a little village up the line and here. the engineer got his eye on me and stopped the train. he let some men off: they were two detectives, i think. they had been riding in the caboose. they came after me. i fell exhausted somewhere in the bush. when i came to it was broad daylight and the men were gone." he looked up at eileen suddenly. "there isn't much more. early this morning i managed to get into a barn by the railway tracks. i got in through a skylight in the roof. i went to sleep among the straw there. soon after, the sound of a key in the padlock outside woke me. i scrambled up and through the skylight again, and away. there were three men--one with a rifle. they hunted me, finding me and losing me several times. the devil with the rifle got a line on me down the hill a short time ago. "when i got to your door i was all in." he smiled. "you're a real sport. you didn't give me away." he got up and threw out his hands. "oh, what's the good anyway! all jailbirds tell the tale and shout their innocence." eileen's heart was moved. tears welled up in her eyes. she was at a loss to know what to do or say. as the man turned from her, his elbow struck something hanging on the wall. he caught at it quickly as it was falling. it was an old violin of very delicate workmanship. "sorry!" he exclaimed, handing it to her. "i am clumsy in a house. haven't been in one for so long. glad i didn't smash it." "i almost wish you had," said eileen enigmatically. "don't you like music?" he asked. "oh, yes!" "violin music?" "yes!--but not from that violin. it is not like other violins: it has an unsavoury history." "do you play?" "not the violin," said eileen, standing with her back to the table, leaning lightly there, clad in her dressing gown, her plaited hair hanging over her shoulder and her eyes on her strange visitor in manifest interest. "my father is very fond of scraping on a violin. the one he plays is hanging up there." she pointed to another violin beside the mantelshelf in the adjoining room. "and this one?" he queried curiously, pointing to the one she had laid on the table. "this one is several hundred years old. it has been in the family for ever so long. the story goes with it that the member of our family who owns it will attain much wealth during his life, but will lose it again if he doesn't pass it on when he is at the very height of his prosperity. my father says it has always proved true, and he is hoping for the day when its promise will be fulfilled in his case, for he longs for wealth and all it brings; and he has striven all his life to get it." "i hope that he has his wish and is able to tell when he gets to the highest point of his success, so that he may get rid of the violin in time." eileen smiled. "daddy says that has been the trouble with our forefathers, who always got wealthy but never seemed to be able to hold it when they got it. that is my daddy over there." she pointed to framed picture on the wall. "he is big and brawny, and not afraid of anybody. he is--oh, so good. he is the best in all the world." the young man gazed at her as she expressed her admiration. "he isn't here to-night?" he remarked. eileen turned her eyes on him sharply, as if she had sensed something of a suspicious nature in his query. but she shook the thought from her and laid her mind bare. "no!--daddy was called away this afternoon. he won't be back until to-morrow, noon. "this violin," reverted eileen, as if endeavouring to interest her guest and keep his thoughts away from the misery of his own condition as long as possible, "was the last work of a very famous italian violin maker, who disappeared mysteriously and was never heard of afterwards. it has a most beautiful tone, but for one note, and that one note is hideous. ugh!--i hate it." she shuddered. "i would have destroyed it long ago only my father prizes it as a great curio and as an heirloom." the convict showed deep interest. "isn't it strange that a beautiful instrument like this should have a discordant note in it that no one seems to be able to explain away?" she asked, as they stood together near the window, losing themselves in their interest. "yes,--it is strange," returned the man, examining the violin closely. "i have read of something similar somewhere. the discord, i think, is called the _wolf note_, and it is well named. i believe its presence is difficult to explain, and such an instrument has occasionally been produced by the best violin makers. they usually destroyed them, as the discord is unalterable, making the instrument, of course, unmarketable as a music producer." eileen remained in thought for a while, then she held out her hand for the violin, took it from the man and went to the wall where she hung it up, as if dismissing a distasteful subject. back to the young man's face came the hopeless look of remembrance. "i had almost forgotten myself," he remarked. "thank you! i must be off. i should not be here. i--i should never have intruded." "one moment!" said eileen. "the air is chilly and you have nothing but that thin, torn, cotton shirt on your back. get into this! it is an old sweater of mine; it is loose and big. it will keep the cold out." "no! you have already done more than i can ever hope to pay back. i might get caught with it on----" "but you must," she put in imperiously. "i have several of them. this is the oldest of those i have. you are not depriving me of anything, and you will be glad of it before the morning, for it is cold up here at nights." he took it from her with reluctance, pushed his arms into it and drew it over his head and shoulders. "thank you!" he said in a quiet voice. "i was sick and in prison--i was anhungered--i was thirsty--i was naked. i don't know exactly how it goes," he apologised, "but it is something like that and it certainly does apply to you, miss." his mood changed. he turned up part of the sleeve of the sweater and put it to his lips. eileen's face took on a flood of colour despite herself. a smile flitted across the unshaven face of the man, disclosing his regular, clean teeth. eileen drew herself up stiffly. she went to the door and opened it to allow him to pass out of her life as he had come into it. but as he turned to go, he started back at a sound in the dark. the tall, athletic figure of a man loomed up, blocked the way and stepped into the kitchen beside them. eileen gasped and clutched at her bosom in terror. "mr. brenchfield," she cried in sudden anger, "what do you mean? you--you have been watching. i didn't think you were a spy, although after all, possibly i did, for i intentionally held back the man you are after." brenchfield ignored her remark and pointed with his finger at the fugitive, who came forward, his eyes staring as if he were seeing an apparition. "great god,--you!" exclaimed the young man. then with a catching sound in his throat, he sprang at the burly, well-fed man before him. brenchfield was taken completely by surprise. he staggered against the side of the door, as thin claw-like fingers found his throat and tried to stop the vital air. the fingers closed on his windpipe too tightly for comfort. eileen cried out and tried to go between, but she was thrust aside. the men swayed together, then brenchfield's hands went up, catching the other by the wrists in a firm hold. there was a momentary struggle, the runaway's grip was broken and he was flung to the floor. brenchfield turned to eileen. "miss pederstone, have you gone crazy trying to hide this man? don't you know he is a runaway; a dangerous convict? the police--blind fools--didn't tumble to your nervousness, but i caught on. i knew you had him hidden in the wood-box." the hunted man rose slowly from the floor and staggered forward, gasping for breath. he gave brenchfield a look of loathing. "graham," he said brokenly, "may the good god forgive you, for i never shall." he threw out his thin arms and looked at them, while tears of impotence came into his eyes. he clenched his hands and grit his teeth. "and may the devil, your friend, protect you," he continued threateningly, "when these grow strong again." brenchfield looked him over with indifference. "my good fellow, you'll excuse me! you have wheels in your head. i don't know you from a hedge-fence. damn it!" he suddenly flared angrily, "i don't want to know you. get out; quick! before i help you along, or put you in the hands of your friends down the hill who are so anxious to renew your acquaintance." the young man stared fearlessly into the eyes of graham brenchfield, wealthy rancher, cattleman, grain merchant and worthy mayor of vernock. then his lips parted in a strange smile, as he threw up his head. he turned to eileen. "guess i've _got_ to go now. i have my marching orders." "come on;--enough of this--git!" put in brenchfield roughly, stepping up in a threatening manner. the fugitive ignored the interruption. "good-bye, miss--miss pederstone--and, remember this from a convict who doesn't count:--as surely as there is a wolf-note in some violins, so surely is there a wolf-note in some men. strike the wolf-note and you set the devils in hell jumping." in the next moment he passed out at the door and down the dusty highway leading to vernock. graham brenchfield stood looking after him until the night shut him out. eileen pederstone stared in front of her with eyes that saw no outward thing. at last brenchfield broke the silence. "it was rather unwise--foolish--harbouring such a man as that; and your father from home." "yes?" queried eileen, with a slow intonation of resentment. "unprotected as you were!" "we girls would have little need for protection if you men were all as gentlemanly as he was. he seemed to be an old acquaintance of yours. who is he?" brenchfield shrugged his shoulders. "pshaw!--that kind would claim acquaintance with the very devil himself. you don't suppose i ever met him before. he is a dangerous criminal escaped from ukalla." "he told me so," put in eileen, as if tired of the interview, "and he seemed quite annoyed when i refused to believe the _dangerous criminal_ part." "but the police tell me he _is_. it was only for your sake that i let him go." brenchfield tried to turn her to the seriousness of her misdemeanour. "for the sake of your good name, you had no right admitting him. you know what vernock is like for gossip. you know the construction likely to be placed on your action." eileen drew herself up haughtily. "you'll excuse me, mr. brenchfield! when did you earn the right to catechise eileen pederstone?" he changed suddenly and his peculiarly strong and handsome face softened. "i am sorry. i did not mean it in that way, eileen. and this is no time to speak, but--but i hope--some day----" the girl held up her hand, and he stopped. he was tall, full-chested and tremendously athletic of figure and poise, with dark eyes that fascinated rather than attracted and a bearing of confidence begotten of five years of triumphal success in business ventures and real-estate transactions; a man to whom men would look in a crisis; a man whom most men obeyed instinctively and one to whom women felt drawn although deep down in their hearts they were strangely afraid of him. he held eileen with his eyes. "there is something i wish to ask you some day, eileen. may i?" "nothing serious, i hope, mr. brenchfield?" she returned lightly, for she at least had never acknowledged any submission to those searching eyes of his. "and please remember, it is past midnight. my father isn't here." "serious!--yes!" he returned, ignoring her admonition, "but some day will do." "it is an old story;--some day may never come, good sir!" he smiled indulgently. eileen, despite her apparent unconcern, placed her hand over her heart as if to stay a fluttering there. mayor brenchfield was a young man, a successful man; to many women he would have been considered a desirable man. he professed friendship with eileen's father. he put business her father's way. he was of the same political leanings. he had met eileen on many occasions. brenchfield was a tremendously energetic man; he seemed to be everywhere at once. eileen, like other women, could not help admiring him for his forceful handling of other men, for his keen business acumen, for his almost wizardly success. he had many qualities that appealed strongly to the romantic in her youthful nature; but, girl-like, she had not stopped at any time to analyse the feelings he engendered in her. and now, up there on the hill, in the chill of the night air, under the stars that hung so low and prominently that one felt one might almost reach up and pluck them from the heavens,--now there came a sudden dread. it was this inexplicable dread that set her heart athrob. brenchfield took her hand from her bosom and patted it gently. his touch annoyed her. she drew away imperiously, and she shivered. "why, little woman!--you are cold and it is very late. how thoughtless of me! good night, eileen!" "good night!" she returned wearily, closing the door. the moment he heard the bolts shoot home, brenchfield's whole nature changed. an oath came to his lips. he crushed his hat down on his head, leapt the fence and rushed headlong by the short cut down through the orchards--townward. at the kenora hotel corner his low whistle brought two men from the saloon. the three conversed together earnestly for a few moments, then they separated to different positions in the shadows but commanding a full view of the road leading down the hill from the east of the main street of vernock. but of all this eileen pederstone--alone in the little bungalow up on the hill--was blissfully ignorant. chapter iii at pederstone's forge pederstone the blacksmith--or, to give him his full name which he insisted on at all times, john royce pederstone--was busy on his anvil, turning a horse shoe. his sleeves were rolled up almost to his shoulders and his lithe muscles slipped and rippled under his white skin in a rhythm of harmony. his broad chest was bare as his arms, and his chubby apple-red cheeks shone with perspiration which oozed from his every pore. he was singing to himself in happy unconcern about his being a jovial monk contented with his lot. two horses were tied inside the shop waiting to be shod, chafing and pawing in their impatience. pederstone's right-hand man, sol hanson, a great chunk of a bachelor swede, was at the back door swearing volubly because an iron tire refused to fit the wooden rim of a cart wheel to his satisfaction. horseshoes, ploughs, harrows, iron gates and cart and buggy wheels of all kinds were lying about in disorderly profusion. the noonday sun was pouring in aslant at the front door, while at the back door, away from hanson, a russian wolf-hound was stretched out lazily gnawing at a bone which it held between its fore paws. the furnace fire was blazing, and pederstone's anvil was ringing merrily, when suddenly the melodious sounds were interrupted by a deep growl and then a yelp of pain from the hound as it sprang away from the spurred boot of a great, rough, yet handsome figure of a man of the cowboy type, who came striding in, legs apart, dressed in sheepskin chaps. "say, ped!--ain't you got that hoss o' mine shod? can't wait all day in this burg!" the smith stopped suddenly and glared at the newcomer. "none of that ped stuff, you untamed indian! mr. royce pederstone to you and your kind; and, if you don't like it and can't wait your turn, take your cayuse out of here and tie her up at the back of the hotel for an hour or two. you're not half drunk enough yet to be going back to redmans creek." "all right, mister-_royce-pederstone_--but i ain't indian, and don't you forgit it. the fact that i git all the booze i like from charlie mac settles that in this burg." it was a sore point with the newcomer, for at least three-quarters of him was white, and part of it first-class white at that. he took off his hat. "ever see an indian with hair like that?" he pushed a tousled head of flaring red hair under the blacksmith's nose. he struck his chest dramatically with his fist. "donald mctavish mcgregor, that's my name. and i'm off to take your advice, but you can keep the mare till she's shod." he swaggered out. at the door he had to side-step--much to his disgust--to get out of the way of one, ben todd, who was not in the habit of making way for anyone but a lady. todd was the editor and manager of the _vernock and district advertiser_, the man behind most of the political moves in the valley. he was a hunchback, with a brain that always seemed to have a "hunch" before any other brain in the country started to wake up. "hullo, john!" shouted todd. "fine day, ben!" returned pederstone. "see the government's turned down the new irrigation scheme!" "what?" shouted pederstone. "the mean pikers!" "guess it's about time we had a new government, john!" "yes!--or at least a new member for the valley," returned the smith. "well,--there's truth in that, too. and, as you're president of the association, why don't you get the boys to change their man? the one we've got has been too long on the job. seems to think he's in for life." "the trouble is, ben,--who could we get that would be an improvement?" "why not have a try at it yourself, john, at the coming election?" suggested the editor as a feeler. "what!--me?" exclaimed the smith in surprise, viewing the serious look on the face of the bearded hunchback. "sure!--why not?" "it isn't a question of why not," laughed royce pederstone, "but rather one of why." "because we want you," returned the editor. "you're one of us, and you know what this valley requires better than any other." royce pederstone was silent. "would you run if we put you up?" pursued ben todd. "might," grinned the smith, "but i won't say where i'd run to." "but straight goods?" "no, siree! not for me! a bit of ranching and my work here in the shop keeps me busy enough. in fact, i've been thinking lately that i would like to give up this strenuous labour in the smithy." ben todd was about to pursue the subject further when they were interrupted by the approach of a horse, which pulled up abruptly at the front door. a beautiful, full-blooded mare, of tremendous proportions, reared high in the air, then dropped to a stand-still as docile as a lamb. mayor brenchfield, groomed to perfection in leggings and riding breeches, slid to the ground, thrust his reins through a hitching ring and stepped inside, thus providing the third side of an interesting triangle for conversation. they had been talking for some fifteen minutes, when the conversation veered to the subject that had been uppermost in everyone's mind in the neighbourhood of vernock for many weeks past. "i see the assizes have got through with their work at last," put in ben todd. brenchfield's eyebrows moved slightly. "yes?" "loo yick, the chink, is to hang." "you bet,--the yellow skunk! imagine a fine girl like lottie mays being done to death by that; and every man that ever saw her just crazy for her." "well!--lottie and her kind take chances all the time. somebody generally gets them in the finish," put in royce pederstone. "she wasn't content with her price, but stole his wad as well. the town would be better quit of the bunch." "guess you're right," agreed brenchfield. "but it does seem a pity we can't cut down in the number of chinamen we have in the okanagan." "yes!" put in todd, "but you know who brought them here. you fellows with the ranches, looking for cheap help, did it." he laughed. "and, by god, you got it with a vengeance; and all that goes with it. they're likely to rout us out of house and land before they're through with us. you will have one _high-u_ time getting them out,--believe me." "and pierre qu'appelle got sent down for ten years." "guess that ends the wholesale thieving that has been going on around vernock these last five years." "hope so!" exclaimed the mayor. "but you can't always sometimes tell." "pierre didn't have the ghost of a chance; caught with the goods on him," remarked todd. "seems funny to me that he should play a lone game, though," said royce pederstone. "not when you know the bunch he gangs with," remarked ben todd. "they're generally all in it, and one man takes the risk and the blame. he'll get his share kept for him till he comes out again. "morrison of the o.k. supply company says he has had over seven thousand dollars' worth of feed and flour stolen from his warehouses inside of six months. the pioneer traders never give out what they lose." "you, yourself, have lost quite a bit, haven't you, brenchfield?" put in pederstone. "yes!--from time to time, but i could never lay my finger definitely on the shortage. my records have been faulty in the past, but i'm going to keep a better watch on it for the future." "well!" returned the smith, "the fewer of pierre qu'appelle's thieving kind we have in the community, the better for all of us." "we pretty nearly had a newcomer of the same brand when you were at enderby, john." "so i heard! how did it finish, ben? i heard they got him. how did they manage it?" "better ask the mayor," said the editor guardedly. "he ought to know how these things finish. who was the man, graham? how did the chase end?" "oh!" muttered brenchfield, "it was some runaway from ukalla. he landed in here under a freight train, and the detectives were riding in the caboose and he didn't know it." todd laughed. "pretty good copy! what else?" "he gave them the slip. they got in touch with me later. we set off on a hunt. found the fellow in a barn. but he got out at the skylight window and made a run for it." "the poor devil! he deserved to get away after that," remarked the editor. "pretty nearly did, too! one of the detectives winged him on the b. x. road," lied the mayor. "he beat us to it for a time. i went home to bed after a bit, but i heard later that they fell in with their man looking for food in chinatown in the early morning. he led them another chase up over the high road and down the kickwillie loop to the lake. he got into a rowing boat and made out into the middle of the water. the detectives got into murray's gasoline launch and were soon within hailing distance of him. but the beggar was game, although he must have been half-dead by that time. "when he saw it was all up, he took off the coat, or sweater, or whatever it was he was wearing, wrapped it round the little anchor in the boat, undid the rope and plumped the lot into the lake." "what on earth did he do that for?" asked pederstone. "oh, i guess he got the clothes from someone up here and didn't wish to implicate them." "by gosh! but he was game," put in ben todd. "darned if i wouldn't like a shake of his hand for that!" the editor turned, and his expression changed. he raised his hat. "eh,--excuse my language, miss pederstone. i,--i didn't know you were there." the talk stopped abruptly, as eileen pederstone came forward into the centre of the shop. "hello, eilie, dear!" cried her father. "dinner time already? and my work miles ahead of me, while we gossips are going at it like old wives at market. why,--what's the matter, lass?" the girl's face showed pale in the light of the forge fire and her eyes were moist. she pulled herself together. "nothing, daddy! i was just feeling sorry for that poor young fellow mr. brenchfield was telling about." "tuts!" exclaimed todd, "don't waste your sorrow, eileen. why,--he wasn't a young fellow. he was an old, grey-haired, cross-eyed, yellow-toothed, dirty, wizened-faced, knock-kneed specimen of a jailbird escaped from ukalla. look up the advertiser thursday, you'll see." "oh no, he wasn't; he--he,--mr. brenchfield----" eileen stopped. "didn't i hear you say he was a young man, mr. brenchfield?" she asked, endeavouring to cover up her confusion, turning her big eyes full on the mayor. "why, eh--yes! i did mention something about him being young," gallantly agreed brenchfield. "did--he--get--away?" inquired eileen desperately. brenchfield busied himself adjusting his leggings. eileen put her hand on his arm. "did he get away, mr. brenchfield?" she asked again. "better finish the yarn, graham!" said royce pederstone. "eilie is like others of her sex; you can't shake her once she gets a grip." "well!" resumed brenchfield uneasily, "as far as i can learn the man jumped out of the rowing boat as the launch came up on him. he tried to swim for it. he evidently knew how to swim, too;--but he was weak as a kitten. the detectives played him. when he was thoroughly exhausted, they let him sink." "the beasts!" exclaimed eileen, her body aquiver with sudden anger. "guess i had better stop this stuff!" said brenchfield. "no, no! don't mind me. go on!" "he came up--and they let him sink again. next time he came up, they fished him out, because he might not have come up again. "the fellow came to after a bit. you see, that kind won't kill. so i guess he is now safely back home, in his little eiderdown bed, getting fed with chicken broth;--home in ukalla jail, where he belongs. "little boys always get into trouble when they run away from home, eh, ben!" laughed brenchfield. the coarse humour didn't catch on. eileen pederstone laid her basket on the smithy floor, threw a look of contempt into the youthful mayor's face and walked out with her head high. "one for his nobs!" laughed ben todd. "and, damn it!--you cold-blooded alligator!--she served you rightly." chapter iv wayward langford while the foregoing was taking place in pederstone's smithy at vernock, a scene of a different nature was being enacted in the governor's private office at ukalla prison. phil ralston, somewhat refreshed from a scrubbing, a good sleep and two prison meals, had just been ushered into the presence of the man who held power almost of life and death over every unfortunate confined there. phil expected no mercy. his feelings were blunted by what he had already gone through, so the worst that might happen now did not worry him; for, when hope of relief entirely goes, what one has to face loses most of its terrors. the well-fed, strong-jawed governor leaned over his desk and looked at his prisoner. "ay, ralston! so you were a naughty boy and ran away!" the young fellow did not reply. "look up, man! i'm not going to eat you." ralston's eyes met his calmly. "why did you run away?" "because my time was up, sir!" "of course it was! hang it all!--that's why i can't understand your behaviour." the governor smiled in a manner that was meant to be reassuring--for, after all, he knew he had exceeded his limit and, if it were known, he might have difficulty in squaring himself. "but you told me, sir, that i had still two weeks to serve." "what? i told you that? why, man, you're crazy. wake up! you foolish fellow, don't you know that the moment you made off, your discharge papers were lying on my desk all ready?" "and you _didn't_ say i had two more weeks to serve?" "no, damn it, no! how could i? why, johnston there had already been sent to the storage room for your belongings. "isn't that so, johnston?" "yes, sir!" nodded the chief jailer emphatically. "didn't i tell you number three hundred and sixteen was due out that day?" "yes, sir! remember distinctly, sir." phil's lip curled contemptuously, and, although he was in no mood for arguing under such conditions, he could not resist one more query. "why then did they go after me and bring me back, sir?" "why did they! why do you think, you young fool? do you imagine breaking out is the way to leave ukalla jail? what kind of an institution do you think we are running here? do you fancy we are going to stand still to that kind of thing? what kind of respect have you for my good reputation anyway? you selfish bunch are all alike! "of course we went after you! of course we brought you back, just to teach you manners, same as a school teacher calls back a scholar to shut the door he has left open. "if you got your deserts you would be back there for a few months longer. if you don't watch yourself when you get out, you'll be back here again. eh, johnston!" "yes, sir! they generally do come back, sir," grunted that echo. "seem to like us; can't stay away, sir!" "now, ralston! here is your discharge. you're free to go when you like. but johnston will open the gate for you this time." in an overflow of weakness, phil reeled at the unexpected news. he staggered against the governor's desk as he clutched at the paper. that official smiled benignly. "here is a present from the government, a cheque for fifty dollars for your faithful services--never absent, never late," he grinned. "johnston has your two grips in the hall with your stuff in them that they found in your shack at carnaby." he held out his hand. "good-bye, ralston! you've been a good lad here but for your one bad break fifteen months ago, and this one. don't come back." in half an hour, philip ralston was breathing the air of freedom in the inter-urban tram speeding toward vancouver. it was the spring of the year. his worldly wealth was fifty dollars. his clothes were some years behind the latest model, but they were decent enough, clean and serviceable. he put up at a third-rate hotel on cordova street and spent one glorious week sleeping, eating, strolling the busy streets and lounging in the parks and on the beaches. he spoke to few, although he had of a necessity to listen to many. at the hotel in the evenings, several transients told him their story, hoping thereby to hear his own as a time-chaser, but phil, true to the sobriquet he had earned at ukalla, remained silent. at the end of a week, after paying his bed and board, his fifty dollars had dwindled to thirty. he knew he could not afford to let it go much lower, otherwise the detectives, who seemed forever spying on him, would be arresting him on a vagrancy charge. vancouver was chuck-full of detectives, many of whom phil knew by sight, while the others he sensed. and he loathed and abhorred their entire breed. too many were the stories he had heard from fellow prisoners at ukalla, who had tried honestly to take up some definite occupation after leaving jail, only to be hounded from position to position by these interfering sleuths who fancied it their duty to inform the erstwhile employer that the man who was working for him was an ex-jailbird and consequently should have a keen eye kept on him for a while. the inevitable, of course, followed; for what employer could afford to have an ex-convict on his staff? and so, phil did not attempt to secure work in vancouver. he had a horror of the rush and buzz of the city anyway. policemen were everywhere; on the sidewalks watching everybody and everything; at the street corners directing the traffic. self-consciousness made phil feel guilty almost. these men gave him the creeps, innocent of all guilt though he was. his one desire was to get as far away from them and all things connected with them as was possible. he sat on a seat in the park one afternoon, trying to decide his future. he thought of graham brenchfield, now mayor of vernock, evidently wealthy beyond phil's wildest dreams. he remembered the old partnership pact and the five hundred dollars he paid for it--five years, a pool and a straight division of the profits. he put his hand in his pocket, took out his money and counted it over;--twenty-four dollars and fifteen cents. he laughed. but his laugh was void of merriment, for he had vowed solemnly to himself in prison that some day he would get even with graham brenchfield. and, so far as brenchfield was concerned, the iron was still in phil ralston's soul. as he sat there, the vision of an angel face came back to him; the picture of a girl of small frame, fairy-like, agile, bending over him as he lay faint and wounded on the floor of her little bungalow up on the hill overlooking vernock. and it settled his mental uncertainty. he would go back there! it was a free and bracing life in that beautiful valley, and, god knows! that was what he required after five years of confinement. he could pick up his strength while at work on the farms, or among the orchards, or on the cattle ranges. lots of things he could do there! no one would know him,--no one had seen him before but she and brenchfield. she would never recognise him--shaved and clean--for the broken, ragged wretch whom she had befriended. as for brenchfield--he would know phil anywhere, in any disguise, but phil knew how to close his mouth tighter than a clam. besides, there was the settlement to be made between brenchfield and himself. yes!--vernock was the place of all places for phil ralston. he went back to the hotel, dressed himself in the best clothes he had, paid his score and packed his grips. and that night he was speeding eastward. on the following afternoon he landed at the comparatively busy little ranching town of vernock, where he had decided to try out his fortune. he left his grips at the station and sauntered down the main street. there were few people about at the time and all were evidently too intent on their own particular business to pay much attention to a new arrival. he passed a commodious-looking hotel, built of wood, typically western in style, with hitching posts at the side of the road, a broad sidewalk and a few steps up to a wide veranda which led into an airy and busy saloon. for want of anything better to occupy his attention, phil strolled in. he called for a glass of beer at the bar. while waiting service, he took in his surroundings. several men were lounging at the bar talking loudly, smoking, spitting carelessly and drinking. at a table, near the window, a long-legged, somewhat wistful-looking young man, with prominent front teeth and a heavy mop of auburn hair, was sitting in front of a glass of liquor, gazing lazily into the vacant roadway. from an adjoining room off the saloon rough voices rose every now and again in argument over a poker game which was in progress there between a number of men who appeared to be in off some of the neighbouring ranches. as phil surveyed the scene, a man galloped up to the hotel entrance, tossed his reins over his horse's head and jingled loudly into the saloon. he was clean-cut, dark-skinned and red-haired, and walked with a swinging gait. he shouted the time of day to the bar-tender, as he kept on into the inner room where the card game was in progress. phil guessed him for the foreman of the cattlemen inside and conjectured that he had been giving them some instructions regarding their departure, but passed the incident from his mind as quickly as it had cropped up: and he was still slowly refreshing himself when half a dozen rough-looking men tumbled out of the card-room. "come on fellows! drinks all round, mack! don't miss a damned man in the room. everybody's havin' one on me." the speaker hitched up his trousers, blew out a mouthful of chewing tobacco and waved his arm invitingly. the counter loungers gathered round in expectation, as the proprietor and his assistant busied themselves filling the welcome order. "hi, wayward!" he continued, shouting over to the long-legged man sitting by the window. "what-ya drinkin'?" there was no answer. "oh, hell!--he's up in the clouds. take him over a scotch and soda, pete." phil looked up in time to intercept a wink between the speaker and one of his gang. "hello, stranger! just blowed in?" "yes!" answered phil. "i am just off the train." "stayin' long?" "possibly!" "all right,--what's your poison? it's my deal and your shout." "nothing for me, thanks!" replied phil. "i've all i require here." the broad-shouldered, clean-limbed fellow came over closer to phil. "say, young man,--'tain't often don mcgregor stands drinks all round, but when he does 'tain't good for the health to turn him down. you've got to have one on me, or you and me ain't goin' to be friendly,--see." phil looked him over good-naturedly and smiled. "oh, all right; let her go!" he answered. "i'll have a small lemonade." "what?" exploded the man who called himself don mcgregor. a shout of laughter came from everyone in the bar-room. "didn't you ask me to name my drink?" put in phil. "sure!" "well--i've named it." "no, you ain't! lemonade ain't a drink: it's a bath." more merriment greeted the sally. phil flushed but held down his rising temper. he had had five years' experience of self-effacement which stood him in good stead now. "you're not trying to pick a quarrel with me?" he inquired quietly. "me? not on your life! i ain't pickin' scraps with the likes of you. but, for god's sake, man,--name a man-sized drink and be quick. the bunch is all waitin'." phil immediately changed his tactics. "thanks!" he answered. "i'll have a scotch." "that's talkin'." the bar-tender came over with a bottle in his hand. "say when!" he remarked to phil. "keep a-going," put in phil. "up,--up!" mcgregor stood and gaped. "that's 'nough!" said phil easily, as the liquor was brimming over. the bar-tender pushed along a glass of water. phil pushed it back. at a draught he emptied the liquor down his throat. it burned like red-hot coals, for he was unused to it, but he would have drunk it down if it had cremated him. mcgregor had made a miscalculation and he appeared slightly crestfallen as he turned from phil and talked volubly to his comrades. while they conversed, mcgregor backed gradually, as if by accident, until he was almost touching phil. finally he got the heel of his boot squarely on phil's toe, and he kept it there, pressing harder and harder every second, still talking loudly to those around him and apparently all oblivious of his action. even then phil had no definite notion that it was not merely the clumsy accident of a half-intoxicated cowboy. at last he poked the man in the back. "excuse me," he said, "but when you are finished with my foot i should like to have it." "what'n the--oh!" exclaimed the red-haired man, grinding his full weight on phil's toe as he got off. "was i standin' on you? hope i didn't hurt you!" he grinned maliciously. the pain was excruciating, but still phil forebore with an effort, accepting the man's half-cocked apology. suddenly a new diversion appeared in the shape of a half-witted boy of about twelve years of age, who slouched in evidently on the look-out for any cigar ends that might be lying about the floor. the boy was clad raggedly and wore a perpetual grin. "hullo, smiler!" cried one of the men. "come and have a drink." the boy shook his head and backed away. mcgregor made a grab at him and caught him by the coat collar. he pulled the frightened youngster to the counter and, picking up a bottle of whisky, thrust it under the lad's nose. "here, kid;--big drink! ginger-beer;--good stuff!" the boy caught the bottle in his hands, tilted it and took a gulp. then he coughed and spluttered, and spat it out, almost dropping the bottle as mcgregor, laughing hilariously, laid hold of it. "come on, smiler!--you got to finish this. say, stitchy,--let's make him drunk. here!--you hold him." the boy made that inarticulate cry which dumb people make when seized suddenly with fear. only then did it strike phil ralston that the lad was dumb, as well as half-witted. the man whom mcgregor addressed as stitchy caught the boy and held him securely by the arms, tilting his head backward until he was unable to move. mcgregor brought the bottle and was on the point of forcing the helpless smiler to open his mouth, when the bottle was sent flying out of his hands and he staggered back against the counter from a blow on the side of the face from phil's fist. "leave the boy alone!" he cried angrily, his face pale as he laboured to stifle his excitement. he had refrained from interfering as long as he could, well knowing his present physical weakness and what a mix-up might mean to him if the police happened along, but this ill-treatment was a little more than he could stand, despite all possible consequences. the moment smiler was released, the boy ran to the door and away. meantime, mcgregor pulled himself together and began to laugh as if from his stomach. "i guess that means a scrap," he grunted. "not that i know of," put in phil. "but i like to see fair play. the youngster wasn't hurting you." for answer mcgregor unbuckled his belt and handed it to his friend called stitchy, spitting noisily on the saw-dusted floor. the hotel proprietor jumped over the counter and interfered. "there's going to be no rough-house here. if you fools want to fight get out on the back lot where there's plenty of room. come on,--out you go! the whole caboodle of you!" he and his assistant--both burly men--cleared the bar. phil was among the last to leave, and, in a faint hope of avoiding trouble, he turned aside, but mcgregor sprang after him and laid hold. "not by a damn-sight!" he cried. "here, stick them up!" he feinted round phil, then ran in on him. phil had no alternative. he put up his arms, jumped aside and dealt the cattleman a stiff blow on the mouth. the crowd gathered round and made a ring. for a time, phil more than held his own, getting in blow after blow, while mcgregor tried his best to come to grips. "don't ever let him get his arms round you," cautioned a friendly voice, the owner of which phil had no time to note. the stout-chested cattleman had no science, but he possessed an unlimited amount of vital energy and strength. phil had science, but nothing else to back it up. the ultimate issue was beyond all question and phil knew it, for five minutes had not gone ere he was gasping for breath and had black specks floating in hundreds before his vision. he sprang aside and circled time and again, trying to avoid his antagonist's determination to get to grips, but at last, just after a particularly close escape, someone pushed him suddenly from behind and, before he was aware of it, two great arms were round him crushing the life out of him. he struggled frantically, but felt like a puppy-dog in the paws of a grizzly. he was whirled round and round till he grew dizzy. he was crushed and hugged until he became faint. when his bones were cracking and the very life seemed oozing out of him, he felt himself suddenly catapulted somewhere in glorious release, then his senses gave way and he remembered no more for a time. when he came to, he was lying on the bar-room floor. someone, whose face he recollected, was bending over him, holding up his head and mopping his brow with a wet cloth. he looked into the face and remembered it. it was the long-legged man with the mop of wavy, auburn hair, whom he had noticed sitting by the window in abstraction a short time before. "getting better, old man?" said the young fellow good-naturedly, grinning and showing his great, strong, prominent teeth. phil muttered a few inarticulate words of thanks and tried to rise. the lanky man helped him up, led him over to a bench, set him down and then sat down beside him. "sorry i didn't interfere sooner. might have saved you that rough handling," said the stranger. "but to tell you the truth, i thought you were going to eat rob roy mcgregor up. guess you could, too, for you handle your fists better than any man i have ever seen;--but you're just as weak as a half-drowned kitten. what's the matter; been boozing?" "no!" replied phil. "i seldom drink." "lucky you!" put in the big fellow. "sick then?" "yes!--i--i'm just recovering from a severe illness," answered phil, for want of a better excuse. "just come into town?" "i came in off the noon train." "any friends?" "no!" "say!--you don't mind me cross-examining you this way, old man? i--i kind of like your looks." a big smile went over the face of the stranger, wrinkling and puckering it amusingly. "what's your name? mine's jim langford. they call me wayward,--because i am. i'm a b. sc. of edinburgh university; a barrister, by profession only; lazy; fond of books and booze; no darned good; always in trouble; sent out here for the good of my health and for the peace of mind of the family, after a bit of trouble; had ten thousand dollars to start with; spent it all before i woke up. i get fifty dollars a month to keep away from the old land. "have you a place to sleep to-night? got any baggage?" "no!" said phil, in answer to the second last question. "i haven't had time to look around yet. my baggage is at the station." "come then! let's get your stuff. my landlady has a spare room. i guess she'll be glad to let you have it. she's a decent sort, too." phil hesitated a moment. "if you haven't got the money, that won't matter." "i have a little;--a very little,--enough for a few days. i'm up here to find work." "well,--come along with me for the time being," said langford. "all right!" assented phil. and the two walked up main street together, up toward the railway tracks, past the barn phil had hidden in on his first, unofficial visit to vernock. "how,--how did you manage to beat off those cowpunchers?" asked phil. "easy as breathing! i once punched the heart out of that rotter mcgregor. beat a man once, good and plenty, and it isn't hard beating him again. and that doesn't only refer to fighting, either. but say! if i didn't know you were a stranger hereabout, i would have said rob roy's picking on you was a put up job." a pang shot through phil at the suggestion, and it set him wondering. "first thing you've got to do, young fellow, is to get up your strength and go back and lick the stuffing out of that scum. if you don't, your life won't be worth living in vernock." phil laughed. "that's straight goods!" returned langford, his scottish burr turning the western phrase strangely. "well--i don't mind if i do," said phil. they called in at the railway depot, and phil got his two grips. "ralston!--what kind of business do you follow? hope you aren't a pen-pusher, because pen-pushing isn't for you for some time to come. what you need is something out in the open. you seem to have played merry hell with your constitution. i'm skin and bone myself, but i'm not the fattening kind. i'm built for speed. now your frame's made for muscle and flesh, and you haven't a pick of meat on your entire carcass." phil smiled in an embarrassed kind of way. "don't mind me," continued langford. "you'll get on to my way after a bit. what's your line of trade?" "well, to be honest," said phil, "i haven't any. i came out here to try anything. i'm an m.a. of toronto university; have substituted in school; can clear land if i get my own time to it; have a pretty fair knowledge of accounting; but haven't done much of anything so far. i used to be a good athlete." it was langford's turn to smile. "another poor, hand-fed chicken out of the university incubator, who can do everything but what he is meant to do--lay eggs, golden ones. say, ralston, the world is full of us and we're little or no damned good. we know too much, or think we do, to be contented with the pick and shovel game, and we don't know enough--because we think we know it all already--to get down to the steady grind year in and year out, at some business that might ultimately bring us to an armchair job. so we go along with our noses to the ground snuffing for a convenient hole to crawl into. "oh, well!" he exploded, "who the devil wants to be tied up body and soul to some corporation all his life, for the sake of making a little money that somebody else is going to go to the dogs over after you have gone?" chapter v the wolf in sheep's clothing far enough up the hill to view the blossoming orchards all over the valley and the distant blue of the lake between the hills, langford stopped at a large, two-storied dwelling house set in expansive grounds and almost hidden among shade trees. he walked right in, and phil followed him. a matronly woman, of portly dimensions, met them in the hallway. "mrs. clunie," cried langford, "i've caught you a new, live lodger fresh off the train to-day. he will just fit the spare room over the way from mine." mrs. clunie looked her prospective tenant over critically. "mrs. clunie,--mr. ralston," continued langford. phil bowed, and mrs. clunie nodded in a strictly non-committal way. "his father is lord athelhurst-ralston of ecclefechan, mrs. clunie. he has come out here for his health." "mr. langford,--that'll do," said the landlady severely. "there was no' a ralston in the whole o' ecclefechan let alone a lord what-ye-call-him ralston, when i left twenty years syne, and i ha'e my doots if there's one there noo. don't be makin' a fool o' the young man. "where do ye come frae, laddie?" "i come from campbeltown, mrs. clunie." "what?--campbeltown on the mull o' kintyre,--then you must ha'e left there before you were shortened," she returned quickly. "campbeltown, ontario!" corrected phil. "oh,--ahee!--you're sober, respectable, law-abiding, and attentive to your work?" "i hope so." "as upright as mr. langford?" "oh, yes!" laughed phil, remembering langford's autobiography as he had heard it a short time ago. "i hope so," she returned pointedly, repeating phil's own words. "and he can say the shorter catechism and repeat the psalms of david by heart," put in langford sonorously. "mr. langford,--that'll do. scotsmen shouldna be flippant ower such serious subjects," the goodly mrs. clunie chided. "come up stairs and i'll show ye your room." she showed phil into a comfortable little place, fixed a price that suited his scanty purse, collected a month's rent on the spot--lest haply phil might run into temptation by having that much more money in his possession--and left the newcomer to his own devices. half an hour later, langford shouted to him from the hallway. "come on over, ralston, if you're awake." phil obeyed. "we've all had to go through what you did," said langford, "but mrs. clunie is worth it;--she's a crackerjack. how do you like the lay-out?" phil was busy taking in the physical features of langford's room. but for the bed and the bureau, the room was more like a study than a bedroom. it contained bookcases from floor to ceiling, packed with literary treasures. "my pals," said langford, pointing to two of them containing the classics of fiction, poetry and essays. "my enemies," he continued, nodding at the third bookcase, packed with books on law. "friends of mine," he went on, pointing to a pen and inkwell on a small writing table. he went over to one of the trunks that graced the window as seats. he raised the lid. it was filled to overflowing with rolls of paper, loose sheets and scraps, all closely written upon. "my babies," he laughed. "behold in me the most prolific mother in all literature!" "what are they?" inquired phil. "the offsprings of fancy," returned langford, grandiloquently; "essays, short stories, dramas, poems--all of no financial value. dime novels worth fifty dollars a time, but all cashed. advice to the love sick--five dollars a column--alas also unconvertible." phil stood before him a little nonplussed, while langford grinned and smoked on. "i suffer continually the mental pangs of literary childbirth." he sat in a chair and lounged dreamily as he puffed out clouds of smoke, his long legs sprawling out in front of him. "you're lucky to have such a talent," put in phil at last. "lucky! talent!" exclaimed langford. "i always understood literature was a lucrative pursuit." "pursuit,--yes;--but lucrative! ye gods! "you see, ralston, i suffer with my thoughts until i relieve myself by getting them down as best i can on paper, then i bury them in my trunk along with their elder brothers. i know i ought to burn them, but i haven't the heart to murder my children born in such travail. some day, however, it will have to be done, otherwise they'll crowd their father-mother out of house and home." "don't you try to market your work?" "i did once--many times once--but they would have none of my high-faluting flights, although as captain mayne plunkett, the writer of penny dreadfuls for the consumption of england's budding pirates and cowpunchers, i am not without a following, and i have a steady contract for one per month at fifty dollars straight. to a new york girls' journal, i am not unkindly thought of as aunt christina in the replies to the love lorn column,--five dollars per--." he laughed reflectively. "but don't you work?" asked phil innocently. "work! lord, isn't that work a-plenty?" "yes, but work that pays in real dollars and cents." "ah!" langford's eyes swept the ceiling. "meantime, i am what you might call assistant to the government agent. god knows how long he will suffer me. he is a real good sort, and doesn't expect too much for his money either in time or in ability. i knock about fifty dollars a month out of him when i work, and that, with the fifty with which my old dad so benevolently pensions me, together with fifty for every 'penny horrible' i write, i contrive to eke out a scanty living. "you've got to work, too, ralston; haven't you?" "work or starve!" answered phil. "i hate to think of any man having to work," mused langford, "but if starve is the only alternative, why, i guess you've got to find a job. got anything in view?" "no!" "particular about what you tackle?" "not at all!" "all right! i've to be at the court house at five o'clock. kick your heels around this little burg for a few hours and i'll try to scare up something for you. but don't get into mischief." he rose, knocked the ashes out of his pipe on the heel of his boot at the stove, and put on his hat. he turned at the door. "say, ralston! it won't be any pen-pushing job, mark you. you have to get your muscle up, for there's something i want you to do when you are good and fit." "and what is that?" "tell you later. so long!" a few minutes later phil got his hat from the hall-rack and strolled leisurely out, taking the road down the hill toward the main street of the town. he passed a red brick building which bore the aristocratic title on a large painted sign over the doorway, "municipal hall." he looked at the windows. hanging on one of them, in the inside, was a black card with gilt letters, "mayor brenchfield." phil's under lip shot out and his brow wrinkled. his hand travelled to his hip pocket, as a nervous man's does when he sees a sign in a railway station, "beware of pickpockets." he swung on his heel and walked up the wooden steps into the main office, as calm and collected as could be. "is the mayor in?" he asked one of the officials. "yes! wish to see him? what name, please?" "oh, just tell him it's an old friend." the office man went into the inner room and soon returned. "he is very busy on some special work. would you mind calling in again?" "anybody with him?" "no!" phil brushed past the man and walked straight into the mayor's office, closing the door behind him. brenchfield was sitting in an armchair, behind a desk, smoking a huge cigar and blowing clouds in the air; the very picture of municipal overwork. "thought it might be you! heard you were in town. sit down, phil!" "thanks, no!" returned phil brusquely. brenchfield reached over, opened a cheque book, took up a pen, dipped it in an inkwell, turned his cigar savagely to a corner of his mouth and looked up at his visitor inquiringly. "how much do you want?" phil smiled on him, half-pityingly. physically, he was tremendously weak, but he despised the man before him so much that it gave him courage and strength. "how much have you?" he asked. "none of your damned business!" "oh!--i guess you've forgotten that our five years' partnership is up:--a pool and a fair divide, wasn't it? share and share alike! well,--there's mine!" he threw a few bills and a little silver on the table. brenchfield pushed back his chair. "so that's your game, you poor miserable--you know the name!" "poor and miserable, all right,--like the fool i was. but i'm not a fool any more. i know you. i know the world just a little better than i did five years ago." "shut up, man! do you wish the whole town to hear?" "what if they do hear? i've nothing to hide;--i'm not like you." "and you'll be getting a little more of what you have already had, if you don't go easier than you are doing. see here!--i'm busy, but i'm willing to start you off. what's your price to get out of here for good and forget you ever knew me, and to forget me for all time to come?" "one-half of all you have, and interest to date,--i to stay here as long as i please." the mayor looked at phil as if he were looking at a lunatic, then he smiled and started in to fill up a cheque. "i owe you five hundred. i've tacked on a thousand more. there! the train leaves at : p.m. to-morrow. you get out on it. do you understand?" "thank you!--but this place suits me. i like it and i'm going to stay." "you are,--eh! if you don't get out with to-morrow's train you'll go out the day following, in a box, feet first." "yes! judging from what happened early this afternoon, i daresay you are quite equal to that kind of thing," said phil quietly. "but i'm going to stay all the same." "you won't get a job within twenty miles of vernock. if you do, you won't hold it, for every man in the district will know you for what you are,--an ex-jailbird." "who will tell them?" "i will." "no, you won't!" "won't i? try it out and i'll show you quick enough." phil went over to brenchfield's desk. "i suppose you think your tracks are pretty well covered up after five years." "i have none to cover," retorted brenchfield. "i don't know you personally; never did know you;--don't want to know you. i do know you by reputation for an escaped jailbird and a would-be blackmailer, who will be back where he belongs before he is much older. get that?" "yes,--i got it," answered phil, desperate, and almost beaten, when an imp in his mind set him busy. "i'm going to stay here, graham, and you're not going to try to prevent me or say a word that would injure my standing. if you do, then god help you." brenchfield laughed up at the ceiling. "five years ago," went on phil, "you wrote a little note in cypher and left it with me when you turned tail and ran away. maybe you have forgotten about that note. well,--written things have a habit of turning up." brenchfield's bravado oozed away. his hard face grew pale. "you're lying. you burned that note." "did i?" "if you didn't, it would have been found and would have come out in the evidence." "perhaps!" phil put his hand in the inside pocket of his jacket, as if to bring out the paper, then he appeared to change his mind, for he desisted and made as if to leave. brenchfield jumped up quickly, sprang for the door and stood with his back to it. "damn you! how much do you want?" "nothing!" "name your price and give me that note." "it is priceless." "good heavens, man!--you need money. you're a pauper. i can make you comfortable. i can get you a position that will make you secure for life." phil slowly picked up his own money that he had thrown on the desk and put it in his trouser pocket. "much obliged!" he remarked, "but i have no intention of remaining a pauper for long. i wouldn't insult my conscience by taking any position you could find for me. do you mind letting me out?" for answer, brenchfield was on him like a wild-cat. phil wriggled, but the mayor got behind him, with an arm pressing his throat and a hand over his mouth. with a quick movement and without the slightest noise he bore phil backward full length on the thickly carpeted floor. he moved his grip and, half strangling him with one hand as he knelt heavily on phil's chest, he went through phil's inside pocket. the pocket was empty. phil could not cry out, and would not have done so had he been able. slowly brenchfield searched every pocket in turn. he failed to find a document of any kind. he released him at last, rose and brushed the dust from his trousers, breathing heavily. "damn you!--i knew you lied." phil got up also. "guess you take me for a fool such as i used to be," he panted. "i don't carry my valuables with me now when i visit your kind. i have more sense. now, do you mind letting me out?" brenchfield made as if he were going to strike phil in his anger. "if i thought you had that paper, i'd kill you for it." "and, if you thought i hadn't, you'd hound the life out of me. well,--do your darnedest." "the money offer still holds good," said brenchfield in a more conciliatory tone. "keep your mouth shut and i'll do the same. let me know when you are ready to name your price for that paper." "when i need the money, i'll let you know," replied the other. brenchfield opened the door, and smiling an urbane mayoral "good afternoon," that all in the main office could hear, he ushered phil out. chapter vi a bird to pluck as he walked down main street toward the kenora hotel, where it was his intention to have a bite to eat, phil congratulated himself inwardly, on the one side, on the more than ordinary success of his gigantic bluff--for he knew that so long as he was able to hold this bogey of a confession as a club over the head of brenchfield, he was safe from open interference:--on the other side, he cursed his arrant stupidity and childlike simplicity in destroying a document which, even if he never used it, proved beyond the shadow of a doubt his innocence of the crime for which he had been imprisoned. he tried hard to recollect exactly what had happened that fatal morning after brenchfield had left the shack on the side of the road at carnaby, but all was more or less hazy and indistinct. he remembered deciphering the note and crumpling it up in his despair and worry. later, he recollected gathering up the loose papers and other material evidences of brenchfield's guilt, stuffing them into the stove and setting them alight. as he walked along his musings were brought to an abrupt stop, as his eye caught sight of a tall, straight, picturesque-looking individual coming toward him. the man was dressed in what at one time had been an immaculate sporting suit, but which, in its now battered and tattered state, gave the wearer the look of a bookmaker who had been dragged through a mud puddle and then hung out to dry. the man's wide sombrero was battered, his stock around his neck was dirty, the brass buttons on his robin-redbreast waistcoat were dull and tarnished, his riding breeches and leggings seemed sworn enemies of brush and polish. but despite all this, one could not get away from the fact that everything the man wore was of the very best and most expensive materials. he stepped up in front of phil apologetically. his voice was attractively musical and exceedingly english. "excuse me, old chap! i'm a stranger here. i'm deuced dirty and devilish hungry. do you mind directing me to a good hotel where i could get a wash and a jolly good tuck in?" "certainly," said phil. "i think the kenora's all right. i'm going that way myself for a snack, if you care to come along." "thanks! jolly decent! don't mind if i do!" he turned with phil, and as they went on together he took a little silver case from his pocket and handed a card to phil. "my name! what's yours?" phil scanned the card and smiled. percival derue hannington the oaks mount raeburn hants "sorry i haven't a card," he said. "my name's ralston, phil ralston." "don't mention it, old chap! they don't cotton much to cards out here, i notice." he wrung phil's hand heartily. a little cord was hanging round percival hannington's neck and led to a top pocket of his vest. phil felt positive it terminated in a monocle and, as the stranger's fingers wandered down the cord, phil, in his dread of what was about to happen, laid his hand restrainingly over the travelling fingers. "don't!" he pleaded. "they don't cotton to that, either, out here." the stranger flushed a little. "by jove,--you're right. thanks! habits are beastly things, you know. better rid myself of all my old ties if i'm to start afresh, eh!" he pulled out the monocle, jerked the cord from his neck, snapped the glass between his fingers and tossed the lot into the roadway. something in the spontaneous act went to phil's heart and he felt from that moment that here was a man he could like despite his strange exterior. they passed through the bar of the kenora, which was the only way one could get admittance to that hotel unless by the back door among empty cans and kitchen garbage. the strange apparition of the englishman reduced everyone in the saloon to funereal silence. phil bravely led the way, however, without mishap, except for a distant shout of laughter which reached them at the dining-room. phil spoke to the hotel clerk, who shouted for the bell boy. "follow that boy," said phil. "he will fix you up." "thanks! if you don't mind, i should like to have my bite with you, old chap. i won't be a jiffy." and off he strutted after the grinning boy, while phil sat in five minutes' dreamy contemplation. back came percival derue hannington, spick and span as far as a clothes-brush and soap and water could make him. "by jove! it's a corker how much dirt can stick to a fellow without falling off," he remarked. "what are you having?" phil named something light. "that all?" asked hannington. "i'm hungry as a blooming hawk. i haven't had a decent bite for three months. "everything on the blessed calendar for me, miss, frills and extras included," he went on, addressing the waitress, who went away with the end of her apron in her mouth. "you know, mister--mister----" "phil ralston!" "ah, yes! mister phil----" "just plain phil!" "phil--yes, excuse me! you know, i came out to this bally country on false pretences, as it were. oh,--the country's all right! don't misunderstand me. it's a regular ripper, but, damme, i got done, you know." the soup came along, and derue hannington fumbled for his monocle but suddenly seemed to remember that it was no longer a part of him. he blundered awkwardly a while, as if he had suddenly been deprived of one of his active members. "it's this way, mister, eh, phil. the guv'nor thought i was going the pace too hard and becoming a bally rotter, so he said i had to go out west and be a rawncher. he said it just like that,--as if being a rawncher was as easy as being a rotter. "are you a rawncher?" "no! it takes money to be that." "you're a foreman, or a cowboy, or something?" "no,--i'm not anything yet," smiled phil. "i'm just starting in. i've lately finished my college training." the irony in his voice was lost on derue hannington who was too full of his own troubles to worry about those of anyone else. "well, you see,--when the dad and i had that tiff, i just took him on. "i saw an advertisement of a rawnching chap in a london journal, offering to take on an englishman as an apprentice and teach him everything about rawnching for three years for five hundred dollars a year. i just cabled that fellow and got his answer to come right away. and here i got three months ago." all the time he was speaking, hannington was eating ravenously but with the ease and daintiness of one whose table manners were an eternal part of him. "the rawncher met me at the station with two horses. not a blessed wagon or a thing to carry my luggage did the bounder have. it is lying at the station yet;--at least it was last time i called in there. the fellow took my five hundred dollars, then took me twenty miles up over these everlasting hills. a thousand miles in the bally wilderness! "of course, you know, phil, i will admit i was deuced raw." phil laughed. derue hannington's good nature asserted itself and he laughed, too. after a while, he went on. "this rawnching johnnie's name was duff. you don't happen to know him?" phil shook his head. "well,--he put me in the charge of mrs. duff, and she set me to paring potatoes, washing the floors, scouring pots and pans, wringing clothes and all that sort of rot; till, one day, i just said to duff that i'd come west to rawnch, not to skivvy. "of course, i'll admit, i didn't know an apple tree from a cauliflower, but, damme, i was game to learn, phil. don't you think i did right to jolly-well remonstrate?" "you certainly did!" thus encouraged, derue hannington continued: "he then put me to digging, and digging, and digging, till the cows came home, then to weeding, and weeding, and weeding, miles and miles of rows and rows of beastly carrots and things until i can't look an honest carrot in the face or a potato in the eye without feeling faint. "i really didn't seem to be learning anything, but i stuck it gamely until three days ago, when mr. and mrs. duff went off to visit a neighbour five miles up the valley. they left me to look after the blooming squawking baby. that just got me real mad, so when it started in to bawl, i sat down and wrote a note saying i was through. i pinned it to the baby,--and, here i am. "don't you think i did the right thing?" "you bet!" answered phil, striving hard to suppress his bubbling merriment. "they cawn't make me serve my three years out, can they, phil?" queried derue hannington, anxiously. "not they! why, all they wanted was your five hundred dollars. they'll be glad to be quit of you." the englishman perked up. "they're welcome to the money. but i'm not through rawnching, you know. you see i've got the worst over now and i'm feeling quite a westerner. you don't happen to know anyone who has a good rawnch for sale?--one with a decent sort of a house and stables, and lots of fruit trees on it. i've got the money in the bank, you know, and could pay cash for it. i really think i could run a rawnch now." "no,--i haven't the slightest idea!" returned phil. "but it shouldn't be a hard job getting a ranch, if you have the money. there are always lots of people ready to sell goods for cash. take my advice, though; don't be in too great a hurry." phil rose to go. derue hannington followed him to the saloon, where phil shook hands and left him. as he passed out at the door he heard the voice of the stranger raised above the general conversation of the saloon. "excuse me, but have any of you good fellows any idea where a chap could buy a good rawnch for cash?" phil threw up his hands in despair and walked on, knowing that percival derue hannington had still a lot to learn about ranching and about those who had ranches to sell. chapter vii wild man hanson goes wild jim langford was waiting for phil at mrs. clunie's. "where the sam hill have you been, phil? i've been looking for you everywhere. got a job yet?" "no,--not even the scent of one!" "want one?" "you bet!" "hard work and start to-morrow?" "sure thing! where is it? what is it? who is it? tell me quick! i'm aching to work for real money, for more reasons than one." "royce pederstone, the blacksmith, is quitting being an active blacksmith any more. he is putting wildman hanson in charge, and hanson's job is going a-begging." "wildman hanson! that sounds good for a start, jim." "and it's as good as it sounds, too, young fellow, my lad. i'm not going to tell you anything about his 'wildman' tricks. you'll find that out for yourself in good time. but he's a crackerjack blacksmith and can show you all of the trade that is worth showing." "i haven't the strength to be a smith." "not now;--but you have the frame and you've got to build on it. "the job's worth twenty dollars a week to start, and it's yours for the taking. i did the asking from hanson this morning. are you on?" "of course i'm on." "all right!--six o'clock to-morrow morning at pederstone's shop, one block down the hill and two blocks to the left." langford chuckled. "what are you grinning at?" asked phil. "oh,--just thinking what you'll be able to do with that rusty-headed, son-of-a-gun mcgregor after a month or two under hanson." "thanks! i've had some mcgregor, and i'm not greedy. i'm not at all anxious for more." "what? see here, phil,--you've got to beat that lobster stiff if it takes you a year. it took me all i knew to turn the trick, and i had to keep off drink for six months to do it, but there was something inside of me that just wouldn't stay quiet till i licked the stuffing out of him. he's a bully. he's the craftiest, sneakiest, most underhand skunk in the valley. he's at the bottom of most of the trouble with cattle and feed hereabout, but he's too damned wary to be caught. "i'm surprised at the mayor having anything to do with him. but, of course, the mayor's a cattleman himself, and, give rob roy mcgregor his due, there isn't a better man on stock this side of calgary." "and i've to go blacksmithing with the set purpose of eating this fellow up?" "no, you're going blacksmithing for the purpose of setting yourself up, you rickle of bones! licking mcgregor can be your side line. when you beat him, you'll know you are in pretty good shape." "all right,--i'm on!" agreed phil. "but who is this royce pederstone? why is he giving up his work?" "who? why? and wherefore? at times you're a regular bairn for asking questions, but when you're wanted to talk you're as silent as the tomb. "royce pederstone has been here since the flood. he's a good blacksmith, only he never finishes a job. if he is making a gate, he stops at the last rivet and hanson has to drive it home. if he is shoeing a horse, he forgets a nail. if he is making a fish hook, he omits the barb. it is the same with his land deals; he buys land and, for the time being, forgets he owns it so far as selling again is concerned. then he buys some more whenever he has the ready cash. it is all working for him,--so he says. he owns more earth than he has any idea of. he doesn't know how much stock he has; doesn't even knows what happens to his farm implements once he pays for them; in some cases doesn't know if they have been delivered to him. often he finds some of them when the snow goes away in the spring time. there are many things he doesn't know; all the same it isn't safe to take too many chances on what he passes up." "then he has got too rich for blacksmithing?" "not he! royce pederstone is not that kind of a man, phil. he is just too busy. he is going to be the next member of parliament from the valley. watch and see! "the new election comes off in three months' time. last week the association met to elect their representative. some were for barrington of armstrong, others for brenchfield the mayor. they couldn't agree. royce pederstone was chairman of the meeting. at midnight they were as far off a decision as ever. someone proposed john royce pederstone, and it carried without a dissenting voice. "he's a cracking good man, is pederstone, on the platform. he is straight, honest and more or less of a farmer. ben todd, the editor, is hand and glove with him, so he will have _the vernock and district advertiser_ at his back. "the old government is sure to be kicked out of office, if only to give the people a change; so, who is going to keep royce pederstone from being the valley's representative at victoria, i should like to know?" "and that's why he's stepping out of the blacksmith's shop?" put in phil. "yes!--that's the why, boy." next morning at six o'clock phil, in the company of jim langford, presented himself at pederstone's forge. "hullo!" cried jim, "that's funny. not open yet!" the front door was heavily barred across. they went to the back entrance. it also was firmly secured. langford shielded his face with his hand and peered through the narrow, barred windows. "well, i'll be darned!" he exclaimed. "and on your first morning, too! hard luck, phil!" "why,--what is it?" "oh, nothing much! only i fancy you're going to see why your new boss is called wildman hanson. "look in there." phil did so. "what did you see?" phil puckered his face in disgust. "not much wildman there," he remarked. "as far as i can see hanson is sound asleep on a pile of coke. there are two empty bottles at his side. seems to me he might be dead drunk." "that's what he is, too." "then let's go in and throw a bucket of water over him and wake him up." "not on your life! then there _would_ be a funeral. i guess you had better postpone your start till to-morrow. only one man in vernock can handle hanson after he's had a night of it, and that man's the mayor. man to man, hanson has him shaded. with a rope in his hand, the mayor is the best man." voices behind them made them turn round. royce pederstone and mayor brenchfield were riding down the side road as if on some definite bent. they were equipped as for a round-up. "how do, jim! is this hanson's new apprentice?" asked pederstone, bending over his horse and shaking hands genially with phil. "glad to meet you, young man, and sorry this has happened on your first day. hanson only goes on the toot once in a long while. you must just forget what you are going to see in a few minutes and think later only of what he shows you of blacksmithing." brenchfield completely ignored phil's presence. the two men got off their horses. royce pederstone turned the water on at the tap at the trough, to which a hose was already attached. he directed the nozzle through a broken window pane, squirting a thin, strong stream directly on the upturned face of the open-mouthed and heavily-breathing swede. with a grunt the huge fellow spread himself. the mayor jerked off the water, then he and royce pederstone sprang on their horses and took up positions at different sides of the yard. jim and phil in curiosity kept their eyes glued to the dirty window. growling fiercely, hanson scrambled to his feet. his usually handsome and childlike face was contorted with rage and horrible to see. his eyes, bloodshot and bleared, stood out wildly in his head, his teeth showed like the teeth of a snarling puma and a foamy lather slithered from his mouth down on to his huge, hairy, muscle-heaving chest. he stood over six feet--a man of gigantic proportions, with every inch of him tuned and in perfect symmetry. but he seemed madness incarnate. with a fierce oath, he wiped the water from his face. he staggered and bumped into an anvil, striking his knee against the metal. he swore again and, in his mounting anger, he seized the anvil in his great hands, lifted it bodily from its stand and heaved it into a corner--a feat which four strong men, at any time, would have experienced difficulty in performing. "great cæsar!" whispered phil in awe. "after a booze, he's as strong as a railway engine," returned jim, "and he goes plumb daffy. murder or anything else doesn't matter a hill of beans to him at a time like this." "that sounds exceedingly pleasant." "pshaw!--you needn't mind. you'll know in lots of time, for he's happy and gentle as a lark when he's really boozing. it is only when he wakes up the morning after--after a ten hours' sleep--that the fun begins. "he killed a horse once with his bare hands. got on its back and strangled it somehow. he half-killed the old police chief. he got a year in jail for that. they were going to send him to an asylum afterwards, but he was such a fine workman and so decent at an ordinary time, that royce pederstone and the mayor gave their guarantees and promised to attend to him any time he tried his monkey-doodle business again." meantime, hanson walked over to the front door and tested it. then he came toward the back one. "run!" shouted langford, suiting prompt action to his word. phil remained a moment or two longer, trusting to his nimbleness of foot for emergency. he saw hanson stoop and pick up a great, heavy, sledge, then spring madly to the back door, swinging the big hammer above his head. with a shivering crash the woodwork splintered. phil turned to run. another great crash and the whole door and its fastenings tumbled outward, and that giant piece of infuriated humanity stood looking about him, framed in the broken woodwork. phil heard a warning shout, as he rushed headlong. but his toe caught on an iron girder and he came down heavily on his face. as he sprang to his feet again he heard further shouting all about him. he turned his head. hanson was springing toward him and making on him with a speed phil could not realise in a man so weighty; a speed he could not begin to emulate. the great hairy hands were almost on his coat, when something happened. he staggered, balanced himself and stood up sheepishly. hanson was on the ground, struggling, cursing and kicking viciously at a rope which royce pederstone had cast smartly round his left foot. pederstone tugged with all his strength, and his horse lent her weight, but together they could do no more than hold their own with the fallen vulcan. hanson brought out a clasp-knife from his clothes, opened it and slashed at the rope. he had it almost cut through, when brenchfield, who had been sitting on his horse an inactive and silent spectator--in response to pederstone's urgent call, whirled his rope around his head several times and dropped it deftly over hanson's shoulders, pinning his arms helplessly to his side. brenchfield then tugged in one direction and royce pederstone in the other, each tying the end of his rope tightly to a stake at his side of the yard, with the result that the madman was half hamstrung and reduced to impotence. langford came round the side of the building with fresh ropes. these were quickly bound round hanson, until he was unable to move hand or foot, although he still struggled violently, the veins in his neck and head standing out in blue knots, the perspiration running over his shapely forehead and the frothy slither again oozing from his lips. "say, graham!--what went wrong? why didn't you rope him? thought you said you would take first throw." "did i?" asked brenchfield calmly. "sure you did! it might have been a serious accident. it isn't often you make a forget like that, old man." "oh, pshaw!--what's the odds anyway? everything was all right." "was--yes! but it might have been all day with the new man." "no chance! i had that cinched. anyway, he had no right dawdling at the window as long as he did." "here, you two scrapping schoolboys--forget it!" interposed langford. "i fancy phil knows how to look after himself without either of you." on the instructions of pederstone, the four men carried the trussed hanson into a nearby stable, where they made him fast with fresh ropes to some heavy stanchions. when all was secure, hanson was left to regain his normal, pederstone turning the key in the lock for further security. "guess that's all this time, ped," said brenchfield. "all through--thanks, graham!" returned pederstone, and brenchfield rode off in deep thought. as a blacksmith, the mayor felt that phil was easy and safe for him, although he did not like the intimacy that seemed to have sprung up so soon between phil and jim langford, for langford was a strange composite, capable of anything or nothing; clever; altogether an unknown quantity, but one well worth the watching closely. "do you want phil to-day now this has happened?" asked jim of royce pederstone. "sure thing!--if he hasn't changed his mind about working?" "not me!" answered phil. "all right!" said jim. "me for the court house. i'm only a couple of hours late now. see you later, phil!" royce pederstone went into the forge, doffed his coat, rolled up his sleeves and put on his leather apron. phil followed suit with an apron of hanson's, and soon the doors were wide open, the fires blowing and the anvil ringing, drowning the groans and shouts that came from hanson as he lay like a trussed fowl in the adjoining stable. "i'm sorry this has taken place on the first day of your apprenticeship, young man, but it has been pending for some time. after this is over, you won't be afraid to be left with hanson, i hope. he'll be all right in a few hours, and very much ashamed of himself you will find him." "i'm not afraid," said phil. "i am just beginning to discover that fear is the greatest devil we have to contend with and that the less we worry about it the less real and the more a mere bogey it becomes." "true for you, phil. and the older you grow the more you'll realise the wisdom of what you say. "well, it is just a year since hanson had his last drinking bout. i was beginning to think he had got completely over it. he is not likely to break out again for ever so long." "what is it exactly that gets him?" asked phil. "oh,--likes drink once in a while, but drink doesn't like him;--that's all. it goes to his brain somehow. do you think you could manage him if he took you unawares?" "i could try," answered phil. "that's the way to talk. and you've got the frame to work on, too. can you throw a rope?" "i used to when i was a kid. i guess, with a little practice, i still could do it pretty well." "well,--practise in your spare time. it is handy to be able to throw a rope in this valley. and it doesn't cost anything carrying the ability about with you. can you use your fists?" "yes!--tolerably well." "good for you! now all you need is to be able to use your head and everything will be o. k." all that day, royce pederstone worked like the real village blacksmith he was; shoeing horses, repairing farm implements, bolting, riveting and welding; showing phil all he could in the short time he had with him, telling him--because it was uppermost in his mind--just a little of his electioneering plans and what he intended doing for the okanagan valley in the way of irrigation, railroads and public buildings; instilling in his apprentice an enthusiasm for his new work and making for himself at the same time another friend and political booster; for phil was quick to appreciate the kindliness of this sturdy, pioneering type of man and he felt drawn to him by that strange, attractive sub-conscious essence which flows from all who are born to lead, an hypnotic current which is one of the first essentials of all men who can ever hope successfully to carry out any good or big undertaking for, or with, their fellow men; the ability with the triple qualities--to interest, to attract, to hold,--making one feel that it is good to be within the dominant influence, if only for a time. and all day long, in the barn at the rear of the smithy, wildman hanson kept up his groaning, and moaning, and cursing; shouting at the top of his voice that he was being murdered, and threatening a separate strangling to half a dozen men whom he called by name, talking to them as if they were by his side. towards closing time, a brilliant burst of evening sunshine flooded the smithy, and with it came one whose radiating charm made the sun for a moment slide back to second place. "hullo, dad!" she cried. "i thought you weren't going to work here any more?" "hullo, eilie! i thought so, too, but----oh, eileen, this is phil." eileen pederstone looked in admonishing surprise at her father. "i beg pardon! mr. ralston, our new man,--my daughter, miss eileen!" the young lady bowed sedately to phil, who was standing a mere dark silhouette against the glare of the furnace fire. but eileen was in the full glow of the flames and, as phil looked into her face, he gasped for breath and his heart commenced to thump under his open shirt. it was the face of the good samaritan, the good fairy that had of late so often been pictured in his mind in the day-time, the face that smiled to him at night through his dreams. in a flash, he saw himself again; bearded, unkempt, ragged, faint and hunted, groping for support against the wall of the little kitchen in the bungalow up on the hill; the sweet vision of the fearless maid whose heart had opened in practical sympathy to his broken appeal for succour, her ready response and---- but he pushed his crowding thoughts away, for he was standing before her--pale, mute and almost foolish. he bowed, not daring to raise his eyes to hers lest she should recognise him. but he need not have feared on that score, for to her he was merely the clean-cut outline of a shadow;--but even had it not been so, the difference between the young, beardless man before her and the haggard, broken convict whom she had befriended that night was greater by far than phil even could have imagined. fortunately for his peace of mind, a sudden cry from the stable burst in on the momentary quietness. eileen turned her head quickly, then she ran over to her father anxiously and held his arms. "dad,--what is that?" "hush, dearie!--it's hanson." "but--but where is he?" she asked. "in the barn, tied up good and tight,--quite safe." "but it isn't right, daddy, to tie a man up like that. he's not a beast, and he's a kind-hearted decent fellow when he is well." "when he is well, eilie,--yes! but he isn't well. better for him that we tie him up for a day every once in a while, than confine him in a lunatic asylum for the term of his natural life. that is what would have to be otherwise." "don't you think he might be better now, daddie?" she pleaded. "yes!--i guess he is getting pretty nearly wised up now. he has stopped his swearing and yelling. that's a good sign. that last cry of his was the first for half an hour. you run along home, girlie, and phil and i will go in and see how he is." "you won't keep him tied up there all night, dad?" "not unless i can't help it, eilie." she pouted and stamped her foot impatiently. "i just won't go home till you tell me for sure. i couldn't sleep if i thought a man was roped up all night like he is now." her father smiled indulgently. "foolish little woman! you sleep other nights, yet every minute of the days and nights you live there are men all over the world who, both literally and metaphorically, are chained, and roped, and lashed, and dungeoned; men whose lives are a racking agony, to whom day and night are alike--all night--men who have no prospect of relief to-morrow, whose only release is death, and the release they long and pray for seems never to come. and many of them are men who have done no wrong, unless it be wrong to offend a potentate, to have an opinion of your own, to have the courage to express it; to object to laws and customs which should have been scrapped a thousand years ago. "hanson there knows his weakness. he has asked and begged us, in his sober moments, to be sure to do this very thing to him as a personal kindness. to-morrow his heart will be flooding with gratitude to know that he has got through with it without doing anyone any harm." "yes, daddie, yes! but won't you go to see if he cannot be released to-night?" she pleaded. "sure, girlie, if it will please you. wait here!" the sturdy smith took down the key from a nail in the wall and went out. eileen switched her attention to phil. "have you been long in the valley, mr. ralston?" phil was afraid of his voice, so he answered in a deeper intonation than was his usual. "just a few days, miss." "and you're a blacksmith?" "not yet, miss pederstone!" phil grinned to himself and felt slightly more confident. "i hope to be, some day." eileen seemed surprised. "haven't you been blacksmithing before? why, my father started to learn his trade when he was fourteen years old." "do i seem so terribly old then?" asked phil. "oh, no!--not that exactly, but old to be starting in to learn a trade. sol hanson isn't so very much older than you can be, but he has been a journeyman smith ever since i have known him." she stopped. "oh, i don't know----you mustn't mind what i say, mr. ralston. i guess i am a bit of a silly. i let my foolish tongue run away with me at times. i just say what i feel; just what comes to my mind." "if everyone did that," remarked phil, "we should have less dissension in the world." "and we would make lots of enemies," she put in. "we might offend those we think are our friends, and we might alarm each other by mirroring our tremendous deficiencies, but, in the finish, it would make for sincerity and truthfulness--two qualities of nature sadly in the background nowadays. don't you agree with me?" "of course you are right!" said eileen, "but you talk so earnestly one would almost imagine that you had suffered at some time through the insincerity and untruthfulness of one you had trusted." this was getting too near home for phil. "none of us have to live very long to do that. i have often thought, though, that if, when we looked into the mirror, we could see our natures as well as our reflected features, our conceit would suffer a severe shock." "a woman, maybe!" said eileen, "but nothing can ever cure mortal man of his conceit." "you think a man more conceited than a woman?" "assuredly!" phil laughed, and the laugh rang in his own natural tone. eileen pederstone stopped. her brows wrinkled as if some little chord of memory had suddenly been struck. phil also dropped back into an awkward silence. a noise outside roused both of them, and royce pederstone crossed the yard, followed by hanson. the latter refused to come inside when he knew miss pederstone was there. "better run home, eilie,--out the front way!" "is he all right, daddy?" "yes,--back to normal." "oh, i'm so glad. you won't be long?" "fifteen minutes!" "good night, mr. ralston!" she said, scrutinizing him in slight perplexity. "good night!" returned phil, still keeping to the shadows. chapter viii like man, like horse with the passing days, phil found sol hanson a man of rugged simplicity, as full of fun and frolic as a child; a man strong as a lion, an excellent blacksmith and, what was more to phil's advantage, a kind and unselfish teacher who was willing to impart to his willing pupil--as john royce pederstone had been--all he knew of his ancient, noble and virile calling. phil, with a natural aptitude and a delight in at last doing work of a practical nature, was soon able to shoe a horse, temper and weld iron, bolt and rivet a gate and mend broken farm implements with considerable skill, much to the open-minded and childlike hanson's pleasure and astonishment. phil gloried in the knowledge of returning vigour and in the steadily increasing size and power of his biceps. his bones no longer showed an anxiety to burst through his skin. the tired ache, after a little exertion, was no longer with him. his chest broadened by inches and his body took on the buoyancy and elasticity that were his real birthright, but of which the close confinement of ukalla had almost robbed him for good. jim langford delighted in this physical change even more than did phil himself. he insisted on sparring and wrestling with phil in the evenings; and, when the latter began more and more to hold his own, jim chuckled and chuckled to himself in anticipation of some amusing future event he knew was sure to come along sooner or later. when these amusements palled, they threw their latent energies into the roping of a post in the long-suffering mrs. clunie's orchard, and later the moving and more elusive objects on the ranges. all this time, phil saw little or nothing of mayor brenchfield, for his were busy days, and brenchfield's fields of operation were seldom within the confines of the blacksmith shop. only once had eileen pederstone visited the forge since her father had gone on his electioneering campaign, and that was one afternoon during phil's dinner hour when she had run in hurriedly to have her horse shod. she was just mounting to ride off as phil returned, hanson having attended to her needs. but her bright smile of remembrance and the wave of salutation with her riding crop left something pleasant with phil that lingered near him till closing time. the next day he heard casually that she had joined her father on his tour of the valley. and he heard something else that disturbed him more; although, why it should do so, he could not really understand, for it was no affair of his. he heard that mayor brenchfield had been invited--and had accepted the invitation--to attach himself to the royce pederstone party in order to give the candidate the support of his fluent tongue and widespread influence. somehow phil resented brenchfield's apparent friendliness with the pederstones. to his mind, eileen pederstone was too trusting, too straight, and honest, and pure-minded to be even for a little time in the company of a man of the stamp of brenchfield. he often wondered at the tremendous wall of protection which brenchfield seemed to have raised about himself, and he puzzled as to where the breach in that wall might be--for of a breach somewhere he was certain. he wondered who would be first to find it, when it would be likely to be widened and carried. and after his wondering came the hope and the determination that he would be there to lend a hand at the storming of the stronghold. but these were not consuming desires with phil. he had a life of work ahead of him; he had lost time to make up; he had ambitions to fulfil; great things to do; there were fortunes to be won by determination, shrewdness and ability, and he was not going to be behind in the winning of one of them. that was the day sol hanson was called out to repair some machinery belonging to the evaporating company, leaving phil alone to run the smithy as best he could. he had been only a few hours at work when mayor brenchfield flung himself from his gigantic thoroughbred and came forward into the shop, smiling amiably. "well, phil!--so you're learning to be a blacksmith. pretty hard work--isn't it, old man?" phil stopped and looked across at him. when brenchfield was most pleasant, he knew that was the time for him to be most on his guard. "it is more honest than some work i could name." "poof!--any fool can be a smith. why don't you get into something worth while?" "this suits me!" "you're devilish snappy, phil. what the hell's the matter with you, anyway? can't you be civil to royce pederstone's customers? do you want to turn away business?" "stick to business and it will be all right. there is nothing outside of that that i want to talk to you about." brenchfield threw out his bulky chest and smiled, as he walked toward the back door. suddenly he wheeled round, put his fingers into his vest pocket and pulled out a piece of blue paper. "phil,--aren't you going to let bygones be bygones? i'll make it well worth your while. there's going to be big things doing here and i can put you wise." to show how little he thought of the suggestion, phil commenced hammering on his anvil and so drowned brenchfield's voice. the latter came over and laid his hand on phil's arm. "if you can't stop being foolish, you might at least be mannerly," he commented. "yes?" "here,--take this!" "what is it?" asked phil. "look and see!" phil took the paper and opened it out. it was a cheque for fifteen hundred dollars. "what's this for?" brenchfield threw out his arm casually. "just to let bygones be bygones!" "no other tags on it, eh?" asked phil dubiously. "not a damned tag!" phil held it in his hand as if weighing the matter over, while brenchfield watched him narrowly. "here's its twin brother, phil!" he handed another cheque over. it was for fifteen hundred dollars also. "and this one? what's it for?" "that's to get out of here on to-morrow's train and to stay out." "uhm!" answered phil. "that makes three thousand dollars." brenchfield's face took on a little more confidence. he knew the temptation proffered money held for the average man. only, he forgot that he was not dealing in averages with phil ralston. "i've one more--a sort of big brother!" he remarked, handing over cheque number three. phil opened it up and whistled. "pheugh! seven--thousand--dollars! coming up, eh? this must be the price of suicide or a murder, graham." the mayor frowned, but he held rein on his temper. "that's for a little piece of paper in cipher. it is more than you'll save all your life." phil put the three cheques neatly together, folded them up and went over to the furnace. he placed them between some glowing coals and pushed them home with a bar of iron. he swung round just in time, for brenchfield was almost on him. the latter grinned viciously for a moment, then let his clenched hands drop to his sides. "i can make or break you; and, by heavens! you've made your own choice. i'll break you till you squeal,--then there will be no ten thousand dollars. it will be get out and be-damned to you." "go to it," replied phil easily, "it's your move." brenchfield walked to the door. "come out and have a look at my horse!" he shouted over his shoulder. "she wants shoeing all round." phil followed to where the sleek, black animal was securely tied to a hitching post. phil had heard of this particular horse of brenchfield's. she was the fastest piece of horseflesh in the valley. she was a beauty, but as vicious with her teeth as she was treacherous with her feet. she had the eye of a devil. no one had been found who could ride her save brenchfield and no one could groom her but her owner. several had tried; one had been killed outright, one lamed permanently and others gave up before they were compelled to. "so this is beelzebub?" asked phil. "yes!" "guess you had better bring her back to-morrow when hanson is here." "can't you shoe a horse?" "some horses!" brenchfield laughed sarcastically. "tie her up in the frame then," said phil, "and i'll do it. hanson told me she always has to be shod in that way." brenchfield laughed again. "a bright blacksmith you are!" he grunted. the young smith's face flushed angrily. "all right!" he retorted, "leave her where she is. there isn't any horse or anything else belonging to you or connected with you,--and including you--that i can't put shoes on." phil went over to look more closely at the animal, as the mayor went to her head and stroked her nose. "sure you're not scared? she's a heller!" phil walked round her without answering. he was at her rear, closer than he should have been, when brenchfield suddenly reached and whispered a peculiar, grating, german-like, guttural sound in the mare's ear. like lightning her ears went back, her eyes spurted fire, a thrill ran through her body and her two hind feet shot into the air. brenchfield shouted warningly. phil, only half alert, sprang aside. the iron-ringed hoofs flashed past him, one biting along his cheek and ripping it an eighth of an inch deep. phil staggered to the wall, as the horse continued to plunge and rear in a paroxysm of madness. her owner tried to pacify her, but he made little headway with the job. "good lord, man! as a man working among horses don't you know better than to hang around the flanks of one of her kind like that? if she had hit you, it would have been all day with you." phil pulled himself together. "do you think so?" he remarked in a much more casual tone than he felt. "it looked for a minute like a bad accident." "it looked to me like attempted murder," retorted phil. brenchfield frowned, but ignored the opening. "she's a vicious devil. she takes turns like that occasionally when a stranger is near her." "you mean _you_ give her turns like that occasionally?" put in phil suggestively. at that moment, jim langford sauntered round the smithy building into the yard. "hullo! a love-feast going on! what's the argument, fellows? what have you been doing to your cheek, phil?" the mayor growled. "this blacksmith pal of yours thought he could shoe beelzebub. she's got a mad streak on and pretty nearly laid him out. now he blames me for rousing her, as if she needs any rousing." "and so you did! i'm not blind or deaf. i saw you and heard you as well." brenchfield laughed and tapped his forehead significantly to langford. but langford did not respond. "you mean, phil, that the mayor knows what they call 'the horse word'?" "he seems to possess _one_ of them, at any rate," replied phil. "so there are two of them?" laughed jim. "there ought to be, if there are any at all;--just as there is hot and cold, day and night, right and wrong, good and bad, positive and negative." "that sounds reasonable enough, too," answered jim, who turned suddenly to brenchfield as the latter was frantically endeavouring to quiet the plunging beelzebub. "now then, for the land's sake, graham brenchfield _lavengro_, why don't you use that other word? what's the good of creating a devil if you can't keep the curb on him?" brenchfield commenced to belabour the horse in his irritation, but the more he struck the more nervous and vicious she seemed to grow. the sight set phil's thoughts awandering. a little door in his brain opened and he remembered the queer little wizened-faced horse rustler in for life at ukalla jail, whom he had befriended and who in return had given him a word which he said might be useful some day, as it was guaranteed to quiet the wildest horses. at the time, he had grinned at it in his incredulity, but now the thought came, "what if there might be something in it?" he had not noted that little word, and now he had a difficulty in recalling it. but, as he reviewed the scene at ukalla jail in his mind once more, it came to him. he was not quite certain, but he fancied he had it. what if its strange power were true? it was a queer, soft, foreign-sounding word. there could be no harm in giving it a trial and, if by lucky chance it proved successful, what a triumph he would have over the arrogant mayor of vernock, and over jim langford as well. he smiled to himself now at his credulity, as he had done once at his incredulity over the same peculiar word. then recurred to him that wonderful little saying of will shakespeare's:-- "there are more things in heaven and earth, horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." encouraged by the quotation and angered by brenchfield's cruelty, he decided to take a chance. he sprang to the mare's head. "let the horse alone, man," he cried. "can't you see you are only making her worse?" "what the devil do you know about horses? she'll eat you alive, you fool of a tenderfoot." "i'm willing to take a chance. stand back and see what i know." brenchfield gazed at him in surprise, but, ever ready to be enlightened, he stepped back. "jim,--go to the other end of the yard; take him with you,--and watch." langford, anxious at all times to be amused; brenchfield grinning in derision; both went some thirty yards out of hearing, while the horse continued to kick and plunge. holding out his hand, phil drew nearer to the mad animal. quietly he murmured the three-syllabled word which he had so dearly earned from his convict friend. the soft and soothing effect of its vowels surprised phil himself. time and again he repeated the word, going closer and closer. beelzebub stopped her plunging. she cocked forward her ears, straining and listening intently. phil kept on--as a slow tremor passed over the horse. slowly the wicked gleam died from her eyes. phil's hand reached out and touched her nose. he stroked it cautiously--gently. he reached and whispered the word close in her ear. she sighed almost like a woman. in a moment more phil's left hand was on her sleek neck and running over her back. she whinnied, then her nozzle sought his arm and rubbed along it to his shoulder. she became as quiet as the proverbial lamb. langford and brenchfield came forward, blank amazement showing in their faces. "by jiminy!--where the dickens did you learn that? did i mention lavengro. lavengro's a _has been_, in fact, a _never waser_ alongside that." he slapped phil's shoulder. "good old phil!" surly as an old dog, brenchfield loosened the reins from the hitching post. "i'll give you five thousand dollars for that word," he said, turning suddenly to phil. "you're mighty free with your money to-day. you must have a lien on somebody's fortune." "five thousand dollars," repeated the mayor. "not on your life!" answered phil. "it was given me strictly on the understanding that it was not to be sold." "well then,--i'll give you my 'word' in exchange for yours." "your 'word,'--yours? no, mister mayor, i haven't any desire to know your 'word.' keep it,--it fits you. the two words are just about the difference between you and me,--and, god knows, i'm no saint." brenchfield laughed in his easy, devil-may-care way. he jumped on to the back of his horse without touching her with his hands. "aren't you going to let me shoe her?" asked phil in assumed disappointment. for answer, the mayor touched the horse's side with his spur, trotted round the end of the building and away. "phil, old man, where did you learn to subdue horses?" "i got the word from an old horsey-man whom i befriended once." "did you ever use it before?" "no! i just rethought of it a moment or two before i tried it out." "lordy! i shouldn't have believed it if i hadn't seen it with my own eyes. you know, beelzebub is positively the worst mare in the valley. sol hanson will throw a fit of delight when he hears about this. "i've heard some queer things about horses, phil. i once knew an old horse dealer in the east of scotland. he owned a famous clydesdale stud stallion. he used to travel with it all over the country. old sommerville, they called the man, was a terrible booze artist. he was drunk day and night. but never so drunk that he couldn't look after himself and his stallion. you know, just always half-full of whisky. well,--there wasn't a paddock that could hold that stallion. it had killed several men and had created tremendous havoc time and again in stables. if it had not been for its qualities as a perfect specimen of a horse, the government would have ordered its destruction. a special friend of old sommerville's died, and, on the day of the funeral, sommerville swore he wouldn't taste liquor for twenty-four hours. he didn't. that night he was taking the stallion from one village to another. he failed to turn up at the village he intended making for, and next morning the stallion was discovered miles away, while later in the day a farm-hand came upon a mass of bloody bones and flesh pounded to mince meat among the earth at the side of a road." "i quite believe it," said phil, "because i have heard before somewhere that a horse--no matter how vicious it may be--will never interfere with a man smelling of liquor." "well,--i guess the horse had more sense than some of us have," said jim. "sound horse sense, i suppose," laughed phil. "but say!--you and brenchfield don't seem to love each other exactly. what is it, phil?" "oh!--we don't pull together, that's all." "anybody can see that. did you ever meet him before coming here?" "yes!" answered phil shortly. "well, old chum, it isn't any of my business, but the mayor's an oily-tongued rotter and well worth the watching. i'm lying in wait for him myself. he doesn't love me any more than he seems to love you, so if i can help you out any time, let me know. "he's got the nerve of the devil. he is setting up to little eileen pederstone too, the hound. i hope to god a fine woman like she is doesn't have such putrid luck as to marry such a miserable son-of-a-gun. but it is generally that way though, and that coyote nearly always gets what he goes after. he seems to be making money hand over fist. his stock is the largest and best in the valley. they say he owns half a dozen mines up north and more ranch land in the okanagan than he can ever use. "eileen pederstone has gone after her dad campaigning, and i heard up at the court house this morning that brenchfield is going off in a day or so, invited by the party to join royce pederstone and help along his election with his influence and his glib tongue. "if pederstone gets in--as he is sure to do--the next thing we will be hearing will be the mayor's engagement with eileen. "honest to goodness!--i think i would plug him full of bullet holes on a dark night if that happened." chapter ix the doings of percival when hanson returned that afternoon, his round face was beaming. his big blue eyes stared right into phil's. "say,--by yiminy,--you some kid! you quiet brenchfield's she-devil!" "and what about that?" "what about it! that no good for sol hanson. i know all about him. somebody tell me. by yiminy! you make damn good blacksmith. some day we put up signboard, 'hanson and ralston, general blacksmiths.' we get all the trade in this damn valley." "who told you about she-devil, sol?" asked phil curiously. "oh, somebody! he not speak very much but he say plenty when he be good and ready. he watch round corner. brenchfield make she-devil wild. you speak to her and she get quiet." "it wasn't jim langford who told you, sol?" "langford,--no! langford's mouth all stitched up. he say nothing at all. you wait!" sol put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. in a second, the half-witted, ragamuffin smiler bobbed his grinning face round the door post. hanson waved him in and when the youngster saw that only sol hanson and phil were inside he raced round and round phil in sheer delight, like a puppy-dog round its master. he rubbed his hand up and down phil's clothes, and he kept pointing to himself and to phil. phil could not make out his meaning. "he says you and him good pals," interpreted hanson. "you bet we are, smiler!" said phil, patting the boy's matted hair. "smiler and me make a deal. we going to live together after this," said sol. "smiler he got nobody. smiler hungry most all the time; dirty, no place to sleep; just a little mongrel-pup. i got lots of grub, nice shack, good beds. smiler get lots of bath. smiler and me we going to be pals. what you say, smiler?" the boy grinned again and gurgled in happy acquiescence. "but the kid can't talk?" "oh, he talk all right; you bet! he talk with his head, and his eyes, his feet and his hands; talk every old way only you don't savvy his kind of talk." as soon as work was over, phil hurried up the hill home. he had had a trying day of it one way and another and he was longing for a refreshing bath and a clean-up. he popped his head into langford's room, but langford either had not come or had been in early and had gone out again. whistling softly, he went into his own. his whistle ended abruptly, for his bedroom looked as if it had been struck by a cyclone. everywhere, in wild confusion, lay shirts, collars and clothes; books, papers and personal belongings. the drawers of his bureau were pulled out and the contents scattered. someone evidently had been in on a thieves' hunt and had been neither leisurely nor nice about the job. phil could not, for the life of him, imagine why anyone would want specially to ransack his of all the choice of rooms at mrs. clunie's. he had nothing worth stealing, while many of his landlady's boarders were fairly well endowed in the matter of worldly possessions. he leaned over the bannister and called excitedly for mrs. clunie. "guid preserve us a'; what's wrang?" she exclaimed, pulling her dress up in front and hurrying up the stairs. phil showed her into his room without a word. the moment she saw the state of it, she threw up her hands in amazement. "goodness sakes, mr. ralston! it looks as if there had been thievin' bodies here." "have any strangers been in the house?" "not a soul, mr. ralston, except the man you sent wi the note to let him ha'e your spurs that were in the bureau drawer." "but i didn't send any man, and i didn't write any note!" put in phil. "you didna? oh, the slyness o' him! as sure as my name's jean clunie, he was the thief." "well!" said phil ruefully, "he has made a deuce of a jumble of my clothes. but he came to the wrong room if he came for valuables." "i was busy and i told him to run up and get them. oh, the cunnin' de'il. is there nothing missing?" "nothing that i know of; certainly nothing valuable, for i don't own any such!" "bide a minute till i get that note," exclaimed the perspiring and excited landlady. she returned in a minute with the paper. phil read it over. it was written in a rough hand, in pencil. _mrs. clunie_, please allow bearer into my room to get my spurs for me. he will know where to find them. phil ralston. phil scratched his head. "well, that beats all!" "and you never wrote it?" "not i!" "but he took your spurs, for i saw them in his hand." phil glanced about him. "yes!--i guess he has taken my spurs." "my, but i'm the foolish woman. i never heard tell o' the like o' it before. this place is gettin' as bad as the ceety o' glesca." "what was the man like, mrs. clunie?" "oh, just a wee, short kind o' a rough lookin', dirty kind o' a mannie, wi' a horse." "what kind of a horse did he have?" "to tell ye the truth, i didna pay muckle attention to the beastie, but i think it was brown coloured, wi' a white patch on its e'e. oh, ay! and it was lame, for when he went aff i could see it hobblin' on its fore legs as it galloped doon the road." "all right!" said phil. "if you send betsy up to put the room in order, everything will be o.k." "i'm right sorry i wasna more parteecular, mr. ralston, but i didna think for a minute except that you would be anxious for your spurs. a letter like that would deceive the very lord himsel'." "don't you worry now! i paid only a dollar and a half for the spurs, and i have had that much wear out of them, so they don't owe me anything." at the same time, phil himself worried considerably over the matter, for closer inspection betrayed the fact that his little box of private papers and letters had been burst open and examined; also that his leather letter-case--in fact everything likely to contain documents of any kind--had been scrutinised. as he bathed and dressed himself, he still worried, until it occured to him that this might be some of brenchfield's doings. he wondered, and then he laughed to himself at the chances the would-be thief had taken to get--nothing. once more phil lost patience with himself, as he thought of his foolishness in getting rid of that confession of brenchfield's; and yet, in destroying it he had merely acted up to the feeling and good intentions he had had at the time. he took a turn outside. at the top of the hill, at the corner, little smiler, with a cleaner face than usual, ran out from the end of a house and stood up in front of phil. "hullo kiddie! what's the good word?" smiler just grinned. "smiler!" inquired phil, "you see a little man to-day on a brown horse with a white eye?" smiler looked as serious as was possible for his permanently crooked face, then he nodded intelligently. he pointed to his leg and went a few steps limping. "yes, yes!" exclaimed phil, "horse got a lame leg!" smiler nodded. "where did you see him?" smiler pointed in the direction of the hill. "up near my place?" the boy nodded again. "where did he go?" smiler shook his head this time. "too bad!" exclaimed phil. "if you see him again, anywhere, smiler, run in and tell me, will you? i'll be at the kenora for a bit." smiler nodded, delighted that he was going to have a chance to be of service to the big man he had taken such a fancy to. "here!" phil handed him twenty-five cents, and the boy ran off in the direction of the chinese restaurant. phil continued down the street, knowing that if the little man on the lame brown horse with the white eye was still in town, it would not be long before smiler would have him wise to it. he strolled into the dining-room of the kenora and ordered his lunch. and, as he waited, in came an old acquaintance in all his high-coloured and picturesque splendour--percival derue hannington. hannington spotted phil at once and strutted over. he shook hands with vigour and set himself down opposite. "by gad! old chap,--but this is quite refreshing. i've often thought about you and your good advice not to be in too big a hurry to buy a blooming rawnch." "why?" inquired phil. "i'm glad you took it and it did you good." "but i didn't take it;--worse bally luck. don't you know, i thought you might be trying to put me off the chawnce of getting into something good. everybody warned me when i came out here that i wasn't to take everything i heard for gospel. the beastly trouble seems to be to distinguish between the gospel and the tommyrot." phil laughed, and it made him forget his own troubles. derue hannington ordered dinner also, and, as he refreshed himself he became reminiscent. "so you did buy a ranch?" started phil. "i paid for one," said hannington, "and, if that isn't jolly-well buying one, you've got to search me, as the johnnies out here say. "you see, when you toddled off that day, i was in the saloon asking three fellows if they knew of anyone who had a rawnch for sale. "one johnnie said he had a good one i could have cheap, for cash." "what was the man's name?" asked phil. "barney, barney something-or-other; oh, yes! cawn't forget it;--barney douthem. he _did me_, the rotter. "do you know him, mister--mister phil?" "i have heard of him. he left here some time ago for the other side of the line." "i fawncied so," said hannington. "i'm looking for that miserable thieving josser. "well, i hired a horse and went out with the barney fellow to see the rawnch, right away. a jolly nice place it was, too--just ten miles out. the barney chap lived there with a chinaman who did his housework. it was a twenty-acre place on the side of a hill, with a decent sort of a house and stables. there was a beautiful view of the lake and the valley, and a fine fishing stream running right through the property. one could fish out of his window, lying in bed. a positive duck of a place!" "yes!" remarked phil, "but a rancher can't live on scenery and by fishing in bed. what kind of fruit trees did the place have?" "deuced good trees, phil! at least, they seemed all-right. of course, i'm not a bally expert on fruit trees. "the douthem chap said he could recommend it and i could have it for five thousand dollars cash. i gave him a cheque right off the reel. he gave me his receipt for the money, and the deal was closed there and then." derue hannington stopped, as if the memory of it was somewhat painful. "not exactly closed, phil! because it sort of opened up again, two days ago, just three weeks after i was done by douthem, and he had cashed my cheque and jolly-well beat it, as they say out here. "it was like this. i was sitting on the veranda, enjoying a smoke and admiring my property and the view, when a collector johnnie came up the road and asked me where douthem was. i told him douthem was gone, and i was now the proprietor. "'didn't know they had changed tenants,' said he. 'i've called for the rent.' "do you know, phil, i fawncied the silly owl had gone balmy, but he insisted that he had to collect thirty dollars a month rent. "of course, i showed the fellow my receipt for the place, proving i was the owner of it. but he just looked at it and said:-- "'say!--who are you making a kid of? this might be all right for a bunch of groceries, or electric light, or a ton of coal, but it isn't all right for a rawnch.' "'why!--what's the matter with it?' i asked. 'doesn't it say, received from percival derue hannington the sum of five thousand dollars for one ranch of twenty acres, with house and barns, situated ten miles from the city of vernock and called douthem's ranch?' "'sure it does,' said the chap. and he was devilish rude about it too." by this time, phil had all he could do to keep from shouting with merriment. he did not dare to look at derue hannington, so he kept religiously to his food. "well,--he told me the rawnch belonged to some other people; that douthem only rented it, and that one had to have a deed and register it when one bought property. the blooming upshot was i had to pay the collecting fellow his thirty dollars and get out. so i landed back here to-day. "i daresay, phil, a man has to pay for his experience, but you know it looks as if a fellow had to do so much paying that when he does finish up by really owning something, he will have paid such a beastly lot for it that he'll never be able to make it up again." phil showed impatience. "good heavens, man!--don't you know that land is not exchanged without an agreement for sale, or a deed?" "how should i know?" answered the innocent. "i never bought land before. if i pay the price for an article, it should be mine, shouldn't it?" "if the man you pay is honest," replied phil, "but he isn't always honest, hence agreements and deeds. "next time you buy a ranch, mr. hannington, take my advice and hire a lawyer to see the deal through for you." "no more bally rawnches for me, phil. and it is possibly just as well i lost this one, because i have learned that one has to grub and mess among caterpillars and all those dirty little insects and worms they call bugs, which keep getting on the fruit trees, eating up the bally stuff you are trying to grow. i simply cawn't stand the slimy, squashy little reptiles, you know!" "i am afraid you are destined to meet them in other places besides ranches," remarked phil. "i have found them on my dinner table before now!" "how disgusting!" exclaimed the horrified englishman. "what are you going to tackle next? don't you think you had better get a job for a while, working for wages, until you get acclimatised; and so conserve your money until you have had the necessary experience?" "not so long as my old dad is willing to foot the bills! the least he can do is to keep me going here. it is cheaper for him than letting me gad about between london, paris and the riviera. besides, my mother would die of shame if she fawncied her boy percy was working for wages like a common labouring bounder." this was a species of maternal niceness phil had never run up against, consequently he did not feel sympathetic toward it. "they tell me oil-wells are a jolly good thing to get into. that fellow rockefeller made a lot out of them, didn't he? you don't know of any likely places around here, phil?" "no! i don't think this is much of an oil country, mr. hannington. what we hear about oil here is more or less bunk. better leave it alone!" "you know,--i did meet a fellow on the train coming across. he had a jolly good thing. he was a water-diviner;--could tell you where the water was for a well just by walking over the land with a twig in his hand and doing a kind of prayer. seemed to listen for the water, the same way as a robin does on the lawn when after worms." phil laughed. "yes!--i have met a few of that water-divining species, and some of them were pretty good at it, too. they seemed to strike it right fairly often." "aw, yes, phil!" continued derue hannington, wiping his mouth with his napkin and leaning back in his chair, "but this fellow did have a good scheme. he said, you know, if a man could divine water, there was nothing to prevent him from divining oil too. so he was going to the oil-well district in california to test himself out with his idea, then he was coming back to canada to start up oil-wells all over the bally country." "he's going to let me in on it too. that's what i call one of my _futures_. just a speculation, old chap! i gave him two hundred and fifty dollars on his note. he required it to pay his way to the oil wells. don't you think it might be a real good thing, phil?" "it might!--but i don't think i would tell many people about it," said phil quietly. "why?--oh, yes, i see! i oughtn't to give the chap away before he elaborates his plans. might spoil them. silly i didn't think of that!" "just so, mr. hannington!" "meantime, though,--i intend buying a house here and settling down. i do like this valley. it is so deuced picturesque, you know, and rural. when i'm properly established, i can go in for mining. on a hilly country like this, there ought to be good mining properties; gold, silver, etcetera. don't you think so, phil?" "there might be, if one could only hit them. i've never had enough time or money myself to take the matter up as a hobby." derue hannington rose slowly from the table. "well, phil, old top!--i've enjoyed our talk. i hope to see you again soon. come and have a cocktail before i go!" phil got up, and they went into the bar together, where a number of vernock's seasoned bar-loungers were following their usual bent. derue hannington kept harping on his various money-making schemes, in his high drawling voice, which could be heard all over the saloon. suddenly his eye fell on one with whom he seemed to be casually acquainted; a foppishly dressed, smooth-tongued rascal who dealt in horses, cards, bunco real-estate, insurance and anything else that brought a commission without much work. he was called rattlesnake jim by those who knew him, but mr. dalton by those who didn't. "excuse me, phil, but i would like to have a word with mr. dalton." phil knew at once that hannington was one of those who didn't know rattlesnake jim. the englishman called dalton over. "say, old chap,--have a drink!" dalton had one. "what about that horse, dalton? have you sold her yet?" "no siree! i'll sell her when i get my price. i ain't in no hurry." "well, you know i offered you two hundred and fifty for her." "and she's yours for five hundred bucks." phil interfered. "oh, come off the grass! what do you take my friend for?" "do you know the horse we're talking about?" asked dalton. "sure i do!--the white mare. she's a good enough horse, a beauty to look at, but there aren't any millionaires around vernock going to give you five hundred dollars for her. a hundred and fifty is plenty for a good riding horse these days." "say!--whose horse is it, anyway?" "yours,--i presume!" said phil. "who's buying the horse?" "not me!" "all right,--keep out!" phil smiled. dalton twisted up his face and turned to hannington. "well, boss,--is it a go?" hannington demurred, then he showed a little decision, which phil was beginning to think he was entirely devoid of. "no!--i'm dimmed if i'll pay that much for her. i want the horse because she's white all over and there isn't another like her in colour about the bally town. i like things different, by gad! but i simply won't be put upon. no, dim it, dim it all,--i just won't!" dalton walked away without a word, then he whirled on his heel and came slowly back. "want a mine--a gold mine?" percival derue hannington, ever ready to nibble, showed interest. "say, rattlesnake, forget it! darn it all, do you think you are talking to a crazy man?" "see here, ralston!--why don't you live up to your pet name and keep your trap shut? butt out!" exclaimed dalton, curling his upper lip in evident disgust. "it's an honest-to-goodness gold mine, mr. hannington, and i hold all the rights to it." phil addressed his friend. "don't be foolish now. everybody in vernock knows about dalton's mine. he can't give it away." "say, ralston! if i was big as you and as ugly, i'd knock your face in. mind your own dirty business and keep out. mr. hannington is a man-sized man, with a man-sized bean-pot and doesn't need a wet nurse with him. he knows whether he wants a mine or not," said dalton sourly. phil's eyes flashed anger. "now, phil, please!" put in hannington. "really you mustn't quarrel. and you never know, you know;--there really have been old, good-for-nothing mines and things that have turned out wonderful." phil shrugged his shoulders. "go to it!" he said. "it's your funeral." "oh, come now! don't be playing the bally dead march over me because of a silly mine. "mr. dalton, what name does this gold mine go by?" "the lost durkin gold mine!" hannington's face lit up as he caught an inward glimpse of himself as the owner. "lost durkin! deuced romantic name, you know! isn't it, phil?" phil failed to respond. "but why lost durkin, mr. dalton?" "it's like this: durkin and another guy were the discoverers of this ere mine. it panned out,--well!--nobody knowed for sure certain how it panned out; only durkin and his pal always had lots of nuggets and dust. durkin's pal went away and durkin worked it all by hisself. they say he struck it rich in a vein and went batty over it. anyway, he acted queer for a time. one day his hat was found in the tunnel, and no sign of durkin from that day to this. "durkin's pal, don flannigan, without ever comin' back, sold out the mine to jem grierson. grierson sold to me. it ain't been worked to speak of since durkin tried it out. the gold might be lyin' there just for the pickin' up." "oh, say, rattlesnake!--come off," interposed phil. "why, hannington,--every hobo that has come to this valley is open to have a go at it any old time he likes." "not on your tin tacks! i hold the mining rights to it, and nobody else. just let somebody try it on!" put in dalton. "but there must be some gold in it, phil!" remarked hannington. "sure,--about four dollars a day hard working!" "by jove!--if there's that, there might be more, you know." "yes, and there might not!" "if the gold was absolutely sure, phil, you know nobody would sell. would they? a man has got to take a chawnce. "what do you want for the bally thing, mr. dalton?" "one thousand plunks," remarked dalton without a tremor. "plunks?" "yes, plunks,--bucks!" "bucks?" "yes,--plunks, bucks, greenbacks, in-god-we-trusts, d-o-double l-a-r-s." "two hundred quid!" figured hannington roughly, who, for the proper realisation of actual values still had the habit of converting his dollars into english coinage. "tisn't much for a gold mine, phil,--is it now?"? "i could get you a dozen for that." "oh, now, phil!" rattlesnake jim was getting impatient. "say, mister--if you're interested, come outside and talk. no use trying to make a deal, with this old man of the sea out playin' buttinsky." "don't be a fool now," interposed phil. "stay where you are!" but derue hannington was in the toils again, and the fever was in his blood. dalton walked slowly to the door. hannington hesitated, looked sheepishly at phil, then exclaimed over his shoulder: "eh, excuse me, old chap,--won't you!" and he hurried alongside the owner of the lost durkin gold mine. "couldn't you come down a bit in your price, old dear? your figure seems deuced steep where mines seem to be so beastly plentiful," phil heard hannington say. at the door dalton stopped. "one thousand for the mine, and just to show you that i'm a real sport and playin' fair, i'll throw the white mare in for luck." hannington gasped, then slapped dalton on the shoulder and grabbed his hand in ecstasy at the overflow of generosity on the part of the mine owner. "done,--done! it's a bally go!" and the two disappeared outside in head-to-head conversation, to the accompaniment of a round of loud laughter from some old timers in the saloon who had overheard part of the talk and who knew that once more a sheep was about to be shorn of its wool. phil swung round with his back and elbows on the counter. he surveyed the crowd dimly through the haze of smoke in the bar-room. just then jim langford came in by the swinging doors. phil went over to him directly, led him to a table in the corner, and told him in a few, quick sentences of the thieving visit that had been made to his room at mrs. clunie's. "there's more in this than you think," said langford, after phil had concluded. "haven't you heard the news of the other thieving in town?" "no,--where was it?" "a gang must have been working on the o.k. supply company's premises last night. three days ago, morrison unloaded two carloads of feed and flour in his no. warehouse. they haven't sold a nickel's worth, and this morning there aren't fifty sacks left." "was the place broken into?" asked phil. "must have been, but every bolt and bar is secure, so are all the padlocks. it's a mighty queer thing. "i had it on the inside that the pioneer traders were shy last week, but they gave out no report; and mayor brenchfield, whose warehouse and stables lie between the pioneer traders and the o.k. supply co. lodged a complaint with chief palmer this morning that he had lost forty bags of bran and oats from his place. of course, his loss isn't a patch on the loss of the other two. "you know, this darned thing has been going on for several years. somebody is getting fat on it. the o.k. supply company have lost sixty thousand dollars' worth in four or five years. they have put new locks and bolts on, but all to no purpose. the pioneer traders must be considerably shy, too. "the police don't do a thing, and everybody seems scared to act for fear of being got back at in some way. "the indians are being blamed for it; so are some of the wilder element who have cattle ranches and lots of live stock to feed. easy way to fatten your animals, eh, phil! "if we could lay the man by the heels who ransacked your place, we might be able to get a clue to the others." phil shook his head. "no,--i don't think so!" he answered. "well, old man morrison of the o.k. company is a decent head and these continual robberies are bleeding him white. he told me all about it this morning. "i have made arrangements to quit the court house for a while and take a job with him as warehouseman, just to see what i can fasten on to." "won't they get suspicious if they know you are on the job?" langford laughed. "good lord, no! i have been in a dozen jobs in this town in as many months. besides, nobody ever thinks of me as a sherlock holmes. i'm just languishing for a little excitement anyway." "you won't forget then to call me in to lend a hand if there is any scrapping going?" said phil. "would you really come in on it?" "you bet!" "all right! this old burg will have something to wake it up one of these days." their attention was distracted by the rattle of gravel on the window at which they were sitting. langford shook his fist at a disappearing figure. "who was that?" asked phil. "don't know! looked like smiler, the dummy kid. queer little devil!" phil jumped up. "maybe he's got some information for me. wait here! i'll be back directly." phil went outside slowly and round the corner of the building to the back-yard. sure enough, as soon as no one was in sight, smiler darted up to him. he was all excitement and kept pointing to a clump of trees down a side road. "did you find the man with the lame horse?" phil asked. smiler nodded and grinned with pleasure, catching phil by the coat and leading the way cautiously to where stood the brown mare with the white patch over her eye. she was tethered to a tree, well hidden from view of the road. phil examined her legs and saw at a glance that she favoured her left fore foot. a look showed him that some gravel had worked up into an old sore. phil pulled the strings of a bag that hung from the saddle. the first things he came across were his own spurs. he took possession of them. meanwhile, smiler was watching with deep interest. "where's the man, smiler?" asked phil. the boy grinned and nodded his head, as if to say:--"come along,--i'll show you." he led phil through the back lanes to chinatown, stopping in front of a cheap, chinese restaurant. he pointed inside. phil made to enter. he encountered, of all people, brenchfield coming out. the suddenness of the mayor's appearance caused him to catch his breath. in phil's mind it solved the problem at once. brenchfield stopped and stared at phil, then he glared at smiler who turned tail and ran off as if for his very life. the mayor appeared to be in one of his most sullen moods. he turned again and looked angrily at phil, his eyes travelling from the young smith's face to his boots, then back to his left hand in which he still held his recovered spurs. phil jingled them suggestively, and kept on into the restaurant. brenchfield remained on the sidewalk in front of the door. phil knew quite well that he was taking chances, but he risked that. there was nothing of any moment taking place in the main dining-room. several diners were on stools at the counter. others were at tables. a chinese waiter was serving, while the cook was tossing hot cakes beside the cooking range. the door of the adjoining room was open. some chinamen were at a table, deeply interested in a game of chuckaluck. in a room still farther back, some white men were playing poker. phil strolled in there. no one paid any heed to him. his eyes travelled over the players. he did not know any of them. but it did not take him a second to settle in his mind which was the man he was after. a little, stout, narrow-eyed fellow, who did not seem to have been shaved or washed for months, was seated at the far corner, chewing tobacco viciously. evidently he had just resumed his game, for phil heard one of the players exclaim:-- "aw!--get a move on, ginger! what'n the deuce do you want to keep us here all day for, waitin' for you and that blasted mayor to quit chewin' the fat?" none worried about the new arrival: they were all too engrossed in their game. in the middle of it, phil went up close. "men,--i hate to butt in, but i want that dirty little fellow over there." he pointed suggestively at his man. "yes,--you ginger!" he shouted, as the little man gaped. "aw,--get back on your base!" was all he got for answer, for the man had no idea who had challenged him, and drunks had a habit of interfering at cards, ultimately to find themselves thrown out into the street. he took phil for one of those and left it to the man nearest to the intruder to settle the account. with a quick movement phil threw his body over the table, catching the little fellow smartly by the neck-cloth and shirt in a grip that there was no gainsaying. by the sheer power of his right hand and arm, he pulled the astonished ginger--before his more astonished partners--right across the table, planting him on his feet in front of him. the little man gasped for breath and struggled, but finding his struggling merely meant more strangling, he commenced to feel at his hip as if for a gun. phil struck him on the side of the head, sending him staggering against the wall. as ginger recovered, phil held his spurs under the man's nose and jingled them. "i guess you know these?" the fellow's narrow eyes opened wide. he let out a guttural sound and sprang for the door. phil shot after him. but the little one's speed was accelerated by his fear. phil's boot was all that reached him and it did its work uncommonly well. a nicely planted kick, just when he reached the door-step, sent ginger in the air and seated him on the plank sidewalk. he jumped up almost before he touched the boards and tore down the road as if the devil himself were behind him. brenchfield, who had been a silent spectator of what had taken place, came into the main room of the restaurant, where a crowd of low whites and curious chinese had gathered. "look here, young man!--you don't want to be doing much of that in this town or you'll find yourself locked up." phil shook his spurs in the mayor's face. "and _you_ don't want to be doing much of _this_, or you'll find yourself my next cell neighbour." the mayor had no idea how far his opponent was prepared to go, and evidently afraid to risk a scene, he turned his back on phil with an oath. "first time i catch that damned, sneaking little rat i saw you with i'll thrash him within an inch of his miserable little life." "you just try it on,--and, god help you,--that's all," retorted phil. chapter x jim's grand toot as phil knocked the dust from his clothes and wiped the perspiration from his face, it suddenly struck him that jim langford must have been waiting fully half an hour for him at the kenora. he hurried through chinatown and down toward the hotel. when he got there, he found jim in lazy conversation with some passing acquaintance, whom he immediately left. "did you finish what you were after, phil?" "you bet!" "tell me about it. i wish to size the thing up." with the exception of his encounter with the mayor, phil recounted all that had happened. he preferred keeping to himself that little bout he had had with brenchfield, for he knew jim already had suspicions that he and brenchfield had some old secret antagonism toward each other. some day, he thought, he might feel constrained to unburden himself on the point to jim, but the time for that did not appear to be ripe. "darned funny!" remarked langford, when phil concluded. "i can't recollect the man from your description and there doesn't seem to be any connection between him and the flour and feed steal. but--what the devil could that fellow be after, anyway?" suddenly, as was his habit, he dismissed the subject and broke in on another. "say, phil,--know who's in the card-room?" "no!" "an old pal of yours!" he commenced to sing a line of an old scot's song:--"rob roy mcgregor o." "yes!" "how's your liver?" "don't know i have one--so it must be all right!" "what do you think about paying off old scores?" mischief was lurking in his eyes. "oh, let's forget that, jim! it is too cold-blooded for me." "cold-blooded nothing! the dirty skunk didn't look at it that way when you were as weak as meeting-house tea and hardly able to stand on your two pins." "that's no lie, either!" "and he'd do it again if he thought it would work." phil looked at jim. "i guess you are right,--and i feel mad enough to scrap with anybody." "right! let us work it as near as we can the way he worked it on you." they went over to the table near the window and rehearsed quietly their method of operation, and it was not long before a noise in the back room signalled the break-up of the card game. half a dozen rough-looking fellows from redmans creek followed one another out to the saloon, headed, as usual, by mcgregor, straddling his legs and swaggering, looking round with a cynical twist on his handsome face. they went over to the bar. mcgregor pushed himself in at the far end, brushing an innocent individual out of his way in the operation. the man who followed mcgregor wedged himself in next. mcgregor slid along and two more harmless men at the bar gave way. it was an old trick and they knew how to perform it. still the mcgregor gang pushed in, one after another, until the entire counter was taken up by the six, who stood there, legs and elbows sprawled, laughing and jeering at the men they had displaced and at their lack of courage in not endeavouring to hold their own. they stood in this fashion for possibly five minutes, blocking the counter and not allowing anyone else to get near it. suddenly phil jumped up from his seat and walked over to the bar. "say, fellows! come on all and have a drink on me!" he shouted. the six at the bar swung round to look at the speaker. "come on,--ease up, you ginks!--unless you've hired the kenora saloon for the night." no one moved, so phil caught the man nearest to him by the belt and yanked him out deftly. langford, who was immediately behind phil, caught the next one and repeated the performance. there was a scramble and some of the more aggressive bystanders joined in to phil's and jim's assistance. then the more timid followed, with the ultimate result that five of mcgregor's gang were dislodged, as a dozen men crowded alongside and around their champion. mcgregor still held his place defiantly, elbows and legs asprawl as before. phil was close up to him, with jim at phil's left hand. "guess you think you're some kid!" mcgregor remarked, spitting a wad of chewing tobacco on to the floor. "quit your scrapping," returned phil in assumed irritation. "have a drink!--it's on me. it isn't often i stand treat. name your poison!" "well,--if that's all you're up to, guess i might as well," he answered, in reluctant conciliation. "come on, fellows! this hell-for-leather blacksmith wants to blow in his week's wages on drinks. we ain't goin' to stop him." the bar-tenders served as fast as they could. phil paid the score, then turned to have a fresh look at mcgregor. the latter was watching him closely out of the corner of his eyes. he took up his glass. "guess you think you're puttin' one over," he snarled. "well,--you've got another guess comin'." he put his tumbler up against phil's jacket, tilted it deliberately, sending the contents trickling all the way down phil's clothes right to his boot. he looked into ralston's eyes with a sneer on his face and slowly set his tumbler on the counter, watching every movement in the room through narrowed eyes. phil's temper flared out and he swung on mcgregor with tremendous quickness. to his surprise, quick as he was, his fist fell on mcgregor's wrist. in a second, they were in the centre of the room, tables and chairs were whirled into corners as by magic, and the two were in a ring formed by a wall of swaying bodies and eager faces, for more than a few of them had witnessed the previous encounter between the pair and had been wondering just when the return match would take place. phil waited with bated breath for the bull-like rush which he expected, while langford's voice could be heard high over the hubbub, shouting in the doric to which he had risen in his excitement:-- "mair room! gi'e them mair room. widen oot, can ye no!--widen oot!" but instead of the rush for grips that phil anticipated, he found himself faced by a man, strong as a lion, with arms out in the true pugilistic attitude. he guessed it for a ruse and a bit of play-acting, and sprang in. he struck three times for separate parts of the cowpuncher's body, but each time he struck he encountered a guarding arm or fist. this more than surprised him, for it was well known that mcgregor's strong and only point was his brute force. in order to give himself time to think the matter out, phil sprang away again. mcgregor's face was sphinx-like in its inscrutable cynicism. they circled, facing each other like sparring gamecocks of a giant variety. phil, determined on having another try, jumped in on his huge opponent. he struck, once--twice. he was about to strike again, when he staggered back as if he had been hit by a sledge hammer fair on the chin. the saloon swung head over heels in a whirligig movement. phil's arms became heavy as lead and dropped to his side. his legs sagged under him. in a state of drugging collapse, he felt himself seized and crushed as into a pulp; a not unpleasant sensation of swinging, a hurtling through the air and splintering,--then, well,--that was all. when he came to, he was being carried up the stairs to his bedroom, to the accompaniment of mrs. clunie's repeated regrets, in broad scotch, that it was a pity "weel bred young chiels couldna agree to disagree in a decent manner, wise-like and circumspectly, withoot fechtin' like a wheen drucken colliers." this did not prevent that good lady from washing and binding phil's numerous but not very deadly cuts and bruises. it was two days before he was able to be out of bed, and during these two days he heard a number of stories, through mrs. clunie, of what had happened at the kenora hotel after his hurried exit through the window. these stories he refused to believe, for his faith in jim langford's ability was too strong to be easily shaken. but one thing he had to give credence to was, that jim had not shown face at mrs. clunie's since the night of the trouble. mrs. clunie complained that half a dozen times she had chased "that hauf-witted, saft sannie o' a daftie, ca'ed laugher, or smiler or something," from the back door, and she was sure he was "efter nae guid." on the morning of the third day, phil, stiff and a little wobbly, set out for the smithy, where big sol hanson welcomed him back with an indulgent grin. hanson had learned all about the affray, as everyone else in town seemed to have done. "but has anyone seen langford?" asked phil in some concern, as they discussed the matter. "oh, langford go on one big booze," laughed sol. "he turn up maybe in about one month, all shot to hell, then he sober up again for long time." "but doesn't anyone know where he is?" "sure, sometimes!--maybe at kelowna, then kamloops. somebody see him at armstrong, then no see him for another while. best thing you leave jim langford till he gets good and ready to come back. only make trouble any other way. everybody leave big jim when he goes on a big toot." "well," said phil with some decision, "i'm going after him anyway, and i'm going to stay right with him till he's o.k." "all right, son--please yourself! we are not so busy now, but i tell you it no damn good. i know jim langford, five, maybe six year,--see!" phil set out to make inquiries. at the kenora he heard of someone who had seen jim the day before at the town of salmon arm, between thirty and forty miles away. he took the stage there, only to find that langford had left presumably for vernock. back again he came, and it was late at night when he got to town. on dropping off the stage, he ran into the faithful smiler. "hullo, kid! you see jim langford?" he asked. smiler nodded. "know where he is?" he nodded again excitedly, hitching up his trousers which were held round his middle by a piece of cord. "might have known it," thought phil, "and saved myself a lot of running about. "lead on, macduff!" he cried. "show me jim langford and i'll give you two-bits." smiler led the way in the darkness, down a side street into the inevitable and dimly lit chinatown. smiler stopped up in front of the dirty, dingy entrance of a little hall occasionally used for chinese theatricals. he pointed inside with a grin, refused phil's proffered twenty-five cents, backing up and finally racing away. a special performance in chinese was being given by a troupe of actors from vancouver and all chinatown who could were there. phil paid his admission to a huge, square-jawed chinaman at the pay-box, and pushed through the swing doors, inside. the theatre was crowded with orientals, who, for the most part, were dirty, vile-smelling and expectorating. about half-way down the centre of the aisle, he took a vacant seat on the end of one of the rough, wooden, backless benches which were all that were provided for the comfort of the audience. the place was very badly lighted, although the stage stood out in well-illuminated contrast. phil's first anxiety was to locate jim. he scanned the packed benches, but all he could see was stolid, gaunt-jawed, slit-eyed chinamen. there did not seem to be another white man in the place. someone nudged him on the arm. he turned. a sleek chinaman, whom phil had often seen on the streets--the janitor, phil remembered, for the pioneer traders,--grinned at him. "you tly catch missee langfod?" he whispered. "yes!" nodded phil. "he down there, flont seat." phil looked in the direction indicated and, sure enough, there was jim--alone, in the middle of the foremost and only otherwise unoccupied bench in the hall--all absorbed in the scene that was being enacted on the platform. contented in the knowledge that he now had his friend under surveillance, phil directed his interest to the stage, for he had never before been present at so strange a performance. the opera, for such it appeared to be, was already under way. the lady, the chinese equivalent of a prima-donna--dressed in silks emblazoned with gold spangles, tinsel and glass jewels, with a strange head-dress, three feet high, consisting of feathers and pom-pons--was holding forth in what was intended to be song. it occurred to phil that he had thrown old boots at tom-cats in mrs. clunie's back-yard for giving expression to what was sweet melody in comparison. the actress's face was painted and powdered to a mere mask. her finger nails were two inches longer than her four-inch-long feet. she rattled those fingers nails in a manner that made phil's flesh creep, although this action seemed highly pleasing to the audience in general. the lady, phil learned from the chinaman at his side, was a famous beauty. the scenery required no description, being merely a number of plain, movable partitions, draught-screens and chairs. there was no drop-curtain, and the scene shifters worked in full view of the audience, removing furniture and knocking down partitions with hammers during the vocal rendering of some of the thrilling passages of the opera. on another platform, behind the stage, the orchestra was making strenuous, and at times, very effective attempts to drown the squeals of the leading lady, who did not seem to mind it a bit. the conductor, in his shirt sleeves, was laying on, alternately, to a chinese drum and what looked like two empty cocoanut shells, whacking out a species of rag-time all on his own, while the two other members of the band were performing on high-pitched chinese fiddles, determined evidently on keeping up the racket at all costs. phil noticed no evidence of sheet music, so familiar in a white man's orchestra. these were real artists and they played entirely from memory. in an endeavour to be enlightened, phil touched a chinaman in front of him--for the familiar one at his side had slipped quietly to some other part of the hall. "john,--what all this play about--you know?" he asked. without turning round, the oriental sang to him in a top-storey voice:-- "lu-wang kah chek-tho, chiu-si. tung-kwo chi ku-su. savvy?" phil did not "savvy," but another chinaman, more obliging and more english, who introduced himself as mee yi-ow, told him the gist of the tale in pigeon english, up to the point where phil had come in, so that he was able to follow the performance with some intelligence, from there on. away back in the middle ages, a bold, bad, blood-thirsty brigand chief kidnapped the only daughter of the empress, because of that young lady's irresistible beauty and charm and because of his own unquenchable love for her. he, in turn, was trapped and captured by the royal body guard, who brought him--manacled in chains with cannon balls at the ends of them--before the haughty empress. he was sentenced to death by nibbling--a little piece to be skewered out of him every two hours, chinese time. the brigand chief, on the side, was a hand-cuff expert. one day he managed to slip out of his chains and away from his tiresome cannon balls. he made a daring dash for liberty, disarming and killing a sentry. boldly, he sought out the captain of the royal guard and fought a very realistic duel with him before the empress and all the members of her retinue who came out from the wings specially to witness the sight. the rank and file of the royal bodyguard--with emphasis on the _rank_--also stood idly by enjoying the spectacle. at last, the brigand chief slew the captain of the guard, and the latter, as soon as he had finished dying, rose to his feet and walked calmly off the stage. then, amid the rattle of drums and empty cocoanut shells, accompanied by fiddle squeaks, the royal guard rushed upon the brigand chief, overpowering him and loading him up afresh with his lately lamented chains and cannon balls. a number of influential people--princes, mandarins and things, including the recently kidnapped only daughter of the empress--pleaded for the gallant fighter's life. but,--up to closing time that night--the empress remained obdurate; this being absolutely necessary, as the play continued for six successive evenings. throughout the most intensely dramatic incidents, phil failed to hear a hand-clap or an ejaculation of admiration or pleasure from the sphinx-faced yellow men about him. yet they seemed intensely interested in the performance. cabbages and bad eggs, so dear to the heart of the white actor, would have been preferable to that funereal silence. phil was just thinking how discouraging it must be to be a chinese actor, when, by some signal, unintelligible to him, the play ended for the night. he rose with the audience, made quickly for the only exit and took up his position on the inside, there to await jim's arrival. when the greater portion of the audience had passed out, jim rose from his seat in front, picked up a white sheet from a corner of the stage and whirled it about him, throwing an end of it over his left shoulder in the manner of the ancient grecian sporting gentlemen. from his looks, he had about three days' growth of whiskers on his face. his eyes, big and dark-rimmed, glowed with an intense inner fire that would have singled him out from among his fellows anywhere. jim was well-known and respected among the chinamen, the more so because of his vagaries. suddenly, he raised his arm in a rhythmic gesture of appeal. he uttered one word, arresting and commanding in its intonation:-- "gentlemen!" there were not very many gentlemen there, but each one present took the ejaculation as personal. the little crowd stopped and gathered round, gazing up with interest at the erect figure in the aisle, white robed, with hand still outstretched. after a moment of tense silence, he commenced to recite burns' immortal poem on brotherly love. never had phil heard such elocution. the intonation, the fervour and fire, the gesticulation were the perfect interpretation of a poet, a mystic, a veritable thespian. on and on jim went in uninterrupted, almost breathless silence. phil was anxious for his friend's well-being, but he stood at the door listening spellbound, as did the orientals about jim, and the low whites who had straggled in toward the end of the chinese performance, half-drunk and doped. vigorously, jim concluded:-- "then let us pray that come it may, as come it will for a' that, that sense and worth o'er a' the earth may bear the gree, and a' that. for a' that, and a' that, it's coming yet, for a' that, that man to man, the world o'er shall brothers be for a' that." when he finished there was a round of applause, in which the chinamen joined most noisily--an unusual thing for them who had sat throughout the entire evening's play of their own without the slightest show of appreciation. phil had heard somewhere that scotsmen and chinamen understand each other better than any other nationalities on the globe do, but this was the first time he had had a first-hand ocular demonstration that the chinaman appreciated the doric of robbie burns, when delivered with the true native feeling. langford bowed his acknowledgement in a courtly manner, as sir henry irving might have done before a royal audience. some of the maudlin white men shouted for an encore. nothing loth, jim laughingly consented, and a hush went over the crowd again, for there was a peculiar hypnotism coming from this erratic individual that commanded the attention of all his listeners. a little, old, monkey-faced chinaman, carrying a parcel in his hand, was standing close by. langford caught hold of him gently and stood the bashful individual before him. in paternal fashion he placed his hand on the greasy, grey head and started impressively into the farewell exhortation of polonius to lærtes, out of hamlet: "and these few precepts in thy memory. look thou to character. give thy thoughts no tongue nor any unproportion'd thought his act. be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar"... on he recited, oblivious of all but the charm of the words he uttered, careful lest a single phrase might pass his lips without its due measure of expression. he finished in a whisper; his voice full of emotion and tears glistening in his deep-set eyes, much to the amazement of the monkey-face upturned to him. "this above all: to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man." deep silence followed, until the squeaky voice of little monkey-face broke through:-- "ya,--you bet,--me savvy!" it shattered the spell that was on langford. he laughed, and grabbed the parcel from the hand of the little chinaman. he pulled the string from it and the paper wrappings, exposing a bloody ox-heart which was destined never to fulfil the purpose for which it was bought. throwing off his sheet cloak, langford became transformed into a figure of early history. he held the ox-heart high in the air with his left hand and struck a soldierly attitude. he was now the famous black douglas of scotland, fighting his last fight against the moors in spain, with the heart of his beloved dead monarch, robert bruce, in the silver casket in which he had undertaken to carry it to the holy land. parrying and thrusting with his imaginary sword, gasping, panting in assumed exhaustion, staggering, recovering and fighting again, then feigning wounds of a deadly nature, he threw the ox-heart over the heads of his gaping spectators toward the door, where it fell at phil's feet. "onward, brave heart," he cried, "as thou wert wont to be in the field. douglas will follow thee or die." then, casting his audience on either side of him, like falling thistles under a sickle, he sprang toward the exit. when he reached his objective, he stooped to pick up the ox-heart. phil smartly placed his foot on it. slowly jim unbent himself, his eyes travelling from the foot that dared to interfere with his will, up the leg, body and chest, until at last they stared into the familiar eyes of his friend, who returned his stare with cold questioning. thus they looked at each other for a moment, then jim's eyes averted. he turned quickly away and passed into the darkened roadway. phil followed, a short step behind. jim heard him and quickened his pace. phil did likewise. finally he broke into a run. phil responded. he ran till his breath began to give out, but try as he would, langford could not shake his follower. there was no sign of any recognition; no word passed between them. three or four times they circled chinatown in this way. langford next dropped into a long, swinging stride and started up toward the railway tracks and out on to the high road of coldcreek. doggedly, limpet-like, phil kept closely to him. on, on he walked, mile after mile, untiring, apparently unheeding, looking neither to right nor left. and on, on, after him, almost at his side, went his determined friend. in an hour, jim cut down a side road and commenced to circle back by the low road, past the lake and once again toward the fairy, twinkling lights of vernock. the post office clock chimed the first hour of a new day, when they got back. jim stopped up in front of a stable, pushed his way inside--for the door was ajar--tumbled down in a corner among some hay and, apparently, was soon fast asleep. phil dropped down beside him, but did not close his eyes. and glad he was of it, for, about an hour later, very stealthily jim rose on his elbow, looked into phil's face, and, evidently satisfied that he was unconscious, rose and made softly for the door. but when he turned to close it behind him, phil was right by his side. without a word, jim changed his mind and went straight back to his hay bed on the stable floor; and this time he tumbled into a deep sleep. phil must have dozed off too, for when he awoke the light of an autumn sun was streaming through a dirty window on to his face. he started up in consternation, but his fears were soon allayed for jim langford was still sleeping peacefully, dead to the world, with an upturned face tranquil and unlined, and innocent-looking as a baby boy's. the work horses in their stalls were becoming restless. phil examined his watch. it was six o'clock. he knew that the teamster would soon be on his job getting his beasts ready for their day's work, so he roused langford, who sat up in a semi-stupor, licking his lips with a dry, rough tongue. he gazed at phil for a while. phil smiled in good humour. "man, but i'm a rotter!" said jim. "of course you are!" agreed phil. "we're both more or less rotters." "but that son of a lobster mcgregor knocked you cold," he pursued, starting in where he had left off several days before. "he did, jim, and threw me through the window to wind up with." "and i'm the man that knows it, too. lord!--but i'm as dry as if i had been eating salt fish for a week." "and you can have a nice, big drink of fresh water at the trough outside whenever you are ready." "water, phil! have a heart!" "sure thing! good fresh water!" "'water, water, everywhere, and not a drop to drink,'" he quoted. and sitting up, there among the hay, a strangely assorted pair they seemed as they conversed familiarly. "well,--i fancy i've had about enough this trip." "you certainly have!" "ay, phil,--but think of that big shrimp knocking us soft." "_us_, did you say?" put in phil. "then it is true, after all?" "what?" "that he finished you off after he put me to sleep!" langford tried to spit in disgust, but despite the greatness of his disgust his mouth and salivic glands refused to function. "oh, man!--it makes me sick. the big, long-legged, red-haired devil has been learning to box on the quiet. and to think that he had that up his sleeve, and was just waiting for us!" "tell me what happened after i got mine, jim. i haven't heard it right yet." "everything happened. i went out and picked you up. i got some of the boys to take you home after i knew that you weren't really booked for 'the better land.' then i went back to lick the stuffing out of rob roy. he was in there, grinning and throwing out his chest like a pouter pigeon." "'you want the same dose?' he asked. "'that's what i came for,' said i. and, phil, between you and me, that's just about what i got. "we fought in the bar-room for three-quarters of an hour. i never hit him worth a rap, for he had a defence like the rock o' gibraltar. he didn't hit me very often, either, but when he did,--oh, lord! well, to make a short story for a thirsty man, we had to quit, both of us, from sheer exhaustion. when we could hardly stand, the mayor came in and separated us. he sent mcgregor and his gang slap-bang home to redmans. and after that--well, they filled me up to the neck. oh, i was quite ready to be filled, phil, for my pride was sorely humbled. and--i've been filled up to the neck ever since. "what day is it, phil?" "wednesday!" "this week, last week or next week?" "this week!" "is that all? and it happened only last saturday. man!" he cried, springing up, "if that's the case, i've only started." "you have finished," said phil decidedly, "finished good and plenty, now and for all." "but man,--think o' my reputation. i always have a month of it." "not this time!" "but i've done it for years. think o' tradition!" "tradition be-darned! if you do, i'll have a month of it, too." "that's pure blarney, phil. you're not that kind." "no, but i shall be. see if i won't, if you don't quit." jim looked into phil's eyes and he saw a determination in them that he knew he could never shake, and, knowing his own weakness, he would have killed phil rather than see him in the same plight. "man!" he exclaimed in perplexity, "i do believe you would." "try me and you'll soon find out." they sat silently for a time. suddenly phil broke in. "come on,--what is it to be? back into decency or a month of hell?" he asked. jim langford got to his feet. "lead on, old chum," he said. "me for a bath, a shave, a good breakfast and--honest toil." chapter xi sol wants a good wife--bad phil was busy in the forge one morning, all alone. sol hanson, for some unknown reason, had failed to put in an appearance, and his assistant was not a little troubled over his absence. before starting out to make inquiries, however, he decided to work away until noon, for it was the day after the provincial election, and the results were expected any minute and were anxiously awaited. he felt quite confident within himself that john royce pederstone would be elected, for the candidate had received a splendid reception at all his meetings throughout the valley, with the solitary exception of the hometown of his opponent. furthermore, rumour had it that pederstone's party was sweeping the country, so, if there was anything at all in indications, royce pederstone's election was a foregone conclusion. phil had noticed that the nearer the election day had drawn, the more serious, nervous and unsettled sol had seemed to grow, as if he dreaded the possibility of his old master's defeat and was taking it to himself as a personal matter. at noon time, phil went out, took a hurried lunch, then strolled down to the office of the _advertiser_, where a crowd was gathered reading the results from the various constituencies as they were posted up on the notice-board outside. just as he got there, ben todd came rushing out of the office, his eyes jumping, his little hunched body quivering with excitement, and his long arms swinging, apelike and energetic. he mounted a chair. he could not settle himself at the start, so all he did was to wave a paper in the air and shout gleefully:-- "he's in, boys! he's in! vernock is on the map at last. hip-hip-hurrah, for john royce pederstone, m.l.a.!" the news was received with yells of delight, cat-calls and some real cowboy war-whoops. when the commotion subsided, ben todd continued. "our new member is coming in on the stage from kelowna at six-thirty. the band is going to be there, so don't forget to be there too and give him a rouser. the ladies are busy already at the town hall. supper at seven-thirty and a dance at eighty-thirty till the cows come home. put on your glad rags, bring your women folks and whoop her up for a fare-you-well." thus relieved of his effervescence, ben todd threw his slang overboard and started in to a political speech in good english, on the immense possibilities of the valley in which they were privileged to dwell; the era of prosperity just ahead--in fact, with some already reached; on the increasing demand for property everywhere, the consequent rising values and the prospect of early wealth to the present holders of land; haranguing the good-natured crowd on the outstanding qualities of john royce pederstone, their new member; on the wonderful things he would do for the valley in the matter of irrigation, railroads, public buildings and everything else; eulogising on the tremendous help mayor brenchfield had given with his widespread influence and his virile oratory during the final whirlwind tour over the valley; and last but not least, dwelling on the unfailing support the new member had received from the greatest of british columbia's inland newspapers, _the vernock and district advertiser_. phil had no time to wait to hear all of it. he threaded his way through the crowd and back to the smithy. he had just got his coat off and his sleeves rolled up, when sol hanson swaggered in in great style. he was dressed in a loud-checked summer suit, which fitted him only where it touched him. every button on it was buttoned and straining, and in places the cloth was stretched to bursting point--for no ordinary-sized suit ever fitted sol hanson; and, never thinking of such a disloyalty as sending out of the valley for his clothes, he had, perforce, to content himself with the biggest suit he could obtain in the vernock stores. sol had a black bowler hat, three sizes too small for him, sitting jauntily on the back of his head. his great shock of fair hair was streaming from under it, all round, like a waterfall. it was a new hat, but it looked as if it had had an argument with a dusty roadway. later information proved that appearances, so far as the hat was concerned, were not deceptive. sol's trousers were tight and straining. they were turned up, high above a pair of flaring yellow boots, displaying some four inches of lavender socks. a red necktie, a walking stick, a huge red rose and a pair of tan gloves completed the external extravaganza. sol had succeeded in getting one glove on his great ham-like hand, but the other had proved too much for him and he carried it loosely in his hand. he strutted up and down in front of phil, with a look of inordinate pride on his big, porridge-soft, simple simon face. phil gaped in wonder, then, when he could restrain himself no longer, he burst out laughing, much to the dandified sol's disappointment. "what's the matter?" he asked, straightening up. this caused phil to laugh the more. "why, sol!--you're all dolled up something awful," he remarked. "well!--that's all right,--ain't it?" "sure thing,--go to it! mr. pederstone won't know you when you go up to congratulate him on his victory." "ya!--mr. pederstone win. i pretty dam-glad. but that ain't any reason why a fellow put on his fine clothes." "what is it then, sol? you might tell a fellow. you haven't come into a fortune?" "no such dam-luck as that! but this my birthday, phil. i been thirty-three years old to-day." "well now!--and i never knew." phil reached and shook the big swede's big hand heartily. "leave it there,--many happy returns, old man!" sol's good nature bubbled over, but his face took on a clouded expression shortly after. "'old man'!" he repeated. "ya!--you right, phil, thirty-three, i soon, be old man and i not been got married yet. if i wait two-three year more, nobody have me." "oh, go on, you old pessimist. you're a young fellow yet. there's lot of time." "maybe--maybe not! yesterday i think all pretty girl here soon be snapped up. gretchen gilder, she get married to that slob peters last year, and peters he no dam-good. i never ask gretchen, or maybe i have her now. i think she been too good. peters he ask her and get her right off. all them johnson girls get married; five fine big girl too! now little betty mccawl--you know little irish girl--god bless me!--i just been crazy for her. she go get married day before yesterday to that other swede, jan nansen." phil laughed at sol's rueful countenance, as the latter recounted his matrimonial misses. "why!--you're too slow." "you bet!--too dam-slow to catch myself getting out of bed. i scared to tell little betty. think maybe she not like to marry big swede. jan nansen catch her first time. jan nansen,--land sakes!--i got more money, more sense, more hair on top my head, more clothes;--i could put jan in my jean's pocket. now little betty, she mrs. jan nansen. good night and god bless me!" sol spat among the hoof parings on the floor in his annoyance. "yes, too bad, sol!" phil put in. "yesterday i say too bad too! i got fine house. build him all myself too. i got three room, with chairs, tables, fine stove, everything. but i got nobody to keep it nice. then that dam-fool of a fine little fellow smiler, he going all plumb toboggan to hell because nobody look after him all day long. soon no more pretty girl be left, i say to myself:--'sol hanson, to-morrow your birthday. you get all dressed up and first girl you meet you ask her if she marry sol hanson.' see! maybe she not take me. all right! i keep on ask next one, then another one, till some girl take me. first one take me, she get me,--see!" phil raised his eyebrows in amusement, wondering what next he was about to hear. "well, last night i go down to morrison's store and buy all these. this morning, i have a fine bath, with fine baby soap. i get good shave, dress up swell like this, and come out about one o'clock. one o'clock all fine girl be going back to work after dinner,--see! "i open front door and get down sidewalk, then come down street. nobody there; nobody pass me. but when i get ten yard from corner snider avenue, who come slap-bang pretty near head-on collision:--big martha schmidt." phil yelled uproariously as sol stood there the picture of seriousness. "ya,--you laugh. i laugh now,--ha, ha! you know martha. she maybe thirty, maybe thirty-six. i don't know. she got one good eye; other eye all shot to hell sometime. just got one big tooth and he stick out good and plenty. ugh! "well,--sol hanson every time he dam-good sport and do what he say he do. but i not meet her. i stop quick,--think for one little time,--then martha cry, 'hullo, sol!' i never hear her. i turn quick, walk back all the same as if, maybe, i left my pipe home. i hurry into house, slam door hard and stand inside all shivers like one pound of head cheese waiting to get cold." "and what then, sol?" "oh,--after while, i peep out and see martha go up the road. little while more, all clear, i come out and have one more try. "this time, first girl for sure, i say. well--first girl happen to be black buck-nigger ebenezer jones's coon kid, dorothea. dorothea she dam-fine girl all right. she say, 'hullo, kid,--nice day!' "i look away down the street to corner. i make her think i not see her. i keep on going. she stand on sidewalk, one big fist on each hip and she look after me and say, 'wal,--i like dat!'" "dirty trick!" remarked phil. "what? holy yiminy!--that fair enough. you don't expect decent white man ask nigger coon wench to marry him. i maybe not mention it to myself when i make deal with myself, but no black nigger, no chink or jap for sol hanson. i keep single first,--you bet!" "quite right!" switched phil. "keep the colour scheme right anyway, sol." "well--then white girl come along. 'by gosh!' i say. "she miss gladys tierney,--you know,--she work typewriter for commercial bank. "i raise my hat and say, 'good morning, lady!' "she look me up and down. 'are you crazy?' she ask. 'you bet!' i say, 'been crazy for you, sweetheart.' "she sniff and give me regular freeze-out; leave me standing dam-fool foolish. "little while more, pretty fine jane she come along. i see her sometimes; but not know her name. "big,--uhm! work in steam laundry. she wear her sleeves all rolled up; walk very quick like she been going some place. she look good to me, so i step up in front. i take off my hat. "'how do you do, jane!' "she look at me and laugh. half-smile, half laugh,--you know, phil. i guess, maybe, it all right. so i try, little bit more. "'very nice day, ma'am,' i say. "'it is,' she say. "'you look pretty nice!' i say next. "'that's comforting!' she say next back, very quick. "'this my birthday.' and i smile to her. "'it is written all over you,' she answer. "'you think i look pretty good to you, eh?' i ask. "'swell!' she say. "'you think somebody like to marry me? i got dam-fine house, and furniture, and smiler.' "'_somebody_ might,' she say. "well, phil,--i seem to be getting on pretty good, so i take the bull by the tail and say right bang off the wrong side of the bat, 'you be my wife?' "'what?' she say, as if maybe she make a mistake in her ear-drums. "'you marry me?' i ask again. "she pull the blinds down all over her face just like biff. she take one swing on me, phil, right there, and pretty near break my jaw;--knock my four dollar hat all to hell in the middle of the road and walk away laughing like, like--oh, like big, fat, laundry maid laugh." very seriously, phil asked his further adventures. "ain't that plenty for one day? no dam-good catch wife that way. i try another trick, though. maybe it work better." "what's the other trick, sol?" the big simpleton drew a pink coloured, badly frayed newspaper out of his pocket. it was _the matrimonial times_, a monthly sheet printed in seattle and intended for the lonely, lovesick and forlorn of both sexes; a sort of agony column by the mile. "you don't mean to say you correspond with anybody through that?" "you bet!" "and can't you land anyone?" "not yet! everybody say, 'send photo.' i send it, then no answer come back." "never mind!" commiserated phil. "one of these days your picture will reach the right one and she'll think you're the only man on earth." "well,--she have to be pretty gol-darn quick now, for i'm all sick inside waiting." "meantime, hadn't you better get back to work, sol?" "guess, maybe just as well." he went into a corner, took off his glad rags, folded them and laid them carefully on a bench, then donned his working trousers, shirt and leather apron, and was soon swinging his hammer and making the sparks fly as if he had no other thought in the world but the welding of the iron he handled to its fore-ordained shape. chapter xii the dance that night, phil and jim attired themselves in their best clothes and set out for the town hall. there was no missing the way, for chinese lanterns and strings of electric lights led there, and all pedestrians were making for that important objective. the two comrades were late in getting there; much too late to be partakers of the supper and listeners to the toasting and speech-making so dear to the hearts of politicians, aspiring politicians, lodge men, newspaper men, parsons, lawyers, ward-committee chairmen and the less pretentious, common-ordinary soap-box orator--whom no community is without. the long-suffering and patient public had evidently been hypnotised into putting up with the usual surfeit of lingual fare by the nerve-soothing influences of a preceding supper with a dance to follow. outside the town hall, horses, harnessed and saddled, lined the roadway, hitched to every available post, rail and tree in the vicinity. the side streets were blocked in similar fashion. the hall inside was a blaze of coloured lights and was bedecked with flags and streamers. the orchestral part of the town band was doing its best. everybody, his wife and his sweetheart, were conspicuously present, despite the fact that it was the height of the harvest season and most of them had been hard at work in the orchards since early morning, garnering their apple crops, and would have to be hard at it again next day, as if nothing had happened between times to disturb their evening's recuperations. a number of dances had been gone through, evidently, for the younger ladies were seated round the hall, fanning themselves daintily, while the complexions of the more elderly of them had already begun to betray a perspiry floridness. the men, young and old alike, mopping their moist foreheads with their handkerchiefs and straining at their collars in partial suffocation, crowded the corridors in quest of cooler air and an opportunity for a pipe or a cigarette. only a few of the younger gallants lingered in the dance room to exchange pleasantries and bask for several precious extra moments in the alluring presence of some particular young lady with whom, for the time being, they were especially enamoured. a cheery atmosphere prevailed; both political parties had buried their differences for the night. all were out for a good time and to do honour to the valley's new parliamentary representative. the men who congregated in the corridors presented a strange contrast; great broad fellows, polite of manner and speaking cultured english, in full evening dress but of a cut of the decade previous; others in their best blue serges; still others in breeches and leggings or puttees; while a few--not of the ballroom variety--refused to dislodge themselves from their sheepskin chaps, and jingled their spurs every time they changed position. for the most part, the eyes of these men were clear and bright, and their faces were tanned to a healthy brown from long exposure to the okanagan's perpetual sunshine. the pale-faced exceptions were the storekeepers, clerks, hotel-men and the bunco-dealers, like rattlesnake jim dalton, who spent their days in the saloons and their nights at the card-tables. the ladies, seated round the hall, compared favourably with their partners in point of healthy and virile appearance; and many of them, who a few years before, in their former homes in the east and in the old land, had not known what it meant to dry a dish, cook a meal or make a dress, who had trembled at the thought of a warm ray of god's blessed sunshine falling on their tender, sweet-milk complexions unless it were filtered and diluted through a parasol or a drawn curtain, now knew, from hard, honest experience, how to cook for their own household and, in addition, to cater for a dozen ever-hungry ranch hands and cattlemen:--knew not only how to make a dress but how to make one over when the necessity called for it; could milk the cows with the best of their serving-girls; could canter over the ranges, rope a steer and stare the blazing summer sun straight in the eye, with a laugh of defiance and real, live happiness. the feminine hired-help chatted freely with their mistresses in a comradeship and a kind of free-masonry that only the hard battling with nature in the west could engender. phil was leaning idly against the door-post at the entrance to the dance-room, contemplating the kaleidoscope, when jim's voice roused him. "phil,--i see your dear, dear friend, mayor brenchfield, is here." "you've wonderful eyesight!" phil answered. "brenchfield is hardly the one to let anyone miss seeing him. his middle name is publicity, in capital letters." "little chatterbox jenny steele tells me he has had three dances out of the last five with eileen pederstone," was the next tantaliser. "that shows his mighty good taste!" "you bet it does! but he shows darned poor breeding, unless he's tied up to her." "it is up to her, anyway, and maybe they are engaged," returned phil, lightly enough. "i don't doubt that he would like to be. guess he will be too, sooner or later. gee!" he continued in disgust, "i wish some son-of-a-gun would cut the big, fat, over-confident bluffer out." "why don't you have a try, jim?" laughed his companion. "me? i never had a lass in my life. i'm--i'm not a lady's man. they are all very nice to me, and all that; but i never feel completely comfortable unless it happens to be a woman who could be my great-grandmother." "you're begging the question, jim. why don't you go over and claim a dance or two from miss pederstone, seeing you are so anxious over her and brenchfield?" "i would,--bless your wee, palpitating, undiscerning soul, but i don't dance." "go and talk to her, then." "and have somebody come over and pick her up to dance with, from under my very nose? no, thanks! this is a dance, man; and the lassies are here to dance. it would be ill of me to deprive her of all the fun she wants. "you can dance, phil? i know you can by the way you've been beating your feet every time the band plays. go on, man!" "i could dance, once," said phil, "but----" "once! spirit of my great-great-grandfather! you talk like methuselah." "i haven't danced for five years." "good heavens, man! this five years of yours gets on my nerves. you must have rip van winkled five years of your precious life away." the remark bit deep; and phil grew solemn and did not reply. jim looked into his face soberly, then placed his arm on phil's shoulder. "sorry, old man! i'm an indiscreet idiot. didn't mean to be rude," he said. phil smiled. "but say," jim urged, still bent on providing himself with some amusement, "go to it and enjoy yourself. go on, man;--don't be scared!" he goaded. phil undoubtedly was scared, although he felt fairly sure, after that first interview in the smithy, that eileen pederstone had not recognised him. but he knew he would be running a risk. as he looked at her across the dancing floor, as she sat there in her soft, shimmering silks, her cheeks aglow, her eyes dancing with happiness and her brown curls straying over her forehead--elfish-like rather than humanly robust--he was tempted, sorely tempted indeed. "gee, but you're slow!" went on jim. "oh, go to the devil!" phil muttered irritably. but jim grinned the more; the imp in him uppermost. "you've met her, haven't you, phil?" "yes,--i spoke to her once only, in the smithy." "well--that's good enough for a start." "do you think so?" "sure thing! eileen pederstone turn you down! man alive,--eileen wouldn't have the heart to turn you down if you had a wooden leg. i'll tell you what! if she turns you down, i'll ask her for a dance myself; and i never danced in my life." the music was starting up. it was a good, old-fashioned waltz. how phil's heart beat to the rhythm of it! the men commenced to swarm from the corridors. he took a step forward. jim pushed him encouragingly from behind with a "quick, man, before somebody else asks her up!" and he was in the stream and away with the current. he started across, his heart drumming a tattoo on his ribs. half-way over the floor--and he would have turned back but for the thought of jim. he kept on, still somewhat indeterminately. when he got near to miss pederstone, she looked up almost in surprise, but the smile she bestowed on him was ample repayment for his daring. it was the dancing waters of the kalamalka lake under a sunburst. she held out her hand. "good evening, mr. ralston! everybody seems to be here to-night." "of course,--isn't this _your_ night?" phil ventured. she beckoned him to sit down by her side. "it isn't _my_ night," she answered; "it is my daddy's." "you must be very happy at his wonderful victory." "yes,--i am very happy, just for father's sake, he was so set on it toward the finish. he is just like a boy who has won a hard race. and now he is being buttonholed by everybody. i shall never have him all to myself any more." the dancers were already on the floor and gliding away. "may i have this dance?" asked phil. "with pleasure!" she answered. and his heart raced on again, in overwhelming delight. "but first, let us sit just for a moment or so. "is jim langford with you to-night?" she asked. "yes,--he is over there by the door." "he is a great boy, jim," she said. "everybody likes him, and yet he is so terribly foolish at times to his own interests. he doesn't seem to care anything for money, position or material progress. and he is so clever; he could accomplish anything almost, if he set his mind to it. and,--and he is always a gentleman." "yes! jim's pure gold right through," phil answered with enthusiasm. "mr. ralston, i think you are the only man he has ever been known really to chum with. and he doesn't dance," she added. "so he tells me." "sometimes i fancy he _can_ dance, but refuses to admit it for some particular reason of his own. he looks like a dancer." "quite possible!" phil returned. "i never thought of it in that light." "he does not seem to hanker after a lady's company very much. he is most at home with the men folks." "he told me, only a few minutes ago, that he was not a lady's man." "ah, but he is!" she differed. "it is true he does not show any inclination for the company of young ladies, but he is very much a lady's man all the same. there isn't a young lady in this hall but would be proud to have the honour of jim langford's company and companionship at any time. he is of that deep, mercurial disposition that attracts women. it is good for jim langford that he does not know his own power," she said, nodding her dainty head suggestively. "shall i tell him?" teased phil. "no!--let him find that out for himself. he will enjoy it all the more when he does. some day, i hope, the right young lady will wake him up. then maybe he won't be 'wayward' langford any more. "i have heard them call you 'silent' ralston." her remark startled phil. in the first place, he fancied the nick-name that had been given him was known merely by the rougher element about town, and it sounded strangely coming from her. again, that was the name they had given him in ukalla, and it created an uncanny feeling in him that it, of all nick-names, should again fasten to him. "but you aren't really so silent,--are you now?" "no!--i can hold my own in the field of conversation. it is just a foolish name some one tagged on, one day, for lack of brains to think of anything more apt;--and it has stuck to me ever since, as such things have a habit of doing." "'wayward' langford and 'silent' ralston!" she turned the words on her tongue reflectively. "what a peculiar combination!" phil laughed, but refused to be drawn further. "are you as wayward as he?" she asked. phil did not answer. "are you?" she asked again. "jim and i are chums," he answered. "which means----?" "'birds of a feather----'" how long they would have chatted on, phil had no notion, for the lights, the music, the gliding dancers, the gaiety and the intoxicating presence of eileen pederstone had him in their thrall. however, he was interrupted by the stout but agile figure of graham brenchfield weaving in and out among the dancers and coming their way. he stopped up in front of them, giving phil a careless nod. he held out his bent arm to miss pederstone. "this is ours, i think, eileen," he said. "sorry i was late. excuse us, ralston!" phil gasped and looked over to miss pederstone. "no, siree!" answered the young lady, quite calmly and naturally. "i have promised this dance to mr. ralston, and was just resting a little bit before starting out." "pshaw!--ralston doesn't dance," he bantered. "this is a dandy waltz,--come!" "but you _do_ dance, mr. ralston?" she put in. "of course i do!" said phil, springing up. and, in a moment, they sailed away from him whose very presence tainted the atmosphere for ralston. a backward glance showed brenchfield glooming after them, the fingers of one hand fumbling with the pendant of his watch-chain, the fingers of the other pulling at his heavy, black moustache. but who had any desire to keep the picture of one such as he in memory, in the new delights that were swarming in on phil? he held eileen pederstone lightly within the half-hoop of his arm. she was but a floating featherweight. but, ah! the intoxication of it, he could never forget: the violins singing and sighing in splendid harmony and time; the perfume of the lady's presence; the soft, sweet, white, living, swaying loveliness; the feeling of abandonment to the pleasure of the moment that enveloped him from his partner's happy heart. great god!--and phil a young man in the first flush of his manhood, exiled from the presence of womanhood for five years, shut away from the refining of their influence and in all that time never to have felt the charm of a woman's voice, the delight of a woman's happy laugh, never to have felt the thrill of the touch of a woman's hand;--and suddenly to be released at the very gates of heaven: little wonder he was dumb, sightless and deaf to all else but the bewitchment of the waltz. phil thought he had forgotten the way, but, ah! how they danced as they threaded their way through and round. no one touched them; none stopped the swing, rhythm and beat of their movements. once eileen spoke to him, but he did not comprehend. she looked up into his face and, as he gazed down into her eyes, he thought she must have understood his feelings, for she did not attempt conversation again. he was as a soul without a body, soaring in the vastnesses of the heavens, in harmony and unison with the great and perfect god-created spirit world of which he formed an infinitesimal but perfect and necessary part. gradually, and all too soon, alas!--for it seemed to him that they had hardly started--the music slowed and softened till it died away in a whisper, and he was awakened to his surroundings by the sudden burst of applause from the dancers on every side of them. he did not wait to ascertain if there might be a few more bars of encore. he did not know, even, that there was a possibility of such. still in a daze, he led eileen pederstone to her seat. he thanked her, bowed and turned to cross the floor. but she did not sit down. she laid a detaining hand gently on his arm. "thank you so much!" she said. "i enjoyed it immensely. and mr. brenchfield dared to say you couldn't dance!" phil smiled, but did not reply. the spell of the dance had not yet entirely gone from him. "are you afraid to ask me if there might be another?" she inquired, with a coy glance and just a little petulance in her voice. "can you--can you spare another?" "of course, i can!" "another waltz?" he queried eagerly. "the dance fourth from now is a waltz," she answered. "may i have it?" "yes!" brenchfield--surly watch-dog that he was--was at their heels again. this time, the refreshment buffet was his plea. phil abandoned his partner to him with good grace, for even graham brenchfield could not quench his good spirits over the great enjoyment he still had in store;--another waltz with eileen pederstone. in the hallway, he encountered jim, who twitted him for a moment for his great courage, but phil could see that jim had something on his mind that had not been there when he had left him. they went to the outside door and stood together in the cool, night air. "gee phil!--but this is a grand night for these feed sneaks to pull off something big," he said, in that mixture of scotticisms and western canadian slang that he often indulged in. "what makes you think of that?" "look at the sky, man!--black as ink and not a moon to be seen. everybody is at the dance; chief palmer and howden are here; the mayor, the aldermen, royce pederstone, ben todd; why, man,--the town outside there is empty. "did you notice anything peculiar in the gathering in there, phil?" "no! how do you mean?" "not a mother's son of that redman's bunch is present." "but they're not much of a dancing crowd." "you bet they are!--when it suits them. you never saw a crowd of cowpunchers that weren't. "i have the keys to the o.k. supply company's warehouse on the tracks. are you game for a nose around, just to see if there's anything doing?" "what's the good of worrying over a thing like that to-night, jim? let's forget it and have a good time." jim laughed. "well,--i'm going anyway. say, phil! i've not only got the keys to the o. k. warehouse, but i have keys that fit brenchfield's and the pioneer traders' as well." "better watch you don't get pinched yourself," phil cautioned. "de'il the fear o' it, phil! but i'm going to get one over that bunch if it is only to satisfy my own scotch inquisitiveness. at the same time, i would like to help out morrison of the o.k. company. he's a good old scout, and this thieving is gradually sucking him white. palmer and his crowd don't seem to be able to make anything of it--or don't want to--yet it has been going on for years." "i should like to come," phil answered, "only i've promised to have another dance with miss pederstone, and i couldn't possibly think of disappointing myself in the matter. give me a line on where you'll be, and i'll come along and join you as soon as that particular dance is over. won't you stick around till then, and we can go together?" he suggested. "no! i have a kind of hunch there is things doing. you hurry along as soon as you can. keep your eyes open and, if all is quiet, come round to the track door of the middle warehouse, brenchfield's. you should be up there by eleven-thirty. i'll be there then, sharp at that time, and will let you in if all is jackaloorie." "have you a gun?" "sure!" replied jim, "and one for you. here!--stick it in your pocket now. it is loaded. darned handy thing!" phil walked part of the way up the back streets with jim. it was noisy as usual round chinatown, with its squeaky fiddle, tom-tom and cocoanut-shell orchestras, intensified by a fire-cracker display on the part of the more aristocratic chinese in honour of john royce pederstone's victory. the remainder of the town, apart from the neighbourhood of the dance-hall, was in absolute quietness. phil parted from jim near the railway tracks and slowly retraced his steps toward the town hall, whose blaze of lights stood out in high contrast with the surrounding darkness. when phil got back, the band had just concluded a cheery two-step and the dancers were scattering in all directions for seats round the hall and for the buffet. eileen pederstone caught sight of him as soon as he entered, and signalled him over. "i thought you had gone home, mr. ralston," she remarked, her eyes sparkling with enjoyment and her breath coming fast with the exertion of the dance. phil took in her slender, shapely, elfin beauty, and his heart beat a merry riot of pleasure as he sat down by her side. "i went along the road a bit with jim," he answered. "he had some business he wished to see to." "poor jim," laughed eileen, "he takes life so strangely; at times tremendously seriously; at others as if it meant nothing at all. now he plays the solemn and mysterious, and again he assumes the rôle of the irresponsible harlequin. i don't think anyone really understands jim langford." "i don't think anyone does," agreed phil. "are you awfully anxious that we should dance this next waltz?" she asked, suddenly changing the subject. "why?" asked phil, a little crestfallen. "i should like to have a little stroll in the fresh air, if you don't mind. it is dreadfully warm in here and i have been dancing continuously. do you mind?" "not at all!" said phil. he helped her with her cloak. she put her arm through his and they went out into the open air together. it was eleven o'clock. the street lights went out suddenly, leaving everything in inky blackness. it was a night with a shudder in it. eileen clung tightly to phil's arm as they strolled leisurely along, leaving the lights of the dance-hall and the noise behind them, and going down the main avenue in the direction that led to the okanagan lake. "do you know, mr. ralston," remarked eileen suddenly, during a lull in what had been a desultory, flippant, bantering sort of conversation, "i can't explain how it is and i know it is ridiculous on the face of it; but sometimes i have the feeling that i have met you before." phil felt a tightening in his jaws, and he was grateful for the darkness. "do you ever feel that way about people?" "oh, yes,--occasionally,--with some people!" phil stammered. "i feel that way with jim langford all the time." "but i can't ever have met you before you came to vernock?" "no,--oh no! i am quite sure of that," said phil. "haven't you ever been here before?" "no,--never!" phil had to say it. "you've never seen me in vancouver for instance,--or in victoria?" "no,--i can't remember ever having seen you till i came up here. of course, i was only a short time in vancouver before coming to vernock," he hedged. "then your home isn't in the west?" "no,--it is away back in a town in ontario." "mr. brenchfield is an ontario man," put in eileen innocently. "is he?" returned phil, on guard. "but it is the funniest thing, mr. ralston," she reverted, "sometimes it is your voice; while in the hall to-night it seemed to be your eyes that reminded me of someone i had known before. a trick of the mind, i daresay!" "just a trick of the mind!" agreed phil, "unless maybe you believe in the transmigration of souls." eileen shivered suddenly. "guess we'd better get back," said phil, "for the air is chilly." they turned and sauntered toward the town. "are you waiting until the end of the dance, mr. ralston?" "no! i promised to meet jim round about eleven-thirty." "jim!" she repeated. "you and jim seem to be thick as sweethearts." "thicker!" responded phil, "because we never fall out." "do sweethearts fall out so often?" "i fancy so, from what i hear." "then you think two men can be greater friends than a man and a woman can?" "greater friends,--truer friends,--more sincere friends and faithful,--yes!" eileen's hold on phil's arm loosened. "what makes you think so?" she asked. "well,--with men it is purely and simply a wholehearted attraction of congenial tastes and manly virtues or evil propensities, as the case may be. there is no question of sex coming between. when that enters into the reckoning, everything else goes by the board. not that i infer that man and woman cannot be true friends and fast friends, but everything has to take second place to that question of sex." eileen did not answer. "don't you agree?" asked phil with a smile. "no,--i do not, but i don't feel that i can argue the point." they were silent once more. then again eileen broke into the quiet. "oh, dear!--i almost forgot. i wonder, mr. ralston, if you would care to come to our place the week after next. daddy, you know, has bought baron dedillier's house on the hill, and we are going to have a house-warming and a big social time for all daddy's friends. would you care to come if i send you an invitation? jim will be there. he seldom gets left out of anything, pleasant or otherwise." phil was not so very sure of himself, and he would have preferred rather to have been omitted, but he could not, in good grace, decline such an invitation. "why, certainly!" he replied. "it will give me the greatest of pleasure." "good! we shall have a nice dance together to make up for the one we missed to-night,--and a talk. maybe that night i shall be in better frame of mind for meeting your arguments on the relations of sex and friendship." phil laughed in his own peculiar way. eileen pederstone stopped up with a start and looked at him with half frightened eyes, as if endeavouring to recall a bad dream yet half afraid lest it should return to her. phil knew that an echo had touched her memory from that laugh. he was about to speak of something else, to take away her thoughts, when a shadow crept up to phil's side and a hand pulled at his coat sleeve. he turned quickly and caught at the hand. he pulled its owner round sharply. it was smiler--the never-fading grimace on his face, through which penetrated an expression of fear. "what is it? what is the matter?" asked phil quickly. smiler moved his hands excitedly, trying desperately to make himself understood thereby. he kept tugging at phil's coat, as a dog might do, and endeavoured to get him to go along with him. phil tried him with several questions. "is it jim langford?" he asked at last. smiler nodded excitedly and pulled at phil's coat more desperately than ever. "jim langford has sent smiler for me, miss pederstone. i know you will excuse me. let me hurry you back to the hall." "it can't be anything serious?" she queried anxiously, "no accident or anything like that?" "oh, no!--but jim's a queer fish and i guess it will be best to get to him as quickly as possible. no saying what trouble he gets into in the course of five minutes." phil saw her safely back to the hall, wished her "good night," and darted after smiler who was waiting for him in the shadows. chapter xiii the big steal on phil went through the back lanes of the town and up the hill toward the railway tracks, almost trotting in his endeavour to keep pace with the tireless smiler. they went past the three warehouses,--brenchfield's, the pioneer traders' and that of the o.k. supply company,--till smiler came to a stand-still in front of an old, unused barn which stood in the yard in front of the central warehouse belonging to graham brenchfield. phil pushed his way inside and looked about him inquiringly. smiler pointed to a coal-oil lamp which hung--a dark shadow--from a nail on the wall. phil closed the barn door tightly, struck a match and set the lantern alight. the barn floor was littered with damp, stale-smelling straw. smiler kicked some of it away and knelt down. he commenced to work his fingers into the flooring boards. he gave an inarticulate chuckle when he came to a certain part, gave a tug, and immediately half of the floor swung up on well-oiled hinges, disclosing a cellar or vault almost big enough to let down a dray-load of merchandise at a time. phil whistled. smiler seized the lamp and started down by a wooden ladder, but phil grabbed him by the coat collar, pulled him sheer out, planting him down on the floor by his side. "after me, my dear alphonso?" he commanded, going down the ladder with the lamp in one hand and his revolver in the other, holding on to the side of the ladder at the same time with a few of his fingers, as best he could. he had hardly reached the bottom when smiler was tumbling beside him. the boy ran over to a corner of the cellar. phil followed. a huddled bundle lay on the damp ground. phil dropped beside it and turned it over, setting down his lantern. it was the unconscious form of jim langford, trussed with knotted ropes until it looked more like a bale of cast-off clothing than a human being. jim's face was white and all bloody-streaked at the forehead and mouth. phil took out his knife and slashed at the ropes. he chafed the arms and legs. he tossed his hat to smiler and said one word: "water!" smiler ran off up the ladder and was back in less than a minute. phil seized the hat and splashed some of the cold water on the upturned face, wiping the blood from jim's mouth with his handkerchief. after a bit, jim sighed and opened his eyes. phil held his hat to the oozy lips and jim drank greedily. soon he was all alert. he sprang to his feet, staring around him wildly. "damn them, the siwashes! damn them,--they got me! and they've got awa'." then he sagged at the knees and collapsed. he did not lose consciousness again. "take your time!--take your time!" cautioned phil. slowly jim's strength returned and his brain cleared. he wanted to be up and away at once, but phil, with his usual caution, insisted on hearing everything that had happened before he would move a foot, knowing that if anything had still to be done jim would be none the worse for half an hour's rest. "stay where you are and tell me all about it," he insisted. "stay! hang it, man,--i canna stay. come on! i'll show ye. it will be better than sitting here and talking. but bide a bit! we'll get them yet or my name's no' jim langford. "smiler," he cried, "come here laddie!" the boy came forward. "go up to mrs. clunie's. shut the barn door up there after ye. don't make a noise. saddle our two horses and bring them doon to the corner. our rifles as well;-they're in the locker behind the stable door! quick! awa' wi' ye!" smiler nodded his head rapidly and was up the ladder and off like a shot. "come along here!" jim continued to phil. phil sucked his breath at what he saw, or rather did not see. it was not a cellar after all,--but a tunnel. "weel ye may gasp!" ejaculated jim, holding up the lantern and peering ahead. "come on! "have you your revolver?" "yes!" "keep a grip of it then. i hardly think there'll be a body here now. but it's as well to keep your wits about ye." jim went on first and phil followed. phil's foot struck metal. he looked down. two rails ran along the bottom of the tunnel. "nothing obsolete about this bunch!" whispered jim jocularly. they followed along in caution till they came to a truck on the rails capable of holding twenty sacks of flour or feed at a time. on either side of them were walls of sacked flour and other grain. "the lord only knows how far this underground warehouse extends," remarked jim, "and how many thousands of dollars worth of stuff is cached away in it, ready to haul away as the chance comes along." they passed on until they must have been under brenchfield's warehouse, when the tunnel dead-ended, branching off to the right and to the left. jim stopped. "that's about all," he said. "brenchfield's warehouse is above us. the pioneer traders' is at the end that way. the o.k. supply company's is at the other end. "see! there is a trap door in each, like this up here, that drops inward and acts as a chute for sliding down the stuff right onto the track. simplest thing on earth, and it has been going on for years with devil a body the wiser." "well!--of all the elaborate thieving schemes!" exclaimed phil, dumbfounded. "elaborate nothing! why, man, thousands and thousands of dollars worth of feed and flour have been stolen from these three places in the last five years--as much as ten thousand dollars at a crack. "i'm thinking they've got off with that much right this very night. it is just a great big organised, dirty steal,--that's all. little wonder some folks get rich quick in this valley, without any apparent outward reason for their luck either in themselves or in what they seem to be engaged in." "how did you find all this out?" inquired phil, his face white with excitement. "oh,--easy enough in a way! i was in brenchfield's warehouse, hiding. i told you i had the key to it. by good or bad luck--i don't know which--i was hiding on top of the darned trap door without being aware of it. i heard a noise, and thought it was in the warehouse where i was. suddenly the flour sacks on every side of me began to slide. i had just to slide with them; there was nothing else for it; and before i could wink i was down here and in among the gang,--rob roy mcgregor, summers, skookum, and half a dozen others; the whole of that redmans gang; half-breeds and dirty whites. "i shot a hole in one of them, then my gun got struck out of my hand. i knocked down two with my fists and made a dash for it. i got to the ladder at the old barn there and ran up, but i forgot about a man who happened to be at the top. he dropped the trap-door crash on my head, and that's the last i can mind." "good lord!" cried phil. "and the murdering hounds, not content with that, trussed you up and left you here like a rat in a sewer." "ay!--to come back later, maybe, when they had more time, finish me off and bury me in the bowels o' the earth." jim pulled himself together. "phil," he cried, "come on! we're wasting time here. i'm going to get that bunch before i sleep." once outside, they reclosed the barn-door, leaving everything exactly as they had found it. up the road a little, the faithful smiler was standing with the two rifles, two cartridge belts, and the two horses from mrs. clunie's saddled and bridled to perfection. "smiler!--go home to bed," said jim. smiler nodded, grinned and ran off. "phil, do you know where jack mclean, the manager of the pioneer traders, lives?" "yes!" "then tear up there and put him wise. get hold of blair, their grocery man, as well. he's a grand scrapper. get them to bring their rifles. "don't tell a soul but these two what the game is." "what else?" "i'm going to rustle up morrison of the o.k. supply, then down to the town hall for two or three who are game for a free-for-all. make hell-bent-for-leather down to allison's wharf at okanagan landing. we can leave our horses there, cross the lake to the other side below redmans, and be on the main road there that leads from vernock to redmans a full hour ahead of them; and collar the bunch--men, wagons, feed and every damned thing, as they come sliddering along thinking they're safe." "jee-rusalem!" cried phil, as the plan dawned on him. "but are you sure they are taking the road that way and that redmans will be where they are making for?" "you bet i'm sure! and the long way round the hills and the head of the lake is the only way they can make redmans with heavy wagons. any bairn knows that they'll reckon to get there just before dawn. the whole bunch are breeds and klootchmen from there, and they're not likely to cache their steal any place but where they can get at it handy. now, off you go!" phil sprang into his saddle. "say!" whispered jim, straining upwards, "i'm going to bring the mayor along." "oh, hang the mayor!" cried phil hotly. "if we are going to be helping him in any way, i guess you can count me out." "but, phil, laddie;--mclean of the pioneer company is coming, and morrison of the o.k. company is coming. "we can hardly leave brenchfield out." jim's voice was somewhat sarcastic in its tone. "oh, i suppose not!" said phil sourly, and unconvinced. jim laughed. "man, but you're thick in the skull. eh, but it's a lark!" he remarked, giving phil's mare a whack on the flank and sending her galloping off without further words of elucidation. phil found jack mclean in his front parlour--late as it was--reading a book to his last pipe before turning in. in as few words as possible, he told him of what had happened and of the plan for the capture of the thieves. mclean required no persuading. in five minutes he was on his horse, ready for any escapade and swearing as volubly as only a hardened official of the pioneer traders can who has been systematically robbed without being able to lay the thieves by the heels. in ten minutes more, mclean, big blair and phil were heading west, galloping hard for the landing at the head of the okanagan lake. the night was dark as pitch; there wasn't a star in the sky nor was there a breath of moving air anywhere. they reached allison's wharf in quick time, roused the complaining lake-freighter and got him busy on his large gasoline launch. not long after that a clatter of hoofs on the hard roadway, a sudden stoppage, and the sound of deep voices, betrayed the arrival of the others: langford, morrison, thompson the government agent, and the one police official whom phil felt was absolutely above suspicion,--howden, who was chief palmer's deputy--and brenchfield, surly as a bear;--all powerful men and capable of giving a good account of themselves in a tight place. they were eight, all told, with allison in addition looking after his own affairs, and they set out across the lake for the quiet little landing below the redmans settlement, leaving their horses at allison's place. "howden,--why didn't you bring the chief?" asked phil. "wish to hell we had! might have saved me the trouble of coming. he's up on the ranges somewhere. there's a lot of cattle missing up there lately and he's keen on catching some of the rustlers red-handed." "or red-headed," grinned jim. "this trip might prove the way to catch them too." "do you think the same bunch is operating both jobs?" asked howden. "sure!" replied jim. "oh, give us a rest!" broke in brenchfield. "a smart lot you wise-alicks know about it. to hear you talk, one would think you had been raised on a detective farm." jim laughed good-naturedly. "all right, old man! don't get sore. you've been a grouch ever since we asked you to come along. one would think you didn't have any interests tied up in this affair." "then i guess that one has another think coming," answered the mayor. "well,--you're devilish enthusiastic over it; that's all i've got to say," interjected morrison, who was simply bubbling over with excitement and expectancy,--not so much from the thought of recovering his stolen property as from a hope that, if the thieves were captured, he would at last have a chance to reap the benefits of his labours, unmolested. "who wants to be enthusiastic on a wild-goose chase like this?" commented brenchfield. "i've been on the run these last three weeks, dancing all this evening, and now the delightful prospect of lying in a ditch till morning, and nothing at all at the end of it but the possibility of a rheumatic fever. you juvenile bath-tub pirates and sherlock holmeses give me a pain." "and i'll bet you a new hat we'll land the whole rotten bunch of them before we're through," challenged morrison. "forget it!" grouched brenchfield, "i've lost as much as any man here, but i haven't made a song and dance about it like some people i know. i am just as anxious as any of you to see the thieves in jail." evidently it was not a night for pleasant conversations, and tempers seemed to be more or less on edge, so little more was said until the launch ran quietly alongside the old, unused wharf a quarter of a mile east of the new one at redmans. the men got out, one after another, leaving allison to make his way back to his own side, alone; as they did not require him further. jim led the way through the bush and up the trail toward the main highway. they had not gone more than two hundred yards, when a muttered oath, a noise of stumbling, and a crash, brought them to a stand-still. it was brenchfield who had stumbled into a hole or over a log. ready hands helped him up, but he immediately dropped back on the ground with a groan, in evident pain from his ankle. "hell mend it!" he growled. "i've turned my ankle in a blasted gopher hole or something." he writhed about in agony. "guess i'm out this trip," he moaned. "toots!" put in jim. "you'll be all right in a minute. let us give your foot a bit of a rub!" "strike a light and let me see what's what," suggested the mayor. someone started in to do so. "not on your life!" cried jim. "haven't you got more savvy than that? do you want the whole of that gang up there in on our top?" a dog barked in the distance and the bark was taken up ominously by other dogs around the settlement. "lower your voices and don't make any racket, for god's sake!" pleaded jim. "come on, make a try, brenchfield!" "what else do you think i'm doing?" growled the mayor between his teeth. he did make a strong effort then, but was unable to bear his foot on the ground. "darn it! it's no good!" he exclaimed, sitting down disgustedly on a log. "well, boys," returned jim, in a hopeless tone, "i guess we've got to leave him. one of us will have to stay with the mayor. that will leave six for the job ahead of us. guess we can manage! will you stay with him, blair?" "sure thing!" came the ready reply, "but i hate to miss the fun." the mayor's face could not be seen, but his voice broke in rather too quickly: "good heavens!--my own ranch is just up there over the hill. i can creep there on my hands and knees inside of half an hour;--and i won't have to do that. "no, siree! nobody's going to stay with me. i'm all right. i'll get along nicely by myself. every man-jack of you is needed for the job. go on! beat it! don't worry about me." "we're not worrying about you, graham," retorted jim, not sufficiently suggestive to set the mayor at discomfort. "but you know the rule of the trail, same as we do. when a man gets hurt on a hunting trip, another of the bunch stays with him. joe blair is willing to stay behind." "he won't stay with me, i tell you;--this thing isn't going to be held up or spoiled for me," exclaimed the mayor. "i'll crawl with you on my fours, first." he started to carry out his threat. three times he fell and groaned in pain, until jim became convinced that brenchfield's foot was really badly sprained. "won't you leave me here? i'll be all right in a while," cried out brenchfield, "then i can make my own place in my own time." "oh, let's leave him, jim. we may need every man we've got," said morrison, "and if any of us take him to his place, it might arouse suspicion." "yes!--what's the good of losing two men when one is all we need let go?" added mclean. "all right, all right!" said jim. "here's the flask, mayor. come on, boys! time's passing and we've a goodish bit to go yet." chapter xiv the round-up the remainder of the journey was made in silence, and without further mishap. the thick of the crude trail was left behind and they got on to the well-beaten highway, trudging along at a fast gait until they came to the snake loop with its two roads--one leading for a mile or so along the lower shore line; the other running round big horn hills. jim stopped at the forks. "say!--i'm thinking three of us had better go by one way and four of us by the other;--just in case of accidents. "mclean, phil and i can go the low way. you four go by the high road. we can wait for each other at the junction further on." the crowd split up and parted. jim, phil and mclean had only got along about half a mile, when they stopped up at the sound of the fast beating of horse hoofs on the highway behind them. they listened intently. "coming from redmans," whispered mclean. "run on ahead and get in among the bushes at the bend there," shouted jim. "i'll keep to the road, and whoever he may be i'll stop him as he comes up. if he tries to beat me to it,--shoot! see your ropes are o.k., mack, for you might have to use them quick." the two hurried ahead and disappeared. jim kept jogging along in the middle of the road, slowly and innocently. the clatter of the oncomer grew louder and louder, and beat faster. a horseman came tearing along at breakneck speed. when he was some twenty paces off, jim swung round, levelled his rifle and shouted. "stop! throw up your hands! quick!" the horse drew back on its haunches and sprang up in fear, but the rider had it in check and held his seat. he steadied his beast and put his hands up slowly. jim went forward. as he drew closer he recognised the rider--red mcgregor. "get down!" ordered jim, smiling grimly to himself. mcgregor seemed to recognise langford at the same time and, thinking jim was alone, took a chance. his off hand lowered and he pulled a gun quickly, but a shot and a flash from the side of the road were quicker still. his arm dropped limply and he yelled in pain and surprise. "get down!" ordered jim again. "you be damned!" cried mcgregor, swinging his horse round and setting spurs. the horse sprang in response. jim thought he was going to make it, when a lariat flew out like a long snake, poised for a second over red's head and, in a second more, stretched him on the roadway, half-choked. mclean held the rope taut, while jim and phil ran in and secured their prisoner. "what'n the hell's the matter with you bunch," gasped red. "can't a man go to vernock when he damned-well wants to?" "not always, red!" answered jim. "it isn't always healthy to want to go to vernock." "by god!--let me go and i'll take you on one at a time--two at a time if you like. you, langford,--i'll fix you for this anyway." "we're going to fix you first, rob roy mcgregor o!" "i pretty near done you in last time, langford. i'll make good and sure next time,--you bet!" "oh, shut up!" exclaimed jim, "you're wearing your windpipe out talking." they half pulled mcgregor and half dragged him to a nearby tree, to which they tied him securely, divesting him of his knife and other articles that they considered he might feel constrained to use. he cursed them roundly, until jim tied red's cravat round his mouth. "come on, boys! that's good enough! we don't want to take him along. if we don't hurry up, that bunch may beat us to it yet." they reached the junction of the two roads without further adventure. five minutes later, along came morrison, thompson, deputy chief howden and blair, with one more--an unrecognised--in their company. "what did you catch?" asked jim. "just little stitchy summers!" replied howden. "we found him out for a constitutional, hoofing it for vernock. says he does it every morning early for the good of his health. so we brought him along." "we found a somnambulist, too," said jim, "rob roy mcgregor. we tied him up at the roadside, in case he might wake up and hurt himself." "foxy trick that all the same--one each way to make sure of one getting through!" "say!--you don't suppose they're wise?" asked morrison. "sure they are!" "but who could give the show away?" "i'm thinking that sprained ankle of brenchfield's was a darned _lame_ excuse," jim answered. and that was all they could get out of him on the subject. it was sufficient, however, to set all of them a-wondering. but no shadow of suspicion had ever before crossed their minds, and they soon dismissed the suggestion as one more distorted ridiculous romance from the fertile brain of jim langford. the whimpering stitchy--like most of his kind; never a hero when alone--was secured in the same way as red had been, then the men hunters continued to the top of the hill, where, as soon as dawn came up, a good view would be had of the single road as it wound, snake-like, for half a mile on the incline. "it is five o'clock," remarked jim. "with no mishaps, they should be here any time now." the seven men distributed themselves in the ditches and bushes--three on one side and four on the other, at intervals of ten yards, covering a distance of seventy yards in all. as they lay there in the ditches by the roadside, the early morning air bit sharp and chilly, having a touch of frost in it--the harbinger of colder weather to come--but still retaining a dampness that searched into the marrow. a grey light was just beginning to spear the darkness on the top of blue nose mountain away to the east. a heavy blanket of cold fog completely enveloped the low-lying lands. suddenly, the dark leaden sky seemed to break up into ten thousand sections of gloomy puff-clouds, all sailing hap-hazard inside a dome of the lightest, brightest blue. the sun, cold to look at but shining with the light of a blazing ball, rode up over the hills, sending great shafts of searchlight down the sides of the hills and filling the ghostly valley below, with its tightly-packed firs and skeleton-like pine trees, with a warm, yellow mist, suggestive of luminous smoke rising from some fairy cauldron of molten gold; transforming the dead, chilly night into a crisp, living, moving, late-autumn morning. as the mists completely melted away, jim signalled to phil and phil repeated to mclean. the sign was passed along the other side as well. away down the roadway, at the turn between the low-lying hills, a heavy team appeared, struggling in front of a great wagon, piled high with produce of some kind. another came into view, and still another, until eight of them, following closely on one another, crept along in what seemed to be a caterpillar movement. as they came unsuspectingly onward, the drivers urging their horses--cheerful in the knowledge that the worst of their journey was successfully over--the silent watchers crept closer to cover, fearful that the brightening day would betray their whereabouts. but nothing untoward happened, except that a closer view of the oncomers gave out the fact that every wagon was loaded high with alfalfa, while what were looked for were wagon-loads of flour and feed. mclean wormed his way past phil and along to jim. "dommit,--we're fooled!" he whispered angrily. "deevil the fool! get back, mack,--get back!" "but it's alfalfa they've got. you canna risk holding them up when maybe the bunch we're after are comin' along hauf a mile ahin'." jim bit his lip. this was something he had not reckoned on. all at once his knowledge of scottish history came to his aid. "something tells me they're the crowd we're after," he answered in a low voice. "and we've got them--every mother's son o' them. lord sake, mack! i'm surprised at ye. you a scot and you canna remember the takin' o' linlithgow castle! what was under the hay-carts then, laddie?--what? but good, trusty highlanders. and what's under the alfalfa now but good feed and flour that'll show in your next profit and loss account in red figures if you don't recover it. it's a fine trick, but it is too thin. "go back! signal the others to hold them up at all costs." and mclean went back, bewildered but as nearly convinced as a scot can be who has not the logical proof right under his nose. slowly the teams came straggling up the incline, coming nearer and nearer the men in ambush, until the latter could see clearly that every driver was a half-breed and that every man of them had a rifle across his knees. when they were well within the line, the preconcerted signal--howden's rifle--rang out. taking chances, the deputy chief sprang out into the centre of the road and shouted, covering the leader. three men on one side and three on the other sprang up and covered six of the drivers. some of the half-breeds immediately threw up their hands, taken completely by surprise. but a shot, fired by one of the uncovered drivers, sang out and big mclean dropped with a bullet through his thigh. howden sprang on to the first wagon, knocked the driver over, kicked his rifle aside and climbed right on top of the load, bringing down the man who shot mclean as neatly as could be with his revolver. that ended what little fight there was in the gang. the half-breeds had no chance, with their horses getting excited and their heavy loads beginning to back on them down-hill. in a short time, they were all unarmed and secured. mclean and the wounded half-breed were made comfortable on top of some alfalfa, the other seven drivers were set in front of their wagons, under guard, and the entire outfit was soon making its return trip to vernock. "cheer up, mack!" shouted jim, by way of heartening. "tell me," groaned mclean, "what is under the alfalfa?" "just what i told you already, mack,--good honest flour and feed in one hundred pound sacks, which will help to swell the credit side of your next balance sheet." "the lord be thankit!" he groaned. "but i wish one of them had been loaded up with king george's special." jim shot out his tongue. "me too!" he answered pawkily. they had not got very far on their journey, when a lone horseman came dashing toward them over the hill from the direction of vernock. it was chief palmer. his horse was in a lather and the chief looked as if he had ridden hard and had been out all night to boot. he wore a crestfallen expression when he drew up alongside. "hullo!" he cried, with an assumption of gaiety. "holding up the quiet farmer on the public highway? captured the gang, eh?" immensely proud of himself and his achievement, howden jumped down, intending to give his chief a full account of the capture, but palmer seemed in no mood to listen, and told him he had better keep his story for later on, and look after his prisoners. "you don't seem particularly gay over it, chief!" commented jim. "why should i?" he replied. "i've ridden for two hours, hoping to be in time for the scrap, and you fellows beat me to it." the journey townward continued. when nearing their destination, they were joined by two more horsemen, brenchfield--his left foot heavily bound round the ankle--and one of his white ranch hands. the mayor was surly as usual and seemed in desperation to get in touch with chief palmer, who obligingly dropped behind with him. as they brought up the rear, they indulged in a very earnest conversation. when the wagons were safely harboured in the police yard and the thieves safely jailed under lock and key, the chief, as if to make amends for his previous surliness, shook hands all round and congratulated the men on their coup. "this will help to make an interesting calendar for the next assizes, boys. i'll be after all of you for witnesses, so don't get on the rampage anywhere in between times." "i guess, morrison, old chap," broke in brenchfield, "this will end the flour and feed racket for some time to come. we fellows will have a chance to make a little profit out of our businesses at last." "oh, you haven't much to worry over," replied morrison. "you haven't all your eggs in one basket like i have. it is just pin-money for you, but it means bread and butter and bed for me and mine." brenchfield steered his horse alongside and laid his hand sympathetically on the old man's shoulder. "never mind, morrison! it is all over now,--so here's to better days." morrison was not very responsive, and the mayor excused himself on the plea of his ankle, his want of sleep and the further pressure of mayoral business. "darn it!" exclaimed morrison to jim and phil, as he left them at the end of the avenue, "i used to like brenchfield, but i don't know what's come over me lately with him. when he laid his hand on me a few minutes ago, i felt as if a wet toad was squatting on the back of my neck." when they reached home, jim did not go to his own room immediately. he followed into phil's and sat down on the edge of the bed as phil commenced to get out of his clothes preparatory to having a bath. "well!--what did you think of it, phil?" he asked, glad, evidently, to be alone with his comrade where he could at last express his thoughts and pent-up feelings freely. "pretty work!" "what?" "i said i thought it was pretty work. we did a clean job;--got all we went out for." "like the devil we did!" shot out jim. "why!--what did we forget, grouchy?" "everything! they're too blamed wise for us, that bunch, and they're too many." phil stopped pulling off a sock and looked over at jim. "aw, come off!" cried the other. "let in the daylight, man! what did we get anyway?" "we got the thieves, didn't we?" "not by a jugfull! half a dozen half-breed teamsters,--that's all!" "armed and driving stolen goods!" "yes! i grant that, but what good is that going to do?" "well, jim,--you've discovered the plan they have been operating for doing away with the stuff. that is something." "sure!--that too, and it will end the wholesale thieving for a bit, till they find another way. it will give poor old morrison a chance to recoup." "then i guess you always expect too much, jim. you're never contented." "why should i be;--with brenchfield's foreman and head-boss rotter red mcgregor, and that sneaky little devil stitchy summers not among the casualties." "but palmer will get them, won't he?" "not on your life!" "why not? we stopped each of them making for the gang to warn them off." "how are we to prove that? they might have been going anywhere. why man!--that pair could pretty nearly nail us for unprovoked assault." phil laughed. "and they were the men who were conducting the entire steal when i fell in among them in the cellar;--but i can't prove it." "you're sure they were, jim?" "of course i'm sure. red hit me on the head with the butt-end of his quirt. i'll get him one for it too, before i'm done." "and they engineered the whole affair, set the teamsters on their journey, then beat it ahead for redmans?" "'oh noble judge! o excellent young man,'" jim quoted sarcastically. phil felt the thrust. he went over to the bed, tilted up jim's chin with his forefinger and looked straight into his mischievous eyes. "seeing you know so much, jim langford,--tell me more. what side is brenchfield on in this affair?" jim grew serious all of a sudden. "now you're talking!" he exclaimed, his eyes snapping angrily and his voice throwing fire. "i've had no darned use for that son-of-a-gun for some considerable time. he has his nose in everything. he pretty nearly bosses the whole valley. he's political boss, mayor, rancher, and god knows what else. if he isn't crooked, why does he have his biggest ranch right in the thick of that indian settlement? he has the whole of the breeds on the reservation under his thumb. he's a party heeler, a grafter from away back, and everybody falls for him. and yet,--good land!--if you did so much as open your mouth against him, you'd get run out of town." "go on! go on!" applauded phil. "i like to hear you." "yes!--and _you've_ got the biggest grudge against him of any for something or other, or i'm not wayward langford. but you're so darned tight about it." phil's applause ended abruptly. "thought that would stop you!" grinned jim. "but that man, and the blindness of the so-called wise men of this wee burg make me positively sick in the stomach. "who's at the back of the whole feed steal?--brenchfield! half-breeds didn't make that tunnel. it is a white man's job all through. it was all nicely done. oh, ay! a tunnel to the three warehouses, brenchfield's included! thieving right and left and brenchfield always losing a bit--to himself--every time; just to keep up appearances; and getting richer and richer every theft until he owns about as much land and gear as royce pederstone does!" "well then, jim;--why can't that fertile brain of yours devise something to land him on this?" "weel ye may ask!" answered jim, breaking into the doric, "and i canna answer ye. "we can't prove a thing on him. he would plead absolute ignorance of the entire affair; that he had been away for weeks and only got in yesterday with royce pederstone, and was at the dance when it happened. everybody would believe him and sympathise with him too because of an apparent endeavour to blacken the character of a public man, a prominent citizen and a local benefactor--one who himself had lost so much by the thefts--for, mark you, brenchfield has made much of it in his conversations." "can't chief palmer make the half-breeds talk? they will surely be pretty sore over the raw deal that has been handed out to them." "palmer be jiggered! he is another of brenchfield's cronies, and is feathering his nest like the rest of them. i'll be very much surprised if the innocent howden isn't fired by this time for his share in this morning's work. i'm half sorry i dragged him into it." "couldn't a good lawyer wriggle something out of the indians at the trial?" "he might,--but the indians will be darned well paid to keep their mouths shut. believe me!--it'll fizzle out. you watch and see!" jim sat quiet for a bit, then he began again. "and that kind of animal has the nerve to want to marry little eilie pederstone. oh, hell!--i'd better stop or i'll burst a blood-vessel or something. "say!" "speak on!" "are you going to work after breakfast?" "of course!" answered phil. "aren't you?" "no!" "are you going to bed?" "not yet! this is saturday morning, man. my usual monthly 'penny horrible' is only half finished and it has to be ready before mail time." phil laughed. "what is the name of it this month, jim?" "'two fingered pete's come-back, a backwoods mystery.'" "sounds exciting!" remarked phil. "i think i would like to read that one. save a copy for me, jim, when it comes along." "de'il the fear! it'll never be said that jim langford, alias captain mayne plunkett, alias aunt christina, ever put anything your way that would fire you, in your rashness, to disgrace me and make a fool of yourself." jim changed the subject again. "phil, why don't you cut that bluffer, brenchfield, out?" "me? what harm have i done, jim?" "that'll do, laddie. you can't brazen it out that way. man, i'd give my wee pinkie to see it happen." "oh, don't talk rot!" returned phil, serious as an owl, nevertheless pale at the lips. "what chance has an impecunious day-labourer like me with miss pederstone? "why don't you try yourself? you're mighty good at arranging things for your friends." jim laughed. phil turned his head and glared at him; and jim laughed more uproariously. "what are you yelling your tom-fool head off for? i don't see anything funny about the proposition." "what? you can't see anything funny in it? gee, phil!--but you're dull. eileen pederstone hitched to wayward langford, booze fighter, ne'er-do-weel, good-for-nothing, never-worked-and-never-will; a-penny-a-liner; aunt christina and captain mayne plunkett!" he became sober again. "man, phil!--i'm ashamed of you even suggesting it. i once fell in love. don't get anxious; it was a long time ago when i had ambitions of becoming lord chief justice, or at least a high court judge." "yes!" "the lady and i fell out over her father. he asked me one night how much money i had in the bank. i was eighteen. "i told him i had twenty pounds. "'tuts, tuts!' said the old fellow, who was one of those human fireworks--all fizzle and flare,--'that isn't enough to keep a cat.' "'we know it,' i answered, speaking for both of us, 'but we thought we might manage to run along for a while without the cat.'" phil laughed. "the old chapie got angry, and the girl sacked me because i was rude to papa and flippant about the most serious thing in the world--marriage. she couldn't see the joke. imagine, phil, being married to a woman that couldn't see a joke! "that was the very nearest i ever got. and believe me----! "now you, for instance; you're different, you're just made for married life; you're young, big, handsome, mannerly, sober, sometimes diligent, ambitious. you don't smoke much, you don't swear--not all the time--and you can chop wood and brush your own boots. you----" but jim got no further. a cushion, well aimed, stopped his flow of talk. "all right, all right! we'll say no more. go and have your bath! you need it. give your soul a touch o' soap and water when you are at it." chapter xv sol's matrimonial mix-up for the few days following, the robbery and the rounding-up of the thieves were the talk of the district; but despite this, it was surprising how little _the vernock and district advertiser_ had to say about it. phil openly commented on the peculiarity, but jim just stuck his tongue in his cheek. neither mclean nor the wounded half-breed were seriously hurt, and in a week both were well again--the one going lamely about his business and the other in jail beside his fellows. the trial was placed on the calendar for the next assizes which had been arranged for the following month, when most of the fall crops would be in and shipped, thereby leaving twelve good men and true free to devote some of their time to the requirements of law and justice. jim went back again to the court house as government agent thompson's assistant. phil kept to the forge, serious and tremendously earnest in following the calling he had been so strangely thrust into. he could not fail to notice, day by day, the gradual change that was coming over sol hanson. sol had not been drunk for weeks. he dressed himself much more neatly than formerly, although what it was exactly that gave him the smarter appearance, phil could not make out until smiler led him to understand by signs and grimaces that sol now washed his face and hands mornings and evenings, instead of every sunday morning as formerly. but there was something else. sol's blue eyes had contracted a habit of gazing into the heart of the fire while he leaned abstractedly on the bellows handle. he became interested in the train arrivals. he posted letters and called every day at the post office for mail. whether he got any or not phil was unable to say definitely. but he got a sneaking suspicion after a while, that the soft-hearted, simple, big fellow was either answering letters through the seattle _matrimonial times_, or corresponding with some lady friend. he felt convinced that sol was badly, or rather, madly in love. he probed the big swede with the sharp end of a question now and again, but sol was wonderfully impervious. one day, jim and phil were strolling leisurely up main street from the kenora hotel where they had been having an early lunch together. the north train had just come in and a few drummers, some incoming chinamen and a number of straggling passengers were spreading themselves for their different destinations, carrying grips and canvas bags with their samples and their belongings as the case might be. neither jim nor phil was paying any heed to what was a daily occurrence, until they were stopped by a buxom, fair-haired, blue-eyed maiden, with a pleasant smile on her big, innocent face. she was cheaply but becomingly dressed and filled her clothes with attractive generosity. as she laid down her two hand-bags, her smile broadened and beamed until it broke into a merry dimple on each of her cheeks and parted her ruddy lips to the exposure of a mouthful of fresh, creamy-looking, well-formed teeth. there was no gainsaying who was the object of her smiles:--it was jim langford and jim alone, and there was nothing left for either him or phil to do but to doff their hats and wait the lady's good pleasure. she seemed in no hurry to speak. as jim gazed at her in surprise, waiting; her fingers--hard, red fingers they were--began to twist a little nervously about the painfully new gloves she carried, and her eyes dropped, looked up, and dropped again. "guess you don't know me!" she ventured at last. "no! i'm sorry! i can't remember ever meeting you before," he answered. "ho, ho!" muttered phil under his breath. "see you later, jim!" he said loudly, making to move off. "here, you piker! you wait a minute." jim grabbed phil's coat sleeve. the young lady's cheeks began to take on the added attractiveness of a blush. "you ain't ever met me before, i know," she said. "but don't you know me by my picture?" jim shook his head in perplexity. "i'd a-knowed you any place." for the first time in phil's experience of jim, the latter stood abashed. "you might have come to meet me at the train though. guess you was just comin'. i wrote you three days since." "you did, eh! well,--i never got your letter," bantered jim, recovering his composure. she was a pretty piece of femininity, despite her poor language and her somewhat tawdry finery. "i think you're stringing me. but say!--i'm awful hungry, and i've been two days in the train. "ain't you goin' to get me some eats, sol?" "sol!" exclaimed jim with a gulp that spoke intense relief. "why, my good girl, my name's not sol!" "oh, yes it is!" she answered bravely, with the smile fading. "i tell you i'd a-knowed you anywheres." "you're making a mistake, dear lassie. my name is certainly not sol." a glimmer of light was beginning to break in on phil, but he kept that glimmer miserly to his inmost self. "yes it is! oh, yes it is!" she said again, putting her hand on jim's arm, but with a peculiar little expression of uncertainty in her eyes. "you can't fool me, sol hanson,--and, say boy!--i've come a long ways for you, and i'm awful tired." "hanson! good lord!" blurted out jim. "me--sol hanson! lassie, lassie, i didna think i was so good looking. are ye looking for sol hanson?" the girl did not answer. a moisture began to gather in her big, blue eyes, and a tear toppled over. jim was all baby at once. "dinna greet!--there's a good lass! dinna greet here in the street," he coaxed. "if it is sol hanson ye want, we can soon help ye to get him." the girl bent down and opened up one of her hand-bags, bringing out a large photograph, pasted on a creamy-coloured, gay-looking cardboard mount. she handed it to jim, searching his face with her tear-dimmed eyes. jim gazed at it in bewilderment. then he scratched his head and gazed again. "ain't that your picture?" the young lady asked. "don't tell me that it ain't, for it wouldn't be true; and i came all this way because you wrote so nice and looked so big and good. i--i didn't think you was a bluffer like--like other men." her breath caught and she began to sob. "my dear lassie,--i am bewildered,--confounded. i--i----that is my photo, but where in all the world did ye get it from?" the girl looked at him a little angrily, for she had pluck in plenty. "where do you think? i ain't stole it. you sent it to me. where else could i get it?" jim stood foolishly. "i certainly never sent it. why, woman!--i never saw ye before. i don't know your name even. i--i---- "there, there! dinna start to greet again. we'll fix you up, if you'll only tell phil and me your trouble." "--and your name ain't sol hanson?" she queried, with a trembling lip. "no!--i am sorry to say it is not!" from her grip, the girl picked out a bundle of envelopes, well filled, and done up in lavender-coloured ribbon. "--and--and you never wrote them letters to me?" jim looked at the writing and shook his head. "no,--i never did!" "--and--and you don't know my name's betty jornsen?" "i didn't, but i do now, betty," gallantly answered jim, while phil was beside himself trying to stifle his amusement one moment, and endeavouring to keep back his feelings of sympathy for the girl, the next. several passers-by turned round and stared in open interest at the strange meeting. "shut up your bag, lassie! don't show us any more o' your gear," appealed jim in perturbation at the thought of what might come out next. the buxom, fair-haired woman began to sob again. she turned and appealed to phil. "oh, what am i to do, mister? i had a good job at nixon's café in seattle. sol wrote to me through the _matrimonial times_. i wrote back to him. i sent him my picture and he sent me his--this one--and now he says he ain't him." "that isn't his photo, woman,--it is mine," interrupted jim. "but he's you," she whimpered. "then who the mischief am i?" asked jim in perplexity. "you told me you had a house, and fruit trees, and a blacksmith's shop, and plenty of money and, if i came to canada, we'd get married. i throwed up my good job and i've come and now you say you ain't him," she sailed on breathlessly, her ample bosom labouring excitedly. "phil," said jim, aside. "how the devil do you suppose that big idiot got my photo? it looks like one taken off one i used to have, and lost." "i guess that is just what it is," grinned phil. "well,--we've got to see this little woman right, and incidentally give sol hanson the biggest fright he ever got in his natural. "miss--miss jornsen,--there's a mistake somewhere. my name is jim langford, and that is my photograph; but i never sent it to you. we happen to know sol hanson though. he lives here all right. this gentleman works with him. "sol is a swede?" "yes,--yes!" put in betty, "same as i am." "i'm thinking he was afraid he wasn't good-looking enough and he was scared to take chances, so he sent you my photo instead of one of his own," he went on, without even a blush of conceit. "and--and he ain't such a good-looker as you?" she queried. "well,--well, of course, tastes differ. you might like him fine," he grinned, with becoming modesty. "but he's got a house, and fruit trees, and a blacksmith shop, and he can work?" she asked. "you bet! he's well fixed. come along and we'll see him now. he will never be able to resist you." betty perked up at the compliment. then nervously and timidly she set herself to rights, finally consenting to allow jim and phil to escort her to the smithy. "you wait here!" instructed jim at the corner of the block. "we'll go and break the news to sol. we'll come back for you. "give me that picture, though. i have a word to say in his ear about that." betty opened her bag, gazed fondly on jim's photo, then at him, before she slowly delivered it up. phil went into the smithy, hung up his coat, put on his apron and started in to work. jim followed him a few minutes later. sol hanson was busy shoeing a horse. jim went over to him. "here, sol," he cried, "come over and see this." the good-natured big fellow stopped his work and followed jim to the dust-begrimed window. jim stuck the photograph under sol's nose. "do you know who that is?" "ya,--sure thing! you bet! dam-good picture too, jim!" he commented, with an innocence well assumed. "yes,--you certainly seem to like it. i can't say it is very like you, you son-of-a-gun." "me? no! pretty like you though, jim," sol stammered. "look here, you big lump of humanity;--what the devil do you mean by sending my photo all over the country and saying it is yours?" "me?--i ain't--i didn't--i----" "cut it out, you big bluffer! you couldn't lie decently to save your neck." sol laughed at last. "you not been goin' for to get mad, jim. just a little joke i have on some girl. see!" "oh,--it was! darned good joke for me--and you too!" "ya!--you see i find it one day on floor here. you drop it some time. i ain't much of a swell looker for girls. all girls like face like yours. i get vancouver man make me twelve pictures all same as this one. i send them just for little joke to girls i write to some time." jim clutched at his own hair despairingly, as phil furiously worked the bellows in his mirth. "great jumping cæsar! twelve! are you going to start a harem?" "ach, no! just have a little fun,--that's all. you don't go and been for to get mad at that." "great fun! great joke!" commented jim, "but you've put your foot in it this time, old cock. one of these women is in town, looking for your scalp. she is asking everybody in vernock where sol hanson hangs out." sol's big face grew a shade paler and his jaw dropped. he became excited. "you--you didn't been for to tell her,--jim?" "sure i did! why not? you're going to marry her,--aren't you? she's telling everybody that." sol, who had been standing with his big hands spread on his leather apron and his mouth agape, now showed signs of anxiety. "but,--i--i--which one is it, jim? what she call herself?" "oh,--there are several, you blooming mormon?" sol ran to his coat and pulled a bundle of letters and miscellaneous photographs from the pocket. he handed them to jim. "look at them," he cried in excitement. "tell me quick which one come." he mopped the perspiration from his brow. "by hell!--i guess i been got in a bad fix this time for sure." jim slowly went over the documents and photographs. "no! no! no! no!" he exclaimed, as he handed them back to sol one by one. "not one,--by gosh, jim! that pretty funny. must be one, though. sure you look at every one?" "she's not there, sol. trot out the others, old man." "i ain't got no more, jim. honest! that every dam-one,--honest! "say,--maybe she tell you her name? is it--is it gracie peters?" "no!" "is it sal larigan?" "no!" "betty----" "yes,--that's it! betty--betty jornsen!" "what? betty she come? jumpin' yiminy! let me get my hat and coat. where is she now? by gosh, jim,--she dam-fine little peach." sol became more and more excited. "i got her picture here. you miss it up. see!" he ran over the photographs. "there," he exclaimed, holding it up admiringly. it was betty's photograph, and a perfectly charming little picture she made too. but jim had intentionally passed it over, for he was not through with sol hanson. he had still his pound of flesh to exact. "ain't that dam-fine girl?" sol went on. "see that, phil! i been going to marry her. you bet! tra-la-la!" he half sang. "come on!--let's go and find her, jim. come on!" "wait a bit!--bide a wee!" returned canny scot langford. "that isn't the picture of the woman who is here for you." sol's face fell. "what? but you say her name's betty jornsen?" "yes! that is what she told me." "well!--that's betty;--that's her." "oh, no it isn't! don't you fool yourself, mister man. you're mixed up in your women, sol." "no siree! you look on back," sol returned triumphantly. "see that! 'with love and kisses to sol from betty jornsen.'" jim stood for a moment in silence. "she nice little girl;--come up, maybe, to your shoulder?" queried sol. "no, sol!--she's six feet high if she is an inch." "she got fair hair and blue eyes; nice white teeth?" "no, laddie!--she has carroty red hair; and her eyes, i mean her eye--for she has only one--is a bleary, grey colour." sol commenced to perspire afresh, and to hop from one foot on to the other. "aw, you foolin' me, jim!" "devil a fool! it is too serious for that. she's big; she's got one eye; she's lost her teeth in front and she is evidently a widow or she has three kids with her, two at her skirts and one in her arms." "good christopher columbus!" exclaimed sol, pulling at his hair. "and, and, sol,--she is coming here for you, in five minutes." the big blacksmith was in desperation. "sol,--you're done;--you're done brown," jim went on relentlessly, "and it serves you darned well right." "but, jim,--you been a lawyer. she can't go make me marry her?" "yes she can!" "but she lie to me. she send me picture of nice girl and say it her and she betty jornsen. i tell her to come to me, from her picture,--see!" "you big, blue-eyed, innocent baby! you're done;--you're in the soup;--your goose is cooked. take it from me,--she's got you, and got you good. "didn't you send her my photo and say it was yours?" sol stood aghast. "aw,--that just a joke!" he persisted. "hadn't she a perfect right to do the same thing to you? well--evidently she has done it. poor sol!" "but--but----" "it's no good. there aren't any _buts_ to this. she is here. she is expecting sol hanson to be a fine looking fellow like me, and the poor thing is going to get a pie-faced, slop-eyed individual like yourself. "now, you're expecting a pretty little blonde and you're getting,--well,--something totally different." jim slapped sol on the back. "too bad! take your medicine, though, old man! be a sport! you're distinctly up against it." phil was metaphorically in knots by the furnace fire. sol rushed for his coat. "no dam-fear!" he cried. "i go to coop first. she ain't been going to run any bluff on sol hanson,--see! you tell her, and her carrots-hair, and her one eye, and her three dam-kids, to go plumb toboggan to hell. "i come back sometime--maybe." sol made a dart for the front door. then he changed his mind and made for the back one. but he guessed the wrong one--or, perhaps after all, it was the right one. as he was going out, betty jornsen, with her two grips, came in and blocked up his exit. she had evidently wearied of waiting at the corner, and had determined to investigate matters for herself. sol made to brush past. suddenly he stopped. he looked at betty. he stared. his eyes became big and nearly popped out of his head in his amazement. betty looked up at him in surprise. they gaped thus at each other for a few seconds, then sol staggered to the side of the door and leaned against it, breathing hard as if he had run a mile. at last he found his tongue and himself, and straightened up. "betty,--by gosh! betty,--little betty, by yiminy!" he exclaimed, throwing his long arms about her, knocking her grips aside and sending her hat awry. he lifted her up high and kissed her fair on the mouth. he swung her round and round the smithy, all oblivious of his amused spectators. meantime, betty kicked and struggled, and finally succeeded in smacking his face loudly with a free hand. sol set her down and rubbed his cheek foolishly, white she stamped her foot at him. "you great big--great big--boob!" she cried. jim stepped out from the shadow. "miss jornsen,--allow me to introduce you to mr. sol hanson!" betty looked at jim querulously, and then at sol who was standing nervously by, gazing at her. slowly and shyly she sidled up to the big blacksmith. she put her hands on the lapels of his ill-fitting coat and slid her fingers down them tenderly; then she laid her head on his chest, while his big arms went about her again. "come on, phil!" said jim, "this is no place for the proverbial parson's son." sol's eyes took on a new light. "jim,--by gosh!--maybe it been no place for a parson's son," he grinned, "but it a dam-fine place for a parson. what you think, eh, betty?" "you fellows wait. we all go together, get it over right now. what you think, my little betty?" "sure! there ain't no good in waitin'," answered betty. "and say, mister--mister langford!--i ain't tryin' to be insultin', nor anything like that, but if you think you're a better looker than my big sol, then you've got another think comin'." sol's head went up and his chest went out, as they were entitled to do, for jim was considered quite a handsome fellow in his own way. chapter xvi the breakaway the hour that followed was a busy one. betty was whisked away by phil to mrs. clunie's for a good, substantial home-made dinner and a general overhaul. sol rushed home for his new, check suit, then off to the registrar's for the marriage license accompanied by jim. phil next unearthed the valiant smiler from the basement of a chinese restaurant in wynd alley where he was busy sampling the current day's bill of fare, gratis. phil hauled him off to the barber's for a wash and a haircut, then to the o.k. supply store for new clothes, over and under, which set the poor dumb little rascal wondering as to what sin he had committed to warrant the infliction. the reverend anthony stormer--the venerable old lutheran pastor--was next informed of the expected arrivals; and, by the time jim came along upholding sol in a state of nervous prostration, all was in readiness for the ceremony. ten minutes later, mrs. clunie arrived escorting betty jornsen; pretty, buxom and beaming, and as full of confidence as smiler was of chinese noodles. smiler could not understand then what the ceremony was all about, nor did he seem to gain any further enlightenment on the matter at any later date. it was all over within two hours of betty's arrival in vernock. sol was for sending betty to her new home till supper time, intending himself to go back to the smithy with phil and get down to the heavy work that lay there awaiting completion. but phil and jim would have none of it. and when betty and mrs. clunie backed them up, there was nothing left for sol to do but to obey; so, with three or four hand-bags--half of them borrowed--they were bundled into the kelowna stage, and nothing more was heard of them for two weeks. smiler attended to his own needs as he had had to do often before, and he was back in the basement of the chinese restaurant in wynd alley, finishing his dinner sampling,--with his new rig-out rolled up in a bundle under his arm and garbed in his much beloved rags and tatters. that was the first of a dozen occasions upon which smiler was dressed up by various well-meaning members of the community and it was the first of twelve occasions that smiler resented the interference and went back, at the earliest opportunity, to his old, familiar and well-ventilated draperies. the next fourteen days were desperate ones for phil. from the moment he got back to the smithy, repair work piled in on him. reapers and binders gave way in various parts and had to be put to rights at once, for it was nearing the end of the harvest season and the cold weather was already creeping along. every horse in the valley seemed suddenly to require reshoeing; wagon springs broke; buggy tires came off or wore out as they had never done before; morning, noon and night phil slaved trying to cope with the emergency. there was no help that he could call in, and he would not for worlds have sent word to sol to end his holiday a moment sooner that might be. he snatched his meals when and where he could, while everyone clamoured for the immediate execution of his requirements. finally phil got up so early and he worked so late, that he made his bed for the time being on a bundle of straw covered with sacking, in a corner beside the forge. he was young and strong, and he knew his work. he loved the rush of it and he gloried in the doing of things that other men would have groaned at. above all, he was glad to think that he was now considered of some value in a work-a-day community. it did not occur to him that day and night labour, even for a little time, had a terribly wearing effect on the physique; that he was losing weight with every twenty-four hours of it and that his cheeks grew paler and a little more gaunt every day of that week or so of extra push. he chased jim from the smithy as a worthless time-waster--whenever that worthy showed face--and jim, for the nonce, had to find companionship and entertainment in his world of penny dreadful creation and his love knot untanglements. one glorious gleam of sunshine burst in on phil's world of toil and set his muscles dancing and his heart singing in merry time to the ring of his hammer on the anvil. a perfumed note, bearing an invitation to him from eileen pederstone to attend a reception on the sixth evening of the month following, at her new home on the hill, was the dainty messenger of joy. and what cared phil if brenchfield should be there? he had held his own before;--he could do it again. what counted all this hard work?--a puff of wind;--he was going to eileen pederstone's. what matter it how the world wagged?--a tolling bell;--he would dance again with the dainty, little vision with the merry brown eyes, the twinkling feet and the ready tongue. ho!--life was good; life was great! life was heaven itself! come on! fill the smithy and the yard with your horses, and i'll shoe all of them! block the roads and the by-ways with your wagons and buggies;--what care i for toil? heap your broken reapers and binders a mountain high, and i'll stand on top of them before nightfall, with my hammer held defiantly to the heavens and shout "excelsior, the work is done." the fairy princess has stopped in her procession; she looks my way; she smiles: her galloping courier brings a perfumed favour; she beckons me. ah, surely! what a paradise, after all, is this we live in! in a sweet little world of dreams--in which even a blacksmith may live at times--phil battled with his tasks and overcame them one by one. and it was little he cared about the week's growth of beard that sat on his gaunt face, or for the sweat that ran over his forehead and splashed to his great, bared chest. pride did not chide him for hands that were horny and begrimed, nor for arms that were red and scarred from the bite of flying sparks. but it was thus that the lady of his dreams found him, as she wafted in from a gallop over the ranges, with a shoe in her hand and leading a horse that wore only three. a smile was on her happy face, her cheeks were aglow and her eyes were dancing in childish delight. little wonder then that phil's heart stopped, then raced with all the mad fury of a runaway; little wonder his face grew pale and his eyes gleamed as he moved back against the wall beside his furnace. and eileen's merry smile faded away like the heat of an indian summer's day before the cool of the approaching night. she stared with widening eyes at the figure before her, for she saw, not the young, sturdy, country blacksmith, but a picture of the past, a fugitive from the police, a gaunt tired man, spent and almost beaten, seeking sanctuary. and on this occasion, she did not take time to consider how much the man before her still craved for sanctuary. her lips parted in fear. her hand went to her heart and she stepped slowly backward toward the door. "oh,--oh,--oh!" was all she uttered. she dropped the horseshoe at her feet, and, pressing her hands to her eyes as if to shut out a sight that was unwelcome, she ran the remaining distance to the door, pulled herself into her saddle and rode quickly away. she did not come back, as some might have done, to view the havoc she had wrought. she did not know even that she had wrought havoc; but three hours later, faithful, dumb, little smiler found the man he so much adored lying on a pile of horseshoes, breathing scarcely at all, and strangely huddled. that was the day that big, happy sol hanson came back to bear his share of the load--and, for the week that followed, he had to bear all of it, for phil's overtaxed brain refused to awaken for seventy-two hours and his overworked body declined to limber up for seventy-two hours more. on the morning of phil's return to the smithy, at a moment when sol's back was turned, the little perfumed note--which had brought the message from fairyland--was dropped on the glowing furnace fire and thrust with an iron deep into the red coals. with it, phil fancied he was thrusting the little fairy dream, and he felt ever so glad of it. but he did not know, foolish man, that the fires have never been kindled that can burn dreams from fairyland; that nothing can keep them from whispering back, at unexpected moments, and beckoning to the dreamer through the flames; ay, even through the cold, grey, dead ashes, when these are all that remain of the dancing passion-fires that have revelled and rioted themselves to exhaustion and oblivion. on the evening of the reception at john royce pederstone's, phil failed to land home from work at his usual time, and, as the hour drew near when they should be leaving, jim langford worried himself not a little, for he knew that phil had received an invitation--the same as he had done--and he had noticed also how happy his friend had seemed over it. of course, of the recognition at the smithy between eileen and phil he knew nothing, and even if he had known he would not have understood, for, so far, he had not even guessed at phil's previous history nor at the connection there was between phil and graham brenchfield. before going up to pederstone's, jim called at the smithy, but found the place closed up for the night. he hurried along to sol hanson's little home, but the lovebirds there could tell him no more than that phil had quit work at the accustomed hour, that smiler was also a truant; which made it possible that the two had gone off together on some boyish adventure. there was nothing left for jim to do after that but to go to royce pederstone's alone, in the hope that phil would be there or would show up later. everyone in vernock of any importance was at the reception, in the company of his wife or sweetheart; but there was no sign of phil. and the hours wore quickly on without his appearing. eileen--bright, blushing, buoyant and busy--found time to corner jim. "what has happened to mr. ralston? i--i thought he would be sure to be here." jim thought her tone was just a little strained and that her colour went somewhat suddenly. "i haven't the slightest idea! he didn't show up to-night at home; yet he has been aching for this little affair since he received your invitation." "oh, i--i hardly think so, jim. he is not the man to ache much over this kind of thing. you don't suppose anything serious could have happened?" she asked with a show of anxiety. "i don't. but i'm sure only something serious would keep him away. however,--what's the good of worrying!--phil can look out for himself pretty good." "yes,--i daresay!" she said absently, staring at the dancers as they glided round in the next room. jim put his hand on her arm and moved her round to him. "eileen,--what is it that is troubling you? you are not so terribly interested in phil as all that,--are you?" she roused herself. "me? oh dear no! not any more than i am in sol hanson, in mr. todd, in--in jim langford," she bantered. "why should i? i know him only in the most casual of casual ways." "have you seen him since he was invited here?" jim asked bluntly. "ye-yes!--just for a moment in the smithy the day he took sick. i thought,--oh jim!--i thought possibly he might have misunderstood something--something that happened there at that time,--but--ah well!--anyway, it doesn't matter now. "he does not say very much at any time, does he, jim? he's a queer fellow." "ay!" said jim drily, "and you're a queer little fellow yourself, eileen,--eh!" "do you know anything of him before he came to vernock?" she inquired suddenly, with a change of tone. "practically nothing! he has kept that a sealed book, and it is none of my affairs; but i do know that since he came here he has been the real stuff, and that is good enough for jim langford." she smiled. "oh you men! you stand by your pals to the very last ditch; while a woman will desert her woman friend at the first one. "never mind! let us forget mr. ralston meantime. "did you hear the news, jim?--the great news! daddy,--my own daddy has been offered the portfolio of minister of agriculture on the new cabinet. he will be the honourable john royce pederstone. and this his first session in parliament too! isn't it great?" "je--hosephat!" jim jumped up. "and i never heard a thing." "i don't wonder at that, jim. dad only got the wire an hour ago making the definite offer." "by jingo!--i must go and give him my congratulations. here's the mayor looking for you, eileen. i'll leave you to him. i must find your dad." and while the reception at john royce pederstone's was at its height, phil ralston was trudging the hills alone, coming over the ranges from lumby, a village which lay several miles distant, where he had gone by stage direct from the smithy. he walked in the melancholy enjoyment of his own thoughts. it did him good--and he knew it--to get off in this way when things were not going to his liking. it gave him an opportunity to review himself in the cold blood of retrospect, without interference; and it gave him time quietly to review the conduct of others about him; a chance to decide whether he was right or wrong in the position he had assumed; a chance to plan his future course from what had already taken place. it was a crisp, frosty night, with a deep blue velvet dome of cloudless sky overhead, with star-diamonds that flashed and twinkled with ever varying colours, until a crescent moon, shaped like the whip of an orange, rose up over the hills to the east, cold, luminous and silvery, and paled the lesser twinkling lights into insignificance and ultimate obscurity. as phil topped the last hill overlooking vernock, his head was high and so were his spirits, for he had made up his mind that come what might he would pursue his way calmly and earnestly to the end as he thought fit, and, if eileen pederstone cared to betray his secret, he would meet that difficulty as he had met others. he looked down into the town before him, but its usual fairy-like aspect was absent, for the town fathers were beginning to get frugal and did not use their electricity on the main streets when the moon was up or when the snow was lying. only the smaller lights of the dwelling houses gave out any signs of life. he dropped gradually down, then across an orchard and on to the main highway leading to vernock. as he was passing the town jail, his attention was attracted by an unusual commotion there. voices were gabbling noisily and quite a crowd was gathered at the main entrance. he hurried over. the first man he ran against was langford, who accosted phil in a rush of doric, which at once informed him that something serious must be wrong. "where ha'e ye been, man? i've been pryin' for ye everywhere." "walking!" answered phil shortly. "what's the matter?" "matter! de'il tak' it,--i thocht the whole toon kent by this time. i thocht maybe ye were efter them." "well, i'll be hanged!" exclaimed phil as the truth dawned on him. "ay,--ye may weel say it! what did i tell ye? didna i say they'd never face trial? the eight o' them broke awa' three or four hours ago. it was real nicely planned. "ye see the airshaft there! it runs richt into the top o' the wall and ventilates the prison where the men sleep. there was ootside collusion, of coorse. standin' on a horse, i guess they threw a rope into the airshaft from the ootside and it slid richt doon to the passageway, inside. they say one of the prisoners was a good hand at pickin' locks and that he did them a' wi' a hairpin. maybe he did. but they got oot o' their cells anyway, climbed the rope one at a time, crawled up the airshaft and out. just look at that airshaft--it would hold a half a dozen men at a time nearly. they might as well have left an open door for them as have that contraption,--no wire protection over the ends, nothing but hinged lids that anyone can raise at any time." "and they're gone?" asked phil helplessly. "gone,--ay! good and gone! like as no' they're 'ower the border' by this time, like 'a' the blue bonnets' in the song. "they had horses waitin' for them." "but, land sakes, jim!--where the deuce were the jailers, the police, all this time?" asked phil. jim laughed. "where did ye expect them to be? chief palmer was at royce pederstone's reception. howden--well, it seems howden had a date on with one of the kenora waitresses. ryans, the jailer, says everything was quiet. he happened to open an unused cell, where he kept his brooms and things, and, when he was inside somebody slammed the door on him and locked him in. a trump-up from beginning to ending, and too thin to keep a draught out even. phil, it sure would make one's stomach turn; politics, justice, protection, the whole thing would seem to be a farce from start to finish, and we are parties to it ourselves, aiding and abetting it; too weak or else too lazy to issue even a mild protest." "and what is being done now? who put you on to it?" "oh,--that youngster smiler, as usual. he knows everything that goes on. the wee deevil came up to pederstone's. they wouldn't let him in, but he shot through the door and made for me. brenchfield was standing by and saw the dumb show, and understood it quicker than i did, for he was off like a greyhound, and so was palmer. "before i got down here, he had his own pursuit gang working and they were away, hot-foot, after the runaways,--perhaps." "well,--i guess that ends it," lamented phil. "i guess it just does," agreed jim. "palmer leading the chase, and brenchfield at his ear telling him how to do it before he set out. gee, man!--i wish we had been in it, though. there would have been hell apopping for somebody, for i'm just in the mood." "but didn't brenchfield go, too?" "not so far as i know! he was here, got them started after much pow-powing with palmer; then someone came for him and he went off again in a hurry. one of the gang, no doubt! damn them!" "oh, oh, oh,--jim langford!" interrupted a well-known, melodious voice at jim's elbow. jim and phil turned quickly to the speaker. it was eileen pederstone, wrapped up snugly in a warm, fur coat. apparently she was alone. "great scot, lassie!--what are you doing here?" "good evening, gentlemen!" she said politely. phil returned her salutation, with a very uneasy feeling inside. "little ladies should be sleeping in their beds," put in jim in a tone of admonition. "i wouldn't mind if i were now," she returned. "i just couldn't resist coming down here when i heard of the breakaway from jail, and so many of the men felt they had to rush off from our place. "i coaxed daddy to bring me down. i lost him somewhere in the crowd half an hour ago." "ugh-huh!--and what else?" inquired jim. "well, i am positively sick of having my dad for a member of parliament. i never seem to have him to myself for five minutes on end. i don't know where he has gone to, i'm tired and,--and i'm looking for some big, strong man to see me home up the hill. would you mind, jim?" "no, indeed, eileen! i would be glad to do so,--but unfortunately i have promised thompson, the government agent, to stay here in charge till he gets back. but phil here will see you home, and be delighted to do so. eh, phil?" "why--why, certainly! only too pleased!" said phil, although he could have punched jim's head for putting him in such a predicament. he half hoped that eileen pederstone would find an excuse, but instead, she accepted the proffered service without demur. they started off immediately. neither spoke for a hundred yards or so, for a constraint seemed to be holding both back; the one did not know of anything fitting to say, and the other had so much to say that she was at a loss to know how or where to begin. womanlike, eileen was first to break the silence. "i was sorry, mr. ralston, that you were too busy to come to our place to-night--or, i should say, last night, for it is morning now." "i wasn't exactly too busy," returned phil frankly. "i walked the hills for the good of my health, and i enjoyed myself splendidly." "oh!--i thought--i thought you would be sure to come, if only for daddy's sake,--unless something serious would prevent you," said the young lady slowly. it was dark and impossible for either one to see the other clearly, so they had to be guided by the voice alone. "yes,--i guess probably i should have come, but----" eileen interrupted him. "mr. ralston,--don't let us fence any more. that's what everybody does nowadays. it isn't honest. can't we be honest?" "of course we can, miss pederstone! i am glad you put it so plainly. now, if you had been in my shoes,--would you have come?" "oh, please don't put it that way. we have gone through too much for that. we know too much of each other for argument." "you mean, you know too much about me," corrected phil, a little bitterly. "yes!--and, believe me or not as you will, i never thought, i never guessed--until--until i saw you that afternoon in the smithy, tired-out, begrimed, your hair awry and your clothes loose about you--i never dreamed that you--that you--that----" "that i was the escaped convict you befriended!" eileen put her hand on his arm. "mr. ralston,--why do you have to be so callous; why are you so severe with yourself?" there was a touch of irony in the short laugh phil gave. "one can't afford to be otherwise with one's self," he retorted. "it is a privilege one is permitted to take." "it is a privilege you have no right to take and--and i am so sorry if i hurt your feelings that afternoon. i did not think for a second how you might misconstrue my behaviour, although--although i could see it all afterwards. won't you please understand me? i was so surprised, so taken aback,--the picture returned to me so suddenly--that i could not think properly. i just had to run out into the open and away, in order to pull myself together." phil walked along by her side, up the hill, without answering. "won't you believe me?" she pleaded. "i can never forget that you were kind to me when i needed it most." "then you believe me," she reiterated, "and you will believe that i shall never, never, never tell anyone your secret?" the moon sailed out behind the clouds, and phil looked down and saw a pale, earnest face searching his. "yes!--i do believe you," he answered. "i could not do anything else now." "thanks ever so much!" eileen smiled. and with that smile, the ache that had been at phil's heart for some days took wings and flew away to the land of delusion from whence it came. "may i ask just one little question before we bury that small bit of the past?" eileen asked. "yes!--what is it?" "does anyone else up here know that you are the same person who--who was recaptured that night?" "yes!--one other knows." "jim langford?" "no, not jim--although i think i may have to tell him some day. it is awkward at times." "your secret would be safe with him." "i know it would." "if it isn't jim who knows, it can be only one other," she reasoned, "mayor brenchfield." "yes!" "is he likely to betray you?" "he would if he felt free to do it;--but as things stand, he daren't." "oh!" that simple little word which can mean so many things, was eileen's answer. she sighed, then she brightened up again. "well!--that has been got rid of, anyway." on climbing the steepest part of the hill road, she questioned phil once more. "do you intend making blacksmithing your life's business?" "why? isn't it a good calling?" "oh, yes! my dad was a blacksmith for the most of his life. but i think you are intended for something different, something bigger than that. you have had more education, for one thing, than my dear old daddy had." phil laughed. "that is quite flattering--but your dad has my education beaten a thousand miles by his experience and shrewdness. i guess i shall have to keep to blacksmithing until i get some money ahead and until that 'something different' that you speak of, turns up." "i should dearly love to see you and jim in partnership. you would make a great team, for you never quarrel." "is that the secret of successful business partnership?" "i think it is an important one of them." "i daresay you are right," said phil. "but what are we to do?" "what do others do? look at the men without brains, without even business ability, who have made money--heaps of it--buying and selling land right in this valley, in this town, and who started in without a dollar. why,--i could name them by the score;--fraser & somerville; mcwilliams; peter brixton; mcintyre & anderson, and even that good-for-nothing, rattlesnake dalton;--why, the town swarms with them. if they can do it, what could not two smart men, honest, with up-to-date business methods, do? property has been changing owners hand-over-fist lately and i know it is merely the beginning. next year property will move faster than ever; money for investment is pouring in; the people are flocking westward; values are rising; the ranches are producing more than ever; prices are improving; irrigation schemes are afoot;--why, it simply cannot be held back. dad, mayor brenchfield, ben todd,--they are all anticipating it." phil almost gasped at eileen's enthusiasm. "they are the monied land-owners, the vested interests," he put in. "it suits them to anticipate." "and, believe me, they will realise," retorted eileen. "almost thou persuadest me to be a real estate agent," he bantered. "well,--one thing i do know; no man ever got very far ahead working for the other fellow. if a man isn't worth more to himself than he is to someone else, you can bet that someone else is not going to employ him." "you talk as if you had worked it all out, miss pederstone." "i have, too!" she went on. "if you are holding down a job at a fair price, it ought to be a sufficient indication to you that you should be at it on your own account." eileen's ardour set a spark aglow in phil, but, manlike, he was prone to ignore it and even to argue against her conclusions. "you must pardon me if i have said too much," apologised eileen at last, "only, only i have tried to speak for your own good, and jim's, for there is so much good in jim that just wants elbow room;--and besides, knowing what i know, i should like so much to see _you_ make good." "i haven't any fear at all of the ultimate 'making good,'" replied phil. "i have always known that it would come sooner or later. it has never been merely a hope with me, it has been an inward knowledge since i was quite a little chap." "why then, that knowledge, backed by your every endeavour, cannot fail to realise great success for you. it is fear of failure that kills so many successful ventures before their birth. without fear--which is at best a cowardly bugaboo, the world would be heaven." "well,--heaven is where the devil isn't," said phil, "so fear must be the very devil himself." "fear is the only devil i know," asserted eileen. "i am afraid i have the misfortune to be acquainted with quite a lot of other little devils," he laughed. they crossed the road together, along the west-end of mayor brenchfield's local ranch and town house, which was divided from the new royce pederstone property by the big house and grounds which that eccentric englishman, percival derue hannington, had bought for himself and now occupied in lordly bachelordom. several of brenchfield's stables and out-houses were situated quite close to the roadway. in passing, phil observed a faint light in one of these, which swung as if in the hands of someone moving about. as they continued along, he fancied he heard the sound of voices, one of which rose and fell as if in anger. his momentary curiosity caused him to stop conversing and to listen more intently. one of the voices rose again; there was the distinct sound of the crack of a whip, followed by a high-pitched throaty articulation as of an animal in pain. it sounded so helpless and piteous, that eileen drew herself up nervously and shuddered. she gripped at phil's arm. ever suspicious where brenchfield or any of his followers were concerned, and quickly roused to anger at the slightest abuse shown to any of the lower creation, phil acted on the impulse of the moment. "please stay here for a second, eil--miss pederstone. i am going over to see what is doing there." he turned, vaulted the fence, and bending low he crept cautiously over to the barn. at the window, he rose slowly upright and peered inside. the horror of what he saw there remained focussed on his mind ever afterwards; and always when he turned to that picture in the album of his memory, his gorge rose and a murderlust that could hardly be stifled filled his entire being. he darted to the door of the barn. it was unfastened. he flung it open and rushed inside, throwing himself with mad fury on brenchfield, who had his coat off and his sleeves rolled up. he had a long whip in his hand, poised high in the air, and was about to continue his devilish cruelty. the mayor swung round and, before phil got to him, the downward stroke of the whip caught the latter across the head and shoulders. he staggered for the fraction of a second, then closed with his adversary, catching the right arm that held the whip and, turning it smartly over his shoulder in a trick jim langford had taught him, had brenchfield groaning with the pain of the strain on his elbow. he relaxed his fingers and the whip dropped to the strawed floor. phil released his hold, whirled round and shot his right fist full in the face of his opponent. his left hand followed, sending brenchfield backward. recovering quickly, the mayor came back at phil, cursing roundly. but strong and heavy as he was, he was no match now for the sturdy, young blacksmith before him. and it was not very many minutes before he knew it. they fought around the stable like wild cats. time and again brenchfield got in on phil, but for every time he did phil got in on him half a dozen. the heavier man's breath began to give out. his face was cut and bleeding and his vision was becoming more and more faulty as time went on. "skookum!" he cried furiously. "what the hell's the matter with you? brain this fool with the lantern, can't you?" but his henchman, skookum, had already perceived how the fight was going and his discretion proved much greater than his valour. he dropped the lantern and darted out at the door. as good luck would have it, the lantern fell right-end up and, after wobbling precariously on its rim, sat upright in the corner, blinked, then continued to shed a fitful light over the scene. phil, with anger unabated, darted in on brenchfield, smashing at him right and left. the latter tottered. phil sprang in and clutched at his throat. both went forcibly to the ground, with brenchfield undermost. phil gripped and squeezed and shook with almost ferocious brutality, until the mayor's struggles became less and less violent, and finally ceased. and after that, phil's grip did not relax, for that murderlust, which he had read of and heard of but had never before understood, was on him. had it not been for a quiet, pleading voice and a little hand that slipped over his and along his fingers, pushing its way between his and the soft throat of his adversary, the sunlight would have gone out of his life for all time. "please, phil,--please!" she cried. "don't! phil--you would not kill him! you must not,--for my sake, for my sake! he isn't worth it. phil, phil,--let him go!" and the murderlust--as it had done so often before at the gentle but all powerful pleading of god's women--shrank back, dwindled down, then faded into its native oblivion. phil's fingers relaxed and he rose slowly, working his hands convulsively, then pushing his wet hair back from his forehead, as he looked first down at the gasping figure of his hated adversary and then in open-eyed amazement at eileen. "thanks!" he said, very quietly. "why did you do that?" she said. "what has he done?" for answer, phil caught her by the arm and turned her about-face. a bundle of rags was trussed against the post of one of the stalls. phil lifted the lantern from the ground and held it up. "oh!--oh, dear god!" she wailed piteously, running forward with hands outstretched. "quick, phil!--loose the ropes. the hound!--oh, the miserable, foul hound!" she continued. phil drew a pocket knife and slashed the ropes that held poor, little, half-unconscious smiler. they set the boy gently in a corner; and slowly, in response to crooning words and loving hands that stroked his dirty, wet brow, he came to; and what a great smile he had for eileen as she laid her tear-stained cheek against the cold, twisted face. phil turned as brenchfield was slowly rising on his arm. he went over and picked up the whip. "what are you going to do?" anxiously cried eileen. "just three!" said phil, "for the three he gave that poor, helpless little devil. say 'no' and i won't." it was a challenge. for answer, eileen hid her face among smiler's rags. and three times, with all the force of a young blacksmith's arm behind it, that whip rose and fell across the shoulders of vernock's mayor, ere it was broken with a snap and tossed by phil among the straw. a little later and smiler was on his feet, little the worse. eileen led him outside. phil and brenchfield were then alone. "damn you, for an interloping jail-breaker! i'll fix you for this before you're much older," growled the mayor. "damn all you like," answered phil, "but one word of any kind from you of what has happened here to-night and you are the man who will be trying to break jail. keep your mouth shut, and we are square on what has happened. say as much as a word and--well,--it's up to you." "oh, you go to hell!" exclaimed brenchfield. chapter xvii wayward langford's grand highland fling jim langford did not make an appearance until breakfast time that morning, and then there was dirt on his clothes, fire in his eyes and venom on his tongue. "what do you know?" asked phil as soon as they were alone. "know? what did i tell you, man? darn them for the four-flushing hypocrites that they are. an hour ago palmer came trotting back quite calmly with his crew. "'the bunch got away on us, across the line,' he whimpered. "a put-up game from start to finish! oh, don't let me talk about it, phil. it makes me positively crazy. for ten cents i'd go and shoot up the town." phil tried to get jim to sit down and eat, but it was useless, for jim kept walking mrs. clunie's dining-room like something in a cage. knowing the danger of the mood, phil kept a wise silence and, much as he disliked it, he had to leave his angry chum and get along to his work. at the smithy, things were little better. sol hanson had, in a roundabout way, gathered that smiler had been abused, and, in some inexplicable manner, had arrived at the truth, that brenchfield was responsible for it. sol was vowing vengeance in no uncertain tones. "what you know about it, phil?" "guess he's just been in a scrap with some other kids," answered phil in an off-hand way. "scrap nothing! you just about as dumb as smiler. all the same, some day i kill that big blow-hard brenchfield. maybe he mayor; maybe he got all kinds of money. dirty son-of-a-gun, that's all! i know him,--see! next time he tie sol hanson up, by gar!--i finish him. he what you call,--all cackle, no egg." phil laughed. "all right!--you laugh away. some day i get drunk--good and drunk--just for fun to break his big fat neck. you watch me,--see!" "forget it, sol! you can't afford to do that kind of thing now. you're a married man, you know." "sure i am," he answered proudly. "and my betty, she says, 'go to it!' anybody hurt smiler, hurt betty,--see! anybody hurt my betty,--well,--by gar!--he only hurt her one time,--that's all." truly phil had his hands full, and when he got back home he met with further disquieting news, jim langford, with his horse, and a cheque he had just received that day in payment for some of his dime novels, was off on the rampage. for the three days following, phil tried hard, but could find no trace of his chum. on the fourth day news reached him that jim was out on the race-track, a mile from town, racing a band of indians for their horses. he hurried over, and got there just in time to see the last horse added to the lot, tethered to a fence, that jim had already won. the moment jim set eyes on phil, he put spurs to his mare, vaulted the fence right on to the highway, and set off full tear for vernock, leaving his live winnings behind him without a thought. this foolish act was characteristic of jim, and it suited the indians splendidly. the losers at once started out to claim their horses. but phil got there first, strung the animals together, pushed his way boldly through the protesting crowd and trotted nine horses back with him to town. he stabled the lot in mrs. clunie's spacious barn, then set out on foot to search for jim once more. he did not have far to go, for on passing through the recreation park he came on a scene that he positively refused to disturb. instead, he dropped on his hands and knees, and stalked stealthily behind the trees and among the bushes until he could both see and hear all that was going on. jim's horse, with its reins trailing, was cropping grass close by. jim was seated on the grassy bank near the creek, where the clear water wimpled and gurgled over the white, rounded stones. around jim, in easy attitudes but with eyes wide and gaping mouths, squatted some twenty-five or thirty boys of varying ages and of varying colours and nationalities, but all of a kin when it came to appreciation of the universal language--the language of an exciting story. jim was reading to them from one of his most bloody dime novels, and the wonderful elocution he possessed never displayed itself with greater zest. his wavy, reddish-brown hair swept his forehead becomingly; his face, thin, keen and full of cultured intelligence, betrayed every emotion as he declaimed; and his long arms and tapering fingers moved in a ceaseless rhythm of gesticulation. it was the same old stuff:-- "'hal, the boy rider of the western plains, stood on the brink of the chasm: behind him, three thousand feet of sheer precipice to the seething, boiling waters and jagged rocks below;--before him, the onrushing bandits. "'black dan, outstripping the others, sprang on hal, mouthing fearful oaths. with astounding agility, hal stepped aside, caught dan by the middle, and, swinging him high over his head, sent him hurtling, with ear-splitting shrieks, down, sheer down to his doom. "'this staggered dan's followers for a second, until cross-eyed dick, jibing his comrades for their cowardice, next rushed in upon our dauntless hero. hal drew his dagger from his belt and bravely awaited the onslaught. when cross-eyed dick was within a few yards of him, he raised his arm and threw his dagger deftly and with terrific force, burying it to the hilt in the train-robber's windpipe. with a clotted gurgle--blood spurting from his mortal wound--hal's assailant still came rushing on. he staggered on the brink for a moment, then--without another sound--he toppled over and joined his dead leader who was lying, a beaten pulp, among the boulders, far below.'" on and on jim went, making the hackneyed, original; the ridiculous, feasible; the impossible, real; until even phil hated to pull himself away from the scene, to await a more convenient season for his endeavours to bring jim back to himself. if ever there was poetry in a "deadwood dick," thought phil, surely it was then. feeling that jim was in harmless company for the time being, phil left him, intending to round him up later. an hour afterwards he returned to mrs. clunie's to have a look at the horses he had stabled. to his great surprise and annoyance he found the place empty of all but his own and mrs. clunie's animals. surmising that the half-breeds had "put one over on him" he started down town, hot foot and hot of head. he took the back way through chinatown, as he knew jim had a habit of frequenting the most unusual places when on the rampage. his journey, for a time, proved without adventure. had he taken the way of main street, or further over still, toward the poorer class of shacks and dwellings, it might have been more interesting for him, for jim's insatiable love of a change was being indulged to its full and he was busy making quite a good fellow of himself with all the orphans and poverty-stricken widows he could find. it was he, and not the half-breeds, who had taken his horses from mrs. clunie's barn. what he did with them after he took them was not clear to himself then, for his memory merely served him in flashes. but all of it returned to him later, in startling realism. he found himself on top of a wagon-load of sacked potatoes, driving a good team of heavy horses townward, with his own mare leisurely ambling behind, unhitched--following him as a dog would. he had no use for sacked potatoes at that particular moment, so he bethought himself how best to get rid of them. as usual, he set about to do a good turn where it was most needed. from one end of the little country town to the other he went, stopping at the door of every family he knew of where the produce would prove of value, and off he unloaded one, or two, or three sacks, as he thought they might be required; refusing to betray the source of supply further than that they were a gift which the lord was providing. it was thus that phil finally found him, and quite unabashed was that lanky, dust-browned individual. "can you no' let a man be?" he remonstrated. "when i'm playin' the deevil, you admonish me, and when i'm tryin' to do a good turn, you're beside me, silent and stern as a marble monument. "man, phil, ye mak' me feel like the immortal robert louis stevenson must have felt when he wrote 'my shadow.'" "i never heard of it," said phil. "what? never heard of it! may the lord in his bounteous mercy forgive ye for your astounding ignorance. no time like the present, philly, laddie;--no time like the present. listen!--and never dare ye tell me again that ye never heard it,--for it's your twin brother." and there, in that back street, beside the potato wagon, he burst into melody in as clear and rich a baritone voice as phil had ever heard. jim was a born minstrel. from beginning to end, he sang that never-dying, baby melody of the master-craftsman, robert louis stevenson, with a feeling true to every word of it and emphasising particularly the parts which he fancied applied especially to phil. "_i have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,_ _and what can be the use of it is more than i can see._ he's very, very like me from the heels up to the head, and i see him jump before me when i jump into my bed. the funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow, not at all like proper children, which is always very slow, for he sometimes shoots up taller, like an india rubber ball, _and he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all_. "he hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play, _and can only make a fool of me in every sort of way_. _he stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see,_ _i'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me._ one morning, bright and early, before the sun was up, i rose and found the shining dew on every butter-cup but my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed." there were few people about when jim began his singing, but a considerable crowd was gathered long before he finished. suddenly a little fair-haired girl came up to him with a show of bashfulness. he put his hand on her curls. "what is't?" he asked. "tell me;--ye need never be feart for me." "please--please, sir,--that was a nice song and mother says would you sing it to us at our social to--to-night?" "sing it,--of course i'll sing it. just you tell your uncle jim where to come, and i'll be there. what social is it, bairnie?" "please--it's the salvation army." "oh-h!" groaned jim, clutching at his forelock. but he held manfully to his contract. "what time would ye like me to be there, lassie?" "mother says, please nine o'clock." "nine o'clock at the barracks! right you are! i'll be there, and i'll sing 'my shadow.'" "please--and what is your name?" she inquired, in a business-like way. "my name!--let me see,--oh, ay! uncle jim,--just plain uncle jim!" "and you'll come sure?" she asked. "yes, bairnie!--i'll come sure." the little girl ran off, evidently highly pleased at the addition she had made to the programme for their social meeting. phil gripped jim by the arm. "yes, shadow dearie!" said the big fellow whimsically, "what is't?" "aren't you going to cut this stuff out, jim?" "what? man alive, do ye want to make a mock o' me? me!--cut it out and this just the first week. you managed that once, phil, to my eternal disgrace. don't ye know that when i start, it means a month on the calendar--and has always meant that and always will mean----" "no, it won't," put in phil. "not if i know it!" "but, phil, the folks expect it. ye could never disappoint the people." "disappoint be-damned! are you going to quit this right now, or not?" "man, ye shouldna put it like that to me," expostulated jim, swaying slightly as he threw his arm round by way of emphasis. phil held out his hand to him. "all right, jim! i'm sorry. good-bye! good-bye for good!" almost a haunted look came into the bloodshot eyes of the big fellow. "phil,--phil,--ye don't mean that? ye wouldna throw me doon?" "but i do mean it. i thought you and i were going to make a good partnership some day." "and aren't we?" "not this way! good heavens, jim!--what's the matter with you, anyway? haven't you got the courage to stand a little disappointment now and again without flying to this? you can't go on being a fool all your life. "i tell you, i came here to make good. i am making good and i'm going to make better. so can you, if you get down to it. we can turn this town round our thumbs, if we go to it together. if you haven't the grit to quit this damnable foolishness--then i'm through with you for keeps and i'm going to find somebody with sense to go at it with me. if i can't, then i'm going to go at it alone." with bent head, jim stood in silence under the tirade. "where did you get this rig?" asked phil, referring to the team and wagon. jim shook his head. "what did you do with the horses you took from mrs. clunie's barn?" jim shook his head again. "they were your own horses;--where did you get them?" jim's shock of auburn hair waggled a negative. "and that's what the booze is doing for you, old man. you won't know your own name pretty soon." suddenly phil's voice changed and he slipped his arm across his friend's shoulder. "jim,--jim,--we've been good pals. won't you quit this crazy behaviour, and we'll stay good pals right to the finish?" "when do you want me to start?" asked jim quietly. phil's face lit up. "right now!" "give me to-night;--two or three hours more, and don't interfere with me between this and then,--and i'll take you on." "it's a go!" exclaimed phil, holding out his hand. jim gripped it, and phil knew that jim would keep his word, for he was the kind of man whose word, drunk or sober, was as good as the deed accomplished. "mind you, phil,--i don't say i'll never drink again." "i'm not asking you to promise that," answered phil. "right! at nine o'clock to-night i'm through with the long-term highland fling for keeps." phil assented to the proposal and left jim to complete his potato distribution. but jim could not have remained very long with the job, for, by the time phil had taken a leisurely stroll round to the forge to have a few words with sol hanson, and had partaken of a bit of supper with betty and the big, genial swede, jim had succeeded in putting up his delivery-outfit, had dressed himself out in his cowboy trappings; chaps, stetson, khaki shirt, red tie, belts, spurs and all complete, and was creating a furore among the law-abiding citizens down town. phil came upon the scene--or rather, the scene came upon phil--like a flash of lightning out of the heavens. he was making down town, intent on spending half an hour with his pipe and the evening paper in a secluded corner of the kenora hotel, when he heard a shout and witnessed a scurrying of people into the middle of the road. phil himself had hardly time to get out of the way of a mad horseman who was urging his horse and yelling like an indian on the war-path; tearing along the sidewalk in a headlong gallop, striking at every overhanging signboard with the handle of his quirt and sending these swinging and creaking precariously--oblivious of everybody and everything but the crazy intent in speed and noise that seemed to possess him so fully. "how long has he been at this?" phil asked of an old, toothless bystander. "oh,--'bout half an hour, maybe more, maybe not quite so much," came the reply. "nobody been hurt?" he inquired further. "guess nit! that langford faller's all right. on the loose again, and just a-lettin' off steam. a good holler and a good tear on a cayuse ain't goin' to hurt nobody nohow, 'cept them what ain't got no call to go and be interferin'." with difficulty phil extricated himself from the man's superfluity of negatives and continued on his way. he passed through the saloon of the kenora, which was already overflowing with the usual mob such places attract in any western country town; ranchers, cowpunchers, real-estate touts, railway construction men, horse dealers, teamsters and several of vernock's sporty storekeepers and clerks. he seated himself in a lounge chair in one of the side rooms, lit his pipe and pulled out the previous day's coast newspaper. he was tired from his all day's running around after jim. it was a raw evening out-of-doors, but it was cosy in there. the popping of corks, the clinking of glasses, the hum of voices and the occasional burst of ribald laughter, even the quarrelsome argument; all had more or less a soothing effect, which began to make phil feel at harmony with the world at large. he looked at his watch. it was eight o'clock. he stretched his legs, unfolded the large sheet and settled down comfortably. he did not get very far. he had only scanned the headlines and had read the chief editorial, when the sound of an old, familiar voice in the saloon attracted his attention. he looked up. it was derue hannington, immaculate as usual, but terribly excited and mentally worked-up. this same percival derue hannington had now become an established fact in vernock. while he was looked upon as more or less of a fool in regard to money matters--with more money than brains--he had that trait about him which many well-bred englishmen possess; he always commanded a certain amount of respect, and he declined to tolerate anything verging on loose familiarity. "say!" he was drawling, as he strode the saw-dusted floor, whacking his leggings with his riding crop, "what would you johnnies do with a rotter that grossly maltreated your horse?" "stand him a drink," came a voice. "lynch him," suggested another. "push his daylights in!" "dip him in the lake!" "invite him up home and treat him to a boiled egg!" "forget it!" various were the suggestions thrown out, gratis, to derue hannington's query, for all of them knew that he was crazy over horseflesh in general and particularly over the pure white thoroughbred he had got from rattlesnake dalton the day he closed the deal and became owner of the good-for-nothing lost durkin gold mine. whether or not derue hannington considered that he had been defrauded in the matter of the mine still remained for him to test out, but the white horse was certainly a beauty, and her owner was never so happy as when careering down main street or over the ranges astride of her. "by gad!--lynching is not half severe enough," fumed the englishman. "you chaps are all jolly fond of horses. that is why i dropped in. it is an out and out beastly shame. the scoundrel should be horse-whipped and run out of town." "say, sonny!--why don't you tell us what'n-the-hell's the matter with your blinkin' hoss, 'stead o' jumpin' up and down like a chimpanzee, and makin' us dizzy watchin' yer?" asked a hardened old bar-lounger. "stand still and let me lean my eyes up against somethin' steady for a minute." this brought derue hannington to himself. "come out here, gentlemen, and see for yourselves!" he invited. "everybody come and have a look. i have her outside. a beastly, dirty, rotten shame;--that's what i call it, and if there is any bally justice in this valley, i am going to see it jolly-well performed; by george, i am!" the idly curious crowd gathered to the doorway after hannington. in a few seconds thereafter, the wildest shouts of laughter and a medley of caustic remarks caused phil to get up to see what it all was about. at the door, he looked over the heads of those on the lower steps of the veranda, and there on the sidewalk stood the dejected hannington holding the bridle of what might have been a huge zebra gone wild on the colour scheme, or an advertisement for a barber's shop. it was evidently derue hannington's white thoroughbred, but white no longer. phil went out to make a closer inspection. what a sight she presented! she had been painted from head to hoofs in broad stripes of red, white and blue. the white was her own natural colour, but the red and blue were a gaudy, cheap paint still partly wet. nevertheless, the work was the work of an artist. the body was done in graceful, sweeping lines, while the legs were circled red, white and blue alternately down to each hoof. even the animal's head was emblazoned in the most fantastic manner. phil laughed uproariously. he could not help it. none could--excepting possibly the man who owned the horse. to look at the animal gave one a sensation of dizziness. the old bar-lounger, who had been so anxious to know what the trouble was about, was the first to give way under it. "holy mackinaw! i've got them again. talk about seein' snakes," he cried, turning toward the saloon door and putting his hands over his eyes as if to shut out the sight, "hydrophobey, or delirious tremblin's ain't got nothin' on that. say, heck!--mix me up a drink o' gasoline and condy's fluid, so's i kin forgit it." "only wan thing wrong wid her," exclaimed an irish pig-breeder from tipperary; "she should 'a' been painted emerild green." "yes,--or maybe orange," commented his friend who hailed from ulster. but with percival derue hannington it was a serious crime and he was in no mood to see any humour in the situation. "gentlemen," he cried, as the crowd began to dwindle back, "i'll give one hundred dollars cash to any one of you who can tell me who did this. my offer holds good for a week." at that particular moment, the offer of a bribe did not bring to the fore any informers, so derue hannington, riding a spare horse and leading his favourite by a halter rope, jogged his way homeward. he had hardly gone the length of a block, when the comparative quiet of a respectable western saloon was again broken in upon. there was a clatter of hoofs outside which came to an abrupt stoppage; a heavy scrambling on the wooden steps leading to the veranda which ran round the hotel, an encouraging shout from a familiar voice, a clearing of passageway;--and jim langford, in all his gay trappings, still astride his well-trained horse, was occupying the middle of the bar-room floor, bowing profusely right and left to the astonished onlookers, making elaborate sweeps with his hat. everyone stopped, open-mouthed. "what's this now!" shouted the long-suffering charlie mackenzie, the husky proprietor of the kenora, as he came in from the dining-room. "good evening, good sir! it is jim langford, and very much at your service," came the gracious reply. "most of the time jim langford is welcome--but not when he don't know the dif' between a bar and a stable. hop it now, and tie your little bull outside," was mackenzie's ready retort. "boys!" cried jim with a laugh, "we all know charlie. he's a jolly good fellow, which nobody can deny;--and all that sort of thing;--but we're thirsty. "hands up--both hands--who wants a drink?" half a hundred hands shot in the air. jim's mood changed like a summer's day before a thunder plump. he pulled a gun. "keep them there or i'll blow your heads off," he shouted dramatically. and every hand stayed decorously and obediently above its owner's head. suddenly jim laughed and threw his gun on the floor. "scared you all stiff that time! the gun's empty--not a cartridge in it. "come on, fellows! this is on me. line up and get it over. "buck up, charlie! get your gang busy. i'm paying the piper." phil kept fairly well in the background, but drew closer to the lea of the others. he caught jim's eye once, and he fancied he detected the faintest flicker of a wink; but, otherwise, jim's face remained inscrutable. sitting easily on his horse, he pulled out a roll of bills and tossed over the cost of the treat to mackenzie. "listen, fellows!" said he, leaning over in his saddle, "this is my last long bat. next time you see me on the tear, shoot me on sight." he pulled out his watch. "five minutes to nine! say,--you'll have to excuse me; i've an appointment with a lady friend for nine o'clock." someone laughed. "what the devil are you laughing at? i said a _lady_; and i meant it. now, darn you,--laugh!" he taunted. the laugh didn't come. "ho, charlie! what do your windows cost?" he asked, pointing to those fronting the main street. "want to buy a window?" grinned the fleshy hotel-keeper. "sure!" "one--or the whole frame?" "the entire works, the nine windows, frame and all!" "oh well!--to you, jim, that would be fifty bucks, less ten percent for cash," replied mackenzie, going over to the cash register. "fifty dollars, less ten percent," repeated jim; "that's forty-five dollars." his voice rose gaily. "there she goes, charlie!" he threw forty-five dollars from his roll over the counter. "the window's mine! good-bye, boys! my little lady is waiting for me." he swung his mare round, set his heels into her sides and, before anyone could move, the horse and its rider sprang for the window, dashed clear through it on to the roadway and away at a gallop, without so much as a stop or a stumble; leaving a shower of broken glass and splintered wood in their train. chapter xviii the coat of many colours before going to work next morning, phil peeped into jim's bedroom, and the sight proved pleasing to his eyes. the place looked like a rocky beach after a storm and a shipwreck; boots, hat, spurs, leather straps, riding chaps, coat, pants, everything, lay in a muddle on the carpet, while jim, the cause of all the rummage--innocent-looking as a newly born lamb, and smiling serenely in his evidently pleasant dreams--lay in bed, fast asleep. at noon, after lunch, phil looked in again, pushed the door wide and entered. jim was in his trousers and his undershirt, and was laboriously shaving himself before the mirror. he turned round and grinned. phil grinned back at him and sat down on the edge of the bed. there were no recriminations. what was past was dead and buried--at least as much of it as would submit to the treatment without protest. "jim!" "ugh-huh!" "had a good sleep?" "sure!" "just up?" "ay!" "feeling fit?" "you bet!" "going to work?" "yep!--maybe." "did you hear what some tom-fool did to percival derue hannington's horse?" jim stopped his shaving and grimaced before the mirror, then swung slowly round on his heel. "no!--although something inside of me seems to denote the feeling that i must have heard somebody talk about it. give me the yarn." phil did so, as briefly as possible. "and derue hannington is as mad as a caged monkey. he has this white notice placarded on every telegraph pole in town." phil tossed over a hand-bill, which jim perused slowly. one hundred dollars reward. the above reward will be paid to anyone giving information that will lead to the conviction of the person, or persons, who maltreated my white mare by coating her with paint. percival derue hannington. jim laughed and threw the paper back to phil. "well!--i should worry about a little thing like that. man,--i've troubles enough of my own to contend with." "how's that?" asked phil, looking up. "you haven't been doing anything likely to get you into hot water?" "no--father confessor,--excepting maybe this:" it was jim's turn to throw over a piece of paper which he picked up from the bureau. phil looked it over. it was an agreement for sale, between james shallingford dalton and james langford, in which the former accepted from the latter nine horses--receipt of which was thereby acknowledged--as first payment of five hundred dollars on his brantlock ranch of sixty acres, with barns and shack, two dray-horses, one dray and one and a half tons of sacked potatoes; total purchase price thirty-five hundred dollars; second payment of two thousand dollars to be made within seven days, the balance in six months thereafter; prompt payment on due dates to be the essence of the agreement. phil glanced over at jim, then turned up his nose in disgust. "gee!--and i thought you were a lawyer." "so did i!" returned jim ruefully. "but what in the name of all that's lovely made you sign an agreement like that?" "the lord only knows!" "great snakes!--it would be all right if it weren't for that last clause. didn't you read it? 'prompt settlement on due dates to be the essence of the agreement.' couldn't you see that the property reverts to dalton immediately you fail to make any one payment on the dates agreed?" jim laughed in a woe-begone way. "ay!--dalton put one over on me that time, all right. but it's the very last. can't stand for this happening again. it hurts, right on my professional dignity. won't he have the haw-haw on me? "ah, well! what's done can't be undone. 'my deed's upon my head.'" "gosh, but he's a rotter," growled phil. "put a thing like that over on a drunken man!" "hush! not drunk, phil;--call it indisposed! you know i am an æsthete on these matters. "but wasn't it some bait though, phil?" "oh, great stuff all right! the ranch must be worth six or seven thousand dollars. but a fat chance you had of ever getting it. why, he had you every way you turned. all you did was to give him a present of nine horses worth five hundred dollars." "he'll never get his spuds back, that's one blessing." "go to it;--be philosophic! lovely consolation that! a ton and a half of potatoes for five hundred bucks!" "that's right, shadow, dearie,--rub it in." phil did not answer, but sat on jim's bed and looked at the carpet in evident disgust. after a few minutes of silence, jim grunted, then he began to laugh. "you seem to be quite pleased with your performance," commented phil sarcastically. "man,--i was just thinkin' what a grand thing it would be if only i could make these payments." "a fine chance you have--about fifty dollars in the wide world and five days left in which to make two thousand. nobody in this town will lend you a red cent. they are all too anxious putting their money in a hole in the ground themselves. of course, you might write forty dime novels at fifty dollars apiece and make it that way:--that means just eight a day for five days." phil got up and clapped jim on the shoulder. "guess you'd best forget it, old boy! let the tail follow the dog." "but you must admit, phil, that the weak spot in this deal of rattlesnake's, after all, is right on the question of my ability to raise the dough." "yes!--i admit it--but the real weak point is one he never reckoned on." "and what's that, pray?" "he knew you had just gone on one of your crazy bouts. the law of averages informed him that you would get back to your--ahem!--sober senses in about a month's time, when the date of your second payment would be long gone by and your precious agreement for sale, if ever you happened to remember it again, would be simply so much waste paper. he would throw half a dozen fits, right now, if he knew you were--ahem!--_compos mentis_, with five days still to go to make two thousand dollars--maybe. but i'm wasting your precious time, jim," he continued. "get out your pen, and ink, and paper, and get busy;--eight dime novels of thirty thousand words apiece--two hundred and forty thousand words a day for five days! shades of sir walter scott and balzac!" he laughed. "i wouldn't do it, jim;--no, not for a farm!" and phil went back to the smithy as jim continued dressing, doing a little special thinking, the while, on the side. all that day, the mystery of who painted derue hannington's horse was the talk of the town. several painters and paper-hangers, as they went about their business in garments that betrayed their calling, were glared at in open suspicion. the reward of one hundred dollars read very good and a sort of hidden-treasure-hunt look was in the eyes of many. the next day blue notices instead of white were tacked to the telegraph poles and the hoardings. with derue hannington's anger and indignation, the reward had risen in the night. it now stood at five hundred dollars. in unison, the keenness of the hunt for the perpetrator of the so-called dastardly outrage rose four hundred per cent. meanwhile, jim did not go to work at the court house as he had practically said, nor yet did he go outside. he sat quietly in his own room, smoking his pipe and reading emerson and professor drummond, which, of course, was quite in keeping with the peculiarities of his temperament. he had little to say to phil as the latter dropped in to see him from time to time; and the all-absorbing topic of the town--derue hannington's big reward--seemed to interest him about as much as did the approaching dissolution of his hold on the ranch he had contracted to purchase from rattlesnake dalton. phil looked in vain for signs of diligence in the direction of stories from the pen of captain mayne plunkett, and articles on the affairs of the heart by aunt christina. in the language of the farm, jim was simply _sawing wood_. for two days, the signs on the telegraph poles remained blue in colour. on the evening of that second day jim ventured only a little into conversation. "phil,--do you know i'm heart sick of playing the darned idiot. i've a good mind to start work." "jee-rusalem! you don't say!" exclaimed his astounded friend. "honest to goodness! man, i wish, though, that i could beat dalton to it on that deal." "i wish you could too, for he is bragging all over the town how he put one over on you, and that you're on the loose somewhere, worse than ever, too shamefaced to show up in your own town." by way of answer, jim twisted his gaunt face in an enigmatical smile. "it's a good ranch!" continued phil. "of course it is! that is why i'd give my head to fool him on it." "well!--i've a thousand bucks and one dollar in the commercial bank, and i'm willing to go halves if you can raise the balance." jim started up excitedly, but he subsided almost as quickly. he pulled out the linings of his pockets and with them came a little roll of bills. "one hundred and sixteen dollars!" he said ruefully. "i've counted them one hundred and sixteen times, backwards, forwards and upside down, these last three days, and i can't get them to grow a dollar more." "won't somebody stand good for you?" "somebody might,--but i am not borrowing. that is one thing jim langford never did in his life and he is not going to start in now with it to help him out of a tom-fool boozing stunt he never should have got into. i don't mind your money so much, phil, for it would be a partnership affair between two pals, but i am not crawling all over town begging for loans, especially after dalton has had his say. no,--it's no good!" at noon next day, jim was still in the doldrums. phil rushed in all excitement. "what do you know about that fool hannington? the town is ablaze with red posters now, and he is offering a thousand dollars reward, for one day only--like a bargain sale--to anyone who will lay information that will lead to the conviction of the horse painter." jim laid down his book, put his pipe out by smothering it with his little finger, then got up and went to the clothes closet. he took down his hat and jacket. "what's up now?" asked phil. "i'm after that thousand, sonny!" "what?" "i saw hannington's horse painted. i know who did it and i'm going to lay information." phil gaped. as jim was proceeding outside, phil ran after him and laid hold on his arm. "wait a bit, old man! let me get this right," he said slowly. "do you mean to say you are going to play informer for a thousand dirty dollars?" "why not? i'm the only man who saw it done. there are mighty few in town who wouldn't do the same thing if they knew what i know. besides, the fellow who did it darned-well deserves all that he gets. i've no love for him, and i need the money. good-bye, philly! i'll see you anon." he went downstairs, opened the front door cautiously and, finding few people about, he hurried along the block and down the back lanes to the rear of _the advertiser_ building. he sneaked unseen into ben todd's private office. there was no one inside. ben, evidently, was in the basement in the printing shop. the editor's desk was littered as usual with newspapers, scribbled scraps of paper, cuttings, paste-pots and such paraphernalia of the making of a country newspaper. jim closed the door, sat down in todd's chair and took up the telephone receiver. he called for derue hannington and got him without difficulty. "hullo!--is that mr. hannington?" "mr. derue hannington speaking." "are you busy?" "not too much so! who is they-ah?" "could you come down to _the advertiser_ office right away--mr. todd's place--something important in regard to what you are so worked up over?" "why, yes,--certainly! of course, i can come." "be here in ten minutes." "yes! who is calling?" "never mind! come and see, and come quick!" and jim rang off. in two or three minutes ben todd, the editor, came in, long of legs and hunched of back, trailing his arms like an ape, his handsome bearded face lit up in pleasantness and his keen brown eyes searching jim curiously. "hello, jim! glad to see you! the boys must have miscued. i heard you had fallen off the water wagon." "and can't a fellow climb back again as easily as he fell off?" "some can, but you generally take your own sweet time, my wayward boy. still, i'm glad to see you. what brought you in?" jim swung round in the chair. "i want you to act as umpire for me in a little matter. are you willing?" "of course i am! what is it?" "why,--here comes the other fellow," said jim, as the handle of the door turned and the gaudy, resplendent and immaculate percival strutted in, bringing with him an odour of pomade and scented soap. ben todd looked over in surprise. "aw,--good day, gentlemen! someone 'phoned me beastly hurriedly." "sit down, mr. hannington--mr. derue hannington," invited ben. "guess you were the one who 'phoned, jim?" "yes!" acknowledged jim, becoming alert. and he wasted no time beating about. "you wish to know the name of the man who union-jacked your cayuse?" "the name of the boundah who painted my mare!--you just jolly-well bet your boots i do, sir!" "well,--i know it." "yes--yes!" "does your offer of a thousand dollars still hold good?" "till midnight, to-night;--certainly!" "good! make out a cheque now and hand it over to mr. todd as umpire." "doesn't the word of derue hannington bally-well suit everyone here?" exclaimed the englishman in a hurt tone. "sure!--but this is strictly business." hannington pulled out his cheque book, wrote out the cheque for one thousand dollars payable to "cash" and handed it over to ben todd who was eyeing the scene in undisguised interest; his keen mind already fathoming the secret. "there!" remarked hannington. "now, give me your information, my deah langford." "if the man i name gets convicted, or if you fail to lay a charge against him, the money comes to me? do i get the arrangement right?" "you have it absolutely, my careful scotsman. fire away! fire away!" "you got that, mr. todd?" queried jim. "absolutely!" mocked the editor. "well, gentleman,--the name of the man who painted mr. percival derue hannington's mare is--james langford, your most humble and obedient servant, and very much at the service of both of you." ben todd grunted. the englishman sat bolt upright. his chin dropped and he gaped, his fingers running nervously up and down over the gilt metal buttons of his fancy waistcoat. he rose slowly from his chair and his face grew pale in his anger; then it became red and perspiry. "you--you confounded scoundrel! you--you miserable individual! you--you trickster!" "go on,--go on!" put in jim coolly, "the more you call me down, the better i like it. i'm a positive glutton for anathema. mr. derue hannington simply eats up elocution,--eh, ben!" the editor smiled dryly. "he does, but he is finding some difficulty in digesting some of yours, jim, and i'm not surprised at it." jim held over the desk 'phone to hannington. "better 'phone up for palmer and get it over." hannington pushed the receiver away. "i refuse,--i--i decline absolutely. i shan't prosecute,--damned if i do! it is downright blackmail. yes,--by gad! give me back my cheque, mr. todd, and let me go. i'm jolly-well sick of this." "'give me my principal and let me go,'" quoted jim in mockery. "i can't do that, mr. hannington. sorry," said the editor, "but if you decline to prosecute, the money goes to mr. langford." "then, by gad!" cried hannington, "i shall prosecute to the utmost deuced rigour of the bally law, and be-dimned to him. you cawn't fool lightly with a derue hannington,--no sirs! "i'll have you understand we derue hanningtons are fighters. my great-great-grandfathers both fought at waterloo, derue on the side of the french and hannington on the side of the british,--yes, sirs!" "i'm thinking maybe that explains why you are not quite sure now whether you are the prosecutor or the prosecuted," pawkily remarked jim. hannington glared, grabbed up the telephone and called for the police station. as usual, palmer was up on his ranch, and hannington had to be contented with howden, the deputy, who got over to the _advertiser_ office almost immediately and, in a very short space of time afterwards, he had the not unwilling jim safely locked up for the night in the town jail. howden, to save himself a little labour--ostensibly for the sake of his friendship with jim, but really to leave himself free for his evening's amours with a waitress at the kenora--offered to allow jim to go home if he would promise to show up at the court in the morning, but jim was too fond of experience and too susceptible of melodrama to pass up so golden an opportunity;--he refused to give his parole and in consequence slept soundly and innocently on a little camp bed, in a ten by five cell, at the expense of the municipality. as soon as the news got about--which it did with astounding rapidity--the entire town was in a fit of merriment over the latest exploit of the wily langford and the discomfiture of derue hannington; and early the following morning, when the local police magistrate was still negotiating his matutinal egg, the little courtroom was packed to overflowing. phil called off work for an hour or two in order to be on hand should jim require his aid in any way. the voluminous and cheerful judge disposed of a case of petty thieving in quick time, then called the case against james langford for cruelty to animals and destruction of property. when jim appeared--his eyes twinkling, but his face as solemn as a parish minister at the funeral of a wealthy and generous member of his congregation, a muffled cheer broke out, which was promptly squelched by the magistrate, to derue hannington's undisguised pleasure. the case against jim was read. he pleaded guilty, refusing lawyer's aid or the privilege of stepping into the witness box. there were no dramatics--at least not until the police magistrate pronounced the sentence. "james langford," he droned severely, "have you ever been tried before for a criminal act of any kind?" "no, sir!" "this is your first offence?" "no, sir!--but the first time i've been caught." "now, jim,--that'll do!" reprimanded the magistrate, forgetting his courtly dignity for the moment and breaking into a grin; for jim and he were cronies of long standing. "i deeply regret that i cannot give you the benefit of the first offender's act. these boyish pranks of yours must be put down. you will be breaking windows and riding your horse on the sidewalk next if we allow you to go on in this way, unpunished. you are a big lad now and it is high time you were beginning to take life seriously." hannington nodded his head approvingly, and clasped his hands over his stomach. "in pronouncing sentence, i hope you will take this lesson to heart and that this will be your last appearance before this or any other court of justice. "i fine you fifty dollars and costs, and command that you wash and scrub percival derue hannington's mare, between the hours of two and four p.m. in front of the court house, every day, until the animal is restored to its natural colour." a wild laugh and a great shuffling of feet greeted the sentence. derue hannington sprang up indignantly, his face bursting red with anger. "but sir--but sir--i--i! fifty dollars?--why--i paid one thousand dollars to get him here. your honour, it is a positive scandal--a perfect outrage!" "silence, sir!" commanded the magistrate. "but it is an outrage, sir. i insist--it is a low, beastly trick. i appeal--i----" "silence!" roared the magistrate again. "one word more, sir, and i'll commit you for contempt of court. next case!" at the court house door the crowd seized upon jim, hoisted him on their shoulders and carried him down main street, singing and chaffing as happily as if jim had just won an election. at the commercial bank jim stopped them and beckoned to phil. "say!--get your thousand dollars out of the bank and we'll have the crowd take us to dalton's office right away. i got hannington's cheque, marked o.k., from ben todd in the court house. we'll call dalton's bluff for once--and at once." phil rushed into the bank and was back in three minutes with the money in his possession. "now boys!" shouted jim, "down to dalton's office and then to the kenora." off they went, shouting and singing as before, not particular as to what it was all about, but simply keen on making an uproar--and as big a one as possible--now that the opportunity presented itself. james dalton--sole proprietor of the dalton realty company--was standing at the door of his office, watching the actions of the oncoming crowd. the moment he saw jim, however, he hurried inside. the mob stopped at the door. jim jumped to the ground. "come on in, phil! stay there, boys--just for a minute or two. there are drinks for the crowd at the end of this trip." by this time, dalton was sitting behind his desk, his thumb in the armhole of his vest, nervously chewing at the end of an unlighted cigar. "i bought the brantlock ranch from you the other day, rattler." "that's right,--go to it!" ventured dalton as a try-out. "i kind of half expected something like this." "are you going to deny it?" "if you mean, am i going to deny that i gave a gink, half dippy with booze, an agreement for sale in temporary exchange for a bunch of horses that he couldn't look after and was liable to have pinched on him; if you mean am i going to deny that i did it to save him losin' what he couldn't keep an eye on himself,--then i ain't." dalton leaned back, still pale from excitement but not at all unsatisfied with his vocal delivery. jim looked over to phil in sheer astonishment at the man's audacity. phil smiled in return. "what do you think of that now;--the rattler turned 'good samaritan'? "and you did it just out of the goodness of your kind, unselfish, little, palpitating heart, dalton?" "i ain't throwin' any bouquets at myself," remarked dalton. "and where are the horses you were so kind as to look after for me?" "i made a better sale of them hat-racks than you ever could 'a' done. i got eight hundred bucks for the bunch. and i'm ready to give you a cheque for that amount, less ten percent for puttin' the deal through;--seven hundred and twenty bucks, the minute you hand over the phoney agreement which i was dam-fool enough to give you at the time to satisfy your would-be lawyer's intooition and to keep you from yappin' all over the country." jim went up to the desk and leaned over toward dalton. dalton leaned back in his chair, so far back that he nearly tip-tilted over it. "rattler," said jim, "come off your perch. it isn't any good. ''tain't the knowing kind of cattle that is ketched with mouldy corn,'" he quoted roughly. "i ain't professin' to be up to your high-falutin' talk, langford, but i get the drift; and i guess you think i'd be batty enough to give you a ranch worth seven thousand bucks on an agreement for sale in exchange for a bunch of old spavined mules and three thousand bucks on time." jim pulled the agreement out of his pocket and threw it on the desk, thumping his fist down hard on top of it right under rattlesnake's sharp nose, causing dalton to jump again. "see that?" "yep,--guess i do!" "well,--you're going to abide by it." "i am?--like hell!" said dalton. phil took a gun from his pocket and handed it to jim. jim toyed with it. "see that?" "can it, langford! gun stuff don't go down with me. it is ancient history. you'll get pinched again if you try that on." "but you see it--don't you?" "sure thing! i ain't got 'stigmatism that bad yet." "well, rattler,--it isn't loaded, but i am going to rap you over the koko with it if you don't be a good boy and do as you are told." "now,--repeat after me!" dalton laughed and rolled his eyes upward to the ceiling. jim's arm darted out and the butt-end of the revolver caught dalton such a sharp rap over the head that that individual was some seconds before he recovered. "now," said jim, "are you ready?" dalton sat tight. "hi, boys!" shouted langford sharply, a sudden inspiration seizing him. "i've got a dirty horse-thief, red-handed and self-confessed. bring in a rope. we can start him with a dip in the horse-trough." three husky individuals strode inside. dalton gasped. he knew just what the men in the valley thought of horse-stealing, in general, and he was all unprepared for this sudden move of jim's. "steady a minute, boys!" exclaimed jim. "it seems that dalton has not quite made up his mind as to whether he stole those horses of mine that he sold afterwards, or simply took them from me in part-payment of the brantlock ranch. "now, rattler, come on, repeat your little spiel after me, or go with the boys and get what's coming to you." dalton saw the game was up. "this agreement," said jim. "this agreement," repeated dalton sheepishly. "is a real, genuine agreement." "is a real, genuine agreement," continued the other. "between jim langford and me, and stands good." "between jim langford and me, and stands good." "sorry to disappoint you, boys!--but dalton remembers now that he didn't steal my horses,--he bought them. "now rattler, darling!--phil ralston and i are taking up that agreement and want possession of the ranch right away." dalton licked his lips. "there's two thousand plunks due me to-day on that there agreement." "and there's the money, my bonnie boy!" jim threw hannington's marked cheque on the table. phil followed with ten one-hundred-dollar bills. "make out your receipt, son,--quick!" rattlesnake jim turned a sickly white and looked at the two before him in a blank kind of way, then his eyes travelled to the three men by the window and over to the crowd at the door, none of whom had any sympathy for him, but, on the contrary were all aching for the pleasure of dipping him--or anyone else for that matter--into the nearby horse-trough. slowly dalton opened his drawer, took out his receipt book, made out the necessary document and handed it over. "guess you've won!" he said, picking up the cheque and money. "call off your dogs now, and get to hell out of this!" "gee, rattler, but you're polite with your customers," remarked phil with a smile. "ta-ta, son!" cried jim, "another thousand little bucklets in six months and you are fully paid up. dirty, rotten fraud,--eh, my wee mannie!" at the door jim raised his voice. "thanks, fellows! phil and i are going ranching and we haven't time for booze any more, but you go on down to the kenora and tell charlie mack to give you a couple of rounds each at my expense. i'll 'phone him as soon as we get home. "you're a dog-goned bunch of real, live sports,--every mother's son of ye." chapter xix ranching de luxe a team of horses and a wagon were standing at the front entrance to mrs. clunie's boarding house. it was the same team and wagon that jim langford took over from rattlesnake dalton with the brantlock ranch. it was early morning and still dark, but the two would-be ranchers had already loaded up the wagon with their tools, bedding and personal effects. with a nod of satisfaction to each other, they grinned, tied their saddle horses on behind, clambered into the front of the wagon and started off. this ranching fad was entirely jim's, for phil looked with lord nelson's blind eye when it came to seeing any quick fortune in fruit farming. but knowing that the brantlock ranch was a sheer give-away at the price they had paid for it and not being desirous of parting from jim or of smothering any attempt on the part of the latter to take up some definite work, he had compromised: jim was to remain on the ranch all the time, while phil would keep on working at his trade with sol hanson, thereby giving sol time to look about for a substitute and also ensuring a good food supply until they should realise on their next season's general produce, which jim had decided to plant and cultivate between his fruit trees. this revolutionary plan of combining truck gardening and ranching had been a pet scheme of jim's for a number of years. he contended, and rightly too, that despite the fact that a fruit rancher was a fruit rancher, there was no particular reason why a rancher should not be a farmer as well; rather than lay out his young trees and sit still for the next five or six years and become poor or bankrupt in the process of waiting till his trees should grow to fruition--as so many seemed to be doing--when by pocketing his pride and condescending to a little hard work in market gardening, he could at least make ends meet until the time came for the greater harvest of the big fruits. jim langford was not destined to demonstrate this theory personally, although he lived to be confirmed in his wisdom and to see the plan work out to splendid success. the brantlock ranch was only some two miles from town, and phil, for company's sake, had agreed to spend his spare time there, riding in and out to work morning and evening. when all was ready, jim handled the reins of his team, blew a kiss in the location of the chaste and goodly mrs. clunie's bedroom window, and they started off. phil glanced up at the clouded sky, through which the grey of dawn was endeavouring to peep. away beyond the mist, the dark outline of the cold, enveloping hills barely showed itself. "it's a great day to start out ranching, jim," he commented with a shiver, as he buttoned up his coat and turned up his collar. jim looked upward. a blob of very moist snow--the forerunner of many--splashed into his eye and blurred his vision. "it sure is!" he agreed, squeezing it out. "it is a good job we have morrison's tarpaulin over our stuff." "ugh-huh!" five minutes' silence ensued, in which the grey of dawn seemed to be getting the worse of its tussle with the black of night. "i guess the gang down town will think we're crazy starting out to ranch in the month of november." "ay!" a splash of snow struck the bridge of phil's nose, spread itself and slid slowly down to the point, where it clung precariously for a moment, then lost its hold. another--the size of a silver dollar--landed sheer on the nape of jim's neck just where the coat and his hair did not meet. jim turned up his coat collar to forestall a possible repetition. "there's one consolation, jim, we'll have everything in apple-pie order by the spring-time." "ya!" a cattleman, going townward, passed. "rotten weather for movin', fellows!" was his chilling comment. jim looked up lugubriously, but without verbal response. phil well understood the mood, and did not worry. langford might have been pondering on the comfortable bed he had left at mrs. clunie's and on the advisability of turning back, or he might have been figuring how much they were going to make on the next year's fruit crop. as he did not turn back, his thoughts, despite his monosyllables, were evidently bravely optimistic. on they jogged through the enveloping mists of the vanguard of a snow-storm, huddling themselves gradually into smaller and smaller compass as the sleety snow warmed--or rather, cooled--to its task of discouragement and settled down in ghostly earnest, pushing back the already delayed dawn and casting a cheerless gloom over the countryside. before the budding ranchers had gone half a mile, the watery snow was running off their clothes. when a mile was completed they were soaked through, sitting like two scare-crows, their hats almost to their chins and their chins buried in their buttoned mackinaws. they were nearing their journey's end--too miserable for words--when a horse clip-clopped on the muddy road behind them. the rider drew up alongside them. "gee, boys, but you started early. i thought i'd never catch up on you." the speaker was eileen pederstone, snug in her riding habit and enveloped in an oilskin coat. "in the name of all that's lovely!" ejaculated jim. "what are you doing up at this time in the morning?" "i'm up by this time pretty nearly every morning, mister impertinence. "i thought i might be in time to catch you at mrs. clunie's before you left. i just heard of this enterprise late last night." she laughed. "my, but that was a great coup. you're a dandy pair! i just wanted to wish you both the best of luck right at the start." "thanks awfully!" grinned jim, "for we sure are getting it." "oh, tush! this is nothing. okanagan ranchers don't worry about a little snow in november or december. it's a good warm blanket for the roots of the trees when the cold comes along, and a fine drink for them later on in the spring-time. "here's something for your first meal on the ranch. who's to be cook,--you jim, or phil?" phil glanced over quickly and eileen's cheeks took on a rosier tint. "oh, jim's to be the rancher and i've to earn a living for both in the meantime," answered phil, "so i guess he will be cook--unless we can hog-tie one somewhere." eileen handed them a large parcel from under her oilskin. "well,--that's all, boys," she said. "i'm going to victoria pretty soon, to be dad's house-keeper. but i'll be out to see you before i go. you're off on your own at last,--and that's the only way. if you don't like ranching, sell out. but whatever you do,--oh boys!--keep on your own. don't ever work for the other fellow any more. stay out on your own. one is always of most value to one's-self. i wish i could preach that from the hill-tops. wage slaving for somebody else is the curse of the times." "hush!--you rascally little socialist; do you wish to ruin all the millionaires and trust companies by giving away their trade secrets in this way?" dryly commented jim. eileen laughed. "well,--good-bye, jim! good-bye, phil! and jolly good luck!" with a whirl and a jump she turned and made off. but the cheery sunshine of her presence and her hearty greeting kept radiating over the two, leaving a warmth and a cheerfulness around them, where a few moments before had been cold and grumpiness. they reached their destination at last, unhitched and turned the horses into a large barn in the rear of the dwelling house. there was no doubting the splendidness of the ranch proper, with its acres of young fruit trees set out in rows with mathematical exactitude, and its pasturage which was now blanketed with snow. neither, alas! was there any doubting the miserableness of the broken-down two-storied, log-built barn of a place that was meant for their future home. jim and phil shook the icy water from their clothes, stamped their feet and went inside. the house was damp and cheerless, and evidently had not been subjected to heating of any kind for months. they unloaded their bedding and other effects, then set about to light a fire in the fairly business-like stove that stood in a corner of the kitchen. they were busy at it, when the smooth, greasy, grinning face of a fat chinaman showed round the door-post. "hullo, john,--come on in!" greeted jim. the oriental obeyed, with just a little show of diffidence, although diffidence of any degree did not sit too well on the general sleek confidence of his appearance. "hullo!" said phil, looking him over. "hullo!" said the chinaman, familiarly. "you new bossy-man,--eh?" "you bet! where you come from, john?" "where me come? me live here. me stop little house way down orchard. me work allee time nicee day;--live here allee time winter. "you let me stop,--eh?" the chinaman was quick in getting to business. "what do you say, jim?" asked phil. "sure thing,--just what we want! "say, john!--what your name?" "me,--my name? my name, ah sing." "ah sing!" exclaimed jim, looking upward in expectancy. "ya,--ah sing!" repeated the other with a set, chinese grin. "ah sing!" "ya,--ah sing!" "then, why in heaven's name, don't you? i've asked you twice," laughed jim, showing his large teeth. the chinaman showed his own in return. "sing,--you know me?" "ya,--i know you. you bossy-man, big jim. i see you court house plenty time." "well!--you catchem heap firewood, cleanem up, sweepee floor--just little bit--cookem one time every day;--and you stop. no do it;--you go away;--no get stop here,--see!" "me stop here long time," remonstrated sing fearfully, "one--two--three--four bossy-man come, sing stop allee time." "no matter,--you work little bit, or no stop here,--see!" the idea of winter work did not appeal to the wily sing, but as it was "work" or "get out," he relented. "all lite!" he agreed. "me stop. you pay me spling-time?" "yes!--that's a go, sing. i pay you all time you work outside on ranch. no pay winter time: not muchee work: just little bit." "me savvy! me go catchem dly wood." "so he is an old pal of yours, jim?" "yes!--and he's a pretty wise guy at that. "he was up before thompson, the government agent, one time i was there. thompson was trying to get him to take an oath over something. he asked sing how he would like to swear, whether by kissing the bible or in the chinese way. "me no care," said sing, "burnem paper, smellum book--allee same ah sing." "thompson saw how much the chinaman cared about oaths in general, so he got busy and pretty nearly scared the daylights out of sing." "what did he do?" asked phil, as both continued unpacking their gear. "oh,--he made sing swear by the live chicken. you see, a chinaman will always tell the truth when he has to cut a live chicken's head off over it. if he happens to be guilty of anything and says he isn't and cuts the fowl's koko off,--he is sure to die for his prevarication. we all die, anyway, of course," commented jim, "but not so suddenly, evidently. then, if john is accused by someone of doing something he didn't do and he pleads innocent and cuts the infernal bird's headpiece off--the other fellow cops off." phil laughed, and worked on his fingers as if endeavouring to figure the thing out. "it's quite easy;--simple as a.b.c.," commented jim, "only you're too darned thick skulled to savvy,--that's all." "and i guess the chinks think we are pretty dense not to understand," put in phil. "just so!" sing put an end to the conversation by reappearing with a big armful of wood. a respectable fire was soon blazing in the stove and a sense of increasing comfort began to pervade the place. eileen's eatables--meat pie and some baked fruits--were put into the oven to heat, while jim and phil changed into dry clothes. they then went into the adjoining room to inspect the furnishings, which consisted solely of an iron bedstead with a fairly good spring on it; a cheap little bureau, two chairs and an oil lamp. the walls of the place were of shiplap covering the logs, while the roof at the corners had holes in it big enough to put one's head through. fortunately a loft of some kind separated the heavens from the occupants. they spent the day making the house somewhat habitable, inspecting the barns and grooming and feeding their horses. in a spirit of thankfulness for small mercies, as night drew down they got out their mattresses and bedding and prepared to make themselves as comfortable as possible. they partook of supper and went to bed early. both were tired, and it was not long before they were sound asleep. they might have remained so until morning had not phil wakened up with the fancy of something scampering over his face. he sprang into a sitting posture. "get down, man! you're letting in the draught. it's all right. you were just dreaming," grunted jim. "dreaming nothing!" cried phil, brushing his face. "something as big as a horse ran over my cheek." "lie down then and cover up your head. it'll be all right." phil was not so easily satisfied. he struck a match and looked about him. "see that!" he whispered. as jim jumped up in response, several shadowy forms scurried off in various directions. the match burned to phil's fingers and spluttered out, as phil swore and sucked his injured digits. "deevils!" whispered jim eerily. "rats!" exclaimed phil, striking another match and groping for the lamp. "better than bugs!" said jim philosophically. "oh, you wait!" retorted phil. "the bugs haven't found out yet that we're here. you'll make acquaintance with them later." jim shivered. "man,--i detest bugs, though! i wouldn't wonder if you are right too; the place had a musty smell; besides, that wily duck of a civilized chink would be living here if there wasn't something wrong." he shivered again. "they give me the grue. i can feel the darned little brutes already." "oh, forget it!" said phil. "whoever heard of a calculating, sober-minded, creepy bug coming out on a night like this and scaring you away before you're right settled down. bugs have more sense than that, jim." langford curled himself up in small compass, covered his head over with the blankets and dozed off again. phil rose, took his twenty-two rifle from his pack and set it alongside the bed. he put a light to the lamp, got into bed again and turned the light down to a peep. he lay quietly watching the hole in the corner of the roof over by the foot of the bed. the lamplight reflected suddenly from two tiny beads at the edge of the hole. phil reached cautiously for his rifle, raised it, aimed carefully and fired. something fell on the floor with a thud. jim sprang up in alarm. "good heavens, man!--what's up?" he cried. "oh, go to sleep!" answered phil. "i've just shot one of your bugs." "shoot away then," retorted jim, "but please remember they're not _my_ bugs." in a few minutes more, phil shot again, and another victim thumped to the floor. half a dozen times this happened at intervals, until jim--unable to get any sleep--grew faintly interested in the sport and volunteered to take a turn while phil crept under the blankets for warmth. it was only when morning began to dawn that the two got down to an honest hour's slumber. when they rose, thirty-six dead bush rats lay in a heap directly under the hole in the roof. "and they told us nobody lived here!" remarked jim. "that's a great bag, though. man,--if only they were rabbits!" "how do you suppose they come to make this room their shelter?" asked phil. "easy enough! they evidently come in from the outside between the logs and the shiplap to the loft above. they have made a run along by the beams there and down that board running from the roof to the floor and propping up the wall there; then they make over the floor to that hole, and into the stable where the litter and feed is." "great stuff!" commented phil. "ay,--ay!" said jim wearily, "but i can see where most of my time is going to be occupied in keeping the house to ourselves." they were late in getting about that morning, but, fortunately, ah sing had been around and was putting the finishing touches to a breakfast for two. three ugly black cats were at the chinaman's legs with erect tails, rubbing their backs against him in feline glee every moment he stopped shuffling over the floor. "hullo, sing;--pretty early! think maybe best you cook dinner night-time--one meal every day--no cookem breakfast. we makem breakfast," said jim, as he picked up one cat after another by the neck and solemnly dropped them out at the front door. "ya,--i savvy!" said ah sing. "me cookem supper every night--to-morrow--but no do'em this time to-day. my blother's wifee, she die and get buried one year to-day. savvy! me want to go and put'm chicken, piecee pork, punk stick, all on grave--see!" phil laughed as he sat down to the table. ah sing looked hurt. "what you do that for?" asked phil. "you no savvy?" queried the chinaman, leaning over with arched eyebrows. "put'm on grave so devil come and eat'm up. devil say, 'ah sing good boy;--ah sing blother lee, he good boy too.' devil, heap pleased. no hurt ah sing and lee sing." jim ventured a cautious look up from his oatmeal and milk, as if awaiting the outcome of the discussion. "gee!--but they're a crazy bunch," said phil, addressing no one in particular. ah sing was of the knowing school of chink and did not choose to let the remark slide by. "you say 'heap crazy.' no crazy! white man just allee same crazy. he put'm flower on white girlie grave. you no think that crazy. chinaman put'm chicken and pork on chinee girlie grave,--chinaman no crazy. "white man look up--see angel; white man put'm flower, please angels. angels no hurt anybody. "chinaman look down--see devil. devil he can hurt everybody. chinaman put'm chicken for devil. devil heap pleased:--no hurt chinaman. "just allee same,--allee same! white man flower;--chinaman chicken!" jim laughed. "best forget it, phil;--he's a dyed-in-the-wool chinaman, fully canadianised. you can't beat him. he has a pat answer for anything you like to put up to him. and, after all, when you come to analyse the darned thing,--there is about as much sense in the pork and punk-stick stuff as there is in the flowers. give me my bouquets when i am alive,--that's what i say." after breakfast, phil saddled his horse and rode to town. it was still snowing softly, but a rift of blue and a shaft of sunlight overhead gave promise of a let-up, while a wind with a nip in it prophesied a drop in the barometer and a tightening up. when he got back in the evening, he found the front door bolted on the inside. he rapped on the panel, and jim opened it very slightly, making a scooping motion with his foot along the floor, as if helping something out of the kitchen or trying to prevent something from coming in. "what's up, jim? scared for burglars?" "burglars,--no! darned black cats! the door won't stay closed without being bolted, and these ugly black devils of sing's have taken such a fancy to the place and the heat, that i have been busy all day slinging them outside." "that accounts for the negro shuffle you did as i came in," laughed phil. "exactly! i've got the habit now." "but what on earth does the chinaman do with so many black cats?" "just another tom-fool notion these loonies have. they're plumb scared o' the dark. the dark and the devil work a sort of co-operative business against the chink. that is why sing keeps his light burning all night." "but where do the cats come in?" asked phil. "you wouldn't ask that if you had had to punt them out all day, to-day, as i did. but, punning aside:--sing and his kind think that when there's no light, safety lies in having black cats around. somehow, his satanic majesty--poor devil--is scared for black cats." the conversation changed as phil surveyed the interior of the house. he found a great change had come over their abode. for one thing, it was decidedly cosier. the damp, bug-like feel had gone from the place. an odour of varnish pervaded. the holes in the ceiling and floors had been boarded over, the windows were clean and had curtains on, the stove was polished, and a general air of home comfort was present. jim had made an auspicious start. and every day thereafter showed an added improvement, for it was little that langford was able to do out-of-doors in that in-between season just prior to the freezing up--and all his energies were evidently being divided between the fixing up of the house and his usual contributions to aunt christina's love column and captain mayne plunkett's monthly "thriller." they had hardly been three weeks on the ranch, when the winter set in for good and shackled the earth in snow and ice. the morning and evening rides in and out to the smithy were a perfect delight to phil and they set his blood effervescing in his veins as it had never done before. many an evening when it was getting late and the great whiteness around was deathly still, he and jim would stand on the front veranda and smoke a pipe together, as they silently drank in the beauty of the scene about them. jim was by nature a dreamer, and it only required an occasion such as that to set him brooding. phil, with the call of the open born in him, preferred the out-of-doors and nature's silences to all else that the world contained. they would stand there together, looking over the dark rows of young trees, erect and soldier-like in the orchard, against the background of white,--away down to the kalamalka lake, smooth and frozen over, then beyond to the low hills that undulated interminably. quietly, they would admire the sky above them as it seemed fairly strung over with myriads of fairy lamps, twinkling and changing colour in real fairy delight. they would watch those fairy globes here and there shatter into fragments--as if with the cold--and trail earthward in a shimmering streak of silver-dust. they would wait till the moon sailed up over the hills in all her enchantment, then slowly on the heels of their boots, they would beat out the dying embers from the bowls of their pipes, take a glance down the end of the orchard to ah sing's shack--where a dim light, suggestive of nothing else but orientalism, seemed ever to be burning--nod to each other and smile, then turn in without a word and go to bed. it was in these silences that phil got to know jim for the true gentleman he was. it was away out there in that evening stillness that jim, lonely and misunderstood for the most part, grasped for the first time in his life the true meaning of comradeship, and it aroused in him a fierce love for phil that could be likened only to the mother-love of a cougar for her young. that there was some shadow in phil's life which phil had never spoken of to him, jim knew only too well, but he cared little for his friend's past. only the present counted with men like jim langford. besides, it was little after all that phil knew of jim. but what he did know was all to the good. and, were they not in the west where heredity and social caste is scoffed at, where what a man has sprung from, what he has been or done amiss, matters not at all; where only whether or not he now stands four-square with his fellows counts in the reckoning? yet, many times, phil had made up his mind to confide in jim and tell him of all his past dealings with brenchfield; what he had suffered in his youthful folly for that creature who had only sought to do him irreparable injury in return. but, somehow, he had kept thrusting it into the background till a more favourable opportunity should present itself. the inevitable did come, however, swift and sudden, and all unexpectedly for both of them. chapter xx a breach and a confession it was but two days from christmas. phil and sol hanson had been striving hard to cope with an accumulation of work so that they might be clear of it during the holiday season. sol, in fact, had been slaving at nights as well as during the day, until even he was bordering on a physical exhaustion. jim dalton, that evil genius, came into the smithy during a temporary absence of phil's, proffered sol a drink from the inevitable bottle which he always seemed to have hidden somewhere about his person, and sol was too weak to refuse. by the time phil got back sol had disappeared. for the first time since her marriage, betty's love and influence had failed to anchor her big, weak husband. from past experience, phil knew that it was useless going after the big fellow, who required only a few hours to end his carousal. he failed to return to the smithy that evening, so phil locked up and rode home. he did not call in at sol's home, for he hoped that the swede would find his way there within a few hours more. next morning, phil had to open up again. betty called in, flooded in tears. sol had not been home. phil counselled her to go back and wait in her little cottage for the return of her husband, for he did not wish her to be a witness of his usual reaction. she departed, but whether or not she took phil's advice, he did not know. about eleven o'clock, sol staggered in, helpless, but good-natured as usual. the heat of the smithy soon did its work and the big fellow curled himself up in a corner, among some empty sacks, and dropped off to sleep. it was the awakening that phil dreaded, but risky as he knew it would be, he determined to give sol a chance and leave him to wake up, without sending out to inform royce pederstone, who was home for a week to participate in the christmas festivities, and the mayor,--whose combined duty it was to see that sol was properly secured against doing anyone any bodily injury. but phil's good intentions were not allowed to fructify. brenchfield and royce pederstone rode into the yard together, as if they had been aware of every move of sol's. they ordered phil to lock the front door and come out by the back way. phil pleaded sol's cause for a little, but only got called a sentimental fool for his kindly feelings; and he had no recourse but to obey instructions, for brenchfield and royce pederstone had almost unlimited power in regard to sol's permanent freedom or confinement. brenchfield pitched some chunks of coal at sol through the broken window. sol woke with a start, cursed in a mixture of swedish and english, then, with that terrible madness upon him--which phil had witnessed only once before but would never forget,--he sprang for the back door, as phil got round the gable-end of the smithy. sol wrestled for a few seconds with the back door and finally tore it completely from its hinges. he darted out into the yard, hurling the broken woodwork full at brenchfield as the latter was swinging his lariat. hanson followed his missile and, for a short space, it looked as if the mayor's last moment had arrived. but numbers counted again and, fortunately for the big swede, he could not be in two places at once. royce pederstone's rope landed deftly over his head and brought him to earth gasping for breath, half strangled. brenchfield recovered. his rope whirled in the air and tightened over sol's uptilted legs. the rest was easy. shortly afterwards, hanson, foaming at the mouth and shouting at the pitch of his voice, was trussed securely to the stanchions supporting one of the barns. the mayor and royce pederstone were still inside the barn, and phil was standing in the yard, when poor, little, distraught betty came anxiously round the building, still on her quest for her man. she heard sol's voice, and her eyes grew wide and shone in fear and anger. she darted toward the out-house. phil tried to stop her, but it was useless. inside she went, and when she surveyed the scene before her--the two strong, calculating men standing watching her husband whom she loved with all the strength of her robust little being, and he roped and hog-tied like some wild animal--her whole womanly nature welled up and overflowed. "what have you done?" she cried fiercely, her voice weakening as she went on. "solly, dearie,--my own sol!" and sol cursed, and shrieked, and struggled, unheeding. she ran forward to him and placed her arms about his great neck where the veins were swollen almost to bursting point. she patted his huge, heaving, hairy chest. she wiped away the perspiration from his forehead and the white ooze from his lips. she laid her face gently against his, tapping his cheek with her fingers; crooning to him and kissing him as she would a baby. slowly the big fellow melted under her influence. his struggling gradually ceased. betty kept on calling his name again and again. her tears dropped on to his upturned, distorted face, and those tears did what knotted lariats and wooden beams had failed to do--they brought peace and sanity back to the eyes of big sol hanson. his head cradled back in his betty's arms and he panted, looked up at her, and, after a few minutes, smiled crookedly. "loosen them ropes!" betty commanded of brenchfield and royce pederstone. "we daren't do it," answered the mayor. "you loose them quick," she cried again, "or i'll kill you. "them fellows is skeered you'll hurt them, sol. tell them solly you won't touch 'em,--will you, solly?" sol shook his head. phil came forward to do the needful. at the same instant, royce pederstone's good sense took in the situation better than brenchfield's dogged mind could. "guess we might take a chance, graham!" he said quietly. "you ain't takin' any chances with my solly. give me a knife and beat it, both of you. i ain't skeered o' my man." the mayor opened his jack-knife and handed it to betty. he and royce pederstone went into the yard together. phil stood watching by the barn door. shortly afterwards, sol came out, his big hand clasped over betty's little one. he looked away from the men in the yard, shame-facedly, but betty's eyes shone defiance and her head kept up, and the two lovers walked on to the highway and along in the direction of their own home. "well i'll be darned!" exclaimed pederstone. "it takes a woman every time to know how to handle a man." brenchfield scoffingly curled his lip. "coming my way, graham?" "not yet awhile," said the mayor; "i want to see ralston here about a little matter that's been on my mind for a while." phil was already back working on the furnace bellows and stirring his irons in the red-hot coals. mayor brenchfield came over to him, his fat but handsome face leering a little under his bushy eyebrows. "so, philly,--you're still earning your daily bread by the sweat of your blooming brow!" the young man looked his tormentor over contemptuously, and continued his work without comment. "gee, but some men are damned fools though!" continued the other. "and some are damned curs," answered phil. brenchfield bit his lip, then grinned. "say, phil!--i'm sorry for all i did. honest, i am. i want you to forget the past and forgive me. i treated you, as you say, like a cur. i'm willing to make amends and do the right thing by you as far as that is humanly possible. you and i were brought up together, phil. that should count some." "it should," agreed phil, in a non-committal way, wondering what was behind this change of front on the part of brenchfield. "i am willing to have my holdings appraised and to make you a present of one half." "you mean you are willing to let me have the half that belongs to me?" "if you care to put it that way,--yes!" "half of the proceeds of your theft?" "oh, forget that! can't you have a little sense, if only in your own interests?" phil smiled. "i was always a bit of a fool, brenchfield, where my own interests were concerned. but i am gaining wisdom as i go along." "then, in heaven's name, take this chance when it is offered you. no man can do more than i am willing to do now. you won't have to work another stroke in your life." phil's eyebrows raised in surprise. "gee,--but that _would_ be a pleasant prospect,--i don't think!" brenchfield held out his hand. "is it a go?" phil was almost convinced by the sincere ring in brenchfield's voice. he glanced into the latter's face, but the mayor's eyes failed to play up to the sound he had put into his voice. "do you honestly mean all you say?" asked phil. "every word of it!" "well,--since you have raised the white flag, here are my terms:-- "i don't want a cent of your money. sell out and turn every nickel you have over to somebody or some institution that needs it. come with me before a magistrate and make an honest confession, and take your chance of a new start, like a man would do. i'll shake hands then and call it quits, but not until." the mayor glared at phil as if he considered the latter had suddenly become bereft of his reason. "oh, pshaw!" he exclaimed in disgust, turning on his heel, "no use bargaining with a lunatic." "wait a bit!" cried phil. "if i accept all you offer, what do you want in return?" "nothing!--nothing but that little piece of paper i was fool enough to leave lying about a few years ago." "in other words,--your price is the proof of my innocence and your own guilt." "the question of innocence and guilt has been settled between you and me long ago. you paid the price;--why not take your share of the proceeds?" phil shook his head. "no!" blurted brenchfield angrily, "but you prefer to use the cipher note for blackmail and to satisfy your own dirty designs for revenge when your own time comes." phil pointed to the door. "get out!--and don't bring up this subject to me again. i am sick of it--and you." suddenly the mayor laughed in relief, and he snapped his thumb and forefinger under phil's nose. "go to it! do your worst!" he exclaimed. "i've found out all i wanted to find. you are an arrant bluffer, phil ralston, but you're not quite smart enough. you haven't got that note. damn you!--you never had it for longer time than it took you that morning to burn it. "it was ashes before the police came. "now, philip ralston,--it was you who committed the crime you got rightly jailed for. you didn't get half what was coming to you, dirty thief and blackmailer that you are. you should have had ten years----" brenchfield got no further. phil was on him quick as an avalanche. the mayor, in his haste to get out of the way, toppled backward against the anvil. phil's left arm shot out and finished the job. he caught brenchfield straight on the point of the chin, sending him hurtling head first over the anvil and on to the floor on the other side. phil vaulted over on top of him, but when he saw the huddled form, limp and insensible, and the face livid and drawn, his better judgment flashed through and mastered his terrible anger. he caught the inert mayor by the arms, dragged him across the soft flooring of hoof shavings and metal-dust, to the outside, slinging him unceremoniously on to the heap of broken iron beside the frozen horse-trough. he next went back into the smithy, damped down the fires, dipped a pail into the vat--filling it with water--then shut up shop, for it was growing dark and near to the usual closing time. he went into the yard and looked over his still senseless but heavily breathing antagonist. he dashed the icy contents of the pail contemptuously over the head and shoulders of brenchfield, tossing the empty receptacle on the ground. he next loosened his horse from the stall in the barn, mounted and rode down town to morrison of the o.k. supply company to purchase the balance of the supplies he and jim required for their next day's christmas dinner--their first christmas dinner on a ranch; phil's first christmas dinner in six outside of a prison. and, as he jogged homeward over the hard, frozen snow--his saddlebags on either side choking full of good things to eat--he tried, again and again, but without success, to discover at which point in his conversation with brenchfield he had given himself away and thereby disclosed to him that his cipher confession was a myth. and graham brenchfield, as he took the back lanes home,--after having regained his scattered senses and put his upset toilet into half-respectable shape--cursed himself for his folly and wished that what he had tried to draw ralston on were really true; that the document he so much dreaded and desired to possess were really ashes long since strewn to the winds. but he could not be certain on the point, for phil had not sufficiently betrayed himself; so he cursed again and made up his mind that there was only one course now open to make surety doubly sure;--and phil ralston or any others who tried to come in his path must accept the consequences of their folly and rashness. phil reached the ranch in good time and, considering all he had gone through, in fairly good spirits. he stabled the horse, and after brushing three or four of ah sing's black cats from the door-step he went inside, greeting jim in his usual hearty way. the table was set in the kitchen and the pots were steaming on the stove top, all ready for the evening meal. jim was in the adjoining room, apparently absorbed over some of his alleged literary work. he raised his head as phil greeted him, but his face remained solemn. he kept at the table while phil washed and dried his face and hands. phil went in to him at last and sat down on the bed watching jim intently. "come on, old cock!" he cried, "wake up. these dime 'bloods' are getting your goat. cut loose from them--it's christmas eve, and, glory be! we are not in the workhouse. "hullo!--what have you been doing with my old gum boots? gee,--i haven't seen them for a dog's age." that gave jim his opening. he rose and went over to the bed, holding out his hand to his partner. "phil, old boy, if you get angry with me i'm going to be dog-goned sorry. i've got something on my chest and i've got to get it off. "you won't get mad!" the big, rugged, raw-boned scot caught phil in his arms and hugged him as if he were a sweetheart. usually so undemonstrative, phil was taken aback at jim's behaviour; and jim, immediately ashamed for his outward show of emotion, sat down beside phil and looked at the floor between his legs. phil clapped him on the back and jim drew himself together. "how long ago is it since you had these boots on, phil?" "oh,--i guess i haven't had them on since before----" he reddened. "oh!--four or five years, maybe. they never fitted me very well." "my own broke on the soles yesterday and i simply had to have something of the kind when cleaning out the stable to-day, so i hunted out yours from your old kit bag." "you're heartily welcome to them, jim,--if that is all." jim turned a curious glance at phil. "you good old scout!" he said. then he changed quickly. "och,--what's the use o' me beating about. phil,--that--that fell out of the toe of one of the boots when i was trying to get them on." he held out a dirty, crumpled piece of paper. phil took it from him and looked it over casually. "it was twisted up, almost to the size of a marble." suddenly phil's face took on an ashy hue and he gasped. "great god; i--i----" he jumped up, then caught at the bed-post for support as he tried to gather his wits and to quiet his wildly thumping heart. "you--you----it is all right, jim," he stammered. "it is of no importance." jim rose and placed his arm round his chum. "phil, old chap,--it isn't any good to pretend. i'm an interfering lout, i know, and i shouldn't have done it. i have made out all that it says, and, oh god!--but you're a game sport--even if you have been a darned fool about it." phil stood helpless. "heavens!" continued jim, "five years in jail for that pig! and you never split on him. the dirty sewer-rat! "i remember every point of that case now. being a lawyer, i followed it closely. it struck me as one of purely damned, damning circumstantial evidence and it interested me at the time." "and--and you found this in--in my old boot?" asked phil, pulling himself up. "ay!--and pretty nearly didn't pay any heed to it. i unrolled it without thinking, then the queer mix-up of letters and numbers got me. i wasn't so very busy--i never am when something crops up that attracts the curiosity part of me. i wondered what it could all mean. i sat down there and got it in two hours, beginning at the end and working backwards. i should have stopped, laddie, when i got a certain length, but it dealt with you and i didn't think i would be right in stopping. "edgar allen poe's 'gold bug' gave me the incentive for deciphering such like conundrums. i found it easy enough starting in with his method of deduction. "you're no' angry wi' me, phil?" asked jim, taking refuge in his favourite doric. "no--no--i'm not, jim! i meant to--to tell you--someday. i--this has caught me unexpectedly and i can't just think right. but i thought this had been burned long ago. brenchfield thinks so too. the police had these boots all the time i was in jail, and they didn't discover it. "let's sit down, jim! i've got to tell you all about it now. supper can wait. we'll both feel the better for it afterwards." they sat down together on the bed in that little back room. "it's a common enough story, jim. i was born in toronto. there were four of us, my dad, my mother, my little sister margery and myself. a happier quartette no one ever heard of. but my mother died suddenly. to my mind, she took all the fun of life with her. dad moved us to texas, where he became engaged in some mining or oil projects. a year after my mother's death, he married again. i did not understand a thing about it, until he told me i had a new mother. in a fit of boyish resentment, i packed my clothes together, took my small hoard of savings, went into my little sister's bedroom one night as she lay asleep, kissed her, cried over her, and ran away. "silly, jim,--wasn't it? but from that day to this i have not seen a relative of mine. "i worked my way north, back into canada, to campbeltown, where i remembered having visited the brenchfields as a little fellow with my mother. brenchfield's mother and mine had been school companions in the old days. i had had a good time on that earlier visit and the memory of it, more than anything else, prompted me to make for campbeltown again. "mrs. brenchfield showed me every kindness and made a home for me. she or her husband must have sent word to my dad, who evidently decided to let me cool my heels. he mailed me a draft for three hundred dollars and promised a further hundred dollars a month for my keep and education during the time i preferred to deny myself of the pardon and loving welcome that would await me any time i cared to return home. that was where the mistake was made. jim, he should have insisted on my being returned home at once and when i got home he should have given me a right good hiding. "i indignantly returned his draft and wrote him declining all aid from one whom i, in my juvenile heroics, felt i could no longer respect as a father. "gee!--what fools we are sometimes! and how often have i longed and ached to hear from my dear old dad again! but i was proud, and i fear i am still a little that way. "i was thrown into the constant companionship of graham brenchfield and despite our great dissimilarity in make-up and his three years' advantage over me in age, we got on well together. he was different then. "the brenchfields educated me, as they did graham. i put it all down, for a long time after, to the great goodness of their hearts, but i have had every reason to believe lately that they were secretly in receipt of that hundred dollars a month which i so dramatically declined from my dad. i feel certain now that it was my stay with the brenchfields that so materially aided them in the education of their own, for they had little enough money in their own right for educational purposes. "i pulled up on graham at school and in a few years we were ready to start out to conquer the world. it was then that we decided on the great adventure to the golden west, in search of fame and chiefly fortune. "youthful-like, we made a vow. we were to work together if we could, but, no matter what took place, we were to meet at the end of five years, pool our profits and make a fair divide. "brenchfield had five hundred dollars in cash. i had a similar amount coming to me from a farmer named angus macdonald in payment of two summers' work i had put in on his place. macdonald promised to send the money on to me at a certain date and, as his name and word were gold currency in and around campbeltown, we set out on graham brenchfield's five hundred. we got to vancouver, did odd jobs there for a bit; then graham got something more promising to do on a cattle ranch in the okanagan valley and he left me clearing land in carnaby, in the suburbs of vancouver. "well, jim,--brenchfield had been only a few months gone, when i received letters from him urging me to send along the money i had coming from angus macdonald, as he had obtained a month's option on some land in which he declared there was a positive fortune. as it turned out, brenchfield was right in his surmise, as he seemed to be in almost everything else he touched for years following. it was ranch property, evidently right on the survey line of a new railroad. he was wildly excited over it in all his letters. macdonald's money was due, but it did not come to hand, so i had to keep on putting brenchfield off and meantime i made a draft on macdonald, putting it through the carnaby branch of the commercial bank for collection. three days before brenchfield's option was up he dropped in on me unexpectedly, by the first inter-urban train one morning. at that time, i was living by myself in a little rented two-roomed shack a few hundred yards outside of carnaby. "graham brenchfield raged and ranted in a terrible way, getting purple in the face in his disappointment and anger. he called macdonald all the skin-flinting names he could think of and incidentally expressed himself of my unbusiness-like qualities. i told him what i had done, how i had written to macdonald repeatedly, wired him and finally drawn on him; that i had called at the bank until maguire the banker got sick at the sight of me and declared i haunted him like a damned ghost. "i left brenchfield that morning in my place, promising to be back by noon. i worked for two hours, then left off for fifteen minutes to run over to the bank, for i had a hunch that there was something there. maguire the agent was in a nasty mood. "he declared there was nothing for me. i told him he hadn't looked to see, and i waited around, whistling and shuffling my feet till he got exasperated. it was the end of the month and he was busy, so perhaps i should have been more considerate, but i was nineteen years old then and consideration did not weigh very heavily on me. besides, i was badly in need of the money. "he finally threatened to throw me out for the 'kite-flier' i evidently was. that angered me; i picked up a heavy ruler and threatened to knock his head in. at last, my eye caught sight of the postal stamp of campbeltown on a letter among his unopened mail lying on the counter. and, sure enough, it contained macdonald's payment. i got the money from maguire and left immediately, as happy as a king. "before going home to break the good news to brenchfield, i returned to my job in order to tell macaskill the foreman that i intended taking the afternoon off. when i got there, they used me to clear off some fallen timber from the right-of-way and that delayed me quite a bit. i didn't see macaskill, so left without saying anything in particular to anyone. "when i got back home, brenchfield was sitting at the kitchen table with his head resting on his hands. he had been writing on a sheet of paper. i ran over to him and clapped my hand on his back. i threw my roll of bills on the table right under his nose. he stared at the bundle stupidly, then sprang up with an oath on his lips. jim, i can see it all again as if it had taken place ten minutes ago. i can hear him word for word as if my mind had become for the time being a recording phonograph. "i could see at a glance that there was something very far wrong. his eyes were bloodshot and he was deathly white. "'good god!' he cried, pushing his fingers through his hair. "'graham,--whatever is the matter with you?' i asked. 'you surely haven't been drinking? you're ill.' "he laughed. "'i'm all right! nothing wrong with my health! guess it's my morals that have gone fluey. so you got the money? my god!--if i'd only known that." "he put his hand in his back pocket, drew out a bundle of bills and tossed it on the table beside mine. it was money, jim,--money by the heap. "'good heavens, man!--where did you get it?' i cried. "'ay!--you may well ask. i had to have it--you know; so i went out and got it. stole it--or rather, borrowed it when the other fellow wasn't looking. see that over there!' he pointed to a basin on the wash-stand. 'look inside, phil. it's red. look at your shirt lying in the corner there. it's bloody too. god!--the damned stuff is still all over me. it sticks like glue. it won't come off.' "his voice was gradually getting louder, so i went to him and clapped my hand over his mouth. i cautioned him to be quiet. for the first time in my memory, graham brenchfield broke down and cried like a baby. little wonder,--for it was his first great offence against society and law. "i led him to a chair and sat quietly beside him until the worst of his wildness seemed to be over. "'graham,--you must pull yourself together,' i said. 'tell me what it is you have done. maybe it is not so bad. maybe we can fix it up.' "'phil, i got tired waiting for you and went out three-quarters of an hour ago,' he replied. 'i went over the fields to the village. i didn't mean any wrong then. i had no thought of it. i went the back way toward the bank. the back door was open and i looked in. the banker was figuring. there was money--stacks of it. the sight of the damned stuff made me crazy. i had little hope of you getting yours. it seemed an easy way. something gripped me and i saw nothing after that but the money. there was no one about. i crept in, and under that counter that lifts up. he never saw or heard me. i picked up something--a poker, a ruler maybe. god only knows what it was! i hit him over the head with it. it didn't drop him. i had to hit him again and again. then blood spurted. he fell on the floor. i grabbed as much money as i thought i needed and i came away hoping to get out from here before you got back. i was just writing to you now to tell you what i had done. i put it in the old cipher we made up together at school. i knew you'd fathom it and understand. it is on the table there. "'now you've come back,' he continued. 'they'll be after me. what am i to do, phil? it'll break the dad's and mother's hearts if the police get me for this. honest, phil!--i didn't mean to. i can't think right. you tell me what to do. you fix it up and get me away from here.' "he was on the point of breaking down again, jim, when i brought him up with a jerk. "'i can help any man but a murderer,' i said. 'you didn't kill maguire?' "'no, no! i swear it,' he answered. 'the knocks i gave him could not kill him.' "'well, if he dies, graham, i'll have to tell. if he doesn't, you can bank on me. your folks have been too good to me for me to forget and we've been too good friends for me to give you away. does anybody know you are in carnaby?' i asked further. "'not a soul,' he said. "'has anyone seen you here?' "'not that i know of!' "'quick then,' i cried. 'take this money angus macdonald sent. it's ours. there are five hundred dollars. that's all you need to meet your present obligations. leave the blood money where it is. i'll put it in an envelope and some time late to-night i'll drop it, unaddressed, into the bank letter-box. they'll never guess what has happened, and, if maguire recovers and they get their money back, no one--no one but you, graham--will be any the worse for it.' "this was one time that brenchfield allowed himself to be advised and led. "'here,--take the back way,' i went on, 'the way you came, through the timber. walk till you get to newtown, then drop on to a vancouver car and in. then up the main line by to-night's train, and lie quiet.' "brenchfield stopped at the door and offered me his hand. "'you won't hold a grudge against me for this?' he asked. "'never a grudge!' i said. "'you won't let it interfere with our plans for the future, phil?' "'no,--for you'll have learned your lesson.' "'and we're still partners?' "i wasn't quite so sure about that part of it, but a look in brenchfield's face made me relent. "'partners,--yes, graham,--if you still wish it,' i said. "'wish it,--sure i wish it, phil.' "'right-o.' "'and whatever happens between you and me, in five years' time we'll pool everything we have, as we promised, and make a fair divide?' "'yes, yes!--all right! for heaven's sake get away quickly. you're wasting precious time, and time with you is everything. one can never tell.' "'when will you come up to the okanagan?' he asked next. "'just as soon as this blows over and i get squared away. maybe in three weeks' time--not later than a month.' "we shook hands and i watched him as he hurried away across the fields." phil stopped and looked into space. "go on, go on, man," exclaimed jim, his face tense. "after that, the first thing that caught my eye was brenchfield's note on the table. i had the key to it in my mind, so it was easy enough to decipher. you have it jim, word for word:-- "'dear phil, i have gone back to vernock. i have borrowed the money i needed and i fear i have hurt the banker in the borrowing. forgive me, but there was no other way out. whatever you hear, keep silent. join me as soon as you can. burn this. graham brenchfield.'" "pretty damning stuff, jim, even if it is in cipher. well, the last i remember of that note was crumpling it up till it was a mere nothing at all. i must have tossed it away unconsciously and it got lodged in the toe of my gum boot, although i always felt certain within myself till now that i had burned it along with every other scrap of paper i could find in the shack coming from brenchfield. my next job was to cover up all other traces he had left behind. there was the basin of discolored water on the wash-stand. i threw the water out at the back door and scoured the basin. i next put the stolen money in a large blue envelope and thrust it between my trunk and the wall, out of sight until i should be able to get rid of it through the bank letter-box when night came. i thought i was through then, when i found my dirty shirt in the corner--the twin of the one i was then wearing. it was smeared with blood-stains. evidently graham had used that first on his hands, and the water afterwards. i held up the tell-tale garment between my fingers, intending to set it ablaze in the stove. i changed my mind, for shirts were shirts in those days and somewhat scarce. i decided to give it a thorough washing instead. somewhere, i had heard that hot water would not remove blood-stains, so i emptied some cold water into the basin and got my soap ready to begin. i was just in the act of dipping the shirt into the water when the screen door rattled and three men stepped into the kitchen. my heart jumped, for one of them was jim renfrew, carnaby's police chief. the other two i guessed as plain-clothes men from vancouver. "'sorry to disturb you, ralston,--but we want you at the station for a few minutes. you don't mind coming, eh!' asked renfrew. "'what do you want me for?' i asked. "'oh, come and see!' said the chief. 'just want to ask you something about something! we won't eat you.' "two of them laid hands on me and before i knew just exactly how it happened, cold metal snapped over my wrists and held me secure. the stained shirt was snatched out of my hand. i turned angrily, but a wrench of the handcuffs pulled me up. "'cut that out now! come along quiet! shut your trap, and say nothing you might be sorry for later. come on!' "one of the plain-clothes men remained behind, while the other and the chief took me through the town to the local jail. "it was some little time before i grasped the awful seriousness of my position and began to realise how events which i had never thought of might possibly involve me in this affair at the bank. i was totally ignorant of how much the police knew; that was the straining and nerve-racking part. "the following morning i was brought before the local magistrate, charged with attempted murder and robbery, and was immediately committed for trial to the assizes. and that evening, handcuffed between two policemen, i was transferred to the provincial prison at ukalla, to await trial. "god alone knows what i suffered during all that dreadful time, jim, but i had made up my mind that it was my duty to take the blame on myself, for brenchfield would never have committed the crime had i fulfilled my share of the bargain at the outset and put my money in when it was due. i thought of the goodness of the brenchfields, of all they had done for me, of what it would mean to them if graham were convicted. i only dreamed of a few months' imprisonment at the outset, so i decided i would keep my mouth shut. "during all the time i remained awaiting trial, no one visited me but a parson and an exasperated lawyer who had been appointed to defend me, but who could get nothing out of me. "i was tried. i refused to speak, and in so doing, i hadn't the ghost of a chance for liberty. "macaskill the foreman swore that i had been absent from my work for a time on the morning of the assault; i had been expecting money which hadn't arrived and i seemed badly in need of it. "doctor rutledge of carnaby had stopped at the door of the bank that morning and had seen me inside. he had heard maguire and i in dispute and had heard further my threat to crack maguire over the head with the very ruler with which the assault had been committed. "maguire, swathed in bandages but apparently little the worse, recounted our dispute. he swore that i had committed the assault on him, as it had happened just after he had paid over the money to me and turned back to his work. "chief renfrew and his two detectives had caught me, red-handed, in my shack, washing my blood-stained shirt--a shirt similar to the one i was wearing at the time of my arrest. they even found the entire proceeds of the theft in a blue envelope behind my trunk; although they had to admit having been unable to trace the additional five hundred dollars which maguire stated he had given to me. "it was great stuff, jim. circumstantially damning as could be. they gave me five years in hell for my share in it, also a nice long harangue from the judge about behaving myself when i came out." during this long, clear-cut, passionless recital, jim langford had sat beside phil, glooming into space, his face like chiselled grey granite. "my god!" he exclaimed at last and only his lips moved. "yes, jim,--and graham brenchfield sat among the spectators all through the trial, heard me sentenced, rose and went out into his merry world without as much as a twitch of his eyelid for phil ralston. "ah, well! it's over and done with. but can you blame me, jimmy, for a little bitterness in my heart against that fine gentleman for his cowardice and treachery?" "blame you," exclaimed jim, passionately. "great god! if he had done this with me, phil, i would have schemed and plotted till i succeeded in getting him away to some lonely shack, then i would have tied him up and cut little pieces out of him every day till there was nothing left of him but his sense of pain and his throbbing black heart." phil laughed, rose and stretched himself. "that's just the penny-dreadful part of you talking, jim; the captain mayne plunkett. you know quite well you wouldn't do anything of the kind." but jim was in no mood for flippancy. "sit down!" he commanded. "now that you have told me so much, tell me everything. we are in this together now and i want to know what has passed between you and that scum since you came up here." "you know the most of it; there isn't much more to tell," said phil, but obedient to his friend's wishes, he sat down again and starting in with his first meeting, as a fugitive, with eileen pederstone, he told of all the attempts that brenchfield had made on his life, of his wild schemes and endeavours to recover this very paper that lay on the counterpane beside them, the existence of which phil had been unaware but had bluffed and double-bluffed at in order to keep brenchfield in his place. right down to what had taken place that afternoon in the forge--not a detail did phil miss out--and last of all, he confided to jim the great longing in his heart that had been with him since first he had met eileen pederstone, and the hope that some day, after he had honestly achieved, he might be privileged to tell her what his feelings were toward her. "if you are not altogether an idiot," answered jim bluntly, "you will tell her the very next time you meet her. does the lassie know that you were jailed for something you didn't do?" "no,--i--i didn't tell her that. but she is aware that we met some time in the past:--that there is some kind of secret between brenchfield and me." "are you going to have that two-faced hypocrite arrested?" asked jim. "no, siree!" "and why not, pray?" phil gave jim all his reasons "why not," and, despite jim's cajolings and threatenings, he remained obdurate on the point. "well," exclaimed langford at last, "you're positively the _sentimentalest_ ass i ever met. but maybe after all you are right. brenchfield has had this thing eating at his liver like a cancer for six years now and the longer it eats the worse he'll suffer. he is on the down-grade right now, or else i am sadly mistaken. he is up to the ears in it with the worst crooks in the valley:--cattle rustlers, warehouse looters, horse thieves, jail birds, bootleggers and half-breeds. some of these fellows some day are going to get sore with him. oh, you may be sure his sins are going to find him out;--and the higher he goes the farther he will have to fall. "it certainly will be one hell of a crash when it comes, and jimmy langford hopes to be there with bells on at the funeral of mayor brenchfield and his hoggish ambitions." phil crumpled up the paper in his palm. "here!" cried jim. "what are you doing that for?" phil smiled a little sadly. "i suppose you will be putting it in the stove next?" "i guess so!" "well, you'd better guess again. it is just like the crazy thing you would try to do in one of your soft moments. give it to me! i'll take mighty good care of it. it is all that may lie between your guilt or innocence some day, even if it is after brenchfield is dead and gone to his well-earned reward. a whole lot hinges on that little bit of paper. it has got to be kept good and secure. come on, softy,--hand it over!" "if i do, will you promise never to use it in any way unless i consent, or unless i am not in a position to give you either my assent or dissent?" "yes!--i promise that." "there you are then." phil handed it to langford, who opened a pocket in his belt and put it carefully inside. "guess we might have a bite of supper now,--eh, what!" they drew in to the table; and that christmas eve supper was almost hilarious, for now there was no shadow between, and it meant an intense relief to both. when the supper was nearing its end, ah sing, accompanied by two of his faithful feline devil-chasers, came in. he seemed somewhat sadder and more bland than usual. "what's the matter, sing?" queried jim. "oh,--me plenty mad,--me feel heap swear." he sat down very disconsolately, and the cats took immediate advantage of the shining moment by rubbing and purring pleasantly round and against their master's legs. "tell us about it then. we savvy, sing." "oh,--my wifee--you know--she allee way live china. she make me angly. my fliend in china he send me photoglaph chinee girlie. me want get another wifee,--see!" sing handed over a picture of a typical country chinese maid. "gee!--she's a fine looker,--isn't she, phil?" exclaimed jim with a wink, handing it over for phil to examine. "you bet she is!" conceded phil. sing did not seem to enthuse. "oh, may be! not too bad! not velly muchee good! she thirteen year old. her father he want me pay two hundled and fifty dollar for me catch her. i no likee velly much. i catch another. see! that one, she fourteen;--she cost four hundled dollar." the second picture was that of a decidedly prettier girl with a much more refined appearance than the first. "oh, she best. sure thing!" said jim. "yes,--she pletty good." "you catch her, sing?" sing shook his head ruefully. "no!--i no catch her. make me heap swear. i save up four hundled dollar; i send allee money my wifee. i tell her buy that one for me,--see! "she send me letter. i get him to-day. she tell me she get money, but she no buy other wifee for me. she buy house and ten acres land. next time i go china, i tell her 'damn!'--see. i plenty heap swear." "i think she was a darned good judge," remarked phil, as he and jim laughed loudly. but ah sing could not see the joke nor could he grasp wherein came his wife's good wisdom. "what l'matter, you laugh?" he said. "chinaman first wifee, she boss;--second wifee she do allee work. i catchee second wifee help my first wifee--see!" "pshaw! that's all right for a bluff, sing, but it won't go down," cried phil. "come on;--cheer up, and have a drink! this is christmas time." "what you got?" asked sing, brightening,--"scotchee whisky?" "no siree! this is none of your sheebeens," replied phil. "you catchem sam souey?" returned sing, his voice high and piping. "sam souey pletty good." "no sam souey,--you tough nut! here!" phil handed the chinaman a bottle of lemonade. sing's face fell. "ah,--no good! he cleam soda." "well--what's the matter with it? i suppose you want something with a kick in it." "kick? no savvy kick! allee same, cleam soda you pullem cork--plup--whee--phizz--he jump out all over and he run allee way down stair before you catchem. "feed'm chicken cleam soda. no good chinaman!" "yes,--you slit eyed mongolian! that reminds me," exclaimed jim, his mouth half-full of apple-pie. "talking about chickens,--what you do with all our chickens?" "chickens? no savvy!" innocently commented sing, as he replaited and tied the black silk cords at the end of his pig-tail. "you savvy all right,--you son-of-a-gun! "phil,--when we came here there were thirty-six chickens in our pen. we've had two to eat ourselves. i counted only fourteen there to-day. that's twenty chickens gone somewhere." ah sing still shook his head. "i know, i savvy!" he exclaimed suddenly. "coyote catchem!" "coyote hell!" shouted jim. "ya,--you bet! coyote hell evely night. you hear'm?" "sure we hear them. the darned brutes howl and laugh and keep us off our sleep every night the moon is up." "well!--coyote catchem," was all sing would say. "yes!--and i suppose coyote leave bones in the garbage heap at your back door? look here, sing!--next time chinese coyote take any more chicken, i fill him up buck shot out of that gun. no more chicken for you,--see!" "all light!" conciliated the wily chinaman, rising to go now that the discussion had come a bit too near home for his comfort. "i tell you quick next time coyote come--you fill him belly buck shot, heap plenty." two hours later, when the moon came up, the coyotes certainly provided entertainment. they howled and laughed, taunting an old terrier dog which belonged to the ranch and had neither the speed nor the inclination to try its mettle against its vicious enemies. it growled and barked a-plenty, but the coyotes sensed their safety and ventured the closer and yelped the louder in sheer deviltry. jim and phil got down their guns, in the hope of bagging at least one of the brutes, but before they got outside, a wild frightened squawking and a tremendous to-do of fluttering told its own story. they raced round, but by the time they got to the rear of the house the squawking was quite a bit away, and the moon, ere it shot behind a cloud, showed two distant, shadowy forms scurrying quickly over the hill with their kill. phil fired a shot, but it did not seem to take any effect. "i guess we put too much blame on poor old sing after all," said jim, "but i could have sworn he was meddling with these hens. i never knew the chink yet that could resist a chicken coop. he's even worse than the nigger is for that. "i can hear music down at sing's now; let us go quietly along and see what he is up to." they went on to sing's shack and peeped cautiously in at the window. the chinaman was sitting in a chair before his stove, scraping away on a chinese fiddle, bringing the most unearthly cat-calls from the thing and singing to himself in a thin falsetto voice. "he's nothing if he is not musical," remarked jim. suddenly sing stopped and laid down his fiddle. he rose, opened the oven door and brought out two beautifully roasted chickens, laid the pan down on top of the stove and rubbed his hands in pleasant anticipation. "well i'll be darned!" whispered jim. "and we blamed it on the coyotes," answered phil. "let us go in and scare the daylights out of him." for a moment jim seemed inclined to follow phil's suggestion, but he relented. "och!--what's the good? the poor deevil hasna a body to make frien's o', nor a thing to do to keep himsel' out o' mischief. besides it is christmas eve. let us bide in the spirit o' it and leave the poor heathen to enjoy himsel' for this once. "come on up hame to our virtuous cots!" chapter xxi a maiden, a lover and a heathen chinee next morning, while inspecting the ravaged chicken coop and endeavouring to follow the trail of the light-footed coyotes, jim and phil discovered a trickle of blood here and there on the snow on top of the knoll, telling them that phil's flying shot had come much nearer its billet than they had at first surmised. "by jove!--what do you think of that, philly, my boy? you pinked one of those brutes after all. what do you say to following up a bit?" sing had promised to look after the cooking of the christmas dinner, so, as there was nothing in particular for them to do for the next few hours, phil readily agreed. they went back for their rifles, muffled themselves up a bit more and donned their heavy boots. it was a glorious morning when they set out from the ranch. a fresh fall of snow the night before had already been crusted over by the cold north wind which so often tore in through the rifts in the hills at that time of the year, squeezing the thermometer almost to disappearing point at twenty-five to thirty below. the sun's brightness looked eternal. the sky was never so blue. great fleecy clouds rolled and frolicked in well-nigh human abandon. almost everywhere, when looking upward, the eyes rested against snow-white hills with their black reaching spars of sparse fir trees; while below and stretching away for miles--winding and twisting between the hills--the flat, solidly-frozen kalamalka lake, with its fresh, white coating, caught the sun's rays and threw them back in a defiant and blinding dazzle. at intervals, in unexpected places and along the shore line, smoke curled up cheerily from the snug little homes of the neighbouring ranchers and settlers. as the two men trudged along, with the old terrier dog at their heels, the frozen air crackled in their nostrils. they smoked their pipes, however, and threw out their chests in sheer joy of living, for a winter's day, such as this was, did not freeze young blood, but rather sent it sparkling and effervescing like ten-year-old champagne. they followed the red stains on the snow and finally came to a spot in a gulley where the coyote evidently had disposed of its steal, for feathers lay about in gory profusion. they continued through the thicket, where they lost all track of further blood-stains. to add to their worries, the old terrier disappeared. "he must have got scared and beat it for home," said phil. "looks like it! i guess we should follow his lead, for mister coyote seems to have got pretty well away." "let us go down toward the lake then and home along the shore line. it is easier travelling that way." they went down the incline together, digging with their heels at times to stop them up, and slipping in fifteen feet lengths at other times. when they neared the bottom they heard a loud yelp, as of a dog suddenly hit by a missile of some kind. they looked out in the direction of the lake and away in the middle of it, half a mile from shore, their eyes sighted two dark objects rolling over and over each other. a yelp, sharper than the first, came again. "by jingo!" shouted jim, "what do you know about that? it's our supposed yellow-livered terrier. he's got the coyote. come on! the brute will have him eaten alive." they plunged down the remainder of the hill, through another thicket of pines, along the shore and out on to the lake. the ice was several feet thick and as solid as the land itself. time and again both phil and jim stepped up in order to try a shot, but it was impossible to get one in without endangering the life of the plucky old dog. they slid and scurried along, full speed--while the terrier seemed to be hanging on gamely to the coyote, or else the coyote had such a hold on the terrier that the latter was unable to shake it. they continued to roll over and over in a whirling bundle of fur. "better try a shot anyway, phil," cried jim in desperation. "you are surer with the gun than i am. the dog is all in and it looks as if it didn't really matter now which you hit anyway." phil threw the gun to his shoulder, took almost careless aim and fired. it was a long shot and a difficult one for even an expert. for a moment, it looked as if the bullet had gone wide. the next moment it could be seen that something had been hit, but it was hard to tell what. then out of the scurry and whirl, the old terrier was observed to get on top. "good boy!" cried jim. "you got the right one!" as they came up on the scene of the fight, they found their dog mauled almost to ribbons, but he was still clinging gamely and worrying at the throat of the dead coyote. jim spoke a word of praise to that remnant of a dog and separated it from its late antagonist. the excitement over, it wagged its stump of a tail, staggered for a little, trembled, then lay down on the ice with a little whimper, in absolute exhaustion. the coyote was a huge brute of its kind and its coat was in perfect condition. phil's shot of the previous night had passed through a fleshy part of its hind quarters, without breaking any bones on its journey, but the coyote had evidently bled almost to death before the terrier got at it. this alone accounted for its inability to beat the old dog at the very first turn of the encounter. the shot which killed it had gone clean through its eye and out behind its ear. jim got out his knife and started in to skin the animal, while phil did what he could in the matter of lending first aid to the wounded terrier. on glancing casually along the surface of the ice, then away toward their ranch, phil noticed a vehicle drawn up at the front door. "jim,--there's a rig of some kind at our door. looks as if we had visitors!" "now who the dickens can it be?" queried jim, scratching his head as he knelt beside the carcass of the coyote. "it's a sleigh. christmas day and nobody to welcome them! phil, you beat it back. i'll finish this job and follow after you with the dog. he won't be able to go fast and it is no use both of us waiting." "all right!" "whoever they are, keep them till i come." "sure!" and off phil went at a run. when he was about a quarter of a mile from the house, he saw ah sing amble round from the far side of the house and go in at the front door. this had hardly taken place, when he heard the scream of a woman in fear. a flying figure darted out and down the trail, up which phil was now hurrying from the beach. he failed at first to make out who the figure was. it was followed closely by the chinaman, crying out his incoherent chinese jibberish and broken english, and, despite his years and apparent shuffling gait, he was bear-like in his agility and gained at every step on the woman he was pursuing. she turned her head in fear, and seeing how close to her he was she screamed again, then collapsed in a heap. ah sing stooped over her, looking down, still muttering and shaking his fists angrily, but evidently in a quandary. he did not notice the oncomer until he was almost by his side. phil tossed his gun from him, caught the chinaman by the neck with his two hands, lifted him off his feet and nearly shook his greasy head off in the process. he then got him by the collar in one hand and the loose pants in the other, raised him sheer over his head and hurled him ten feet away, against the foot of an apple tree where he crashed and lay in stupid semi-consciousness. of all the unexpected persons to phil, the young lady who lay on the ground was eileen pederstone. he raised her gently in his arms and carried her up the pathway through the orchard and back into the house. he set her on a camp cot and fetched her a glass of water. and it was not long before she sat up. but the dread of something was still upon her. she was pale and she trembled spasmodically. she clung to phil's arm, keeping close to him as they sat on the edge of the cot, as if afraid that his presence were not quite the substantial reality it seemed. he tried his best to soothe her and to get her to explain what had happened, but she did not answer him. he patted her back, he put his arm about her. he pushed her hair up from her eyes. but she sat and trembled, and would not be comforted. she had a large towel pinned about her waist, and from the broom which lay on the floor near the door it looked to phil as if she had been sweeping out the place when the chinaman had entered. "but you must tell me what happened!" said phil. "did you say or do anything to sing to make him angry?" "oh, i don't know! i have no idea!" returned eileen at last brokenly. "he--he--when i came--there was no one here.--i started in to sweep up.--i was sweeping at the door when he came in suddenly--he frightened me.--i must have swept some of the dust over him, for he ran right into the broom.--he swore at me and started to jibber.--he caught me by the arm.--he swore again.--i--i struggled free and ran out--and--and he followed me--shouting he would--he would kill me." phil's brows wrinkled in perplexity, for he could not make the thing out at all. ah sing he knew for a peculiar individual and a wily one, with considerable standing among the other orientals in the neighbourhood, but he had always heard of him as being meek and docile enough with those for whom he worked and, like most chinamen, had a wholesome respect for the power of the white man's law. that he should suddenly break out in this outrageous way, for no apparent cause, was beyond phil's comprehension. quietly and without speaking further, phil and eileen sat together, then tears of relief came to eileen. her shuddering ceased. she gazed up at phil timidly and, as she gazed, she must have noticed the anxiety and yearning in his eyes for she laid her head on his breast and wept quietly. phil did not try to stop her tears. he sat there, smoothing her glossy brown hair with his big hand and talking soothingly to her the while. at last her sobbing spent itself and she slowly raised her head and wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. phil caught her face in both his hands and gazed searchingly into it for a while. helplessly, eileen braved his look and, when a faint trembling smile played about the corners of her mouth, phil drew her face close to his and his lips touched hers. eileen blushed, and jumped up suddenly with a cry of alarm. she rushed over to the stove and lifted up the lid of a pot, the contents of which were bubbling over. "come on, boy!" she cried with a strange tone of possession in her voice which set phil's heart jumping, "help me get dinner out. big, lanky, fail-me-never jim will be here pretty soon." they had hardly put the finishing touches to the table, when langford ran in. he seemed to have sensed something wrong before he got inside, for his face wore an anxious look. "merry christmas, eileen! awfully glad you came out to see us. hullo!--what has been wrong? i saw you, and phil, and sing in a mix-up and i hurried along. what was the trouble, phil? has sing been playing any monkey-doodle business?" "it was nothing at all! hurry and get a wash up, jim! dinner's ready," smiled eileen. "we'll tell you all you want to know when we are having something to eat." they sat down to a pleasant little meal, but, somehow, the earlier proceedings had cast a damper over the usual gaiety of the trio and their conversation for once was desultory and of a serious nature. phil explained as best he could what had taken place between eileen and sing. eileen could throw no further light on phil's story. but jim did not seem to require any, for a look of perfect understanding showed in his big, gaunt, honest face. "do you know, eileen,--you could not have heaped a worse insult on sing than you did," he remarked. "but i didn't say a word, jim!" "no!--but you demonstrated on him with that broom." "and what of that? anybody is liable to get a little dust swept over him by a busy housewife." jim rose. "wait a bit!" he remarked. he went to the door and whistled a loud note that ah sing was familiar with. shortly afterwards, the chinaman, very much bruised up--his eye swollen, and limping--came in. an expression of the deepest humility and cringe was on his battered countenance. "i heap solly! i velly solly! i no mean hurt lady. i no do him any more. you no tell policeman chief! you no tell him, bossee man jim, bossee man phil, lady missee pedelston. ah sing he velly solly. heap much plenty velly solly!" he grovelled and cringed. "what you do that for anyway? you slit-eyed son of confucius!" "you know, bossee jim;--you know all about chinaman. lady, she sweepee bloom all over sing. bloom he sweepee up dirt. she pointem bloom; she touch ah sing with bloom. allee same call ah sing dirty pig,--see! me no dirty--me no dirty pig. "anytime pointem bloom, somebody b'long me die. one time, white man hit me bloom,--my lil boy he die same day away china. pointem bloom chinaman, somebody b'long him die evely time. "now maybe my wifee she die--maybe my blother, maybe my mama. i no savvy yet! ah sing get heap mad,--see! "you no pointem bloom chinaman any more, missee eileen. makem heap angly. he get mad all up in him inside." "well, folks!--do you get it?" asked jim. phil nodded. "yes!--evidently another of their chinese superstitions," returned eileen. "just so!" said jim. "sing,--all right! you beat it,--quick!" the chinaman went like a shot. "and that is the kind of material--just as it stands, sometimes not half so civilised--that we allow into our country to over-run it by the thousands, allowing it to rub shoulders with us, to come into speaking distance with our women folks; their children--out of homes and hovels fathered by beings like that--sitting side by side with our own dear little mites at school." "yes! but, after all, who brings them here?" commented the practical jim. "who?" "the farmers and the ranchers who are too mean to pay high enough for decent white labour; and the ordinary white labour itself who refuse to condescend to the more menial work on the farm. they have been the means of their coming here and--and now they are kicking themselves for their short-sighted stupidity, for john chinaman is beating them to a frazzle at their own game and he is crowding us out of house and shelter like the proverbial camel did. "john always was a better truck farmer anyway. he can make a fortune off a piece of land that a white man would starve on. he will outbid the white man every time in the matter of price when renting land for farming purposes and the land-owner doesn't give a darn then whether he rents to white or yellow--so long as he gets the highest bidder's money. the chink spends hardly anything on clothes, he lives in a hovel; eats rice, works seven days in the week, pays no taxes except a paltry road tax of something like four dollars a year--and generally manages to evade even that;--doesn't contribute to church, charity or social welfare, and sends every gold coin he can exchange for dollar bills over to hongkong where it is worth several times its value here. and--when all is said and done--he is still the best of three classes of orientals our province is being flooded with. there is the jap, with his quiet, monkey-like imitation of white folks' ways, yet all the time hanging on to his japanese schools right in the midst of us; and the hindoo who, as a class, prefers to herd like cattle in a barn and never will assimilate anything of this country but its roguery." "well, it oughtn't to be too late to work a remedy," put in eileen. "it may not be too late--it is not too late--but it seems to be much too big a proposition for any of our own politicians to tackle single-handed; while our politicians in the east and over-seas haven't the faintest notion of the menace. you have to live among it and see just what we have seen to-day to get a glimpse of it. "why, even your own dad, eileen, would be afraid to burn his political fingers with it,--and he understands it too." "oh, yes,--i know! he is in the party, like they all get. he has to do as they do. if he doesn't, he is either hounded out or has to play a lone hand and become 'a voice crying in the wilderness.'" "good for you, lassie!" laughed jim. "and i suppose," put in jim, "if we did get them out--the very first time there would be a labour shortage or a wage dispute those same farmers and ranchers would be the first to forget their previous experiences, would raise a holler about white imposition and claim a fresh coolie importation. here we are ourselves,--took sing on in his old job without giving the matter a thought--all because we have got used to their presence." "and the startling thing about it is this," said jim, "almost every school examination report in the province tells us one story:--the sons and daughters of these same ignorant, superstitious chinamen head the lists in open competition; our own white youngsters tailing hopelessly in the rear. not only that, but once in a while we find one of these canadian educated chinese kids--despite his education--while working as kitchen help in some of our homes, committing a most atrocious murder of our white women folks." "well--what are we going to do about it?" asked eileen, rising. "god knows!" answered jim, "and nobody seems to lose any sleep over it. it just goes on,--and on,--and on." "i guess i'll have to be going on too, boys!" smiled eileen. "dad's here for the holidays, you know. we are having our christmas dinner eight o'clock to-night. i promised dad i would be back by three this afternoon. "i'm terribly glad you two have got away from the 'herd' as it were. i won't see you again for quite a while. i'm going back with daddy royce pederstone again to victoria, and i'll be there looking after his well-being all the time the house is sitting." phil's face fell in disappointment. eileen noticed it and was glad. jim noticed also, and wondered what had been going on that he was unaware of. "it will be a dandy change. i suppose, all the same, all the time i am there i shall have a picture of vernock and the valley at the back of my mind, and i won't be really and truly happy till i'm back again." "you are not the first one i have heard say he felt that way about this little countryside. it just sort of tacks itself on as part of you." "it is always that way with me anyway," said eileen. "as for phil, he hasn't been here long enough to feel the same." "maybe phil will be having a little picture of victoria in his mind's eye!" was jim's caustic comment, to which he received no answer. "well!--aren't you going to see the lady home?" he continued, addressing phil. "i guess one of us should," answered phil with alacrity. "off you go then! hitch your own nag on behind, phil. by the time you get back i'll have the dishes washed up and everything looking lovely." eileen went up to the big fellow and patted his cheek. "you're just a dear old grouchy grandpa." "and my age is exactly twenty-eight," he grinned. eileen jumped and threw her arms round his broad shoulders. she pinned him in a flying hug, then jumped back again. jim pulled out his pipe and struck a match in studied indifference, but there was an expression in his deep, brown eyes that spoke of an inward merriment and pleasure. and as eileen and phil drove off for town, jim--with one long, slender leg crossed over the other--leaned lazily against the door-post, smoking dreamily and waving his hand. "i guess jim has never had a real sweetheart," said eileen. "it doesn't seem very like it," answered phil. "and yet, as you can see, he really is a lady's man from the sole of his big foot to his bronze hair." "then, either he has had a sweetheart and the course didn't run smoothly, or he has still to encounter the real princess charming. i have waited quite a long time for mine, you know, eileen." the young lady blushed and looked away. "and do you think you have really found her at last?" she asked. "do i think i have! ah, eileen!--_you_ would ask me that after our little----" "now, phil,--you mustn't say a word about that, or i'll cancel the next. you caught me at a weak moment and, just like a man, you took fullest advantage," she smiled. phil pulled the horse to a stop and stared blankly at eileen. "but--but you meant it, eileen? we really _are_ sweethearts now?" he asked seriously. "why, of course,--you great big boy!" she laughed, "but you don't have to stop the horse over it. we are on the public highway, too." "and some day----?" he continued, starting up the horse again. "maybe,--if you don't hurry me. you won't hurry me, phil? will you--dear? for i am terribly happy, and i--i don't quite seem to have got everything properly laid out in my mind." "you just take your own good time, eilie. i have my career to make first; but i am going to do it now that i have you to think of----" "that's the way i like to hear a man talk," she returned, with an enthusiasm that carried contagion. "i don't think there is a thing in this world impossible to any man if he only makes up his mind to attain it. if a man has health--and he can have that if he goes about it the right way--and is willing to throw aside the hundred and one little time-wasters that surround all of us; if he will work and work and do the very best he knows, he is sure to gain his object in the end." "even in the winning of a young lady?" "yes!--even in that," she answered. "why,--you can see that happen every day. men whom young ladies actually repulse at first, often attract these same ladies in the end by their devotion, determination and singleness of purpose, and they gain the love they seek in the end, too." "but that must just be destiny." "i don't know. if you mean by destiny, that if a man strives all that is in him to attain a laudable object or ambition, and allows of no permanent rebuffs, but comes back at it, again and again--the result is absolutely certain and he need have no worry as to the ultimate success, because it is up to him to use and develop his talent, but the result is with his creator who first gave him his talent to work on and first prompted his ambition for the materially hidden but ultimate good of the universe--then i agree with you:--it is destiny." after she spoke, phil and she glided on in silence, for both felt somehow that they had been verging on a new understanding, as it were--a sixth sense--a tuning up and a telepathic communication with the infinite. tears started in eileen's eyes which phil did his best to banish. "oh,--i know i am foolish," she said. "sometimes i feel so strong; at other times so--so feminine. it is my dear, old daddy i worry over, phil. he is not what he used to be before he got mixed up with this political crowd, with mayor brenchfield, with all these land schemes he has afoot. he used to be just my dear old daddy: now i seem to be losing him. that--that is why i have insisted on going with him to victoria." "i am sorry--very, very sorry, eileen! if i could help, i would, gladly. brenchfield i know is far from straight. he is educated, wealthy, influential, smooth,--but he is crooked." "what do you know of graham brenchfield?" she asked suddenly. "when was it that you met him before coming here? what did he do to you? that time you met in my little home up on the hill was not your first acquaintance." phil was completely taken aback by the suddenness of her query, and he did not answer. eileen laid her hand over his. "phil,--i--i've a right to know;--i--we----" phil's hand closed tightly on hers and, as they glided rapidly over the snow toward vernock, he told her what he had told jim only the night before. "oh, the brute! the coward!" was all eileen's bloodless lips allowed to pass, as she sat staring blankly ahead of her, her face pale and her hands working together on her lap. "and that--that snake had the impertinence to ask me to marry him," she continued later, "still thinks he may induce my father to agree to a marriage between us. i think that he is working up some scheme now to get daddy too heavily involved, so that we may have to use him. the miserable hound!--as if my dad would think of coercing me into marrying him!" "you aren't afraid of brenchfield, eileen? because, if you are, i'll throttle the life out of him." "no, no! i am not a bit afraid of mayor brenchfield,--not now. but i am afraid for my father. "brenchfield has a scheme for grabbing the land in the valley whenever, wherever, and by whatever means he can. he has infected father with the same desire. they buy, and buy, and buy--vying each other in their daring. no one knows--they hardly know themselves--how much they really have." "but don't they turn it over?" "no! everyone else does and gets rich in the process. they buy, and buy, and when offered a big advance on their purchase price they refuse to sell. they think this advancing in prices will go on for ever. the bank keeps on lending them money when they run short, taking their holdings as security in return. after all, daddy really owns but an interest in the properties--and a precarious interest at that. the banks won't lose. allow them! but they have no right to encourage this kind of business;--it is bad for the country at large." "that is true enough, but still, i think property will go on advancing for quite a little time yet," said phil. "every tendency points that way. settlers from ontario and manitoba farms are coming in here by the hundreds to ranch, on account of the less rigorous climate. the valley is the favourite in canada for old country people with capital who are anxious to do fruit farming, and they are pouring in all the time. i can see nothing but increases in values for some time to come, eileen." "well,--maybe i am wrong, but it looks to me as if the west were going mad and that there will be one wild, hilarious fling and then--the deluge. "god help daddy, brenchfield or anybody else who gets caught in the maelstrom. "phil,--promise me one thing;--you won't get caught in this? buy and sell for others if you wish. yes!--gamble with a little if you have it to spare, but you won't,--promise me you won't get involved in this awful business in such a way that a turn of the tide would leave you broken and dishonoured." "i never was lucky in mines, oils or land, eilie, dear;--and you have my promise. if ever i have anything to do with real estate, believe me, it will be simply--as you suggest--in buying and selling for the other fellow. that game has always had a great fascination for me." "why, yes!--you can get all the excitement without the far-reaching consequences. but what worries me about daddy is that he has so many unfinished ends lying everywhere. that was always his weakness; now it seems to be his obsession. he has ranches stocked with the best animals in the country. he has the best implements, but he has no real record of them and they disappear all the time. some of his foremen are getting marvellously well-to-do suddenly. why, the other day a man brought in a herd of pigs and sold them to daddy for cash. the pigs were daddy's own--stolen from one of his ranches the night before--and daddy didn't know them. last spring, one of his foremen told daddy, just before the snow went, that they would require new machinery for this particular ranch he was working; ploughs, reapers, binders, et cetera. dad ordered them for him and, when the snow went, he discovered all kinds of the same machinery there which had been left lying out all winter and simply ruined--really enough machinery to work a dozen ranches." "and didn't he fire the foreman?" "not he! he said he couldn't put a married man out in that way. and that same married man came in here penniless four years ago, has been working for dad all the time for wages; and he could retire to-morrow and live on the interest of his invested capital. "daddy royce pederstone doesn't see it at all. he says some men are lucky speculators. oh,--it makes me furious!" in that short drive to town phil got confirmed in a great many things he had previously considered merely gossip and conjecture. at the entrance to eileen's home he handed over the reins. "are you going to clear yourself with the police regarding mayor brenchfield, phil?" asked eileen. "that is just what jim asked, girlie. i may, some day. and i may never require to. meantime, brenchfield is stewing in his own juices. i prefer, for a while at any rate, to let him work away--as you said not so very long ago--and leave the result or issue to his creator. what is it the great book says?--'vengeance is mine. i will repay.'" eileen sighed and turned her head away to hide a tell-tale tear. "well--i shall not see you again for a long time, little girlie. good-bye, and--and, god bless you!" and there among the shade trees of the avenue eileen threw the reins aside and sprang down beside phil. his arms went about her agile little body, as her fingers clung to him. he kissed her lips, her eyes and her hair. then he caught her face in his hands again, as he had done out at the ranch, looked deeply into the heart of her eyes, and her eyes answered him bravely. he kissed her solemnly on the lips once more and let her go. when she looked back at the turn of the avenue, he was still standing there where she had left him. chapter xxii fire begets hot air late one afternoon three months after eileen's departure for the coast, just as the dark was beginning to come down and as phil was turning off the main road by the trail leading to the ranch, he noticed a man in sheepskin chaps making for the trees a hundred yards behind the farmhouse. he stopped his horse and watched him quietly, for there was something in the fellow's gait that seemed familiar to him. the man mounted a horse among the trees, came out boldly, cantered through the orchard on to the main road and away. the spring thaw was on, mud was everywhere, and the stranger's beast ambled away with the silence of a ghost. phil did not know what to make of it, so he questioned jim on the subject. "were any of that redmans gang in seeing you?" he asked. "seeing me? good land, no! why?" "oh, i saw what looked like one of them getting on his horse among the trees at the back there, and riding away." "uhm!" said jim, rubbing his chin. "i thought it was skookum, but i couldn't be quite sure. "i wonder what the devil he could be up to, so far from home?" "might have been along by the lake a bit seeing some of that bunch at larry woodcock's place. larry's gang and the redmans lot are pretty much of the same kidney." "well," said phil, dismissing the subject, "i guess it is up to us to keep our eyes peeled, anyway." it was two weeks after this, following a run to town, that jim came in with an angry look in his eyes. "say, phil!--there's some darned monkey-doodle business afoot. i wish i could get to the bottom of it." "what is it now?" "i saw red mcgregor on the main road yesterday, and to-night i met him, stitchy summers and skookum full in the teeth, jogging into town. darned funny thing,--i never saw them on this road before." "well,--it is a good job we haven't started in with any stock yet. like enough somebody will be hollering again about being shy a few fat steers or calves. there were three hundred head of cattle reported missing off the ranges last year and about that much or more every year for a dog's age--if all reports be true. funny thing they can't lay the rustlers by the heels and hang them by the necks in the good old-fashioned way." "yes!" commented jim, "if that crowd are mean enough to thieve feed and grain, i wouldn't care to turn them loose among anybody's cattle, especially now the feed and grain stealing business is unhealthy." "but how can they get away with it, jim? the cattle are branded." "sure thing, simple simon! but they are not branded under their hides." "how do you mean?" "only one thing i can think of:--the thieves must be driving off the cattle, two or three at a time, and killing them in some lonely spot out over the ranges; skinning them and burying or burning the hides. they could then sell the fresh meat to butchers in some of the border towns who might buy it from them innocently enough through the breeds, or who might be in the ring and getting their meat dirt cheap. "however,--let's forget it. it is none of our funeral. and i promised mrs. clunie for both of us that we'd take a run back to her place at nine o'clock. she is having a birthday party for all her old friends, and wants us help her celebrate." "i guess we had better go then, jim, or we'll never hear the end of it." half an hour later, they set out. five hours later still, after a merry time--as merry times went at mrs. clunie's--they returned, and it was a much speedier return than their going had been, for there was a great glare of red in the sky, near to the lake, that was suspiciously close to their own ranch. neither spoke a word, but, as the feeling of idle curiosity gave way to one of interest, interest to suspicion and suspicion to anxiety, their horses--as if sensing their masters' feelings--started off themselves from a walk to a canter, from a canter to a gallop and from a gallop to a hell-bent-for-leather race which never slackened until the two riders threw themselves breathlessly from their backs, among a crowd of neighbouring ranchers who had been doing their best to combat the flames in the absence of the owners. but it was all over. the heavy horses had been saved, the barns were practically uninjured, but the dwelling house itself was but a charred heap of smoking debris. phil looked dumbly at jim. jim threw out his hands, palms up and showed his big teeth. "well, philly, old cock!--there, there, by the grace of god, goes up in smoke my ambitions to be the greatest fruit rancher and stock breeder the world has ever known." "aren't we going to start and build up on the ruins?" asked phil. "we? start all over? good lord, man,--not me, anyway! not on your tin-tacks! this is the best excuse i ever had for a thing in my life. it's a heller of a game, this ranching stuff, to one who doesn't know a darned thing about it. great scot, man!--we were never made for it, anyway." "i can't say that we have done very much so far," replied phil. "do you want to have another go?" phil shook his head. "no,--can't say i'm aching for it. if we could only sell the blessed place as it stands." a voice at phil's elbow broke into the conversation. the speaker was old ralph mawson, the man who owned the adjoining ranch on the right. phil and jim woke up as it were to find themselves surrounded by their neighbours. "you boys want to sell out? i'll make you a bid for her as she stands--spot cash." "yes!" said jim. "five thousand bucks," said mawson. "haud yer horrrses!" said another voice, which simply romped with delight every time it struck the letter "r." alick mcadam, the rancher on the left, was also on the job. "i'll gi'e ye fifty-five hunnerrr." "six thousand!" topped mawson in ministerial tones. things began to get interesting, and the crowd saw possibilities of an auction. jim immediately turned from mawson to mcadam. "sixty-five hunnerrr," dourly droned the scot. "seven thousand!" said mawson. there was a stop. "seven thousand i'm offered!" cried jim suddenly. "seven thousand:--any advance on seven thousand? seven thousand:--going once,--seven thousand,--going twice;--for the third and last time----" "seven thoosand and five hunnerrr, and no' a currrrdy mairrr," put in mcadam, pulling at his long whiskers. mawson stuck his hands in his pockets and started off. "i'm through!" he remarked. "sold for seven thousand five hundred dollars, cash," concluded jim, with a friendly nod to mcadam, who rubbed his hands together and grinned. "the fule!--he doesna ken a barrrgain when he sees it. this rrranch is worrrth ten if rrrightly managed, and no' by a wheen schule-bairrrns that would plant tatties upside doon. come awa' owerrr tae my place and we'll put this on paperrr." jim drew up the agreement in mcadam's kitchen at three o'clock that morning, got mcadam's cheque for seven thousand five hundred dollars and, despite the old fellow's cordial invitation to spend the remainder of the night with him, jim and phil set out again for mrs. clunie's. "we're making money," said phil. "we would have made more if we had had that old fire-trap of a place insured," answered jim, scotslike. "that's what that redmans gang have been up to;--not cattle this time." "looks like it." "well,--the artful mr. brenchfield, if he couldn't get me one way, got me another," remarked phil. "what do you mean?" asked jim, as they cantered along. "he didn't succeed in buying back his confession, but he took mighty good care nobody else would get it. it is burned up now all right." "is it?" replied jim; "not if jimmy langford knows it!" "what! do you mean to say you have it? that you have been carrying that thing with you all this time?" "sure! i never change without changing it, too. it is in my belt here. so we still have one on mayor brenchfield if he cuts up nasty. my, but he will be chuckling this morning over his fine stroke of business. i would dearly love to show it to him, but i daresay i better hadn't." "you're right!" said phil, "you just better hadn't,--meantime. "but do you really think, jim, that he would get his gang to burn up the place for that?" "would he? great heavens, man!--that paper means social and material life or death to your former side-kicker and sparring partner, graham brenchfield." "and what can we do?" "not a thing! the men from redmans have as much right to roam around as we have. we haven't a vestige of definite proof that they set our house ablaze, although we both know, darned well, that they and nobody else did it." next morning early, shortly after the bank opened, rattlesnake dalton nearly threw the proverbial fit in his office, when confronted by phil and jim and presented with a certified cheque for one thousand dollars, plus interest, with a demand for the deed to the brantlock ranch. dalton knew better than try any more nonsense, so he had the deed made out in proper form and handed over. mcadam drove in to town shortly afterwards and had the transfer of the property made to himself and completed the deal, thus ending the careers of two would-be ranchers before they had properly begun. "over six thousand dollars in the bank, and nothing to do with it," exclaimed jim, as soon as they were together in the street, and alone. "that won't do, phil. i have the fever now. we've got to make it sixty thousand." "i'm with you on that," answered phil. "let's go down to the kenora and talk it over in a corner over a real swell dinner. i haven't had one for a month of sundays--and i have a six thousand dollar appetite." that dinner at the corner table of the kenora dining-room was the birthplace of many future events. jim talked volubly and he talked often, for despite his nationality and its proverbial proneness to caution, he was bubbling with enthusiasm over the new plan for progress which he had conceived. truth to tell, for the first time for many a long day, he was the proud possessor of a half interest in six thousand dollars and it was burning a hole in his pocket; but with all his persuasiveness he had a hard task in converting his less mercurially disposed partner to his cause. the dinner was a masterpiece, but it took second place to the conversation. "good night, bairn!" exclaimed jim at last, "there is mcwilliams--two years ago he was city garbage man. look at him now--luxuriates in his five-thousand-dollar car; has his town residence and his ranch; winters in california every year. think of fraser & somerville:--three years ago fraser borrowed twenty-five cents from me to buy a meal in the chinese restaurant the day he blew in here, and he hasn't paid it back, either, although both he and somerville are a considerable way up easy street. peter brixton was the conductor on the c.p.r. train running into the valley from sicamous--now he would think nothing of hiring a special to take him up to sicamous if he took the fool notion. the only men at the game in town who had money when they started are mcintyre & anderson,--and they've made the least of any because they lack the necessary pep. even that lizard dalton, is worth fifty thousand dollars, and all in selling real-estate. man!--it makes me wearied to think of it. and besides, the early spring season is just opening up. we can be in right at the start of it." jim rose. "phil,--i don't want to, but i'm going to try this thing out alone if you won't come in. i'll show them in this town. if you don't come, you'll rue it once and that'll be all your life." he stood looking down on phil, who was resting his elbows on the table with his head on his upturned palms. "who said i wasn't coming in?" he murmured slowly. jim was round the end of the table and on him with a bound. he tilted up phil's head. "you're in on it! whee-he!" he yelled, and to the astonishment of the remainder of the diners he dragged his partner to his feet and danced him round till both were dizzy and staggering. that afternoon they took a year's lease of the front offices that had been the commercial bank before the bank had moved to their new premises further down main street. it was a bigger place than that of any other two real-estate brokers in town combined. they took it as it was; counters, desks, chairs and fixtures, and contracted to pay two hundred and fifty dollars a month for it. they paid three months' rent in advance; not because they had to but as a token of good faith and to establish some foundation of financial stability. jim scoured the main thoroughfares, spending half an hour at every window of every real-estate office in town, examining their cards and taking copious notes therefrom; and in the process brought mcintyre, fraser, mcwilliams and others out to their respective doors to inquire if there was any property they could show him; but all they could get out of jim was:--"maybe later on. i'm just looking around." while he was thus engaged, phil was commissioning the best sign-writers in vernock to do a hurry-up job of absolutely first-class workmanship and have it in place above their office windows the next morning, regardless of cost. he was too late to get a full-page advertisement in the _advertiser_, which came out the next day, but he arranged it for the next issue and, on the strength of it, succeeded in inducing mcquarrie--ben todd's advertising manager--to rush off two thousand dodgers and insert them between the sheets of each copy of the current weekly, although not exactly a legal thing to do. he ordered five thousand letter forms announcing the new business partnership and he had mcquarrie send them next day to every name on his special mailing list. this job alone, including the mailing, local and foreign, cost them three hundred dollars; but, for the time being, money was no object. two card writers, each at three dollars an hour, worked all night on jim's purloined information, making out window cards which offered every available and unavailable piece of land in the valley for sale, at a figure. a whole army of fat, lean and guttural-speaking charladies, behind carefully drawn blinds, worked all night long on the office floors, desks, counters and windows. luxurious carpets and new filing cabinets were rushed in. a typewriter was purchased. the prettiest stenographer in town was engaged to operate it--or, at least, to sit behind it for effect--regardless of expense. two telephones, which had not been removed since the bank's occupancy, were arranged for and retained. the dull electric lights were taken down and powerful oxygen lamps put in place. there was going to be nothing dull in the langford-ralston financial corporation. a joint visit by phil and jim was made to the tailor's and each got fitted out in a new suit of the latest model, with fancy and somewhat garish waistcoats. cigars of the best brand--five boxes of them--and two thousand cigarettes were purchased for the purpose of camaraderie and general corruption. a new auto, not too sporty but brave and dazzling in its unscratched varnish and untarnished nickel-plated lamps and rods, value fifteen hundred dollars, was purchased on terms:--five hundred dollars down and the balance in equal payments, three and six months. everything but that automobile was fully paid for on the nail, for jim contended, and rightly too, that cash with a first order very often assured credit with the order to follow. it was strenuous work, and exciting while it lasted, but they had the satisfaction of accomplishing almost everything they had set out to do. next morning the town was jolted with surprise at finding a new business in full operation on one of the chief sites on main street. the new catteline-harvard car was standing at the kerb before the door, shrieking its newness. a great sign over the door told the world at large, and in no uncertain manner, that the langford-ralston financial corporation was doing business below. the two windows were a dainty display of the show-card writers' art, hanging above and around a miniature fruit ranch, complete with trees, house and barns in the one, and a miniature townsite in the making in the other. "come in and talk it over," said one card. "nothing in land we cannot buy for you. nothing we cannot sell," proclaimed another. "if you have tried all the others and have not got what you want--try us." "better save yourself time and worry by trying us first." "the recognised, reliable okanagan land agents." "our time and our cars are at your disposal." in addition to these were dozens of neat cards in plain letters and figures, offering wonderful values in ranches, wild land, homes and new sub-divisions, the real owners of which the langford-ralston financial corporation could no more than make a guess at. it was not long before the windows were attracting the early morning passers-by in the dozens. someone telephoned mcwilliams, who came along and had a look at the display. he went away in high dudgeon to inform somerville, brixton, mcintyre and the rest of them that the new outfit had been getting next to their customers and had succeeded in getting the listings of almost every piece of property in the valley. meantime, phil and jim were comfortably ensconced in easy chairs behind their new desks, each smoking a fine brand of cigar, but busy poring over a profusion of maps and blue-prints, in a belated endeavour to get some notion--however indistinct--of how the land lay according to numbers. they knew where kickwillie loop was; they could go blindfold to blear-eyed monoghan's ranch, or mudflats, or sunset avenue, but when it came to driving out to, say, lot sub-division , district lot --well, that was quite another matter and called for deep and urgent concentration. jim kept his brand-new, high-tension, low-geared stenographer busy typing and re-typing forms of agreements for sale and deeds, in anticipation of later business. several prominent citizens came in to compliment them on their enterprise and to wish them good luck. the numbers of these well-wishing citizens increased as the news went round, and the langford-ralston stock of cigars and cigarettes decreased correspondingly, but the new concern had the pleasure of listing at least a dozen pieces of property direct from the owners. an alarming piece of information vouchsafed itself just before lunch time, when, for the first time, the bank book of the financial corporation was consulted. out of their original six thousand dollars, there were three thousand left. "holy mackinaw!" breathed phil, in prayer to some esquimo god. "great andrew carnegie!" muttered jim, wetting the glowing end of his cigar and putting it carefully into his upper vest pocket for future use when a client might be around. receipts and jotted notes were gathered together and hastily consulted, but they were unable to reduce their outlay or swell the credit side of their bank book. "good job we noticed it in time!" grinned jim. "i should say so! and we have to start in right now with a proper system; card indices, loose-leaf, cash book, ledgers, everything up to the minute. you're the lawyer, jim, the silver tongue, the eloquently persuasive. me for the books, the financing, the adjusting and the accounts;--with a help out on the buying and selling end when required." "right-o,--that's the stuff!" and so it was arranged. at noon phil ran over to break the news to sol hanson that he had quit,--for a season at least. the big, good-natured fellow almost shed tears at the news, although he had known that phil would be leaving him one of these days--but, as he had fancied, for the purpose of ranching, not buying and selling property. "well, i been guess you ain't no fool, phil. you know your business pretty good. jim too! you make dam-fine real-estate ginks." he scratched his head. "only i been left with one hell-job. can't get nobody take your place. you dam-fine blacksmith all shot toboggan to the devil." "say, old man!" put in phil. "i know a man that will suit you down to the ground." "what you call him?" asked sol. "smiler hanson!" sol laughed. "aw, go on! you crazy! smiler dam-fine little rotter all right, but he no good, no work, headpiece all shot toboggan to blazes." "don't you believe it? why, he only wants to be given a show." sol shook his head. "shake away!" continued phil. "smiler's getting a big fellow and he is as strong as a bull. he is simply foolish over horses. why--i can't chase him out of this place at times." as phil was going on with his eulogy, the head of the grinning smiler popped round the door-post. "hi, there;--come here!" shouted phil. smiler came in, tattered and unkempt as usual, but wiry and sinewed, as anyone could see at a glance. a different smiler from what he was only a short year ago before he was regularly fed! the open air and the unfettered life, in conjunction with mrs. sol hanson's wholesome fare had worked miracles on his constitution. "i'll bet you five dollars, sol, that this young rascal can make a horse shoe right now from a straight piece of steel, and do it better too than a whole lot of journeymen blacksmiths that i know." "aw, go on!" laughed sol. "why, man!--that kid's been in and around this shop for years. everybody thinks he is crazy and calls him crazy. how could he be anything else but crazy? with such a bunch of mean thought from his fellow men to contend with? you would be crazy yourself under similar circumstances. "give the boy one real chance." "forget it! no good!" said sol. phil took out his purse and pulled out a bill. "all right!--there's my five dollars. cover it,--and we'll prove it right here." "i take you!" cried sol. "and if smiler makes a tolerable shape at it, you'll start him in?" "you bet!" "here, smiler! you show sol how to make a horse shoe." smiler stood and grinned, shaking his head in the direction of sol, who had always shown a tradesman's rooted objection to anyone handling any of his tools at any time and had more than once chased smiler out of the premises for touching a hammer. "it is all right, son! sol won't say a word. go to it; and, if you do it right that ten dollars there are yours and you'll get working here with sol all the time and will make plenty of money." smiler threw off his ragged coat in a second, tied on one of phil's old aprons in a business-like way, rolled up his sleeves--what was left of the lower parts of them--picked up a piece of steel, thrust it into the heart of the fire and started the bellows roaring. and in time--before the bewildered face of sol hanson--he took out the almost white-hot iron, tested it, hammered it and turned it, with the skill of a master-craftsman, heeding no one; all intent on his work. he chiselled it, he beat it, he turned it and holed it, then tempered the completed shoe, handing it over finally with a crooked smile on his begrimed and sweat-glistening face. sol was positively dazed. when he did come to a true realisation of what smiler had done, he sprang on him, hugging him and god-blessing him until phil began to fear for the youngster's personal safety. "well," said phil, picking up the ten dollars and handing them over to smiler, "i guess, sol, you have found your man?" "found him! you bet your life, i got him. yiminy crickets!--and i make him one dam-fine fellow now, i tell you what. he my son now--my little smiler." and smiler smiled, as phil hurried back to relieve jim at the office. when phil got back there, he found jim on tenterhooks of excitement awaiting his arrival, for he had had a prospective buyer just off the train, who wanted jim to drive him out to inspect a few ranches in the neighbourhood, immediately after he had a wash-up and some lunch at the kenora; and jim had been fearing that phil would not get back in time. "he's a farmer from the prairies--so i mean to land him. they are the kind that ha'e the bawbees!" "have the what?" asked phil; for despite his long contact with jim, the latter was constantly springing a scotticism on him that he had not heard before. "bawbee, man!--sillar,--ha'pennies,--one cent pieces!" "a fat lot of good one cent pieces will do when it comes to buying a ranch in british columbia." jim threw up his hands at phil's apparent lack of wit, then he laughed and rushed across the road for a bite of lunch at a small restaurant. he was back in a few minutes and before his prairie farmer returned. jim introduced the farmer to his partner as "mr. phil ralston, one of the most shrewd financial men in the west," loaded him up with cigars, then got him into his catteline-harvard, drove him slowly past every other real-estate office in town, then out into the country. he took so long on that trip that phil was on the point of closing up for the day ere he returned. he was bubbling over with excitement and perspiring freely. he clapped phil on the back, then sat down with a show of collapse. "come on! tell me all about it, you clam." "great scot!" said jim, "and they say that it is a 'lotus eater's' job selling real-estate. i've shown that hard-headed old son-of-a-gun nine ranches this afternoon. i've talked climate, position, irrigation, soil, seed and production for six solid hours. i would rather write a 'dime novel' every day in my life, than this." he mopped his brow. "it is a great life if you stay with it!" "did you sell him?" asked the matter-of-fact phil. "did i? sure i did! i've sold old eddie farleigh's sixty acres for thirty thousand dollars cash--one of the best orchards in the valley. the old fellow is coming in to-morrow morning to close the deal." "but can you deliver the goods? we really haven't the listing of it. it is one of peter brixton's." "we'll make a bold try at it. thirty thousand dollars is peter's listed price, and old eddie got the property years ago for a song. i happen to know he is extremely anxious to clean up and go to his daughter at the coast. "five per cent of thirty thousand dollars is fifteen hundred dollars. peter is a good-natured sort. he isn't going to turn down half or even a third of that commission." jim took up the telephone and got into communication with peter brixton then and there. "hullo! ? this is the langford-ralston company. that you, peter?" "yes!" "have just been commissioned by eastern capital to purchase a sixty acre ranch. got anything in sight?" "yes!--there's the metford place on the b.x." "no good, peter! they want it in the coldcreek district. i have several good prospects in view, but i rather fancy eddie farleigh's ranch. i hear it is up for sale." "it is too!" "what does he want for it?" "thirty thousand,--a third cash, the balance in twelve and twenty-four months!" "uhm! she's kind of high. still,--it might be worth considering. what commission do you want out of it?" "it's a five per cent deal, and i'm willing to split it with you;--if you'll do the same when the shoe's on the other foot." peter did not tell jim that the actual price set by farleigh was twenty-eight thousand dollars and whatever could be got above that figure would be reckoned as the broker's commission. jim thought for a moment. again the voice came. "or i'll take a third and you get two-thirds. i'll get the double portion any time i sell any of yours." "that's a go!--the agent who sells gets two-thirds of the commission. well!--run down, peter, and give me the exact lay-out and maybe we can close the deal. i want to put the sale through first thing in the morning and it has to show as coming direct through the langford-ralston company." "right! i'll come now," answered brixton, putting up the receiver. jim's grin was a treat to behold as he jumped up and caught phil by both arms. "two-thirds of fifteen hundred dollars,--one thousand dollars! oh, boy!--we're on the upgrade already." the prairie farmer would have been inclined to question the wisdom of his purchase had he seen the langford-ralston financial corporation hopping round its office like a pair of dancing bears. but he did not see it, and, what was more to the point, he never rued his bargain. chapter xxiii so deep in love am i it was not long before phil and jim found out that although few people in vernock were willing to lend hard cash, many of them were friendly, even indulgent, and quite ready to encourage any honest enterprise, and brotherly enough to give a new man a fighting chance. a week had not gone before outsiders began to see that jim langford had at last found himself. he did not develop, but rather he utilised what he had always possessed, the powers of winning confidence, of persuasion, of argument; combined with a shrewdness for sizing up his clients and knowing instinctively what they wanted, what they were prepared to go in price, and consequently, what to show them. and phil was not a whit behind, for the spirit of emulation was rife in him. he had been born with a burning ambition to succeed, and now that he saw a lifetime chance, he exerted all his power of mind and body to take advantage of it to the full. the banking account of the langford-ralston company did not fall lower than that consternation mark of three thousand dollars, and it rapidly increased with the advent of the spring sunshine and the incoming settlers who in ever-increasing numbers had heard of the fertility and the climatic perfection of the valley; and hearing, came to see; and seeing, succumbed to dame nature's seductiveness. sales increased; so did the new company's listings. so rapidly did the langford-ralston financial corporation go ahead that the other real-estate men in town began to sit up and gasp. they had given the "mushroom outfit" anything from a week to six weeks in which to crumple up, but they rapidly withdrew the time-limit, contenting themselves with wait-and-see, wise-acre nods of their heads. for the first time since leaving his home, jim took it upon himself to communicate with his father, who was the head of an old firm of edinburgh solicitors and lawyers. true, his method of communication was somewhat impersonal, consisting as it did solely of a continuous weekly bombardment of pamphlets on the fruit-growing possibilities of the okanagan valley, with the langford-ralston corporation writ large on the advertisements thereon; printed dodgers of sub-divisions and ranching first mortgage propositions issued by the company every few days; and copies of the _vernock and district advertiser_ containing the langford-ralston company's regular full-page advertisement. "why don't you write to him?" asked phil one day. jim laughed. "because i know him!" he answered. "if i wrote to him, he'd smell a rat. but the constant drip will have its effect, laddie. his firm has money by the train-load to lend out on good security,--but the security has got to be good. it won't be long before he is making inquiries through some of the banks. why, man!--i know that fraser & somerville placed a quarter of a million dollars for him on first mortgages a year or so ago. why shouldn't we have it?" in response to phil's peculiar look, jim went on. "oh, ay!--you may glower. i know i've been a rotter, and i don't think i deserve any confidences from my old dad. i never played the game with him. all the same, i'm not going to crawl to him for all the money on earth. i've come to myself at last and i mean to show him i am still worthy to be called his son,--as the good book says. if he is interested in our legitimate business and cares to get in touch in a business-like way, we'll be mighty glad to show him what we've got and accept his fatted calf, or should i say, golden calf, with becoming dignity." "well, jim,--you're lucky," reflected phil. "i doubt if my father knows now that i am alive. he was a mighty good dad to me, but he doesn't seem to have allowed much for youthful impetuosity and indiscretion. evidently, he has never forgiven me for refusing to accept a new mother on a moment's notice. you may say what you like about brenchfield, but if it hadn't been for the kindness of his father and mother, god only knows what and where i would have been to-day." "yes, sentimental tommy! and you paid all of it back, a thousand per cent,--so forget that part! a fat lot graham brenchfield did for you, personally." "oh, yes!--but still----" "oh, you make me tired with your excuses for that coyote;--forget it! but, if your dad was so good to you when you were a kiddie, for the life of me i'm darned if i can understand where his paternal instinct has got to. if i had a laddie,--god save me for indulging in such a fantasy!--but, if i did have, i'd go after him if he were in hell itself. think o' it, phil! your own flesh and blood, of the woman you have loved well enough to make your wife--the combination transfused--to grow, and develop, and work out to prove before god and his fellow-man the wisdom or folly of the choice the father and mother of him made when they took each other for better or worse." "yes,--when you put it that way, jim, it makes a man think hard of the tremendous seriousness of the step." jim grinned again. "you needn't worry, anyway. if you keep on as you are doing, you'll win the best and bonniest lassie in this valley." phil quickly changed the subject, but a tell-tale ruddiness added to the confirmations that jim had been accumulating along that particular line. "talking about my dad, jim!" reverted phil, "it is strange the longings i have at times to see him and to patch up the old breach, even if i might never be permitted to see him again after that. but,--oh, well!--what's the use? i won't trouble inquiring about him now--it is too late. and i guess he isn't worrying about me. all the same, i'd give my right hand to see my little sister, margery. when i ran away, she was a bright, mischievous, fair-haired, little girl, just starting school. she and i were the great chums. she will be growing quite a young lady now. "i fight the feeling, jim,--but some day i fear the pulling from her end will be too strong for me and i'll go back and hunt them up--if only to stand in the shadows and watch her pass." jim looked at his watch and got up to fulfil a business engagement. "well, old man!--i never had a little sister. if i had had, i fancy i wouldn't be here to-day. so that's how it goes. but we have a good year ahead of us to buy and sell and loan for a fare-you-well; to make a stake as big as all the others have made together in the last three or four years. and we are going to do it, too. i feel it in the air. "i don't know what will happen after that--some of the big fellows, royce pederstone, brenchfield and arbuthnot are overloaded now, but they keep on mortgaging and buying more. the newer ranchers here have planted their orchards and are sitting still for the 'seven lean years' till their orchards begin to bear, instead of getting busy with truck stuff, poultry and pigs to keep them going. some of them are feeling the pinch already, for it costs like the devil to live here--especially the way these fellows insist on living. they also are mortgaging heavily. man, if any kind of a slump came in realty, or a shortage of money, and the banks shut down and the money-lenders started to draw in their capital, there would be a veritable stampede. "i give it a year, boy; then, if we've got the money, that's the time to put it in, for, a few years more and all these baby orchards about the valley will be paying for themselves over and over again. "half of the ranchers in the meantime are going to get cold feet, because they won't be able to get their stuff to the paying markets, while, if they only organised--as they undoubtedly will do later--they could get their fruit anywhere and at a big price, too. "but--that's where we can get in." and as jim went off, phil sat for a while thinking--a dreamer and a visionary--until he was jolted out of his reverie by the pressing inquiries of his recently augmented staff. one day the inevitable, according to jim's notion of things, happened. a letter arrived, bearing the heading of langford & macdonald, solicitors and attorneys, princes street, edinburgh, making inquiry as to the possibility of placing trust funds on gild-edged first mortgage security, requesting bank references and inviting correspondence from the langford-ralston financial corporation. the letter was straight business. there were no paternal greetings; not a word to suggest that either langford had ever known of the other's existence. jim, with his usual long-headedness, insisted on phil replying to it and signing it on behalf of the firm. phil demurred. "why, man alive!--give me credit for knowing my own father. do you suppose he doesn't know all about us already?--more than we know ourselves. just go ahead and answer that. doing it that way will humour him. "it is by far the biggest thing we have landed yet. unlimited capital to lend on good security is a grand foundation for a financial corporation. but we have to see that everything is absolutely right--absolutely straight--absolutely secure. one mistake with langford & macdonald and that's the end of it." and the banks knew of the stabilising of the langford-ralston company almost before the l. r. company realised it themselves, and they vied with one another for the privilege of handling their bank account, putting inquiring clients in touch with them direct as a sop for future business. what the banks did became the fashion in town. and in such days as the west was then passing through, that meant much indeed, for everyone was thinking, talking, handling and dreaming real estate. even percival derue hannington forgot his former hurt and gave them his business. all were making money--nobody lost. they bought at a price and sold for more, and the difference in value was debited and redebited to old mother earth. prosperity vaunted itself in rolling wheels, cigar smoke, late orgies and rare wines; costly winter trips to the south; dress, diamonds, foolishness and mining and oil stocks. yet through that wildest year of all, phil and jim stood firm to the principles of their business--they bought and sold for their clients, they loaned on first-class security--they paid as they went and they banked their commissions. not once, but a hundred times, could they have doubled their savings by speculation with a quick turn-over, but they held fast; and their savings increased faster than their wildest dreams had ever pictured. they did more advertising than all the others combined. their staff of salesmen and stenographers increased in numbers by rapid jumps. they had correspondents in every city of importance in the dominion and the united states. they had the best stand in town. anyone coming in by train could not fail to see it and could not fail to be impressed by its importance and apparent prosperity, even when they had not been previously apprised of it. when early june arrived with its continuous sunshine, when the older ranches revelled in miles of pink and white apple blossom, when the small, wild sunflowers spread themselves like a sea of gold over the hills and valleys bursting in fairy splendour even through the hard roads and the rock fissures; when the air was redolent with the hypnotising, cloying sweetness of nature's perfume from a hundred million blossoms and charged with the melody of her gaily bedecked feathered choristers,--eileen pederstone came back to her beloved "valley of tempestuous waters." in the six short months she had been away, she had written only occasionally to phil and then it had been superficially, for she was not one given to expressing her feelings in pen and ink. and phil, in the rush of the new enterprise, had been something of a desultory correspondent. he had refrained from mentioning business in any of his letters to her--despite her many questions to him regarding his endeavours and his progress--intending, thereby, to spring the greater surprise when she should return. but he might have saved himself such thoughts, for eileen was fully posted on every move he and jim had made. she came in on them one day with the brightness and impetuosity of the june sun bursting through the early morning clouds over blue nose mountain, causing everything but the sun she emulated to stand still for half an hour and breathe in the added sweetness in the atmosphere. all the hunger in phil's being welled up at the very sight of her; smart, neat, healthy, radiant, vivacious, and pretty as the bursting red roses on her bosom. he caught her two hands in his and looked down at her; and as she gave a little pleasure-laugh far down in her throat, he almost drew her up to his breast, when a cough from jim startled him back to the cold truth that he was in the open office of the langford-ralston financial corporation, among half a dozen salesmen and as many stenographers. jim and phil escorted eileen into their private office, and there they fired back their answers to her queries until she gasped in sheer bewilderment at the tremendous success of their daring enterprise. "and, oh, boys!--you're making good. i knew you would. glad!--i'm so glad, because you are just like two big brothers of mine." "now, eileen," put in jim, "kindly dispense with the 'brother' stuff. you can't tell me that you are going to be a mere sister to both of us." she blushed. "does he know?" she queried at phil. "he thinks he does," said phil. "i haven't told him a thing." "oh, haven't you?" remarked jim. "shall we tell him, phil?" "doesn't look as if he required any telling,--but go on, fire away!" "well!" she commenced, nodding her head and putting out her lips, "some day--phil and i--we two--both of us----" "yes! yes! go on!" hurried jim in mock excitement. she sighed and sat back. "that's all! just that, jim!" "did you get it?" asked phil, laughing. jim nodded quietly for a moment, then he bent over, with an expression of almost motherly softness in his big, rugged face. he got eileen's hand in his left hand and phil's in his right. "the best of god's good luck!" he said quietly. he looked at his watch. "i have an appointment at three o'clock. "why don't you take the lady for a spin, phil?" "would you like to come, eileen?" asked phil. "would i? oh, boy!" jim went over to her and put his hand on her shoulder as an older brother would do. he tilted up her chin, bent down and kissed her on the cheek. "you don't mind, old phil!" he said. he left her and jumped over to phil with a laugh and a shout. "and you beat him to it, laddie:--money, duplicity, hum-bug and all! you beat him! man,--you're great!" and he was into the outer office, out on the street and away in his car before they could properly grasp his meaning. phil and eileen followed out shortly afterwards, out into the sunshine, and soon they were driving up the steep hill from the town, leading to the kelowna highway. it was some time before either spoke. "i wonder what jim meant by the remark he made when he left us, eileen?" "don't wonder about anything just now, boy,--excepting me. don't let us think about a thing that isn't pleasant and in keeping with the glorious day. we can do our 'trouble talks' on the way back." she snuggled up close to her big companion who, as they reached the top of the hill, opened up and sent the car speeding along. at one of the sharp turns, he slowed up and stopped to admire the ever-changing delight of the scenery. "did you ever see anything so beautiful?" exclaimed eileen, "and yet some folks want to go away from here when they have a holiday." they were on the thin line of roadway which was cut half-way on the face of the hillside. all the ranges were a spread of golden sunflowers; away below, sheer three hundred feet down, the blue waters of the kalamalka lake reflected the blue, cloudless sky, while here and there it seemed to throw back the sun's rays in a golden spray. on the other side of the water, as far as the eye could scan--until it rested again on the background of hills of gold, purple and green--the long, regular lines of old orchard-land shone a riot of pink and white. the air was laden with the perfume of bursting flowers. far up the lake, alongside which the road ran in a brown, winding thread, were little wooded and grassy promontories sitting like islands upon the water and suggesting the last peaceful reservation of all the fairies, wood-elves and brownies who might be crowded out from the cities and the busy lands now over-run and exploited by the unpoetical humans. a little, warm hand placed itself over phil's as he held the steering wheel and it roused him from his reverie. he gazed at eileen's upturned face. he put his arms about her, drew her closer to him and kissed her on the lips. she laughed--that same little, happy laugh away down in her throat, then she clapped her hands with pleasure. "my, but i'm glad!" she cried. "my phil is a dreamer after all." "didn't you know that before, girlie?" "no! i always hoped--and fancied sometimes--but i know now and i am ever so glad about it." her face became solemn. "phil,--you won't ever let money, and business, and success steal your love to dream away from you?" "i should say not! did you think i would?" "oh,--so many men lose their love for the beautiful things, for poetry, music, pictures, pretty scenery----" "and their sweethearts," put in phil. "yes,--sometimes. but more often their wives. they do not lose their love exactly, but rather they forget to use it in their over-absorption in business, and it gradually slips away from them like a child's belief in fairies and in santa claus." phil started up the car again and they bowled merrily along to the village of oyama, the half-way rest between vernock and kelowna, at the division of the two lakes. "take jim now," said phil, continuing the line of thought, "i'll bet he believes in sprites, and ghosts, and santa claus, right to-day. he is the kind that never grows away from his boyhood." "and why should he? his boyhood was doubtless the happiest period of his life, and he is just staying with it like a wise man." eileen sighed. "phil,--i wish jim could get a real, nice sweetheart. did you ever hear of him having one?" "never!--at least not a real one. did you?" "no! he doesn't seem ever to get any further with the young ladies than mere acquaintance. yet i know lots--and nice girls, too--who would be glad to have a man like jim." "i guess he is just waiting on ''till the right girl comes along,' as the poet says. i hope she will prove worthy of him. his kind are so apt to get fooled at the finish. what shall we do with him when we get married, eileen?" eileen blushed. "it is a hard problem, but we've just got to mother, and sister, and brother him until he gets settled." "if he ever does!" "if he doesn't, i am going to keep on mothering him--that's all. so it is up to you, phil, to find him a real, nice girl." "no, thanks! it has been a hard job finding one for myself." "and you are quite satisfied?" she queried again, solemnly. "quite!" "and you'll never grow tired of me?" "never! why, dearie,--how could i?" "oh, i don't know! men do, sometimes. i guess i am just foolish. but, if i don't measure up, you will promise to be lenient with me?" "you'll always measure up with me, eileen. it is my measuring up with you that i am afraid of." "and if i don't just grasp things quickly;--if i can't climb the mountains of thought and progress as fast as you can,--you won't grow impatient?" "no!" "you'll wait for me, and help me over the boulders, and even if i wish to sit down and rest for a while, you'll sit down with me and rest also until i am ready to climb on? you won't run ahead--as so many husbands do--so far ahead that i shall not be able to catch up?" "no, dearie, no! your speed is just going to be my speed unless it is too much for me, and we'll both get up to the top of the hill together." "kiss me then, phil,--and let us turn for home. i am happy at last,--just ever so happy." "eileen, i think i'd better come along and make my peace, et cetera, et cetera, with your dad," said phil, as they neared vernock again. "does he know anything of our plans?" "no, phil! i have told him of our good friendship, but i have been waiting and waiting in the hope that a chance would come for us to talk to him when he was not absorbed, body, soul and spirit, in business and politics. but the time seems to get farther and farther off than ever. i guess you had better come along now. "and don't i wish you could advise him to give up his silly notions for acquiring land. he might listen to you, phil. you might be able to induce him to sell part of what he has in order to bolster up what remains. if a slump of any kind comes, he will be without a prop to lean on. no man has any right to involve himself in this way, no matter how good the ultimate prospects may look." "i can't understand it, eileen, for it appears to be a kind of contagious disease, attacking the ablest and otherwise most business-like men in the province. your father is by no means alone." "i know; mr. brenchfield, mr. arbuthnot, the victoria and the vancouver political gang,--they are all more or less in it the same way. i can't think what has come over them. the danger signals ahead stand out so brightly to me, although i may be wrong. i hope,--oh, i hope i am! "they have got to think so much prosperity and progress that they have hypnotised themselves into believing that it is permanent. and they all imagine, whatever comes, that they will be able to see before the man in the street does and so be able to get out from under, leaving someone else with the load of unrealisable property." "i am afraid, though, your dad would hardly listen to me. he would put any advice i might give him down to gratuitous impertinence and cubbish presumption." eileen sighed again. "don't you worry though, dearie! if the opportunity turns up i will speak my mind." as they ran in at the gateway and up through the avenue of trees, they found john royce pederstone seated in a garden chair on the front lawn. the old man's greeting to his daughter and to phil was cordiality itself, for john royce pederstone was always a cheerful man, believing good of all whom he met, shutting his ears to all slander and quick to recognise enterprise and ability. "well, young man!--you've been making rapid progress since i saw you last," he remarked, by way of greeting. "more ways than one," put in eileen a little shyly. phil lost no time in stating his case in plain words to the politician. and his very plain words were what struck the responsive chords, for john royce pederstone was of all things a plain man. and the great pity of it all was that he had not stayed with plain blacksmithing or plain ranching. so many men find out after the act that they have left the substance to chase the shadow. john royce pederstone, however, had not yet come to the point of recognising this very great truth. "what does my eileen say to all this?" he asked, by way of answer. "eileen says, 'ugh-huh!' daddy," she put in roguishly. royce pederstone held out his hand and gripped phil's, with a slightly tired smile. "if my eileen says, 'ugh-huh!' my son, then 'ugh-huh!' it is." eileen threw her arms round her father's neck and hugged him. "i don't know anything much about you, ralston, but your record is clean since you came here--despite some attempts to blacken it. i like your face--and if you can make my motherless girl happy when i'm gone, you'll have an old man's blessing. "if you don't, though" (his blue eyes flashed temporary fire), "god help you! there have been more than one who wanted my eileen, but i have told all of them that the choice of a man must be eileen's. "by the way, phil,--is it true what they say,--that the langford-ralston company buy and sell for everybody but themselves?" "yes,--quite true!" answered phil. the old man laughed. "doesn't seem much like being very fond of their own cooking, eileen." "one doesn't have to eat what he cooks, daddy,--and somebody's got to cook." "that's an old song of yours, girlie. but, seriously, phil, you and jim langford could double and re-double your money if you only put it into some of the land you buy for others. you would save commission too, which is quite an item." "well, sir!--it is a policy we settled on when we started in, and it is a policy that has gained for us very many clients and has been the means of getting us considerable old country capital for investment in first mortgages. if we had not been on this conservative basis, we should never have received the agency for langford & macdonald's wealthy clientele." "you would never have needed it, man." "but we are doing pretty well, and at the finish we shall be on top. that is more than every land speculator will be able to say when the finish comes." "if we ever see it! but meantime, you could make your stake and be out of it. that's what i mean to do myself." "don't you think it is getting near to the time when one should start in unloading; at least when he should stop acquiring more? this has been a fairly long boom." "boom? did you say boom? man, alive!--this isn't a boom, it is the natural growth to real values. i saw this coming fifteen years ago. and it is good for a long time yet. why!--this is an investment in industry. this is a fruit valley;--the best fruit growing country in british columbia. this isn't a mushroom townsite proposition. you can't compare this with ordinary realty wild-catting." "i agree with you, sir, and i guess my puny opinion does not carry much weight, but the unfortunate thing is that we are beginning to produce the fruit here in the valley and the harvest is becoming greater and greater every year, but mr. apple grower has not created an outlet for his production; he has no great organisation to market for him; no central control for his prices;--and the result is that for years--unless he wakes up--he is going to get a miserable pittance for his crop from travelling jobbers, or it is going to rot on his hands. he is going to suffer loss and possible bankruptcy if we can't hold up until he co-operates, unionises, and makes his own market and prices from a central control." "all in due season, son, when the time comes. but that is away from buying and selling of land. personally, i raise cattle, pigs, horses;--i never have any trouble finding a market. "and trust me, when you see _me_ getting quietly from under, follow suit and you won't go far wrong. i am not in victoria with both eyes shut. the upgrade is absolutely good for three more years and the big prices will be next year. get in when you can and make what you can. it is a great life! "however, this doesn't interest eileen a bit." "oh, yes it does!" she put in quickly. "well,--it is business, and we fellows oughtn't to talk shop in a lady's company. "phil,--you won't rob me of my little girl for a while yet? i require her badly when the house is sitting at victoria. i'd like to have her with me next session at any rate." "we had thought of eighteen months from now, daddy dear. will that do?" inquired eileen. the old man's eyes brightened up and his ruddy cheeks curved in a smile. "that will be just fine! i'll have eighteen months of you in which to get used to doing without you. and, who knows, maybe that is all the time i shall want." "now, daddy, don't say that. besides, you won't be losing me; you'll just be finding phil." john royce pederstone put one arm on phil's shoulder and the other round his daughter's slight waist, as he turned with them toward the house. "well, we'll have dinner and a glass of wine over it, anyway." chapter xxiv the landslide the apple blossoms fell like flakes of snow; the sunflowers faded and were no more; the sun blazed on in all its radiant glory; the lakes stood in a glassy calm;--and still the rush and scramble went on--buying at a price and selling for more--still came the cry for more money on mortgage to cover up and extend, pulling conservative men into the gamble--their money providing the stake with no chance for them to win more than their seven or eight per cent. prices soared; everyone lived within a multi-coloured bubble of prosperity. the langford-ralston financial corporation became a corporation indeed. to do business with them was the rage of the valley, for their work from end to end was business-like and honest. and even the thief and the crook like to do business with honest men. then came the valley's harvest; the greatest harvest it had ever known; but, alas for the rancher, there was no market in which to place his produce. he was at the mercy of the jobber, the kerb-stone broker, the pedlar in fruit. he could not sell--he had to forward his merchandise on consignment to the nearest large centre and, in consequence, he often lost his entire shipment. not only that, but at times was saddled with storage and freight charges to boot. little wonder he grew tired; little wonder he grumbled. who, after all, could blame him for fathering thoughts that ranching was not all it was supposed to be? yet the land was the best in the country; the conditions for fruit growing--with a proper system of irrigation--unsurpassed in the province; the climate, the surroundings for home-making, ideal. it was simply the lull time in the era of progress; simply the time in between small things and things of magnitude; the time when the little man was liable to be forced to the wall and the big man would have to cling on despairingly; the time when organisation and brains would have to step in and take the reins. autumn faded and early winter promised with its damp fogs which, in the night time, froze quickly, covering houses, trees and fences with a white crystalline hoar which dropped like snow at the first faint blush of the next morning's sun. but oblivious of winter and without forebodings, men continued to buy at a price and sell for more. the winter came, with its snow fence-high, and its cold north wind compressing the thermometer to twenty below and binding the earth as with an iron crust; the winter came with its days of dazzling sunshine and its cloudless skies over a pall of white; with its nights when great fleecy clouds scudded across the face of a brilliant moon, causing long shadows and streaks of pale light to chase each other across the white, frozen fields and over the undulating ranges;--but the majority of the men who lived by buying and selling heeded it not nor did they admire its beauties. some were browsing in the warmer clime of california and those who remained behind sat in the comfort of their clubs, still buying at a price and selling for more, or planning their early spring campaigns. graham brenchfield was in los angeles. john royce pederstone held office in victoria, and eileen--but for an occasional flying visit--remained with her father. phil and jim--no longer the swede's apprentice and the irresponsible, occasional drunk, but men whose opinions counted, whose lead was worth following, whose actions carried force--continued to paddle quietly and cautiously down the stream of conditions toward the cataract of consequences. far away they could hear the roar of the rushing, falling waters which, so far, others failed or refused to hear. with the first blink of spring, the old frenzy of the previous few years reasserted itself, and business in land and ranches and town property showed early signs of breaking all previous records. the langford-ralston company were in almost every transaction; but it was not until the blossoms were again on the trees that someone suddenly realised a strange fact. the private-exchange girl in the l.-r. company switched the call to phil's desk. "hullo! brixton talking. that you, jim?" "no, pete! jim's out. this is ralston." "well,--i guess you'll do. say!--what's the matter with that outfit of yours, anyway?" "don't know, peter. tell me, and i'll try to fix it." "oh, no, you won't! but why the devil don't you fellows buy some real-estate once in a while?" "what have you got, pete? any snaps?" "come off the perch, phil! you know what i'm gettin' at. are you fellows trying to create a slump or some such damned thing?" "no,--certainly not! that would be poor business for a real-estate agent." "well,--why the devil are you the bear in every transaction you put through? it didn't used to be that way. every broker in town's been buying from you fellows all this year." "somebody's got to sell, if there's to be any buying. now,--don't get rattled, pete. it is up to you. sell if you want to. nobody will stop you." peter brixton's voice grew more conciliatory. "what do you fellows know, anyway? you might let me in on it. we've done lots of business together." "we don't know a thing, peter; just surmise. and everyone knows it, for we haven't hidden anything." "that there's going to be a tightening up for a while?" "yes!" "that it is coming soon?" "no!" "what then?" "that it has come." peter laughed a little hilariously, then his laugh ended with a touch of nervousness. "say!--is that straight goods, phil?" "just our private opinion, pete!" "well,--i think you're about two years out in your guess, but i'm going to try a little selling just to be in the fashion. thanks, old man!" "you'd better hurry up then, peter." phil had hardly hung up the receiver, when jim rushed in, his rugged face full of excitement. "read that!" he shouted, thrusting a cablegram under phil's nose. "by gad!--but we've been lucky; every client of ours has had a chance to sell. if he wouldn't do it, he has only himself to blame now." the message was in code, with the interpretation scrawled underneath by jim. it was from jim's father's firm, langford & macdonald of edinburgh. "extend no more loans in behalf this firm meantime. informed canadian banks about to cease practice of extending credit on security of realty purchases. letter follows." phil rose slowly and extended his hand to his partner. "jim, you're a wonder--a blooming wizard." jim grinned, but he was well pleased. "if it hadn't been for your opinion, rammed well down my throat morning, noon and night, i guess the langford-ralston financial corporation would not be quite so well thought of after this comes out, as it will be in the light of the quiet but persistent advice it has given its clients. and to think of it--your father wires as if he were the absolute and only detector of this information, while it was your letter of six months ago that set him on the hunt for it and started him on his conservatism regarding loans in general." jim laughed. "that's just my old dad's way, phil. he knows who put him on to it and what's more, he knows we know. you never heard of a scots business man admitting that his son knew anything he didn't--at least, admitting it to his son. "how much money have we in the bank?" phil beckoned the accountant, who brought the desired information. "two hundred and fifty thousand, six hundred and twenty dollars." "great scotland yard! and all straight commissions on realty and loans. isn't it a corker though, how it grows? "well,--it represents a turn-over of over six million dollars one way and another. that's something any two-year-old firm might be proud of." "and two years ago i was----you know what, jim!" "and two years ago i was captain mayne plunkett of dime novel repute--or disrepute--with glazed pants and a celluloid collar." "and aunt christina of 'love notes' fame," phil reminded. jim put up his hand. "hush! let the dead bury their dead. "but it beats the dutch all the same how offers keep coming in on a man when he doesn't require them; yet, when he's nearly down and out, he can't even get a political speech to report." "that's simple enough too, jim. you know the reason; you have preached it in this business long enough. "think failure and you bring every brooding failure carrion-crow in the universe to roost on the top rail of your iron bedstead. think success, look success, live success,--and success walks in at your front door, while everyone helps you along the same way with each thought he gives your apparent success, even if his thought be simply one of envy." "yes!--and as you are aware, my one object in life when i was slightly younger was to be a successful novelist. but no publisher would look at me. then i got my nose in on this penny-a-line deadwood dick stuff--which i shall never despise, for many a square meal i have had to fill a round hole off the fifty dollars a book they netted me. "to-day i have a letter from the publishers of these same paper 'horribles,' enclosing six of my poor, starved, mental offsprings. they are the pick of fifty which they say i have written." jim took off his hat and passed his fingers through his hair. "lord! i didn't know, phil,--honest to goodness!--i didn't know i had written so many. "they say these six, with a little toning up in language, a little toning down in cold-blooded murder and exclamatory remarks, would make ideal, cloth-bound books for boys, for sunday school prizes and junior libraries. they offer me royalties on each if i execute the work for them under my real name." "aren't you going to take it on? i really think you should. it would give you a certain amount of literary permanency. i've told you all along that you ought to be doing nobler work in that line than ten-cent 'hair-raisers.'" "me? no, thanks! captain mayne plunkett is as dead a deader as aunt christina. _requiescat in pace_." he waved his hand in dismissal of the subject. "'on with the dance--let joy be unconfined.'" "phil," said jim seriously, half an hour afterwards, "royce pederstone is going to come a terrible cropper over this business. he is mortgaged up to the neck and, singly or with some of the political gang, he is in almost every realty proposition we hear of." "i know it. i've tried my best to make him see it, but he says if he doesn't have faith in the valley, who will." "but this isn't a question of faith;--it is a shortage of money and a tightening up of foreign capital chiefly." "i've told him. i am worried sick over it. but he refuses to move." "let's send him a wire now," suggested jim. in five minutes the message in cipher was on the way. "definite information banks closing down immediately with loans on realty. mortgagees not renewing. advise prompt sale. wire lowest prices." the reply came in an hour and a half. "think information canard. sell remington ranch eighty thousand dollars, pedloe ranch fifty thousand dollars, bonnington ranch forty thousand dollars." phil and jim scoured the town, but there were no buyers at the figures, for they were rocket-high. they wired again, quoting best offers, but no answer came that afternoon. on the day following, graham brenchfield, stout and prosperous-looking as ever, stepped inside the office for the first time, as bold as brass too. "nice day, boys!" he shouted familiarly. "would like to see you two for a minute." to phil's inquiring eyes, he appeared slightly flustered. "come in here!" said jim, beckoning him to the inner office, where phil followed, closing the door behind him. "you fellows have a pretty fine lay-out here," the mayor began, chewing at his cigar. "pretty fine!" "guess you've got us all skinned now, phil. wouldn't like to take me in on that old fifty-fifty proposition?" he inquired sarcastically. "if you have come in on any funny stuff," answered phil, rising, "then you'd better get outside. we haven't the time for it." "shucks! don't get sore! i don't want to make you mad to-day. i've had a scrap with the bank this morning and i'm going to make them sit up for a while and guess." "that is quite a big proposition." "all the better! i hear you folks have lots of money to loan?" he queried. "yes!--and what?" put in jim. "i wish to borrow some." "yes!" "i'm paying eight percent, with first-class security." "ugh-huh!" "i want forty thousand dollars for two years." "ay!" "can i have it?" "no!" brenchfield looked sidelong at jim, then at phil; and back again at jim. "good lord! you can have the best ranch in the country as security." "on second mortgage?" "sure! why not? the first mortgage don't amount to a hill of beans. you could buy it out any old time." "no, thanks! not to-day! man, but you've got your nerve! what do you think we are, anyway?--a charity institution?" growled jim. brenchfield flushed, but he swallowed his anger. "would the bank loan you on second mortgage?" pursued jim. "no!--guess not!" "well,--neither will the langford-ralston company." "i'll give you ten percent." "not if you made it twenty percent." brenchfield sat in silence for a moment. suddenly he seemed to make a resolve. "will you lend me forty thousand dollars on first mortgage on my redmans ranch?" jim gasped, and phil sucked with his lips, for the redmans ranch was brenchfield's one best bet; it was one of the finest and largest ranches on that side of the okanagan lake. jim winked to phil. "would the bank lend you forty thousand dollars on it?" asked phil. "sure!" braved the mayor. "they'd be tickled to death to do it." phil got up. "i guess you'd better make friends with them and get their loan. we haven't any desire for the name of graham brenchfield on our books;--it wouldn't look good." the mayor jumped up, his face livid. "what's that?" he cried. "you--you would say that to me who could squeeze you like this----" "no good! you tried hard to do it several times, but it wouldn't work." "haven't you got a say in this, langford?" "yes!--and my say's the same as phil's." "by god! i'll fix both of you good and plenty before i'm through. you--you pair of real estate sharks!" jim pounced on him and pinned him against the door before he could say another word. brenchfield was impotent. "another word o' that, and i'll bang your heid through the panel," exclaimed jim, rising as usual in his anger to his beloved native tongue. brenchfield quieted down, lamblike, and jim released him. he spoke to jim and pointed his finger at phil. "you wouldn't feel so mighty bad about what i say, if you knew you had a ticket-of-leave jailbird for a partner." "yes, you dirty, black-mailing thief!" answered jim. "i know--and if you open your trap here or anywhere else, i'll put you where you belong, whether phil agrees to it or not,--see! "you're broke, brenchfield. the bank has got you, and got you good. they'll show you what squeezing is; damn you for what you are! "here's your hat! get out! and, by heck!--as i open the door for you,--smile; for heaven's sake, smile, and delude the staff that we've had a nice, genial, conversational love-feast." but mayor brenchfield's jaunty air had departed. he tried hard to appear unconcerned as he hurried away, but the smile was frozen at the tap and refused to turn on. "things are getting lively," remarked jim. "here are some more!" the outer office was filled with inquirers. all morning phil and jim were kept busy turning prospective money buyers down. the news of the banks' new attitude regarding the advancing of money on the security of realty had spread quickly. property values flopped like a house of cards and interest rates soared sky-high. at the end of the week, eileen's father telegraphed his acceptance of the offers made for his property the previous monday. but these offers were already withdrawn, and even ridiculous prices were hard to get, as everyone was keen on selling and no one at all anxious to purchase. it was the old story, which had repeated itself time and again in almost every new town and settlement on the american continent. someone had to bear the burden of it at the finish. no one was particularly anxious to be that one. all were scrambling to get out from under. mother earth and father money had put their feet down, as they always do, sooner or later. in the midst of the excitement, phil and jim had a strange visitor. for the first time to their knowledge, he was canadianised in appearance. his slippers were substituted for boots, his loose-fitting clothes were in the discard for a second-hand suit of european model, several sizes too big for him, and he was minus his pig-tail. at first glance, jim was unable to recognise him, then he laughed. "good land, phil! see what the breeze has blown in. ah sing! "how-do, ah,--or is it, sing!" "ya! you lemember me,--ah sing! me allee same canadian." the chinaman was brazen as brass. but evidently he had something on his mind. "me no work any more lanch. bossee man no likee chinaman!" "i don't blame him!" answered jim, across the polished counter. "me go back next week my old job. me go back work in big bank. me be janitor. me washee window, washee floor; watchman allee night-time,--see!" "you be heap scared, sing! devil he get you in bank." "no,--me no scared! me bling three, four black cat. me losem pig-tail,--me canadian,--me no scared no more." "canadian,--but still hanging on to the black cat theory,--eh! that's just typical of what we have to suffer, phil, in this country. "well, the bank has a lot to answer for. man, phil, but it would serve them rightly if they got let in some day, employing that kind of labour when they could get decent white if only they cared to pay the price. "sing!--what you want? we heap busy." "i catchem letter my uncle,--see!" he handed a paper to jim which was brushed over with black chinese characters. "maybe you are a canuck, sing, but i'm no blooming chinaman. what does this say?" "i catchem this letter from china to-day. he say allee place my wifee and my mama live, rain come down allee time. no come down water." ah sing's face was solemn as a priest's. "it come down blood--pigs' hair, too; one, two feet deep, all over. heap bad! i want catchem money send my uncle so he, and my wifee, my mama, all go away other place. "if i no send, they die,--see! i need one hundled dollar. i no have him. you give me one hundled dollar. i pay back one, two, thlee month after i work bank." jim shook his head. "yes!--you givem me. i pay back, sure!" "no, siree,--not a darned cent! your uncle, he fool you, sing." sing paid no attention to the remark. "you no givem?" "no!" "all lightee. i guess me tly mayor blenchfield. he know me heap good. maybe he lendem." and off he went. "a fat chance he has of getting a hundred dollars from brenchfield at this stage of the game," exclaimed jim. "but what's the crazy lunatic's idea, anyway?" asked phil. "oh, this raining pigs' hair and blood stuff is an old gag. something like the spanish prisoner business. it is just a put-up job by relatives in china to get money out of their superstitious friends over here. they play on one another's credulity for a fare-you-well. "and he fancies he is now a canadian. gee!--but we're the easy marks in this country:--chinks, japs, hindoos, doukhobors, niggers and god only knows what else. it sure is the melting pot. but some of them will have a great time melting,--believe me!" phil went back to his desk and opened up the day's mail. in it there was a letter from eileen, full of love, but overloaded with sorrow, for it contained the disquieting news that her father had been taken suddenly ill in the house and had had to be conveyed home. the doctors at victoria had recommended a speedy return to the valley, and eileen and her father were taking that advice and following by the next day's train. phil drove down to meet them on arrival, and he was terribly shocked to see the change that had come over the recently hale, hearty, healthy, ruddy-complexioned old rancher and politician. he seemed absolutely broken down and full of anxiety to be in his own home. he talked all the way there in a most disjointed manner regarding his property and his business affairs, which to phil was anything but reassuring, for john royce pederstone, although careless in regard to many things, was for the most part shrewd and at all times polished, connected and logical in his speech and argument. poor little eileen was broken-hearted. phil tried hard to make light of her father's condition, but she remained inconsolable; he endeavoured to convince her that business affairs might really not be half so bad as they seemed, but it was against his own personal opinion, consequently it was unconvincing, and eileen was not deceived. "it isn't any good, boy!" she remarked sadly, as they sat together. "it is just as bad as it can be. everything he has is held as security by the bank. he is in it also with property in vancouver, victoria, new westminster and prince rupert. i have gone through it--and it is absolutely hopeless. there is nothing left for him in honour to do but to assign everything. this house and ranch is all that will be left, because it was made over to me over a year ago--but it will have to go, too." "oh, no, it won't! they can't touch it if it is yours." "phil, boy!--do you think i would hold it if daddy owed a cent? shame for you!" "but i tell you, dearie, it would be madness to throw this place in. it wouldn't save your dad any, for it isn't nearly enough." eileen simply shook her head sadly. "it is no good! if i let this go, it will mean so much less that poor daddy will owe. and that will be something, after all. "eileen pederstone means to be able to hold her head up, and she could never do it if she clung on to this." "have you any idea how much he would require to tide things over, eileen?" "i am not sure, but with this place sold even at a sacrifice, maybe a hundred thousand dollars more might stop the gap till the pendulum swings back a little. and--it might not! it might simply be throwing good money after bad." "eileen,--jim and i have made two hundred and fifty thousand dollars between us in cold cash. it is in the bank, thanks to you and the promise you got me to make when we started in. half of that money is mine. i don't require it. won't you let me come into this; it means you and me anyway in the finish. your father can secure me in any way he likes. my money would satisfy the bank's claim and steady his holdings. won't you let me do this for you and your father?" "and leave you with a lot of unsaleable property instead of hard cash? no, phil,--absolutely no! and if you make this offer to my dad, it will mean the end for you and me, for i could never feel otherwise towards you than that i had in some way been bought." "eileen!" remonstrated phil, hurt at her words. she burst into tears and hid her face on his shoulder. "oh,--i just can't bear it. i hardly know what i have been saying. i didn't mean it quite that way, phil. but you must not suggest putting your money into this. people would never finish talking over it." "yet you were willing to take me, eileen, when your father's position looked secure as the country itself and i had hardly one nickel to rub against another." "but you had ambition. you were brimming over with it. nothing could ever have stopped you from making progress sooner or later. and i knew that. lack of money means nothing to a young man with the ambition which you had, and still have. as for me, i shall have nothing now but myself." "and me, eileen, for i'll never let you back out. why,--if you wish it, i'll leave everything here as it stands, or i'll give it away,--and we can go somewhere else and start all over." "but that wouldn't be fair, if i did agree." "then, dearie, just let me help." "no,--no,--no!" "but the land should be saved,--at least, as much of it as we can save. it is of the best, and when the real merits of the fruit of this valley are known, when the markets are opened up for us and transportation facilities are improved, the land will be worth much more than it is now, for the younger orchards will be bearing heavier and heavier year by year. eileen, we want to hold what we can of your father's property, unhampered." "oh, yes!--you are terribly logical and convincing, but i won't love you any more if you get mixed up in this;--it is too, too hopeless." "immovable as vancouver island! and yet they talk of frail femininity. ah, eileen! as difficult to understand as, as any other lady!" eileen sighed, went over to the window and parted the curtains, as she looked out over the peaceful valley. phil went to her side. up on the hill as they were, overlooking the surrounding country, they almost forgot their troubles under nature's hypnotism. the sky overhead was opalescent; the ranges, dotted with grazing cattle and unbroken horses, were bathed in sunshine. away below them, the little town, with its long main street of business houses and its stretch of regular shade trees, drowsed in an adolescent contentment. all around lay farm houses surrounded by fields in cultivation with parallel lines of fruit trees. in the distance, due west between the hills, the blue waters of the okanagan lake sparkled in a winding streak which melted into the sky. phil put his arm round eileen and drew her to him. "and we talked about leaving all this, dearie!" she looked up at him with moist eyes, and her voice trembled. "oh, phil!--i couldn't--i just couldn't! if i did, i should be leaving part of me behind." he stooped and kissed her. "and you won't, sweetheart;--not if i know it!" a streak of dust rose from the roadway and an automobile turned quickly in to the avenue. "here comes the doctor, phil, to see daddy." "i'll be off then, girlie! i'll 'phone later to find out how he is progressing." chapter xxv the bank robbery phil was sound asleep in bed when a noise of some kind brought him partly back to sensibility. he turned uneasily. the noise came again. someone was throwing gravel up at his window. he jumped out of bed, pulled out the sliding screen-window and looked over. a man on horseback was below. "that you, phil?" "yes!" the horseman was howden, the recently promoted police chief. "big things doing! if you're game for a night ride, wake jim and both of you come down quick. we're shy of men and you two have a pair of good horses." "what is it?" "tell you when you come. bring a gun, and hurry, for every minute counts." phil went to jim's room across the passage. jim, ever ready for an adventure, was on the floor in a second; and both were dressed and downstairs in five minutes. "won't a car take us quicker?" "no!" replied howden. "it is likely to be a chase over the ranges." they saddled their horses and lined up on each side of the police chief, who immediately started off. "cattle thieves?" asked jim. "worse'n that! the commercial bank's been broken into, the safe blowed up and every blamed bill in the institootion pinched." "well, i'll be-darned!" "just our blasted luck, too!" said howden quickly and in excitement as they trotted on, "jamieson, my deputy, is in vancouver, sick; hardie went to kamloops yesterday with a couple of prisoners. there is hardly a real policeman in town,--only me, downie and mcconnachie. "the mayor left on the train two days ago for the coast. "downie, who for once wasn't boozed, noticed someone slip over the back window at the bank. there were half a dozen of them in the lane, he says. he couldn't do a thing but watch. three of them took off by the b.x. way on horseback; two of them made for the coldcreek road, and the other two made for the okanagan landing. downie thinks there is another, but he isn't sure." "where are they all now?" asked jim. "tell you later. "we've to go up along the kelowna road, case any of them double back and try that way. they've got a hell of a haul among them. we'll be coverin' nearly every road, for downie has scared up a bunch and is off up the b.x. route. mcconnachie got three with him on to the landing. thompson, the government agent, is away hell-for-leather with morrison on the coldcreek road. "gee!--but it'll be great dope if i land them." "it will be further promotion and highly commended," remarked phil. howden grinned, but the grin could only be surmised by the others, for it was dark just preceding the dawn. they cantered quickly up the hill and on to the level winding road cut along the side of the hills, with the endless ranges on the right and a sheer drop into the kalamalka lake on the immediate left. "but how did they pull it off, howden? didn't the bank have a watchman on the premises?" "sure they had!--that greasy chink, ah sing, and half a dozen black cats." jim laughed. "we found sing gagged and tied up to one of the big desks." jim whistled. "where is sing now?" "where we can get him when we want him," answered howden. "i put him under lock and key right away." "the best place for him," remarked jim. "he's whimpering like a baby-monkey, too. we'll get all we want out of him before he's long there." "did you find out how they got into the bank?" "that's the fishy bit! sing says he opened the door and looked out for a breath of air, when someone hit him over the nut. the next he says he remembers was being tied up. his head is cut open all right, but all the same, i wouldn't wonder if the chink's a liar." "they say they have a reputation for that kind of thing," put in phil. jim's brain was busy, but he remained silent. they galloped hard along that part of the road which diverged from the lake, keeping their eyes to the right in the direction of the old trail between the hills to the landing, and straight ahead also where the road ran parallel again three hundred feet above the water. there was no moon. the night was dark, but away over blue nose mountain the grey of dawn was slowly creeping. like a writhing snake, the kelowna road turned and twisted round the hills which almost precipitated into the dark waters below. the riders were now going indian file owing to the darkness and the narrowness of the path. phil, who was ahead--for he had a horse that refused to stay in the rear of any other horse--turned the first bend. he reined back suddenly, causing the others to do the same. he held up a warning hand. cautiously they looked ahead round the crumbling rock. half-way between where they were and the next turn, a lone horseman was standing, intent on the adjusting of the girths and heavy saddlebags on his steaming horse. he looked over his shoulder every second or so in the direction of the landing, as if he feared he might be suddenly surprised. "by god!" whispered howden, atremble with excitement, "one of them!" "sssh!" cautioned phil. gathering for a dash, they sprang round the turn with a yell, phil's horse fairly leaping ahead of the others. the man by the horse looked up in astonishment. evidently he had not been anticipating pursuit from that quarter. with an astounding agility for a man of his apparent bulk, he sprang clear from the ground into the saddle of his tall horse, and he was off like a whirlwind. the three followed after at breakneck speed, but neither jim's horse nor howden's was a match for the great striding beast in front of them. phil's speedy little mare was the only one that could in any way hold its own. they covered a mile in a heart-breaking pace, and by that time phil was three hundred yards in front of jim and howden, with the hunted man two hundred yards further ahead still. at every bend and turn, phil's heart stood still in the fear of an ambush, but he could do nothing but take that chance, if he ever wished to keep his quarry in sight. the lone rider, however, had evidently only one thought and that was to shake his pursuers. the light was creeping up every minute. phil looked away behind him and fancied he saw other riders tailing in behind jim and howden,--which was true, for the two had been joined by mcconnachie and one other who had pursued the horseman but had been outridden by him over the old road from okanagan landing. phil began to realise that he was slowly gaining. the man ahead also became anxiously aware of the fact, for he cast a critical glance over his shoulder every now and again as if measuring the space between. through the part gloom, phil noticed that he was masked and heavily bearded. he was unable to identify the figure with any he had seen in the valley, and it flashed through his mind in a sub-conscious way that possibly a gang from the other side of the line had engineered the bank robbery. yet there was something in the gait of the great, striding, shadowy horse that was strangely familiar to him, even in the darkness that still held almost undisputed sway. twice that great brute ahead stumbled as if almost spent. foot by foot phil gained, until a bare fifty yards divided them. the horseman rounded another bend in the road. phil dashed along in hot chase. he slowed up a bit, for the turning was treacherous. from the shadow of one of the great, shelving, cut-away rocks, the horseman in waiting jumped out on him. phil's mare plunged its fore feet into the soft earth, then reared in terror. the robber pulled a gun and fired. the shot nicked a tiny piece from phil's ear as it sang past. the man shot again, this time without any apparent effect. he wheeled round, spurred his horse and dashed off once more along the narrow path, making for the last turn in the precipitous highway ere it ran from the side of the lake across a cut in the hills and into the thickly wooded country. phil shook his reins. his mare sprang forward eagerly and held her own for a little. but suddenly she began to swing in her stride, then she stumbled, almost throwing her rider. phil pulled her in and jumped to the ground, just in time, for she collapsed in a quivering heap, with blood oozing from a tiny hole in her chest and from her foaming mouth and distended nostrils. something rose in phil's throat, almost choking him. in his chagrin, he raised his fist and shook it at the retreating horseman, who, as if sensing his opponent's impotence at the same time as he became exultant over his triumph and escape, stood up in his stirrups, turned completely in his saddle, pulled off his hat and waved it defiantly. it was thus that he mirrored himself on phil's mind as he disappeared momentarily round that dangerous bend. but it was only for the flash of a second that the picture was shut out. there was a shout and the sound of a crash. the great horse reappeared at the sharp angle of the path, rearing high on its hind legs, with its rider clinging precariously to its perpendicular body as he struggled frantically with the stirrups as if trying to kick free. the animal backed wildly against the frail wooden rail on the left--erected there simply for the safety of pedestrians in the dark. the fence gave way like matchwood, the rearing figure of the horse with its rider balanced on the edge for a moment, then slowly toppled backward amid a rush of loose, falling debris, sheer two hundred feet to the rocky bed of the shallow water of the lake below. phil was petrified at the sight, but he quickly regained his composure, left his dying horse and ran forward to the scene of the accident. jim langford, howden, mcconnachie and the ever-ready morrison of the o.k. company came racing along behind, reaching the place simultaneously with him. immediately on the other side of the cut-away, an old chinaman was lying nursing a damaged and bloody head, and about him was littered the wreckage of his broken wagon and scattered vegetables; while his ramshackle horse was grazing unconcernedly a few yards farther along. "by god!--we got him," again exclaimed howden, mopping his face as he got off his horse. they peered over the edge of the precipice. "dead, i guess, from the looks of that tangle down there!" said jim. "have you any idea who he is?" "no!" answered phil. "an old, hard-nut, evidently. he is masked and wears a beard. i am positive, though, that the horse is brenchfield's. they must have known its matchless speed and stolen it. he sure was some rider to take a chance with that brute." "gee!--the mayor'll have a cat-fit when we tell him. he was bugs on that horse o' his," said howden. "who is going down to bring him up?" asked mcconnachie. "i'll go," put in howden. "no!--better let phil go! he is not quite so heavy as you are, howden, and he has more spring to him." ropes were taken from the saddles and joined together. phil was lowered slowly over the side and down. he reached the bottom in safety, but was unable to do anything single-handed, for the great dead horse was lying completely on top of the dead rider. "better come down, jim," he shouted up. "it is more than a one man job." he sent up his rope, and soon jim was down beside him. together they partly dragged and partly rolled the horse from off the dead man. its neck had apparently been broken in the fall. every bone in the body of the bank robber was crushed and broken with the weight of the horse falling on top. but his masked and bearded face appeared to be unmarred. life was completely gone. phil stooped down and removed the mask. as he did so, his face turned ashy pale and his breath began to come in gulps. quickly and nervously he put his fingers through the man's black beard and tugged. the hair came away in his hands, and he gazed in horror at a face he was well familiar with. he rose from his knee, passed his hand over his eyes and his brow, then staggered against the damp bank. "great god, jim! it's--it's brenchfield!" he gasped. jim stood looking silently at the corpse on the ground, his face peculiarly unperturbed. he stepped over to phil and put his arm comfortingly over his shoulder. "well, old man! his sins have found him out at last. he had to come back to it,--a thief always does. he's got the last hair out of the dog that bit him. "brace up, old fellow! i hate to ask you to handle him, but--well--the hate part of it is gone now." phil recovered himself and quietly assisted jim in adjusting the rope round the great, limp body. they did not shout their discovery to those above, but left the surprise of it to the arrival. but they had to wait some time and had to shout several times before the rope was lowered by the half-stupefied men above. jim and phil loosened the saddlebags from the dead horse. these were stuffed to overflowing with bills of all denominations; seemingly the entire theft from the commercial bank. one after the other, each carrying a bag, phil and jim were pulled up on to the roadway. "the dirty, two-faced son-of-a-gun!" was the only remark made, and it came from howden. no other words were necessary, for that phrase expressed their opinions concretely. brenchfield's body was hoisted and swung across howden's horse in front of the chief, and the man-hunters proceeded homeward at a canter. "how did you get over from the landing?" asked jim of mcconnachie. "oh,--we got there in good time and didn't meet a darned thing all the way. we got to allison's wharf. the old man's launch was there, tied up for the night. but there was another one alongside of it. we were just comin' back to have a look about, when him and two more came bang into us from over the hill. we jumped to our nags, and they turned and beat it back. god knows where the other two got to. they looked like breeds to me. we made after him because he had full saddlebags and looked like the head-boss man. "but that she-devil of a horse,--it left us a mile behind. we hadn't the ghost of an idea he was anyways near when we hit your bunch. "but where in the name of pete the darn-fool idiot was making for, gets my goat. who would make for kelowna when there's miles of ranges to roam in?" "aw!--get off your foot!" exclaimed the knowing howden. "he meant to get that launch at the landing first of all and make for his ranch at redmans, or maybe for penticton and down over the line. when you guys fooled him, he came up over here, meaning to beat it back vernock way, down kickwillie loop, i guess, on to the shore road at the head of the lake and out the coldcreek to the foot-hills, and over to the other side that way. "if he had ever gotten a head start, we'd never have seen skin or hair of him." "but why didn't he? wasn't you ginks chasin' him to kelowna?" "sure!--but weren't we between him and the road he wanted to get onto,--simp?" mcconnachie let the sense of it sink, but it seemed to take a long time. when the procession reached the awakening town he remarked, "i see now! you guys blocked him same as we did at the landing." "just exactly!" remarked jim. "we all saw it two hours ago." as for howden, he was past remarking anything. the news of the robbery, of the escape of all but one, and of the dead-capture--and the climax in regard to the identity of that dead robber--caused a tremendous sensation throughout the valley. it was the talk of the entire country for very many days to follow. a number of respectable citizens, of course, were shocked beyond words; others shook their heads and said it was just what they had expected. but the great fact remained:--graham brenchfield, several times mayor of vernock, rancher, cattle breeder, wholesale produce dealer and political boss had been caught red-handed in the biggest bank robbery the province had ever known. chapter xxvi the dawn of a new day phil was busily engaged going over the day's mail early one afternoon, on a sweltering day in the month of august of that same eventful year, when his attention was drawn to an envelope addressed to himself and bearing the government imprint. he opened it and read the contents of the letter slowly. he laughed softly in the gurgling, boyish way he used to laugh years before. that letter awakened something in him that seemed to have been asleep. and it gave him an irresponsibly happy sort of feeling. he read the letter over again. it was perfectly plain: mr. philip ralston, vernock, b. c. _dear sir_, among the papers left by the late graham brenchfield, late mayor of vernock, was one addressed to the attorney general, in which he confessed to being the sole culprit in the assault on the bank official and in the robbery of the branch bank at carnaby several years ago. for this crime, you were tried by jury and sentenced to a term of five years imprisonment. you served the full term of this sentence at the penitentiary at ukalla. the whole matter has been carefully gone into by me and i find that brenchfield's statements are borne out by every point in the case and that you were convicted on purely circumstantial evidence, although this evidence was of a most damning nature. the government can accept no responsibility for the mistake of your incarceration on account of the fact that you could have cleared yourself at the time had you chosen to do so, instead of which you aided and abetted the escape of the real criminal. i have much pleasure, however, in advising you that your conviction has been quashed; your name has been struck out entirely from the criminal records of the province and from the books of ukalla penitentiary. we have known for some time of your residence in vernock and have watched with interest your splendid business achievements. your obedient servant, j. galbraith samuels, attorney general. phil was still in his chair with the letter in his hand, dreaming and wondering at the strange cycle about which every human being turns, when jim,--wayward, devil-may-care jim--came in, with a grin on his face and his hat set jauntily over one side of his head. he sat down at his own desk, turned over a few papers impatiently, then started to dream also. suddenly he threw the papers aside and commenced to walk the office floor, going to the door every once in a while and looking up the street in the direction of the railway station. from the door he shouted suddenly:-- "say, phil!--i'm going up the length of the station hotel to see a man about a dog. i'll be back shortly." and he hurried off. in fifteen minutes he returned, and he tried hard to settle down to the dictation of a few letters, but he was a dismal failure in his attempt, for he sighed and remarked to the stenographer: "oh, pshaw! i'm on the blink for work to-day. cancel that! i'll give you the remainder to-morrow." he went over to the window and gazed out into the street. phil picked up the letter he had received and went over to jim with it, intending to let him read it. he clapped jim on the back, making the latter jump. "wake up, jim! what's got you this time?" jim turned to him. "gee, phil!--positively and absolutely, the most charming piece of femininity i have ever seen is in vernock to-day." "good heavens!" ejaculated phil. "why didn't you tell me that eileen was down town?" "look here, old man!--i said, the most charming lady that _i_ had ever seen, not that _you_ had ever seen." "oh!" apologised phil, "i--i see." "no,--but straight goods! i was up at the station when the train came in, and she came off, with her mother and dad, i guess they were." "strangers?" "yes! they went right to the station hotel. but i tell you----" he stopped. "oh, well!--what's the good? guess she's married, or engaged, or something like that! just my rotten luck!" "and what has that got to do with you, anyway? who are they? did you get introduced?" "me? good land, no!" "well,--did she look at you, or smile?" "no, siree! she's not that kind. maybe she gave me a look, but say!--she glided along as if--well, just as if she knew she had a right to." "and you are making all this fuss about a little thing like that," laughed phil. "but it isn't a little thing, man!" "do you know her name?" "no! i went up to the hotel to get a glimpse of the register, but she was around the desk there, waiting, i guess, for her dad to come down. so i just had to beat it back. "oh,--i'll find out before long, though. believe me!" phil laughed, for this was a new phase in the make-up of jim langford, whom he had always considered impervious to the charms of any lady. "laugh, you crazy nut! who would expect you to understand, anyway?" suddenly he sobered. "you've got something there you want to show me." phil handed over the letter he was holding. jim read it, and his big, honest face beamed in delight. he pounced on phil and wrung his hand. "man,--isn't that great now? he owned up,--the dirty sinner. but he waited till he was a dead one before he did it. "well!--better late than never. and here was i, thrusting my new notions on to you when you had good news like that to spring on me. man, but i'm a selfish rotter! "but, say, phil!--honest!" he reverted dreamily, "she was a positive vision." there is no saying how long the conversation would have gone on, had not a telephone message come from the bank requesting jim's attendance there immediately. he hurried off, and was away most of the afternoon. towards closing time, phil was standing at the kerb-stone, beside his car, when a tall young lady, fashionably attired and using a sunshade to tantalising advantage, crossed the road in front of him and stopped before one of the office windows. she stepped back a little, looked up at the sign over the doorway, "the langford-ralston financial corporation," and walked inside. phil followed, and was just in time to hear her inquiry. "may i see mr. ralston or mr. langford, please?" "mr. ralston is just behind you, miss." the lady turned round. she was tall, fair-skinned and, as jim had said,--charming; for phil knew in a second that she must be the same young lady of whom his partner had spoken. phil raised his hat and went forward to her. she smiled, and was about to address him when she stopped up. her eyes grew wide and her face blanched. for almost a minute she stood staring at him, then she almost tottered to him. she put her hand on his sleeve, and her fingers ran loosely along his arm, as she still held his eyes with hers. her voice came at last, broken and in the faintest of whispers:-- "philly,--oh, philly! it is you! don't you know me? sister margery!" her voice rose. she threw her arms around his neck and cried:--"i've found you! phil,--phil,--my own, dear brother, phil! oh,--i've found you!" and phil, with a heart too full to speak, and a mind too astonished to grasp the situation thoroughly, held her to him as tears ran down his cheeks and on to her hair. at last he led her into his own room, until both of them should regain their composure. years and years rolled back in these last few minutes. she and phil were happy little playmates together again. "oh, brother!" she said at last, "don't tell me any more. i can't hold it. daddy is here. let's wait for him. poor old daddy! he's been starving for you, philly, and heart-broken because he could not get news of you anywhere. he felt sure graham brenchfield would know,--and we have just heard of the dreadful things that he did. daddy was afraid----" she picked up the telephone, rang up the hotel and got into communication with her parents. "oh, daddy!--come down the main street to number one hundred and fifty-six. come quick! big, big news, daddy! run all the way! bring mother!" she rang off again, lest she should be tempted to tell her father more. shortly afterwards, when the office staff had gone for the day, a tall, grey-haired, straight-backed gentleman came in, accompanied by a sweet-faced, motherly lady. phil stood waiting, with just a little reserve, but there was to be no waiting. the big, kindly-faced man ran to his boy and hugged him in his arms. he then held him out from him, gazed on his face for a long time, then hugged him again. "and i almost believed what they told me in the east. oh, my boy! as if my own boy could be anything but straight, and clean, and honest!" and there, in the little private room, phil made his peace with the dear old lady he had wronged so long ago in his boyish idea of chivalry to his own departed mother. one hour, two hours, three hours passed like so many seconds, as he told them of all his wanderings, his hardships, his disappointments, his ambitions and his ultimate success. when he told them of how he had suffered five years in prison for brenchfield because of the kindness brenchfield's father and mother had shown in caring for him, in giving him a home and paying for his education--his old father's anger was almost at white heat. "paying, did you say, boy? by the lord harry!--not a cent did they ever pay for you. why, boy!--it was you who kept them,--through me." "that's what i've felt myself of late," said phil, "but at that time i thought differently." "for shame, phil! do you think i would let anyone provide for my boy, no matter where he might be, or what he might be? when you would not have the money i sent, i sent it to them regularly for your upkeep;--and much more besides, for they always had something to tell me of what you needed extra. i doubled the allowance when they sent you to college. yes!--and it was three years after you had gone west before i knew of it, and then only through the death of brenchfield's father and an inquiry i made through a firm of lawyers. "we planned, not once but a hundred times, to go ourselves to campbeltown in search of you. but i couldn't get away from my business affairs in texas and your mother was too ill to travel alone. last winter, however, i sold all my interests for cash, your mother made a great recovery, and we came away for a double purpose. first, to find you, if we could; next, to see if we should like to make a home out here, for we had heard much about this part of the country. "for years margery has pined her heart out for her old playmate, until she threatened to come herself if i would not come with her. but, phil, boy!--there was little need for her threat, for your daddy could not have gone to his long rest without making peace with his boy. "we heard that you had separated from graham brenchfield several years ago; that you had gone to the bad; and that nobody knew of your whereabouts. "of course, that rascal's wonderful, would-be success was well-known in his native town. we came on here to get what information we could from him, in the hope of being able to follow you up. and we found--well--he is gone now, so we'll say no more. but we found you, well and in a position i would expect my boy to make for himself." then phil told them of his quaint, whimsical and brilliant partner, jim langford, but not a word, of course, of what jim had said to him in regard to margery. at last he came to what was nearest to his heart, after all,--his love for eileen pederstone--following it hard with a recount of the tide of misfortune that had swept over her father. "jim and i have two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in solid cash, dad,--and, if you have anything to put in, it would be the finest investment in the world to clear that property of its mortgages and put it in a position to earn its own keep. "but, say!--aren't you folks hungry? it is eight-thirty, and i'm just beginning to feel i want dinner." "come on then, phil,--we'll all go to the hotel and have a bite there, then you can 'phone for this wonderful jim langford and we can have a session." at the hotel, while the ladies and phil's father were upstairs, he was standing idly in the rotunda when jim pushed out from the swing doors of the billiard room. "hullo, old boy!" he cried. "sorry i couldn't get back before closing time. say!--i've found out who the lady is." "allow you for that," remarked phil. "funny though!--they have the same name as yourself,--ralston. they are from some distant clime down texas way. man!--i wish they were cousins or something of yours. can't you work up an acquaintance on the name, phil? they've gone down town and haven't come back yet." at that moment, the trio came down the carpeted stairway. phil, who was facing them, quietly beckoned them forward, and before jim knew how, he was surrounded. "meet my mother, mr. langford--mrs. ralston." jim gasped. "my sister! mr. langford--margery." jim's face underwent a series of changes. he stood and bowed stiffly, and was quite inarticulate. "my dear old dad,--jim." and it was all over. phil enjoyed the joke immensely, but jim was limp with the excitement of it and remained so for several courses of that interesting little dinner, although, towards the finish of it, he made ample amends with his dry humour and his brilliant sallies. he took possession of margery finally, and margery seemed greatly to enjoy being possessed, for to her jim langford was a type distinctly new, absolutely original and delightfully amusing. jim arranged a motor trip for the ladies for the next morning, and was reluctant indeed to wish them "good night," in order to take part in the long business talk which phil and mr. ralston, senior, had arranged. right on until the early morning the three men sat in the smoking room of the station hotel discussing the country, the conditions and future possibilities. phil and jim furnished the local information, until father ralston became almost as well posted as they were themselves. he was a keen business man, one who knew good opportunities when they were presented and who was never afraid to grasp them. next morning early, as soon as he got up, phil telephoned eileen the wonderful news, but that alert little lady already knew, for the news had travelled quickly over the little town. soon thereafter, two cars--one containing the two ladies and jim, and the other phil and his father--ran up to royce pederstone's. eileen and her father came out, were introduced, and the cheerful little party set out for a tour of inspection over the neighbourhood. every ranch of importance was visited, particular attention being given to the many possessed by royce pederstone, who, although greatly improved in health, was still far from well; and the visit to the beautiful places he possessed in name only, the great areas of wonderful property that would have to pass out of his keeping to satisfy his bank creditors, seemed to cast fresh gloom over the old man. they lunched in the open, and they visited the lakes. while the elderly folks sat and talked together, phil wandered off with eileen down among the trees by the lake side. there in the shade, sitting on a grassy knoll, he told her of the plans his father and jim and he were formulating. he cajoled her, he coaxed her, then he bullied her; but it was only when he proved to her that everything was purely in the nature of an investment, that there was no question of bolstering a tottering edifice, that it was only because of its great possibilities that they were anxious to be in it; it was only then that he won her over to their way of thinking. meantime jim and margery were away out on the lake in a motor boat, and they were both so loth to return that much hallooing and horn-honking had to be done before they swung round shoreward. after dinner at royce pederstone's, the ladies gathered together for music and conversation, while the four men closeted themselves over their cigars, in order to thrash out the burning question. "that, gentlemen, is my exact financial position, as far as i know it," said john royce pederstone, after a lengthy explanation. "this is the bank's statement of my indebtedness to them. i received it yesterday." they studied the figures closely for a time, then phil's father--shrewd business man, quick to grasp a situation; clear-visioned, frank, lucid and brief--put the proposition in a nut-shell. "mr. pederstone,--the boys have two hundred and fifty thousand dollars eating their paper heads off in idleness in the bank. i have,--well--as much as i require at any time. i have come out west to settle, and i mean to do so. if we don't come to an arrangement with you, we intend buying from someone else. "we have been all over your properties to-day and they comprise some of the most valuable land in the valley. the ranches are well laid out, the fruit varieties are of the best. unfortunately, these ranches have not been too well looked after. the reason for this is not far to seek. from what i can gather, there has been no proper supervision of your various ranch foremen, who, evidently, have been devoting most of their time to the places they themselves own, fattening and growing rich meanwhile in some mysterious way, while you grew poor. "the boys and i are willing to enter into joint partnership with you for the purpose of paying off your entire indebtedness to the bank and any others, so that the properties may be absolutely unencumbered. "between us, we can see to the proper future supervision of the farms. we can get rid of all your useless help, hire competent foremen and ranch-hands at good wages, and so have the trees properly cared for and new ones planted to replace those that have been killed by the winter cold or have died from neglect. "are you agreeable to the proposition?" "no!" put in royce pederstone, "because there isn't a market for the fruit when you have it harvested." "wait a moment! i am getting to that. "there is a market; but there is no organisation to command it. "when we jointly own and work these properties, we can immediately approach every rancher in the valley, as one of themselves with mutual interests. we can organise--we shall organise--for i know how. we shall have a large, central warehouse for the segregation of the valley's produce, for grading, for packing and for distributing. this will at once eliminate unfair competition and the highway robber in the guise of jobber. only first-class fruit will be allowed to go out. we will ship out under the valley's special brand, with the grower's own name underneath. we will make our own way into the markets and demand fair prices for our harvests. "again, a single individual--or individuals crying separately--can do little or nothing with the powers that be, as you well know; but once we are organised we can and shall insist on the government introducing a proper system of irrigation throughout the entire valley,--not a hit or a miss scheme such as presently obtains, for, if we would insure ourselves against periodical failure, if we would have annual uniformity of quality in our fruit, we must have proper irrigation. so far as the government is concerned, our battle is more than half over, for we have in you a representative who knows the requirements of the valley as no other member of parliament does. "and in regard to the water,--look at the unlimited supply we have of it right at our very doors. if only some clear-minded inventor would devise a cheap, feasible scheme for getting the water up from these great, but low-lying lakes, on to the higher ranch levels! failing that--we still have the lesser lakes up on the surrounding hills, as well as the numerous waterways in the neighbourhood. "this glorious valley is practically free from blight; the coddling moth is under perfect control. there is nothing, mr. pederstone, and you know it too, nothing in the world to prevent the valley's production of fruit from increasing year by year as the younger orchards come to bearing age and fresh orchards are planted. "there is no reason why we should not be able ultimately to take care of the entire canadian requirements, with a surplus for export trade. "as a vast fruit-growing organisation, we can demand and get all the transportation facilities we require. "i tell you, the land is here, and the climate. all that is required now is cohesion and enterprise. mr. pederstone, we are going to see that this is supplied here and now. "these are the facts. there is our partnership proposition to you in black and white. read it over carefully and give us your decision to-morrow afternoon." john royce pederstone rose. "thank you, gentlemen! i shall do so. i would give you my answer now, but i would like to go over the whole matter with my daughter eileen. had i consulted her more often in the past, things would have been better for me to-day." and next day, john royce pederstone shook hands with his three new partners, and sealed the compact. he had a brighter look in his eye, a more erect head, and a laugh on his lips that eileen heard from the next room and thanked god for. she was standing at the front window, as she had so often stood--as she and phil had occasionally done--looking out over the sun-kissed little town, with the ranges, the ranches, the settlers' cottages; the gardens, the trees, the lakes; the blue sky and the bright sunshine; all co-mingling in a merry-go-round of fairy delight and harmony and peace. as jim langford hastened below, phil stole to eileen's side. he did not have to tell her, for she knew already. they stood together, hand in hand, dreaming in happy contentment. "my dear little, brave little lady," said he, as he drew her close; "the big game is just ahead of us. and we are going to win." "you have won," she answered. "the real victory is always in the decision, phil." he stroked her breeze-blown curls, for the window was open and the summer wind, warm and fresh, was coming in over the hills. the sound of a voice, sweet and mirthful; and another, low, melodious, and charming in its enunciation, came up from below, breaking in on their conversation. phil looked over the window-sill, then, smilingly he beckoned to eileen. they both leaned over. down there, on a summer-seat, in the arbour of trailing vines at the end of the veranda, close together and evidently day-dreaming, were margery and jim. phil was about to shout to them, but eileen put her finger on his lips. then once more came the musical, alluring, deep-toned, yet crooning voice of jim langford;--great-hearted, apparently wayward and devil-may-care, but at all times really serious--as he recited to the lady by his side, in his own inimitable way:-- "and the night shall be filled with music and the cares that infest the day shall fold their tents like the arabs, and as silently steal away." the end popular copyright novels at moderate prices ask your dealer for a complete list of a. l. burt company's popular copyright fiction adventures of jimmie dale, the. by frank l. packard. adventures of sherlock holmes. by a. conan doyle. affinities, and other stories. by mary roberts rinehart. after house, the. by mary roberts rinehart. against the winds. by kate jordan. ailsa paige. by robert w. chambers. also ran. by mrs. baillie reynolds. amateur gentleman, the. by jeffery farnol. anderson crow, detective. by george barr mccutcheon. anna, the adventuress. by e. phillips oppenheim. anne's house of dreams. by l. m. montgomery. anybody but anne. by carolyn wells. are all men alike, and the lost titian. by arthur stringer. around old chester. by margaret deland. ashton-kirk, criminologist. by john t. mcintyre. ashton-kirk, investigator. by john t. mcintyre. ashton-kirk, secret agent. by john t. mcintyre. ashton-kirk, special detective. by john t. mcintyre. athalie. by robert w. chambers. at the mercy of tiberius. by augusta evans wilson. auction block, the. by rex beach. aunt jane of kentucky. by eliza c. hall. awakening of helena richie. by margaret deland. bab: a sub-deb. by mary roberts rinehart. bambi. by marjorie benton cooke. barbarians. by robert w. chambers. bar . by clarence e. mulford. bar days. by clarence e. mulford. barrier, the. by rex beach. bars of iron, the. by ethel m. dell. beasts of tarzan, the. by edgar rice burroughs. beckoning roads. by jeanne judson. belonging. by olive wadsley. beloved traitor, the. by frank l. packard. beloved vagabond, the. by wm. j. locke. beltane the smith. by jeffery farnol. betrayal, the. by e. phillips oppenheim. beulah. (ill. ed.) by augusta j. evans. beyond the frontier. by randall parrish. big timber. by bertrand w. sinclair. black bartlemy's treasure. by jeffery farnol. black is white. by george barr mccutcheon. blacksheep! blacksheep! by meredith nicholson. blind man's eyes, the. by wm. mac harg and edwin balmer. boardwalk, the. by margaret widdemer. bob hampton of placer. by randall parrish. bob, son of battle. by alfred olivant. box with broken seals, the. by e. phillips oppenheim. boy with wings, the. by berta ruck. brandon of the engineers. by harold bindloss. bridge of kisses, the. by berta ruck. broad highway, the. by jeffery farnol. broadway bab. by johnston mcculley. brown study, the. by grace s. richmond. bruce of the circle a. by harold titus. buccaneer farmer, the. by harold bindloss. buck peters, ranchman. by clarence e. mulford. builders, the. by ellen glasgow. business of life, the. by robert w. chambers. cab of the sleeping horse, the. by john reed scott. cabbage and kings. by o. henry. cabin fever. by b. m. bower. calling of dan matthews, the. by harold bell wright. cape cod stories. by joseph c. lincoln. cap'n abe, storekeeper. by james a. cooper. cap'n dan's daughter. by joseph c. lincoln. cap'n erl. by joseph c. lincoln. cap'n jonah's fortune. by james a. cooper. cap'n warren's wards. by joseph c. lincoln. chinese label, the. by j. frank davis. christine of the young heart. by louise breintenbach clancy. cinderella jane. by marjorie b. cooke. cinema murder, the. by e. phillips oppenheim. city of masks, the. by george barr mccutcheon. cleek of scotland yard. by t. w. hanshew. cleek, the man of forty faces. by thomas w. hanshew. cleek's government cases. by thomas w. hanshew. clipped wings. by rupert hughes. clutch of circumstance, the. by marjorie benton cooke. coast of adventure, the. by harold bindloss. come-back, the. by carolyn wells. coming of cassidy, the. by clarence e. mulford. coming of the law, the. by charles a. seltzer. comrades of peril. by randall parrish. conquest of canaan, the. by booth tarkington. conspirators, the. by robert w. chambers. contraband. by randall parrish. cottage of delight, the. by will n. harben. court of inquiry, a. by grace s. richmond. cricket, the. by marjorie benton cooke. crimson gardenia, the, and other tales of adventure. by rex beach. crimson tide, the. by robert w. chambers. cross currents. by author of "pollyanna." cross pull, the. by hal. g. evarts. cry in the wilderness, a. by mary e. waller. cry of youth, a. by cynthia lombardi. cup of fury, the. by rupert hughes. curious quest, the. by e. phillips oppenheim. danger and other stories. by a. conan doyle. dark hollow, the. by anna katharine green. dark star, the. by robert w. chambers. daughter pays, the. by mrs. baillie reynolds. day of days, the. by louis joseph vance. depot master, the. by joseph c. lincoln. destroying angel, the. by louis joseph vance. devil's own, the. by randall parrish. devil's paw, the. by e. phillips oppenheim. disturbing charm, the. by berta ruck. door of dread, the. by arthur stringer. dope. by sax rohmer. double traitor, the. by e. phillips oppenheim. duds. by henry c. rowland. empty pockets. by rupert hughes. erskine dale pioneer. by john fox, jr. everyman's land. by c. n. & a. m. williamson. extricating obadiah. by joseph c. lincoln. eyes of the blind, the. by arthur somers roche. eyes of the world, the. by harold bell wright. fairfax and his pride. by marie van vorst felix o'day. by f. hopkinson smith. - or fight. by emerson hough. fighting chance, the. by robert w. chambers. fighting fool, the. by dane coolidge. fighting shepherdess, the. by caroline lockhart. financier, the. by theodore dreiser. find the woman. by arthur somers roche. first sir percy, the. by the baroness orczy. flame, the. by olive wadsley. for better, for worse. by w. b. maxwell. forbidden trail, the. by honorè willsie. forfeit, the. by ridgwell cullum. fortieth door, the. by mary hastings bradley. four million, the. by o. henry. from now on. by frank l. packard. fur bringers, the. by hulbert footner. further adventures of jimmie dale. by frank l. packard. get your man. by ethel and james dorrance. girl in the mirror, the. by elizabeth jordan. girl of o. k. valley, the. by robert watson. girl of the blue ridge, a. by payne erskine. girl from keller's, the. by harold bindloss. girl philippa, the. by robert w. chambers. girls at his billet, the. by berta ruck glory rides the range. by ethel and james dorrance. gloved hand, the. by burton e. stevenson. god's country and the woman. by james oliver curwood. god's good man. by marie corelli. going some. by rex beach. gold girl, the. by james b. hendryx. golden scorpion, the. by sax rohmer. transcriber's note the punctuation and spelling from the original text have been faithfully preserved. only obvious typographical errors have been corrected. fishing in british columbia. fishing in british columbia with a chapter on tuna fishing at santa catalina. by t.w. lambert, m.a., m.b., b.c. (cantab.); m.r.c.s., l.r.c.p. (london). _late surgeon to the western division, canadian pacific railway company._ london: horace cox, "field" office, windsor house, bream's buildings, e.c. . london: printed by horace cox, "field" office, windsor house, bream's buildings, e.c. preface. the author hopes that this book may prove of some interest to anglers by giving a short account of the fishing which is to be obtained in a part of the world hitherto little exploited, and well worthy of better acquaintance. british columbia only became fairly easy of access after the completion of the canadian pacific railway in , which placed it within two weeks' journey from london. before that time it was cut off by the immense prairies of the north-west of canada, and could only be reached by a long journey round cape horn or over the isthmus of panama. since the date given, however, a new era has dawned for the country, and all the southern part of it has been opened up by railways. thus its waters have been rendered easy of access to any fisherman willing to try them. the position of the country on the map resembles that of norway and sweden in europe, and the general resemblance is borne out by the features of both countries. each possesses a deeply indented coast line and a wealth of pine forests, lakes, and rivers. but the climate of british columbia is much milder; the valleys are richer in soil, the mountains in precious metals, and the waters are inhabited by different species of fish. and whereas the scandinavian peninsula has some ten millions of people, british columbia supports as yet but one hundred thousand of population, including indians. it is without doubt a country of great possibilities. the summer climate of the southern central plateau is very bracing and dry, resembling that of the southern californian winter; while the winter climate of the coast is like devonshire. game, both large and small, is still plentiful in the south, while the northern part is one of the best big game districts of the world. british columbia is the home of the rainbow trout, which flourishes in all its rivers and lakes to the furthest north, and spreads southwards into the neighbouring pacific states, where it has, however, to compete with another species, the cut-throat trout. the eastern limit of the rainbow is the rocky mountain range. the chief purpose of this book is to give some idea of the habits and peculiarities of the rainbow, and the sport which it affords in its native haunts. the author spent some twelve years in the interior of the country, and has fished a great many of its numberless lakes and streams, so he may claim to write from practical experience. but he writes also with the hope that perhaps someone more competent may in the future publish a complete history of this most interesting fish, and solve some of the problems which are here but alluded to. for there is ample scope in these almost virgin waters for both the naturalist and the fisherman, to whom these notes may perhaps serve as the blazes on a mountain trail, and as some slight record of the sport that was to be obtained in the earlier days of british columbia. though the inland waters swarm with pacific salmon at certain seasons, the fish are useless for purposes of sport. they take no bait of any kind when they have once started to migrate up the rivers. in the salt water, however, and while waiting at the mouths of rivers, they take a spoon-bait freely, and the smaller kinds will in the same conditions often rise readily to the fly. but it may be stated, as a general rule, no salmon are ever taken on bait or fly as they travel, and when they reach the upper waters. the dominion government has recently tried the experiment of hatching and turning out , of the small fry of the atlantic salmon from one of their hatcheries; and, should success attend the effort, a great attraction would be added to the inland streams; but a period of some few years must naturally elapse before any opinion can be given as to the success or failure of this attempt. british columbia is reached as soon as the traveller crosses the summit of the rocky mountains, just beyond banff, on the main line of the canadian pacific railway. the summit, which is known as the great divide, separates the pacific slope from eastern canada. the crossing once made, a country is reached in which there is a great change in climate, fauna, and flora; and in the rivers, instead of the so-called speckled trout, the muskallunge, black bass, and atlantic salmon, are found the rainbow, silver, and steel-head trout, with the five species of the pacific salmon. this last fish is not a salmon at all, but only bears the title by courtesy, because no other anglo-saxon name has been given to it. the early settlers mistook it for a salmon, and called it a salmon because it so closely resembled one in appearance and habits, just as the ruffed grouse was, and is, called a partridge in eastern canada. but it has no true english name. scientifically, the five species of pacific "salmon" belong to the genus _oncorhynchus_, and each is mostly called by the indian name which distinguished it when the white man first arrived, such as _quinnat_ or _cohoe_. the physical relationship of the pacific _oncorhynchus_ to the atlantic _salmo salar_ is not unlike the physical relationship of the grayling or char to the trout. the rainbow is found before the divide is reached, in some of the streams flowing eastward from the rockies, but it does not follow them much below the foothills; and it abounds in the rivers and lakes among the mountains themselves. but it is not until the central plateau of british columbia is reached, a country of rolling hills, valleys, and open range abounding in lakes and small streams, that the best fishing grounds are encountered, the true home and headquarters of the rainbow trout. the streams and lakes in the mountains are too turbulent, and fed by too much glacier and snow-water, to make the best fishing grounds. the guide-books of the railway speak highly of the fishing through the mountains, but there is better to be obtained lower down, and my advice to the traveller is to make no stop for fishing purposes until sicamous is reached, at the head of shuswap lake where the eagle river enters it. the thompson river flows out of the lake at the other end, and the shuswap lake and thompson river constitute the best fishing district of british columbia, and will be the chief subject of the following pages. it should be premised, however, that there is plenty of what may be styled "virgin water" in british columbia besides the streams and lakes described in these pages. in a few years the grand trunk pacific railway will render accessible a network of rivers and lakes some four hundred miles to the north of the present line, and the addition to the angler's opportunities by this will, of course, be very great. the cost of the fourteen-day journey from london to british columbia will be at most £ each way; it can be done for much less. there is no charge for the fishing, and ordinary living expenses are not high. one can stop at the hotels along the thompson for dollars a day, in kamloops for dollars a day, in the canadian pacific railway hotels at dollars to dollars. there are no extra charges, except at the bar, which in british columbia it is considered the duty of everyone to support liberally. a stranger will find that a few dollars spent judiciously and with tact in this way will usually be productive of quite astonishing results. in the west a drink puts everyone on equal terms, and at once establishes a feeling of _camaraderie_. it might be said to correspond somewhat to the old custom of offering the snuffbox. the natives understand it as a sign that the stranger wishes to be on good terms, that he does not consider himself superior in any sense, that there is no side about him, that he is willing to drink with them as an equal. he will certainly receive a like invitation, and he must on no account refuse; to do so is an unpardonable violation of western etiquette, even if everyone present insists on taking the part of host in turn. there is, however, no cause for alarm on the score of temperance, for it is quite _de rigueur_ to ask for a cigar or to take a mere apology for a drink. if the stranger thus satisfies western ideas of what is right and proper he will usually find that the individuals who had apparently hitherto regarded him somewhat in the manner that a strange dog seems to be looked at by his fellows in a new street will quite suddenly be most interested in his pursuit and most willing to help him in every possible way with advice as to someone who can tell him all about the river or lake and the best way to get there. perhaps even the result may be an offer of a horse or hospitality for a night or two from some ranchman who may live near the place he wishes to get to. the people of british columbia are, as a rule, most generous and open-hearted when they are approached in the right way. all men are equal in the west; there must be no question of standing on one's dignity. as regards outfit in general (fishing tackle is dealt with later), it is the greatest mistake to take a lot of useless luggage. any rough fishing suit will do, and a strong pair of boots. waders are not needed, except in the coast rivers. everything can be got in the country itself. the hudson bay stores or the general store which is found in every little town will provide everything that is wanted. my advice is to procure the outfit in the country itself, because they know best what is needed for the local wants. contents. chapter i. page the rainbow trout--names--distribution--appearance--size in british columbia--its food--fly-fishing for--sporting qualities--possibility of new species being discovered chapter ii. season for trout fishing--principal districts--tackle necessary--"no drawing-room work"--advantage of plenty of time--poor fishing in the rockies--the thompson river--the south thompson--its course and character--clear, swift water--difficulty of landing big fish--a lost thirty-pounder--the successful cherokee fisherman--fine, calm days best for fishing--mosquitoes not troublesome chapter iii. the kamloops district--kamloops as headquarters--may floods and fishing in shuswap lake--silver-bodied flies--streams running into the lake--the eagle river--advantages of a steam launch--a big catch--possibilities of the prawn--a july spectacle--fishing at tranquille--kamloops lake--savona's ferry--great sport in june--dolly varden trout--a fifteen-pounder--falling-off of sport when salmon are running--the "salmon fly"--size of catches on the thompson--august a bad month chapter iv. what is the "silver trout"?--evidence in favour of a new species--difference in appearance from the rainbow--a jumper--native of kamloops and shuswap lakes--a bag of twenty-four--the dolly varden--origin of the name--not a free riser--grayling--chub and squaw fish--great lake trout--the silver fish at spence's bridge--salmon or steel-head?--cut-throat trout--possible fishing tour in british columbia chapter v. other lakes--long lake--its silvery trout--fish lake--extraordinary fishing--fifteen hundred trout in three days--a miniature gaff--uses of a collapsible boat--catching fish through the ice--mammit lake--nicola lake--beautifully marked trout in nicola river--"the little red fish" chapter vi. the kootenay district--sawdust and dynamite--fine sport in vancouver--harrison river and lake--big fish in the coquehalla--the steel-head in the fraser--need for better river protection chapter vii. the salmons of the pacific--legends concerning them--the five species--systems of migration--powers of endurance--absence of kelts--do they take a fly?--terrible mortality--"a vivid red ribbon"--points of difference between the quinnat and _salmo salar_--work of the canneries--artificial propagation chapter viii. the diplomat and the salmon--the struggle for existence--salmon and steel-head liable to be confused--sport in tidal waters--the campbell river--the pioneers--a river of fifty-pounders--smaller salmon on the fly--method of fishing--tackle--typical good bags--the steel-head--cost of fishing--dangers of over-fishing for canneries--a good trolling time chapter ix. recapitulation of salmon and trout problems--importance of preserving british columbian fisheries--possibility of introducing atlantic salmon--question of altering present close season for trout--past and present neglect of trout fisheries--need for governmental action--difficulties in the way of it--conclusion chapter x. tuna fishing at avalon, santa catalina island fishing in british columbia. chapter i. the rainbow trout--names--distribution--appearance--size in british columbia--its food--fly-fishing for--sporting qualities--possibility of new species being discovered. the rainbow trout (_salmo irideus_) is a true trout of the same genus as, and closely allied to, the common trout (_s. fario_) of the british isles, where it is also now acclimatised. it holds the same position in every stream, lake, and river of the northern part of the pacific coast of north america as the brown trout does in the united kingdom. unless the water, for some local reason, is unsuitable, it is met with everywhere, until further south it overlaps with the cut-throat trout, which ultimately seems to take its place. in the small mountain streams it is very plentiful, and is generally called the brook, mountain, or speckled trout, and when of larger size is known locally as the "red side"--a name which often very aptly describes it. the name "rainbow" is not much heard or used locally. in the different lakes and rivers the fish varies a good deal in size, numbers, colour, and appearance--so much so that when these waters are better known the naturalist may be inclined to name and describe several varieties of rainbows, perhaps even may discover new species. this fish is confined to the west side of the rocky mountains, save in the head waters of the streams which take their source from these mountains and then flow east. often two streams flow from a lake, one east and one west, and the rainbow is found in both; a good instance of this is found in the kicking horse and the bow rivers. the latter flows east from the divide, and the rainbow follows it for some distance into the prairie; but as this river ceases to be a mountain stream and becomes sluggish and discoloured traces of the fish cease. but in the clear streams of eastern canada, near the great lakes, its place is taken by the spotted trout (_salvelinus fontinalis_), a beautiful and game fish, member of the char family, unknown west of the rockies. in appearance the rainbow is well worthy of its name, and may justly claim to be the equal in beauty, if not the superior, of any of the salmonidæ. it is clean-cut in shape, perhaps rather lither than the brown trout, and when large it is not so deep. the colour on the back is an olive green, with the usual characteristic black spots, and at the side a few red ones; laterally the green shades off into silver and sometimes gold, while along its side from gill to tail flashes the beautiful rainbow stripe, varying from pale sunset pink to the most vivid scarlet or crimson; often the effect is as if a paint-brush dipped in red paint had been drawn along the fish's side; the belly is silvery white; the anal, ventral, and pectoral fins being coloured in proportion to the colouring of the individual fish. the general appearance is very striking, and in a fine specimen is certainly one of great beauty. when fresh from the water and in brilliant sunshine the fish rivals the object after which it is called; the living rainbow on its side shows a play of delicate colour which it would be hard to surpass or to equal, even in the heavens. from the fly-fisherman's point of view the fish may be said to run up to lb. in weight; by which statement it is meant that the fly is readily taken in both stream and lake by fish up to this size. mr. f.j. fulton, of kamloops, states that he has never landed a lb. fish on the fly, and he is an authority on the thompson river. personally, i have never seen a rainbow over lb. which i knew to have been caught with the fly; but i have seen a model of a fish of lb. caught with the fly in in kamloops lake by captain drummond. there is, of course, not the slightest doubt that the fish grows to a much larger size. mr. walter langley caught a rainbow of - / lb. on a small spoon in marble canyon lake about may, , and the photograph of this fish was published in the _field_. i have also seen very big specimens which had been speared by indians in the thompson and sold as "salmon"; two of them i weighed myself and found to be lb. and lb. respectively. while, therefore, there is some evidence to show that these large fish may be caught with spoon and minnow, it may be stated as a broad fact that the rainbow is not often caught with the fly over the weight of lb., and that up to this size he takes it freely. the fly is taken best during the months of june and july, when there is a rise of the stone fly in the rivers, and flies of all kinds are plentiful in the lakes. at this time, indeed, natural fly seems to be the main article of the fish's food. but the small fry of the salmon and of its own species are also devoured in great numbers, and in late summer there are grasshoppers as well; these are very plentiful, and are eagerly snapped up as they fall into the water. no doubt a further great source of food supply is the spawn of the salmon, which must be very plentiful on the spawning beds. it forms the usual lure of the indian fishermen. the feeding-grounds of the rainbow are the eddies and the back-washes in the swift-running rivers, into which flies, grasshoppers, and other food are carried by the current. a very favourite haunt is at the mouth of creeks and streams running into a lake, or where a large river runs into or out of a large lake. food is naturally plentiful at such places, and at certain times the fish gather there in great numbers, splashing about and chasing the small fry. they will then take a silver-bodied fly most greedily. in many of the smaller mountain lakes where fly seems to be at certain seasons the rainbow's sole food, no other lure will attract it, but with the fly great numbers may be caught. the fly-fisher also scores among fish gathered at the mouths of creeks swollen by summer floods. the minnow, also, both natural and artificial, is useful in these conditions, and it will account for much larger fish, up to lb. and even over; these monsters have probably forsaken a fly diet and taken to small fry. but there is no doubt that the rainbow is, quite as much as our own trout, a fly-feeder, and that it takes the artificial as readily and, owing to want of education, and, perhaps, also to natural boldness, with even greater freedom and less regard to the nature of the lure or the skill of the fisherman who throws it. so far as strength and gameness go the rainbow is fully the equal of the brown trout, and, in my opinion, its superior, though, as its play is often aided by the very strong water it frequents, its strength may sometimes appear greater than it would in our smaller streams. for this reason fishing for rainbows in british columbia has always seemed to me to resemble sea-trout fishing more than the fishing for brown trout; perhaps less skill is necessary, but there is a stronger fight. the rivers and lakes of british columbia are at present an angler's paradise, and will probably long continue to be so. and it promises the additional interest that the fisherman is not treading a beaten and well-known path. there is pioneer work for him to do. there are many problems for him to solve and discoveries for him to make. in the numberless lakes and rivers stretching far up through northern british columbia to the arctic, it is not unlikely that several new species of the salmonidæ await description. the big-game hunter has shown what secrets may lie hid in so wide a land, for since these northern regions have been explored for big game and gold (from the date of the klondike rush in ) no fewer than four new species of the sheep family have been discovered; a pure white mountain sheep, for instance, has been found to exist in great numbers. "heads" of this sheep are now quite common, but it is a most curious proof of the general ignorance of the country ten years ago that such a remarkable animal was then entirely unknown. had any explorer in those days reported seeing such an animal without bringing any tangible proof to support his story, he would have been universally regarded as a most unique liar, in a part of the world where such people are far from uncommon. the enormous moose heads recently brought down from alaska and northern british columbia were undreamt of not so many years back, and the alaskan grizzly is, too, i believe, a new species. it is, therefore, far from unreasonable to believe or to hope that as the country is opened up the fisherman will also achieve new conquests. as yet they lie before him, for he only follows slowly in the footsteps of the pioneer and the big-game hunter; he requires a railway and an hotel, and he must be able to dispose in some manner of his catch, which he cannot do unless he is at least near some settlement. i have conversed with numbers of prospectors and hunters from all parts of the north-west, and they all have the same account of teeming rivers and lakes. many a weird fish story have they told me, but none have really been fishermen; they have simply caught fish for food, and have not noted them much except with a view to their edible properties. it is, therefore, highly probable that, as these strange waters are gradually made accessible to the angler and become as well known as the more southern rivers of british columbia, many interesting facts will become known too, and new varieties of trout and other fish will be discovered. even those southern waters are, in truth, little known, and several interesting matters which could well bear investigation will be put forward in these pages. chapter ii. season for trout fishing--principal districts--tackle necessary--"no drawing-room work"--advantage of plenty of time--poor fishing in the rockies--the thompson river--the south thompson--its course and character--clear, swift water--difficulty of landing big fish--a lost thirty-pounder--the successful cherokee fisherman--fine, calm days best for fishing--mosquitoes not troublesome. fly-fishing for trout in british columbia may be said to begin in april or may at the coast, but in the interior it is june or july before much success can be obtained. if time be no object, good sport might be obtained in the coast rivers and lakes during april and may, and a move might be made to the interior waters during june and july, while august is about the best season for the big salmon fishing on vancouver island. during september and october good sport may still be obtained, and the fish are then in the best condition; but usually the attractions of shooting prove too much for the local sportsman, and the rivers are more or less deserted. the southern waters may be divided into three principal districts--namely, the coast rivers, the thompson river district, and the waters of the kootenay country, which all seem to possess special peculiarities, though the rainbow is found in them all. but in the coast rivers the steel-head, or sea-trout, is alone met with. as regards rods and tackle for trout fishing, large rods are out of place in british columbia, and quite unnecessary; an ft. split cane is the best, and long enough for any river; a ft. rod is very unhandy in a rough country or among trees, and all local fishermen use a small rod. tackle should be of the same kind as one would use for sea-trout fishing, and should be strong. as regards flies, size is the most important consideration, as the usual patterns are the ordinary sea-trout and loch flies. the imitation stone fly is about the only fly that should resemble the natural insect. rather large flies are used on the rivers, and smaller on the lakes, but this question may be left till individual streams are described. for a general supply large sea-trout flies (jock scott, silver grey, and silver doctor, etc.), with some march browns and stone flies of the same sizes, and an assortment of smaller scottish loch trout flies of various patterns--these are all that are needed. the artificial minnow of various kinds, the spoon, and the dead bait on a crocodile or archer spinner are all used, and the prawn has lately been tried with deadly effect on large fish. bottles of preserved minnows and small prawns would therefore be a useful addition to the equipment. it is also wise to take plenty of strong casts and traces, as local fishing tackle is not to be trusted. it must be noted well that fishing in these waters is no drawing-room work; great sport can be got, but the best is often only to be obtained by a certain amount of "roughing it." the rivers are not always in right condition, nor the weather always favourable--unfortunate facts peculiar to every river in the world--and it is only when all things are favourable that the best sport is obtained. to have plenty of time at his disposal is the great thing for the fisherman, for it is only natural that a man passing through the country and having only a couple of weeks at the outside to spare may easily find nothing but disappointments. no one must expect to get off the canadian pacific express and find the rainbow trout eagerly expecting his arrival. the district best known to me is that through which the thompson river runs, from the shuswap lake to its junction with the fraser at lytton. the canadian pacific railway follows the river in its whole length, and thus renders it very accessible. many other smaller streams and lakes are part of the thompson water system, and afford good fishing. the river runs through the "dry belt," which is so called owing to the smallness of the rainfall, which only averages about in. in the year. it is from this cause that the banks of the rivers are very open and free from brush, which makes them easy to fish and to travel along; while, for the same reason, the country is generally open rolling hills, covered with grass or scanty pines, affording a great contrast to the moist country at the coast, where the rivers run through thick woods and impenetrable bush, which render them very difficult to approach and fish unless they are shallow enough for wading. the fishing to be obtained along the canadian pacific railway as it passes through the rocky mountains is not very good, the guide-books notwithstanding. at banff there is a little fishing in the bow river, but it is poor, and the fish do not seem to take the fly. in devil's lake lake trout, a species of char, can be got on the spoon by deep trolling up to a very large size; but it is not a very high form of sport, and cannot be compared to the rainbow trout fishing along the thompson. the south thompson river has its source at the western end of the great shuswap lake, near shuswap station on the canadian pacific, and joins the fraser at lytton; at kamloops it is joined by the north thompson, and the combined stream flows into kamloops lake, about seven miles below the town, running out again some twenty miles below at savona's ferry. its total course being about miles, and almost all of it fishing water, it is a fine river. the water is usually clear, varying in breadth and in swiftness of current according to the nature of the country it flows through. in places it is broad and calm; in the canyons it is a rushing torrent. its pace below savona's is from eight to twelve miles an hour, above kamloops probably not more than two to four. the south thompson from shuswap lake to kamloops is always clear, owing to the filtration of the lake, and fine fishing can be had in some of the upper rapids and pools. near kamloops the current is too sluggish, and sport is not very good. the river flows along the south thompson valley, an open country with scattered farms and cattle ranches, bordered by bunch grass range and hills covered by yellow pine, very beautiful in spring and early summer. it is the central plateau of british columbia, and has an exceedingly dry climate, with hardly any rain, very healthy and bracing, the altitude being about ft. above sea level; it is very hot in summer, and sometimes cold in winter. fishing begins here early in june, and, though it is little fished, there is no better part of the river. in kamloops lake the rainbow is very plentiful, and good fishing may be obtained as early as june at tranquille, where the river flows into the lake, and causes a slow, wide-sweeping eddy. from savona's ferry, the outflow of the lake, down to ashcroft is the best-known part of the river, and here the current is very swift and the banks are rocky and steep. near lytton the canyon is so deep and the banks so steep and dangerous that fishing is out of the question. on the whole there is probably no fishing river in british columbia to beat this one for the size and quality of the fish, though it does not afford the large bags that can be obtained on the kootenay. it is a very sporting river, owing to the strength of the current, for a big fish is hard to hold if it once gets out into the main current, away from the side eddies. mainly owing to this is the fact that there seems to be no record of fish over about lb., for a larger fish can get into the main stream, where the force of a ten-mile current drags on it and the line to such an extent that there is no chance of holding it. such large fish are rarely met with, but every fisherman on the thompson has stories of them, and they are all the same and coincide with my own. it was only once my luck to hook a really large fish. he jumped out of the water twice close to me, and i had a splendid view of him, and judged him to be about lb. he headed for the opposite bank, and just as a break was inevitable the fly came back. other men have told me the same story, but such large fish are hooked so seldom that it is not worth while using a stronger rod and tackle. though very large fish are undoubtedly plentiful, they seldom take either fly or any other bait, and perhaps deep live baiting would be the only means of successfully fishing for them. the average fish is from / lb. to lb., but much larger fish are in the deep pools. i once was shown at spence's bridge three supposed salmon in the winter which had been speared and sold by the indians for two shillings apiece. i noticed their perfect condition and bright red side stripe, and, on examining them more carefully, pointed out to an experienced fisherman who was present, and to the proprietor of the hotel and others, that these fish were large rainbow trout. the largest weighed lb., the two others lb. apiece. this incident happened at spence's bridge, on the lower thompson. on another occasion of a visit there, the bar-tender of the hotel, who happened to be a young englishman, told me that the angling editor of an american sporting paper had stayed off there and proposed to try with spoon and minnow for large rainbow trout, which he had heard could be got. the next day they went to where the nicola river, a large stream, flows into the thompson about half a mile from the hotel. the angling editor was provided with strong spinning gear and rod, and much to the bar-tender's surprise, very soon got into a fish of most surprising strength and dimensions, for they saw him several times, and estimated him at the unbelievable weight of over lb. the fish took them rapidly down to some impassable rocks, and went away with everything but the rod. i believed this story at the time, and see no reason to disbelieve now, though of course the size of the fish was probably over-estimated. no other fish was seen or hooked. the only point which i would wish to call attention to is the probable great size of the rainbows in this river, though none have as yet been taken with the rod. mr. langley's fish of lb. proves that in the lakes these large fish exist. at this place mr. inskip has also caught some large fish by spinning, and some very good bags of smaller fish have been got on the fly. the thompson is not very much fished. near ashcroft the local sportsmen from that small town fish it, and savona's ferry is visited from kamloops when the fish are taking; but kamloops lake must provide an inexhaustible reserve of fish to take the place of fish caught, so that the river could never be really fished out or much overfished under present conditions. the indians also fish, and generally with the illegal salmon roe, but do not make great catches; the fly is more successful when the fish are taking it. nets and dynamite would be useless in this river; therefore, even should a far greater population inhabit the surrounding country, which is not likely for a great number of years, this beautiful and striking river will still afford great sport for many generations. there are long stretches which are never touched except by a stray indian or chinaman with a grasshopper or bit of salmon roe on a string tied to a long willow pole. some years ago a nondescript individual who said he was a cherokee half-breed turned up at savona's ferry and earned a living by fishing. every day he caught more fish than he could carry, though he never revealed his secret. some believed that he used set lines. his success showed that trout were far more numerous than was generally believed, but the fly fishermen caught as many as usual. he was the most successful fisherman i ever saw. it is a fact very striking to the english fisherman that the best fishing days in british columbia are the exact opposite of ours. fine, bright hot days without wind are the best, both on river and lake; cold and rainy days are always bad, a fortunate thing, as such days are very uncommon. strong wind is, oddly enough, the greatest enemy of the angler, especially on the lakes; it nearly always puts the fish down. the only thing that seems to account for these curious facts is the probability that the stone fly and other flies are not hatched out except on hot days, while the fish are regardless of the gleam of the gut in the water. my own experience has always been that the hottest days are the best. except for rocks and stones, and clambering up and down very steep banks, the thompson river is easy to fish, and trees are not troublesome. mosquitoes are almost absent, except in the south branch, and the canadian pacific, as has been said, runs along its whole length, thus giving easy access to the river, while hotels exist at most of the stations. the railway company publishes a pamphlet on shooting and fishing, but the thompson river is altogether omitted, which is certainly very strange, as the line runs along the banks for its whole distance, and there is no part of british columbia in which such excellent fishing can be obtained, and no part of canada which enjoys such a climate or offers such strangely attractive scenery. chapter iii. the kamloops district--kamloops as headquarters--may floods and fishing in shuswap lake--silver-bodied flies--streams running into the lake--the eagle river--advantages of a steam launch--a big catch--possibilities of the prawn--a july spectacle--fishing at tranquille--kamloops lake--savona's ferry--great sport in june--dolly varden trout--a fifteen-pounder--falling-off of sport when salmon are running--the "salmon fly"--size of catches on the thompson--august a bad month. the thompson district may be described for fishing purposes as beginning at sicamous junction and ending a little below spence's bridge, including the shuswap and okanagan lakes, kamloops, nicola, and mammit lakes, and the mountain lakes in the neighbourhood, all of which are more or less part of the thompson watershed. of this country the town of kamloops is the centre, situated at the junction of the north and south branches of the river, and seven miles above kamloops lake, its name meaning, in the thompson language, "the meeting of the waters." by virtue of its position it is an excellent headquarters for anyone wishing to fish in the district, for by rail, stage, or horseback every portion of it can be reached from there, and there are good stores to outfit from, and good hotels--for british columbia. fishing in this district cannot be said really to begin till may is well advanced. it is when the snow begins to melt in earnest and the rivers and creeks come down in flood that real sport commences, and this usually happens towards the end of may. no sport can be obtained in the thompson river below kamloops lake at this time, as the water is discoloured by the north thompson flowing in at kamloops, which makes fishing useless, and it is only in the south thompson and the shuswap lake that good sport can be obtained. as the rivers begin to come down in high flood the trout congregate at the places where the streams flow into the shuswap lake, doubtless for the food which is brought down, and after two or three hot days, when these small mountain streams rise rapidly, fishing is always good. the fish may be seen leaping and splashing in great numbers at the place where the turbid waters of the stream mingle with the clear water of the lake. small fry are the object of their pursuit, and if a silver-bodied fly is thrown over a moving fish he takes it with a rush almost without fail. it is a most exciting form of fishing, for the fly must be thrown quickly from a boat or canoe over the fish as he breaks the water in his rush for the minnows, and if he fails to see it further casting is often useless, till another fish repeats the same manoeuvre. it would seem as if the trout were lying in wait till a small school of young salmon or trout became entangled in the strong eddies of the stream, darting out upon them when thus comparatively helpless. an occasional fish may be got by casting here and there over the water, but it is only when the trout are moving on the surface that really good sport can be obtained. all the shuswap mountain creeks and rivers during late may and in june and july give opportunities for good fishing of this kind. the eagle river, about a quarter of a mile from sicamous, is a good example; and there are numerous other streams at various points in the shuswap lake (some probably almost unknown) which can be fished at this time of the year. i remember a bag of lb. of fish taken on the fly at the mouth of eagle river some few years ago in three hours' fishing; but it has not been equalled lately, though there is no reason why it should not be, in favourable circumstances. the time to look for is when the first flood comes down the eagle river after two or three hot days, and there must not be any wind to speak of on the lake. the fish may be seen leaping, from the hotel windows, and it is then that the fisherman must row his fastest to the mouth of the river, and if they are still moving when he gets there his success is assured. the best way to enjoy sport on the shuswap lake is to hire a steam launch and cruise round to the mouths of the various streams and try them in turn. anasty arm, scotch, and adam's creek are the best known. a canoe or boat must be taken to fish from, and unless sleeping accommodation can be got on the boat, it is necessary to camp on the shore. if a steam launch is beyond the fisherman's means, the only other way is to hire a boat, with an indian or other guide, and carry a tent and provisions. wood and water are plentiful, and there is only one objection to the plan, that the mosquito is often very numerous and troublesome on the shuswap, and sicamous is by no means exempt. if, however, the sportsman can sleep on a steam launch, this nuisance is got rid of, as it is only on the shore that the mosquito is plentiful. no more pleasant or sporting trip could well be undertaken than one in the shuswap lake from sicamous in june, with a suitable steamer or launch, for great fishing, both with fly and troll, would be certain at the mouths of all the creeks and rivers; and if a rifle were taken, bear, both black and grizzly, are by no means uncommon. there is also another place, hitherto little fished except by the indians, which is well worthy of a trial. it is in the centre of the lake, where the four arms meet, a place well known to the men who log on the lake. it takes the form of a channel less than half a mile wide, connecting the four arms of the shuswap lake. here in , in early august, two men camped, going up on a logging steamer from kamloops. they trolled across and across the channel, and caught in about ten days some thirty large silver fish, the biggest being about lb. many were lost including one monster supposed to be about lb. the best day's sport was about eight large fish. i do not know whether this place has ever been fished since, but it certainly deserves a trial. at the mouths of the various creeks i have never heard definitely of anything over lb. being caught but the fish are always in splendid condition and give a great display of fight. the best flies are those with silver bodies, such as the silver doctor, silver grey, and wilkinson. a dead bait on an archer spinner is very deadly, and the abylone spoon; a half-red spoon is to be avoided, or a half-gold. a large species of char may be caught by deep trolling with a weight and spoon; but it is a poor kind of sport, and the fish is not game. the prawn has never been tried on the shuswap lake; it might be worth a trial. large trout have been taken on the prawn in the coast rivers; but it is possible that they were sea-trout and not rainbows. the upper part of the south thompson, for a mile or more after it leaves the shuswap, is good at the same time of the year in certain pools and eddies, or riffles as they are called locally. i once, in early july, saw a wonderful sight on this part of the river, at a place called sullivan's pool. i was passing in a logging steamer on a very hot morning, and in a back eddy which forms this pool, under a cut bank, the water was alive with large trout chasing the small fry on the surface. as each fish drove the little fish upwards a band of about thirty mergansers attacked them from above. a curious and very lively scene was the result, such as i have never seen before or since. on returning about seven in the evening, at my request the steamer was tied up to the bank, and i put out in a small boat with a boatman, though no fish were stirring and the mergansers were sitting gorged in a row on the bank. however, i hooked and landed at the first cast a beautiful - / lb. rainbow, which was promptly cooked for dinner. if it had been possible to fish the pool in the morning a great catch could have been made. at this time of the year good fishing can be got at tranquille, where the river flows into kamloops lake and forms a slow-moving eddy. fishing is the same here as in the shuswap; it is only good on hot, calm days, and wind puts the fish down. it is best when the fish can be seen splashing on the surface in the early morning or evening, when good catches of fine fish may be made; but, as wind is by no means uncommon, it is not always that circumstances are favourable. tranquille is seven miles from kamloops, on the other side of the river, and comfortable accommodation can be got at mr. fortune's ranch. it is a beautiful place, but mosquitoes are not unknown. here capt. drummond landed a - / lb. fish on the fly, and a model cut out in wood was preserved for a long time, but was burnt in a fire that took place there some few years ago. this is the largest rainbow caught on the fly that i have ever heard of. in may and june, before the fish will take the fly, there is often fair sport to be had with the minnow and spoon in kamloops lake; unless the north branch of the thompson is in very high flood and discolours the water too much. the north branch, which joins the south thompson at kamloops, is no good for fishing; its waters are seldom clear enough, and seem to be fed too much by glaciers, with no large lake to clear and filter the water. there are several rivers of the same type in british columbia, and fishing does not seem to be good in any of them. at the western end of kamloops lake the thompson flows out again to join the fraser at lytton; the stream is swift and strong, running when in high flood at the rate of twelve miles an hour. in there was a very high water, and the stationmaster at savona's wired to ashcroft, a distance of twenty-four miles, to say that the bridge had just been carried away. a reply came giving the time of its arrival, which was just two hours afterwards. the _débris_ swept away the ashcroft bridge and also the bridge at lytton. at savona's the fishing of the lower thompson begins, and at this point, about a mile from the mouth of the river, there is an excellent hotel, kept by mr. adam fergusson, one of the "old timers" of british columbia, who came into the country with many others in the early days of the gold diggings on the fraser river. this is really the only fishing hotel on the upper mainland of british columbia, and is an excellent headquarters from which several lakes can be reached, as also many places on each side of the thompson river. this part of the thompson river affords good fishing from savona's to below spence's bridge, wherever the water is accessible, and, though a little sport can be obtained in the latter part of may, chiefly with spoon and minnow, it is not usually till july that the river is in really good order, when the excess of snow water has been carried off and the river begins to fall and get clearer. the hot weather sets in at the beginning of june, and a quick rise of the river is an immediate result. on a rising water the trout will not take. often there is a pronounced fall in the middle of june, owing to cooler weather setting in, though this does not always happen. when it does occur excellent fishing can be obtained. i remember its happening in the middle of june, , and for a week there was tremendous sport; a trout rose to every cast of the fly; but as soon as the water began to rise again everything was at an end. at the end of may, before the water begins to rise, a fair number of fish can be taken by spinning from the bank with spoon and minnow at the mouth of the river. but these are another fish, called locally the dolly varden trout, a species of char, a handsome fish with pink spots and light pink flesh, and good eating. they take the fly later on occasionally, and run from / lb to lb., but are not so lively as the rainbow, though they are a strong and game fish. i once took fifteen in a day's fishing with the minnow, and they can also be caught by trolling from a boat near the mouth of the river, the sport being varied by an occasional rainbow, often of a larger size than those usually caught with the fly. in may, , a dolly varden of lb. was taken. it is a curious fact that during the fly season in july very few of these fish are ever taken, either on fly or spoon, or by trolling in the lake. the fly-fishing season at savona's really begins about the first of july and lasts till the salmon first arrive in the beginning of august, when fishing invariably falls off, probably owing to the fact that the trout follow the salmon to their spawning beds to prey on the eggs; at least, such is the local reason given. whether this is true or not it is impossible to say, but in any case the fact remains that about this time fly fishing falls off for a few weeks coincident with the appearance of the salmon, and generally is poor during the whole of august, at any rate at savona's. (it is often as good as ever lower down the river.) if a grasshopper is used some fish may still be caught, especially if the bait be allowed to sink. later on, at the beginning of september, the fish will again take the fly and continue to do so until the end of the season, about the middle of october, while i have been told by an ardent fisherman that he had excellent sport in november during a snowstorm, regardless of the law of british columbia. the excellence of sport in july depends a good deal on the rise of the stone fly, or "salmon fly" as it is locally called, and it is not until this fly makes its appearance that fishing becomes really good. this insect in appearance is the same as the english stone fly, but is much more plentiful on the thompson than i have ever seen it elsewhere; in some seasons every bush on the bank is literally covered with the flies, and later on the rocks are strewn with their dead bodies. a good stone fly season is always a good fishing season, for the fish are clearly very fond of them, and may often be seen sucking them into their mouths as fast as they fall into the water, or jumping at them as they dip down to the river's surface to lay their eggs. i have often seen the salmon fly become suddenly very numerous about mid-day or an hour or so before that, the hot sun hatching them out, and at once the trout are on the move, readily taking a fly tied to imitate the natural one, and continuing to do so as long as the living fly is on the water. at this time the best hours for fishing are the middle ones of the day, however hot and bright they may be, for in the earlier and later hours the fly is not on the water. i have never found, as a rule, that very late or very early hours are favourable on this river during this month, except just at the place where the river leaves the lake, which is usually good in the evening, especially after a very hot day. the best fly at this time is one tied to resemble as nearly as possible the living salmon fly; but if the natural fly is not on the water, others may be tried, such as the jock scott, the silver doctor, wilkinson, march brown and other well-known flies. some local men swear by a claret body, others prefer a yellow or green; but, whatever fly is used, i believe that it should have plenty of hackle and body, and be of good size (nos. and ); small flies are not advisable. great bags must not, as a rule, be expected on the thompson; fifteen to twenty good fish is an excellent bag on this river. mr. f.j. fulton, of kamloops, who has fished this river more than anyone else, has never done better than twenty-four fish; but these twenty-four fish would be lb., and ought to include at least a couple of fish about lb. apiece. on the thompson the angler must carry his own fish, besides climbing up and down some very steep banks under the glare of a northern sun, whose heat is increased tenfold by the water and the bare rocks. such a day's fishing is no mean trial of endurance, while the fierceness of the stream will generally account for a good percentage of lost fish. with regard to the falling off of sport in august, it may be quite possible that the salmon may really have nothing to do with the poorness of fishing at this time, but that the real reason may be that the fish are fat and gorged with the abundance of fly and grasshopper, and lie lazily, deep in the pools. in other parts of british columbia fishing is poor at this time, and in waters the salmon cannot reach. and this reasoning is rather borne out by the fact that towards the end of august or beginning of september the fish begin to take again, though the salmon are still running in vast numbers. one of the best catches i ever saw taken from the thompson (thirty-six fish) was got in early october, and the trout rose up among the travelling masses of salmon and took the fly. every part of the thompson is fishable to below spence's bridge, over forty miles from savona's, and the fishing is often irregular, by which is meant that when sport is good at ashcroft it is not very good at savona's, and _vice versâ_. i have known the fish to be entirely off at the mouth of the river near savona's, while good bags have been got a few miles below. this will show that sport on this part of the thompson is somewhat variable; but still one point may be emphasised, namely, that during the two months of july and august there is always good fishing to be obtained at one point or another along the river, and all can be easily reached from the savona's hotel. the southern bank is followed by the main line of the canadian pacific railway, and is therefore easy of access; the northern bank can only be reached on foot or on horseback, and is therefore not so much fished. to fish this bank far down it would be necessary to seek hospitality for a night or two from some rancher. chapter iv. what is the "silver trout"?--evidence in favour of a new species--difference in appearance from the rainbow--a jumper--native of kamloops and shuswap lakes--a bag of twenty-four--the dolly varden--origin of the name--not a free riser--grayling--chub and squaw fish--great lake trout--the silver fish at spence's bridge--salmon or steel-head?--cut-throat trout--possible fishing tour in british columbia. it still remains a question, which has never yet been decided, whether there are not two distinct species of trout in these waters. there is no question that locally such is universally thought to be the case. every local fisherman speaks of having caught a red side or a silver trout, and firmly believes that they are distinct species. should this be really the case, it is a matter of no little interest, as a new and very beautiful species would be added to those already known and described. a brief account of the evidence, for and against, may not be out of place, and might result in some final conclusion being arrived at. for several years two americans came every season to savona's ferry to fish, and, becoming impressed with the beauty of the so-called silver trout, they sent a specimen to professor starr jordan, of the leland stanford university of san francisco. the first specimen did not arrive in good condition, and another specimen was sent, in the preparation of which i personally assisted. it was a fish of about - / lb. in weight, a very beautiful specimen and a most typical example of the silver trout. professor jordan described this fish as a new species, under the name of _salmo kamloopsii_, and he so describes it in a monograph on the salmon and trout of the pacific coast, published by the state board of fisheries for the state of california. in this account he gives expert reasons, founded on the number of rays in the anal fin and tail, the position of the opercula, and the size of the body scales, suggesting, moreover, that the fish might turn out to be a connecting link between the true salmonidæ and the genus oncorhynchus or pacific coast salmon. he suggested that a further specimen should be sent, in order that the intestinal tract might be examined; but this suggestion was unfortunately not complied with. i am not prepared to say whether professor jordan still adheres to this opinion, or whether the silver trout has been fully recognised among ichthyologists as a distinct species. in a recent letter to me, however, he states that he considers the kamloops trout to be "only a slight variation of the steel-head," which statement shows that its exact identity is not established, for the steel-head is absolutely unknown in these upper waters, and the silver trout never goes down to the sea. to the best of my belief it is a fact that no further specimens have been examined by any naturalist of note, and the question is therefore still _in statu quo_. it is a matter, i would humbly suggest, that is well worthy of solution. so far as i am aware, professor jordan is the only expert who has examined this fish. the only other evidence as to its existence as a distinct species is the widespread local opinion, which is also held by the half-breeds and indians, who undoubtedly believe that there are two kinds of trout in the thompson river. such evidence or belief is not scientific proof, but is certainly of considerable weight, until it is proved to be mistaken. i have always been firmly convinced that the two fish are perfectly distinct, and this opinion is fully shared by all the local anglers. if two well-marked specimens are seen side by side the difference in appearance is most remarkable. the silver trout is less heavily built, the head is smaller and sharper, the scales are smaller in size, and the stripe on the side is violet instead of pink. there is only one alternative opinion, namely, that for an unknown reason some rainbows acquire this peculiar silvery appearance. whatever may be the final decision, the fact still remains that a fish of a different type from the ordinary rainbow is common in these waters, and is well deserving of a description. the back is green, with the usual black spots, the sides and belly of a bright silver, like a fresh-run salmon, but instead of the pink or crimson stripe of the rainbow there is a similar band of a delicate violet or purple hue. if two well-marked specimens are laid side by side the difference is most marked, though difficult to describe exactly. the silver trout is a cleaner-cut fish, and looks exactly as if it had come straight from salt water; one would hardly feel surprised to see the sea lice sticking to its sides. from a fisherman's point of view it is gamer, and is always out of the water when hooked, appearing also to be more addicted to taking silver-bodied flies, being more of a small fry than a fly feeder. it is usually caught at the mouths of streams running into the large lakes, and at the outflow of the thompson at savona's, where it can be seen chasing the small fry on the surface. it must, however, be admitted that some local anglers consider it to be merely the rainbow when in the pink of condition, with the colour simply modified by the clear waters of the lakes, and there is, moreover, no doubt that the poorer the condition of the rainbow the deeper is the red of its stripe, though, on the other hand, i have seen splendid fish in which the stripe was very deep crimson. spent fish, however, have always a deep red stripe. this silvery fish seems to be chiefly native to the kamloops and shuswap lakes, whence it spreads into the thompson. it appears to be much less common in the river than in the lake waters, except just at the outflow near savona's, which is a favourite resort, where in warm evenings in july and august it may be seen chasing the minnows in the first pool. a few years ago i made a bag of twenty-four fish, weighing lb., in two evenings between the hours of seven and eight; four of these fish weighed lb. apiece. the fishing here must be done from a boat, as the eddy where they move is beyond the reach of the bank. it is a most exciting kind of fishing, as it is almost useless to cast except over a moving fish; the pool is still for some minutes, and then, in a moment, a dozen or more fish will be at the surface rushing among the small fry, who leap out of the water to escape them. if a silver-bodied fly be thrown over one of these fish he is certain to take it, and if two flies are used the second fly is certain to be seized as well, while, owing to the strong water, a desperate fight is the result, and the strongest single-gut is often broken. but it is by no means on every evening that this sport can be enjoyed, and in some seasons the fish are much more plentiful in this pool than others. it must also be in hot, still weather, as a wind always puts them down. the fishing obviously depends on the presence of the shoals of small fish, probably young salmon. the silver trout lie in wait for them here, and when a shoal is entangled in the strong eddy they rush upon them. this is the same form of sport which can be enjoyed at the mouth of the streams which run into the shuswap lake, the eagle river at sicamous, and scotch and adams creeks. in connection with this fish it is worthy of note that the rainbow is a species which shows little tendency to vary from the type. i have caught them in a great number of the streams and lakes of this district, and they never seem to vary in the least. a specimen from one lake could not be distinguished from any other; they are always typical rainbows with the red stripe, and no silvery fish are ever seen, unless the lake is directly connected with the thompson river. thus the silver form is found in shuswap, kamloops, and nicola lakes, but in the large mountain lakes which have no open communication with the river only the ordinary rainbow is found. there is only one exception, the long lake near vernon, which contains a beautiful silvery fish, to be alluded to later. this lake is, i believe, indirectly connected with the shuswap. there are other interesting fish found in the thompson and the kamloops and shuswap lakes, but they are not of much use to the fisherman, though occasionally caught. the dolly varden trout, a species of char, has been alluded to, and is the only one which affords much sport to the fisherman; it runs to a large size, as has been stated, but does not often take the fly. its curious name is said to be derived indirectly from dickens and the time of his tours in the united states, which produced a dolly varden craze in hats and some kinds of calico patterns, of which one with pink spots was supposed to be the correct dolly varden pattern. on seeing this fish for the first time, some young lady is supposed to have exclaimed that it was a "dolly varden trout," and the name appears to have been generally adopted. however this may be, there is no other name for the fish except its scientific one, and it is known all through the west as the dolly varden trout. it is strong and game, but not so lively as a trout. it takes the fly very seldom, and then generally only when about a pound or less in weight. on the other hand, in may it takes the minnow and spoon quite readily. later on, in july and after, it is rarely that one is caught. i once caught two of lb. and lb. on a fly in july, the only ones so caught during that month, and have landed many on minnow and spoon. that it reaches a large size is proved by the capture of the fish alluded to above, which weighed lb. the man who caught it informed me that it was got on the fly, and i was never able to find out the true history of its capture, but strongly suspect it was lured to its doom by a piece of raw beef. the dolly varden is a greyish-coloured fish with light salmon-coloured spots of rather a large size. an occasional grayling is caught on the fly, but they are not plentiful. i have never seen one over lb. a small fish, like a grayling, but without any adipose fin, sometimes takes the fly; it has a bright orange tinge on its side, and has white flesh, which is firm and very good eating. the chub is very common, and will take the fly, but is regarded as vermin, being very poor eating; it runs up to lb. and over. the squaw fish, also, will take the fly sometimes, but more often the minnow or grasshopper; its flesh is white and tasteless. it is a large-mouthed fish greatly resembling the chub and attaining about the same size. both chub and squaw fish are great devourers of fry. in the shuswap lake, by trolling in deep water with a lead attached, a large grey char with pink spots can be caught, running up to perhaps lb., and being usually known as the lake trout or great lake trout; it takes a spoon, but is very sluggish, and does not give any real sport. the indians catch these fish. i have never heard of their being caught in kamloops lake. with reference to the run of pacific salmon, it is interesting to note that large silvery fish have been caught by minnow and spoon in the shuswap lake, notably in the narrow strait mentioned above. mr. inskip has within the last year or two written some letters to the _field_ describing the capture of a number of silver fish up to lb. weight near spence's bridge, at the mouth of the nicola river, where it joins the thompson. he believes these fish to be salmon, and it is possible that his view may be correct. but it is also possible that they may be silver trout or steel-head trout; the evidence is not yet complete. no salmon have ever been taken in this way with spoon or minnow above this point, in spite of the number of years that fishing has been carried on in these waters. the indians never catch salmon by trolling with the spoon, though they troll persistently for trout, the line being fastened to the paddle of their canoe. mr. inskip states that these fish never take the fly, and he has only caught them in october. there is, of course, no doubt of the truth of his statement, and a possible explanation might be that the steel-heads run up as far as this point, and go up to the nicola river. it has never been thought that the steel-head runs as far as kamloops lake, and i have never heard of anyone who claimed to have caught one; it is, however, quite within the bounds of possibility that some of these fish may come up with the salmon. the problem can be easily solved by counting the rays in the anal fin; in the true trout these rays only amount to about nine, in the salmon there are fourteen to sixteen well-developed rays. the cut-throat trout is unknown to me. i have never caught it in british columbian waters, unless some fish mentioned later in the account of the nicola river belonged to this species. it may occur in some of the southern british columbian coast rivers, and is common further south in the neighbouring states of the union. prof. jordan states that it is always found in the country of the sioux indians, and hazards a suggestion that they may have taken their tribal mark from it. this mark consists of a couple of lines of red paint under the jaw on each side of the neck, and is very similar to that which gives this fish its curious name. the rainbow and the so-called silver trout are the only kinds which are met with in the central plateau of british columbia. the next subject for consideration will be the fishing in the mountain lakes; but before proceeding to it it may be as well to consider the fishing as a whole in the waters already described, for the question which most naturally suggests itself to an englishman is whether the sport to be obtained is worth coming so far for. anyone with the necessary money and time at his disposal might prefer norway or scotland. it would certainly not be worth anybody's while to come such a distance to enjoy the two or three weeks at savona's, which represent, at the outside, the time of the best fishing on the lower thompson. it would be necessary for the fisherman to have plenty of time at his disposal, so as to visit the different places at the time when the fishing was respectively at its best. thus june could be spent in trying the sport on the shuswap lake, with sicamous as headquarters, while a visit could be paid from there to the okanagan lakes, which can be easily reached in three hours by rail. in july the lower thompson can be fished from savona's as a headquarters, while from there several lakes can be tried during july and august, the trip being concluded by a visit to the salmon rivers of the coast during late august and early september. after that time big game or duck shooting might be tried. the time mentioned would also allow for a visit to the fishing on the kootenay river near nelson. there is hardly any need to say that all fishing in british columbia is free to everyone, and, although there is a little more fishing done than a few years ago, no one need be afraid of over-fishing. there is plenty of room, and there will continue to be so for a very long time yet, except in a neighbourhood close to any very large town. the fishing in waters hitherto described may be compared, in my opinion, to very good sea-trout fishing, which it closely resembles. as stated before, sport depends, as in every country, on certain states of water and weather. a great bag cannot be an everyday occurrence, but if the right places are visited at the right time there is great sport to be obtained. chapter v. other lakes--long lake--its silvery trout--fish lake--extraordinary fishing--fifteen hundred trout in three days--a miniature gaff--uses of a collapsible boat--catching fish through the ice--mammit lake--nicola lake--beautifully marked trout in nicola river--"the little red fish." the thompson and its two great lakes, the kamloops and shuswap, having been dealt with, the fishing in the mountain lakes remains to be described. the sport to be obtained in some of these waters must be somewhat unique, for though i believe it is surpassed in size of fish by some of the new zealand lakes, it is impossible that it can be surpassed anywhere in the weight and number of fish captured in one day's fishing. there are great numbers of lakes far back in the mountains in which no fishing has ever been done, and others there are in which no one but a stray prospector, hunter, or indian has ever thrown a line; but these, of course, need not be considered. there are a good number which have had their capabilities tested, and are locally more or less well known. the chief fishing lakes in this district are the nicola and okanagan lakes, which are very large, and the smaller ones fish and mammit, together with numerous smaller lakes which are less known. in the okanagan district, near the little town of vernon, there is a beautiful piece of water called long lake, about sixteen miles long by less than a mile wide, about four miles from the town. the water is very clear and the lake very deep, the cliffs on each side running down sheer into the water. the trout in this lake are remarkable for their size and extreme beauty; the rainbow characteristic is entirely absent, for they are of a pure silver colour, with the merest trace of a pink tinge along the side; they resemble, in fact, a fresh-run grilse straight from the sea, and no fish which could be called a rainbow is ever caught. the fish run to a large size, lb. being by no means uncommon, and fish from this weight up to lb. have been often caught. these large fish are caught by trolling in the ordinary way with spoon and minnow, for the fly fishing is very uncertain. there appear to be certain places along the sides of the lake to which the fish come up from the deep water on the look out for fly food; but on the whole it is a trolling lake; and differs in this respect from almost all the other lakes to be mentioned. it may be that these fish are the same as the specimen described by professor jordan, and are really a distinct species, feeding mainly on small fry, and not much addicted to a fly diet. in appearance they certainly deserve the name of silver trout. i am not aware that any specimen has ever been examined by any scientific authority on fish. i fished once in july on this lake, and caught two fish about - / lb. apiece on the fly, while another of about lb. was taken on a minnow. dr. gerald williams, of vernon, fishes here a great deal, and gave me the above information. he prefers this lake to the neighbouring okanagan lake, but stated that the same fish were to be found in both. this lake seems well worth a visit, for if only a few fish were the result of a day's work their beauty and possible size would be worth the trouble, while the lake and its scenery are characteristic of the most beautiful part of the interior of british columbia, surrounded as it is by rolling hills of bunch grass, range, and pine-covered bluffs. vernon can be easily reached by train from sicamous, on the canadian pacific railway main line. about twenty-three miles from kamloops there is a lake known as fish lake, in which the fishing is so extraordinary as to border on the regions of romance, though locally it is considered a matter of course. for lake fishing, in point of numbers, it is impossible that this piece of water could be beaten; it is like a battue in shooting, the number to be caught is only limited by the skill and endurance of the angler; indeed, little skill is needed, for anyone can catch fish there, though a good fisherman will catch the most. also fish can be caught on any day, some days being better than others, but a blank day is an impossibility. the lake is twenty-three miles south of kamloops, and is reached by a good road, and there is now a small wooden house, where one can stop and hire boats. ten years ago there was only a trail, which was rough travelling on horseback, with a pack horse to carry tent and provisions. the lake has been a fishing ground for the indians from time immemorial, and fish used to be brought down by them to kamloops from a fish trap built in the creek running out of the lake. i have also seen them fishing with bait and spearing fish at night; but the true bait for fish lake is the fly, and, contrary to the usual case, the white man with a fly and modern tackle can make catches which far surpass any that the indian ever made. the trap has now been abandoned, and the indians do not fish on this lake any more. from time to time half-breeds and cowboys came into kamloops with stories of big catches of trout made with a willow bough and a piece of string with a fly tied to it; sometimes or fish would be brought down which had been caught in this way. this stimulated the sporting instinct of the inhabitants, and a few visits were paid to the lake and good catches were made, but the fishermen who went were of a very amateur kind. in the summer of an american proposed to me that we should go up and try what good tackle could do; in fact, he proposed that we should go up and try to make a record. we went up in the first week of august, and the result far surpassed our wildest imagination. we fished three full days, and brought back trout, which weighed lb., cleaned and salted. the first day we caught , for some time was wasted in finding the best places. the second day a start was made at a.m., and we fished till long after dark, about . p.m., catching ; the third day we caught about . the weather was intensely hot and fine, sometimes dead calm, sometimes a strong breeze, and at night a brilliant moon; but whether dead calm or blowing strong it made no difference to the fish, for they were taking as freely in the moonlight as at mid-day. flies were abundant, and the fish were ravenous for both real and artificial; they almost seemed to fight for our flies as soon as they touched the water. even when almost every feather had been torn off they would take the bare hook. we fished with three flies, and often had three fish on at one time; on one occasion my companion handed me a cast and three flies with a few inches of running line which had been lost by me not twenty minutes before. the hottest and calmest hours of the day afforded the best sport, as is usual in my experience on all the waters of british columbia, though wind did not make any difference, except to make it more difficult to manoeuvre the boat. our fish were cleaned and salted each day by some indians so that none were wasted, and no fish were returned to the water except the very smallest. we had estimated our catch on the best day to be over fish; but, owing to exhaustion and the necessity of cooking our supper, after being seventeen hours on the water, we did not feel equal to removing our fish from the boat, and during the night a raid was made on them by mink, which are very plentiful round this lake. though it was impossible to say how many had been carried off, was the exact total of fish counted on the following morning. if allowance is made for a rest for lunch, and time taken off for altering and repairing flies and tackle, it will be easily seen that this number of fish caught by two rods in one day on the fly constitutes a record which would be very hard to beat on this lake or any other. the best i was ever able to do again, with another rod, was a little over . but the conditions of the weather and the fly on the water were never quite so favourable. at the time mentioned this lake was little fished, and the indians with their fish trap would catch in one day far more than we accounted for; but since the lake has become better known, and the fish trap has been abolished, it cannot be too much impressed on fishermen in this water that only the large fish should be retained. in we only kept eighty-four fish out of a total of landed, and these weighed about lb. this lake is a natural hatchery for trout, and its waters are alive with them; it is about four miles long, shaped like a boomerang; the margins are shallow, with a thick growth of rushes, among which the fish lie, feeding largely on a small brown fly, which may be seen on their stalks. in order to catch these, the fish may be seen jumping up and often shaking the fly into the water. the best sport may often be had among these reeds in the more open places; but the fish must be held with a tight line, and prevented by main force from taking refuge among the roots of the rushes and entangling the cast among them. when this occurs a long willow wand with a salmon fly hook attached is an excellent means of landing a good fish, which could not be touched with a landing net. the water of fish lake is very clear and always warm, suggesting the presence of some hot springs in the lake; though, if this is the case, it does not prevent its waters freezing in winter. the water in the centre of the lake is very deep, and fish may always be seen jumping there of a larger size than those usually caught. few fish can be caught there by trolling a minnow or spoon, only an odd fish or so being the result; though a minnow or small spoon be trailed behind the boat for a couple of miles on the way home, nothing is caught. the fly is the only lure on fish lake. the average fish is from / lb. to - / lb., though fish of lb. are common, while anything over lb. is unknown. i have seen several of lb., but nothing over it, and if larger fish lurk in the depths of the lake they have never been caught by indian or white man. there is nothing but rainbow trout in the lake, and in general colour and appearance they vary very little, being handsome, bright-coloured specimens, very game and strong; the flesh is firm, and excellent eating when fresh caught. the altitude of this piece of water is between ft. and ft., which causes the nights to be cold and sometimes frosty even in august, while a cloudy day in these months is often chilly, causing a dearth of natural fly and some falling off in the sport. should the wind be strong enough to prevent fishing on the big lake, there is a small lake at the western end which can be entered by a shallow channel, and often provides just as good fishing as the large one. almost any ordinary scotch loch flies are suitable for this water, a brown wing being perhaps the best, with a red body; the zulu is a killing fly, as also a minute jock scott, size being the chief matter of importance. the fly must not be too large. on our arriving one evening at the lake in most beautiful weather, two fishermen, who had just left the water after fishing hard all day, informed us that it was fished out, for they had only caught thirty fish of about lb. each; but the next day we caught , and the fishing was the same as ever, for the flies they had been using were thompson ones, and the tail fly on one of their casts would have been too large on some norway salmon rivers in low water. it would be hard to conceive a more ideal place for fishing than this most beautiful lake, situated on a high plateau, surrounded by its reedy banks and flanked by woods of pine and birch, with waters of the deepest blue swarming with fish, while overhead is a cloudless sky. ten years ago it was but seldom visited, now it is somewhat of a summer resort for the people of kamloops; but it cannot be said to be overfished, as the season is very short--june, july, and august. before and after that time the cold interferes with the rise of fly and the comfort of sportsmen. formerly it was necessary to take a tent, and camp on the shores of the lake; but now an enterprising individual has put up a stopping house, which affords good enough accommodation for anyone visiting the lake, and also the use of boats. the last time i visited the lake, in , the fishing seemed just as good as ever, and it will probably be some time before there is much falling off in this respect, unless the number of anglers who visit it is very much increased in the next few years. for though doubtless more fish are taken by the fly, yet the indian fishing and the fish trap have been done away with. the latter would probably account for an immense number of fish, which are now saved to the lake; furthermore, there is no poaching of any kind, and the infamous otter is unknown in british columbian waters. at the same time, the importance of returning small fish cannot be now too much impressed on all fishermen who try this water. even in case fish lake should in time yield to the effects of over-fishing, there are five other lakes known within a radius of a mile or two, which are believed to be just as full of fish; though, owing to the sufficiency of fish lake, their capabilities have been little tried, and it is chiefly on the reports of indians that their reputation stands, though a few fish have been caught from the bank in one or two of them. it would be quite easy to put boats on them should the need arise, and larger fish are reported to abound in some of them. very probably the indians are quietly fishing some of these lakes after deserting their old quarters. in fact, all through this part of the country there are many lakes, some occasionally fished, and others almost unknown, and all abounding in trout. a boat is necessary in all such lakes as have been alluded to; nothing can be done without one. mr. walter langley uses a collapsible boat, which can be packed on a horse's back, and with this he has tried many lakes known to the indians; his lb. trout was caught from this boat. in he visited some lakes on the opposite side of the thompson, about thirty-six miles from savona's, and reported the most wonderful fishing to me. with a companion, he fished about five days, and brought back lb. of salted trout; his catch included more than fifty fish of lb. in weight, and the average fish was about lb. there were no small fish in the lake they fished, and all were taken on the fly. mr. langley had accompanied me in to fish lake, where we had excellent fishing; but he reported the fishing on this lake to be far better, owing to the large size of the fish; in fact, he described it as the best fly fishing he had ever enjoyed. it may be noted that they had several indians with them, and a large number of the fish caught were consumed on the spot, as a fish diet on such expeditions is a matter of necessity, in order to limit the number of pack horses required. it is fortunate that indians are by no means averse to this article of food and seem very fond of fish of all kinds. before the white man came to the country it must have been at many seasons of the year the staple article of food, and it is for this reason that the indians know so well all the lakes and rivers where fish can be caught, making therefore good guides to a white man in search of new fishing grounds. but it must be remembered that the indian does not use the fly, so that it is often necessary to make very careful inquiries from them as to the manner in which they catch fish in any fishing grounds that they may recommend; and such inquiries are very difficult to anyone not acquainted with their peculiarities and the chinook jargon. many weird fish stories might be told about fish lake, but they become wearisome, and enough has been said to give some idea of the fishing to be obtained. it is, indeed, somewhat unique in its reality, and requires no western embroidery of detail to be added to the facts quoted. these facts show, by the way, the immense fertility of the rainbow, where conditions are favourable, its fly-taking propensities, its boldness and voracity; all of which qualities will commend themselves to english fishermen, and confirm the enterprise and judgment of those who have introduced the fish into this country, where it seems to bid fair to equal, if not even to surpass, itself in the same good qualities. it is in the nature of a digression, perhaps, but as it has a bearing on the primitive methods of obtaining fish, the following account of a peculiar kind of fishing may be of interest here. there is a large lake in the interior, up the cariboo road, where the half-breeds indulge in a curious form of sport. a large portion of the lake is very shallow, and when it is frozen over the bottom can be very clearly seen. when this is the case some of the half-breeds go out on skates and mark trout through the ice, which they then pursue and attempt to drive into the shallowest parts near the shore. a fine fish is driven about until he appears to be quite exhausted, and finally is driven into shallow water, where he often hides under weeds at the bottom; a hole is then cautiously cut in the ice above him with a knife, through which he is speared. a fish about lb. was once sent to me which had been caught in this way; it was not a trout, but the large kind of char, commonly known as great lake trout. there is another lake called mammit lake, about twenty-five miles from savona's and about fourteen from fish lake, which affords very good fishing. it is a large piece of water, about fifteen miles long, surrounded by open bunch grass hills, and can be reached from savona's by a good road. its name is derived from the large numbers of white fish called mammit which abound in its waters, and can only be taken by the net. this lake is little fished, but several fishermen who have tried it are loud in its praises, notably my partner in the big catch on fish lake, who informed me that he had better sport on its waters, owing to the larger size of its fish, which appear to run about lb. or so in weight, and few either smaller or larger. the evidence tends to show, however, that it is somewhat uncertain, possibly owing to its extreme liability to a good deal of wind, which may put down the fish or even prevent a boat from venturing on the lake. it would seem advisable for anyone who might wish to visit this water to arrange to camp there for a week or more, in order to be on the spot to sally forth whenever the fish are rising, for it would appear that this lake resembles scotch lakes in the fact that the fish come on the rise at certain irregular times during the day, and in the intervals only a few can be caught by hading or trolling. i only once visited this water in august, but was entirely prevented from fishing owing to the high wind. the salmon had also entered the lake, and their presence is supposed to militate against good sport. july is the best time, and there is no doubt that very good fishing can be obtained there, while the lake is easily reached from savona's, though there is no hotel accommodation, and it is necessary to take a tent and provisions for camping-out purposes. nicola lake is about fifty miles from kamloops, and can be reached by a bi-weekly stage. there is good fishing in the lake and in the river which flows into the thompson at spence's bridge. the lake is a fine piece of water, over twenty miles long, and about a mile in breadth, nearly equal in size to kamloops lake. it has been but little fished, except by a few local anglers, and is full of very beautiful trout. i spent the summer of at the small hotel at the foot of this lake, but fished chiefly in the nicola river, which flows out of it. the sport in the river gave me full occupation, so that very little time was devoted to the lake, for every day i caught as many fish as one could carry back to the hotel, mostly small, from / lb. to / lb., with one or two better fish of - / lb. to lb. at the place where the river left the lake i used almost to fill a boat with large chub and a few good trout; in the lake i made a few fair catches of a dozen or more fish about - / lb. but all the information i gathered then and since about this lake points to the fact that the best fishing is at the other end of it. in the river i used to catch a few fish very beautifully coloured about / lb., with red and black spots on a golden ground; in fact, i mistook them for brown trout, being ignorant of the fact that these fish were unknown in british columbia. it is my belief that these were cut-throat trout. on a calm day fish can be seen moving all over the lake, which probably contains very large fish. mr. b. moore, now residing in victoria, british columbia, had a cattle ranch at its east end, and has often told me of the excellent sport he used to enjoy, both in the lake and the river which runs in there. two hotels on the shores of the lake give good accommodation and keep a boat. in the autumn a little silver fish, about / lb. weight, runs up the streams from the lake in large numbers for spawning purposes, and is sometimes netted; it is very good eating, but takes no bait of any kind. the flesh is deep red. locally it was supposed that these fish were a species of char, but in a pamphlet published by the government of british columbia on the fisheries it is stated: "there is another smaller form of the sockeye salmon, found in many of the interior waters, that appears to be a permanently small form, which is known to writers as 'the little red fish,' 'kennerly's salmon,' or 'the evermann form of the sockeye,' and which in some lakes of the province can be shown not to be anadromous. this form is often mistaken for a trout. it has no commercial value, and does not 'take a fly' or any bait. the indians of seton and anderson lakes smoke them. they give them the name of 'oneesh.'" this is undoubtedly the fish which runs up the creeks from nicola lake in the early autumn to spawn in large numbers, at first bright silver like a salmon, turning to a crimson colour. all are the same size; about / lb. they are sometimes sold in kamloops for food. they are never seen in the lake, nor do i know if they return after spawning. this fish is also present in the shuswap, but not in kamloops lake. the fishing in the nicola river is very good as soon as it begins to clear and subside from the early summer floods, and it can be continued until the water gets too low in late august. these lakes and rivers above described are at present the best known in this district, but there are numbers of other lakes which are full of trout, some of which are fished by the indians, and in time will doubtless become better known to fishermen. but it is quite evident that anyone visiting this part of the country has plenty of choice, and, in fact, would hardly find time to visit and thoroughly try all the rivers and lakes described. this district of british columbia has certain attractions of its own, not present in other parts; the climate is peculiarly fine and dry, with a most bracing and clear atmosphere. except for an odd thunder shower, rain hardly ever falls, so that camp life is free from one of its chief drawbacks. flies and mosquitoes are not so plentiful, though bad in certain places. the general aspect is much more open, with rolling hills of bunch grass and pine bluffs, which give the scenery a different appearance from other parts of the country. chapter vi. the kootenay district--sawdust and dynamite--fine sport in vancouver--harrison river and lake--big fish in the coquehalla--the steel-head in the fraser--need for better river protection. there are other parts of british columbia which afford good fishing. excellent sport is still to be obtained in the kootenay district, which can be reached from revelstoke on the main line of the canadian pacific railway. twelve years ago the fishing was unrivalled, especially on the kootenay river. very large bags could be got, though the fish were not quite as large as in the thompson. but it is unfortunately true that since this district became a mining centre the fishing has been largely spoilt. professional fishermen have fished for the market, sawmills have been allowed to empty their sawdust into the rivers, and probably alien miners and others have massacred wholesale with dynamite. in the coast district, of which vancouver is the centre, there are plenty of rivers and lakes. this part of the country has a heavy rainfall, which causes a thick forest growth to cover the country and render the streams difficult or even impossible to fish, unless they can be waded. this is a drawback from which the upper country rivers are free. but, still, fine sport can be had in many rivers and lakes. the harrison river affords excellent fishing as early as april. the fish run from lb. to lb., and take the fly freely. the river flows out of harrison lake to the fraser at harrison station. it must be fished from a boat. bags of thirty and forty fish are by no means uncommon. there is another river, whose name has escaped my memory, which is very good when low enough for wading, and flows into the harrison lake. the hot springs hotel affords good accommodation. if the fraser is crossed at hope station there is a little village on the other side where somewhat rough accommodation used to be obtainable. the crossing was formerly done in an indian log canoe, a means of transport which one would hardly recommend to anyone of a nervous temperament, though perhaps now a boat may be used. a very beautiful river called the coquehalla joins the fraser at this place, which i used to fish in . it consists of a series of fine pools and rapids for some distance, perhaps two or three miles, until an impassable canyon is reached, over which there is a natural bridge, and here, in the water below, immense trout may clearly be seen, though i know of no means of getting at them. at the time i fished this river, in july, the salmon were coming up, and i cannot say that my success was very great. i was, moreover, a stranger to the country, and could get no guide. added to this, my tackle, experience, and skill were all of a very inferior order. but i found that the pools of this river contained very large fish, which were then to me quite unknown monsters, and i spent many long days on its banks in attempts to capture some. i used to try each pool first with the minnow and then with the fly, which was, of course, exactly the opposite of the right course. several good fish of lb. or so were landed and many lost. on one occasion, as i was hauling in a small trout to remove it from my fly, i was startled by an immense fish which leapt out of the water at it, close to my feet. it must have been a fish of anything from lb. to lb. or more. it jumped high in the air, drenching me with spray as it fell back into the water. i supposed it to be a large salmon, but as a bright red stripe was clearly seen along its side i know now that it was a rainbow trout. twice in this river small trout were seized as they were being drawn in, but each time the single gut was snapped off by the fish. the higher parts of the river were never tried by me, though once or twice i saw large strings of trout brought in by cowboys. no doubt at this time of the year the best fishing was in the upper waters. probably the steel-head or sea-trout comes up the fraser as far as the coquehalla. another stream called silver creek runs into the fraser about three miles below hope, and i had much the same experiences along its banks. it can only be fished when low enough for wading. i should much like to try these two streams again, as i am confident that some very large fish could be caught. it would be well worth trying the effect of a prawn, fished deep. a silver devon ought also to be effective. personally this is the limit of my experience in british columbia, but very good fishing is to be got in the coquitlam and capillano near vancouver, and in the stave and pitt rivers, which are a little further off. in all these rivers the steel-head can be got on the minnow, seldom, i believe, on the fly. it is hard to say how far the steel-head may run up the fraser--probably at least as far as the coquehalla at hope, for up to this point there is nothing in the strength of the current to prevent it; but above, in the fraser canyon, the tremendous difficulties of the ascent may well stop its further progress. the steel-head has not developed the powerful tail and anal fin of the pacific salmon, which must be a great aid to it in passing through such strong water for such immense distances. it may well be that the smaller tail of the steel-head renders it unfit for the effort. otherwise, there would be no reason why it should not travel up the rivers as far as the salmon, just as the sea-trout does in european rivers. this is apparently not the case. the fraser canyon appears to be impassable to them, and they are only found in the lower tributaries of the fraser and shorter coast rivers. the steel-head is the sea-going species of the rainbow; it is practically a silver rainbow, without the red stripe, which only appears faintly after it has been some time in fresh water. the steel-head is usually known as _salmo gairdneri_, but in a recent letter professor jordan informs me that its correct name is _salmo rivularis ayres_. he states that he has evidence to prove that the original _gairdneri_ was the "nerka," which is the sockeye or blue-back salmon. the smaller sizes take the fly readily under favourable circumstances, both in the salt water, at the mouths of rivers, and in the rivers themselves. the heavier fish of lb. and upwards are more often got on a minnow. large ones up to lb. have been caught with the prawn in the basin under the falls of the capillano. though i am not prepared to say whether these fish were rainbow or steel-heads, the fact must be strongly insisted on that there is considerable difficulty in distinguishing between steel-head, rainbow, and the smaller salmon. in the case of the two former it is a matter of experience. the latter are easily known by the test of the anal fin and tail. great confusion has been caused, and always will be, until proper care is taken. the coquitlam, capillano, and other rivers have been much overfished by legal and probably by illegal means. the sport used to be excellent, and would soon improve again under proper conditions. it would be an excellent thing if an anglers' club was formed in vancouver, and part of the water preserved. if part of the water was thus properly treated, and a small hatchery put up, no doubt the fishing would soon be better than ever, while immense benefit would accrue to the remaining public water. this deplorable state of affairs is merely the natural result of the almost criminal neglect of the british columbia government to do anything to preserve the valuable sporting assets of the country. the kootenay waters have suffered in the same way, as also some of the rivers near victoria on vancouver island. the dolly varden trout is very plentiful in all these rivers. some very fine bags of large fish have been made in the squamish river in butte inlet. on vancouver island there is good fishing, easily reached from victoria. the cowichan river and lake are the best known. steel-head and rainbow can both be got on fly and minnow. the flies used are even larger than those on the thompson. personally, i have never fished on vancouver island, but from all that i have heard i should say that sport is not so good there as on the upper mainland. chapter vii. the salmons of the pacific--legends concerning them--the five species--systems of migration--powers of endurance--absence of kelts--do they take a fly?--terrible mortality--"a vivid red ribbon"--points of difference between the quinnat and _salmo salar_--work of the canneries--artificial propagation. no account of the fishing in british columbia would be complete unless some mention were made of the salmon, though it is only in tidal water that they can be caught with the rod, and though in the upper country they are useless from the fisherman's point of view. the annual migration of the pacific coast salmon is a wonderful thing, about which little has been written, and much requires to be learnt. to those who have seen it, the phenomenon is most striking, and has vividly impressed the western imagination, which revels in weird stories concerning it. thus it is current report that the waters of harrison lake have been known to rise several inches from some unknown cause, only to be accounted for by the immense rush of salmon into its waters; that paddle-steamers have been stopped in the fraser and at sea by the salmon armies; that the backs of the fish have made stepping-stones by which the fraser has been crossed. these and similar stories are the folk-lore of british columbia, and yet they are almost possible, so immense are the battalions of the salmon which swarm to the fraser and other large rivers. it is an astonishing migration, full of interest and well worthy of study, not only to the naturalist, but to the student of social economy, as this migration is the source of an important food supply, and one of the chief industries of the country. there are fifty canneries established at the mouth of the fraser, besides others further north, and between them they export annually millions of tins of canned salmon. the pacific coast salmon in british columbia comprise five species, all belonging to the genus _oncorhynchus_ of the salmonidæ family. they are the king salmon or quinnat, a large fish running up to over lb., known also as the spring salmon; the silver and blue-back salmon, which are known as the cohoe and sockeye, and are the fish used by the canners; and the humpback and dog salmon, which are of little value, and only eaten by the indians. the first named is the most interesting for the purpose of this book, as it is the fish which affords the famous sport at campbell river. the silver and the blue-back only run to about lb. the two last are pale fleshed, and are hardly considered fit to eat. the king or tyee, quinnat, spring or chinook salmon (_o. tschawytscha_) is the most important from the sportsman's point of view, but owing to its occasional white or very pale pink flesh not so useful to the canner. it runs from about lb. to over lb.; fish of lb. are common, and some of lb. have been reported. it has sixteen rays in the anal fin. the back is blackish, and underneath it is not so bright a silver as the atlantic salmon. it turns black and not red in the upper waters. the sockeye or blue-back (_o. nerka_) is the chief source of the cannery supply. the anal fin is long, with fourteen rays. the back is blue and the sides of a bright silver changing to a dark green and dull crimson in the upper waters. weight from lb. to lb. flesh a deep red. the cohoe, silver or fall salmon (_o. kisutch_) is also canned, weight lb. to lb., light green and silver in colour. the dog salmon (_o. keta_), lb. to lb. in weight, fourteen rays in anal fin. it is so called from the misshapen appearance of the head and teeth of the males at spawning time. colour of a dark silver, turning black and reddish in the upper waters. the humpback (_o. gorbuscha_), the smallest of the family, lb. to lb. a hump appears just behind the head of the males at spawning time, fifteen rays in the anal fin. the flesh of these last two species is not much used. of these fish the spring salmon appears first in the fraser in the early spring, and progresses steadily up the river as far as it is possible to go, apparently keeping more up the main current and avoiding the shuswap lake to which the thompson leads (at least it is very little noticed in that river), whereas the sockeyes swarm up it in great numbers. it does not seem to travel in large schools in these waters. a few arrive in kamloops lake during july, but it is never much in evidence in the thompson river district. it is doubtless a very powerful swimmer. professor jordan points out that this and the other species are remarkable for the great number of developed rays in the anal fin and tail, which must aid the fish immensely in its long journey against the strong water of the fraser. the progress of all these fish is made by steady travelling in the slacker water at the sides of the river. i have often watched them slowly making their way upwards in the clear water of the thompson, one noticeable fact being that they do not rise much to the surface or ever leap into the air, like our own fish. in the lakes, and occasionally in pools of the thompson, i have seen them roll over in the water, but never leap into the air. it seems not unreasonable to suppose that one reason for the leaping of the atlantic salmon is because he is practising for the time when he will have to jump a difficult waterfall in the river he ascends. but in the inland lakes and rivers the pacific salmon never leap, and, in fact, are seen but little on the surface. on the other hand the trout appear to leap quite as much as the european species. on fish lake the rainbows are leaping continually. the pacific salmon has no skill in jumping, he merely swims on continuously; indeed, he appears perfectly incapable of negotiating the smallest waterfall. i have seen thousands of pacific salmon stopped hopelessly by a fall which would not hinder a small european sea-trout. it may be that the tremendous nature of the journey already completed has robbed him of the energy necessary for leaping, but experience would lead me to believe that the pacific salmon trusts to immense powers of endurance, which enable him to travel thousands of miles against a frightful current rather than to a short journey and one or two big jumps. this fact is certainly worthy of further investigation and note, in view of the introduction into british columbia of the atlantic salmon. there must be numbers of rivers barred to the pacific fish which would be quite easy of access to the atlantic. i doubt much if the quinnat could tackle an ordinary artificial salmon ladder, though there are undoubtedly numbers of streams in british columbia which could be rendered navigable to _salmo salar_ by such means. a small hatchery established on such a river might at once establish the european fish in these waters. on the other hand it is very doubtful if the present attempt to acclimatise _salmo salar_ by the introduction of small fry into the fraser can avail much. few could hope to survive and compete with the countless myriads of the sockeyes, while it is doubtful if the atlantic fish could ever make its way for hundreds of miles against the fraser current. it is not fitted for a slow journey of weeks and even months, but rather for one of some few hours with a strong leap at the end which lands it at once in the destined pool or lake. there are two other points which will strike the fishermen in british columbia waters. one is the absence of kelts at any time of the year. the other is the fact that, though the waters are often alive with young salmon, none are ever caught on the fly. the first point is explained by the fact that these fish die after spawning. there is no doubt that this is well established, though there is something to be accounted for--namely, the large specimens of each species, which must undoubtedly either be survivors of a former run or else fish which have stayed in salt water to a more advanced age. to take the example of a spring salmon of lb.; this fish would, in europe, be reckoned as at least ten years old and probably a great deal more. are we to conclude that such a fish has never been into fresh water before, or is it not more probable that he has only been in the habit of frequenting some lake at a short distance from the sea, and returning thence in time to escape death from exhaustion? the large specimens of the other species might also be accounted for in this manner. the second point is merely a fact, and does not require any explanation, except that it may have some bearing on the matter of the adult fish not taking the fly. i would not go so far as to say that these young fish have never been known to take a fly, but i never remember catching one myself, and they certainly do not take it as the salmon parr do in our waters. it is of course possible that many may be taken and supposed to be trout. but if such were the case, it would surely be more commonly known and noticed. very little appears to be known of the habits of the young fish or the time they spend in fresh water before they go down to the sea. it has been a much debated question as to whether the british columbia salmon takes the fly, and it may be stated once for all that it does do so, but only in tidal waters. in the up-country lakes and rivers it takes nothing, and those who may have seen its migrations will easily understand the reason. the fish have no time to feed or rest; they may be seen ceaselessly though slowly pressing on in the shallow water at the sides of the fraser or thompson, as if pressed on by the weight of those behind, impelled by some all-powerful desire to get to their journey's end, to spawn and die. none return, and the lakes and pools of the rivers are filled with corpses, on which bears, eagles, and all creatures which can eat fish are filled to the full. there is no time to look at bait of any kind, for it is a terrible journey through the rapid waters of the fraser, and many fish show the marks of bruises and cuts, while few are in an eatable condition by the time they reach kamloops lake. this journey would seem to take them three or four weeks from the time they appear at the fraser mouth, about miles in distance. anyone who has ever seen hell's gate, in the terrible canyon of the fraser, and these millions of struggling fish slowly pushing their way upwards without a moment's rest, impelled by the _vis a tergo_ of the swarms behind, and each one anxious only to move forward, can easily understand how impossible it would be in such a struggle for mere existence that a fish should pause to take bait. even in our own rivers running salmon practically never take. it is only when they have reached some pool or resting-place that they will look at a lure. but when these masses of fish emerge into the large lakes, the first comers must still be remorselessly driven on by the mass of those behind until the farthest limits and some impassable barrier is reached. i have never seen the spawning-beds myself. jordan says they spawn in ft. to ft. of water in rivers like _salar_, but one can readily imagine the desperate struggle for existence that must go on as the swarms reach the grounds and fight for positions; while no doubt on their outskirts are small armies of trout and other fish eager to devour the eggs as soon as they are laid. as the salmon seem to pass right up to the headquarters (_cf._ jordan) they would get beyond the _big_ trout. probably it is here that their numbers protect them, the trout being unable to penetrate their close ranks until the eggs are laid and concealed in the gravel and death begins to be busy among the salmon. possibly here, too, may be some protection, for doubtless the other fish prey on the dead carcases, which would be a more obvious food supply than the hidden eggs. this description of spawning-beds is mere imagination, as i have never met anyone who had seen them; but it is probably much exceeded by the reality. a short description of what i _have_ seen will help to realise what must take place on the spawning-beds. it must be noted that the salmon runs are in cycles. every fourth year is a big run of sockeye, and when there is a small run of these fish there may be a big run of humpbacks or dog salmon. one year in the early nineties the thompson presented a strange sight to travellers in the canadian pacific trains, though as the trains pass this part in the very early morning probably few saw it. the line here closely follows the river, and in the canyon rises to several hundred feet above it, so that a splendid view of the river is obtained. at this time, as seen from above, the deep blue water of the stream was bordered on each side by a vivid red ribbon, which when seen closer proved to be the array of sockeyes struggling up the side eddies in countless myriads. how long this lasted i cannot say, but i saw it several times on my professional journeys on the railway. it was a very wonderful sight. every fish was about the same size, about lb. or lb., and all were deep red in colour. the time of year was about september. in i had occasion to go from spence's bridge to nicola lake in early september; the stage-route is along the banks of the river, which at that time was very low. a run of humpbacks was going on; the pools were black with them, and the shallows between the pools presented a most remarkable appearance; the water was only a few inches deep, and between the stones the humpbacks were slowly wriggling upwards in countless thousands, only half covered by the water. when the coach was high above the river they looked like an army of tadpoles blackening the river bed, their colour being almost black with a reddish tinge at the sides. the male fish alone has the curious hump well developed in the breeding season; it is situated just behind the head and is about / in. high, resembling the hump of a camel; the female has only a very small one. at an indian village which we passed two or three indians were standing in the water armed with long gaffs with which they hooked the fish out and threw them to the squaws on the bank, who were cleaning, splitting, and hanging them up on long fir poles to dry in the sun. a rancher living near here informed me that he took the trouble to count the number on one pole and thereby estimate their total catch. i forget his figures, but believe it was several hundred thousand--a mere flea-bite to the total number of fish in the river, which must have run into millions. the fish were unable to get into nicola lake owing to a dam, and on my return journey, two weeks later, there was not a living fish to be seen, the pools being filled with dead bodies, and the awful stench of the river rising to heaven. it seemed to me a terrible waste that all these fish should die, but such is the fact, and it must be fortunate that they do not feed on their way or they would clean out a river like an army of locusts. what becomes of the trout during these invasions presents a curious problem, for the condition of the stinking river would seem sufficient to kill them unless they can escape to some lake. possibly the trout flee upwards ahead of the serried ranks of the invaders with the view also of feeding on their eggs when they reach the spawning grounds. i have seen the bottoms of good trout pools black with salmon in certain rivers and have been told it was useless to fish them, and this fact i also verified; while other pools higher up and not yet invaded gave good fishing. these two instances will give some idea of the extraordinary invasions by the salmon of the british columbia rivers as it presents itself in the thompson district. at the coast the migration begins with the large spring salmon, the quinnat, which seem to appear off the mouth of the fraser in january, and run up the rivers during april, may, and june before the sockeyes make their appearance, but never in such large numbers as the latter. their migration is more like that of the atlantic fish, which they also resemble in point of size. they are not so much used by the canneries, whose season does not begin till july, and are only caught for the local market, and by trolling with rod and line; these are the fish which chiefly provide sport in the tidal waters of british columbia. as has been said they run up to lb. and over, and resemble our own salmon in general appearance, though they are not of such a bright silver colour, and are rather more heavy looking. the most obvious point of distinction is the large size of the anal fin and tail, which contain a great many more rays than those of our own trout and salmon. this point of distinction is common to all the five species of the pacific coast salmon, and distinguishes them from the rainbow and steel-head, which are true salmonidæ. the flesh, especially in spring, is excellent eating, but possibly not quite so delicate as the atlantic fish, and not so highly esteemed. perhaps this is partly owing to the fact that salmon is so common and cheap, for a large fish can often be bought for a shilling or half a crown. i have seen an occasional large fish move in the thompson early in july, but have never noticed them in the kamloops lake in any large numbers, though doubtless a certain proportion does come there. it would appear as if the large size and strength of this fish enables it to run earlier in the year and to stem the rivers when swollen by the melting snow in may and june; while the smaller sockeye times its appearance to coincide with the fall of the big rivers in july. it can hardly be a fact that the quinnat never returns to the sea, for if that were invariably the case, how could the large fish of lb., which must be of considerable age, be accounted for? it would not be difficult for a fish to return from a large lake like the harrison, which is only some miles or so from the fraser mouth. it may be that if these fish get far up the fraser, perhaps miles or more from salt water, they may not have strength to return. jordan says the spring fish run over miles in some rivers. but from spawning-grounds only distant a few miles they can easily return, as could also the smaller species, unless, which seems very unlikely, the act of procreation is fatal in itself. still, the fact remains that i have never seen a kelt in british columbia nor heard of one, nor does there seem to be any return stream of migration in winter or early spring, a feature which could not escape notice if it occurred to any considerable extent. therefore if any fish return it must be only a few scattered individuals, not one in a million of the swarms seen passing upwards. the indians along the fraser catch these fish by standing on certain rocks with a large dip-net, by which they catch a considerable number as the fish pass upwards. in the first week of july or thereabouts the silver and blue-back salmon appear, and the canneries at the fraser mouth begin work. this is the sockeye run, which is always very large, but varies in different years, every fourth year being an extra large one. drift-nets are employed by a large number of boats, which may catch in one night thirty to eighty or more fish, for which they get about cents. apiece from the canneries. the season lasts till about the end of august, when the run falls off, and is succeeded by the run of the humpback and dog salmon, which are of no commercial value. indians, white men, and japanese are employed, and the mouth of the fraser is a scene of great activity, while on the american side large fish traps are employed in which many thousands of salmon are caught at one haul. the following will give some idea of the work of the canneries.:-- annual pack for six years. , , cases ( lb). , " " , " " , " " , , " " , " " the first news of the approach of the sockeye is generally brought to vancouver or some other coast city by some sailing ship or steamer which has encountered them in the straits of san juan or the gulf of georgia. often strange stories are told of moving through a vast salmon army, perhaps seven miles broad and of unknown length, all heading straight for the fraser's mouth, from their unknown feeding-grounds in the north pacific. wild as some of these tales seem, yet they are more or less true. for these immense shoals come through the san juan straits and head northwards up the british columbian coast towards alaska, while only a mere detachment enters the fraser, a detachment of a few millions. and also if it be true that none return, they can have no leaders to show the way, but must retrace the route they took as smolts on their way from the river to the ocean, impelled by the sexual instinct to propagate the species. they appear to hang about the mouth of the fraser for a short time, then advance upwards as far as it is possible to go, hundreds of miles into the interior, and up every stream which will permit of their progress, where they eventually spawn and die. the silver salmon and blue-backs run in separate shoals, and their respective names show the difference between them. very handsome fish are they in spring, of a bright silver hue resembling a fresh run grilse, and about seven or eight pounds in weight. but they quickly become red, and in the upper waters of the rivers often present a far from healthy appearance, showing visible traces of their struggles with the rocks and whirlpools encountered in their ascent. this well-known red appearance is not, however, altogether due to the effects of the fresh water, for straggling late bands are described as entering through the straits of san juan in the autumn which are almost as red as their earlier fellows at that time in the upper waters of the fraser. on the heels of the sockeye come the humpback and the dog salmon, about the same in size, and fine silvery fish before the breeding season sets in. but it is late in the autumn when they arrive, and their flesh is white and does not meet the demands of the market. the so-called hump is only present in the breeding season. an attempt was made to can and sell them as white salmon, but without success; though recently a market has been found in japan, whither they are sent in the dried form. japan, by the way, possesses a sixth species of _oncorhynchus_, the masu, a fish resembling the humpback, but this is not known to british columbian waters. although an immense toll is taken by the canneries, yet the supply of fish still continues, assisted by the hatcheries which have been supplied by the government of canada, by whose aid it is hoped that the effects of over-fishing will be counteracted. for this hope there is considerable ground, as the fishing on the columbia river has been restored by this means to something of its former condition. chapter viii. the diplomat and the salmon--the struggle for existence--salmon and steel-head liable to be confused--sport in tidal waters--the campbell river--the pioneers--a river of fifty-pounders--smaller salmon on the fly--method of fishing--tackle--typical good bags--the steel-head--cost of fishing--dangers of over-fishing for canneries--a good trolling time. though much more might be written about the canning industry and the migration of the salmon, it is not material to the purpose of this book, and has only been touched on to show how it bears on the question of salmon fishing by rod and line; for it is often stated that the salmon does not take the fly in british columbia, as if it were a personal matter and some perverse characteristic of the fish. there is another story very popular in the west, relating what happened at the time when the great fur companies held the country and were disputing and even fighting for its possession. the imperial government sent out some illustrious diplomat to report on the situation, and he described the country as of no value and so hopeless that "even the salmon would not take the fly." it is a tradition in british columbia that on this ground the now flourishing states of idaho, montana, washington, and oregon were handed over to the americans. the description given of the conditions under which the salmon migrate is intended to show reasons why the fish are unable to oblige the angler in this matter of taking the fly. these conditions are obvious. the desperate struggle for existence in an immense shoal of fish pressing upwards against the tremendous current of a river abounding in strong rapids and whirlpools; the length of the journey, several hundred miles in extent; the absence of any chance of resting owing to the pressure of the multitudes behind; and, finally, the state of exhaustion brought on by all these forces combined--these things must, and indeed do, reduce the fish to such a condition that its final energies are devoted to and exhausted by the propagation of its species. even if enough vitality were left to make it take a bait, no sport would be obtained by the angler, and his sorry capture would be generally unfit for food. i have once or twice experimented by foul-hooking salmon in the tail in the nicola river, but after one feeble rush the fish was easily hauled ashore even by light trout tackle, and returned to the water as entirely useless to anyone except an indian. there is only one final conclusion to be drawn, that in the upper waters of the rivers and the inland lakes the salmon do not take the fly or any other bait, nor is there any case in which it has been even alleged that a salmon has ever been caught on the fly. occasionally large silvery fish have been caught on spoon and minnow, but, in the absence of proof to the contrary, it is most probable that these fish are either large silver trout, rainbow, or steel-heads. absolute proof of the capture of a salmon is still wanting, though it is quite possible that such a thing has occasionally taken place. the question of salmon taking the fly in the tidal waters is another matter, for there is not the least doubt that all the five different species have been taken in this manner; though possibly not so often as is stated, because the steel-head is a source of error, from its resemblance to the salmon. a fish of lb. is taken on the fly and the capture of a salmon is announced, on the strength of its weight and size; whereas, on inquiry, it is found that the fisherman is certain that it was a salmon, but can produce no evidence to prove that it was not a steel-head. it is not everyone who can tell the difference between a salmon and a steel-head on its mere appearance without counting the rays on the anal fin or tail, and until this simple proof is put to the test there will always be a doubt as to the frequency with which the salmon is taken on the fly. the size of the anal fin is so obvious a distinction of the pacific salmon that i have often observed it in numbers of small fry caught for bait; the fin in a small fish two or three inches long resembles the wavy fan-like fins seen in the japanese gold fish, and distinguishes it at a glance from the corresponding short fin of the young rainbow. a curious error of this kind occurs in mr. rudyard kipling's well-known book, "from sea to sea," where he describes most enthusiastically a day's salmon fishing in california on the sacramento, and his capture of numerous salmon on the fly. there is no doubt that his fish were steel-heads. there is enough evidence from various sources to show that the salmon take the fly in tidal waters, but it cannot be said that there is much to show that they do so very freely, especially in the case of the large quinnat salmon. but, on the other hand, the spoon bait is taken most greedily by all the different species. it may be that the fly has not been tried as much as it might have been, owing to the success of the spoon. the result is that at present trolling in these waters with this bait is the chief means employed, and has afforded sport unrivalled of its kind by any other part of the world. very fair sport can be got in the narrows near vancouver or in the sea off esquimalt or oak bay near victoria. but the place which has of late years been distinguished by the most extraordinary salmon fishing ever heard of is the mouth of the campbell river on the east coast of vancouver island. in the places first named, as also at the mouths of several well-known rivers, salmon and steel-heads may be caught by trolling and spinning, and occasionally with the fly. thus seven or eight fish are no unusual bag in the waters near victoria, but they are not usually of any very great size. the mouth of campbell river appears to be the only place yet known where the big salmon can be caught in any large number, though it is quite possible that other places exist. this river has long been a fishing ground for the indians, who trolled for the fish with a strong hand-line and spoon. the pioneers of this fishing among white men were mr. g.p. fitzgerald and sir richard musgrave, who made an expedition to these waters in the early nineties and camped at the mouth of campbell river, also trying salmon river and other places along the coast. they met with great success in the tidal waters off campbell river, but practically drew a blank wherever else they tried. it was on this occasion that sir r. musgrave landed a lb. salmon, which holds the record in these waters. since then an increasing number of fishermen have visited campbell river, until of late years there have always been a few rods on the ground; and a small hotel has been put up. there is, however, not much fear of over-fishing, though the time is past when a fisherman could have the whole of the water to himself. there are sinister rumours of a cannery and fish traps to be established in the near future, and should these things come to pass then the fishing which has been enjoyed will become a mere memory and perhaps these pages its only record. mr. fitzgerald always enjoyed his best sport under the guidance of an indian and by employing the indians' spoon, which is a plain silver spoon with a loose hook. the main aim was always the large lb. fish, smaller fish of lb. or so being regarded as a nuisance, and if possible shaken off the hook. the biggest catch was eight fish six of which were about lb. apiece; anyone familiar with salmon fishing will know that this is no small feat after allowing for fish hooked and lost, while it must be remembered that a fish of lb. may take over an hour to land. sir richard musgrave's large fish of lb. took an hour and a half to land; it was a magnificent fish, the record salmon of the rod and line. a cast of it was shown at farlow's, in the strand, and also at rowland ward's, in piccadilly, during the spring of . the spoon fishing of the namsen and other norwegian rivers fades into insignificance beside such sport; two or more fish of over lb. were the average catch, besides more that were hooked and lost, while the numerous smaller fish were not considered worthy of notice. mr. a. duncan reports excellent success with the prawn, which he was the first to use, and it may be that with this deadly bait even larger fish might be obtained. he also reports that with a silver-bodied fly in the evening, but at no other time, he caught large numbers of salmon about lb. in weight, and could have filled a boat with them. he gives no absolute proof as to whether these fish were salmon or steel-heads, but it is his opinion that they were salmon. the fishing is done by crossing and re-crossing the small bay into which campbell river flows, trolling from a canoe or small boat, the breadth of the water being about half a mile; the method is exactly like trolling in a norwegian fiord just off the mouth of a river. it is a curious fact that no sport can be obtained in the river itself, which fully supports the contention put forth above that the pacific coast salmon ceases to take as soon as it begins to run, the taking fish being those which are hanging about the mouth of the river preparatory to running up. there seems to be no instance of the very large fish taking the fly. there is no need to say much as to tackle, except that it should be strong and that there should be plenty of line. the native spoon can be obtained on the spot. some fishermen prefer a large rod as better able to hold off a fish which runs under the boat; i should personally prefer a short, stiff, steel-centred rod such as hardy's ft. murdoch--a type of rod preferred by the americans for yellow tail and tuna fishing. this kind of rod is much handier in a boat, and almost unbreakable. the following is a list showing some of the bags at campbell river. mr. a. duncan in . tyee salmon, eighteen; weight, lb. average, lb. cohoes and tyee under lb., thirty-two. total, fifty fish in eighteen days. best day august th, : seven salmon, lb., lb., lb., lb., lb., - / lb., and lb. the eight heaviest fish: - / lb., lb., lb., lb., lb., lb., - / lb., and lb. mr. duncan says: fish under lb. are counted as grilse. the cohoe salmon will take a fly; white with silver tinsel, i found best. they take in the sea at sunrise and sunset when they are jumping--in fact, more could be got in this way while they are actually jumping than by trolling, only they must be jumping and also fairly plentiful. i have got an odd one casting, but nearly all by trailing the fly. they give splendid sport on a light trout rod. the largest i got last year ( ) was lb. but they were not "running" this year, and i only got two of lb. each on the fly. salmon are caught in cowichan lake (after ascending miles of river); frequently i got one myself and saw others caught, though they are black and ugly. but i am told on absolutely reliable authority that great sport is had with tyee salmon (from lb. downwards) on the fly in the cowichan river in the spring, and then only when the water is discoloured. they only take the fly sunk, and generally a leaded one is used. it is noteworthy that this peculiarity of only taking the fly when jumping is also common to the trout in the shuswap and other large lakes in the interior. also their favourable time is at sunrise and sunset. it might also be noted that mr. duncan makes no mention of the steel-head or sea-trout. this fish runs in the cowichan river and lake in the spring. the test of the number of rays in the anal fin and tail should be applied to all these fish. the sockeye does not appear to frequent campbell river. the tyee and cohoe frequent the coastal waters of british columbia. but the feeding ground of the sockeyes is some unknown part of the pacific ocean from which they migrate and enter the waters between the mainland of british columbia and vancouver island in great shoals, through the straits of san juan. even then their stomachs are empty and contracted, showing that they have already travelled some distance. mr. babcock, the fisheries commissioner of british columbia, states in his report for : "the first fish are reported from otter point. from sherringham point east their movement is clearly defined as they pass close in shore. they come in rapidly with the flood tides, at times close to the surface and breakwater; frequently during the last weeks of july and the first two weeks in august, in years of large runs, they show themselves plainly, a racing, leaping, bluish silver mass in the clear and rapid moving waters." then they appear to strike the discoloured water of the fraser, and follow it to the mouth of the river. in , , , sockeyes were delivered to the canners during the last two weeks of july and the month of august. the steel-head trout (_salmo gairdneri_) is the anadromous form of the rainbow, bearing the same relation to it as our sea-trout does to the brown trout. it more closely resembles in form, colour of flesh, and habit the atlantic salmon than any other form found on the pacific coast. it spawns in fresh waters, and survives after spawning and returns to the sea. it feeds in fresh and salt water. how far it penetrates into the interior and up the fraser is a matter of doubt. my own opinion is that it only goes as far as hope, being unable to face the strong water in the fraser canyon, owing probably to the fact that it is not equipped with the powerful anal fin and tail of the pacific salmon. it enters all waters near the coast, and is caught on the rod in the stave and pitt rivers. i have never heard of one being caught on the thompson. trout fishermen in the coast rivers catch them with both fly and minnow. the following details of catches are quoted from an article which appeared in _the field_ in december, , from the pen of mr. l. layard. in twenty-four tyee weighing , lb., average - / lb.; forty-three cohoes weighing lb., average - / lb. best fish lb., lb., lb., lb., lb., lb., lb., and lb. he also states that he saw two fish of lb., landed. in , for july and august, fishing for thirty-eight days: six hundred and eighty-eight salmon weighing , lb. best fish, lb. best catches, thirty-six fish ( lb.) in five hours, forty-four fish ( lb.) in six hours. a mr. j. pidcock, fishing for his cannery from a.m. to p.m., in a dug-out, using two hand lines, caught salmon. mr. layard speaks very well of the new hotel, and of a mr. j. thompson as boatman. he quotes the hotel charges as £ a week and s. a day for a fine sea boat, and s. a day as wages for a boatman. he gives some interesting particulars of campbell river itself, to which a trail is to be cut from the hotel. there seems to be good rainbow trout fishing for two miles in the river. the salmon are stopped by a waterfall, where there is a large pool feet deep, in which tyee salmon, with humpback, cohoes, and trout, could be clearly seen. mr. layard could not induce them to touch anything from the bank, but a tyee of lb. was hooked on a spoon and lost two days afterwards by another man from a canoe. the indians stated that such a thing as hooking a salmon in the river had never been heard of in their traditions. no mention is made of the steel-head, and there is no proof given that the above was not one of these fish. mr. layard was not equipped for fly-fishing, but believes that the cohoes would have taken the fly. an examination of these catches shows beyond dispute that there has never been such salmon fishing as this in any other waters, and fortunate indeed were those who first enjoyed it. even yet the sport is there, as mr. layard shows, and perhaps may still go on for many years yet. in spite of adverse prophecies, possibly the cannery and fish traps may never be built, for the quinnat is mostly useful to the angler. unfortunately nothing can be done to save this splendid piece of fishing unless all the land and foreshore rights were bought up by some philanthropist in the interests of sport, which is hardly within the bounds of possibility; whereas if an offer for these rights is made to the government, for the purposes of fish-trap and cannery, a refusal is impossible. let us hope and even pray that no cannery is ever built, and even if it is that it may soon be abandoned, for though i am myself a fly-fisherman and think that trolling is only a poor imitation of the real thing, yet in this place the great size and number of the fish make up for other deficiencies, fulfilling the desires of the most ardent salmon fisherman, and surely satisfying his wildest dreams. the fishing at campbell river can be enjoyed from june to september, and steamers call there about twice a month on their way from victoria to the north; formerly it was necessary to take a tent and provisions and camp out, but now accommodation can be got at the hotel. july and august are the best months. the best rod for campbell river, as i have said, would be an ft. or ft. rod of the pattern of hardy's murdoch, a steel-centred split cane; the reel should carry at least yds. of line and yds. of strong backing; it would be well to carry a spare line. traces and casts should be taken, but spoons could be got better on the spot or in victoria. tackle for fly-fishing might well be taken also. the americans use at catalina for tuna fishing a line called cuttyhunk line; it is very thin, light, and of tremendous strength. it is called "twenty-four strand" line; the strongest man could not break it with his hands, and yet it is not as thick as a salmon casting line. it makes splendid backing for a casting line, and as a trolling line it is absolutely unequalled. the size which will make good backing for a trout line is nine strand, and is very hard to break with the hands. twenty-four strand is unbreakable; it only succumbs to the mighty tuna when the whole line is run out. another advantage is that it is absurdly cheap, a , yard tuna line only costing £ . three or four hundred yards would go on an ordinary salmon reel and would form a splendid trolling line. if i remember rightly, they use twelve strand line for yellow tail fishing at catalina, and consider it quite strong enough. the yellow tail is a mackerel running from lb. to lb., and is believed to be stronger and fiercer for its size than the tuna. the cuttyhunk line is, however, absolutely useless for anything except trolling; it is far too light for casting a fly or even for throwing a minnow or any other kind of bait. it must also be well waxed with a piece of ordinary yellow beeswax to prevent it rotting, because it has no kind of dressing or protection from the effects of water. it would need waxing at least twice a week. i have never seen this line except in california, though it can probably be obtained anywhere in the united states. in my opinion it is far superior in strength to any of our english lines for trolling, while the price of a sufficient length for ordinary purposes would be about half a crown. it is more than probable that other rivers will become known before long where the fishing may rival that of campbell river. the sea coast of british columbia stretches far to the north, and most of it is absolutely unknown to the fisherman, while even further north still there are canneries on the coast of alaska. i have seen salmon in dawson city which looked quite fresh run and had been netted in the yukon; also grayling which had been caught on the fly in the klondike river. if ever the present known rivers of british columbia are fished out, there is surely an inexhaustible supply further north. there can be no question but that the grand trunk pacific will in a few years open up a new country of lakes and rivers, in which the sport should be at least as good as those already known. the fishing at campbell river is apparently not confined to the mouth of the river--at least in good seasons--as mr. layard speaks of fishing up and down both sides of the strait from seymour narrows to cape mudge lighthouse, a distance of miles. a grant from the government has been made for a pier to be built at campbell river, enabling all steamers to call there, which will render it more easy of access. chapter ix. recapitulation of salmon and trout problems--importance of preserving british columbian fisheries--possibility of introducing atlantic salmon--question of altering present close season for trout--past and present neglect of trout fisheries--need for governmental action--difficulties in the way of it--conclusion. it will be very evident to those who have read the foregoing chapters that there is a great deal to be learnt about the fish that inhabit the british columbian waters, and that several interesting problems require solving. these facts should render the greater interest to the fishing. the salmon perhaps present the most difficult questions, for their life-history is evidently almost unknown. their eggs germinate in the hatcheries, and the fry are turned out into the lakes, but from that moment to the time they return from the sea their movements are unknown. it is not known at what age they seek the salt water, nor at what age they return; while in the case of the sockeye their feeding grounds in the pacific are an unsolved mystery. the most interesting trout problem is the identity of the silver trout of the kamloops and the okanagan lakes, whether it is a distinct and new species, or merely a variety of the rainbow. the identity and life-history of the small silvery fish which runs from the nicola, anderson, and other large lakes into the small streams ought to be a matter of some interest. this fish has been alluded to as a miniature sockeye. it certainly presents the curious phenomenon of a sockeye run in miniature from the deep waters of the lake into the small streams, where it also turns red and spawns. it does not seem to be known whether it also dies after spawning. it certainly takes no bait of any kind. in concluding this most imperfect attempt to give some slight idea of the fishing in these waters, it is certainly not out of place to allude to the immense importance and necessity of preserving the fishing for the future. it is but lately that the british columbian government seems to have awakened to the great importance of its fisheries, and even yet it seems but little to appreciate the actual value and even more perhaps the potential value of its inland waters from a sporting point of view. it is almost superfluous to point out, in illustration, the value of the sporting rights of the rivers of norway and scotland and their large annual rental. the value of the british columbian rivers in this respect is at present only small, serving merely as an attraction to a few visiting anglers from england and the states, and a fishing ground for the residents of the country. but even so they form one of the chief attractions of the country, and will undoubtedly become more important, while their potential value if the atlantic salmon could be introduced is hard to estimate. the evidence brought forward tends to show that the pacific fish is fitted for long journeys entailing more endurance and greater swimming powers than the atlantic fish possesses, but that the latter can leap small waterfalls which are impassable barriers to the former. one fish is a long distance runner, the other is a hurdle racer. this fact is fully worthy of further investigation and thought. it might lead to important results. by introducing small hatcheries which would only cost a few pounds on suitable streams, the atlantic fish might be introduced in a few years. salmon ladders might be placed round falls which this fish could easily surmount, though they would be impossible to the pacific species, and by this means numerous useless streams could be turned into valuable salmon rivers. from the lease or sale of such rivers the government would reap a handsome reward. the atlantic fish would probably have no difficulty in holding its own in the sea; for the shoals of herring and oolachan would afford an ample food supply. large silvery fish have been caught, as has been said in a former chapter, in a certain part of the shuswap lake by surface trolling, whose exact identity is not well established, though they are probably silver trout. also many silvery fish have been caught lately on the minnow at the mouth of the nicola river where it joins the thompson at spence's bridge. these fish have been alleged to be salmon, though no proof has been given that they are such. they have always been caught late in the autumn, at which time all salmon would be red and out of condition. these fish might be steel-heads, but it is far more probable that they are silver trout, collecting at the mouth of the nicola preparatory to running up it for spawning purposes. it is quite certain that very large rainbow and silver trout inhabit the deep pools of the thompson, but as yet no one appears to have captured any of very large size on the rod. possibly if the pools were tried later in the fall, when the river has become low, by deep fishing with live or dead bait, or the prawn, some very large fish might be landed. the best time to attempt this fishing would be after the present close season on october th or very early in the spring as soon as the ice has gone. it is thought by the local anglers that the present close season might well be extended for another month or so, to the middle of november. for in october the rainbow are in splendid condition and show no signs of spawning. conversely, the spring season might be delayed, as many stale fish can be seen in may and even in july. it is quite certain that the rainbow spawns very late in the year, and further inquiry into this question is needed. it is unfortunate that trout have had little but nominal protection in british columbia. their best protection has hitherto been natural conditions and the social condition of the country--many fish and few fishermen. for in a new and sparsely settled country there is no wealthy leisured class who have much time to devote to fishing. also many rivers and lakes have been difficult of access. but these conditions cannot last; they have changed much in the last ten years and are now changing still more, in some districts not without more or less disastrous results. vancouver city has now grown to be a large place with some forty thousand people, and the fine fishing of the coquitlam and capilano is almost a thing of the past. the kootenay mining district has been opened by railways, and the once phenomenal fishing at slocan falls and round nelson has immensely fallen off; report says that here it has been ruined by market fishing or worse, and in other parts of the province saw mills have been allowed to dispose of their waste in the rivers, and dynamite has been used for other purposes than mining. and though the white man is liable to be occasionally pulled up by the law, the indian is apparently allowed to use spear, net, and salmon roe without any interference. the same remarks apply generally in the same way to the protection of large or small game. the nemesis which has fallen on many of the states of the union will undoubtedly overtake british columbia unless the government fully rouses itself to the urgency of the matter before it is too late and before these invaluable assets of the province have passed away for ever. many states of the union have enacted too late the most stringent game laws, and have spent vast sums in vain attempts to restore what british columbia still possesses and which could be so easily retained at but a trivial expense and by the exercise of a little foresight and trouble. for some years small societies for the protection of game and fish have existed in vancouver, victoria, and kamloops, and, with most praise-worthy perseverance in a good cause, have attempted to rouse public opinion and stimulate the government to take action. and it would appear that at last their pertinacity has met with some measure of reward, for the government has appointed a head game-warden for the whole province and local wardens for different districts. this method of game preservation has been employed for many years in the older parts of canada and is in vogue in california, montana, and probably all the states. if properly carried out it should be of great benefit to british columbia. in the past, unfortunately, whenever the question of game protection was brought up in the provincial parliament, the ridiculous cry of "class legislation" was always heard, generally raised by some labour member. it should be quite clear to anyone that an efficient game law and efficient provision for carrying it out will preserve sport for everyone equally. the poor man is just as fond of fishing as the rich, when he can get it; and the sacred fire burns as brightly in both peer and peasant. but the rich man can buy a river or a tract of land and preserve it for himself; and this he can do just as easily, and far more cheaply, in british columbia than in norway and scotland. therefore the best way is to preserve the game and the fish, so that there may be sport for all, rich and poor alike. as they say in california, "preserve it for the people and by the people." for unless this is done and proved effectual, the time will soon come when the wealthier people will form clubs for both shooting and fishing, and private game preservation will close gradually the free waters of the province. there have been other obstacles to proper protection. a most mischievous and, i am firmly convinced, most false argument on the part of the salmon canners has often been alleged as a strong reason why no protection should be given to trout and why the law of the province should be disregarded. the canners state that the trout are the salmon's worst enemies, destroying both eggs and young. there is, of course, no question as to the truth of this accusation. but the reasoning deduced from it is wrong. it is quite impossible to destroy all the trout in the british columbia waters; and if it were not, no possible advantage would be gained by so doing, because, by the inexorable laws of the survival of the fittest and of supply and demand, the position of the trout would be occupied by other fish which prey on the eggs and young of the salmon. the decrease of trout would be supplied by an increase in the numbers of the squaw fish and various species of char which are just as bad enemies of the salmon. both the federal and provincial governments are afraid to prevent the indians from taking fish or game in or out of season or to interfere in any way with their usual methods of procuring them for food. the federal government is the worst offender, because it erroneously believes that if the indians were in any way curtailed in their food supply, the government might have to supplement the want by rations, and thus be put to great trouble and expense. it is as well to note that the indians are under control of the federal government. on the other hand the indians are amenable to the laws of the province, except under certain conditions on their own reserves, which in british columbia are very small, generally merely a few acres. the provincial government is, however, naturally unwilling to act in opposition to the wishes of the federal power. this attitude of the federal government is based on ignorance of the actual conditions in british columbia. the indians of the province are self-supporting and very good workers, having long ceased to depend on hunting and fishing for their livelihood. they differ most essentially from the blackfeet and crees of the plains. the british columbian indian is quite capable of understanding the fact that it is inadvisable to kill game or fish during the breeding season. except, perhaps, in the most remote parts of the province, he should be promptly taught that he is just as much liable to penalties under the game act as the white man. it would take a very short time to enforce the lesson, and until it is done no game act will ever be really efficient, because the white man will never respect and keep a law which is not enforced on indian and white alike. this small volume is merely intended to give some idea of the fishing in british columbian waters, from facts gathered in twelve years' experience of the province. it probably contains errors of commission, perhaps, as well as of omission, and makes no claim to be authoritative in scientific detail. but at least it contains some of that strange fish lore which can be only gained on the river bank and by intercourse with others of the same craft. it fairly represents what is at present known among the fishermen of the province, with almost all of whom i am personally acquainted. it is my sincere hope that someone better qualified will, in the near future, deal more ably with the subject. the ordinary englishman often appears to be under a strange delusion that british columbia is situated in a part of the world which he vaguely alludes to as south america, and it is somewhat curious that the country is not better known, for it is a glorious land of great mountains, forests, streams, and rolling hill, in which game and fish are very plentiful, with a climate and conditions of life peculiarly suited to englishmen, especially those who have the instinct of sport. an attempt has here been made to describe the fishing; but there is also fine big game shooting, for the interior fastnesses of vancouver island are the home of thousands of that finest of the deer tribe, the wapiti; in the northern forests and the mountains moose, sheep, goat, and bear are numerous; everywhere the large mule deer is common; ducks and geese abound in the waters. the soil of the valley is very fertile; gold, silver, copper, lead, iron, and coal are among the natural products; there is an inexhaustible supply of the finest timber in the world. surely british columbia is a splendid jewel--still rough-hewn and uncut, it may be, but one which will yet shine forth as one of the brightest stars in the imperial diadem. chapter x. tuna fishing at avalon, santa catalina island. i go to the island-valley of avilion; where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies deep meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard-lawns and bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea. _the passing of arthur._ the lines placed at the head of this chapter are in many ways not inappropriate to santa catalina island, with its little village of avalon, though meadows and lawns are somewhat conspicuous by their absence. for there can be little doubt that the name is connected with the arthurian legend, and must have been brought to this far-off land by the early spanish monks years ago. no doubt the peaceful silence of the island and the deep blue of the summer sea reminded one of them of some island in distant spain, where the great king is still sleeping. to quote "fiona mcleod":-- this tradition is found among every european people. where is joyeuse gard? some say it is in the isle of avillion off the breton shores; some say it is in avalon, under the sacred hill of glastonbury. arthur himself has a sleeping place (for nowhere is he dead, but sleeps, awaiting a trumpet call) in "a lost land," in provence, in spain, under the waters of the rhine. the californians have fortunately retained many of their beautiful spanish names, instead of changing them into anglo-saxon vulgarisms. it is surely far better for a town to be called los angeles, pasadena, or san francisco, than southville or jacksonville. coronado beach and el plaza del rey, the playground of the king, are ideal names for a watering-place. the island of catalina lies miles off the coast of california opposite los angelos. about miles long, and situated so as to act as a barrier against the pacific swell and the prevailing winds, it forms, with the opposite coast, a kind of large bay or sheltered piece of water, which is always smooth. it is only very occasionally in the winter that a nor'-wester blows into it. it is for this reason, and this alone, that catalina is the only place suitable for tuna fishing, though there are other islands which this fish frequents. the island was bought by an englishman named banning for a sheep ranche, and has been turned into a summer resort by his two sons; being owned by banning brothers and co., who claim sovereign rights over the whole island, and have hitherto upheld them in spite of several legal battles with the united states. no boat can land without their permission, and the united states post-office is built below high-water mark. there is wireless communication with the mainland, and a boat arrives every day. there is a very good hotel, and the climate is most equable, neither cold in winter nor hot in summer, being quite free from the sudden changes so prevalent in other parts of california. early in april i noted the thermometer to be ° at mid-day and ° at midnight. i found catalina to be the pleasantest winter resort in california, much quieter than the others, while there is always some fishing, even though the tuna do not arrive till summer. unfortunately, the tourists and the tuna arrive about the same time, the latter usually appearing in june and the former coming in july and august. arrangements are made by which the little town of avalon is turned into a "tent city," in which some ten thousand people are accommodated in tents. this naturally makes the island for two months a very different place from what it is for the rest of the year. several steamers arrive and depart daily loaded with excursionists. the fisherman who intends to try for tuna will have to put up with inconveniences of this kind, but if he arrives early he can employ himself while he is waiting for the tuna to arrive, by trying for yellow-tail, albicore, bonito, and barracouta. the first three are all species of mackerel. the last named can often be caught in large quantities, but gives little sport. all are got by trolling a small herring. the yellow-tail is well spoken of by the tuna fishermen as being for its size even stronger than the tuna. it is fished for with a lighter rod and -ply line. i shall give a description of tuna tackle later; the tackle used for yellow-tail resembles it in general character, but is much lighter. the fish is a handsome mackerel of a dull silvery colour, tinged with yellow, which becomes more marked towards the tail. i saw several landed of about lb., but did not get one myself. the largest on record is lb.; from lb. to lb. is not an uncommon weight. the albicore is another mackerel, blue above, and silver below, with a curious long pectoral fin on each side, about a foot in length. the fish are found in shoals and can be got in large numbers when the angler can find one of the shoals. i believe it is usual to attract the shoal by throwing small herring astern, and when this is done a fish can be hooked at almost every throw. those i saw landed were about lb. the bonito is like a large horse mackerel, and is fished for in the same manner as the albicore. there are many other fish that can be got by fishing deep with a bait, notably the black sea-bass, which is caught up to lb. there is little sport to be got out of it, except what is afforded by hauling in a fish of such immense weight. all these fish are good to eat. in my experience, better sport with all these fish can be obtained at coronado beach than at catalina island, but tuna cannot be caught there, though they are known to frequent the coronado islands. these islands are too much exposed for the use of the small tuna launches. there are about , wild goats on the island, and leave can be got from the bannings to shoot them, but it is not a very high form of big game shooting. they are the descendants of some tame goats which were turned out by the spaniards for the benefit of shipwrecked sailors, though it is not known exactly how the sailors were going to catch them. however, some amusement might be got in this way till the tuna arrive. there is also a nine-hole golf course. the launches used for this fishing are very light, built for two or three men, and fitted with gasoline engines. the best are pointed at bow and stern, so as to go equally well in either direction. there are a few private ones, and some of the public ones are retained by fishermen so as to be ready when the tuna may appear. it might be well for any fisherman to see that a launch is available if the fish should suddenly arrive. though the tarpon and tarpon fishing are fairly well known, very little seems to be known in england about the tuna, and though i cannot speak from personal experience, it would seem that the sport afforded by the tuna is certainly equal to, if it does not far surpass, that given by the tarpon, in the size, strength, and fighting qualities of the fish. all the information here given was collected during a visit to catalina, during which period the tuna, unfortunately, did not put in an appearance. tuna fishing is of only very recent date, for though the fish was caught by bait on strong hand-lines by local fishermen, it was only in that the first tuna was caught on a rod and line, and since that time the numbers caught have not been very many. but little seems to have appeared in the english sporting papers and magazines about the tuna. and it would appear to me that anyone who reads the accounts given here will be obliged to admit that this fish must afford the greatest and most exciting sport that can be enjoyed by the bait fisherman. it is a most formidable antagonist and one whose capture may be looked on with just pride. even the number of those who have landed a tuna is very small; and very few englishmen are members of the tuna club. the tuna fishing at catalina is carried on under the auspices of the tuna club, an american institution which has an excellent object, namely, to protect the tuna and to see that as far as possible its capture is effected in a sportsmanlike way. for anyone can, of course, capture a tuna with a wire rope, and haul him in by main force; but to capture a tuna under the rules of the tuna club is a different matter. according to these rules, the rod must be not less than six feet nine inches long, and must not weigh more than sixteen ounces; the line must be not more than twenty-four strands cuttyhunk; and the fisherman must land his fish with unbroken rod and tackle, and without any aid, except that of his boatman as gaffer; and the said fish must weigh lb. or over. on achieving this feat in the prescribed manner the angler is eligible as a member of the tuna club, and his fish is entered in the books. englishmen might naturally object to any arbitrary rules as to the way in which they conduct their sport, but the tuna club makes no arbitrary claim. any one may fish how or where he pleases, and need not aspire to membership unless he wishes to. the aim and object of the club is simply to set up a standard, and, by a kind of moral influence, inculcate sportsmanlike methods in the capture of the fish, in circumstances, where, by the nature of the case, no forcible means of protecting the fish are available. with such an object no real sportsman should quarrel. the tuna is an immense mackerel, and its general build and shape show capacity for great speed and strength. the largest caught in the annals of the tuna club is lb., but far larger fish have been hooked and lost. fish over lb. have been captured by other means, while it is probable that the weight may in some cases run up to nearly lb. the tuna is gregarious and visits catalina from june to september in large shoals, when the flying fish, which seem to be its favourite food, also appear. in the winter it probably goes south along the coast of mexico. a shoal is sometimes seen quite early in february or march, but as a rule they do not appear till the middle of may at the earliest, and, even when they do appear at this time, they do not stay long. the rod and tackle are very important. the american tuna rod is an excellent piece of workmanship. it is made in two pieces, the tip and the butt. the tip, according to the rules of the tuna club, must not be less than ft. long, and fits into the butt just above the reel. it is made of split cane, but with no steel centre, and is very strong and stiff, bending a little only to the very strongest pull. the butt is built very stoutly, and there is no regulation as to its length, but it is usually about a foot and a-half long, and in fishing is allowed to rest in a hole under the fisherman's seat, so that the rod is controlled with the left hand alone, leaving the right free. the advantage of such a stiff rod lies in the fact that a very strong strain can be put on the fish. it could easily be tested, and i should imagine that a strain of ten pounds could be maintained, increased to considerably more in the case of a tired fish. with a salmon rod a strain of about three pounds is the utmost that can be maintained. the cost of such a rod is some £ , or $ , and it can be bought in new york, or in catalina island, or los angeles. the reel is also very important, and also costs dollars, for it must hold yards of line. the winder is of the winch form with two handles, for tuna fishermen maintain that they must have this form to enable them to reel in with sufficient force, thus getting some command over the line. the cylindrical knob of our salmon reel is universally condemned. to the reel is attached a strong piece of leather which can be pressed down by the thumb on the line so as to act as a brake, and is very simple and efficient. the line is a peculiarly american production, known as cuttyhunk line, made of flax, immensely strong, very light and cheap. i know of no line so suited to its purpose, or which, as i have said before, forms such excellent backing to a trout or salmon line. the regulations of the club provide that the line must not be more than -ply, which is about equal in thickness to a not very strong salmon trolling line; -ply is about the size of a trout line. the -ply line practically cannot be broken by the strongest man, and stands a dead strain of considerable amount. it is also remarkably cheap. a tuna line of yards costs dollars, and since they are often broken, this quality is a very excellent one. the lightness of the line and its thickness are both, too, very good qualities when several hundred yards are out, and cutting the water at great speed. the line is prepared and kept in good preservation by being rubbed with common yellow beeswax, and by being dried after use. the tuna rods, reels, and lines, which i saw at catalina, seemed exceedingly well adapted for their purpose, and were most efficient without being expensive. it was earnestly impressed on me to be sure to obtain the best tackle, and to have a spare rod and reel and several lines in the boat. great care should be taken of the tackle, and also to see that everything is in good order, as the fish is a most formidable antagonist, and the slightest hitch or weakness will end in an immediate disaster. to the end of the line is attached a large hook with a herring as bait. formerly the flying fish was considered to be the only bait which the tuna would take, and they were not always easy to get, but it has lately been found that the herring is as good. at first the fishing was carried on from a launch trailing a row-boat behind, which the fisherman entered as soon as a tuna was hooked. in this way the fish was more easily followed, but the boat being often unable to move quickly enough, was at the mercy of the tuna, and was practically towed in all directions. nowadays, a vast improvement has taken place by the introduction of small, smart-looking gasoline launches, the best being pointed fore and aft, moving quickly in either direction, so that the fish is followed rapidly, or run away from when it suddenly turns and rushes towards the boat. the boatmen are smart fellows, and are mostly registered on the books of the tuna club. £ a day is the charge for a day's fishing, including launch and tackle. the tuna may arrive at the beginning of june in large shoals, pursuing the flying fish, though the date of their arrival is uncertain; but about this time, or even earlier, the tuna fishermen appear at avalon and await the appearance of the fish. one of the attractions of this sport is the fact that it is done on sight, so to speak; there is no dreary trolling aimlessly about, half asleep under a hot sun. no one goes tuna fishing unless the fish are seen, because it is absolutely useless; failing a sight of them a small gathering of men collects in avalon who lounge about the hotel and beach. the true tuna man does not as a rule care much for any lesser sport, but awaits the coming of the fish he is after. a watchman is kept on the cliffs by the tuna club, who signals their arrival. owing probably to their habit of pursuing the flying fish, the tuna make themselves visible at a considerable distance by their constant leaps in the air. it is owing to this fact that they are locally known as the "leaping tuna." the shoals are often very large, probably numbering several thousand fish. the signal of their arrival often causes a scene of considerable excitement in avalon; the cry of "tuna" is taken up by the boatmen from the watchman on the cliffs, and there is a wild rush in small boats for the launches at anchor in the bay. sometimes before tackle is in readiness and launches got under way, the tuna shoal sweeps right into the little bay of avalon, chasing the flying fish in every direction. it can easily be imagined that such a sight is calculated to fire the blood of the most phlegmatic of fishermen, and, the western american being by no means a stolid individual, the effect must be somewhat startling. as soon as possible the launches put out and commence trolling across the shoal and wherever the tuna show themselves. it is by no means, however, certain that the fish are in a taking mood, though in such circumstances it is probable that some fish will strike, but it is by no means uncommon to troll thus across and across a shoal of the fish without a single strike being made. on the other hand, sometimes they will take most freely. it must not be supposed that hundreds, or even dozens, of launches thus put off after the tuna; it is more likely that half-a-dozen or ten would be about the number. if the shoals stay near catalina, there will soon be a few more as the news becomes known on the mainland. the tuna takes much as a salmon takes a minnow, and goes off with a tremendous rush, which sometimes continues until there is little of the yards of line left on the reel. it is impossible to touch the reel except at the risk of cutting the fingers. the fisherman sits facing the stern of the launch, with the butt of his rod fixed in a hole under his seat. if little line is left, the fisherman may put on the leather brake hard down, and try to enable the fish to break his line; or else wait until the end comes, and chance a damaged reel or rod. unless he has a spare rod or reel in the boat, the former course is the best. it is thought that this course of events, which is by no means rare, is caused by the hooking of a very large fish. if a fish of about lb. is hooked, his usual tactics are either a series of lightning rushes, which must be followed by the steersman, who must be as quick to go astern as to go forward, or else the fish goes off at tremendous speed a few feet below the surface. the tuna never jumps like the tarpon when hooked, he either rushes along below the surface or goes deep. there are fathoms of water round avalon. his mouth is not hard like the tarpon, and the hook therefore goes well in; he apparently knows that he cannot shake it out by leaping in the air. sometimes the hook tears out, but most fish are lost by breakage. it is perhaps more by the skill of the steersman and the quickness of the launch than by the merit of the fisherman that the capture is effected. when beaten, the fish is gaffed. many tall stories are told in avalon of adventures with tuna, though many of them probably happened when the fish was pursued in a rowing boat. in the launches now in use the fisherman has a better chance. the small boats were towed by the fish at their will. it is reported that on one occasion a boat was towed over to the mainland during the night, and was off avalon again in the morning. mr. f.v. ryder, the secretary of the tuna club, informed me that he went off with provisions to a launch that had been engaged for seven hours with a tuna, and found the boatman in charge of the rod, owing to the complete exhaustion of the fisherman. he returned again seven hours afterwards, and found the boatman still struggling with the fish, which was nearly beaten. at the boatman's request, he gaffed the fish, which went off with the gaff and was lost, owing to the hook tearing away. the fish was the largest he had ever seen hooked, appearing to be probably lb. or lb. mr. ryder informed me that he had landed six tuna in one day, and also in one day had lost no fewer than five lines, and had broken a rod and a reel. he stated that he believed only ten per cent. of the fish hooked were ever landed, and that he would not back himself to land more than per cent. of fish hooked. at the same time he pointed out that many who come to avalon are by no means skilled fishermen. the number of fish landed in a season from june to september is by no means large; the best year produced , one year , another only , and last season ( ) but were landed and not one over lb. there are several other islands off the coast of california which are known to be visited by the tuna, but the waters round them are too much exposed to the pacific swell for the use of the small launches which are necessary for tuna fishing, and therefore the waters round catalina are the only place at present known where this sport can be followed. it is not known where the tuna go in the winter, but it is quite possible they might be found along the coast of lower california, a province of mexico which stretches south from the lower boundary of california, separated from the mainland by the gulf of california. it is an almost uninhabited country and it struck me that the tuna might well be discovered among the numerous islands and sheltered waters which one finds along its coasts in the winter months, especially as the climate is much warmer. the tuna do not stay permanently round avalon even during the summer; sometimes they may stay for weeks, at others only a few days. this is probably entirely dependant on the movements of the flying fish. an american who had caught both tarpon and tuna informed me that he considered the latter fish to afford far the best sport. catalina island can be reached from new york in about four days, a ticket should be taken to los angeles by the southern pacific railway: from which place there is daily communication. i should strongly advise the fisherman to buy his tuna tackle in new york, certainly not in england; english tackle makers are as yet completely ignorant concerning tuna fishing. this advice does not apply to tarpon. i might mention that mr. ryder spoke strongly to this effect. it is quite worth mentioning that the season for tarpon in florida is much earlier than the tuna season, so that any one wishing to try for tuna might first fish for tarpon in april, may, or june, and cross the continent at the end of the latter month to catalina island, which could be reached from new orleans in four days. this chapter is not intended as a full or accurate description of tuna fishing, but merely to bring the sport before the notice of english fishermen to whom it may hitherto have been almost unknown. it is quite impossible to write a good account of fishing when one has only seen the fishing grounds and not actually engaged in the sport itself. but it may be that others may be encouraged from what i have said to try their luck, and that these short hints on the tackle and locality will be useful. there have been some reports that the tuna have ceased to come to catalina, being driven away by the naphtha launches, owing to their noise and the oil spread over the water by them. the chief foundation for this seems to be the fact that only twelve tuna were landed in and no big ones in . it is much more probable that the non-appearance of flying fish or herring was the real cause. a bad season or two may occur in any kind of fishing. the water round catalina is practically part of the pacific ocean and could not be fouled by a few small launches. nor could their presence affect the immense shoals of flying fish and herring. it is well-known locally that the latter fish do not appear until the temperature of the water has risen several degrees above that of winter, and it is much more likely that some climatic reason has affected the yearly migration. the tuna will no doubt appear again as usual at catalina. the yachting and boating monthly. _a high-class illustrated magazine published by "the field" on the st of each month._ a magazine of water sports, and the largest illustrated periodical devoted to any one sport in the world; containing special articles by the most eminent writers on the following subjects:-- deep sea cruising. yacht building and designing. racing. marine motoring. navigation. canoeing. rowing. fishing. price /-, of all newsagents, or /- per annum at home and abroad. from the publisher-- horace cox, the "field" office, windsor house, bream's buildings, london, e.c. books published by horace cox, published annually. _in post_ _vo_., _price_ _s._ _d._ the angler's diary and tourist fisherman's gazetteer. contains a record of the rivers and lakes of the world, to which is added a list of rivers of great britain, with their nearest railway stations. also forms for registering the fish taken during the year; as well as the time of the close season and angling licences. by i.e.b.c., editor of "the gamekeeper's and game preserver's account book and diary." _price_ _s._ _d._ _net_. sea fishing: practical letters. by john bickerdyke. most useful book for man or boy, containing everything relating to sea fishing. _in demy to., price s. d. net._ chats on angling. by capt. h. hart-davis. a well illustrated work, beautifully printed in large type on good paper. _in crown vo., price s. d., cloth._ the coasts of devon and lundy island. by john lloyd warden page. illustrated with vignettes by mr. alexander ansted, taken in many cases from sketches by the author; with map. _"field" office, bream's buildings, london, e.c._ day's salmonidÆ. _in vol., imperial vo., cloth, price £ s. with coloured plates and many woodcuts._ british and irish salmonidæ. by francis day, c.i.e., f.l.s., and f.z.s. this work is an exhaustive treatise on the salmonidæ of the british islands, and will be found equally valuable to the angler, the fish culturist, and the scientific icthyologist. a few copies to be had, beautifully bound in whole calf, full gilt, price s. _in post vo., with illustrations, price s. d._ the practical management of fisheries. a book for proprietors and keepers. by the late francis francis, _author of "fish culture," "a book on angling," "reports on salmon ladders," &c._ a pocket book for anglers and ramblers. _in crown mo., buckram, s. d.; paper covers, s. d._ a mixed bag. a medley of angling stories and sketches. by "red spinner," author of "near and far," "by stream and sea," "travel and trout," "waterside sketches," "notable shipwrecks," "the thames from oxford to the pool," &c. _illustrated catalogue of our books sent post free. kindly write for one._ the field, the farm, the garden. the country gentleman's newspaper. published every saturday, price sixpence, by post - / d. this paper is devoted entirely to the interests of country gentlemen, and is the largest and most influential paper in great britain. the subjects are treated in the fullest manner by the first writers of the day, and comprise:-- shooting. cricket. veterinary. farm. pastimes. bee-keeping. acclimatisation. fishing. racing. wild sports. garden. whist. poultry. pisciculture. hunting. yachting. stables. country house. chess. pigeons. travel. coursing. rowing. kennel. athletic sports. driving. natural history. lawn tennis. cycling and motoring. &c., &c., &c. all the subjects are, where thought advisable, carefully illustrated in the best manner possible. "the field" gives an additional interest to country gentlemen, sportsmen, naturalists, and others, as it is the established medium for advertisements of the following matters:-- shooting, fishing, and hunting quarters. estates and farms for sale or to let. poultry and pigeons. gamekeepers, bailiffs, gardeners, and other servants. yachts for sale and to let. horses and carriages for sale. dogs, stud horses, stud dogs, farm implements, farm seeds, garden seeds, new books, hotels, house-keeping, and miscellaneous articles. subscription to foreign countries: yearly, £ s. d.; six months, s. d.; three months, s. d. published by horace cox, windsor house, bream's buildings, london, e.c. of iowa, iowa authors collection graciously researched and provided scans of missing pages for this book. (this book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the google print project.) the young alaskans on the trail by emerson hough author of "the young alaskans" "the story of the cowboy" illustrated harper & brothers publishers new york and london mcmxi books by emerson hough the young alaskans. ill'd. post vo $ . young alaskans on the trail. ill'd. post vo . harper & brothers, new york copyright, , by harper & brothers printed in the united states of america [illustration: see page around the camp-fire] contents chap. page i. taking the trail ii. the gate of the mountains iii. studying out the trail iv. the great divide v. crossing the height of land vi. following mackenzie vii. around the camp-fire viii. a hunt for bighorn ix. a night in the mountains x. how the split-stone lake was named xi. lessons in wild life xii. wild country and wilderness ways xiii. the caribou hunt xiv. exploring the wilderness xv. in the big waters xvi. the grizzly hunt xvii. the young alaskans' "lob-stick" xviii. bad luck with the "mary ann" xix. new plans xx. the gorge of the mountains xxi. the portage of the rocky mountains xxii. east of the rockies xxiii. the land of plenty xxiv. the white man's country xxv. how the ermine got his tail black xxvi. trailing the bear xvii. the end of the old war-trail xxviii. steamboating in the far north xxix. a moose hunt xxx. farthest north xxxi. homeward bound xxxii. leaving the trail illustrations around the camp-fire _frontispiece_ the bear broke cover with a savage roar _facing p._ moise at home " the portage, vermilion chutes, peace river " the young alaskans on the trail i taking the trail it was a wild and beautiful scene which lay about the little camp in the far-off mountains of the northwest. the sun had sunk beyond the loftier ridges, although even now in the valley there remained considerable light. one could have seen many miles over the surrounding country had not, close at hand, where the little white tent stood, the forest of spruce been very dense and green. at no great distance beyond its edge was rough and broken country. farther on, to the southward, stood white-topped peaks many miles distant, although from the camp these could not be seen. it might have seemed a forbidding scene to any one not used to travel among the mountains. one step aside into the bush, and one would have fancied that no foot had ever trod here. there was no indication of road or trail, nor any hint of a settlement. the forest stood dark, and to-night, so motionless was the air, its silence was more complete than is usually the case among the pines or spruces, where always the upper branches murmur and whisper among themselves. such scenes cause a feeling of depression even among grown persons who first meet them; and to-night, in this remote spot, one could not well have blamed the three young occupants of this camp had they felt a trifle uneasy as the twilight drew on toward darkness. they were, it is true, not wholly new to camp life, these three boys--rob mcintyre, john hardy, and jesse wilcox. you may perhaps call to mind the names of these, since they are the same who, more than a year before, were cast away for some time on the slopes of kadiak island, in the far upper portion of alaska; from which place they were at last rescued in part by their own wits and in part by the watchfulness of their guardian, mr. hardy. the latter, whom all three boys called uncle dick, was a civil engineer who, as did the parents of all the boys, lived in the coast town of valdez, in far-off alaska. when rob, john, and jesse returned home from their dangerous adventures on kadiak island, they had been told that many a day would elapse before they would be allowed to take such chances again. perhaps uncle dick never really told the parents of the boys the full truth about the dangers his young charges had encountered on kadiak island. had he done so they would never have been willing for the boys to take another trip even more dangerous in many ways--the one on which they were now starting. but uncle dick hardy, living out of doors almost all the time on account of his profession as an engineer, was so much accustomed to dangers and adventures that he seemed to think that any one could get out of a scrape who could get into one. so it was not long after the return from kadiak before he forgot all about the risks the boys had run there. the very next year he was the first one to plead with their parents, and to tell them that in his belief the best way in the world for the boys to pass their next summer's vacation would be for them to cross the rocky mountains from the pacific side and take the old water trail of the fur-traders, north and east, and down the peace river from its source. it chanced that uncle dick, who, like all engineers, was sometimes obliged to go to remote parts of the country, had taken charge of an engineering party then locating the new railroad bound westward from edmonton, in far-off northwest canada. while he himself could not leave his employment to go with the boys across the rockies, he assured their parents that he would meet them when they came down the river, and see that every care should be taken of them meantime. "let them go, of course," he urged. "you can't really hurt a good, live boy very much. besides, it is getting to be so nowadays that before long a boy won't have any wilderness where he can go. here's our railroad making west as fast as it can, and it will be taking all sort of people into that country before long. here's a chance for the boys to have a fine hunt and some camping and canoeing. it will make them stout and hearty, and give them a good time. what's the use worrying all the time about these chaps? they'll make it through, all right. besides, i am going to send them the two best men in canada for their guides. "i wouldn't say, myself, that these boys could get across alone," he added, "because it's a hard trip for men in some ways. but in the care of alex mackenzie and moise duprat they'll be as safe as they would be at home in rocking-chairs." "what mackenzie is that?" asked jesse wilcox's mother of her brother, uncle dick. "well, he may be a relative of old sir alexander mackenzie, so far as i know. the family of that name is a large one in the north, and there always have been mackenzies in the fur trade. but speaking of the name, here's what i want to explain to you, sister. these boys will be going back over the very trail that good old sir alexander took when he returned from the pacific ocean." "but that was a long time ago--" "yes, in , while george washington still was alive, and not so very long after the revolutionary war. you know, mackenzie was the first man ever to cross this continent, and this was the way he went, both in going west and coming east--just where i want these boys to go. they'll see everything that he saw, go everywhere that he went, from the crown of the continent on down clear to the arctics, if you want to let them go that far. "i'm telling you, sister," he added, eagerly, "the boys will _learn_ something in that way, something about how this country was discovered and explored and developed, so far as that is concerned. that is history on the hoof, if you like, sister. in my belief they're the three luckiest little beggars in the world if you will only let them go. i'll promise to bring them back all right." "yes, i know about your _promises_!" began mrs. wilcox. "when did i ever fail to keep one?" demanded uncle dick of her. "and where can you find three sounder lads in valdez than these we're talking about now?" "but it's so _far_, richard--you're talking now about the peace river and the athabasca river and the arctic ocean--why, it seems as though the boys were going clear off the earth, and we certainly would never see them again." "nonsense!" replied uncle dick. "the earth isn't so big as it used to be in sir alexander's time. let them alone and they'll come through, and be all the more men for it. there's no particular hardship about it. i'll go down with them in the boat to vancouver and east with them by rail to where they take the stage up the ashcroft trail--a wagon-road as plain as this street here. they can jog along that way as far as quesnelles as easy as they could on a street-car in seattle. their men'll get them from there by boat up the fraser to the headwaters of the parsnip without much more delay or much more danger, but a lot of hard work. after that they just get in their boats and float." "oh, it _sounds_ easy, richard," protested his sister, "but i know all about your simple things!" "well, it isn't every boy i'd offer this good chance," said uncle dick, turning away. "in my belief, they'll come back knowing more than when they started." "but they're only boys, not grown men like those old fur-traders that used to travel in that country. it was hard enough even for them, if i remember my reading correctly." "i just told you, my dear sister, that these boys will go with less risk and less danger than ever sir alexander met when he first went over the rockies. listen. i've got the two best men in the northwest, as i told you. alex mackenzie is one of the best-known men in the north. general wolseley took him for chief of his band of _voyageurs_, who got the boats up the nile in kitchener's khartoum campaign. he's steadier than a clock, and the boys are safer with him than anywhere else without him. my other man, moise duprat, is a good cook, a good woodsman, and a good canoeman. they'll have all the camp outfit they need, they'll have the finest time in the world in the mountains, and they'll come through flying--that's all about it!" "but won't there be any bad rapids in the mountains on that river?" "surely, surely! that's what the men are for, and the boats. when the water is too bad they get out and walk around it, same as you walk around a mud puddle in the street. when their men think the way is safe it's bound to be safe. besides, you forget that though all this country is more or less new, there are hudson bay posts scattered all through it. when they get east of the rockies, below hudson's hope and fort st. john, they come on dunvegan, which now is just a country town, almost. they'll meet wagon-trains of farmers going into all that country to settle. why, i'm telling you, the only worry i have is that the boys will find it too solemn and quiet to have a good time!" "yes, i know about solemn and quiet things that you propose, richard!" said his sister. "but at least"--she sighed--"since their fathers want them to live in this northern country for a time, i want my boy to grow up fit for this life. things here aren't quite the same as they are in the states. well--i'll ask rob's mother, and john's." uncle dick grinned. he knew his young friends would so beset their parents that eventually they would get consent for the trip he had described as so simple and easy. and, in truth, this evening camp on the crest of the rockies in british columbia was the result of his negotiations. ii the gate of the mountains whether uncle dick told the boys everything he knew about this undertaking, or whether their mothers realized what they were doing in allowing them to go so far and into a wild region, we shall be forced to leave as an unanswered question. certainly they started with their uncle when he left valdez by steamer for vancouver. and, finishing that part of their journey which was to be made by rail, wagon, and boat, here they were, in the twilight of a remote valley at the crest of the great rocky mountains; near that point, indeed, properly to be called the height of land between the arctic and the pacific waters. moreover, they were for the time quite alone in camp. "well, fellows," said rob at last, "i suppose we'd better get some more wood together. the men'll be back before long, and we'll have to get something to eat." "how do you know they'll come back?" asked john dubiously. "alex told me he would, and i have noticed that he always does things when he says he is going to." "i don't hear them, anyway," began jesse, the youngest, who was, by nature as well as by years perhaps, not quite so bold and courageous as his two young friends. "you couldn't hear them very far," replied rob, "because they wear moccasins." "do you think they really can get the canoes out, carrying them on their backs all the way from where we left them?" asked jesse. "they're very strong," rob answered, "and that work isn't new to them. and, you know, they carried all our packs in the same way." "that moise is as strong as a horse," said john. "my! i couldn't lift the end of his pack here. i bet it weighed two hundred pounds at least. and he just laughed. i think he's a good-natured man, anyhow." "most of these woodsmen are," replied rob. "they are used to hardships, and they just laugh instead of complain about things. alex is quieter than moise, but i'll venture to say they'll both do their part all right. and moreover," he added stoutly, "if alex said he'd be here before dark, he'll be here." "it will be in less than ten minutes, then," said jesse, looking at the new watch which his mother had given him to take along on his trip. "the canoe's a pretty heavy thing, john." rob did not quite agree with him. "they're not heavy for canoes--sixteen-foot peterboroughs. they beat any boat going for their weight, and they're regular ships in the water under load." "they look pretty small to me," demurred jesse. "they're bigger than the skin boats that we had among the aleuts last year," ventured john. "besides, i've noticed a good deal depends on the way you handle a boat." "not everybody has boats as good as these," admitted jesse. "yes," said john, "it must have cost uncle dick a lot of money to get them up here from the railroad. sir alexander mackenzie traveled in a big birch-bark when he was here--ten men in her, and three thousand pounds of cargo besides. she was twenty-five feet long. uncle dick told me the indians have dugouts farther down the river, but not very good ones. i didn't think they knew anything about birch-bark so far northwest, but he says all their big journeys were made in those big bark canoes in the early days." "well, i'm guessing that our boats will seem pretty good before we get through," was rob's belief, "and they'll pay for themselves too." all the boys had been reading in all the books they could find telling of the journeys of the old fur-traders, alexander mackenzie, simon fraser, and others, through this country. rob had a book open in his lap now. "how far can we go in a day?" asked jesse, looking as though he would be gladder to get back home again than to get farther and farther away. "that depends on the state of the water and the speed of the current," said the older boy. "it's no trouble to go fifty miles a day straightaway traveling, or farther if we had to. some days they didn't make over six or eight miles going up, but coming down--why, they just flew!" "that wouldn't take us long to go clear through to where uncle dick is." "a few weeks or so, at least, i hope. we're not out to beat sir alexander's record, you know--he made it from here in six days!" "i don't remember that book very well," said jesse; "i'll read it again some time." "we'll all read it each day as we go on, and in that way understand it better when we get through," ventured john. "but listen; i thought i heard them in the bush." it was as he had said. the swish of bushes parting and the occasional sound of a stumbling footfall on the trail now became plainer. they heard the voice of moise break out into a little song as he saw the light of the fire flickering among the trees. he laughed gaily as he stepped into the ring of the cleared ground, let down one end of the canoe which he was carrying, and with a quick twist of his body set it down gently upon the leaves. "you'll mak' good time, _hein_?" he asked of the boys, smiling and showing a double row of white teeth. "what did i tell you, boys?" demanded rob. "here they are, and it isn't quite dark yet." the next moment alex also came in out of the shadow and quietly set down his own canoe, handling it as lightly as though it were but an ordinary pack. indeed, these two woodsmen were among the most powerful of their class, and well used to all the work which comes on a trip in a wilderness country. as they stood now a little apart, it might be seen that both of the guides were brown-skinned men, still browner by exposure to the weather. each of them had had an indian mother, and the father of each was a white man, the one a silent scot, of the hudson bay fur trade, the other a lively frenchman of the lower trails, used to horse, boat, and foot travel, and known far and wide in his own day as a good _voyageur_. indeed, two better men could not have been selected by uncle dick for the work now in hand. as they stood now in their shirt-sleeves, each wiping off his forehead with his red kerchief, they looked so strong and tall that the boys suddenly felt all uneasiness pass away from their minds. the twilight came on unnoticed, and in the light of the fire, freshly piled up with wood, the camp scene became bright and pleasant. it was impossible to feel any alarm when they were here under the protection of these two men, both of them warriors, who had seen encounters of armed men, not to mention hundreds of meetings with wild beasts. "well," said rob to moise, "you must be tired with all that load." "_non! non!_" said moise; "not tired. she'll been leetle boat, not over hondred-feefty poun'. i'll make supper now, me." "it was best to bring both the boats in to-night," said alex, quietly, "and easier to start from here than to push in to the lake. we load here in the morning, and i think there'll be plain sailing from here. it's just as well to make a stream carry us and our boats whenever we can. it's only a little way to the lake." "i thought you were never coming, alex," said jesse, frankly, looking up from where he sat on his blanket roll, his chin in his hands. the tall half-breed answered by gently putting a hand on the boy's head, and making a better seat for him closer to the fire. here he was close enough to watch moise, now busy about his pots and pans. "those mosquito he'll bite you some?" laughed moise, as he saw the boys still slapping at their hands. "well, bimeby he'll not bite so much. she'll be col' here un the _montaigne_, bimeby." "i'm lumpy all over with them," said john. "it's lucky you come from a country where you're more or less used to them," said alex. "i've seen men driven wild by mosquitoes. but going down the river we'll camp on the beaches or bars, where the wind will strike us. in two or three weeks we'll be far enough along toward fall, so that i don't think the mosquitoes will trouble us too much. you see, it's the first of august now." "we can fix our tent to keep them out," said rob, "and we have bars and gloves, of course. but we don't want to be too much like tenderfeet." "that's the idea," said alex quietly. "you'll not be tenderfeet when you finish this trip." "her onkle deek, she'll tol' me something about those boy," said moise, from the fireside. "she'll say she's good boy, all same like man." jesse looked at moise gravely, but did not smile at his queer way of speech, for by this time they had become better acquainted with both their guides. "what i'll tol' you?" said moise again a little later. "here comes cool breeze from the hill. now those mosquito he'll hunt his home yas, heem! all right! we'll eat supper 'fore long." moise had put a pot of meat stew over the fire before he started back up the trail to bring in the canoe, when they first had come in with the packs. this he now finished cooking over the renewed fire, and by and by the odors arose so pleasantly that each boy sat waiting, his knife and fork on the tin plate in his lap. alex, looking on, smiled quietly, but said nothing. "moise doesn't build a fire just the way i've been taught," said rob, after a while. "no," added john. "i was thinking of that, too." "he's injun, same as me," said alex, smiling. "no white man can build a fire for an injun. s'pose you ask me to put your hat on for you so you wouldn't need to touch it. i couldn't do that. you'd have to fix it a little yourself. same way with injun and his fire." "that's funny," said rob. "why is that?" "i don't know," smiled alex. "he just throws the sticks together in a long heap and pushes the ends in when they burn through," said jesse. "he didn't cut any wood at all." moise grinned at this, but ventured no more reply. "you see," said alex, "if you live all the time in the open you learn to do as little work as possible, because there is always so much to do that your life depends on that you don't want to waste any strength." "it doesn't take a white man long to get into that habit," said rob. "yes. besides, there is another reason. an injun has to make his living with his rifle. chopping with an ax is a sound that frightens game more than any other. the bear and deer will just get up and leave when they hear you chopping. so when we come into camp we build our fire as small as possible, and without cutting any more wood than we are obliged to. you see, we'll be gone the next morning, perhaps, so we slip through as light as possible. a white man leaves a trail like a wagon-road, but you'd hardly know an injun had been there. you soon get the habit when you have to live that way." "grub pile!" sang out moise now, laughing as he moved the pans and the steaming tea-kettle by the side of the fire. and very soon the boys were falling to with good will in their first meal in camp. "moise, she'll ben good cook--many tams mans'll tol' me that," grinned moise, pleasantly, drawing a little apart from the fire with his own tin pan on his knee. "we'll give you a recommendation," said john. "this stew is fine. i was awfully hungry." it was not long after they had finished their supper before all began to feel sleepy, for they had walked or worked more or less ever since morning. alex arose and took from his belt the great hudson bay knife, or buffalo knife, which he wore at his back, thrust through his belt. with this he hacked off a few boughs from the nearest pine-tree and threw them down in the first sheltered spot. over this he threw a narrow strip of much-worn bear hide and a single fold of heavy blanket, this being all the bed which he seemed to have. "is that all you ever had?" asked rob. "i don't think you'll sleep well, alex. let me give you some of my bed." "thank you, no," said alex, sitting down and lighting his pipe. "we make our beds small when we have to carry them in the woods. we sleep well. we get used to it, you see." "injun man she'll been like dog," grinned moise, throwing down his own single blanket under a tree. "a dog she'll sleep plenty, all right, an' she'll got no bed at all, what?" "but won't you come under the edge of the tent?" asked rob. "no, you're to have the tent," said alex. "i'm under orders from your uncle, who employed me. but you're to make your own beds, and take care of them in making and breaking camp. that's understood." "i'll do that for those boy," offered moise. "no," said alex, quietly, "my orders are they're to do that for themselves. that's what their uncle said. they must learn how to do all these things." "maybe we know now, a little bit," ventured john, smiling. "i don't doubt it," said alex. "but now, just from a look at your bed, you've taken a great deal of time making your camp to-night. you've got a good many boughs. they took noise and took time to gather. we'll see how simple a camp we can make after we get out on the trail. my word! we'll have trouble enough to get anything to sleep on when we get in the lower peace, where there's only willows." "what do you do if it rains?" queried jesse. "you haven't got any tent over you, and it leaks through the trees." "it won't rain so much when we get east," said alex. "when it does, moise and i'll get up and smoke. but it won't rain to-night, that's certain," he added, knocking his pipe on the heel of his moccasin. "throw the door of your tent open, because you'll not need to protect yourselves against the mosquitoes to-night. it's getting cold. good night, young gentlemen." in a few moments the camp was silent, except something which sounded a little like a snore from the point where moise had last been seen. john nudged his neighbors in the beds on the tent floor, and spoke in low tones, so that he might not disturb the others outside. "are you asleep yet, rob?" "almost," said rob, whispering. "so'm i. i think jesse is already. but say, isn't it comfy? and i like both those men." iii studying out the trail it must have been some time about five o'clock in the morning, or even earlier, when rob, awakened by the increasing light in the tent, stirred in his blanket and rolled over. he found himself looking into the eyes of john, who also was lying awake. they whispered for a minute or two, not wishing to waken jesse, who still was asleep, his face puckered up into a frown as though he were uneasy about something. they tried to steal out the other tent, but their first movement awakened jesse, who sat up rubbing his eyes. "what's the matter?" said he; "where are we?" he smiled sheepishly as the other boys laughed at him. "a good way from home, you'll find," answered john. the smell of fresh smoke came to their nostrils from the fire, which had been built for some time. so quiet had the men been about their work that they had left the boys undisturbed for the best part of an hour. they themselves had been accustomed to taking the trail even earlier in the day than this. "good morning, young gentlemen," said alex, quietly. "i hope you slept well." "well," said jesse, grinning, "i guess i did, for one." "you'll been hongree?" smiled moise at the fireside. "awfully!" said john. "i could eat a piece of raw bear meat." "so?" grinned moise. "maybe you'll seen heem before we get through, _hein_? she'll not been very good for eat raw." "nor any other way, according to my taste," said alex, "but we'll see how we like it cooked, perhaps." "do you really think we'll see any bear on this trip?" asked rob. "plenty," said alex, quietly. "grizzlies?" "very likely, when we get a little farther into the mountains. we ought to pick up two or three on this trip--if they don't pick us up." "i'm not worrying about that," said rob. "we're old bear hunters." both the men looked at him and laughed. "indeed, we are," insisted rob. "we killed a bear, and an awfully big one, all by ourselves up on kadiak island. she was bigger than that tent there; and had two little ones besides. each of them was big as a man, almost. they get awfully big up there in alaska. i'll bet you haven't a one in all these mountains as big as one of those fellows up in our country." "maybe not," said alex, still smiling, "but they get pretty near as big as a horse in here, and i want to tell you that one of our old, white-faced grizzlies will give you a hot time enough if you run across him--he'll come to you without any coaxing." "this is fine!" said rob. "i begin to think we're going to have a good trip this time." "grub pile!" sang out moise about this time. a moment later they were all sitting on the ground at the side of the breakfast fire, eating of the fried bacon, bannock, and tea which moise had prepared. "to-day, moise, she'll get feesh," said moise, after a time. "also maybe the duck. i'll heard some wild goose seenging this morning down on the lake below there. she's not far, i'll think." "just a little ways," said alex, nodding. "if we'd gone in a little farther to the west we might have hit the lake there, but i thought it was easier to let the water of this little creek carry our boats in." "listen!" said john. "isn't that a little bird singing?" a peal of sweet music came to them as they sat, from a small warbler on a near-by tree. "those bird, he's all same injun," remarked moise. "he seeng for the sun." the sun now indeed was coming up in the view from the mountain ranges on the east, though the air still was cool and the grass all about them still wet with the morning dew. "soon she'll get warm," said moise. "those mosquito, she'll begin to seeng now, too." "yes," said rob, "there were plenty of them in the tent this morning before we got up. we'll have to get out the fly dope pretty soon, if i'm any judge." "but now," he added, "suppose we read a little bit in our book before we break camp and pack up." "you're still reading sir alexander and his voyages?" smiled alex. "yes, indeed, i don't suppose we'd be here if we hadn't read that old book. it's going to be our guide all the way through. i want to see just how close we can come to following the trail mackenzie made when he crossed this very country, a hundred and eighteen years ago this very month." "some say they can't see how sir alexander made so many mistakes," said alex, smiling. he himself was a man of considerable intelligence and education, as the boys already had learned. "i know," said rob, nodding. "for instance, simon fraser--" "yes, i know those simon fraser--he's beeg man in the companee," broke in moise, who very likely did not know what he was talking about. alex smiled. "there have always been mackenzies and frasers in the fur trade. this was a long time ago." "how'll those boy know heem, then?" said moise. "i don't know. some boy she'll read more nowadays than when i'm leetle. better they know how to cook and for to keel the grizzly, _hein_?" "both," said alex. "but now we'll read a little, if you please, moise. let's see where we are as nearly as we can tell, according to the old mackenzie journal." "i'll know where we ought for be," grumbled moise, who did not fancy this starting-place which had been selected. "we'll ought to been north many miles on the portage, where there's wagon trail to lake mcleod." "now, moise," said rob, "what fun would that be? of course we could put our boats and outfit on a wagon or cart, and go across to lake mcleod, without any trouble at all. everybody goes that way, and has done so for years. but that isn't the old canoe trail of mackenzie and fraser." "everybody goes on the giscombe portage now," said moise. "well, all the fur-traders used to come in here, at least before they had studied out this country very closely. you see, they didn't have any maps--they were the ones who made the first maps. mackenzie was the first over, and he did it all by himself, without any kind of map to help him." "yes, and when he got over this far he was in an awful fix," said john. "i remember where it says his men were going to leave him and go back down the peace river to the east. he wasn't sure his guide was going to stick to him until he got over to the fraser, west of here." "yes," said rob, "and there wasn't any fraser river known by that name at that time. they all thought it was the columbia river, which it wasn't by a long way. but sir alexander stuck it out, don't you see. he was a great man, or he couldn't have done it. i take off my hat to him, that's what i do." and in his enthusiasm, rob did take off his hat, and his young companions joined him, their eyes lighting with enthusiasm for the man the simple story of whose deeds had stirred their young blood. alex looked on approvingly. "he was of my family," said he. "perhaps my great-grandfather--i don't know. he was a good man in the woods. you see, he went far to the north before he came here--he followed the mackenzie river to its mouth in the arctic sea. then he thought there must be a way across to the pacific. some one told him about the peace river. that's how he came to make the first trip over the mountains here. by rights the fraser river ought to have been named after him, too, because he was the first to see it." "but he wasn't the first to run it on out," said john, who also had a good idea of the geography hereabouts, which he had carefully studied in advance. "it was simon fraser did that first." "yes, they'll both been good man, heem," said moise, his mouth full of bacon. "my wife, she'll had an onkle once name fraser an' he'll been seex feet high an' strong like a hox--those fraser, yes, heem." "they must have been strong men," said alex, "and brave men as well." "their worst time was getting west of here, wasn't it?" asked john. "yes," answered rob. "the book says that when they tried to get down the fraser they had a terrible time. sometimes they had to carry their canoe through swamps and over hills. no wonder the men mutinied. why, they lost all their bullets, and got everything they had wet. the men almost lost heart." moise nodded. "i'll onderstan' that," said he. "sometime man get tired." "but you see now, moise, why we wanted to come down here and go over this same ground and not to take the easy portage trail into lake mcleod." "all same to me," smiled moise. "i'll don' care." "of course, if we wanted to go through the easiest way," assented rob, "it would be simpler to go up through mcleod lake. but you see, that's something of a way above here. finlay found that lake after mackenzie came across, and they had a fort up there when fraser came through eighteen years later. the indians used to come to that fort and tell about the salt water somewhere far to the west. they had brass and iron which they had got of white men somewhere on the pacific--that was more than a hundred years ago. fraser wanted to get across to the pacific, but he followed the old mackenzie trail across here. he started at the rocky mountain portage and went up into mcleod lake, and stopped there for a while. but he didn't start west and northwest, by way of stuart lake. instead of that, he followed mackenzie's journal, just as we're doing. he came into the little creek which leads into these lakes--where we'll go down pretty soon. he came right across this lake, not a mile from where we're sitting. then he met indians in here, who told him--just as moise has told us--that the best and easiest way to get across would have been by way of mcleod lake--the very place he had come from." "well," said jesse, "i agree with moise. it would be easier to go where we could have wagons or carts or something to take the boats over. everything looks mighty wild in here." "certainly, jess," said john, "that's why we're here. i expect that portage trail up there is just like a road." "fur-traders made it first," smiled alex, "and then the miners used it. that was the way white men came into the country east of the rockies, in the far north." "how long ago was that?" asked john. "there were a great many miners all along the fraser as early as . ten years later than that, they came up the big bend of the columbia. many men were killed on the rapids in those days. but they kept on pushing in, and in that way they learned all these old trails. i expect some fraser uncle or other of moise's has been across here many a time." "seex feet high, an' strong like a hox," smiled moise, nodding his head. "heem good man, my onkle, yes, heem." "well," said rob, as he bent over the book once more. "here's sir alexander's story, and here's a map i made myself. that way, to the west, is the little lake where the bad river runs out to another river that runs into the fraser. this lake drains into that little lake. there's another lake east of here, according to the story; and when we get there we'll strike a deep, clear creek which will take us pretty soon into the parsnip river. from there it's all downhill." "yes," said alex, smiling, "considerably downhill." "it's said there was a current westward in this middle lake," began john. "certainly," rob answered, "we are really now on pacific waters." "how far is it across to the other lake?" asked jesse. "the portage is just eight hundred and seventeen paces," replied john, promptly. "i remember that's what mackenzie wrote down." "fraser in his journal calls it 'between eight and nine hundred paces,'" said rob. "anyhow, that portage goes over the top of the rocky mountain range at this place--that's the top of the divide. nearly all these natural passes in the mountains run up on each side to a sort of flat place. anyhow, when we get over that portage we're on peace river waters. in yonder direction the waters run into the pacific. to the east they go into the arctic. i'm ready to start now, and anxious to get over the height of land." "she'll be downheel then," laughed moise. "all same roof on the house, maybe so." "you're not scared, are you, moise?" asked rob, smiling. "moise, she'll sweem all same feesh," was the answer of the _voyageur_. "we're not going to do any swimming," said alex, quietly, "and not even any more wading than we have to. you see, our party is small, and we're going over a trail that has already been explored. we travel light, and have good boats. i think we ought to have rather an easy time of it, after all." "one thing," broke in john, "that always makes me think less of these early explorers, is that they weren't really exploring, after all." "what do you mean by that?" asked jesse. "you just said that mackenzie and fraser were the first to come across here." john shook his head vigorously. "no, they weren't the first--as near as i can find out, the white men always had some one to tell them where to go. when mackenzie was going north there was always some tribe or other to tell him where he was and what there was ahead. it was some indian that told him about coming over this way to the west--it was indians that guided him all the way across, for that matter, clear from here to the pacific." "that's right," said rob. "if some indian hadn't told him about it, he probably never would have heard about the creek which leads into these lakes where we are now. he had a guide when he came here, and he had a guide west of the fraser, too--they never would have got through without indians to help them." "that's true," said alex, not without a certain pride in the red race which had given him half his own blood. "the whites haven't always used the indians well, but without native help they could never have taken this northern country. the beaver indians used to hunt all through these mountains. it was those men who told mackenzie how to get over here. he was told, weeks before he got here, that there was a carrying-place across the great hills to the western waters. as you say, young gentlemen, he had guides all the way across. so, after all, as we have only him and fraser for guides, we'll take a little credit to ourselves, just as he did!" "yes," said moise. "my people, she'll own this whole contree. they'll show the companee how to take hold, all right. but that's all right; i'm glad, me." "it looks a little tame," grumbled john, "coming through here where those old fur-traders knew every foot of the country." "well, we'll see," said alex, rising, filling his pipe and tightening his belt to begin the day's work. "it may not look so tame before we get through! but first," he added, "we'll have to see if we can get the boats to the open water of the lake. come, it's time to break camp now for the first day's journey." iv the great divide to boys as familiar with camp work as were rob, john, and jesse, the work of breaking camp in the morning was simple. in a few moments they had their tent down and rolled up ready to put in the canoe. their beds also were rolled, each in its own canvas, and lashed with a rope. their rifles, which, kept dry in their cases, had been placed under the edge of their blankets as they slept, were now leaned against the bed-rolls. their knapsacks, in which each boy had his personal belongings, such as brushes, combs, underwear and spare socks, were very quickly made ready, and placed in order each with its owner's bed-roll. in a very few minutes they stood up and showed alex that they were ready. meantime, moise had put his pots and pans into the sack which served him as a cook's box. his flour and bacon he quickly got ready in their packages, and even before the boys were done with their work he was carrying these parcels down to the first canoe, which was to serve as the cook's boat. the beds of moise and alex, simple as they were, required only a roll or two to be ready for the boats. "we'll fix a system," said alex, "so that we'll load each boat just the same every day. there's nothing like being regular when you're on the trail." "i'll bet, alex, she'll not be a harder boss than ol' pete fraser, my wife, he's onkle," declared moise. "he'll make those men get up by two, three, in the morning an' track two, three hour before she'll eat breakfast, heem." "well, you see, we had to do a little reading this morning," remarked john. "surely, and to very good purpose," answered alex. "you ought to keep track of the old journal day by day." "exactly," said rob, "and i'm going to keep a journal of my own each day. we haven't got any sextant to take observations, but i've got all the maps, and i've got a compass--maybe we'll get out a voyage of discoveries of our own some day!" "now, moise," said alex, "you're to go ahead with the cook-boat. you'd better take mr. rob for your bow paddler. i'll let mr. john take the bow in my boat, and our youngest friend here will go amidships, sitting flat on the bottom of the canoe, with his back against his bed-roll. the blankets and tent will make the seats. of course, moise, you're not to go too far ahead. it's always a good plan to keep in sight of the wangan-box and the cook's chest, when you're in the woods." "all right," replied moise, "i'll go slow with those boy all the time, yes." "well, we're not any of us scared yet," said john, stoutly, "and we won't be." "i hope we'll get some white water to run," added rob, his eyes shining. jesse was the only one who seemed to be not wholly happy. the silence of the great hills about him, situated as they now were far from all human habitation, made him feel rather lonesome. he kept up a stout heart, however, and soon forgot his troubles when the actual bustle of the departure was begun. "you'd better take the axes, mr. rob, and go ahead and cut out the way a little bit on this little creek," said alex. "i'm afraid the boats won't quite clear." "aye, aye, sir," said rob, and soon he and the other boys were making their way in among the tangled thicket, sometimes in and sometimes out of the water, chopping away the branches so that the little boats could get through. "will they float, do you think, mr. rob?" called alex. "like a bird!" answered rob, as the first canoe, which was named the _mary ann_, soon took the water. "here comes the _jaybird_!" cried jesse, as they pushed the other canoe over the last foot or so of grass which lay between it and the water. "those boat she'll be all same like ducks," exclaimed moise, admiringly. "i'll bet not even my onkle pete fraser he'll have better boat like those." "sir alexander's boat was twenty-five or thirty feet long, all made out of birch-bark," said rob. "ours aren't much over sixteen feet." "they had eight or ten men in their boats," began john, "and the most we'll have in either of ours will be three--that is, if you count jess as a full-sized man!" "yes," said alex, "and they had a number of packs, each weighing ninety pounds. now, all our packs won't weigh a great deal more than that for each boat, counting in what we're going to eat. we'll have to get something in the way of meat as we go on through. fine boats these, and much better than birch-bark. perhaps you may remember that sir alexander was having trouble to find good bark to mend his boats before he got in here. we'll not need to trouble about that." "no," said rob, "we've got plenty of canvas, and rubber cement, and shellac, and tacks, and cord, and wire. we'll make it through, even if we do have some little breaks." "i don't think we'll have any," replied alex in a reassuring way. "moise, don't you think your load settles your canoe just a little deeper than she ought to go?" "_non! non!_" said moise, in reply, casting a judicial look at the low freeboard of the _mary ann_. "she'll go, those boat." "she'll be getting lighter all the time," ventured jesse. "john gets awfully hungry, and he'll eat a lot!" they all laughed heartily at this reference to john's well-known appetite. all were in good spirits when the real progress down the tangled creek began. "_en roulant, ma boule, roulant!_" began moise, as he shoved out his boat--the words of the old canadian _voyageurs'_ boat song, known for generations on all the waterways of the north. "better wait until we get into the lake," smiled alex. "i don't think we can 'roll the ball,' as you call it, very much in among these bushes." they moved on down now, pushing and pulling their boat when they could not paddle or pole it. sometimes they had to force their way through an _embarras_, as the _voyageurs_ call a pile of driftwood. the boys, however, only enjoyed this sort of work. they were wet, but happy, when, after some time passed in this slow progress, at last they saw the open waters of the lake fully before them. "_en voyage, messieurs_," cried moise. "we begin!" v crossing the height of land before our young trail-makers now lay the expanse of one of those little mountain lakes which sometimes are forgotten by the map-makers. the ground immediately about the edge of the lake was low, flat, and overgrown. only a gentle ripple crossed the surface of the lake, for almost no air at all was stirring. out of a near-by cove a flock of young wild geese, scarcely able to fly, started off, honking in excitement; and here and there a wild duck broke the surface into a series of ripples; or again a fish sprang into the air, as it went about its own breakfast operations for the day. it was an inspiring scene for all, and for the time the young alaskans paused, taking in its beauty. "_il fait beau, ce matin_," said moise, in the french which made half or more of his speech. "she'll been fine morning this day, what?" "couldn't be better," assented alex, who stood knee-deep at the edge of the lake, and who now calmly removed his moccasins and spread them on the thwart of the boat before he stepped lightly in to take his place at the stern of the _jaybird_. the boys noticed that when he stepped aboard he hardly caused the boat to dip to one side or the other. this he managed by placing his paddle on the farther side of the boat from him and putting part of his weight on it, as it rested on the bottom at the other side of the boat. all the boys, observing the methods of this skilled canoeman, sought to imitate his example. presently they were all aboard, rob in the bow of the _mary ann_, john taking that place for the _jaybird_, with jesse cuddled up amidships. "well," said alex, "here's where we start. for me, i don't care whether we go to the pacific or the arctic!" "nor me no more," added moise. "only i'll rather go downheel as upheel, me--always i'll rather ron the rapeed than track the boat up the rapeed on the bank. well, _en roulant_, eh, m'sieu alex?" "_roulant!_" answered alex, briefly. moise, setting his paddle into the water with a great sweep, began once more the old canoe song. "le fils du roi s'en va chassant _en roulant, ma boule!_ avec son grand fusil d'argent _en roulant, ma boule!_" so they fared on merrily, the strong arms of the two skilled boatmen pushing the light canoes rapidly through the rippling water. moise, a strong and skilful paddler, was more disposed to sudden bursts of energy than was the soberer and quieter alex, who, none the less, came along not far in the rear with slow and easy strokes which seemed to require little exertion on his part, although they drove the boat straight and true as an arrow. the boys at the bow paddles felt the light craft spring under them, but each did his best to work his own passage, and this much to the approval of the older men, who gave them instructions in the art of paddling. "you'll see, m'sieu rob," said moise, "these paddle she'll be all same like fin of those feesh. you'll pull square with heem till she'll get behind you, then she'll turn on her edge just a little bit--so. that way, you paddle all time on one side. the paddle when she'll come out of water, she'll keep the boat running straight." the distance from their point of embarkation to the eastern edge of the little lake could not have been more than a couple of miles, for the entire distance from the western to the eastern edge was not over three miles. in what seemed no more than a few moments the boats pulled up at the western end of what was to be their first portage. "now," said moise, "we'll show those boy how a companee man make the portage." he busied himself arranging his packs, first calling for the tent, on which he placed one package after another. then he turned in the ends of the canvas and folded over the sides, rolling all up into a big bundle of very mixed contents which, none the less, he fastened by means of the strap which now served him as support for it all. "i know how you did that," said rob--"i watched you put the strap down inside of the roll." "yes," said moise, smiling, "she'll been what injun call tump-strap. white man he'll carry on hees shoulder, but injun an' _voyageur_, she'll put the tump-band on her head, what? that's best way for much load." moise now proceeded to prove the virtue of his remarks. he was a very powerful man, and he now swung up the great pack to his shoulders, although it must have weighed much over a hundred and fifty pounds and included almost the full cargo of the foremost boat. "throw something on top of her," said moise. "she'll been too light! i'm afraid i'll ron off, me." "well, look at that man," said jesse, admiringly. "i didn't know any man was so strong." "those companee man, she'll have to be strong like hox!" said moise, laughing. "you'll ought to seen heem. me, i'm not ver' strong. two, three hondred pounds, she'll make me tire." "well, trot on over, moise," said alex, "and i'll bring the boat. young gentlemen, each of you will take what he can conveniently carry. don't strain yourselves, but each of you do his part. that's the way we act on the trail." the boys now shouldered their small knapsacks and, each carrying his rifle and rod, started after the two stalwart men who now went on rapidly across the portage. moise did not set down his pack at all, but trotted steadily across, and alex followed, although he turned at the summit and motioned to rob to pause. "you'd hardly know it," said rob, turning to john and jesse, who now put down their packs, "but here we are at the top of this portage trail and the top of the peace river pass. here was where old sir alexander really turned toward the west, just as we now are turning toward the east. it's fine, isn't it?" "i'm glad i came," remarked john. "and so am i," added jesse; "i believe we're going to have a good time. i like those two men awfully well--they're just as kind, and my! how strong!" presently they all met again at the eastern edge of the dim trail. "i stepped it myself," said john, proudly. "both sir alexander and old simon fraser were wrong--she's just six hundred and ninety-three paces!" "maybe they had longer legs than you," smiled alex. "at any rate, there's no doubt about the trail itself. we're precisely where they were." "what made them call that river the parsnip river?" demanded jesse of alex, to whom he went for all sorts of information. "i'll show you," said alex, quietly, reaching down and breaking off the top of a green herb which grew near by. "it was because of the wild parsnips--this is one. you'll find where sir alexander mentions seeing a great many of these plants. they used the tops in their pemmican. you see, the north men have to eat so much meat that they're glad to get anything green to go with it once in a while." "what's pemmican?" asked jesse, curiously. "we used to make it out of buffalo meat, or moose or caribou," said alex. "the buffalo are all gone now, and, in fact, we don't get much pemmican any more. it's made by drying meat and pounding it up fine with a stone, then putting it in a hide sack and pouring grease in on top of it. that used to be the trail food of the _voyageurs_, because a little of it would go a good way. do you think you could make any of it for the boys, moise?" "i don' know," grinned moise. "those squaw, she'll make pemmican--not the honter. besides, we'll not got meat. maybe so if we'll get moose deer we could make some, if we stop long tam in camp. but always squaw make pemmican--not man." "well, we'll have to give some kind of imitation of the old ways once in a while," commented alex, "for though they are changed and gone, our young friends here want to know how the fur-traders used to travel." "one thing," said john, feeling at his ankle. "i'll be awfully glad when we get out of the devil's club country." "do you have those up in alaska?" asked alex. "have them?--i should say we have! they're the meanest thing you can run across out of doors. if you step on one of those long, snaky branches, it'll turn around and hit you, no matter where you are, and whenever it hits those little thorns stick in and stay." "i know," nodded alex. "i struck plenty of them on the trail up north from the railroad. they went right through my moccasins. we'll not be troubled by these, however, when we get east of the divide--that's a plant which belongs in the wet country of the western slope." all this time moise was busy rearranging the cargoes in the first boat, leaving on the shore, however, such parcels as did not belong in the _mary ann_. having finished this to his liking, he turned before they made the second trip on the _jaybird_ and her cargo. "don't we catch any of those feesh?" he asked alex, nodding back at the lake. "fish?" asked john. "i didn't see any fish." "plenty trout," said moise. "i s'pose we'll better catch some while we can." "yes," said alex, "i think that might be a good idea. now, if we had a net such as sir alexander and old simon fraser always took along, we'd have no trouble. moise saw what i also saw, and which you young gentlemen did not notice--a long bar of gravel where the trout were feeding." "we'll not need any net," said rob. "here are our fly-rods and our reels. if there are any trout rising, we can soon catch plenty of them." "very well. we'd better take the rods back, then, when we go for the second boat." when they got to the shore of the middle lake, the boys saw that the keener eyes of the old _voyageurs_ had noted what they had missed--a series of ripples made by feeding fish not far from the point where they had landed. "look at that!" cried jesse. "i see them now, myself." "better you'll take piece pork for those feesh," said moise. "i don't think we'll need it," replied rob. "we've plenty of flies, and these trout won't be very wild up here, for no one fishes for them. anyhow, we'll try it--you'll push us out, won't you, moise?" carefully taking their places now in the _jaybird_, whose cargo was placed temporarily on the bank, the three boys and moise now pushed out. as rob had predicted, the fish were feeding freely, and there was no difficulty in catching three or four dozen of them, some of very good weight. the bottom of the canoe was pretty well covered with fish when at length, after an hour or so of this sport, moise thought it was time to return to shore, where alex, quietly smoking all the time, had sat awaiting them. "now we'll have plenty for eat quite a while," said moise. "that's all right," said john. "i'm getting mighty hungry. how long is it going to be before we have something to eat?" "why, john," said rob, laughingly, "the morning isn't half gone yet, and we've just had breakfast." vi following mackenzie "well," said alex, "now we've got all these fish, we'll have to take care of them. come ahead and let's clean them, moise." the boys all fell to and assisted the men at this work, moise showing them how to prepare the fish. "how are we going to keep them?" asked john, who always seemed to be afraid there would not be enough to eat. "well," explained alex, "we'll put them in between some green willow boughs and keep them that way till night. then i suppose we'll have to smoke them a little--hang them up by the tail the way the injuns do. that's the way we do whitefish in the north. if it weren't for the fish which we catch in these northern waters, we'd all starve to death in the winter, and so would our dogs, all through the fur country." "by the time we're done this trip," ventured rob, "we'll begin to be _voyageurs_ ourselves, and will know how to make our living in the country." "that's the talk!" said alex, admiringly. "the main thing is to learn to do things right. each country has its own ways, and usually they are the most useful ways. an injun never wants to do work that he doesn't have to do. so, you'll pretty much always see that the injun ways of keeping camp aren't bad to follow as an example, after all. "but now," said he at length, after they had finished cleaning and washing off their trout, "we'll have to get on across to the other lake." as before, moise now took the heavier pack on his own broad shoulders, and alex once more picked up the canoe. "she's a little lighter than the other boat, i believe," said he, "but they're both good boats, as sure's you're born--you can't beat a peterborough model in the woods!" the other boys noticed now that when he carried his canoe, he did so by placing a paddle on each side, threaded under and above the thwarts so as to form a support on each side, which rested on his shoulders. his head would have been covered entirely by the boat as he stood, were it not that he let it drop backward a little, so that he could see the trail ahead of him. rob pointed out to jesse all these different things, with which their training in connection with the big alaskan sea-going dugouts had not made them familiar. "have we got everything now, fellows?" asked rob, making a last search before they left the scene of their disembarkation. "all set!" said john. "here we go!" it required now but a few moments to make the second traverse of the portage, and soon the boats again were loaded. they found this most easterly of the three lakes on the summit to be of about the same size as the one which they had just left. it was rather longer than it was wide, and they could see at its eastern side the depression where the outlet made off toward the east. again taking their places at the paddles in the order established at the start of the day, they rapidly pushed on across. they found now that this lake discharged through a little creek which rapidly became deep and clear. "it's going to be just the way," said rob, "that sir alexander tells. i say, fellows, we could take that boat and come through here in the dark, no matter what simon fraser said about sir alexander." they found the course down this little waterway not troublesome, and fared on down the winding stream until at length they heard the sound of running water just beyond. "that's the parsnip now, no doubt," said alex, quietly, to his young charges. already moise had pushed the _mary ann_ over the last remaining portion of the stream, and she was floating fair and free on the current of the second stream, not much larger than the one from which they now emerged. "_voila!_" moise exclaimed. "she'll been the peace river--or what those _voyageur_ call the parsneep. now, i'll think we make fast ride, yes." jesse, leaning back against his bed-roll, looked a little serious. "boys," said he, "i don't like the looks of this. this water sounds dangerous to me, and you can't tell me but what these mountains are pretty steep." "pshaw! it's just a little creek," scoffed john. "that's all right, but a little creek gets to be a big river mighty fast up in this country--we've seen them up in alaska many a time. look at the snow-fields back in those mountains!" "don't be alarmed, mr. jess," said alex; "most of the snow has gone down in the june rise. the water is about as low now as it is at any time of the year. now, if we were here on high water, as simon fraser was, and going the other way, we might have our own troubles--i expect he found all this country under water where we are now, and the current must have been something pretty stiff to climb against." "in any case," rob added, "we're just in the same shape that sir alexander and old simon were when they were here. we wouldn't care to turn back, and we've got to go through. if they did it, so can we. i don't believe this stream's as bad, anyhow, as the fraser or the columbia, because the traders must have used it for a regular route long ago." "i was reading," said john, "in simon fraser's travels, about how they did in the rapids of the fraser river. why, it was a wonder they ever got through at all. but they didn't seem to make much fuss about it. those men didn't know where they were going, either--they just got in their boat and turned loose, not knowing what there was on ahead! that's what i call nerve. pshaw! jess, we're only tenderfeet compared to those chaps!" "that's the talk!" commented alex, once more lighting his pipe and smiling. "we'll go through like a bird, i'm pretty sure." "yes," said moise, "we'll show those boy how the _voyageur_ ron the rapeed." "one thing i want to say to you young gentlemen," resumed alex, "not to alarm you, but to teach you how to travel. if by any accident the boat should upset, hang to the boat and don't try to swim. the current will be very apt to sweep you on through to some place where you can get a footing. but all these mountain waters are very strong and very cold. whatever you do, hang to the boat!" "yes!" said rob, "'don't give up the ship,' as lawrence said. sir alexander tells how he got wrecked on the bad river with his whole crew. but they hung to the canoe and got her out at the foot of the rapids, after all, and not one of them was hurt." "he didn't lose a man on the whole trip, for that matter," john added. "well, now, let's see about the rapids," said rob again, spreading out his map and opening one of his books which he always kept close at hand. "simon fraser tells as day by day what he did when he was going west. they got into that lake we've just left, about noon. they must have poked up the creek some time, and very early that same morning. that was june thirtieth, and on the same day they passed another river coming in from the west side--which must be between here and the outlet from mcleod lake." "what does the map say about the other side of the stream?" asked john, peering over rob's shoulder. "well, on the twenty-eighth, as they were coming up they passed two rivers coming in from the east. that can't be very far below here, and the first stream on the west side must be pretty close, from all i can learn. below there, on the twenty-seventh, there was another river which they passed coming in from the east, and simon says near its mouth there was a rapid. he doesn't seem to mention any rapids between there and here--probably it had to be a pretty big one for him to take any notice of it. that's two or three days down-stream, according to his journal, and, as alex says, it was high water, and they made slow time coming up--not as fast as sir alexander did, in fact." "plenty good water," said moise, looking out over the rapid little stream with professional approval. "she's easy river." "then we ought to make some sort of voyage," said rob. "you see, sir alexander took thirty-four days coming up to this point from the place where he started, far east of the rockies, but going downhill it only took him six days." "that was going some," nodded john, emphatically, if not elegantly. "but not faster than we'll be going," answered rob. "you see, it took him a sixth of the time to go east which it needed to come west. then, what they did in three days coming up, we ought to run in a half-day or less going down." alex nodded approvingly. "i think it would figure out something like that way," said he. "so if we started now, or a little after noon," resumed rob, "and ran a full half-day we ought to pass all these rivers which simon mentions, and get down to the first big rapid of which he speaks. they were good and tired coming up-stream, but we won't have to work at all going down." "well, don't we eat any place at all?" began john again, amid general laughter. "sure," said moise, "we'll stop at the first little beach and make boil the kettle. i'm hongree, too, me." they did as moise said, and spent perhaps an hour, discussing, from time to time, the features of the country and the probable time it would take them to make the trip. "the boat goes very fast on a stream like this," said alex. "we could make fifty or sixty miles a day without the least trouble, if we did not have to portage. i should think the current was four to six miles an hour, at least, and you know we could add to that speed if we cared to paddle." "well, we don't want to go too fast," said jesse. "we have all summer for this trip." this remark from the youngest of the party caused the old _voyageur_ to look at him approvingly. "that's right," said he, "we'll not hurry." moise was by this time examining the load of the _mary ann_, arranging the packs so that she would trim just to suit his notion when rob was in place at the bow. alex paid similar care to the _jaybird_. the boats now ran practically on an even keel, which would give them the greatest bearing on the water and enable them to travel over the shallowest water possible. "_en roulant?_" said moise, looking at alex inquiringly. alex nodded, and the boys being now in their proper places in the boats, he himself stepped in and gave a light push from the beach with his paddle. "so long, fellows," called out rob over his shoulder as he put his paddle to work. "i'm going to beat you all through--if i'm bow paddle in the first boat i'll be ahead of everybody else. _en roulant, ma boule!_" the _mary ann_, swinging fully into the current, went off dipping and gliding down the gentle incline of the stream. "don't go too fast, moise," called out alex. "we want to keep in sight of the cook-boat." "all right!" sang out moise. "we'll go plenty slow." "now," said alex to john and jess as he paddled along slowly and steadily; "i want to tell you something about running strange waters in a canoe. riding in a canoe is something like riding a horse. you must keep your balance. keep your weight over the middle line of the canoe, which is in the center of the boat when she's going straight, of course. you'll have to ease off a little if she tilts--you ride her a little as you would a horse over a jump. now, look at this little rough place we're coming to--there, we're through it already--you see, there's a sort of a long v of smooth water running down into the rapid. below that there's a long ridge or series of broken water. this rapid will do for a model of most of the others, although it's a tame one. "in this work the main thing is to keep absolutely cool. never try a bad rapid which is strange to you without first going out and getting the map of it in your mind. figure out the course you're going to take, and then hang to it, and don't get scared. when i call to you to go to the right, mr. john, pull the boat over by drawing it to your paddle on that side--don't try to push it over from the left side. you can haul it over stronger by pulling the paddle against the water. of course i do the reverse on the stern. we can make her travel sidewise, or straight ahead, or backward, about as we please. all of us canoemen must keep cool and not lose our nerve. "well, i'll go on--usually we follow the v down into the head of a rapid. below that the highest wave is apt to roll back. if it is too high, and curls over too far up-stream, it would swamp our boat to head straight into it. where should we go then? of course, we would have to get a little to one side of that long, rolling ridge of white water. but not too far. sometimes it may be safer to take that big wave, and all the other waves, right down the white ridge of the stream, than it is to go to one side." "i don't see why that would be," said jesse. "i should think there would be the most dangerous place for a canoe." "it is, in one way," said alex. "or at least you're surer to ship water there. but suppose you are in a very heavy stream like the fraser or the columbia. at the foot of the chute there is very apt to be some deep swells, or rolls, coming up from far down below. besides that, there's very apt to be a strong eddy setting up-stream just below the chute, if the walls are narrow and rocky. now, that sort of water is very dangerous. one of those big swells will come up under a boat, and you'd think a sledge-hammer had hit her. nothing can stop the boat from careening a little bit then. well, suppose the eddy catches her bow and swings her up-stream. she goes up far enough, in spite of all, so that her nose gets under some white water coming down. well, then, she swamps, and you're gone!" "i don't like this sort of talk," said jesse. "if there's any place where i could walk i'd get out." "i'm telling you now about bad water," said alex, "and telling you how to take care of yourself in case you find yourself there. one thing you must remember, you must travel a little faster than the current to get steerageway, and you must never try to go against your current in a rapid--the water is stronger than all the horses you ever saw. the main thing is to keep cool, to keep your balance, and sometimes not to be afraid of taking a little water into the boat. it's the business of the captain to tell whether it's best to take the ridge of water at the foot of the chute or to edge off from it to one side. that last is what he will do when there are no eddies. all rapids differ, and of course in a big river there may be a dozen different chutes. we always go ashore and look at a rapid if we think it's dangerous. "now, you hear that noise below us," he added, "but don't be alarmed. don't you see, moise and rob are already past it? i'll show you now how we take it. be steady, john, and don't paddle till i tell you. on your right a little!" he called out an instant later. "that's it! so. well, we're through already!" "why, that was nothing," said jesse. "it was just as smooth!" "exactly. there is no pleasanter motion in the world than running a bit of fast water. now, there was no danger in this, and the only trouble we had was just to get an inch or so out of the way of that big rock which might have wrecked us. we always pick a course in a rapid which gives us time to turn, so that we can dodge another rock if there's one on ahead. it usually happens pretty fast. you'll soon learn confidence after running a few pieces of white water, and you'll learn to like it, i'm sure." moise had turned his boat ashore to see the second boat come through, and after a moment alex joined him at the beach, the canoes being held afloat by the paddles as they sat. "she comes down fast, doesn't she, fellows?" asked rob. "i should say so!" called john. "i don't see how they ever got a big boat up here at all." "well, sir alexander says that this was part of the worst water they found," said rob. "sometimes they had to pull the boat up by hanging on to the overhanging trees--they couldn't go ashore to track her, they couldn't get bottom with their setting-poles, and of course they couldn't paddle. yet we came down like a bird!" the boats dropped on down pleasantly and swiftly now for some time, until the sun began to sink toward the west. a continually changing panorama of mountain and foothill shifted before them. they passed one little stream after another making down from the forest slopes, but so rapid and exhilarating was their movement that they hardly kept track of all the rivers and creeks which came in. it was late in the evening when they heard the low roar of a rapid far on ahead. the men in the rear boat saw the _mary ann_ slacken, pause, and pull off to one side of the stream. "that must be the big rapid which fraser mentions," commented john. "very likely," said alex. "well, anyhow, we might as well pull in here and make our camp for the night. we've made a good day's work for a start at least." "i shouldn't wonder if it was a hundred miles from where we started down to the outlet of the mcleod river," began rob again, ever ready with his maps and books. "i think they call it the pack river now. there is a sort of wide place near there, where the mischinsinclia river comes in from the east, and above that ten or fifteen miles is the misinchinca river, on the same side. i don't know who named those rivers, but we haven't passed them yet, that's sure. then down below the mouth of the mcleod is the nation river, quite a good stream, i suppose, on the west side. the modern maps show another stream called the manson still farther. i don't know whether mackenzie knew them by these names, or whether we can tell them when we see them, but it's all the more fun if we can't." vii around the camp-fire the point at which they ended their day's voyage was a long sand-pit projecting out from the forest and offering a good landing for the canoes. they were glad enough to rest. moise and alex, who had paddled steadily all the afternoon, stepped out on the beach and stretched themselves. "let's go back into the woods," said jesse. "we can't sleep on these hard little rocks--we can't even drive the tent-pegs here." "well, mr. jess," said alex, "if you went back into the woods i think you'd come back here again--the mosquitoes would drive you out. if you notice, the wind strikes this point whichever way it comes. in our traveling we always camp on the beaches in the summer-time when we can." "besides," added rob, "even if we couldn't drive the tent-pins, we could tie the ropes to big rocks. we can get plenty of willows and alders for our beds, too, and some pine boughs." the long twilight of these northern latitudes still offered them plenty of light for their camp work, although the sun was far down in the west. alex, drawing his big buffalo knife, helped the tired boys get ready their tent and beds, but he smiled as he saw that to-night they were satisfied with half as many boughs as they had prepared on their first night in camp. "i don't suppose," said rob, "that sir alexander and his men made very big beds." "no, i'm afraid not," replied alex. "on the contrary, the canoemen always broke camp about four o'clock in the morning, and they kept going until about seven at night. fifteen hours a day in and out of the water, paddling, poling, and tracking, makes a man so tired he doesn't much care about what sort of bed he has." while the others were getting the tent ready moise was busy making his fire and getting some long willow wands, which he now was making into a sort of frame. "what's that for, moise?" asked jesse. "that's for dry those feesh you boys'll got this morning. fine big trouts, three, four poun', an' fat. i'll fix heem two, three, days so he'll keep all right." "but we couldn't stay here two or three days," said john. "we might do worse," replied alex. "this isn't a bad camping place, and besides, it seems to me good country to make a little hunt, if we care to do that." "it certainly would be a fine place for beaver," said rob, "if it weren't against the law to kill them." "yes, or other things also--bear or bighorns, i should think very likely." "i suppose there isn't any law against killing bears," said rob, "but how about bighorns? i thought they were protected by law." "we'll talk about that after a while," alex answered. "of course, no one would want to kill beaver at this time of year, no matter what the law was, because the fur is not good." "i see by sir alexander's journal," continued rob, "that it must have been along in here that they saw so much beaver work. there are plenty of dams even now, although it's a hundred years later than the time he came through." "i suppose when we get down farther there are fewer creeks," said john, "and the rocks and trees are bigger. i don't know just where we are now, because the trees are so thick a fellow can't see out." "well," went on rob, bringing out his map, and also that which was found in his copy of _mackenzie's voyages_, "it must have been just about in here that mackenzie met the first indians that he saw in this country--the ones who told him about the carrying place, and about the big river and the salt water beyond it. they were the indians who had iron spears, and knives, and things, so that he knew they had met white men off to the west. they had a big spoon which mackenzie says was made out of a horn like the buffalo horn of the copper mine river. i suppose mackenzie called the musk-ox buffalo, and very likely he never had seen a mountain-sheep." "that's right," said alex, "those injuns used to make big spoons out of the horns of the mountain-sheep--all the injuns along the rockies always have done that. it seems strange to me that mackenzie didn't know that, although at that he was still rather a new man in the north." "you never have been in here yourself, have you, alex?" asked john. "no, and that's what is making the trip so pleasant for me. i'm having a good time figuring it out with you. i know this river must run north between those two ranges of mountains, and it must turn to the east somewhere north of here. but i've never been west of fort st. john." "i don't like the look of this river down there," said jesse, stepping to the point of the bar, and gazing down the stream up which came the sullen roar of heavy rapids. "those rapeed, she'll been all right," said moise. "never fear, we go through heem all right. to-morrow, two, three, day we'll go through those rapeed like the bird!" "we can walk around them, jesse, if we don't want to run them," said rob, reassuringly. "of course it's rather creepy going into heavy water that you don't know anything about--i don't like that myself. but just think how much worse it must have been for sir alexander and his men, who were coming up this river, and on the high water at that. why, all this country was overflowed, and one time, down below here, all the men wanted to quit, it was such hard work. he must have been a brave man to keep them going on through." "he was a great man," added alex. "a tired man is hard to argue with, but he got them to keep on trying, and kept them at their work." "grub pile!" sang moise once more, and a moment later all were gathered again around the little fire where moise had quickly prepared the evening meal. "i'm just about starved," said john. "i've been wanting something to eat all afternoon." they all laughed at john's appetite, which never failed, and moise gave him two large pieces of trout from the frying-pan. "i'll suppose those feesh he'll seem good to you," said moise. "i should say they were good!" remarked jesse, approvingly. "i like them better all the time." "s'pose we no get feesh in the north," began moise, "everybody she'll been starve." "that's right," said alex. "the traders couldn't have traveled in this country without their nets. they got fish enough each night to last them the next day almost anywhere they stopped. you see, sometimes the buffalo or the caribou are somewhere else, but fish can't get out of the river or the lake, and we always know where to look for them." "the dorè, she'll be good feesh," continued moise, "but we'll not got dorè here. maybe so whitefeesh over east, maybe so pickerel." "you remember how we liked codfish better than salmon up in alaska when we were on kadiak island?" asked rob. "i wonder if we'll like trout very long at a time?" "whitefeesh she'll be all right," moise smiled. "man an' dog both he'll eat whitefeesh." "well, it's all right about fish," rob remarked, after a time, "but how about the hunt we were talking about? i promised uncle dick i'd bring him some bearskins." "black bear or grizzlies?" asked alex, smiling. "grizzly." "well, i don't know about that," demurred alex. "of course i don't deny you may have killed a bear or so up in alaska, but down here most of us are willing to let grizzlies alone when we see them." "this white-face bear, he'll be bad," moise nodded vigorously. "are there many in here?" asked john, curiously, looking at the dense woods. "i don't know," alex replied. "i've seen a few tracks along the bars, but most of those are made by black bear. injuns don't look for grizzlies very much. i don't suppose there's over six or eight grizzly skins traded out of fort st. john in a whole year." "injuns no like for keel grizzly," said moise. "this grizzly, he'll be chief. he'll be dead man, too, maybe. those grizzly he'll be onkle of mine, maybe so. all injun he'll not want for keel grizzly. some injun can talk to grizzly, an' some time grizzly he'll talk to injun, too, heem." "now, moise," said rob, "do you really think an animal can talk?" "of course he'll talk. more beside, all animal he'll talk with spirits, an' man, not often he can talk with spirits himself. yes, animal he'll talk with spirit right along, heem." "what does he mean, alex?" asked rob. "well," said alex, gravely, "i'm half injun too, and you know, injuns don't think just the way white people do. among our people it was always thought that animals were wiser than white men think them. some have said that they get wisdom from the spirits--i don't know about that." "do you know how those cross fox he'll get his mark on his back that way?" asked moise of rob. "no, only i suppose they were always that way." "you know those fox?" "we all know them," interrupted john. "there's a lot of them up in alaska--reddish, with smoky black marks on the back and shoulders, and a black tail with a white tip. they're worth money, too, sometimes." "maybe moise will tell you a story about how the fox got marked," said alex quietly. "oh, go ahead, moise," said all the boys. "we'd like to hear that." "well, one tam," said moise, reaching to the fire to get a coal for his pipe, and leaning back against a blanket-roll, "all fox that ron wild was red, like some fox is red to-day. but those tam was some good fox an' some bad fox. then wiesacajac, he'll get mad with some fox an' mark heem that way. he'll been bad fox, that's how he get mark." "wiesacajac?" asked rob. "what do you mean by that?" "he means one of the wood-spirits of the cree indians," answered alex, quietly. "you know, the injuns have a general belief in the great spirit. well, wiesacajac is a busy spirit of the woods, and is usually good-natured." "do you believe in him?" asked jesse. "i thought you went to church, alex?" "the company likes us all to go to church when we're in the settlements," said alex, "and i do regularly. but you see, my mother was injun, and she kept to the old ways. it's hard for me to understand it, about the old ways and the new ones both. but my mother and her people all believed in wiesacajac, and thought he was around all the time and was able to play jokes on the people if he felt like it. usually he was good-natured. but, moise, go on and tell about how the fox got his mark." moise, assuming a little additional dignity, as became an indian teller of stories, now went on with his tale. "listen, i speak!" he began. "one tam, long ago, wiesacajac, he'll be sit all alone by a lake off north of this river. wiesacajac, he'll been hongree, but he'll not be mad. he'll be laugh, an' talk by heemself an' have good tam, because he'll just keel himself some nice fat goose. "now, wiesacajac, he'll do the way the people do, an' he'll go for roast this goose in the sand, under the ashes where he'll make his fire. he'll take this goose an' bury heem so, all cover' up with ashes an' coals--like this, you see--but he'll leave the two leg of those foots stick up through the ground where the goose is bury. "wiesacajac he'll feel those goose all over with his breast-bone, an' he'll say, 'ah, ha! he'll been fat goose; bimeby he'll be good for eat.' but he'll know if you watch goose he'll not get done. so bimeby wiesacajac he'll walk off away in the wood for to let those goose get brown in the ashes. this'll be fine day--_beau temps_--an' he'll be happy, for he'll got meat in camp. so bimeby he'll sit down on log an' look at those sky an' those wind, an' maybe he'll light his pipe, i don't know, me. "now about this tam some red fox he'll be lie down over those ridge an' watch wiesacajac an' those goose. this fox he'll be hongree, too, for he'll ain't got no goose. he'll been thief, too, all same like every fox. so he'll see wiesacajac walk off in woods, an' he'll smell aroun' an' he'll sneak down to the camp where those goose will be with his feet stick out of ashes. "those thief of fox he'll dig up the fat goose of wiesacajac, an' tase' it, an' find it ver' good. he'll ron off in the woods with the goose an' eat it all up, all 'cept the foots an' the leg-bones. then the fox he'll sneak back to the fire once more, an' he'll push the dirt back in the hole, an' he'll stick up these foots an' the leg-bones just like they was before, only there don't been no goose under those foots now, because he'll eat up the goose. "'ah, ha!' says mr. fox then, 'i'm so fat i must go sleep now.' so he'll go off in woods a little way an' he'll lie down, an' he'll go to sleep. "bimeby wiesacajac he'll look at the sun an' the wind plenty long, an' he'll got more hongree. so he'll come back to camp an' look for his goose. he'll take hol' of those foots that stick up there, an' pull them up, but the foots come loose! so he'll dig in the sand an' ashes, an' he'll not found no goose. "'ah, ha!' say wiesacajac then. he'll put his finger on his nose an' think. then he'll see those track of fox in the sand. 'ah, ha!' he'll say again. 'i'll been rob by those fox. well, we'll see about that.' "wiesacajac, he'll follow the trail to where this fox is lie fast asleep; but all fox he'll sleep with one eye open, so this fox he'll hear wiesacajac an' see him come, an' he'll get up an' ron. but he'll be so full of goose that inside of hondred yards, maybe feefty yards, wiesacajac he'll catch up with him an' pick him up by the tail. "'now i have you, thief!' he'll say to the fox. 'you'll stole my goose. don't you know that is wrong? i show you now some good manners, me.' "so wiesacajac, he'll carry those fox down to the fire. he's plenty strong, but he don't keel those fox. he's only going to show heem a lesson. so he'll poke up the fire an' put on some more wood, then he'll take the fox by the end of the tail an' the back of his neck, an' he'll hold heem down over the fire till the fire scorch his back an' make heem smoke. then the fox he'll beg, an' promise not to do that no more. "'i suppose maybe you'll not keep your promise,' says wiesacajac, 'for all foxes they'll steal an' lie. but this mark will stay on you so all the people can tell you for a thief when they see you. you must carry it, an' all your children, so long as there are any foxes of your familee.' "the fox he'll cry, an' he'll roll on the groun', but those black mark she'll stay. "an' she'll stay there till now," repeated moise. "an' all the tam, those fox he'll be 'shamed for look a man in the face. all the tam you find cross fox, he'll be black where wiesacajac hold heem over the fire, with his back down, but the end of his tail will be white, because there is where wiesacajac had hold of heem on one end, an' his front will be white, too, same reason, yes, heem. whatever wiesacajac did was done because he was wise an' strong. since then all cross fox have shown the mark. i have spoken." moise now looked around at his young listeners to see how they liked the story. "that's what i call a pretty good story," said john. "if i had one more trout i believe i could go to bed." "do you know what time it is?" asked alex, smiling. "no," said rob. "why, it's almost midnight," he added, as he looked at his watch. "we've made a long day of it," said alex, "almost too long. we don't want to be in too big a hurry." "how far do you think we've come, alex?" asked jesse. "it seemed like a long way to me." "well i don't know exactly, mr. jess," said alex, "because there are no roads in this country, you see, and we have to guess. but it must have been about noon when we got out of the last lake after we finished fishing. we've doubled on the portage, which made that something like a mile, and i suppose took about an hour. we fished about an hour, and it took us about an hour to clear out the little creek and go through a mile or so down to the main river. we've been running seven or eight hours pretty steadily. maybe we've come thirty or forty miles, i don't know." "well, i know i'm tired," said john, "and i can't even eat another trout." viii a hunt for bighorn alex allowed the boys to sleep late next morning, and the sun was shining warmly when at length they turned out of their tent and went down to the river for their morning bath. heartily as they had eaten the night before, they seemed still hungry enough to enjoy the hearty breakfast which moise had ready for them at the fire. "well, alex, what's the programme for to-day?" asked rob; "are we going on down, or shall we stop for a hunt?" "whichever you like," answered alex. "we're maybe getting into heavier water now, so i suppose we ought to be a little more careful about how we run down without prospecting a little." "how would it be for some of us to go down along the bank and do a little scouting?" asked john. "a very good plan," agreed alex, "and moise might do that while we others are doing something else." "oh, you mean about our hunt," broke in rob. "now, we were speaking about bears and sheep. we don't want to break the game laws, you know." "let me see your map, mr. rob," said alex. "i told you we'd talk over that after a while." "what's the map got to do with game laws, alex?" "a great deal, as i'll show you. you see, in all this upper country the laws made down at ottawa and edmonton govern, just as if we lived right in that country. we keep the game laws the same as any other laws. at the same time, the government is wise, and knows that men in this far-off country have to live on what the country produces. if the people could not kill game when they found it they would all starve. so the law is that there is no restriction on killing game--that is, any kind of game except beaver and buffalo--north of latitude °." "well, what's that got to do with our hunt?" asked rob. "i was just going to explain, if you will let me see your map. as near as i can tell by looking at the lines of latitude on it, we must have been just about latitude fifty-five degrees at the place where we started yesterday. but we have been running north very strongly thirty or forty miles. while i can't tell exactly where we are, i'm very positive that we are at this camp somewhere north of fifty-five degrees. in that case there is no law against our killing what we like, if we let the beaver alone; for of course, the buffalo are all gone from this country long ago." "now, i wouldn't have thought of that," said rob, "and i'm very glad that you have figured it out just that way. we agree with you that a fellow ought to keep the game laws even when he is away from the towns. in some of the states in the earlier days they used to have laws allowing a man to kill meat if he needed it, no matter what time of year. but people killed at all times, until there wasn't much left to kill." "it ought to be a good hunting country here," went on alex, "for i don't think many live here or hunt here." "well," said rob, with a superior air, "we don't much care for black bear. grizzlies or bighorns--" "have you never killed a bighorn?" "no, none of us ever has. they have plenty of them up in alaska, and very good ones, and white sheep also, and white goats sometimes, and all sorts of bears and moose and things. we've never hunted very much except when we were on kadiak island. we can all shoot, though. and we'd like very much to make a hunt here. there isn't any hurry, anyway." "s'pose you'll got some of those sheep," ventured moise, "he'll be best for eat of anything there is--no meat better in the world than those beeghorn." "well," said john, "why don't we start out to get one? this looks like a good country, all right." "that suits me," added rob. "jess, do you want to go along?" alex looked at jesse before he answered, and saw that while he was tall for his age, he was rather thin and not so strong as the other boys, being somewhat younger. "i think mr. jess would better stay in camp," said he. "he can help moise finish drying his fish, and maybe they can go down and have a look at the rapids from the shore. we others can go over east for a hunt. i've a notion that the mountains that way are better." "it looks like a long way over," said rob. "can we make it out and back to camp to-day?" "hardly; i think we'll have to lie out at least one night, maybe more, to be sure of getting the sheep." "fine!" said john; "that suits me. we wouldn't need to take along any tent, just a blanket and a little something to eat--i suppose we could carry enough." he looked so longingly at moise's pots and pans that everybody laughed at him once more. "all right," said alex, "we'll go." the old hunter now busied himself making ready their scant supplies. he took a little bag of flour, with some salt, one or two of the cooked fish which remained, and a small piece of bacon. these he rolled up in a piece of canvas, which he placed on his pack-straps. he asked the boys if they thought they could get on with a single blanket, and when they agreed to this he took rob's blanket, folded it, rolled it also in canvas, and tied it all tight with a rope, the ends of his tump-strap sticking out, serving him for his way of packing, which was to put the tump-strap across his head. "it's not a very big bundle," said he. "you young gentlemen need take nothing but your rifles and your ammunition. i don't need any blanket for a night or so. what little we've got will seem heavy enough before we get up there in the hills." "now, moise, listen," he added. "you're to stay in this camp until we get back, no matter how long it is, and you're not to be uneasy if we don't come back for two or three days. don't go out in the boats with mr. jess until we get back. give him three meals a day, and finish up drying your trout." "all right," answered moise, "i'll stay here all summer. i'll hope you get beeg sheep." alex turned, and after the fashion of the indians, did not say good-by when he left camp, but stalked off. the two boys, rifle in hand, followed him, imitating his dignity and not even looking back to wave a farewell to jesse, who stood regarding them rather ruefully. they had a stiff climb up the first ridge, which paralleled the stream, when the boys found their rifles quite heavy enough to carry. after a time, however, they came out at the top of a high plateau, where the undergrowth was not very thick and tall spruces stood more scattered. they could now see beyond them some high, bare ridges, that rose one back of the other, with white-topped peaks here and there. "good sheep country," said alex, after a time. "i think good for moose, and maybe caribou, too, lower down." "yes, and good for something else," cried rob, who was running on a little in advance as the others stopped. "look here!" "there he goes in his moccasins," said alex. "grizzly!" "yes, and a good big one, i should think," said rob. "not as big as a kadiak bear; but see, his foot sinks a long way into the ground, and it's not very soft, either. come on, alex, let's go after him." alex walked over and examined the trail for a little while. "made yesterday morning," he commented, "and traveling steadily. no telling where he is by this time, mr. rob. when an old white-face starts off he may go forty miles. again, we might run across him or some other one in the first berry patch we come to. it seems to me surer to go on through with our sheep hunt. "there's another thing," he added, "about killing a big bear in here--his hide would weigh fifty to seventy-five pounds, very likely. our boats are pretty full now, and we're maybe coming to bad water. there's good bear hunting farther north and east of here, and it seems to me, if you don't mind, that it might be wiser for us to hunt sheep here and bear somewhere else." "that sounds reasonable," said john. "besides, we've never seen wild bighorn." "come ahead then," said rob, reluctantly leaving the big bear trail. "i'd just like to follow that old fellow out, though." "never fear," said alex, "you shall follow one just as big before this trip is over!" alex now took up his pack again, and began to move up toward the foothills of the mountains, following a flat little ravine which wound here and there, at no place very much covered with undergrowth. at last they reached the edges of bare country, where the sun struck them fully. by this time the boys were pretty tired, for it was far past noon, and they had not stopped for lunch. john was very hungry, but too brave to make any complaint. he was, however, feeling the effects of the march considerably. "well," said he, as they finally sat down upon a large rock, "i don't see any signs of sheep up in here, and i don't think this looks like a very good game country. there isn't anything for the sheep to eat." "oh yes," rejoined alex; "you'll find a little grass, and some moss among the rocks, more often than you would think. this is just the kind of country that bighorns like. you mustn't get discouraged too soon on a hunt. an injun may be slow to start on a hunt, but when he gets started he doesn't get discouraged, but keeps on going. sometimes our people hunt two or three days without anything to eat. "but now since you mention it, mr. john," he added, "i'd like to ask you, are you sure there are no signs of game around here?" both the boys looked for a long time all over the mountain-slopes before them. rob had his field-glasses with him, and these he now took out, steadily sweeping one ridge after another for some time. "i see, alex!" he called out, excitedly. "i know what you mean!" "where are they?" called john, excitedly. "oh, not sheep yet," said rob, "but just where they've been, i think." "look, mr. john," said alex, now taking john by the arm and pointing across the near-by ravines. "don't you see that long mark, lighter in color, which runs down the side of that mountain over there, a mile or two away, and up above us?" "yes, i can see that; but what is it?" "well, that's a sheep trail, a path," said alex. "that's a trail they make coming down regularly from the high country beyond. it looks to me as though they might have a watering place, or maybe a lick, over in there somewhere. it looks so good to me, at least, that i think we'll make a camp." they turned now, under the old hunter's guidance, and retraced their steps until they found themselves at the edge of timber, where alex threw down his bundle under a tall spruce-tree whose branches spread out so as almost to form a tent of itself. he now loosened his straps and bits of rope from about the bundle, and fastened these about his waist. with remaining pieces of twine he swung up the package to the bough of the tree above the ground as high as he could reach. "we don't want any old porcupine coming here and eating up our grub. they almost gnaw through a steel plate to get at anything greasy or salty," he explained. "we'll call this camp, and we'll stop here to-night, because i can see that if we go up to that trail and do any waiting around it will be too late for us to get back home to-night." although no game had as yet been sighted, the confidence that it was somewhere in the country made the boys forget their fatigue. they followed alex up the mountain-slopes, which close at hand proved steeper than they had looked for, keeping up a pretty fast pace, until finally they got almost as high up as the trail which alex had sighted. this latter lay at some distance to the right of their present course, and a high, knife-edged ridge ran down from the hills, separating the hunters from the mountain-side beyond. alex now turned to his young companions and said in a low tone: "you'd better stay here now for a little while. i'll crawl up to the top yonder and look over. if you see me motion to you, come on up to where i am." rob and john sat down on a near-by rock and watched the hunter as he cautiously ascended the slope, taking care not to disengage any stones whose noise might alarm any near-by game. they saw him flatten out, and, having removed his hat, peer cautiously over the rim. here he lay motionless for some time, then, little by little, so slowly that they hardly noticed he was moving, he dropped down over the rim, and, looking down over his shoulder, motioned to them to come on up. when the boys joined alex at the edge of the ridge they were pretty much out of breath, as they had hurried in the ascent. "what is it, alex?" hissed john, his eyes shining. "they're over there," said the hunter, quietly. "five sheep, two good ones--one a very fine ram. do you want to have a look at them? be very careful--they're up at the top of the slope, and haven't come down over the trail yet. be careful, now, how you put your heads over." the two boys now slowly approached the crest, and, almost trembling with excitement, peered over. alex following, laid a hand on john's leg and another on rob's shoulder, for fear they would make some sudden movement and frighten the game. when at length the boys crawled back from the ridge they were very much excited. "what'll we do now, alex?" asked john. "they're too far off to shoot." "wait," said alex; "they're going to come on down the trail. i think they water at some spring in the mountain, although i don't know. in fifteen or twenty minutes they'll be pretty close to us--inside of two hundred yards, at least, i should think. "now listen," he continued to the boys, "and mind what i tell you. there are two rams there, and if we get them we need nothing more. i'll not shoot unless i need to. rob, you'll take the ram which is farthest to the right, at the time i tell you to fire, and you, mr. john, will take the other ram, no matter whether it's the big one or the little one. let the ewes alone. and whatever you do, don't shoot into the flock--wait until each of you can see his animal ready for a distinct shot. if either of you misses, i'll help him out--there's three or four hundred yards of good shooting all up that mountain face. now mind one thing; don't have any buck fever here! none of that, do you hear me?" alex spoke rather sternly this time, but it was with a purpose. he saw that the hands of both the boys were rather trembling, and knew that sometimes when a man is in that nervous condition a sharp word will have the effect of quieting and steadying him. rob looked at him quickly, and then smiled. "oh, i see," said he. they were all talking in low whispers, so that they might not be overheard by the game, if it should come closer. "it's no disgrace to have buck fever," said alex, in his low tone. "injuns even get excited, and i've known old hunters to get buck fever right in the middle of a hunt, without any reason they could tell anything about. but now, when you're steady enough, we'll all crawl up once in a while and have a look." he kept a steadying hand on both the boys when a few minutes later they approached the rim of the ridge once more. by this time the sheep, which had not in the least taken alarm, were advancing rather steadily down the narrow path on the steep mountain face. the biggest ram was in advance, a stately and beautiful game creature, such as would have made a prize for the most experienced of hunters. it was all rob could do to keep from an exclamation of delight at seeing these rather queer creatures so close at hand and unsuspicious of the hunters' presence. alex pulled them down once more, and sternly admonished them to be quiet. "wait now," he whispered, "one minute by the watch." when the minute, which seemed an hour in length, had elapsed, alex put his finger on his lips for silence and motioned to each boy to see that his rifle was ready. then cautiously they all pushed up once more to the edge of the ridge. this time they saw all five of the sheep standing closely bunched together, two or three of them with their heads down. there seemed to be a slight moist place among the slate rocks where perhaps some sort of saline water oozed out, and it was this that these animals had visited so often as to make a deep trail on the mountain-side. alex shook his head as rob turned an inquiring glance at him, and the boys, who by this time were steady, did not shoot into the huddled band of sheep. they lay thus for what seemed a long time, eagerly watching the game animals which were unconscious of any hunters' presence. one of the sheep, a yearling, began to jump up and down, bouncing like a rubber ball in its sportive antics, which almost made john laugh as he watched it. turning to look at this, the smaller ram paced off to the right, followed now by the larger ram. both creatures now, as if they had some sense of danger, stood with their majestic heads raised, looking steadily about and apparently scanning the air to catch the taint of danger. thus they offered a good mark to the riflemen. "shoot!" whispered alex, quickly; and almost as he spoke two reports rang out. at the report of rob's rifle the lesser ram, which was the one that stood to the left, fell as though struck by a hammer, shot through the shoulders and killed at once. the larger ram, which had fallen to john's lot, was not struck beyond a slight singe of the bullet along the hair of its back. it sprang, and with incredible speed began to make its way up the opposite slope. the ewes also scattered and ran. alex was on the point of using his rifle, when again john's piece rang out, and this time the great ram, hit fair by the bullet, fell and rolled over and over until it reached the bottom of the slope quite dead. both of the boys sprang to their feet and gave a wild whoop of exultation. they were trembling now, although they did not know it, and jabbered excitedly as they started on down the slope to their game. alex followed slowly, calmly filling his pipe and smiling his approval. "that's good work for young hunters," said he. "i couldn't have done better. mr. john, you missed your first shot. do you know why?" "i know," said rob. "he didn't allow for shooting downhill. a fellow nearly always shoots too high when he shoots at anything away down below him." "quite right," nodded alex, "and a very common fault in mountain hunting." "well, i got him the next time," said john. "if you can see where your bullet goes you can tell how to shoot the next shot." "they're two magnificent sheep," said alex, admiringly, "and we've got to take out both these heads, for they're too good to leave in the mountains. i suppose now we will have to do a little butchering." he drew his great knife from his belt, and now in very skilful way began to skin, clean, and dismember the sheep, doubling back the half-disjointed legs and the hams and shoulders and throwing the separated pieces of meat on the skins, which were spread out, flesh side up, on the ground. he took out the shoulders and hams of each sheep and split the remainder of the carcass, detaching the ribs along the spine with blows of his heavy bladed knife. after a little he rolled up the meat of each sheep in its own hide, lashed it firmly with thong, and made it into two packs. the heads he next skinned out, showing the boys how to open the skin along the back of the neck, and across the head between the horns. he asked for their smaller and keener knives when it came to skinning out the ears, eyes and nostrils, but removed the scalp from each sheep without making a cut which showed through the skin. "now," said he at last, "when we get the meat trimmed off these skull-bones you'll have a couple of sheep heads that many a hunter would give hundreds of dollars to kill for himself. they are going to be awkward to carry, though, i'll tell you that." "how much would one of these rams weigh, alex?" asked rob. "the biggest one a couple of hundred pounds, maybe," said alex. "the green head, this way, might make fifty of that, i don't know. we'll have to make two trips down to the bivouac, that's one thing sure. maybe we can lighten the heads by trimming out to-night." "i'll tell you, alex," said rob; "if you can take one of the meat packs we'll take one of the heads between us. it's downhill from here to where we left the blankets." "all right," answered alex. "i could carry a couple of hundred pounds down here, i suppose, but there's plenty of time, as we aren't more than a mile from camp. so come ahead." proceeding in this way they finally did get all their meat down to the little bivouac they had made under the spruce-trees. they were very tired but happy by this time, and hungry as well, for now evening was closing down. "i'll show you how to make a fire now," said alex, "because you will see that we aren't over sand or gravel in this camping place, as we are on the river." he scraped away the bed of spruce needles and loose soil until he got down to the moist and sandy layer, with some rocks here and there projecting through. "that'll do, i think," said he. "we won't build a big fire, and we'll have rocks under and around it all we can. you always want to remember that a forest fire is a terrible thing, and nearly always they come from careless camp-fires. you know the earth itself burns in a forest like this. never allow a fire to get away, and never leave it burning. these are laws which we have to follow up here, or we get into trouble." ix a night in the mountains "i believe i like it up here better than i do along the river," said john, after they finally had their little fire going. "yes," remarked rob, "you can see out farther here. the mountains are fine. see how pink they are over where the snow is--the sun from the west makes it all like a picture, doesn't it?" "i never tire of the mountains," said alex, "and i've lived among them many years." "i'd like to be a hunter," rob began. "not to-day," rejoined alex. "our people can't make a living that way now. we have to buy things of the company, and pay for them with our furs and robes. but we'll be hunters for this time, sure, with meat in camp and two fine heads as well. i wish we could eat some to-night." "why, why can't we?" demanded john, who looked as though he could eat a good-sized piece quite raw. "we could if we had to," said alex, "but the meat will be better if we let it hang over night. if we ate too much of the very fresh meat it might make us sick." "men eat bear liver the day it is killed." "yes, white men do, but not many indians will eat bear liver at all. we can try some of the sheep liver, if you like, for i've brought it down in the packs. for that matter, it won't hurt us maybe to try a little piece of meat roasted on a stick before the fire, the way the indians cook. that, with a bit of bacon and some bannock that i'll make, will do us, if we have a cup of tea. you see, i've a little can along which i got in moise's cook-bag." "i don't see how you're going to make bread," began john, "for you haven't got any pan." "no, injuns don't always have pans like white people," said alex, laughing, "but i'll show you. i'll use the flour-sack for a pan--just pour the water right in on the flour and mix it up in the sack. all outdoor men know that trick. an injun would take a stick and roll around in that white dough and roast that dough ball before the fire along with his meat," he said, "but i think by taking a slab of bark we can cook our bannock somehow, a little bit, at least, as though we had a pan to lean up before the fire." the boys found new proof of the old saying that hunger is the best sauce. for though their meal was really very frugal, they enjoyed it heartily, and having had a cup of tea, they forgot all about their fatigue. the shadows were coming down across the near-by ridges when at length they turned to alex inquiringly. "we want to know where we're going to make our beds." "well, this big spruce-tree is a good enough tent for me--the lower branches spread out almost like an umbrella. we won't keep much fire, but if i get cold in the night, not having any blankets, i'll just make a little fire. you know, i don't need to sleep as warmly as you do." "well," said john, "you ought to get under part of our blanket." "then we'd all be cold. keep some of the blanket under you, for that's where the cold comes from, not from above. i may after a while push the ashes back from our fireplace and lie down on the ground where it has been made warm by the fire. injuns sometimes do that when they can't do any better. mostly, however, we depend on keeping up a fire if it is very cold and we have no robe or blanket." high up in the hills where they were it grew very cold at night, and the boys, shivering in their scanty covering, woke up more than once. sometimes they would see alex lying quite asleep, and again he would be sitting up smoking his pipe, leaning against the trunk of the tree. in some way, however, the night wore through, although they were glad when at length the sun came up and they could all stretch their cramped and stiffened limbs. "my eyes have got sticks in them," said john, rubbing at his face. "and my hair pulls a little bit, too," rob added. "i forgot to bring my comb, or even my tooth-brush." "well, one thing," said alex, as he built up the fire. "we'll have some sheep meat for breakfast, all right. the animal heat will be all out of it now, and we'll have a hearty meal. we'll need it too, for it's quite a way down to camp, several miles, that's sure." they finished their breakfast while the sun was still low over the eastern mountains, and presently began to think about the homeward march. "they'll be wondering about us down there," said rob, "and i'm mighty glad we've made our hunt and can get home so soon." "we might not be able to do it again in a dozen hunts," said alex. "game isn't as abundant as it once was." "i should say not," said john. "when you read in the stories about mackenzie and fraser, and all those old fellows, they'll tell about seeing all kinds of game from the boat just as they went along." "we'll do the same when we get out of the mountains," alex replied; "but not buffalo and caribou any more. bear and moose we'll be very apt to see. "we'll double-portage these loads for one trip, at least," he resumed. "i'll make the first trip with one head on top of my pack, and if you can manage the other one for a little way i'll come back for the rest of the meat, and we'll go about half-way down toward the boats on our first trip. as you probably can't travel as fast as i can, i'm going ahead, but i'll blaze the trees as i go. then i'll drop my load and come back to meet you. when you come to my first load you must stop there until i catch up with you again. as i'll be below you all the time, at first, there'll be no danger about your getting off the trail." "no danger anyhow," said rob. "we've often followed a trail that way." indeed, the young hunters proved themselves quite good woodsmen enough to follow alex down the mountain face into the thicket of the plateau. he went almost at a trot, loaded as he was, and as the boys found the big ram's head a heavy load for them to carry between them on the stick, they met him as he was coming back up the mountains, when they themselves were not a great deal more than half-way down to the place where he had dropped his pack. "it's all plain," said alex, "for i followed our old trail down the hill, and put a branch across two or three places so that you'll know when you're near the pack." they found no difficulty in obeying his instructions, and so tired were they that it seemed but a short time before presently alex joined them for a second time, carrying the remainder of the meat on his tump-strap. "now," said he, "we're a great deal more than half-way down to the boats. we won't come back for the second trip at all now, and we'll take our time with the loads. i'll send moise up for one pack, which we will leave here." "suppose he doesn't want to come?" asked john. "oh, moise will be glad to come. he's a good packer and a cheerful man. besides, i suppose that would be his business as we look at it among our people. in the old times, when sir alexander came through, a hunter did nothing but hunt. if he killed a head of game the people around the post had to go out and get it for themselves if they wanted it brought in." "but how will moise find this place?" asked john, anxiously. "i don't want to lose this head, i'll tell you that." alex laughed. "he'll come right to the place! i'll explain to him, so he'll know right where it is." "although he has never been here before?" "surely; one injun can tell another how to go to a place. besides, our trail will be as plain as a board-walk to him. he's used to that kind of work, you see." all of this came out quite as alex had said. they took their time in finishing their journey, but it was long before noon when they arrived at the boat encampment on the banks of the river, where they were greeted with great joy by jesse and moise. then, although it was not yet time for lunch, moise insisted on cooking once more, a plan to which john gave very hearty assent, and in which all the others joined. after a while alex and moise, each smoking contentedly, began to converse in their own tongue, alex sometimes making a gesture toward the mountains off to the east, and moise nodding a quiet assent. after a time, without saying anything, moise got up, tightened his belt, filled his pipe once more, and departed into the bush. "are you sure he'll find that meat?" demanded john, "and bring down that bighorn head?" "he certainly will," said alex; "he'll run that trail like a dog, and just about as fast. moise used to be a good man, though he says now he can't carry over two hundred pounds without getting tired." "well, listen at that!" said jesse. "two hundred pounds! i shouldn't think anybody could carry that." "men have carried as much as six hundred pounds for a little way," said alex. "on the old portage trails two packets, each of ninety pounds, was the regular load, and some men would take three. that was two hundred and seventy pounds at least; and they would go on a trot. you see, a country produces its own men, my young friends." "well, that's the fun of a trip like this," said rob. "that, and following out the trails of the old fellows who first came through here." "now," continued alex, getting up and looking about the camp, "we have meat in camp, and fish also. i think perhaps we'd better dry a part of our sheep meat, as we used to the meat of the buffalo in the old days. we'll smoke it a little, cutting it thin and spreading it in the sun. by keeping the fresh meat under boughs so the flies won't get at it, it'll stay good for quite a little while too. we don't want to waste anything, of course." they were busy about their odd jobs in the camp when, long before they would have expected it, moise came trotting down the base of the timbered ridge above the camp, and, still smoking and still smiling, tossed down the big bundle of meat and the other sheep-head on the ground beside the fire. "by gosh! those will be fine head!" said he. "if i'll had this head in winnipeg i'll got hondred dollars for each one, me, maybe so. now i'll show you how for cook some sheep to-night after supper." "you mean at supper, don't you?" asked rob. "_non! non!_ we'll eat supper, wait a while, then those sheep meat he'll look good some more. i'll show you." "are you going to tell us another story to-night?" asked jesse, eagerly. "yes, after supper i'll tol' you some more story," assented moise. "we stay here maybe two, three day now, so to-morrow i think we'll be in camp. all right. to-night we'll tell the story some more." x how the split-stone lake was named as moise was even hungrier than john, there seemed no objection to eating another meal even before sundown. the evening came off fair and cool, so that the mosquitoes did not bother the campers. as the chill of the mountain night came on, the boys put on their blanket coats and pulled the bed-rolls close up to the fire, near which the men both sat smoking quietly. already the boys were beginning to learn reticence in camp with men like these, and not to interrupt with too many questions; but at length jesse's eagerness to hear moise's story could no longer be restrained. "you promised to tell us something to-night, moise," said he. "what's it going to be?" "first i'll must got ready for story," said moise. "in the camp my people eat when they tell story. i'll fix some of those sheep meat now." borrowing his big knife from alex, moise now cut himself a sharp-pointed stick of wood, two or three feet long, and stuck one end of this into each end of the side of sheep ribs which lay at the meat pile. finding a thong, he tied it to the middle of the stick, and making himself a tall tripod for a support, he suspended the piece of meat directly over the fire at some distance above, so that it could not burn, but would revolve and cook slowly. "suppose in a half-hour i'll can tell story now," said moise, laughing pleasantly. "no use how much sheep meat you eat, always you eat more!" at last, however, at what must have been nine or ten o'clock at night, at least, perhaps later, after moise had cut for each of the boys a smoking hot rib of the delicious mountain mutton, he sat back, a rib-bone in his own hand, and kept his promise about the story. "i'll tol' you last night, young mens," he said, "how about those wiesacajac, the spirit that goes aroun' in the woods. now in the fur country east of the mountains is a lake where a rock is on the shore, split in two piece, an' the people call that the split-stone lake. listen, i speak. i tell now how the lake he's got that name. "wiesacajac, he'll make hont sometime in that country, an' he'll come on a camp where all the men are out honting. only two peoples is left in camp, same like you leave us two peoples here when you go hont. but these two peoples is little, one boy, one girl. the mens an' womens all go hont in the woods and there is no meat in camp at all. the children were not old for hont or for feesh. their papa an' their mamma say, 'stay here.' so they stay an' wait. they have wait many days. pretty soon now they'll gone dead for starve so long. "now wiesacajac, he'll come an' stan' by the fire, an' see those little peoples. 'oh, wiesacajac,' they'll say, 'we're ver' hongree. we have not eat for many days. we do not think our peoples will come back no more. we'll not know what for do.' "now, wiesacajac, he'll been always kin'. 'oh, now, my childrens,' he'll say, 'this is bad news what you give me, ver' bad indeed. you'll make me cry on you, i'll been so sorry for you. you're on this lake where the win' comes, an' the country is bare, an' there is no game.' "he'll look aroun' an' see nothing in those camp but one piece of swanskin, ol' dry swanskin, all eat clean of meat. then he'll look out on the lake, an' he'll see a large flock of swans stay there where no man can come. those swan will know the children was hongree, but they'll not like for get killed theirselves. "wiesacajac he'll say, 'my children, why do you starve when there's meat there in front of you?' "those was child of a honter. 'yes,' said those boy, 'what use is that meat to us? it's daylight. you know ver' well you'll not can come up to the swans.' "'ah, ha! was that so?' said wiesacajac. 'let me show you somethings, then.' "so wiesacajac, he'll take those ol' swanskin an' put it on hees head. then he'll walk down in the lake an' sink down till just the head and breast of those swanskin will show on the water. wiesacajac, he'll be good honter, too. he'll sweem aroun' in the lake foolish, but all tam he'll come closer to those swan, an' closer. those swan she'll be wise bird, an' they'll saw heem an' they'll say, 'there's one of us that we'll not miss--what'll he doing out there?' "then they begin to sweem toward wiesacajac, an' wiesacajac begin to sweem toward them. bimeby he'll been right among 'em. then these two hongree boy an' girl on the camp they'll holler out to each other, for they'll see one swan after another flap his wing an' jump for a fly, but then fall back on water, for he'll can't fly at all. "wiesacajac, he'll have some _babiche_--some hide string, aroun' hees waist, an' he'll took it now an' tie the feet of all those swan together, so all they'll can do is to flap hees wing an' scream an' blow their horn like the swan do. at last he'll got them all tied fast--the whole flock. but he'll can't hold so many swan down on the water. those swan will all begin to trumpet an' fly off together, an' they'll carry wiesacajac with them. now he'll let them fly until they come right near where those two hongree boy an' girl is sit, an' going for starve. then he'll drop down an' tie the end of hees _babiche_ to a strong bush. _voila!_ those whole flock of swan is tie' fast to camp. none but wiesacajac can do this thing. "'now my childrens,' say wiesacajac, kin'ly, to those boy an' girl, 'you see, there's plenty of meat in your camp. go now, cook an' eat.' "so now those children go an' keel a swan an' skin it, an' get it ready for cook. by this time wiesacajac he'll done make the fire. he'll not want to set woods on fire, so he'll build it by those big rocks which always stood by that lake. here they'll cook the swan an' eat all they want, same like we do the sheep meat here to-night. those two childrens he'll wish his parent was both there. he'll say, they'll not be hongree no more never. he'll put some meat on a leaf for those ol' people when they come back. "well, wiesacajac, he'll say bimeby, 'now i mus' go. when those parent of yours come back, an' they see those swan, they'll not go for believe unless i leave a sign. to show them an' the other people who has been here, an' to show all the people who hont that it is wise never to get discourage', but always to keep on trying when you are hongree or in trouble, i make some mark on this place, me.' "so now wiesacajac he'll go down to the water, an' he'll come back with his two hands full of those water. of course, you know wiesacajac he'll been much taller than any mans. so he'll stoop just this way, one leg each side of those two rocks, right at this place. an' from his two han' he'll let fall those water on those hot stone. now, you know, if you'll put water on hot stone, he'll split. these two stone she'll split wide open from top to bottom. "you can see those stone there now. all the peoples know them, an' call them the split-stone lake all the tam. an' they all know wiesacajac was there, an' help the two childrens, an' split those stone to leave it for a mark. "i have finish." "that certainly is a good story," said jesse. "i like those stories you tell up here, for i've never heard any just like them. it makes you feel like you were out of doors, doesn't it, fellows?" "yes," said rob, "but i'd like to ask you, alex, do you really believe in all those stories about spirits--the indian spirits? you know, you were telling me that you went to church." "yes," said alex, "i do. the company likes to have us go to church, and when we're around the post we do. my mother was baptized, although she was an indian woman. my father taught me to read the bible. i believe a great deal as you do. but somewhere in me i'm part injun." xi lessons in wild life "well, alex," said john, the morning after the sheep hunt, as they sat about the fire after breakfast, "it doesn't look as though we'd saved much weight." "how do you mean, mr. john?" "well, you said we couldn't kill any grizzlies because the skins were too heavy. it seems to me that sheep heads are just as heavy as grizzly heads." "that's so," said alex, "but the sheep were good to eat, and we couldn't leave the heads in the hills after we had killed them. we'll try to get them down in the canoe somehow. the sheep meat has been very useful, and i wish we had more of it. we'll eat it almost all up in this camp, i'm thinking." "i suppose we'd better. that reminds me of a story my uncle dick told me," ventured jesse. "he said he was out fishing with a friend one time, and they wanted some grasshoppers for bait, and hadn't any way to carry them. they had a jar of marmalade, so they sat down and ate all the marmalade, and then they had a good place to keep their grasshoppers. i suppose if we eat all the meat up, we'll have a place for the heads." they all laughed at jesse's story, but john admitted he would be sorry when all the bighorn mutton was gone, declaring it to be the best meat he had ever eaten. rob expressed wonder at the way the meat was disappearing. "i remember, though," said he, "that sir alexander mackenzie tells how much meat his men would eat in camp. they had a party of ten men and a dog one day, and they brought in two hundred and fifty pounds of elk meat. they had had a hearty meal at one o'clock that afternoon, but they put on the kettles and boiled and ate meat that night, and roasted the rest on sticks, and by ten o'clock the next day they didn't have any meat in camp! what do you think about that?" "maybe so to-night, maybe so to-morrow no more sheep!" grinned moise, with his mouth still full. "we'll have to hunt as we go on down," said alex. "we'll be in good game country almost all the way." under the instructions of alex the boys now finished the preparation of the sheep heads and scalps, paring off all the meat they could from the bones, and cleaning the scalps, which they spread out to dry after salting them carefully. "i was out with a naturalist one trip," said alex, "and he collected all sorts of little animals and snakes, and that sort of thing. when we wanted to clean the skeleton of a mouse or a snake, we used to put it in an ant-hill. there were many ants, and in a couple of weeks they'd picked the bones white and clean, as if they'd been sand-papered. i suppose we haven't time for that sort of thing now, though." "why couldn't we boil the meat off?" suggested rob. "a very good plan for a skull," said alex, "excepting for a bear skull. you see, if you put the head of a bear in boiling water, the tusks will always split open later on. with the bones of the sheep's head, it will not make so much difference. but we couldn't get the horns off yet awhile--they'll have to dry out before they will slip from the pith, and the best way is not to take them off at all. if we keep on scraping and salting we'll keep our heads, all right." "how about the hides?" asked john, somewhat anxiously. "well, sheep hides were never very much valued among our people," replied alex. "in the mountain tribes below here the women used to make very white, soft leather for their dresses out of sheep hides. the hair is coarse and brittle, however, and although it will do for a little while as a bed, i'm afraid you young gentlemen will throw away the hides when you finish the trip." "well, all right," said john. "we won't throw them away just yet. let's spread them out and tan them. what's the best way to do that?" "the injuns always stake out a hide, on the ground or on a frame, flesh side up," said alex. "then they take one of their little scrapers and pare all the meat off. that's the main thing, and that is the slowest work. when you get down to the real hide, it soon dries out and doesn't spoil. you can tan a light hide with softsoap, or salt and alum. indeed, the injuns had nothing of that sort in their tanning--they'd scrape a hide and dry it, then spread some brains on it, work in the brains and dry it and rub it, and last of all, smoke it. in that way they got their hides very soft, and after they were smoked they would always work soft in case they got wet, which isn't the case with white man's leather, which is tanned by means of acids and things of that kind." "i have tanned little squirrel hides, and ground-hog hides, and wildcat skins," said rob, "many a time. it isn't any trouble if you once get the meat all scraped off. that seems to be what spoils a hide." "in keeping all our valuable furs," said alex, "we never touch them with salt or alum. we just stretch them flesh side out, and let them dry in the shade, not close to a fire. this keeps the life all in the fur. alum makes the hair brittle and takes away the luster. for a big bear hide, if i were far back in the mountains, i would put lots of salt on it and fold it up, and let it stay away for a day. then i would unroll it and drain it off, and salt it all over again; tamp salt down into the ears, nose, eyes, and feet, then roll it up again and tie it tight, with the fur side out. bear hides will keep all right that way if you haven't sunshine enough to dry them. the best way to keep a hide, though, is simply to scrape it clean and dry it in the sun, and after that fold it. it will never spoil then." "alex," ventured moise, laughing, "you'll talk just like my old woman about tan hides. those business is not for mans." "that's true," said alex, smiling. "in the old times, when we had buffalo, the women always tanned the hides. hard work enough it was, too, with so heavy and coarse a hide. now they tan the moose hides. i'll show you, young gentlemen, lower down this river near the camping places on the shore spruce-trees cut into three-cornered shape. you might not know what that was for. it was done so that the women could rub their moose hides around these angles and corners while they were making them soft. they make fine moose leather, too--although i suppose we'd have to wait a good while before we could get moise to tan one in that way!" "what makes them use brains in tanning the hide?" asked jesse. "only for the grease there is in them," said alex. "it takes some sort of grease to soften up a hide after it has been dried. the injuns always said they could tan a hide with the brains of the animal. sometimes in tanning a buffalo hide, however, they would have marrow and grease and scraps thrown into a kettle with the brains. i think the main secret of the injun tanning was the amount of hard work put in on rubbing the hide. that breaks up the fiber and makes it soft. "but now, moise," resumed alex, getting up and filling his pipe, "i think it is about time we went down and had a look at those rapids below the camp. we've got to get through there somehow before long." "i don't like this water in here at all," said jesse, looking troubled. "i could hardly sleep last night on account of the noises it made--it sounded just like glass was being splintered up under the water." "that's gravel, or small rocks, slipping along on the bottom in the current, i suppose," said alex, "but after all this is not nearly so bad a river as the fraser or the columbia--you ought to see the old columbia in high water! i'm thinking we'd have our own troubles getting down there in boats as small as these. in a deep river which is very fast, and which has a rough bottom, all sorts of unaccountable waves and swells will come up from below, just when you don't expect them." "these rapeed in here, she'll been all right," said moise. "no trouble to ron heem." "well, we'll not take any chances," said alex, "and we'll in no case do anything to alarm our young friends." he turned now, and, followed by moise, crossed the neck of the bend and passed on down the river some distance. the boys, following more slowly around the curve of the beach, finally saw both alex and moise poised on some high rocks and pointing at the wild water which stretched below them for the distance of two or three hundred yards. moise, who seemed to be more savage than alex, made a wild figure as he stood gesticulating, a red handkerchief bound over his long, black hair, and his red sash holding in place the ragged remnants of his trousers. to the boys it seemed sure that the boats could not get through such water at all, but to their surprise the two men seemed not in the least concerned when at length they returned to the camp. "it's a little rough," said alex, "but there seems to be a good channel out in the middle, plenty of water. we'll run the boats through all right without any trouble. we'll go through light, and then portage the camp stuff across the bend after we get the boats below the rapids. come on then, young gentlemen, and help us get ready. it may be interesting to you to see your first piece of real white water, although it isn't very bad. "as i figure it, then, mr. rob," continued alex, "we ought to have rather better water below here for a little while. what does your map say about that?" "well," answered rob, "it's pretty hard to tell exactly, but taking the stories of fraser and mackenzie together, we ought to be here about one hundred and fifty miles above the mouth of the finlay. by to-morrow night, if we hurry, we ought to be at or below the mcleod lake outlet. dr. macoun says in his government report that it is easy running in the late season from mcleod to the finlay, about eighty miles; and i saw a letter once from mr. hussey, a friend of uncle dick's, who made this trip lately, and he said there was not much bad water between the lake and the mouth of the finlay. below there--look out, that's all! "it took the mackenzie party six or eight days' plugging to get from there up to the carrying place," he added, "but we're going downhill instead of uphill. i should think we would have alternate stretches of quiet water here and there, but no very rough water from here on down for a while. with our small boats we probably cannot go so fast for a while now as they did with their big canoes. they could run bang through a big rapid where we'd have to portage." "well," said alex, "i suggest that we spend the rest of this day in camp here, run the two canoes through, sleep here to-night, then portage below the rapids to-morrow morning and make a straight run from there down. we don't want to take too many chances." "that's all right," said rob, "and we'll help you pack the canoes." the men did not put very heavy loads in the canoes, but they took the sheep heads, and most of the heavier camp supplies, putting about half of these each in the _mary ann_ and the _jaybird_, themselves taking the _mary ann_ for their first trip through the rapids. while they were busy finishing their loading, the boys ran on down around the bend and got ready to see the first canoe take the rapids. when jesse got fully within the sound and sight of the rolling, noisy water which now lay before them, he was very pale. "what would we do, rob," asked he, "if the boat should be lost out there--we couldn't ever get out of here alive." "i don't think there is that much danger, jess," answered rob. "but if there should be an accident, we have one boat left, and we'd not try to run her through. we'd let her down the edge of the rapids on a rope the best we could, a little at a time. that's what alex would do now if he thought there was any real danger." "here they come!" shouted john. all three boys scrambled up on a high, jutting rock, where they could see the course of the boat. the _mary ann_ swept around the curve gently and steadily, caught in the rapid down-set of the current. moise was in the bow, alex at the stern paddle, and both the men looked steadily ahead and not at either side. they saw the boat seemed to tip down at a sharp angle, but still go on steadily. alex was following the long v which ran down in the mid-channel stream, on either side of which were heavy rocks and sharp, abrupt falls in the water. at the foot of this smooth strip they saw the bow of the boat shoot up into the air, then drop down to a more even keel. from that time on the _mary ann_ was swept down swiftly, jumping up and down, part of the time almost hidden out of sight, and, as they thought, swamped in the heavy seas. to their delight, however, they saw the little craft emerge at the foot of the white water after a while and, taking advantage of the back current, swing gently alongside and up the shore toward where they stood at the foot of the main cascade. both the men were smiling at their excitement. "well, what do you think about that?" asked john, in wonder. "i was sure they were gone, but they don't seem to care at all." on the contrary, moise seemed to be very much pleased with the experience. alex was smoking quietly. neither said much when finally they came ashore close where the boys stood. "that was great work," said rob. "it was beautiful!" "these boat she'll not tip over," said moise calmly. "she's good boat. i s'pose could carry through maybe a hondred ton or so!" "well, maybe not _that_ much!" smiled alex, "but we've proved that the channel out there is practicable. we'll go up now and bring down the other boat. first we'll put this one high up on the bank, so that no rise in the stream can take it away, because we're apt to need these boats before we get through." suiting the action to the word, the two _voyageurs_ now went back to the camp, and presently the boys once more saw the nodding and dipping little craft come around the bend. the _jaybird_ came through with quite as good fortune as had the _mary ann_. and soon the two canoes, lightly loaded, were lying side by side on the beach below the rolling water. "that's how we'll did done it!" said moise. "s'pose water will be bad, go where he'll ain't be so bad. no use for get tip over. s'pose he'll be too bad, we'll take a rope an' let those boat down little bit to a time." "well," said john, "we don't want to show the white feather, but i suppose it's just as well that you should take the boats through a bad place, and not trust to us--we might get rattled in the wrong place out there." "yes," said rob, "it's better to be too careful than not careful enough. i can see now what the boats will do, however, and i have more confidence than i have had at any time about our getting through the journey all right." "i can't quite figure out, mr. rob," said alex, "just where we are. the maps don't seem to look like the country, or the country like the maps." "according to my reckoning," rob answered, "we're now about where mackenzie was on june th. the day before that--which will be the day after this as we run down the stream--they had sight of a high, white mountain in the evening, off to the east, and there were mountains and valleys in full sight to the south. the valley was wide. that answers pretty closely to the description of this country here. in the morning of that day--which will be later on in the day for us as we go down--they saw a high, white bank on the east. we haven't passed any such bank. they made seventeen miles of this water coming up. if we can locate that white bank, we ought to strike slacker water below there and then faster water still farther below, according to their story. on june th the water was so high and heavy that they had to pull up by the branches of trees, because they couldn't paddle or pole or track. as they were three days in making something like thirty miles, we ought to expect pretty fast work the next day or so below here. but of course they had high water, and we haven't." "that seems to me good reasoning," said alex. "we'll take it slow and easy, and if we hear a bad rapid we'll go ashore and look it out first before we run it. not that i know even now just where that stream comes in from mcleod." "we could find out by exploring," said rob, "but i don't think we need do that. let's go through on our own as much as we can. we want to stop when we get down into some good bear country anyhow--as soon as moise and john have eaten up enough pork to make room in the boat!" "they're making such a hole in the bacon now," said alex, "that i'm afraid we'll have to stop and hunt somewhere to-morrow." "that'll suit us all right," boasted john. "rob and i will stroll out and kill you almost anything you want to-morrow evening." they all returned now to the camp, which had been left on the bar around the bend, and passed the night there. "we'll have to be good _voyageurs_ from now on," said alex, when they turned in for the night, "and that means getting on the trail by four o'clock in the morning." xii wild country and wilderness ways by daylight of the following morning the boys were busy breaking camp and getting their luggage across the bend to the place where they had left the boats below the rapids. they found no very bad water for some little distance, although occasionally there were stretches with steep rocks where the water rippled along very noisily. again they would meet wide bends where the paddles were useful. they still were in a wide valley. far to the east lay the main range of the rockies, but the mountains were much lower than they are farther to the south. they kept a sharp outlook on both banks, trying to find some landmark which would tell them where they were, and at last, indeed, they found a high, white bank on the right-hand side, which they supposed to have been the one mentioned in the mackenzie journal, although it was not exactly where rob's map said it ought to be. they paused at this place for their first rest, and occupied themselves for a time figuring out, each according to his notion, a map of the country on ahead, which all admitted now was entirely strange to them. alex and moise agreed pretty closely in their description of the country below the finlay, for they had friends who had made that trip numbers of times. as to the country between this place and the mouth of the finlay, rob seemed to be deferred to more than any one else, because he had read carefully and mapped out the country in accordance with the fraser and mackenzie journals and such narratives of later travelers as he could find, surveyors, traders, and prospectors. "now," said he presently, "if we should run down two or three hours farther we'd make say fifteen miles, and that ought to bring us about to the spot where mackenzie climbed the tree to look out over the country. as near as i can get at it, that was pretty near the real divide between the eastern and western waters--that is to say, not far from where the small stream leads back to mcleod lake, and the mcleod lake portage across to the fraser, the way the fur-traders went later on. that's the giscombe portage route. it's a lot easier than the one we've taken, too." "well, i don't see how they ever got boats up this way at all," said jesse, looking with wonder at the swiftly moving current which passed at their feet. "and just to think," said john, "they didn't know where they were at all, even as much as we do now; and we're pretty much lost, if it comes to that." "mackenzie, she'll been good man," said moise. "maybe so most as good man like my wife hees onkle, pete fraser." "well," said alex, "we can drop down a way farther and if we don't meet bad water we'll get into camp early." "'drop down' just about describes it," said rob. "it's like sliding downhill on a sled, almost, isn't it? i'll know more about the making of a big river than i ever did before." none the less the boys, who had gained confidence with every hour in the care of these skilled boatmen, felt less and less fear as they passed on down the sometimes tumbling and roaring stream which now lay before them. the water was not really dangerous for some distance now, and only in two instances did alex go ashore and line the boats down at the edge of rapids, although time and again he cautioned moise, who was something of a daredevil in the canoe, not to undertake any run which looked in the least bad. moise and rob, of course, retained their position in the lead boat, the _mary ann_. "i believe i'll get the hang of it after a while," said rob, as they paused at the head of a rapid lying ahead of the two canoes. "the main thing is to map out your course before you go through, and then hang to it. you can't take any too sudden turns, and you have to be careful not to strike on a rock--that's the most dangerous thing, after all, except the big swells at the foot of a fast drop." sometimes, when the shore was strewn with rocks alongside a rapid which interrupted the passing down of the boats, all of the party would be as much in the water as out, wading, shoving and pulling at the boats. they were pretty well chilled when, well on into the afternoon, alex signified that it was time to make camp for the day. "better get out dry socks and moccasins, young gentlemen," said he. "you're not quite as tough as moise yonder." moise, happy and care-free, had not as yet started to make a fire, but was sitting on a rock playing earnestly at a jews'-harp which he carried in his pocket. jesse, idly prowling around in the "possible bag" in which moise carried his personal belongings, tipped out on the ground what looked to be a small chopping-bowl, or wooden dish. "what's that, moise?" said he, "and what are all these sticks tied up in a bundle here?" "i suppose you'll not know what's those," said moise. jesse shook his head. "that's what injun calls his game," said moise, laughing. "his game--what's that?" "those game she'll been call platter game. all tam in winter injun will play those game in hees house--he'll play it here hondred year, two hondred year, i s'pose maybe." "i know!" broke in rob, eagerly. "mackenzie tells about that very thing. he says that two of his indians got to fighting over a game of platter at the fort down below here. i wonder if that's the same thing!" "it is," said alex, "precisely the same. the crees all play this, although so far as i know it isn't known east of lake superior. show him how to play, moise." moise now spread down one of the blankets on the ground and took his seat cross-legged at the side of it, motioning to the boys to sit opposite. he now untied the greasy rag which wrapped up the bundle of sticks, and produced from it eight little pieces of copper, disks, red on one side and tinned or galvanized on the other. these he put in the pan or platter, and shaking them together, tossed them into the air, catching them again in the bowl, which he thumped on the blanket just as they fell. "s'pose four white an' four red'll come out," said he, "an' i'm play' with alex. he'll give me eight stick now, for i'll win. so. try heem again." this time the little disks fell irregularly, and moise expressed his disgust. "five one kin', three other kin'; no good!" said he. "she'll have to come up two, four, seex, eight--the hard way for heem to come is all tam the way he'll win. you see?" he continued on shaking and thumping the bowl and catching the little disks, and as he won or lost, alex gravely handed him the little sticks, or counters, or received them back from him as the case might be. this ancient gambling device of the indians was very simple and the game was soon learned, but the knack of catching the disks in the pan proved quite difficult. john undertook it, with the result that he spilled every one of them out when they fell in the shallow bowl, much to the amusement of moise. "you'll not been injun," said moise. "if any of those pieces he'll fly out of pan, then you have to give up the pan to the next man. you'll make a loss that tam. all tam injun he'll play those platter game in the house at night," continued moise. "two, four man, she'll sit on blanket an' play many hour. his woman she'll cook meat on the fire. another man he'll sit an' poun' the drum. you'll see my drum, i s'pose." he now fished out from under his bed one of the singular cree drums, a shallow, one-sided circle of bent wood covered with tightly stretched moose skin. he showed them how the indian drummer held this, straining it tight with thongs stretched from finger to thumb, and making the music by drumming with the fingers of the other hand. "injun he'll use those drum sometime to pass tam," said moise. "sometam he'll use heem for pray. s'pose i'll want ver' much for get moose--i'll play on heem an' seeng. s'pose i want for get grizzly ver' much--then i seeng _ver_' hard for get grizzly. s'pose you'll seeng an' play, always you'll get those game, sure." "i don't see what we'd do without you, moise," said john, who was continually rummaging around in moise's ditty-bag. "for instance, what's this funny-looking knife you have here?" "that's worth noticing," said alex. "you young gentlemen ought to get you one of those knives each before you leave the country. that's what we call a crooked knife--you see, the end of the blade is turned up." "how do you use that sort of thing?" asked john, curiously. "as any native injun always uses a knife," rejoined alex. "you see how the handle is put on--well, an injun never whittles away from him, but always pulls the knife toward him. you'll see, too, that he never sharpens a blade on both sides, but puts all the bevel on one side--look at my big hunting-knife here--it's only sharpened on one side, and the other is perfectly flat." "well, what makes indians do that way?" asked john, wonderingly. "i don't know," said alex, "except that they always have done so. you see, they use files rather than whetstones to sharpen their tools. maybe they find it easier to put on an edge in this way. anyhow, if an injun is making a canoe or a pair of snowshoes, or doing any other whittling work, you will see him use one of these crooked knives, and he'll always whittle toward him, with his thumb out at the end of the handle. i don't know who first invented these crooked knives," continued alex, musingly, "but they've always been that way since my father can remember. as to this big buffalo knife, i suppose the northwest company or the hudson bay people invented that. they've been selling them in the trade for a hundred and fifty years or so." "i suppose each country has its own tools and its own ways," ventured rob. "precisely." "i've been told," rob went on, "that that's the way the chinese use a knife or a saw--they pull it to them instead of pushing it away." "well," said alex, smiling, "some people say that all of us injuns came across the narrow salt water far to the northwest. you know, too, don't you, that the crees call themselves the first people?" "they certainly were first in here," assented rob; "and, as we've said before, it's hardly fair to call any white man a real discoverer--all this country was known long before a white man ever set foot in it." xiii the caribou hunt the supply of mountain mutton had lessened with alarming rapidity in this open-air work, which tends to give any man or boy a strong appetite. moise looked rather ruefully at the few pieces which he still had hanging on his meat line near the camp. "i'll tol' you this sheep she's getting mighty scarce now pretty soon before long," said he. "why not make a hunt, alex?" asked rob. "it looks like fairly good country, and you might be able to get something." "we might get a bear," said alex, "or possibly a moose. for all i know, the buffalo used to come this far back in from the east. it doesn't look like sheep country just in here, however, because we have to go too far to get to the mountains." "how about caribou?" alex shook his head. "you mustn't ask me," said he. "this isn't my country, and i've never been here before, nor seen any man who has been here. i know there are caribou in british columbia, far to the north." "mackenzie talks about seeing reindeer in here." "yes, i suppose he meant the black-faced caribou of the mountains, and not the regular barren-ground animal which goes in the big herds. it's odd, but those early men didn't seem to know all the animals on which they depended so much. without doubt mackenzie called the musk-ox some sort of buffalo, and he called these mountain caribou the reindeer. but we might get one for all of that. how would you like to go with me across the river, mr. rob, and make a little hunt?" "fine!" assented rob, eagerly. "but how about the others?" "i'll tell you, rob," said john, who, to tell the truth, was just a little tired from the hard work of the day before; "you and alex go across, and after a while moise will take jess and me out on this side a little way back. we'll all meet here this evening." this plan was agreed to, and in the course of a few moments alex and rob were pushing across the river in the _mary ann_, equipped lightly for their first hunt after some game which rob was eager to meet because it was new to him. once more they pushed through heavy undergrowth close to the river, traveled up a rather lofty bank, and found themselves in flatter country, beyond which at some distance rose some mountains. "i'll bet you," said rob, "that this is just about where mackenzie climbed the tree to look around--you can't see much from the river down there, and his men were complaining about the hard work, and he didn't know where he was. so he climbed a tree to have a look." "well, mr. rob," said alex, "if you don't mind, i'll let you do the climbing, while i sit here and smoke. i'm not quite as light as i once was." "all right," said rob. and, divesting himself of his cartridge-belt and jacket, a little later he began to make his way up to the topmost branches of the tall spruce, breaking off the dead limbs as he slowly advanced upward. rob remained aloft for some moments, but at last descended and rejoined alex. "now, what did you see, mr. rob?" inquired the old hunter. "well, i don't know," said rob; "it's hard to figure out exactly, of course. but mackenzie talks about high mountains off to the northwest, and a parallel range of mountains running to the south, with a narrow valley between. that, of course, must be this river, and as near as i can tell, it must have been about here that he and mackay and the indian hunters took to the shore to spy out the way." "and jolly well got lost, too, eh?" "they certainly did--got lost from their boat for an entire day! i can imagine how they felt when they didn't know whether the boat was above them or below them. mackenzie says the mosquitoes about ate them up. they sent branches down the river to let the boatmen know they were above them. it wasn't until night that finally they found the boat was far below them. i'll warrant they were glad when they got together again. the truth is, the men were almost ready to turn back and leave mackenzie where he was." "they'd have done that a dozen times but for his courage," said alex. "well, now, what would you do, mr. rob, if you should get lost in the woods or mountains any time?" "i'd try to keep cool," said rob, "but i'm not sure that i could. it's a mighty bad feeling--i know what it is myself. what would you do, alex, if you ever got lost in a storm, or anything of that kind?" "sit down and build a fire," answered alex. "go to sleep, take it easy, and wait till my mind got cool. then when you're rested and all ready to go on, you nearly always know which is the right direction. you see, an injun is a good deal like a dog, as moise would say. but now suppose i should get separated from you in here--how would you get back to camp?" "well, you see," said rob, "there is that high mountain on this side of the river, and there is one right opposite, far off on the east side. i know our camp is on the line between those two peaks. of course i'd know the river was downhill, unless i wandered off over some other little divide. i'd just simply go downhill as straight as i could until i hit the river. of course i couldn't tell, maybe, whether i was just above or below the camp. but i'd wait to see smoke, and i'd fire off my rifle, hoping that some one would hear me. then i think i would not go very far from that place. i'd sit down and build a smoke, and wait." "that would be the best way to do," alex assented. "but do you know, simple as that seems, lots of grown men couldn't do it--they'd lose their heads and be just as apt to go west as east! many a man has been lost in the wilderness simply because he got excited and scared and didn't take it easy. always remember that whenever you are in a wild country it isn't as dangerous as it seems to be. "but come, now," he resumed, "i suppose we must get over in that flat country and see if we can find any sign of game." "how do you hunt caribou, alex? i don't know anything about it." "that's hard to answer," rejoined the old hunter. "of course you can take a trail if you can find it, and if it seems fresh. an injun hunts moose by following the trail. but either a moose or a caribou has very keen scent, and if you follow straight on after them, and don't circle once in a while and pick up the trail again, you're not apt to come up with either one or the other. a caribou, however, is a strange animal--it isn't nearly as wild as a moose or a bighorn. a grizzly bear has very keen scent but very bad eyes, and i don't suppose a grizzly can see you half a mile at best. now, a caribou has good eyes, ears, and nose, but he hasn't got any head. sometimes he is very shy, and sometimes he'll stand and look at you, and let you keep on shooting. he seems to be full of curiosity, and wants to know what you're doing. "we'll work on over a little at a time," he continued, "and maybe if we skirt around some open meadows or glades we may see some tracks. sometimes they come out in places like that to feed or stand around. a water-hole or little lake, too, is good for game usually. when an injun knows he's in a country where game is moving or feeding he keeps pretty quiet and lets the game come to him rather than going to it." the theories laid down by the old hunter seemed soon to work out fairly well, because they had not gone up more than a mile farther until they got into a country which showed considerable sign of moose and caribou, the latter in rather a fresh trail. as this led them to a sort of open, grassy glade, where other sign was abundant, alex paused for a time in the hope that something might show from the heavy cover in which they had been traveling. at last he quietly laid a hand on rob's arm, and without making any sudden movement, pointed across the glade, which at that place was several hundred yards wide. "oh, i see them!" said rob, in an excited whisper. "what funny-looking things they are--five of them!" "two stags, three cows," said alex, quietly. "too far to shoot. wait awhile." they drew back now into the cover of the surrounding valleys, where it is true the mosquitoes annoyed them unspeakably, but where they remained with such patience as they could possess. the caribou seemed to be slowly feeding out from the opposite edge of the forest, but they were very deliberate and uncertain in their progress. the two watched them for the best part of half an hour. "too bad!" said alex, at last, as he peered out from behind the tree which shielded them. "four hundred yards at best." rob also ventured a look at this time. "why, there's only three," said he. "yes, the two stags went back into the woods." "but we can't kill the cows," said rob, decisively. "why not? they're just as good to eat." "maybe better," said rob, "i don't doubt that. a young, fat cow is better meat than an old bull any time, of course. but uncle dick said we mustn't waste anything, and mustn't kill anything except what had horns in this kind of game." "well," said alex, "i don't much feel like going back to camp without any meat." "nor i. let's wait here awhile and maybe the stag'll come out again." this indeed proved to be the case, for in a few minutes the smaller stag did show at the edge of the wood, offering a dim and very uncertain mark at a distance of several hundred yards. rob began to prepare his rifle. "it's too far," said alex. "no injun would think of shooting that far. you might only cripple." "yes," said rob, "and i might only miss. but i'd rather do that than shoot at one of the cows. i believe i'll take a chance anyhow, alex." adjusting his rifle-sights to the best of his knowledge, rob took long and careful aim, and fired at the shoulder of the distant caribou, which showed but indistinctly along his rifle-sights. the shot may have come somewhere close to the animal, but certainly did not strike it, for with a sudden whirl it was off, and in the next instant was hidden by the protecting woods. now, there was instanced the truth of what alex had said about the fickleness of caribou nature. the three cows, one old and two young ones, stood in full view in the open, at about half the distance of the stag. they plainly saw both alex and rob as they now stepped out from their cover. yet instead of wheeling and running, the older cow, her ears standing out high and wide, began to trot steadily toward them instead of running away. rob once more raised his rifle, but this time not to shoot at game, but only to make an experiment. he fired once, twice, and three times in the air; and even up to the time of the last shot, the old cow trotted steadily toward him, not stopping until she was within fifty yards of him. here she stood staring wide-eyed, but at length, having figured out something in her own mind, she suddenly wheeled and lumbered off again, her heavy, coarse muzzle straight ahead of her. all three now shambled off and soon were lost to view. "well, what do you think about that, alex?" demanded rob. "that's the funniest thing i ever saw in all my hunting. those things must be crazy." "i suppose they think we are," replied alex, glumly; "maybe we are, or we'd have taken a shot at her. i can almost taste that tenderloin!" "i'm sorry about it, alex," said rob, "but maybe some of the others will get some meat. i really don't like to shoot females, because game isn't as plentiful now as it used to be, you know, even in the wild country." alex sighed, and rather unhappily turned and led the way back toward the river. "it's too late to hunt anything more," said he, "and we might not find anything that just suited us." when at length they reached camp, after again crossing the river in the _mary ann_, twilight was beginning to fall. rob did not notice any difference in the camp, although the keen eyes of alex detected a grayish object hanging on the cut limb of the tree at the edge of the near-by thicket. john and jesse pretended not to know anything, and alex and rob, to be equally dignified, volunteered no information and asked no questions. all the boys had noticed that old hunters, especially indian hunters, never ask one another what success they have had, and never tell anything about what they have killed. jesse, however, could not stand this sort of thing very long, and at length, with considerable exultation, asked rob what luck he had had. rob rather shamefacedly admitted the failure which he and alex had made. "we did better," said jesse; "we got one." "you got one? who got it?" demanded rob. "where is it?" "there's a ham hanging up over there in the brush," answered jesse. "we all went out, but i killed him." "is that so, john?" asked rob. "it certainly is," said john. "yes, jesse is the big chief to-night." "we only went a little way, too," said jesse, "just up over the ridge there, i don't suppose more than half a mile. it must have been about noon when we started, and moise didn't think we were going to see anything, and neither did we. so we sat down, and in an hour or so i was shooting at a mark to see how my rifle would do. all at once we saw this fellow--it wasn't a very big one, with little bits of horns--come out and stand around looking to see what the noise was about. so i just took a rest over a log, and i plugged him!" jesse stood up straight, his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, a very proud young boy indeed. moise, strolling around, was grinning happily when at last he met the unsuccessful hunters. "those jesse boy, she'll been good shot," said he. "i s'pose, alex, you'll not make much hunter out of yourself, _hein_?" "well," said alex, "we let some mighty good cow venison get away from us, all right." "never mind," said moise, consolingly, "we'll got fat young caribou now plenty for two--three days, maybe so." rob went up to jesse and shook him by the hand. "good boy, jess!" said he. "i'm glad you got him instead of myself. but why didn't you tell us when we came into camp?" "moise said good hunters didn't do that," ventured john, who joined the conversation. "how about that, alex?" "well," said the older hunter, "you must remember that white men are different from injuns. people who live as injuns do get to be rather quiet. now, suppose an injun hunter has gone out after a moose, and has been gone maybe two or three days. he'll probably not hunt until everything is gone in the lodge, and maybe neither he nor his family is going to eat much until he gets a moose. well, by and by he comes home some evening, and throws aside the skin door of the lodge, and goes in and sits down. his wife helps him off with his moccasins and hands him a dry pair, and makes up the fire. he sits and smokes. no one asks him whether he has killed or not, and he doesn't say whether he has killed, although they all may be very hungry. now, his wife doesn't know whether to get ready to cook or not, but she doesn't ask her man. he sits there awhile; but, of course, he likes his family and doesn't want them to be hungry. so after a while, very dignified, he'll make some excuse so that his wife can tell what the result of the hunt has been. maybe he'll say carelessly that he has a little blood on his shirt, which ought to be washed off, or maybe he'll say that if any one were walking a couple of miles down the river they might see a blazed trail out toward the hills. then his wife will smile and hurry to put on the kettles. if it isn't too far, she'll take her pack-strap then and start out to bring in some of the meat. every people, you see, will have different ways." "but the man who doesn't kill something goes hungry, and his family, too?" "not in the least!" rejoined alex, with some spirit. "there, too, the 'first people' are kinder than the whites who govern them now. suppose in my village there are twenty lodges. out of the twenty there will be maybe four or five good hunters, men who can go out and kill moose or bear. it gets to be so that they do most of the hunting, and if one of them brings in any meat all the village will have meat. of course the good hunters don't do any other kind of work very much." "that isn't the way white people do," asserted john; "they don't divide up in business matters unless they have to." "maybe not," said alex, "but it has always been different with my people in the north. if men did not divide meat with one another many people would starve. as it is, many starve in the far-off countries each winter. sometimes we cannot get even rabbits. it may be far to the trading-post. the moose or the caribou may be many miles away, where no one can find them. a heavy storm may come, so no one can travel. then if a man is fortunate and has meat he would be cruel if he did not divide. he knows that all the others would do as much with him. it is our custom." xiv exploring the wilderness if rob, john, and jesse had been eager for exciting incidents on their trip across the mountains, certainly they found them in plenty during the next three days after the caribou hunt, as they continued their passage on down the mountain river, when they had brought in all their meat and once more loaded the canoes. rob had been studying his maps and records, and predicted freely that below this camp they would find wilder waters. this certainly proved to be the case. moreover, they found that although it is easier to go down-stream than up in fast water, it is more dangerous, and sometimes progress is not so rapid as might be expected. indeed, on the first day below the caribou camp they made scarcely more than six or eight miles, for, in passing the boats down along shore to avoid a short piece of fast water, the force of the current broke the line of the _mary ann_, and it was merely by good fortune that they caught up with her, badly jammed and wedged between two rocks, her gunwale strip broken across and the cedar shell crushed through, so that she had sprung a bad leak. they hauled the crippled _mary ann_ ashore and discharged her cargo in order to examine the injuries received. "well, now, we're giving an imitation of the early _voyageurs_," said john, as he saw the rent in the side of the canoe. "but how are we going to fix her? she isn't a birch-bark, and if she were, we have no bark." "i think we'll manage," rob replied, "because we have canvas and cement and all that sort of thing. but her rail is broken quite across." "she'll been good boat," said moise, smiling; "we'll fix heem easy." so saying, he took his ax and sauntered over to a half-dead cedar-tree, from which, without much difficulty, he cut some long splints. this they managed to lash inside the gunwale of the canoe, stiffening it considerably. the rent in the bottom they patched by means of their cement, and some waterproof material. they finished the patch with abundant spruce gum and tar, melted together and spread all over. when they were done their labors the _mary ann_ was again watertight, but not in the least improved in beauty. "we'll have to be very careful all the way down from here, i'm thinking," said alex. "the river is getting far more powerful almost every hour as these other streams come in. below the finlay, i know very well, she's a big stream, and the shores are so bad that if we had an accident it would leave things rather awkward." none the less, even with one boat crippled in this way, rob and john gained confidence in running fast water almost every hour. they learned how to keep their heads when engaged in the passage of white water, how to avoid hidden rocks, as well as dangerous swells and eddies. it seemed to them quite astonishing what rough water could be taken in these little boats, and continually the temptation was, of course, to run a rapid rather than laboriously to disembark and line down alongshore. thus, to make their story somewhat shorter, they passed on down slowly for parts of three days, until at last, long after passing the mouth of the pack river and the nation, and yet another smaller stream, all coming in from the west, they saw opening up on the left hand a wide valley coming down from the northwest. the character of the country, and the distance they had traveled, left no doubt whatever in their minds that this was the finlay river, the other head-stream of the peace river. they therefore now felt as though they knew precisely where they were. being tired, they pitched their camp not far below the mouth of the finlay, and busied themselves in looking over their boats and supplies. they knew that the dreaded finlay rapids lay only two miles below them. they were now passing down a river which had grown to a very considerable stream, sometimes with high banks, again with shores rather low and marshy, and often broken with many islands scattered across an expanse of water sometimes nearly a quarter of a mile in extent. the last forty miles of the stream to the junction of the finlay had averaged not more rapid but much heavier than the current had seemed toward the headwaters. the roar of the rapids they approached now came up-stream with a heavier note, and was distinguishable at much greater distances, and the boats in passing through some of the heavier rapids did so in the midst of a din quite different from the gentle babble of the shallow stream far toward its source. the boom of the bad water far below this camp made them uneasy. "well," said rob, as they sat in camp near the shore, "we know where we are now. we have passed the mouth of the mcleod outlet, and we have passed the nation river and everything else that comes in from the west. here we turn to the east. it must be nearly one hundred and fifty miles to the real gate of the rockies--at the cañon of the rocky mountains, as the first traders called it." "it looks like a pretty big river now," said jesse dubiously. "i would like to hope it's no worse than it has been just above here," said rob, "but i fear it is, from all i know. mackenzie got it in high water, and he only averaged half a mile an hour for a long time going up, along in here. of course coming down we could pick our way better than he could." "we have been rather lucky on the whole," said alex, "for, frankly, the water has been rather worse for canoes than i thought it would be. moreover, it is still larger below here. but that's not the worst of it." "what do you mean, alex?" inquired john. "you ought not to need to ask me," replied the old hunter. "you're all _voyageurs_, are you not?" "but what is it, then?" "look closely." they went to the edge of the beach and looked up and down the river carefully, also studying the forking valleys into which they could see from the place where they were in camp. "well, i don't know," said rob, "but it seems to me she's rising a little!" alex nodded. "we've been in camp here three hours now," said he, "and she's come up a little more than an inch." "why, how do you know that?" asked john. "i set a stick with a notch at water-level when we first came ashore." "how did you happen to think of that?" "very likely the same thing which made rob guess it." "yes," said rob, "i saw that the finlay water coming down seemed to be discolored. but at first i supposed it was the natural color of that river. so you think there has been a thaw?" "maybe some sort of rain or chinook over in there," said alex. "what do you think, moise?" moise and alex talked for a time in the cree language, moise shaking his head as he answered. "moise thinks there has been a little rise," interpreted alex. "he says that below here the river sometimes cañons up, or runs between high banks with a narrow channel. that would make it bad. you see, the rise of a foot in a place like that would make much more difference than two inches in the places where the river is spread out several hundred yards wide. we know a little bit more about the river from here east, because we have talked with men who have been here." "i suppose we'll have to wait here until it runs down," said jesse. "maybe not. if we were here earlier in the season and this were the regular spring rise we might have to wait for some time before we could go down with these boats. but the big flood has gone down long ago. there isn't anything to hinder us as yet from dropping down and watching carefully on ahead as we go." rob was again consulting his inevitable copy of _mackenzie's voyages_. "it took mackenzie and fraser each of them just eight days to get this far up the river from the west end of the cañon of the rocky mountains," said he. "fraser must have built his boat somewhere west of the rocky mountain portage, as they call it. that must be seventy-five miles east of here, as near as i can figure it from the mackenzie story, but uncle dick's friend, mr. hussey, said it was one hundred and thirty miles--and only two big rapids, the finlay and the parle pas. i wish we could run it every foot, because mackenzie did when he came down. at least, he doesn't say he didn't." "it was done by the traders for a long time," said alex, "all but those two rapids and that cañon. there is no trail even for horses between hudson's hope and fort st. john, but that is easy water. they serve st. john now with steamboats, and the old canoe days are pretty much over. but, anyhow, there is the main ridge of the rockies east of us, and we've got to get through it somehow, that's sure. back there"--he pointed up the valley down which they had been coming now for so long--"we were between two ranges of the divide. the finlay yonder comes down out of some other range to the northwest. but now the doubled river has to break through that dam of the eastern rim. i suppose we may look for bad water somewhere. look here," he added, examining the map, "here are the altitudes all marked on by the government surveyors--twenty-five hundred feet above sea-level at giscombe portage, twenty-two hundred and fifty at fort mcleod. i suppose it was about three thousand feet where we started across. at the mouth of the finlay it's only two thousand feet--a big drop. but she drops nearly three hundred feet more to the west end of the portage, and two hundred feet more at the east end. that's going downhill pretty fast--five hundred feet in less than one hundred and fifty miles--and some of it not very fast water." "well," ventured rob, "why don't we drop down as far as we can, and if we get caught by a flood then stop and take a little hunt somewhere back in the hills? you know, we haven't got that grizzly yet you promised us." "sure enough," said alex, with no great enthusiasm; for he did not relish the idea of hunting grizzly bear in company with such young companions. "but we have come through good grizzly country already," ventured john. "very likely," alex smiled. "i've seen considerable bear sign along the shores, as well as a good many moose tracks close to where we camped." "if you think we're afraid to go bear hunting, alex," rob began, "you certainly don't know us very well. that's one of the reasons we came on this trip--we wanted to get a real rocky mountain grizzly." "it is not too late," the old hunter rejoined, "and i shouldn't wonder if there was as good country east of here as any we've come to. the grizzly is a great traveler, anyhow, and is as apt to be found one place as another. at this time of year all the bears come out of the mountains and feed along the valleys on red willow buds and such things. they even swim from the shore to the islands, in search of willow flats. besides, there are plenty of saskatoons, i don't doubt, not far back from the river. the bears ought to be down out of the high country by this time, and if you really care for a hunt, there ought to be plenty of good places below here." "it isn't dark yet," said rob; "suppose we break camp and run down just a little farther this evening. if the flood comes in behind us, we're just that much ahead." they acted on rob's suggestion, and, passing rapidly on down the now slightly discolored water, they soon left the finlay gap behind them. their journey was but brief, however, for soon they heard the boom of the rapids below them. "on shore, queek!" called moise to rob, who was in the bow of the leading boat. xv in the big waters the sound and sight of the finlay rapids, at the head of which the leading boat now paused, gave rob his first real idea of how wicked a great mountain river can be. he looked back to see whether the _jaybird_ and her crew were well warned of the danger. but alex soon brought the other boat alongside at the landing place, on the south side of the stream, above the rapids. "well, here we are," said he. "now you may see what some real rapids are. those little ripples up above didn't amount to much." "she looks pretty bad," said rob. "could anybody run a boat through there?" "old sir alexander probably did it, but he had a big birch-bark. i'd take it on with a good man and a good boat. we could very possibly even get one of these boats through if we were obliged to, but there is no use taking any risk. we can line down through the worst of it, or even run the boat ashore if we like." "me, i'll rather ron the rapeed than walk on the bank with boat," said moise. "never mind, moise," said alex, "we'll not have to walk far with her. we'll camp here to-night and look it over in the morning. it's always better to tackle rough work in the morning rather than in the evening." the young travelers slept none too well that night. the sound of the rapids coming through the dark and the feeling of remoteness here in this wild mountain region proved depressing to their spirits. they were glad enough when at length toward dawn they heard moise stirring about the camp. by the time they had their breakfast finished and camp broken alex had already returned from a trip along the side of the rapids. "it's not so very bad," said he, "although the river has come up an inch or so during the night. the whole rapid is about a quarter of a mile long, but the worst place is only a couple of hundred yards or so. we'll drop down to the head of that strip on the line and portage around there." they followed this plan, loading the boats and dropping down for a short time, saving themselves all the portage work they could. in places the water seemed very wild, tossing over the rocks in long, rolling waves or breaking in foam and spray. the boys scrambled alongshore, allowing alex and moise to care for the first boat when it became necessary for them to double up on each trip over the worst water. part of the time they bore a hand on the line, and were surprised to see the strength of the current even on a boat without a load. "you see," said alex, when at length they came to a place where the water seemed still more powerful and rough, and where it seemed necessary to haul the boat entirely from the water for a carry of some distance over the rocks, "it's better to take a little trouble and go slow rather than to lose a boat in here. if she broke away from us we'd feel a long way from home!" after they got the _mary ann_ again in the water and at the foot of the rapids, the men went up after the _jaybird_, while the boys did what they could toward advancing the cargo of the _mary ann_. in less than an hour they had everything below the rapids and saw plain sailing once more ahead of them. moise expressed his disappointment at not being allowed to run the finlay rapids. "my onkle, she'll always ron those rapeed," said he. "s'pose i'll tell heem i'll walk aroun', he'll laugh on me, yes!" "that's all right, moise," said rob; "your uncle isn't here, and for one, i'm glad we took it easy coming through here. that's rough water either way you look at it, up-stream or down. but now," he continued, once more consulting his maps and notes, "we ought to have a couple of days of good, straightaway running, with almost no bad water. it's about seventy miles from here to the parle pas rapids. and speaking of _rapids_, they tell me that's the worst place on the whole river." "that's a funny name--why do they call them the parle pas rapids?" asked jesse. "those were frenchman words," said moise. "parle pas means 'no speak.' he's a quiet rapeed. s'pose you'll ron on the river there, an' smoke a pipe, an' talk, an' not think of nothing. all at once, _boum_! you'll been in those rapeed, an' he'll not said a word to you!" "well," said rob, "the traders used to run them somehow, didn't they?" "yes, my onkle he'll ron them in beeg boat many tam, but not with leetle boat. she'll jump down five, three feet sometams. leetle boat she'll stick his nose under, yes. my onkle he'll tol' me, when you come on the parle pas take the north side, an' find some chute there for leetle boat. leetle boat could ron the parle pas, maybe so, but i suppose, us, we'll let those boat down on the line because we'll got some scares, _hein_?" "it's just as well to have some scares on these mountain rivers, moise," said alex, reprovingly. "this water is icy cold, and if even a man got out into the rapids he couldn't swim at all, it would tumble him over so. we'll line down on the parle pas, yes, depend on that. but that's down-stream a couple of days if we go slow." "when do we get that bear hunt, alex?" asked john, who loved excitement almost as much as moise. "almost anywhere in here," answered alex; "but i think we'd better put off the hunt until we get below all the worst water. no use portaging bear hides." "it looks like good bear country here," said rob. "we must be in the real rockies now, because the mountains come right down to the river." "good bear country clear to hudson's hope, or beyond that," assented alex. "all right," said rob; "we'll have a good hunt somewhere when we get below the parle pas. if we have to do any more portaging, we don't want to carry any more than we can help, that's true. and, of course, we're going to get that grizzly." having by this time reloaded the boats, they re-embarked, and passed merrily on down the river, which now seemed wholly peaceful and pleasant. the mountains now indeed were all about them, in places rising up in almost perpendicular rock faces, and the valley was very much narrower. they were at last entering the arms of the great range through which they later were to pass. the character of the river changed from time to time. sometimes they were in wide, quiet reaches, where they needed the paddles to make much headway. again there would be drops of faster water, although nothing very dangerous. relieved as they were now of any thought of danger for the next sixty or seventy miles ahead, this part of their journey seemed delightful in every way. they did not pause to hunt, and saw no game excepting one band of four timber wolves, upon which they came as they swept around a bend, but which hastened under cover before any one could get a shot. once in a while they stopped at little beaches or bars, and almost always saw the trails of large game in the sand or mud. always they felt that now they were deep in the wilderness, and every moment was a pleasure to them. they did not really know how far below the finlay rapids they traveled that day, for continually they discovered that it is difficult to apply map readings to the actual face of a new country. they made no great attempt at speed, but sometimes drifted down-stream, the boats close together. sometimes when the wind was fair rob or john would raise the corner of a tent or blanket to act as a sail. thus, idling and chatting along, they made perhaps forty miles down-stream before they made their next evening camp. the country seemed to them wilder now, since the bold hills were so close in upon them, though of course they knew that each day was bringing them closer to the settlements on the eastern side of the range. that night was cold, and they had no trouble with mosquitoes. feeling no need of hurry, they made a late start and idled on down the river through a very interesting mountain region, until the afternoon. toward evening they began to feel that they might perhaps be near the dreaded parle pas rapids, and they approached each bend with care, sometimes going ashore for a prospecting trip which proved to be made only on a false alarm. they had, however, now begun to learn the "feel of the water," as the _voyageurs_ called it. rob, who was ahead, at length noted the glassy look of the river, and called back to moise that he believed there were rapids ahead. "parle pas!" cried moise. "on shore, queek!" swiftly they paddled across, to the north side of the river, where presently they were joined by the other boat. "she's the parle pas, all right," laughed moise; "look at heem!" from their place of observation they could see a long ridge, or rim, the water falling in a sort of cascade well out across the stream. there seemed to be a chute, or channel, in midstream, but the back-combing rollers below it looked ominously large for a boat the size of theirs, so that they were glad enough to be where they were, on dry land. moise was once more for running the boats through the chute on the north shore, but alex's cautious counsel prevailed. there was not more than thirty or forty feet of the very worst water, rather a cascade than a long rapid, but they discharged the cargo and lined both boats through light. this sort of work proved highly interesting and exciting to all hands, and, of course, when superintended by such men as alex and moise had no great danger, although all of them were pretty wet when at length they had their boats reloaded at the foot of the rapids. "i know how sir alexander got across the mountains," said john. "he had good _voyageurs_ to do the work! about all he had to do was to write the story each night, and he didn't do that any too well, it seems to me--anyhow, when you come to read his story backward you can't tell where you are very well." "that's right," said rob. "i don't much blame simon fraser for finding fault with mackenzie's narrative. but maybe if we had written the story they'd have found fault with us the same way. the same country doesn't look alike to different people, and what is a mile to one man may be two miles to another when both are guessing. but anyhow, here we are below the 'polly' rapids--as the traders call them to-day--and jolly glad we ought to be we're safe, too." "plain sailing again now for a while," said jesse. "let's see the map." they all bent over the different maps they had, especially one which rob had made up from all the sources of information he had. "yes," said rob, "it ought to be about sixty miles of pretty good water now until we get to the one place on this river which the boldest _voyageur_ never tried to run--the cañon of the rocky mountains, as the very first travelers called it." "those map she'll not been much good," said moise, pointing to the government maps of which rob had a store. "the only good map she'll been made by the injun with a stick, s'pose on the sand, or maybe so on a piece of bark. my onkle she'll made me a map of the parle pas. he'll show the place where to go through the middle on the parle pas. s'pose you'll tell my onkle, moise he'll walk down the parle pas an' not ron on heem, he'll laugh on me, heem! all right, when you get to the grand portage sixty miles below, you'll get all the walk you want, alex, _hein_?" alex answered him with a pleasant smile, not in the least disposed to be laughed into taking any risks he did not think necessary. "we'd better drop down a few miles farther before we make camp," said he. "_en avant, moise. en roulant, ma boule!_" moise turned to his paddle and broke into song gaily as they once more headed down the stream. they did not tarry again until the sun was behind the western ridges. the mountain shadows were heavy when at last their little fire lighted up the black forest which crowded close in all around them. "i think this is fine," said jesse, quietly, as they sat about the camp-fire that night. "i wouldn't have missed it for anything in the world," said john; and rob gave his assent by a quiet nod of satisfaction. "i feel as if we were almost home now," said jesse. "we must have come an awfully long way." alex shook his head. "we're a long way from home yet," said he. "when the klondike rushes were on some men got up as far north as this place, and scattered everywhere, hoping they could get through somehow to the yukon--none of them knew just how. but few of them ever got up this river beyond hudson's hope, or even fort st. john, far east of there. some turned back and went down the mackenzie, others took the back trail from peace river landing. a good many just disappeared. i have talked with some who turned back from the mountains here, and they all said they didn't think the whole world was as big as it seemed by the time they got here! and they came from the east, where home seems close to you!" "well," said rob, "as it's probably pretty rough below here, and good grizzly country, why not stop here and make that little hunt we were talking about?" "all right," said alex; "i suppose this is as good a game country as any. we ought to get a moose, even if we don't see any bear. in the old times there used to be plenty of buffalo this far to the west in the mountains. what do you say, moise--shall we make a hunting camp here?" "we'll been got no meat pretty quick bimeby," said moise. "maybe so." they were encamped here on a narrow beach, which, however, sheered up high enough to offer them security against any rise in the stream. they were careful to pull up the boats high and dry, and to secure them in case of any freshet. used as they were by this time to camp life, it now took them but a few minutes to complete their simple operations in making any camp. as all the boys had taken a turn at paddling this day, and as the exciting scenes of the past few days had been of themselves somewhat wearying, they were glad enough to get a long night's sleep. before rob, the leader of the younger members of the party, had rolled up in his blankets alex came to him and asked him whether he really cared to finish running the river, provided they could get out overland. "surely we do," said rob at once. "we'll go on through, as far as we can, at least, by boat. we don't want to be modern and ride along on horseback until we have to. mackenzie didn't and fraser didn't! nor do we want to go to any trading-post for supplies. we can get butter and eggs in the states if we want to, but we're _hunters_! you show us a grizzly to-morrow, alex, that's all!" "all right," said alex, smiling. "maybe we can." xvi the grizzly hunt "why, alex, this land along the bayou here looks like a cattle-yard!" exclaimed rob as early the next morning they paused to examine a piece of the moist ground which they had observed much cut up with tracks of big game. there were four in party now, moise alone having remained to keep the camp. for an hour or more now they had passed back toward the hills, examining the damp ground around the edges of the willow flats and alder thickets. from time to time they had seen tracks of bears, some large and some small, but at this particular point the sign was so unmistakable that all had paused. "i don't know that i ever saw more sign on one piece of ground," admitted alex. he spoke in a low tone of voice and motioned for the others to be very quiet. "the trouble is, they seem to be feeding at night and working back toward the hills in the daytime. on this country here there have been six black bears and two grizzlies." "yes, and here's that big track again," said rob. "he sinks in the mud deep as an ox, and has a hind foot as long as my rifle-stock." "six or eight hundred pounds, maybe," said alex. "he's a good one. the other one isn't so big. they fed here last night, and seem to be working up this little valley toward the hills again. if we had plenty of time i'd be in favor of waiting here until evening, for this seems to be a regular stamping-ground for bear. what do you think, mr. rob?" "well," said rob, "i know it usually isn't much worth while to follow a bear, but maybe it wouldn't do any harm in here to work on after this one a little way, because there doesn't seem to be any hunting in here, and maybe the bears aren't badly scared." "very well, that's what i think, too," said alex; "but if this trail gets very much fresher i think it is just as well for all of us to keep out of the thicket and take to the open. maybe we can find higher ground on ahead." they passed on up, making cross-cuts on the trail and circling now and again through the willow flats as they advanced. once in a while alex would have to search a little before he could pick up the trail, but always somewhere among the willows he would find the great footprint of the big bear. often he showed the boys where the willows had been broken down by the bear in its feeding, and at some places it left a path as though a cyclone had gone through. having established it in his mind that the bear was steadily advancing deeper back into the valley they were following, alex at last left the willow flats and made for the side of the depression down which a little stream was coming, striking into the hills at the place where the valley finally narrowed to a deep coulée. here they advanced slowly and cautiously, taking care to be on the side where the wind would favor them most, and once in a while alex still dropped down to the foot of the coulée in search of sign or feeding-ground. as they advanced, however, the course of the stream became more definite and the moist ground not so large in extent, so that it became more difficult to trail any animal on the drier ground. a mile farther on, none the less, in a little muddy place, they found the track of the giant bear, still ahead of them. it had sunk eight inches or more into the soft earth, and a little film of muddy water still was trickling into the bottom of the track, while at its rim little particles of mud still hung loose and ragged. alex's eyes now gleamed with eagerness, for he saw that the bear was but a little distance ahead. he examined closely the country about to see whether the big grizzly was alone, and to his relief found no sign of the smaller bear. "i'm not afraid of them both," said he, in a low whisper to rob, "but sometimes it's easier to get up to one bear than it is to two, and i notice it's nearly always the small one that gives the alarm." the big grizzly, however, still was traveling steadily at times. they could not locate him in this thicket, and, indeed, a little farther on found where, apparently but a few moments earlier, he had left this coulée and crossed a little ridge, apparently intending to change his course entirely. this was disappointing, but alex whispered to the young hunters not to be disturbed, for that possibly the bear might lie up or go to feeding in some other ravine not far on ahead. "you'd better wait here, i think," said he at last, as they approached the top of a little ridge, where evidently another coulée came down. he began slowly to climb toward the top, from which he could get a view of the other side. almost as soon as he raised his head above the summit he pulled it back again. quickly he dropped down to where the others stood. "is he there?" asked rob, eagerly. alex nodded. he looked at the faces of all the boys. not one of them was pale, and every one seemed only eager to go ahead. slowly standing and watching them for a time, at length the old hunter turned, silently motioning them to follow him. what alex had seen when he peered over the top of the ridge was nothing else than the big bear feeding in the bushes which lay some sixty yards ahead and below, where the ground was moister. when at length the boys, however, reached the same place and gazed over eagerly they saw nothing at all at first. rob turned to whisper a question to alex, but even as he did so he felt john clutch him by the arm. then as they all looked on ahead they saw the great bear rise once more on his hind legs high above the bushes. he was so close they could see his blocky head, his square nose, and even his little piggish eyes. slowly the grizzly turned a little bit from side to side, nodding his head and whining a little all to himself, as he started once more to reach out and break down the tops of the bushes toward him in his great arms. it was at that instant that the rifle of alex rang out, and he called to the others hurriedly, "shoot! shoot!" he needed not to give such counsel, for every boy there had almost at the same instant fired at the giant grizzly which stood below them. he fell with a great roar, and began to thresh about in the bushes. no sight of him for a moment could be obtained. all four now sprang erect, waiting eagerly for the crippled game to break cover. john and rob even started down the slope, until alex called out to them peremptorily to come back. as a matter of fact, three of the four bullets had struck the bear and he was already hurt mortally, but this could not be determined, and alex knew too much to go into the cover after a wounded grizzly. [illustration: the bear broke cover with a savage roar] the bear itself heard them shouting, and, having located the presence of an enemy, now broke cover with a savage roar, limping as best he could in a vain endeavor to get up the slope and to attack his enemies. but again and again the rifles spoke, and an instant later the great bear dropped down and rolled limp at the bottom of the slope, almost back into the bushes from which he had come. "he's dead now, all right!" said alex, even as he held out his hand to restrain his young companions once more from rushing in on their game. "some one hit him in the head that last time. i'm thinking the hide won't be good for much, for he must be shot full of holes by now!" such indeed proved to be the case. the high-power rifles, fired at close range, with hands excited yet none the less fairly accurate, had done their work in such fashion as might have finished three or four bears instead of one even as large as this one proved to be. alex turned once more to note the conduct of his young friends as they gathered at the side of the dead bear. he smiled a little bit grimly. whereas their faces had lately been flushed and eager, they now were just a little pale, and he saw that they all were disposed to tremble as they stood. "we're well out of that," said he, quietly. "that's bad as the parle pas. of course the odds were in our favor, but with a bear of this size any man or any party is well out of it when they get him down. but here's your grizzly, young gentlemen." "my, isn't he a whale!" said jesse. "there's plenty of meat, i should think." "yes, we've killed him," said alex, "but what good is he to us? grizzlies aren't good to eat, even when they are feeding on berries, as this one is." "never mind," said rob; "this is a pretty good robe, i want to tell you, even if it is only in august. it is finer and closer than our alaska bears; see how white on the shoulders and face. i believe he's about as ugly a customer, too, as most of our big alaska bears, that live on fish." "yes," said alex, "he's what you call a bald-face, and whether there's any truth in it or not, injuns always say that these white-faced bears are the most savage. look at his claws--they're white too. all of them perfect, however, which shows that he hasn't been digging among the rocks very much, but has been feeding in low country for quite a while. i suppose moise would call this bear his cousin, and i doubt if he'd want to help skin him. but that's what we've got to do now, and it's no easy job either." "we'll all help," said rob. "well, you'd better go and help by finding some sort of rock for a whetstone," said alex, "for i see i have left my file down in camp. there's nothing in the world takes the edge off the best steel like skinning a big bear--the hide is like sandpaper inside." "here's something," said jesse, picking up a flat stone, "and maybe we can sharpen the knives on it." they all fell to work now, each with his own hunting-knife. alex, of course, did most of the work, first ripping down the tough hide with his big buffalo knife, along each leg and up the middle of the body. then giving each of the boys a leg, and himself keeping clear of the eager knife blades, they all began the work of skinning off the hide. "skin it close," said alex, "and don't leave on much meat. the injuns never skin a bear hide close, for the women like the fat, it seems, and they do all the scraping in camp. but this hide is so big that i'm not anxious to carry any more weight on it than i have to--i should not wonder if it would weigh seventy-five to a hundred pounds, the best we can do." at last, however, they had the great hide free from the carcass, with the footpads and long claws attached, and the scalp all skinned carefully free from the skull at eyes, ears, and nose. rob insisted on taking the skull also, although alex demurred. "we'll carry it, alex," said he. "this is a splendid robe, i'm telling you, fine color, and not worn nearly as badly as i should have expected in the summer-time. we're going to have a rug made out of it for uncle dick's house, and we want the skull, too. we'll carry that down the hill." "all right," said alex; "i'll have plenty to do with the rest of this old fellow." he rolled the green hide into a pack, which he lashed tightly with some thongs, and once more using his belt as a pack-strap, which he rested on the top of his head, he managed to get under the weight of the green hide, and started off at a half trot, following the nearest valley down to the river where their camp was pitched. strong as the old hunter was, at times even he was willing enough to set down his pack and rest awhile, and to smoke a pipe. the boys, who were carrying his rifle and also making shifts at carrying the heavy bear skull, themselves were willing enough to join him when he stopped. at last, however, they got to the top of the bank under which their camp was pitched. "listen!" said rob. "there's some one talking." alex nodded. they stepped up to the top of the bank and looked over. xvii the young alaskans' "lob-stick" they saw sitting near the fire three men beside moise, all of them indians or half-breeds. they were all of them talking and laughing eagerly, certainly not showing very much of the so-called indian reserve, at the time the hunters peered over at them. yet occupied as they were, their senses were always alert. one of them heard a twig snap, and turned his face to the bank. alex said nothing, but kicked over the edge of the bank the big rolled hide of the grizzly; after which, silently and with proper dignity, all the hunters, old and young, advanced down the bank and across the beach toward the fire. no one said anything until after the rifles were all lined up against the blanket rolls and the pipes of the men had been filled once more. moise at length could be dignified no more, and broke out into a loud series of french, english, and cree terms, all meant to express his delight and approval at the success of the hunt. the three breeds also smiled broadly and nodded approvingly, once in a while saying a word in their own tongue to one another. they did not, however, seem to ask any questions regarding the hunt as yet. alex spoke a word or so to moise. "she's been my cousin," said moise, pointing indifferently to all three of the new-comers. he also pointed to their means of locomotion, a long and risky looking dugout which lay at the beach. "he'll gone on up the river," said moise, "from hudson's hope." "well, when they go," said alex, "i suppose you'll have to give them something to eat, as you seem to be doing now. only please don't part with quite all our supplies--we're going to need a little tea and flour for ourselves before we get out of here. you can tell these men there's plenty of game in this part of the country, so they can easily make a hunt if they like." "sure," said moise, "i'll dream last night you'll catch grizzly this time. but how we'll go to put heem in boat, _hein_? s'pose we put that hide in canoe, she'll sink unless we eat up all the grub pile." alex told moise to unroll the bear hide so that it might dry as much as possible. he then set all of them at fleshing the hide, a task none of them seemed to relish. afterward, he also added some sort of counsel in the cree language which presently resulted in the three visitors tightening up their belts, taking their solitary rifle, and passing out of sight in the bush at the top of the bank. "where are they going?" asked john, curiously, of moise. "she'll say she'll go after bear meat," said moise. "not got much meat, for she'll ain't seen much moose yet." "well, they're welcome to that grizzly meat," grinned alex. "i didn't think they'd eat it. they must be starving. make them up a little package of tinned stuff, moise, and put it in their boat. i think we'll need about all the bacon we've got, and they can use the fat of the bear better than we can. give them some tea, and a little flour too. what do they say about the river below here at the big cañon?" "says bad water," said moise. "she'll rose perhaps four, three, two inches to-day, maybe so, here, and that's all same so many foots in the cañon. she'll say best way to do is to take portage trail and leave those boat on west end of those cañon." "yes, but we want to get our boats through," said alex, "although it must be a dozen miles anyhow by way of the carrying trail, and not too good at that." "he'll say," resumed moise, "s'pose we take those boat through to the big mountain--through big water, ver' wide, with many islands--we'll come on a place where boats can go up the bank, if plenty men carry them up. then she'll been ten mile, eight mile, to some place below the mountain. all the tam she'll say best way is to go by horse, on the north side of the river, on the police trail from fort st. john, s'pose we'll could find that trail, an' s'pose we'll had some horse." "what do you say, mr. rob?" asked alex. "we ought to get our boats down. shall we haul out at the west end, or try for hudson's hope?" "i'd be in favor of getting down as far as we can," said rob. "we can reach the head of the mountain in a couple of days. i'm for moving on down and taking a chance on the rest of it! of course we'll have to portage the cañon somehow." "that suits me," said john. and even jesse, the youngest of the three, was all for continuing the journey as originally planned. "all right," said alex, "i'm with you. we're learning the game now, certainly, and i don't think we'll find this part of the river any worse than it has been up above. there isn't anything bad marked on the map, anyhow, for quite a way." at about this time, as they were all busied about the camping place, the boys noticed alex and moise step a little apart and begin to converse in low tones. from their looks and gestures, the boys gathered that the men were speaking of something in which they themselves were concerned, in just what way they could not tell. presently moise smiled and nodded vigorously. approaching the camp-fire, he took up his short-handled ax and slung it at his back by a bit of thong. then he stepped over to the tallest and straightest pine-tree which grew close to the water's edge thereabout. active as a cat, he soon had climbed the lower branches, where, without pausing, he began to hack off, close to the trunk, every branch within his reach. having done so, he climbed yet higher up and repeated the operation, as though it were his purpose to cut off nearly all the branches to the top of the tree. at first the boys thought he was gathering boughs for the beds, but as they were almost ready to break camp they could not understand this. "let's go up and help him, fellows!" exclaimed john. alex restrained them. "no, you mustn't do that." john stopped rather abashed. "you see," explained the old hunter, "you are concerned in this, so you must not help." "i don't understand--" began john. "well, the truth is, we are going to give you a celebration. in short, we are making a monument for you young gentlemen, all of you." rob broke into the conversation. "a monument? but we're not dead, and aren't going to be soon!" "this is a monument of the far north. it is not necessary to die. we are making you what we call a 'lob-stick,' or 'lop-stick.'" "i never heard of anything like that." "very likely not. nor do i suppose there is one this far to the west, although there are some which we may see down the peace river. had mackenzie and fraser got their dues, each of them would have had a 'lob-stick' somewhere in here. probably they were too busy in those days. but if either of them had had a 'lob-stick' made for him it would very likely be standing to-day. in that case every man who went past on the river would know why it had been given." the boys were very much excited over this and demanded of alex that he should explain more precisely these matters. "well," said the old hunter, kindly, "each country has its own ways. when i was in london with general kitchener i went to westminster cathedral, and saw there engraved in brass the names of men who had done deeds worth commemorating. it is our way in this country also to perpetuate the memory of deeds of goodness or of bravery, anything which is remarkable and worth remembering. here and there along the peace river, and far to the north on the athabasca, you will see a tree trimmed like this, different from the others, and noticeable to all passers-by. perhaps one tells where a man has saved the life of another man, or where a party have divided their food until all starved, or where some great deed was done, such as a fight with some animal. any great event in our history we may keep in mind in this way. when the men go by on the river they think of that. we believe it may make their hearts stronger, or make them more disposed to do good or brave things themselves. it is our custom." "but what have we done to deserve this?" demanded rob. "moise and i and those other men who were here have the right to decide in regard to that," said alex. "we would not be foolish enough to leave a 'lob-stick' for any light reason. to us it seemed that you were brave, considering your years, in facing the grizzly this morning as you did; also, that you are brave to undertake this trip, young as you are, and with us whom you did not know, across this wild country, which daunted even mackenzie and fraser in the old days. having met in council, moise and i have determined to do this. we think there is no other 'lob-stick' on the river above here, and that there is not apt to be." by this time moise had lopped off all the branches of the tree except the top ones, which stood out like an umbrella. descending from stub to stub, he now trimmed off all the remaining branches clear to the ground. as alex had said, the tree stood straight and unmistakable, so that any _voyageur_ on the river must notice it. rob took off his hat, and the others did the same. "we do not know how to thank you for this honor, alex and moise," said he, "but we will try never to do anything which shall make you ashamed of us. if we do, you may come and cut down this tree." "i believe it will stand," smiled alex. "not many men pass here in these days, but by and by every man who does come here will know where this tree stands and why it was made a 'lob-stick.' they will measure distances by it on the river. and always when the _voyageurs_ pass, or when they camp here near the tree, they will know your story. that is the way history is made in this country. i think that a hundred years from now, perhaps, men will know your story as well as you do that of mackenzie and fraser, although theirs was written in books. this is our custom. if it pleases you, we are very glad." hats still in hand, the boys now stepped up one by one and shook hands with alex and moise. when they left this camp they looked back for a long time, and they could see their commemorative tree standing out tall, slender, and quite distinct from all the others. no doubt it stands there to-day just as it was left in the honor of our young _voyageurs_. xviii bad luck with the "mary ann" alex now went down to the boats and began to rearrange the cargo, from which the boys saw that in his belief it was best to continue the journey that evening, although it now was growing rather late. evidently he was for running down ahead of the flood-water if any such should come, although it seemed to all of them that after all they need have no great fear, for the river had risen little if any since morning. they determined to put the big bear hide in the _mary ann_, and shifted some of the burden of that boat to the _jaybird_, folding up the long hide and putting it at the bottom of the canoe under the thwarts, so that the weight would come as low as possible. when the _mary ann_ had received the rest of her necessary cargo she showed most of her bundles and packages above the gunwale, and alex looked at the two boats a little dubiously, even after moise had carried down to the dugout of his cousins such of the joint supplies as even his liberality thought proper. "we'll try her, anyhow," said alex, taking a look up the river, which came rolling down, tawny now, and not white and green in its colors. so saying, they pushed off. they must, at this camp, have been somewhere between twelve and twenty miles east of the mouth of the parle pas rapids, and they had made perhaps a dozen miles more that evening when they began to come to a place where again the mountains approached the stream closely. here they could not see out at all from their place at the foot of the high banks which hedged them in. at nightfall they encamped in a wild region which seemingly never had known the foot of man. the continuous rush of the waters and the gloom of the overhanging forests now had once more that depressing effect which sometimes is not unknown even to seasoned _voyageurs_. had they been asked, the young travelers must truthfully have replied that they would be glad when at last the mountains were passed and the prairie country to the eastward reached. on the next day they continued among the high hills for several hours, although at length the river expanded into a wide reach which gave them a little free paddling. in such contractions of the stream as they met it seemed to them that the rocks were larger, the water deeper, and each hour becoming more powerful than it had been. advancing cautiously, they perhaps had covered thirty miles when they came to a part of the stream not more than three hundred yards wide, where the current was very smooth but of considerable velocity. below this the mountains crowded still closer in to the stream, seeming to rise almost directly from the edge of the banks and to tower nearly two thousand feet in height. "we must be getting close to the big portage now," said rob to moise, as they reached this part of the river. "yes," said moise, "pretty soon no more water we'll could ron." moise's speech was almost prophetic. in less than half an hour after that moment they met with the first really serious accident of the entire journey, and one which easily might have resulted disastrously to life as well as to property. they were running a piece of water where a flat rapid dropped down without much disturbance toward a deep bend where the current swung sharply to the right. a little island was at one side, on which there had been imbedded the roots of a big tree, which had come down as driftwood. the submerged branch of this tree, swinging up and down in the violent current, made one of the dangerous "sweepers" which canoemen dread. both rob and moise thought there was plenty of room to get by, but just as they cleared the basin-like foot of the rapid the _mary ann_ suddenly came to a stop, hard and fast amidships, on a naked limb of the tree which had been hidden in the discolored waters at the time. as is usual in all such accidents, matters happened very quickly. the first thing they knew the boat was lifted almost bodily from the water. there was the cracking noise of splintering wood, and an instant later, even as the white arm of the tree sunk once more into the water, the _mary ann_ sunk down, weak and shattered, her back broken square across, although she still was afloat and free. rob gave a sudden shout of excitement and began to paddle swiftly to the left, where the bank was not far away. moise joined him, and they reached the shore none too soon, their craft half full of water, for not only had the keel to the lower ribs of the boat been shattered by the weight thus suspended amidships, but the sheathing had been ripped and torn across, so that when they dragged the poor _mary ann_ up the beach she was little more than the remnant of herself. the others, coming down the head of the rapid a couple of hundred yards to the rear, saw this accident, and now paddled swiftly over to join the shipwrecked mariners, who luckily had made the shore. "it's bad, boys," said rob, hurrying down to catch the prow of the _jaybird_ as she came alongside. "just look at that!" they all got out now and discharged the cargo of the _mary ann_, including the heavy grizzly hide, which very likely was the main cause of the accident, its weight having served to fracture the stout fabric of the plucky little boat. when they turned her over the case looked rather hopeless. "she's smashed almost to her rail," said rob, "and we've broken that already. it's that old grizzly hide that did it, i'm sure. we lit fair on top of that 'sweeper,' and our whole weight was almost out of the water when it came up below us. talk about the power of water, i should say you could see it there, all right--it's ripped our whole ship almost in two! i don't see how we can fix it up this time." moise by this time had lighted his pipe, yet he did not laugh, as he usually did, but, on the contrary, shook his head at alex. "maybe so we'll could fix heem," was all he would venture. "well, one thing certain," said rob, "we'll have to go into camp right here, even if it isn't late." "did you have any fun in the other rapids above here?" asked john of rob. "no," said rob; "it was all easy. we've run a dozen or twenty a lot worse than this one. not even the parle pas hurt us. then i come in here, head paddler, and i run my boat on a 'sweeper' in a little bit of an easy drop like this. it makes me feel pretty bad, i'll tell you that!" they walked about the boat with hands in pockets, looking gloomy, for they were a little bit doubtful, since moise did not know, whether they could repair the _mary ann_ into anything like working shape again. alex, as usual, made little comment and took things quietly. they noticed him standing and looking intently down the river across the near-by bend. "i see it too," said rob. "smoke!" the old hunter nodded, and presently walked on down the beach to have a look at the country below, leaving moise to do what he could with the broken boat. the boys joined alex. presently they saw, not far around the bend, a long dugout canoe pulled up on the beach. near by was a little fire, at which sat two persons, an old man and a younger one. they did not rise as the visitors approached, but answered quietly when alex spoke to them in cree. xix new plans "these men say," interpreted alex, as he turned to the boys, "that it's sixteen to twenty miles from here to the end of the portage out of the hills, across the north bank, which cuts off the thirty miles of cañon that nobody ever tries to run. they say for a little way the river is wide, with many islands, but below that it narrows down and gets very bad. they're tracking stuff up-stream from the portage to a surveyors' camp which depends on their supplies. they say they will not sell their canoe, because they couldn't get up-stream, but that if we can get east of the portage there's a man, a sort of farmer, somewhere below there, who has a boat which perhaps he would sell." "what good would that do us?" demanded john. "a boat twenty or thirty miles east of here across the mountains isn't going to help us very much. what we want is a boat now, and i don't see how we can get along without it. won't they sell their canoe?" "no, they don't want to sell it," said alex; "they say they're under employment, and must get through to the camp from hudson's hope on time. we couldn't portage a dugout, anyhow. but they say that we can go on up there with them if we like, and then come back and go around by the portage. what do you say, mr. rob?" rob answered really by his silence and his tight-shut jaw. "well," said he, "at least i don't much care about turning back on a trail. but we'll have to split here, i think, unless we all go into camp. but part of us can go on through by the river, and the rest come on later. maybe we can _cache_ some of our luggage here, and have it brought on across by these men, if they're going back to hudson's hope." "that sounds reasonable," said alex, nodding. "i believe we can work it out." he turned and spoke rapidly in cree to the two travelers, with many gestures, pointing both up and down the stream, all of them talking eagerly and at times vehemently. "they say," said alex at last, "there's a place at the foot of the high bank above the cañon head where two or three men might be able to get a boat up to the carrying trail, although the landing is little used to-day. but they say if we could get across to the east end of the cañon they could send men down by the trail after that other boat. they don't think we can get our boat across. they say they'll find us in a few days, they think, somewhere on the portage. they ask us if they can have what's left of our canoe. they say they'll take two dollars a day and grub if we want them to work for us. they don't say that no man could make the portage below here, but don't think we could do it with our crew. well, what do you say now, mr. rob?" "why, it's all as easy as a fiddle-string," said rob. "i'll tell you how we'll fix it. jess, you and moise go with these men on up to the surveyors' camp, and back down to hudson's hope--you can take enough grub to last you around, and you know that water is easy now. alex and john and i will still have enough grub to last us through to the east side of the rockies--we're almost through now. it might be rather hard work for jess. the best way for him is to keep with moise, who'll take good care of him, and it's more fun to travel than to loaf in camp. for the rest of us, i say we ought to go through, because we started to go through. we all know where we are now. moise will bring the men and supplies around to meet us at the east side. even if we didn't meet," he said to jesse, "and if you and moise got left alone, it would be perfectly simple for you to go on through to peace river landing, two or three hundred miles, to where you will get word of uncle dick. there are wagon-trails and steamboats and all sorts of things when you once get east of the mountains, so there's no danger at all. in fact, our trip is almost done right where we stand here--the hardest part is behind us. now, jess, if you don't feel hard about being asked to go back up the river, or to stay here till these men come back down-stream, that's the way it seems best to me." "i'm not so anxious as all that to go on down this river," grinned jesse. "it isn't getting any better. look at what it did to the old _mary ann_ up there." "well, the main thing is not to get lonesome," said rob, "and to be sure there's no danger. we'll get through, some time or somewhere. only don't get uneasy, that's all. you ought to get around to us in a couple of days after you start on the back trail. how does it look to you, alex?" the old hunter nodded his approval. "yes," said he; "i think the three of us will take the _jaybird_ loaded light and run down to the head of the mountain without much trouble. i don't hear of anything particularly nasty down below here until you get nearly to the gorge. i think we had better hire these two breeds for a time, put them on pay from the time they start up the river with moise and mr. jess. they say they would like to go with mr. jess for their 'bourgeois'--that's 'boss,' you know. they also say," he added, smiling, "that they would very much like to have some sugar and tea." after a time alex rose, beckoned to the two breeds, and they all went back up the beach to the place where moise by this time was building his camp-fire and spreading out the cargo of the _mary ann_ to dry. the two breeds expressed wonder at the lightness of the boats which they now saw, and rapidly asked in their language how the party had managed to get so far across the mountains with such little craft. but they alternately laughed and expressed surprise when they lifted the fragments of the _mary ann_ and pointed out the nature of the injury she had sustained. "those man'll been my cousin, too," said moise, pointing to the new-comers. "she'll been glad to see us, both of her. her name is billy and richard. ole richard, his injun name was been at-tick--'the reindeer.' also she'll say," he added, "she'll ain't got some tea nor sugar. _allons!_ i think maybe we'll eat some dish of tea." soon they were seated on the ground, once more eating tea and bannock, piecing out their meal, which, by the way, was the third during the day, with some of the dried caribou meat which they had brought from far above. "they'll ask me, my cousin," said moise at last, his mouth full, "what we'll take for those busted canoe." "what do you say, mr. rob?" asked alex. "i don't see how it's going to be worth anything to us," said rob, "and it will take us a long time to patch her up at best. tell them we'll give them what there is left of the _mary ann_ if they'll take good care of jess on the way around on the trail. and we'll pay them two dollars a day each besides." when moise had interpreted this speech, the older of the two breeds, who did not speak any english, rose and gravely shook each of the boys by the hand, then not saying anything further, he rose, took his big buffalo knife from its sheath, and proceeded to finish the distribution of the unfortunate _mary ann_, it being his plan evidently not to float her again, but to reduce her to a portable package which could be taken away in their other canoe, the dugout, on the beach below. "well, there goes the _mary ann_," said john, sadly. "he is evidently going to make some kindling wood for himself." "my cousin she'll say this boat must be took up to camp, where womans can work on heem," explained moise. "he'll say he'll patch up those boat fine, for all the ribs she'll be bent all right an' not bust, and he'll make new keel an' new side rails--oh, you wait! maybe so nex' year you'll come here you'll see those boat _marie h'ann_ just so fine like she never was." whatever might have been the future plans for the _mary ann_, she soon resembled nothing so little as a peterborough canoe. the old man calmly proceeded to separate the framework at bow and stern, so that he could crush the two sides of the canoe together after removing the ribs, which also he proceeded to do, one by one. finally he had a pile of ribs and some broken splints which he laid carefully on the beach. then he doubled back the splintered skin of the canoe, throwing away very little indeed of the fractured woodwork. at last he grunted some rapid words to the younger man, who seemed to be his son or a member of his family. "my cousin she'll say he can took those boat in dugout all right down the river," said moise. "she'll said to me also we'll go on hudson's hope with heem." moise pointed to jesse. alex nodded and explained further the plan which had roughly been sketched out before that time by rob and himself. in a little time the younger cree had returned and poled the big dugout around the bend up to the place where they were now in camp. with some excited talk on the part of both, they now took the wreck of the _mary ann_ and carried it up the bank to await their return. in different places along the great cottonwood dugout they added such supplies as moise thought was right. the other supplies they then _cached_, and put over all the robe of the big grizzly, flesh side out, and heavily salted, weighting the edges down with heavy stones. the freeboard of the dugout was very slight when jesse took his place, but seemed quite enough to satisfy the requirements of these _voyageurs_. the old man sprang into the stern of the dugout and motioned to jesse to find a seat amidships. meantime moise was fixing up a towing collar, which he attached to the line. it became apparent that the plan was for him and the younger breed to double on the tracking line, the old man remaining astern to do the steering. "that's the way we get up a river in this country," said alex to rob, who was watching all this with interest. "i would bet they would do twenty-five miles a day with that rig they've got there--they go almost at a trot whenever there's an open bit of beach. when there is none, they pole or paddle." "i don't see how they do it," said rob. "none of them have got anything on their feet but moccasins, and those men there have only pieces of moccasins at that. i should think the rocks would cut their feet in bits!" "well, you know, moise and his 'cousins' are all 'same like dog,' as he would say," smiled alex. "your feet get used to it in time. these men have never known anything better, so they have got adjusted to the way they have to make their living. i doubt if they would wear hard-soled shoes if they had them, because they would say the soles would slip on the rocks. they're in the water about as much as they are out of it when they are tracking a boat up-stream. that's the way this country was conquered for the white men--by the paddle, pole, and tracking line." "you forget uncle dick's way," chimed in john. "how do you mean?" "railroads." "yes," said alex, sighing, "they're coming some day, that's sure. but even the surveyors and engineers had to travel this way, and i think you will find even in the country where the wagons are it's quite a way from here to home." "well, here we go," said rob, after a time. "we mustn't waste daylight, you know." by this time jesse was looking very serious. naturally he relied very much upon moise, but he disliked to leave his friends, and especially to say good-by to alex, on whom they all seemed to depend very much. "it's the right thing to do, jess," said john, after a time. "so far as that is concerned, you'll have it just as safe and a good deal easier than we will, in all probability. we'll meet you in a week or so at most." "so long, then!" said jesse, bravely waving his hand. "so long!" said rob and john. they waved their caps to one another, as each boat now began its way, the _jaybird_ carrying three passengers, and the long dugout, under the tracking line, taking what remained of the expedition of our _voyageurs_, who now separated for the time to take different directions on the stream they had followed thus far. xx the gorge of the mountains for a time after the boats parted the crew of the _jaybird_ said very little as they pursued their way down-stream. the accident to the _mary ann_ made them all thoughtful, and rob was very careful in his position as bow paddler for the remaining boat. as the craft was pretty well loaded, alex also was cautious. they took their time when they struck the head of any fast water, went ashore and prospected, and once in awhile lined down the boat instead of undertaking to run a fast chute. in spite of their additional caution, they ran mile after mile of the great river, until finally they felt themselves approaching the great eastern gate of the rockies, whence there breaks out upon the lower country of the great peace river the unjingah, or unjigab, as the natives formerly called it. "now," said alex, at last, as he steered in along shore, "i think we'll stop and take a look around." they had been expecting the entrance to the actual gorge of the river now for the last three or four miles, for they had passed into the wide space, six or eight hundred yards in extent, described as lying above the cañon entrance, where the river, falling through a narrow passageway in the rocks, is condensed to a quarter of its average width. the fatigue of the steady travel of the trip now began to show its effect upon them all, and the boys were quite ready to go into camp. rob and john undertook to prepare the supper, and soon were busy arranging a little fireplace of stone, while alex climbed up the bank to do some prospecting farther on. "how does it look, alex?" inquired rob, when he finally returned. alex waved a hand as a sign of his ignorance. "hills and woods," said he. "not so much spruce, but some pine and poplars, and plenty of 'bois picard'--what you call 'devil's club' on your side of the rockies. i didn't know it grew this far east. i don't see how mackenzie's men got up from below with a thirty-foot birch-bark," he added, after a time. "they must have come through something on this course, because they could not have taken the water very much below here, that's sure." "is there any trail at all, alex?" asked john. "we've landed almost at the trail--just enough to call a trail for a foot man. it isn't used much to-day, that's sure. pretty steep. sandy farther up." "could we carry the boat through, do you think?" rob looked anxiously up at the lofty bank which rose above them. perhaps there was a little trace of stubbornness in rob's make-up, and certainly he had no wish to abandon the project at this stage. "we might edge her up the bank a little at a time," said alex, "snubbing her up by the line. i suppose we could pass it from stump to stump, the same as _voyageurs_ had to with their big birch-barks sometimes." "we'll get her up somehow to-morrow," said rob, "if you say it's possible." "then there'll be some more hills," smiled alex; "eight or ten or twelve miles of rough country, i suppose." "time enough to trouble about that to-morrow, alex. sit down and have a cup of tea." they still had one or two of their smoke-dried trout and a bit of the half-dried caribou which they had brought down with them. on the whole they made a very fair meal. "try some of my biscuits, alex," suggested john. "i baked them in the spider--mixed the dough all by myself in the sack, the way moise does. aren't they fine?" "you're quite a cook, mr. john. but i'm sorry we're so nearly out of meat," said alex. "you can't travel far on flour and tea." "won't there be any game in the river below the rockies?" asked rob. "oh yes, certainly; plenty of bear and moose, and this side of the peace river landing, wherever there are any prairies, plenty of grouse too; but i don't think we'll get back to the prairies--the valley is over a thousand feet deep east of the mountains." "alex, how many moose have you ever killed in all your life?" asked rob, curiously. "three hundred and eighty-seven," answered alex, quietly. the boys looked at each other in astonishment. "i didn't know anybody ever killed that many moose in all the world," said john. "many people have killed more than i have," replied alex. "you see, at times we have to hunt for a living, and if we don't get a moose or something of the kind we don't eat." "and how many bear have you ever killed, alex?" "twenty-odd grizzlies i have killed or helped kill," said alex. "we rarely hunt them alone. of black bear i don't know how many--we don't count them at all, there are so many of them in this country. but now i suppose pretty soon we will have to go over on the hay river, or the liard, farther north, to get good hunting. the farms are bringing in mowing-machines and threshing-machines into this country now. the game can't last forever at this rate." "well, i'm glad we made our trip this year," said rob. "we haven't made it yet!" smiled alex. "but i think to-morrow we'll see what we can do." they made an early start in the morning, their first task being that of trying to get the _jaybird_ up the steep face of the bluff which rose back of the camp, on top of which the trail, such as it was, made off through the shoulders of the mountains in a general course toward the east, the river sweeping in a wide elbow, thirty miles around, through its wild and impassable gorge, far to the south of them. taking a boat, even a little one, overland is no easy task, especially up so steep an ascent as this. powerful as was the old hunter, it was hard enough to make much progress, and at times they seemed to lose as much as they gained. none the less, alex was something of a general in work of this sort, and when they had gained an inch of progress he usually managed to hold it by means of snubbing the boat's line around the nearest stump or rock. "that's awfully strong line, isn't it?" said rob. "you brought that over with you--we didn't have that in our country. we use rope. i was noticing how thin the line was which those two breeds had on their dugout yesterday." "that's the sort they use all through the trade in the north," answered alex. "it has to be thin, or it would get too waterlogged and heavy. you'll see how long it needs to be in order that the men on shore can get it over all the rocks and stumps and still leave the steersman headway on the boat. it has been figured out as the right thing through many years, and i have seen it used without change all my life." "well, it hasn't broken yet," said rob. "but i think we had better piece it out by doubling it the best we can. we don't want to break it up at this work." little by little, alex lifting the main portion of the weight, and the boys shoving at the stern the best they could, they did edge the _jaybird_ at last clear to the top of the bank, where finally she sat on level keel on a little piece of green among the trees. while they were resting john idly passed a little way to one side among the trees, when, much to his surprise, he almost stepped into the middle of a bunch of spruce-grouse. these foolish birds, although perhaps they had hardly seen a white man in all their lives, did no more than to fly up in the low branches of the trees. alex called out in a low tone to john to come back. then he fumbled in his pockets until he found a short length of copper wire, out of which he made a noose, fastening it to the end of a long stick. "now, mr. john," said he, "there's lunch and supper both if you can get it. let's see how good you are at snaring grouse." john cautiously stepped up under the tree, expecting every minute that the birds would fly. yet to his amazement they sat there stupidly looking down at him. cautiously he raised the pole among the lower branches of the tree, and at length managed to slip the noose fairly about the neck of the nearest bird, when he gave it a jerk and brought it down fluttering. passing from one side of the tree to the other, he repeated this, and soon had four of the fat, young birds in his possession--a feat which interested john in more ways than one, for, as has been indicated, he was very fond of good things to eat. they left the birds at the top of the bank, and, turning, brought up in a trip or so all the remainder of their scanty amount of baggage from the waterside below. "i suppose it might be a good plan, now, to make a trip over to the east," said alex, "and see what we can see." they found after a long investigation that the trail, as nearly as they could trace it, soon swung away quite a distance from the course of the stream, rising steadily for three miles to a sort of high bench. it held this for several miles, finally approaching a steep slope and dropping sharply toward the level of the water, which was much lower than at the head of the cañon. they discovered the eastern end of the portage to be close at the foot of a high and precipitous bank back of which grew scattered clumps of poplar-trees. this journey, which only alex made throughout, took them several miles from the place where they had left the _jaybird_, and they were tired enough by the time they had returned to their supplies. they made no further progress on that day. alex told them they would find water at only one place on the portage, so they must camp here in any case for the night. xxi the portage of the rocky mountains "we might just as well do what we can toward getting across," said alex the next day, "because now we know what there is ahead of us. i'd just as soon portage the boat a little way, at least, because it will only have to be done when moise and the two breeds come to help us. come ahead, then." he swung the _jaybird_ up on his broad shoulders, and started off up a trail none too good at best. the boys, one on each side of the stern of the boat, helped all they could, and thus they made considerable progress, resting and carrying again and again, so that by noon the _jaybird_ was high and dry, and far enough indeed from the stream which had brought her on so long a journey. in short, they kept at this work, doubling back to portage the cargo, and making a mid-way camp at the water, but always edging both their boat and their baggage farther on over the trail, until in the course of three days they actually finished the difficult portage, twelve miles in length, alone, one man and two boys! this feat would have been impossible for any man less powerful and determined than alex, and even he admitted himself to be very weary when at length they paused not far from the scattered buildings of the old port of hudson's hope. they were now on the eastern side of the rockies, and the river which they had been following here took on yet a different character. it had dropped down rapidly in the thirty miles of the cañon, and ran in a wide flood, some hundreds of yards across, rapid and indeed violent, but still steady in current, between banks which rose sharply to a thousand feet in height on either side. it was easy to be seen why the earlier traders thought they were among mountains, even before they reached the rockies, because from the river they really could not see out over the country at all. at the top of the steep bank above the river they left their boat and most of their supplies, with the intention of waiting until the arrival of the rest of their party. meantime they paid a visit to the half-abandoned trading-post. there were only two or three log houses, where small stocks of goods sometimes were kept. there really were two posts here, that of the hudson bay company and of revillon frères, but it seemed that only the hudson bay post was occupied in the summer-time. whether or not the trader in charge had any family or any associate they could not tell, but on the door of the log building they found a written notice saying that he was gone out bear hunting, and did not know when he would return. "well, this isn't much of a settlement, young gentlemen," said alex, laughing, as he saw their plight. "but i think we can get through with what supplies we have and not trouble the company at all." "i always thought there was a good trail from here to st. john," said rob. "at least, it's marked on the map." "not much of a trail!" said alex. "i worked with the mounted police making trail from st. john as far as half way river. but the trail cuts across the corner there, and goes on up to fort grahame, on the finlay river. the real highway here is the river yonder--it's easy water now all the way to st. john--that is, it will be if we can get a boat. i don't see any chance of one here, and can only hope that moise and his 'cousins' can find that dugout down below here somewhere." "if we were on the river down there, you wouldn't know there was any post here at all," said jesse. "you can't see any buildings." "no," said alex; "they're too high up on this bench. you can see the buildings at st. john as you go by, because they are close to the river, and so you can at dunvegan. i don't imagine, however, we'll want to stop anywhere except in camp this side of peace river landing. it'll be fine from here down." "my!" said john, "that certainly was hard work, portaging over that twelve miles there. they ought to have horses and carts, i should say." "hard to use 'em in here," smiled alex. "as it is, it's better than trying to run the cañon. no one ever did get through there, so far as ever i heard." "yes," said rob, "sir alexander mackenzie must have come up through the cañon, according to his story. that is, he must have followed the big bend around, although, of course, he had to take his boat out and carry it through the roughest kind of country. that was worse than our portage here, and no man can tell how they made it through, from all you can learn through his story about it. you see, they didn't know this country then, and had to learn it as they went. if they had hit that cañon a month later on their journey the men wouldn't have stood it--they'd have mutinied and killed mackenzie, or have left him and started home." not caring yet to undertake their embarkment below the portage, they now strolled around here and there, intending to wait until their friends caught up with them. off to the east they could see, from among the short, choppy hills, a country which seemed for the most part covered with continuous growth of poplars, sometimes broken with glades, or open spaces. "i've never been west of the half way river," said alex after a time, "but i know right where we are. we could almost throw our boat on the deck of the steamboat from this bank if we were as far east as st. john." "no steamboat for ours until we get to peace river landing," said rob. "that's right," john assented. "we've come through this far, and we can finish the way we started--that is, if the other fellows catch up with us all right, and we get another boat. how long since we left them? i've sort of lost track of the time." "fifth day," said rob. "it's about time they were coming." his prediction was fulfilled that evening, when, as they were preparing the camp-fire for their supper, they heard a loud shout from the trail back of them. "who's that, alex?" demanded john. but even as he asked he had his answer. such excited gesticulations, such cries of welcome, could come from no one but moise. xxii east of the rockies the two boys ran rapidly to meet moise, and overwhelmed him with questions asked all at once. "how's everything?" demanded rob, "and where's jesse?" "oh, those boy, she'll been all right," said moise. "she'll be on camp seex, h'eight mile below here, up above, maybe so. my cousins billy and at-tick, come through with us--they'll portage half-way to-day. "but, _mes amis_," broke out moise; "there's your boat! how you'll got her through? s'pose you take wings an' fly over those rock, _hein_? _mon dieu!_" "we couldn't wait any longer, moise," said rob, "and we thought we had better be busy than idle. it was hard work, but alex carried her over, and we didn't have much left to pack except our rifles and ourselves." "then you'll not need any mans for help on the portage? all right. we'll get some boat below." "how far is it back to your camp, moise?" demanded john. "maybe five, seex mile, maybe more--i'll not keep track of heem." "can we go back there to-night with you? i'd like to see jess. may we go, alex?" "if you like," answered the old hunter, quietly. "i'll stay here and sleep, and if you care to, you can sleep there. i don't doubt you will be glad to see your friend again, and he'll be glad to see you." tired as the boys had been, they were now so excited that they forgot their fatigue, and trotted along close to moise as he now turned and struck a steady pace back on the portage trail. it was quite dark when at last they came out on a high bank above a level, at which a camp-fire was glowing. john and rob put their hands to their mouths and gave a loud "halloo!" they saw the smaller of the three figures at the fire jump to his feet. then came the answering "halloo!" of jesse, who came scrambling up to meet them as they hurried down. "you're safe, then," said jesse. "oh, but i'm glad you got here all right." "we're glad to meet you safe and sound, too," said rob. "yes, we finished the trip--we even carried our boat through by ourselves, and she's there now on the bank of the stream, ready to go on down." "that's fine," said jess. "these two men, the cousins of moise, have been as nice as you please. they said they could fix up the _mary ann_, and they were very glad to have her--there she is, all in a bundle. they are taking her across in sections. it was hard work getting up the river, for it was all dirty and high. but we made it--i think we worked eighteen hours a day all the way round. moise is a hustler, all right, besides being a cook." "so is alex a hustler, you may depend," rejoined rob. "we couldn't have two better men. well, here we are, together once more, safe and sound." "what's the programme now, rob?" asked john. "we're to sleep here to-night--although it doesn't seem as though we'd have very many blankets," answered rob. "and then in the morning i suppose moise would better go and help alex get the boat down to the river. but where's the other dugout we were to have, moise?" moise talked awhile further with the two reticent breeds. "my cousin billy, he'll say there's old man about five, seex mile below there, an' he'll got dugout," he said at last. "he'll say twenty dollar for dugout." "that's cheaper than peterboroughs," said rob, smiling. "anyhow, we've got to have it, because you can't buy canoes in shops here on the peace river. you tell these two men, moise, to go down there in the morning and have the old man, whoever he is, bring his canoe up as soon as he can to the port. we'll meet, i should say, about noon to-morrow, if all goes well. and as we're now through the worst of it and seem to have pretty fair weather yet, i shall be surprised if we don't get quite a bit farther east inside of the next twenty-four hours." "then hurrah for uncle dick!" said john. "he's somewhere down this river, and maybe it won't be so very long before we run across him." "hurrah! for all those boy also!" smiled moise. "pretty lucky, _hein_?" xxiii the land of plenty rob's plans were approved by alex and moise, and worked out so well that by noon of the next day the entire party had reassembled at the rendezvous. the _jaybird_ was the first boat to be loaded, the men getting her down the steep bank with small delay and taking a rapid run of a couple of miles or so down the river soon thereafter. after a little time they concluded to wait for the other men who had gone down the river-bank to secure the dugout of an old indian, who, it seems, was known as picheu, or the lynx. "i don't know about a dugout, moise," said rob. "there may be bad water below here." "no, not very bad water," said moise. "i'll ron heem on steamboat many tam! but those dugout she'll been good boat, too. i s'pose she'll been twenty foot long an' carry thousand pound all right." "well," rob answered, "that will do us as well as a steamboat. i wonder why the old _voyageurs_ never used the dugout instead of the birch-bark--they wouldn't have had to mend it so often, even if they couldn't carry it so easily." "i'll tell you, fellows," said jesse, who was rather proud of his overland trip by himself, "the fur trade isn't what it used to be. at those posts you don't see just furs and traps, and men in blanket-coats, and dog-trains. in the post here they had groceries, and axes, and calico dresses, and hats, just like they have in a country store. i peeked in through the windows." alex smiled at them. "you see," said he, "you've been looking at pictures which were made some time ago perhaps. or perhaps they were made in the winter-time, and not in the summer. at this season all the fur packets have gone down the trail, and they don't need dog-trains and blanket-coats. you ought to come up here in the winter-time to get a glimpse of the old scenes. i'll admit, though, that the fur-posts aren't what they were when i was a boy. you can get anything you like now, from an umbrella to a stick of toffy." "where?" asked john, suddenly, amid general laughter. "the toffy? i'm sure we'll find some at peace river landing, along with plows and axes and sewing-machines, and all that sort of thing!" "but the people pay for them all with their furs?" inquired rob. "for the most part, yes. always in this part of the country the people have lived well. farther north the marten have longer fur, but not finer than you will find here, so that they bring just as good prices. this has always been a meat country--you'll remember how many buffalo and elk mackenzie saw. now, if the lynx and the marten should disappear, and if we had to go to farming, it still would be the 'land of plenty,' i'm thinking--that's what we used to call it. if we should go up to the top of these high banks and explore back south a little bit, on this side of the smoky, you'd see some of the prettiest prairies that ever lay out of doors, all ready for the plow. i suppose my people some time will have to use the plow too." "yes," assented rob, "i remember mackenzie's story, how very beautiful he found this country soon after he started west on his trip." "my people, the crees, took this country from others long ago," said alex, rather proudly. "they came up the old war-trail from little slave lake to the mouth of the smoky, where the peace river landing is now. they fought the beavers and the stoneys clear to the edges of the rockies, where we are now. they've held the land ever since, and managed to make a living on it, with or without the white man's help. some of us will change, but men like at-tick, the old indian who brought jess across the trail, and like old picheu, below here, aren't apt to change very much." john was once more puzzling at the map which the boys had made for themselves, following the old mackenzie records. "i can't figure out just where mackenzie started from on his trip, but he says it was longitude ° ' ", latitude ° '. now, that doesn't check up with our map at all. that would make his start not very far from the fort, or what they call the peace river landing to-day, i should think. but he only mentions a 'small stream coming from the east,' although moise says the smoky is quite a river." "most people think mackenzie started from fort chippewayan," said alex, "but as a matter of fact, he wintered far southwest of there, on the peace river, somewhere between three hundred and four hundred miles south and west of fort vermilion, as i gather from the length of time it took him to get to the edge of the rockies, where we are now. he mentions the banks getting higher as he went south and west. when you get a couple of hundred miles north of the landing the banks begin to get low, although at the landing they're still almost a thousand feet high above the water-level, at least eight hundred feet, i should say." "well," said rob, "we know something about this country ourselves now, and we'll make a map of it some time, perhaps--a better one than we have now." "yes," said jesse, "but who can draw in that horse-trail from hudson's hope to the head of the steamboat transport? i'd like to see that trail!" "i suppose we could get on the steamboat some time before long if we wanted to," said john. "no," said alex, "hardly again this summer, for she's made her last trip with supplies up to fort st. john by now." "we don't want any steamboat, nor anything else," said rob, "except to go on down on our own hook, the way we started. let's be as wild as we can!" "we're apt to see more game from here down than we have any place on the trip," said alex. "you know, i told you this was the land of plenty." "bimeby plenty bear," said moise. "this boy billy, he'll tol' me ol' picheu he'll keel two bear this last week, an' he'll say plenty bear now all on river, on the willows." "well, at any rate," said alex, "old picheu himself is coming." "how do you know?" asked jesse. "i hear the setting-pole." presently, as alex had said, the dugout showed its nose around the bend. at-tick and billy, jesse's two friends, were on the tracking line, and in the stern of the dugout, doing most of the labor of getting up-stream, was an old, wrinkle-faced, gray-haired and gray-bearded man, old picheu himself, in his time one of the most famous among the hunters of the crees, as the boys later learned. he spoke no english, but stood like some old japanese war-god on the bank, looking intently from one to the other as they now finished their preparations for re-embarking. he seemed glad to take the money which rob paid him for the dugout and shook hands pleasantly all around, to show his satisfaction. the boys saw that what moise had said about the dugout was quite true. it was a long craft, hewed out of a single log, which looked at first crankier than it really was. it had great carrying capacity, and the boys put a good part of the load in it, which seemed only to steady it the more. it was determined that rob and moise should go ahead in this boat, as they previously had done in the _mary ann_, the others to follow with the _jaybird_. soon all the camp equipment was stowed aboard, and the men stood at the edge of the water ready to start. their old friends made no comment and expressed little concern one way or the other, but as rob turned when he was on the point of stepping into the leading boat he saw billy standing at the edge of the water. he spoke some brief word to alex. "he wants to say to mr. jess," interpreted alex, "that he would like to make him a present of this pair of moccasins, if he would take them from him." "would i take them!" exclaimed jesse; "i should say i would, and thank him for them very much. i'd like to give him something of mine, this handkerchief, maybe, for him to remember me by." "he says," continued alex, "that when you get home he wishes you would write to him in care of the priest at st. john. he says he hopes you'll have plenty of shooting down the river. he says he would like to go to the states when he gets rich. he says his people will talk about you all around the camp-fire, a great many times, telling how you crossed the mountains, where so few white men ever have been." "i'll tell you what, boys," said rob, "let's line up and give them all a cheer." so the three boys stood in a row at the waterside, after they had shaken hands once more with the friends they were leaving, and gave them three cheers and a tiger, waving their hats in salutation. even old picheu smiled happily at this. then the boys sprang aboard, and the boats pushed out into the current. xxiv the white man's country they were passing now between very high banks, broken now and then by rock faces. the currents averaged extremely strong, and there were at times runs of roughish water. but gradually the stream now was beginning to widen and to show an occasional island, so that on the whole they found their journey less dangerous than it had been before. the dugout, although not very light under the paddle, proved very tractable, and made a splendid boat for this sort of travel. "you'd think from the look of this country," said john to alex, "that we were the first ever to cross it." "no," said the old hunter, "i wish we were; but that is far from the truth to-day. this spring, before i started west to meet you, there were a dozen wagons passed through the landing on one day--every one of them with a plow lashed to the wagon-box. the farmers are coming. if you should stop at dunvegan you'd hardly know you were in mackenzie's old country, i'm afraid. and now the buffalo and the elk are all gone, where there used to be so many. it is coming now to be the white man's country." "you'll have to come up to alaska, where we live, alex," said john. "we've got plenty of wild country back inside of alaska yet. but even there the outside hunters are killing off the bear and moose mighty fast." "yes," said alex, "for sport, for their heads, and not for the meat! my people kill for meat alone, and they could live here forever and the game would still be as thick as ever it was. it's the whites who destroy the new countries." "i'm beginning to like this country more and more," said jesse, frankly. "back in the mountains sometimes i was pretty badly scared, the water roared so much all the time. but here the country looks easier, and the water isn't so strong. i think we'll have the best part of our trip now." at that instant the sound of a rifle-shot rang out from some point below them on the river. the dugout had just swung out of sight around the bend. "that's rob's rifle!" exclaimed john. "very likely," said alex. "bear, i suppose." the crew of the _jaybird_ bent to their paddles and presently passed in turn about the sharp bend and came up alongside the dugout, which lay along shore in some slack water. rob was looking a trifle shamefaced. "did you miss him?" asked john, excitedly. "well," said rob, "i suppose you'd call it a miss--he was running up the bank there about half a mile away. you can see him going yet, for that matter." sure enough, they could, the animal by this time seeming not larger than a dog as it scrambled up among the bushes on the top of the steep precipice which lined the bank of the river. "he must have been feeding somewhere below," said rob, "and i suppose heard us talking. he ran up that bank pretty fast. i didn't know it was so hard to shoot from a moving boat. anyhow, i didn't get him." "he'll was too far off," said moise. "but those boy she'll shoot right on his foot all the time. i think she'll hit him there." "never mind, mr. rob," said alex. "we've got plenty of river below us, and we're sure to see more bear. this river is one of the best countries for black bear there is this side of the hay or the liard." both boats proceeded at a leisurely pace for the remainder of this stage, no one being anxious to complete the journey to the peace river landing any earlier than was necessary, for the journey down the river was of itself interesting and pleasant. all the landscape continued green, although it was late in the summer. the water, however, was now less brilliant and clear than it had been in the mountains, and had taken on a brownish stain. they encamped that night at a little beach which came down to the river and offered an ideal place for their bivouac. tall pines stood all about, and there was little undergrowth to harbor mosquitoes, although by this time, indeed, that pest of the northland was pretty much gone. the feeling of depression they sometimes had known in the big mountains had now left the minds of our young travelers, and they were disposed, since they found themselves well within reach of their goal, to take their time and enjoy themselves. "moise, tell us another story," demanded jesse, after they had finished their evening meal. "what kind of story you'll want?" inquired moise. "i think we'd rather have something about your own country, about animals, the same as you told us back in the mountains, perhaps." "well," said moise, "i'll told you the story of how the ermine he'll got the end of his tail black." xxv how the ermine got his tail black "long tam 'go," said moise, "before my onkle he'll been born, all peoples lived in the woods, and there was no companee here for trade. in those day there was no tobacco an' no rifle--those was long tam 'go--i don' know how long. "in those tam all the people he'll talk with wiesacajac, an' wiesacajac he'll be friendly all tam with these peoples. all the animal that'll live in the wood he'll do all right, too. only one animal he was bad animal, and those was what you call wissel (weasel). this wissel is what you call ermine some tam. he'll be mighty smart animal. in summer-tam, when grass an' rock is brown, he'll go aroun' brown, sam as the rock an' the leaf. in summer-tam the wissel he'll caught the hare an' the partridge, an' he'll live pretty good, heem. "now, in the winter-tam most all the animals in the wood he'll go white. those hare, he'll get white just same color as the snow. those _picheu_, those lynx, he'll get gray, almost white. the ptarmigan, he'll get white, too, so those owl won' see heem on the snow; an' the owl he'll get white, so nothing will see heem when he goes on the snow. some tam up north the wolf he'll be white all over, an' some fox he'll also be white all same as the snow. "but the _cigous_, or wissel, he'll stay brown, with white streak on his neck, same like he'll been in the summer-tam. when he'll go on the hont, those rabbeet, she'll saw _cigous_ come, an' he'll ron off, so _cigous_ he'll go hongree. "now, _cigous_ he'll get this on his min', an' he'll sit down one tam an' he'll make a pray to kitchai-manitou, an' also to wiesacajac, an' he'll pray that some tam he'll be white in the winter-tam, the same as the snow, the same as those other animal, so he'll catch the meat an' not go hongree. "'oh, wiesacajac,' he'll pray, 'what for you'll make me dark this a-way, when i'll been hongree? have pity on me!' "well, wiesacajac, he'll been kin' in his heart, an' he'll hear those _cigous_ pray, an' he'll say, 'my frien', i s'pose you'll not got any meat, an' you'll ask me to take pity on you. the reason why i'll not make you white like other animal is, you'll been such thief! oh, _cigous_, s'pose you'll go live two week all right, an' not steal, an' not tell any lie to me, then i'll make you white, all same like other animals.' "'oh, wiesacajac,' say _cigous_, 'it's ver' hard to be good for two week an' not steal, an' not tell lie. but i'll try to do this thing, me!' "now, in two week all the family of _cigous_ he'll not got anything to eat, an' he'll almost starve, an' he'll come in out of the woods an' sit aroun' on the village where the people live. but all the people can see _cigous_ an' his family because he'll all be brown, an' he'll show on the snow, plain. "now, _cigous_ he'll got very hongree, an' he'll got under the blanket in the lodge where the people live. bimeby he'll smell something cook on the fire. then he'll go out in the bush, an' he'll pray again to wiesacajac, an' he'll say, 'oh, wiesacajac, i'm almost white now, so i can get meat. but it's ver' hard tam for me!' "wiesacajac, he'll tol' heem to go back in an' not lie an' not steal, an' then see what he'll got. "_cigous_, he'll been happy this tam, an' he'll go back on the lodge an' smell that cooking some more. he'll not know it, but by this tam wiesacajac has made heem all white, tail an' all. but _cigous_ he'll smell something cook in the pot, an' he'll say, 'i wonder what is cook in that pot on the fire.' "he'll couldn't stan' up high to reach his foots in the pot, so he say, 'ah, ha! my tail he's longer than my foots. i'll stick my tail in the pot, an' see what is cook that smells so good.' "now, _cigous_ not know his tail is all white then. but wiesacajac, he'll see _cigous_ all the tam, an' he'll turn the meat in the pot into pitch, and make it boil strong; so _cigous_ when he'll stick his tail in the pot, he'll stick it in the pitch, an' when he'll pull out the end of his tail, the end of it will be all black! "then _cigous_ he'll go out on the snow, an' he'll look aroun', an' bimeby wiesacajac he'll seen heem an' he'll say, 'ah, _cigous_, what's on your tail, because i'll see it is all black on the end?' "_cigous_ he'll turn aroun' an' ron aroun' an' aroun' on a reeng, but all the tam he'll see the black spot on his tail, an' it won't come off. "'now, _cigous_,' says wiesacajac, 'i'll been good spirit, else surely i'll punish you plenty for stealing when you tol' me you'll be good animal. already i'll made you white, all but your tail. now that the people may always know you for a thief, you an' all your family must have black spot on tail in the winter-tam. i would make you black all over, _cigous_, but i have take pity on your family, who must not starve. maybe so you could caught meat, but all the tam your tail will mark you for a thief!' "from that time," said moise, concluding, "the ermine, _cigous_, has always been a good honter. but always he's brown in the summer-tam, an' in the winter-tam he isn't not quite white. that is because he is such thief. i know this is so, because my onkle she'll tol' me. i have finish." xxvi trailing the bear "i'll tell you what," said john, in the morning, as they still lingered at their pleasant camp; "we're not apt to have a much nicer stopping place than this, so why not make a little hunt, and come back here to-night?" "not a bad idea," said alex. "what's the best way to plan it out?" asked john. "ought we to go by boats down the river, and then come back here?" "i would suggest that moise and rob take the dugout and go down the river a little way," replied alex, "and that you and i and jess climb to the top of the bank, taking our time, to see if we could find any moose sign, or maybe a bear trail in the country back from the river. in that way we could cover both the top and bottom of the valley. we might find a grizzly higher up, although we are out of the grizzly country here by rights." this plan suggested by alex was followed out, and at no very late hour in the morning camp was deserted by our travelers, whose hunting spirit seemed still unabated. they did not meet again until almost dusk. alex and his companions found no fresh game trails on the heights above, and, in short, concluded their hunt rather early in the afternoon and returned to camp, where they remained for some hours before at length they saw the dugout, which the boys had christened _the plug_, slowly making its way up the river. john and jesse, themselves pretty tired from their long walk, summoned up energy enough to go down to the beach and peer into the dugout. they saw no sign of any game. they did not, however, ask any questions, for they were learning the dignity of indian hunters. alex looked at moise, but asked him no question. he noticed that moise was whistling, and apparently not very unhappy, as after a time he went about making his evening fire. "so you didn't get any bear, mr. rob?" said alex at last. "no, not quite," said rob, "but i ought to have got one--i had a pretty fair shot, although it was rather dark where the bear was standing." alex spoke a few words to moise in the cree language. "never mind," said he to rob at length. "we'll get him to-morrow very easily." "so moise said to me; but i don't see how he knows. the bear started off as though he weren't hit at all. he came down to the edge of the wood at a high bank and looked right at us when we were pulling the boat up the stream. you know, the canoe is rather teetery, but i shot as well as i could, and thought i hit him. he turned around, and i shot at him again. but he didn't stop. moise thought we had better come on in because it was so late." "sure," said moise, "i'll tol' those boy he'll shoot those bear two tam, once in the front an' once in the back. with those rifle, he'll not go far. to-morrow we'll catch heem easy." "he was a big bear, too," said rob, "although not as big as our grizzly--just a black bear, that's all. i don't like to cripple any animal and then lose it." "i don't think we'll lose this one," said alex, reassuringly. the judgment of the old hunters proved to be correct, for on the next day, when all hands dropped down the river to the point where rob had shot at the bear, it was not five minutes before they found the trail where a considerable amount of blood showed that the bear had been badly wounded. at once they began to follow this trail back into the high country away from the river. alex did not ask any questions, and there was little talk between him and moise. moise, however, took the lead on the trail. alex did not even carry his rifle, but loitered along, picking berries and enjoying himself, after his own fashion. "keep close up to moise, young gentlemen," he said. "this bear, although only a black bear, is apt to be very ugly if you find him still alive. if he comes for you, kill him quick. i doubt, however, very much whether he will be alive when we come up with him." "how do you know about that, alex?" demanded john. "it's our business to know about such things," answered alex, smiling. all the boys now could see where the bear had scrambled up the bank, and where it had gone through the bushes on its way to the forest, leaving a plain blood trail on the ground. "moise will lead on the trail," said alex. "he's more injun than i am. in some ways i can beat him, in others he can beat me. he is one of the best trailers on the river." moise now was a different man from the talkative companion of the camp. he was very silent, and advanced cautiously along the trail, his eyes studying every record of the ground and cover which had been left by the wounded animal. once in a while he pointed silently to a broken bush or to a drop of blood. after a while he stopped and pointed to a tree whose bark was ripped off. "heem awful mad," whispered moise. "s'pose you'll seen heem here, he'll fight sure. he'll bite all the tree an' fight the bush." after a while alex showed them a deep excavation in the soft dirt. "he'll dig hole here an' lie down," said moise. "plenty mad now, sure!" they kept on after the trail, following it deeper into the forest and higher up the slope, minute after minute, for a time which seemed short, but which really was over an hour and a half in extent. moise still remained silent and not in the least excited, and alex still continued to pick his berries and eat them leisurely as he followed along in the rear. once they lost the trail on an open hillside covered with wintergreen plants, and the boys thought the hunt was over. moise however, swung around like a hound on the trail, clear to the other side of the hill, and in the course of a few minutes picked up the spoor again when it struck softer ground beyond. they passed on then, moving upward deeper into the forest for some minutes, until at length moise turned about. "about five minute now, we'll found heem," said he, quietly. "how does he know, alex?" demanded jesse, who was farther to the rear. "easy enough," answered alex. "he says the bear has lain down ten times now, and he would not do that unless he was very weak. he would travel as far as he could. now he is lying down very often. i'm sorry, but i don't think we'll get any fight out of this bear. moise thinks you'll find him dead." surely enough, they had hardly gone another hundred yards before moise, stepping back quietly, pointed through an opening in the bushes. there, lying before them in a little glade, lay a vast, black body, motionless. rob grounded his rifle-butt, almost in disappointment, but later expressed his satisfaction. "now, boys, i got him," said he, "and i guess it's just as well he didn't have to wait till now for us to come. but speaking of trailing, moise, you certainly know your business." "oh yes," said moise, "every man in this country he'll mus' know how to trail, else he'll go hongree some tam. my onkle she'll taught me how for follow trail." "well," said alex, "here's some more meat to get down to the boat, i suppose, and we need meat badly, too. we ought not to waste it, but if we take it all on board we'll have to hurry to get down to peace river landing with it, because it is more than we can possibly eat." the two older hunters now drew their big buffalo knives and fell to work skinning and dismembering the carcass of the bear, the boys helping as they could. it was plainly the intention of alex and moise to make one trip with meat and hide. in order to carry the green bear hide--always a slippery and awkward thing to pack--moise now showed a little device often practised, as he said, among the crees. he cut two sharpened sticks, each about a couple of feet in length, and placing these down on the hide, folded the hide around them, so that it made a sharp, four-cornered pack. he lashed the hide tightly inside these four corners, and then lifting it up and down, smilingly showed the boys that the green hide now would not slip, but would remain in place, thus making a much better pack. he slung his belt at the corners of the pack, and then motioned to alex to throw up on top of his pack one of the hams of the bear which had been detached from the carcass. when moise got his load he started off at a trot, taking a course different from that on which they had come. alex in turn used his belt and some thongs he had in making a pack of the remainder of the meat, which, heavy as it seemed, he managed to shoulder, leaving the boys nothing to carry except the skull of the bear, which they had expressed a wish to retain with the robe. "do you suppose we'll ever get to be men as strong as that?" asked rob in a whisper, pointing to the solitary figure of the breed now passing rapidly down the slope. "i didn't know anybody was so strong," admitted jesse. "they must be pretty good men, i'm thinking." "but which way are they going?" asked john. "do you suppose they're lost?" "we'll follow and see," answered rob. "they seem to know their own way pretty well." they now kept alex in sight, and in the course of about fifteen or twenty minutes came up with moise, who was sitting down, resting his back against the root of a tree. "i suppose you'll know where we are now?" he asked of rob. rob shook his head. "no, i don't recognize the place." moise pointed with a thumb to a point just back of the tree. rob stepped over, and gazing down, saw a deep hole in the ground. "why, i know!" said he. "this is one of the holes the bear dug--one of the first ones, i should think." "oh, i see, you cut across-lots and didn't follow the back trail." john was as much surprised as rob. "no," said alex, "we saved perhaps half a mile by coming straight across, for, you see, the bear was wandering all around on the hillside as he was trying to get away. you'll find the boats are directly below us here, and not very far away." "this," said rob, "seems to me pretty wonderful! you men certainly do know how to get along in this country. i'd never have thought this was the direct course, and if i had been in there alone i certainly would have followed the bear's trail back--if i could have found it." yet it all came out quite as alex and moise had planned, for in less than ten minutes more they scrambled down the steep bank to the rocky beach where the two boats lay. the men distributed the hide and meat between the two, covering up both with green willow boughs. "now," said alex, "for a fast run down this river. we've got more meat than we can use, and we must get to the landing." xxvii the end of the old war-trail it is possible to make twenty-five miles a day with pole and tracking-line against a current even so strong as that of the peace river. twice or thrice that distance down-stream is much easier, so that no greatly difficult journey remained ahead of our travelers between their last camp and the old hudson bay post known as peace river landing, which perhaps moise would have called the end of the old war-trail from little slave lake--the point near the junction of the peace and smoky rivers which has in it so much strategic value, whether in war or in peace. the two boats, pausing only for the briefest possible encampments, now swung on down, day after day, not pausing at the ultimate western settlements, st. john and dunvegan, but running on down, between high and steep banks, through a country clean and beautiful with its covering of poplar growth. at last, well wearied with steady paddling, they opened up a great "v" in the valley, so that they knew they were at the junction of the smoky and the peace, and hence at the end of this stage of their journey. it was evening at the time of their arrival, and rob was much for finishing the journey that day, yet yielded to the wish of moise, who thought it would be better to camp some few miles above the town, although almost within sight of the great ferry which here crosses the main river from the wagon trail of the north bank. "we'll must go in like real _voyageurs_," insisted moise. "we'll not look good to go in to-night--too much tire an' dirt." in the morning moise appeared at the breakfast table attired in his best. he had in some way managed a clean shave, and now his long, black hair was bound back with a gaudy handkerchief, his old shirt replaced by a new and bright one, and his old moccasins discarded for a pair of new and brilliantly beaded ones, so that in all he made a brave figure of a voyageur indeed. alex also in a quiet way had followed the lead of moise. the boys themselves, falling into the spirit of this, hunted through their war-bags for such finery as they could compass, and decked themselves out in turn with new moccasins, new gloves, and new kerchiefs for their necks. moise looked on them all with the utmost approbation. "it's the best for return like some _braves hommes_," said he. "well, _en avant_!" they all bent gaily to the paddles now, and sped down the flood of the great stream until at length they sighted the buildings of the hudson bay post, just below the ferry. here, finishing with a great spurt of speed, they pulled alongside the landing bank, just below where there lay at mooring the tall structure of the hudson bay steamboat, _peace river_, for the time tarrying at this point. moise rolled his paddle along the gunwale, making the spray fly from the blade after the old fashion of the _voyageurs_ ending a journey, and the boys followed his example. many willing hands aided them to disembark. a little later they found themselves ready for what seemed apt to be one of their last encampments. a tall breed woman stood at a little distance up the bank, silently awaiting their coming. moise pointed to her with no great emotion. "he's my womans," said he. "he'll fix the camp for us an' take care of those meat, yes." [illustration: moise at home] moise and his wife met, undoubtedly glad to see each other, though making no great show at the time. pretty soon the breed woman came down and lifted the bear hides and the meat from the boats. "she'll fix up the hides for you, all right," said alex, quietly. "as we don't need the meat, and as i don't live here, but a hundred miles below on little slave, i think we had better give moise all of the meat for himself and his people--he probably has fifty or more 'uncles' and 'cousins' in this village. meantime, i think it might be well for us to make a little camp over here in the cottonwoods just back of the lodges." they saw now on the flat between the river and the company post quite a little village of indian conical tepees, from which now came many indians and half-breeds, and a multitude of yelping dogs. the boys, aided by one or two taciturn but kindly natives, who seemed to know who they were, and so lent a hand without any request, soon had their simple little camp well under way. at about this time they were approached by a stalwart man wearing the cap of the hudson bay company's river service. "i'm saunders, of the hudson bay company," said he, "and i suppose you're the nephews of mr. wilcox, an engineer, who has gone down the river?" "yes, sir," said rob; "we have just come down, and we expected to meet him below here." "i have a letter for you," said captain saunders. "mr. wilcox came up from little slave awhile back, and went down to fort vermilion with us on our last trip--i'm the captain of the boat over yonder. he asked me to bring you down to vermilion on our next run. i suppose the letter explains it all." "yes, sir," said rob, after reading it and handing it to the others. "that's about the size of it. we thought our trip was ended here, but he asks us to come on down and meet him at fort vermilion! it seems a long way; but we're very glad to meet you, captain saunders." they all shook hands, and the grizzled veteran smiled at them quizzically. "well, young gentlemen," said he, "i hardly know what to think about your trip, but if you really made it, you're lucky to get through in as good shape as you have." "we had a perfectly bully time, sir," said rob. "we lost one of our boats west of the cañon, but we got another this side, and we're all safe and sound, with every ounce of our property along." "you have the best of me, i must admit," said the hudson bay man, "for i have never been west of st. john myself, although we make the dunvegan run regularly all the time, of course. they tell me it is pretty wild back there in the mountains." "yes, sir," said rob. "the water's pretty fast sometimes; but, you see, we had two good men with us, and we were very careful." "you had pretty fair men with _you_, too, didn't you, alex?" smiled saunders, as the tall half-breed came up at that time. "none better," said alex, quietly. "we caught a grizzly and a black bear, not to mention a caribou and a couple of sheep. they seem to me natural hunters. i'm quite proud of them--so proud that we gave them a 'lob-stick,' captain." "and quite right, too," nodded saunders. "oh, well, of course we couldn't have done any of those things without you and moise," said rob. "anybody can shoot a rifle a little bit, but not every one could bring the boats out of such water as we have had." "well, now, what do you want to do?" resumed saunders, after a little. "here's the _peace river_ steamer, and you can get a room and a bath and a meal there whenever you like. or you can stay here in your tent and eat with the factor up at the post beyond. i would suggest that you take in our city before you do much else." "when were you planning to leave for vermilion, captain saunders?" inquired rob. "some time to-morrow morning, as soon as we get plenty of wood from the yard across the river. it's about three hundred and fifty miles to vermilion down-stream--that is to say, north of here--but we run it in two or three days with luck. coming up it's a little slower, of course." "if you don't mind, sir," said rob at length, "i think we'd rather sleep in our tent as long as we can--the steamboat would be very nice, but it looks too much like a house." saunders laughed, and, turning, led the way through the indian villages and up toward the single little street which made the village of peace river landing, ancient post of the hudson bay. here he introduced the young travelers, who at once became the sensation of the hour for all the inhabitants, who now thronged the streets about them, but who all stood silent and respectful at a distance. they found the hudson bay post, as jesse had said, more like a country store than the fur-trading post which they had pictured for themselves. they saw piled up on the shelves and counters all sorts of the products of civilization--hardware of every kind, groceries, tinned goods, calicoes, clothes, hats, caps, guns, ammunition--indeed, almost anything one could require. john was looking behind the counters with wistful eye, for the time ceasing his investigation of the piles of bright new moccasins. "i don't see any, alex," said he, at last. "any what, mr. john?" "well, you said there'd be toffy." alex laughed and beckoned to the clerk. when john made known his wishes, the latter ran his hand in behind a pile of tobacco and brought out a number of blue-covered packages marked "imperial toffy." "i think you will find this very nice, sir," said he. "it's made in the old country, and we sell quite a bit of it here." john's eyes lighted up at this, and, if truth be told, both of the other boys were glad enough to divide with him his purchase, quantities of which he generously shared also with the indian and half-breed children whom he presently met in the street. "i don't see but what this is just the same as any other town," said he at length, his mouth full. they were received with great courtesy by the factor of the hudson bay company, who invited them to have lunch with him. to their surprise they found on the table all the sorts of green vegetables they had ever known--potatoes, beans, tomatoes, lettuce, many varieties, and all in the greatest profusion and excellence. "we don't encourage this sort of thing," said the factor, smilingly pointing to these dishes of vegetables, "for the theory of our company is that all a man needs to eat is meat and fish. but just to be in fashion, we raise a few of these things in our garden, as you may see. when you are at vermilion, moreover, although that is three hundred and fifty miles north from here, you'll see all sorts of grain and every vegetable you ever heard of growing as well as they do twelve or fifteen hundred miles south of here." "it's a wonderful country, sir," said rob. "i don't blame alex and moise for calling this the land of plenty." "moise said that the old war-trail over from the little slave country used to end about here," ventured john. the factor smiled, and admitted that such was once said to have been the case. "those days are gone, though, my young friend," said he. "there's a new invasion, which we think may unsettle our old ways as much as the invasion of the crees did those of the stoneys and beavers long ago. i mean the invasion of the wagon-trains of farmers." "yes," said rob, "alex told us we'd have to go to the liard river pretty soon, if we wanted any moose or bear; but anyhow, we're here in time, and we want to thank you for helping us have such a pleasant trip. we're going to enjoy the run down the river, i'm sure." xxviii steamboating in the far north captain saunders finished the operation of getting wood for the _peace river_ by ten o'clock of the next morning, and as the steamer once more came alongside the steep bank at the landing the hoarse note of her whistles notified every one to get ready for the journey down the stream. the boys, who had passed the night in their tent with alex--moise having gone to his own tepee for the night--now began to bestir themselves before going aboard the steamer. "what are we going to do with all our things, alex?" asked rob. "how do you mean, sir?" "why, our tent and the skins and trophies and blankets and everything--we won't need them on board the boat, will we?" "no, sir, and the best way will be to leave them here." "what! in our tent, with no one to care for them? you know, moise is going with us, as i understand it." "everything will be perfectly safe right there in the tent, if only you tie the flaps so the dogs can't get in," answered alex. "you see, it's only white men that steal in this country--the injuns and breeds won't do that. until the klondike pilgrims came through here we didn't know what theft was. i can answer for these people here. everything you leave will be perfectly safe, and, as you say, it will be less bother than to take this stuff along on the boat." rob motioned to his companions, and they stepped aside for a little while. "what are we going to do about the stuff we've got left over, fellows?" asked he. "of course, we've got to get down by wagon as far as little slave, and we'll need grub enough, if uncle dick hasn't got it, to last us two or three days. but we won't boat, and we've got quite a lot of supplies which i think we had better give to moise--they have to charge pretty good prices for everything they sell at the store up here, and maybe moise will like this stuff." "that suits me," said john, "and i think it would be a good idea. give moise all the meat and such supplies as we don't need going out." "and then, how about the boats?" "well, old picheu sold us the dugout, and i don't suppose he'll ever get down here any more, and we certainly couldn't take it out with us. i'm in favor of making moise a present of that. he seems to like it pretty well." "a good idea," said rob. "and how about the _jaybird_? wouldn't it be fine to give that to alex!" both the other boys thought this would be a good idea, and they accordingly proposed these plans to alex before they went aboard the steamer. the old hunter smiled with great pleasure at their generosity. "i don't want to rob you young men," said he, "and without doubt you could sell both of those boats here if you liked. but if you want us to keep them, they will be of great value to us. moise hunts up and down the river all the time, and can use the dugout. i live on little slave, and hunt miles below here, but i have plenty of friends with wagons, and they'll take the _jaybird_ across for me. i'll keep her as long as she lasts, and be very glad indeed." "well, then," said rob, "i don't see any reason why we shouldn't go aboard. i'm almost sorry, too, because it seems to me as though we were pretty near to the end of our trip now." "don't be so sure," said the old hunter to him. "some of the best bear country on this river is below this point, and unless i am very much mistaken, you will probably see a dozen or two bear between here and vermilion." on board the steamboat the boys found a long table spread with clean linen, comfortable bunks with linen sheets, something they had not seen for a long time, and a general air of shipshapeness which did not seem to comport with a country so wild and remote as this. each was assigned to a room, where he distributed his belongings, and soon they were all settled down comfortably, alex and moise also having rooms given to them, according to the instructions which uncle dick had sent up to the company. during the last few minutes before the mooring-lines of the boat were cast loose all the party stood along the rail watching the breed deck-hands carrying aboard the remainder of the boat's cargo. rob expressed the greatest surprise at the enormous loads which these men carried easily from the storehouse down the slippery bank and up the steep gang-plank. "i didn't think such strong men lived anywhere in the world," said he. "i never saw anything like it!" "yes," said alex, "there are some pretty good men on the river, that's true. the man who couldn't shoulder three hundred pounds and get it aboard would be back of the first rank." "three hundred pounds!" said rob. "that's pretty heavy, isn't it?" "_non! non!_" broke in moise. "she's no heavy. on the trail those man he'll take three packets, two hundred seventy poun', an' he'll trot all same dog--we'll both told you that before. my onkle, billy loutit, he'll carry seex hondred poun' one tam up a heell long tam. he'll take barrel of pork an' ron on the bank all same deer." rob turned a questioning glance on alex, who nodded confirmation. "men have been known to carry four or five hundred pounds considerable distances on the portage," said he. "it isn't best for them, but they're always rivaling one another in these feats of strength. saunders here, the captain, used to carry five hundred pounds in his day--all the salt pork and boxes you could rake up on top of him. you see this is a country of large distances and the seasons are short. you talk about 'hustling' down in the cities, but i suppose there never was a business carried on which 'hustled' as long and hard as the old fur trade a hundred years ago. that's where these men came from--from fathers and grandfathers who were brought up in the work." at last the steamer cast loose her mooring-lines and stood off for midstream with a final roar of her whistles. a row of indians and breeds along the bank again gave the salute of the north with a volley of rifle-fire. they were off for the last lap of their long journey down the great river, this time under somewhat different circumstances from those under which they had begun their journey. the boys rapidly explored the steamboat, and found her a comfortable side-wheeler, especially built for this river work, with powerful engines and abundance of room on her lower deck for heavy cargo. her cabin-deck provided good accommodations for passengers, and, all in all, she was quite a wonderful vessel for that far-off country, in their belief. "i found something down below," said john, coming up the companion-stair after a time. "what's that?" asked jesse. "bear hide nailed on the side of the boat, by the wood-pile below. the engineer killed it a week ago up the river. about every one on the boat has a rifle, and they say they get bears every trip. i think we had better have our guns ready all the time. they say that old showan, the pilot in the pilot-house up above, only keeps his job on this boat because he gets such fine bear hunting all the time." "well, he'll have to beat us," said rob, stoutly. "alex," inquired jesse, after a time, "how many bear did you ever see on this river in one day?" "i wouldn't like to say," answered alex, "for we don't always count them. i'm told that one of our passengers counted twenty-eight in one afternoon right on this part of the river where we are now. i've often seen a dozen a day, i should say." "you're joking about that, alex!" said rob. "wait and see--i may show you pretty soon," was the answer. the boys, always ready enough when there was game to be seen, secured their rifles and took their stand at the front rail of the cabin-deck, ready for anything which might appear. "i don't see how you can shoot off this boat," said jesse, trying to sight his rifle. "it wobbles all the time when the engine goes." alex gave him a little advice. "i think you'll find it better to stand with your feet pretty close together," said he, "and keep your hands as close together as you can on your rifle, too. then, when you catch sight of your mark as you swing by, pull, and don't try to hold dead on." for some time they saw nothing, and, leaning their rifles against the cabin walls, were talking about something else, when all at once they heard the whistle of the steamer boom out above them. at about the same time, one of the deck-hands at the bow deck below picked up a piece of plank and began to beat loudly with it upon the side structure of the boat. "what's the matter?" asked rob. "has everybody gone crazy, alex?" "no; they're just trying to beat up the game," said alex, smiling. "you see that island below? it nearly always has bears feeding on it, where the berries are thick. when the boat comes down above them the men try to scare the bears out into the river. just wait a minute, and perhaps you'll see some of the strangest bear hunting you ever heard of in your life." almost as he spoke they all heard the crack of a rifle from the pilot-house above them, and saw the spit of a bullet on the water many hundreds of yards below them. "i see him," said rob, "i see him--there he goes! look at that little ripple on the water." "yes," said alex, quietly, "there was one on the island, as i supposed there would be. he is swimming off now for the mainland. too far yet, i should say. just take your time, and let showan waste his ammunition." it was all the boys could do to hold their fire, but presently, since almost every one else on the boat began to shoot, alex signaled to his young charges to open up their battery. he knew very well that the rifles they were using were more powerful than the carbines which made the usual arm in that country. "be careful now, young men," said he, "and watch where your bullets go." for the first few shots the boys found the difficulty which jesse had prophesied, for shooting from an unstable platform is always difficult. they had the added advantage, however, of being able to tell where their bullets were falling. as they were all firing close together, and were using rifles of the same caliber, it was difficult to tell who really was the lucky marksman, but, while the little triangle of moving water still seemed two or three hundred yards below the boat, suddenly it ceased to advance. there lay upon the surface of the water a large oblong, black mass. "through the head!" said alex, quietly. "i don't know which one." all the deck-hands below began to laugh and shout. the captain of the boat now came forward. "i don't know which one of you to congratulate," said he, "but that was good work. now my men will have plenty of meat for the trip down, that's sure." he now passed down to the floor of the deck, and under his instructions one of the deck-hands picked up a long, stout pole which had a hook fastened on the end of it. "look down there below now, young gentlemen," said alex, "and you'll see something you never will see anywhere but here. we gaff a bear here, the same as you do a salmon." this literally was true. the engineer now shut off his engines, and the great boat drifted slowly down upon the floating body of the dead bear, with just steerageway enough to enable the pilot to lay her alongside. at last the deck-hand made a quick sweep with his gaff-hook, and calling two of his fellows to hold onto the pole with him, and so stopping the tremendous pull which the body of the bear made on the pole, they finally succeeded in easing down the strain and presently brought the dead bear close alongside. then a noose was dropped over its neck and it was hauled aboard. all this time the boys were excitedly waiting for the end of their strange hunt, and to them this sort of bear hunting seemed about the most curious they had ever known. the deck-hands now, in obedience to a word in their own language from the captain, rapidly began to skin and quarter the dead bear. moise explained to them that his young hunters wanted the skin saved for them, with the claws and the skull, so that they were more particular than they usually are in skinning a bear which they intend to eat. truth to say, the carcass of this bear scarcely lasted for the rest of the voyage, for black bear is a regular article of diet for these people, although they will not often eat the grizzly. these operations were scarcely well advanced before once more the whistle began to roar, and once more the rifle-fire began from showan's place up in the pilot-house. this time they all saw a big bear running up the bank, but perhaps half a mile away. it made good speed scrambling up over the bare places, and was lost to sight from time to time among the bushes. but it had no difficulty in making its escape unhurt, for now the boys, although they fired rapidly at it, could not tell where their bullets were dropping, and were unable to correct their aim. "i don't care," said rob, "if it did get away. we've got almost bears enough now, and besides, i don't know whether this is sportsmanlike or not, shooting bears from a boat. anyhow, when an animal is swimming in the water and can't get away, i don't see the fun in killing it. let's wait on the next one and let the pilot shoot it." they did not have half an hour to wait before they saw that very thing happen. the whistles once more stirred the echoes as they swung down to a group of two or three islands, and this time two bears started wildly across the channel for the mainland. rob and his friends did not shoot at these, but almost every one else did. one escaped unhurt, but another, although it almost reached the bank, was shot dead with a bullet from showan's rifle. once more the manoeuvers of the gaff-hook were repeated, and once more a great black bear was hauled on board. in fact, they saw during the afternoon no less than six full-grown bears, none of which got away unsaluted, but only two of which really were "bagged," as alex called it, by the men with the gaff-hook. xxix a moose hunt the great flues of the _peace river_ devoured enormous quantities of the soft pine fuel, so that soon after noon of the second day they found it well to haul alongshore at a wood-yard, where some of the employés of the company had stacked up great heaps of cord-wood. it was the duty of the deck-hands to get this aboard the boat, an operation which would require perhaps several hours. "you might prefer to go ashore here," said alex, "while we're lying tied up. we'll blow the whistle in time to call you in before we cast off." as alex did not think there would be any hunting, he concluded to remain on the boat, but moise volunteered to walk along the beach with the boys, to explain anything they might see, and to be of assistance in case they should happen to meet with any game, although no one suspected that such would be the case, since the arrival of the boat had necessarily made considerable disturbance. "maybe so we'll seen some of these mooses somewhere," said moise after a time. "you'll seen his track on the sand all along." "that's so," said rob. "they look just like cattle, don't they? i should think all the game in the country must be coming down into this valley to see what's going on. here's a wolf track, too, big as a horse's foot, almost. and what are all of these little scratches, like a cat, on the beach, moise?" "some beevaire, he'll sweem across an' come out here. he'll got a house somewhere, i'll s'pose. plenty game on this part of the river all tam. plenty meat. my people he'll live here many year. i got some onkle over on battle river, an' seven, five, eight cousin on cadotte river, not far from here. all good honter, too." "i can believe that, moise, after seeing you," said john. the happy-go-lucky moise laughed light-heartedly. "if she'll don' hont on this land, she'll starve sure. a man he'll mus' walk, he'll mus' hont, he'll mus' portage, he'll mus' trap, he'll mus' walk on the track-line, an' know how for paddle an' pole, else he'll starve sure." they walked on down along the narrow beach covered with rough stones, and showing only here and there enough of the sand or earth to hold a track. at length, however, moise gave a sharp word of caution, and hurriedly motioned them all to get under cover at the bank. "what is it, moise?" whispered rob, eagerly. "moose!" he pointed down the bank. for a long time the boys could discover nothing, but at last they caught sight of a little splash of water four or five hundred yards below, where a trickling stream entered the main river at a low place. "he'll stood there an' fight the fly, maybe so," said moise. "ha-hum! why he'll don' see us i don' know, me. why the boat he'll not scare heem i'll don' know, me, too. how we'll get heem i don' know, me. but we'll try. come!" the boys now found that moise was once more turned hunter, and rather a relentless and thoughtless one at that, for he seemed to pay no attention to the weakness of other members of his company. they scarcely could keep him in sight as he made his way through the heavy cover to an upper bench, where the forest was more open. here he pointed to the steep slope which still rose above them. "we must make surround," said he, in a whisper. not so bad a general was moise, for, slight as was his chance to approach so wary an animal as a moose under these conditions, he used the only possible plan by which success might have been attained. the little trickle of water in which the moose stood at the beach below came down out of a steep _coulée_, which at the point where they stood ran between deep banks, rapidly shallowing farther up the main slope. fortunately the wind was right for an approach. moise left john at a rock which showed on an open place pretty well up the hill, and stationed jesse a little closer to the _coulée_. moise and rob scrambled across the steep slopes of the ravine, and hurried on as fast as they could go, to try to get below the moose in case it should attempt to take the water. thus they had four rifles distributed at points able to cover the course of the moose should it attempt to escape up the bank, and close enough to hear it if it passed beneath in the forest growth. rob and moise paused only long enough partly to get their breath before moise motioned to rob to remain where he was, while he himself hastened to the right and down toward the beach. for some time the half-breed hunter remained at the edge of the cover, listening intently. apparently he heard no sound, and neither he nor rob could detect any ripple on the water showing that the moose was going to undertake escape by swimming. thus for a time, for what indeed seemed several minutes, all the hunters continued in their inaction, unable to determine upon a better course than simply to wait to see what might happen. what did happen was something rather singular and unexpected. suddenly rob heard a rifle-shot at the left, and turning, saw the smoke of jesse's rifle, followed by a second and then a third report. he saw jesse then spring to his feet and run up to the slope, shouting excitedly as he went and waving his cap. evidently the hunt was over in very unexpected fashion. moise, rob, and john also ran up as fast as their legs and lungs would allow them. they saw lying almost at the head of the _coulée_, which here had shallowed up perceptibly, a great, long-legged, dark body, with enormous head, tremendously long nose, and widely palmated antlers--the latter in the velvet, but already of extreme size. for a time they could hardly talk for fatigue and excitement, but presently each could see how the hunt had happened to terminate in this way. the moose, smelling or hearing moise when he got on the wind below, at the edge of the cover, had undertaken to make its escape quietly under the cover of the steep _coulée_ down which it had come. with the silence which this gigantic animal sometimes can compass, it had sneaked like a rabbit quite past rob and almost to the head of the _coulée_. a little bit later and it might have gained the summit and have been lost in the poplar forest beyond. jesse, however, had happened to see it as it emerged, and had opened fire, with the result which now was obvious. his last bullet had struck the moose through the heart as it ran and killed it almost instantly. "well, jess," said rob, "i take off my hat to you! that moose must have passed within a hundred yards of me and i never knew it, and from where you killed him he must have been three hundred yards at least." "those boy she'll be good shot," said moise, approvingly, slapping jesse warmly on the shoulder. "plenty meat now on the boat, _hein_?" "when i shot him," said jesse, simply, "he just fell all over the hill." "i was just going to shoot," said john, "but i couldn't see very well from where i was, and before i could run into reach jesse had done the business." "well," said moise, "one thing, she'll been lucky. we'll make those deck-hand come an' carry in this meat--me, i'm too proud to carry some more meat, what?" he laughed now as he began to skin out and quarter the meat in his usual rapid and efficient fashion. they had finished this part of their work, and were turning down the hill to return to the steamer when they were saluted by the heavy whistle of the boat, which echoed in great volume back and forth between the steep banks of the river, which here lay at the bottom of a trough-like valley, the stream itself several hundred yards in width. "don't hurry," said moise; "she'll wait till we come, an' she'll like plenty moose meat on his boat." all of which came out as moise had predicted, for when they told captain saunders that they really had a dead moose ready to be brought aboard the latter beamed his satisfaction. "that's better than bear meat for me!" said he. "we'll just lie here while the boys go out and bring in the meat." "now," said rob to his friends, as, hot and dusty, they turned to their rooms to get ready for dinner, "i don't know what you other fellows think, but it seems to me we've killed about all the meat we'll need for a while. let's wait now until we see uncle dick--it won't be more than a day or so, and we've all had a good hunt." xxx farthest north as they had been told, our travelers found the banks of their river at this far northern latitude much lower than they had been for the first hundred miles below the landing. now and again they would pass little scattered settlements of natives, or the cabin of some former trading-station. for the most part, however, the character of the country was that of an untracked wilderness, in spite of the truth, which was that the hudson bay company had known it and traded through it for more than a century past. by no means the most northerly trading-posts of the great fur-trading company, fort vermilion, their present destination, seemed to our young friends almost as though it were at the edge of the world. their journey progressed almost as though they were in a dream, and it was difficult for them to recall all of its incidents, or to get clearly before their minds the distance back of them to the homes in far-off alaska, which they had left so long ago. the interest of travelers in new land, however, still was theirs, and they looked forward eagerly also to meeting the originator of this pleasant journey of theirs--uncle dick wilcox, who, as they now learned from the officers of the boat, had been summoned to this remote region on business connected with the investigation of oil-fields on the athabasca river, and had returned as far as fort vermilion on his way out to the settlements. when finally they came within sight of the ancient post of fort vermilion, the boys, as had been the case in such other posts as they previously had seen, could scarcely identify the modest whitewashed buildings of logs or boards as really belonging to a post of the old company of hudson bay. the scene which they approached really was a quiet and peaceful one. at the rim of the bank stood the white building of the company's post, or store, with a well-shingled red roof. beyond this were some houses of the employés. in the other direction was the residence of the factor, a person of considerable importance in this neighborhood. yet farther up-stream, along the bank, stood a church with a little bell; whereas, quite beyond the scattered settlement and in the opposite direction there rose a tall, two-story building with projecting smoke-stack. rob inquired the nature of this last building, which looked familiar to him. "that is the grist-mill," said captain saunders to him. "you see, we raise the finest wheat up here you'll find in the world." "i've heard of it," said rob, "but i couldn't really believe it, although we had good vegetables away back there at peace river landing." "it's the truth," said captain saunders; "yonder is the company's wheat-field, a hundred acres of it, and the same sort of wheat that took the first prize at the centennial, at your own city of philadelphia, in . i'll show you old brother regnier, the man who raised that wheat, too. he can't speak any english yet, but he certainly can raise good wheat. and at the experimental farm you shall see nearly every vegetable you ever heard of." "i don't understand it," said rob; "we always thought of this country as being arctic--we never speak of it without thinking of dog-trains and snowshoes." "the secret is this," said captain saunders. "our summers are short, but our days are very long. now, wheat requires sunshine, daylight, to make it grow. all right; we give it more hours of sunshine in a month than you do in a month in dakota or iowa. the result is that it grows quicker and stronger and better, as we think. it gets ripe before the nights become too cold. this great abundance of sunlight is the reason, also, that we raise such excellent vegetables--as i'm sure you will have reason to understand, for here we always lay in a supply for our return voyage. i am thinking, however," added the captain, presently, as the boat, screaming with her whistle, swung alongside of her landing-place, "that you'll see some one in this crowd here that you ought to know." all along the rim of the bank there was rather a gaily-clad line of indians and half-breeds, men and women, many of whom were waving salutations to members of the boat's crew. the boys studied this line eagerly, but for some time none of them spoke. "i see him!" said jesse at last. "that's uncle dick sitting up there on the bench." the others also identified their relative and friend as he sat quietly smoking and waiting for the boat to make her landing. at length he arose and came to the staging--a rather slender, bronzed man, with very brown face and eyes wrinkled at the corners. he wore an engineer's garb of khaki and stiff-brimmed white hat. the three boys took off their hats and gave a cheer as they saw him standing there smiling. "how are you, uncle dick?" they all cried; and so eager were they that they could scarcely wait for the gang-plank to be run out. their uncle, mr. richard wilcox, at that time employed in the engineering department of one of the dominion railways, laughed rather happily as he bunched them in his arms when they came ashore. there was little chance for him to say anything for some time, so eager were the boys in their greeting of him. "well, you're all here!" said he at length, breaking away to shake hands with alex and moise, who smiled very happily also, now coming up the bank. "how have they done, alex?" "fine!" said the old hunter. "couldn't have been better!" "this was good boys, all right," affirmed moise. "we'll save her life plenty tam, but she's good boy!" "did you have any trouble getting across, alex?" asked uncle dick. "plenty, i should say!" said alex, smiling. "but we came through it. the boys have acted like sportsmen, and i couldn't say more." "i suppose perhaps you got some game then, eh?" all three now began to speak at once excitedly, and so fast that they could scarcely be understood. "did you really get a grizzly?" inquired uncle dick of alex, after a while. "yes, sir, and a very good one. and a black bear too, and a moose, and some sheep, and a lot of small stuff like that. they're hunters and travelers. we gave them a 'lob-stick' to mark their journey--far back in the rockies." "well, alaska will have to look to its laurels!" said uncle dick, taking a long breath and pretending not to be proud of them. "it seems to me you must have been pretty busy shooting things, from all i can learn, young men." "oh, we know the country," interrupted rob, "and we've got a map--we could build a railroad across there if we had to." "well, to tell the truth, i'm mighty glad you got through all right," said uncle dick. "i've been thinking that maybe i oughtn't to have let you try that trip, for it's dangerous enough for men. but everything's well that ends well, and here you are, safe and sound. you'll have to be getting out of here before long, though, in order to make valdez in time for your fall school--you'd be running wild if i left you on the trail any longer. "the boat will be going back to the landing in a couple of days, i suppose," he added after a time, as he gathered their hands in his and started along the path up the steep bank; "but there are a few things here you ought to see--the post and the farms and grains which they have--wonderful things in their way. and then i'll try to get saunders to fix it so that you can see the vermilion chutes of the peace river." "i know right where that is," said rob, feeling in his pocket for his map--"about sixty miles below here. that's the head of navigation on the peace, isn't it?" "it is for the present time," said uncle dick. "i've been looking at that cataract of the peace. there ought to be a lock or a channel cut through, so that steamboats could run the whole length from chippewayan to the rockies! as it is, everything has to portage there." "we don't know whether to call this country old or young," said rob. "in some ways it doesn't seem to have changed very much, and in other ways it seems just like any other place." "one of these days you'll see a railroad down the mackenzie, young man," said uncle dick, "and before long, of course, you'll see one across the rockies from the head of the saskatchewan, above the big bend of the columbia." "why couldn't we get in there some time, uncle dick?" asked jesse, who was feeling pretty brave now that they were well out of the rocky mountains and the white water of the rapids. "well, i don't know," said uncle dick, suddenly looking around. "it might be a good idea, after all. but i think you'd find pretty bad water in the columbia if you tried to do any navigation there. time enough to talk about that next year. come on now, and i'll introduce you to the factor and the people up here at the post." they joined him now, and soon were shaking hands with many persons, official and otherwise, of the white or the red race. they found the life very interesting and curious, according to their own notions. the head clerk and they soon struck up a warm friendship. he told them that he had spent thirty years of his life at that one place, although he received his education as far east as montreal. married to an indian woman, who spoke no english, he had a family of ten bright and clean children, each one of whom, as john soon found to his satisfaction, appreciated the imperial toffy which made a part of the stock of the hudson bay company at that post also. [illustration: the portage, vermilion chutes, peace river] all of these new friends of theirs asked them eagerly about their journey across the rockies, which was a strange region to every one of them, although they had passed their lives in the service of the fur trade in the north. as usual, in short, they made themselves much at home, and asked a thousand questions difficult enough to answer. here, as they had done at peace river landing, they laid in a stock of gaudy moccasins and gloves and rifle covers, all beautifully embroidered by native women in beads or stained porcupine quills, some of which work had come from the half-arctic tribes hundreds of miles north of vermilion. they saw also some of the furs which had been sent down in the season's take, and heard stories in abundance of the ways of that wild country in the winter season. even they undertook to make friends with some of the half-savage sledge-dogs which were kept chained in the yard back of the post. after this they made a journey out to the farm which the dominion government maintains in that far-off region, and there saw, as they had been promised by captain saunders, wheat and rye taller than any one of them as they stood in the grain, and also vegetables of every sort, all growing or in full maturity. "well, we'll have stories to tell when we get back," said rob, "and i don't believe they'll believe half of them, either, about the wildness of this country and the tameness of it. anyhow, i'm glad we've come." the next day they put in, as uncle dick suggested, in a steamer trip down to the vermilion chutes. they did not get closer than three or four miles, but tied up while the party went down on foot to see the big cataract of the peace--some fifteen feet of sheer, boiling white water, falling from a rim of rock extending almost half a mile straightaway across the river. "i expect that's just a little worse than the 'polly' rapids," said john. "i don't think even moise could run that place." even as they stood on the high rim of the rock at the edge of the falls they saw coming up from below the figure of a half-breed, who was dragging at the end of a very long line a canoe which was guided by his companion far below on the swift water. had the light line broken it must, as it seemed to these observers, have meant destruction of the man in the canoe. yet the two went on about their work calmly, hauling up close to the foot of the falls, then lifting out their canoe, portaging above, and, with a brief salutation, passing quickly on their way up the stream. "that's the way we do it, boys," said uncle dick, "in this part of the world--there goes the fast express. it would trouble the lightest of you to keep up with that boy on the line, too, i'm thinking. some day," added uncle dick, casting a professional eye out over the wide ridge of rock which here blocked the river, "they'll blow a hole through that place so that a boat can get through. who knows but one of you will be the engineer in charge? anyhow, i hope so--if i don't get the job myself." "you mustn't forget about that trip over the yellowhead pass, where your new railroad's going now, uncle dick," said jesse, as they turned to walk again up the rough beach toward the mooring-place of the steamer. "don't be in too big a hurry, jesse," returned his relative. "you've got a whole year of studying ahead of you, between now and then. we'll take it under advisement." "what i believe i like best about this country," said rob, soberly, "is the kindness of the people in it. everywhere we have been they've been as hospitable as they could be. we don't dare admire anything, because they'll give it to us. it seems to me everybody gets along pleasantly with everybody else up here; and i like that, you know." "it's a man's country," said uncle dick, "that's true, and i don't know that you'll be the worse for a little trip into it, although you come from a man's country back there in alaska yourselves, for the matter of that. well, this is the northern end of your trail for this year, my sons. here's where we turn back for home." they paused at the bend and looked once more back at the long, foaming ridge of white water which extended across from shore to shore of the stream which they had followed so far. "all right," said rob, "we've had a good time." they turned now, and all tramped steadily back to the boat, which soon resumed her course up-stream. regarding their further stay at fort vermilion, or their return journey of several days southward to peace river landing, little need be said, save that, in the belief of all, the young hunters now had killed abundance of game. although they saw more than a dozen bears on their way up the river, they were willing to leave their rifles in their cases, and spend their time studying the country and poring yet more over the maps which they were now preparing to show their friends at home. xxxi homeward bound arrived at peace river landing, the young hunters found everything quite as alex said it would be, their belongings perfectly safe and untouched in the tent where they had left them. uncle dick, who now took charge of the party, agreed with them that it was an excellent thing to make alex and moise presents of the canoes, and to give moise the remainder of the supplies which would not be required on their brief trip to little slave lake by wagon. at this time the telephone line had been completed from little slave lake to peace river landing, and the factor at the latter post had sent word for two wagons and teams to come up for these passengers, outbound. there was little difficulty in throwing their light equipment, with their many trophies and curiosities, into one of the wagons, and arranging with the other to carry out the _jaybird_, which, a little bit battered but practically unhurt, now continued the last stage of its somewhat eventful journey over the old mackenzie trail--alex, as may be supposed, watching it with very jealous eye so that it should get no harm in the long traverse. alex was thus to accompany the party for a few days, but moise, who lived at the landing, now must say good-by. this he did still smiling, though by no means glad to lose the company of his young friends. "you'll come back some more bimeby," said he. "any man he'll drink the water on this river one time, he'll couldn't live no more without once each year he'll come back an' drink some more on that river! i'll see you again, an' bimeby you'll get so you'll could carry seex hondred poun' half a mile an' not set it down. moise, he'll wait for you." when they reached the top of the steep hill which rises back of peace river landing, almost a thousand feet above the river which runs below, they all stopped and looked back, waiting for the wagons to toil up the slope, and waiting also to take in once more the beauty of the scene which lay below them. the deep valley, forking here, lay pronounced in the dark outlines of its forest growth. it still was morning, and a light mist lay along the surface of the river. in the distance banks of purple shadows lay, and over all the sun was beginning to cast a softening light. the boys turned away to trudge on along the trail with a feeling almost of sadness at leaving a place so beautiful. "it is as moise says, though!" broke out rob, answering what seemed to be the unspoken question in the minds of his fellows--"we'll have to come back again some time. it's a man's country." hardened by their long experience in the open, the boys were able to give even uncle dick, seasoned as he was, something of an argument at footwork on the trail, and they used wagons by no means all the time in the hundred miles which lie between peace river landing and little slave lake--a journey which required them to camp out for two nights in the open. by this time the nights were cold, and on the height of land between these two waterways the water froze almost an inch in the water-pails at night, although the sun in the daytime was as warm as ever. to their great comfort, the mosquito nuisance was now quite absent; so, happy and a little hungry, at length they rode into the scattered settlement of grouard, or little slave lake, passing on the way to the lower town one more of the old-time posts of the hudson bay company. "you see here," said uncle dick, as they paused at the edge of the water which lay at the end street, "only an arm of the lake proper. the steamer can't get through this little channel, but ties up about eight miles from here. i suppose we ought to go aboard to-night." "if you will allow me, sir," said alex, stepping forward at this time, "i might give the boys a little duck-shoot this evening on their way down to the boat." "why not?" said uncle dick, enthusiastically. "i don't know but i'd like a mallard or so for myself, although i can't join you to-night, as i'm too busy. can you get guns and ammunition, alex?" "oh yes," replied the old hunter, "easily. and i'll show the young gentlemen more ducks to-night than they ever saw in all their lives before. the _jaybird_ will carry all of us, if we're careful, and i'll just paddle them down along the edge of the marsh. after we've made our shoot, we'll come on down to the boat after dark, or thereabout." "fine!" said uncle dick. "that'll give me time to get my business completed here, and i'll go down to the boat by wagon along shore." this arrangement pleased the boys very much, for they knew in a general way that the lake on whose shores they now were arrived was one of the greatest breeding-places for wild fowl on the continent. besides this, they wished to remain with alex as long as possible, for all of them had become very fond of the quiet and dignified man who had been their guide and companion for so long. the four of them had no trouble in finishing the portage of the _jaybird_ and her cargo from the wagon to navigable water, and finally they set off, paddling for the marshes which made off toward the main lake. they had traveled perhaps three or four miles when alex concluded to yield to the importunities of the boys to get ashore. they were eager to do this, because continually now they saw great bands and streams of wild fowl coming in from every direction to alight in the marshes--more ducks, as alex had said, than they had thought there were in all the world. most of them were mallards, and from many places in the marsh they could hear the quacking and squawking of yet other ducks hidden in the high grass. "we haven't any waders," said alex, "and i think you'll find the water pretty cold, but you'll soon get used it to. come ahead, then." they pushed their canoe into the cover of the reeds and grasses, and disembarking, waded on out toward the outer edge of the marsh, where the water was not quite so deep, yet where they could get cover in rushes and clumps of grass. alex posted them in a line across a narrow quarter of the marsh, so that each gun would be perhaps a hundred yards from his neighbor, jesse, the shortest of the party, taking the shallowest water nearest to the road beyond the marsh. they had not long to wait, for the air seemed to them quite full of hurrying bands of fowl, so close that they could see their eyes dart glances from side to side, their long necks stretched out, their red feet hugged tight up to their feathers. it is not to be supposed that any one of our young hunters was an expert wild-fowl shot, for skill in that art comes only with a considerable experience. moreover, they were not provided with the best of guns and ammunition, but only such as the post was accustomed to sell to the half-breeds of that country. in spite of all handicaps, however, the sport was keen enough to please them, and successful enough as well, for once in a while one of them would succeed in knocking out of a passing flock one or more of the great birds, which splashed famously in the water of the marsh. sometimes they were unable to find their birds after they had fallen, but they learned to hurry at once to a crippled bird and secure it before it could escape and hide in the grasses. presently they had at their feet almost a dozen fine mallards. in that country, where the ducks abound, there had as yet been no shooting done at them, so that they were not really as wild as they are when they reach the southern latitudes. neither were their feathers so thick as they are later in the season, when their flight is stronger. the shooting was not so difficult as not to afford plenty of excitement for our young hunters, who called out in glee from one to the other, commenting on this, the last of their many sporting experiences in the north. they found that alex, although he had never boasted of his skill, was a very wonderful shot on wild fowl; in fact, he rarely fired at all unless certain he was going to kill his bird, and when he dropped the bird it nearly always was stone-dead. after a time rob, hearing what he supposed to be the quacking of a duck in the grass behind him, started back to find what he fancied was the hidden mallard. he saw alex looking at him curiously, and once more heard the quacking. "why, it's _you_ who've been doing that all the time, alex!" exclaimed rob. "i see now why those ducks would come closer to you than to me--you were calling them!" alex tried to show rob how to quack like a duck without using any artificial means, but rob did not quite get the knack of it that evening. for a time, however, after the other boys had come over also, they all squatted in the grass near to alex, and found much pleasure in seeing him decoy the ducks, and do good, clean shooting when they were well within reach. at last alex said, "i think this will do for the evening, if you don't mind. it's time we were getting on down to the steamer." the boys had with them their string of ducks, and alex had piled up nearly two dozen of his own. "what are we going to do with all of these?" said rob. "they're heavy, and our boat's pretty full right now." "how many shall you want on the boat?" inquired alex. "well," said rob, "i don't know, but from the number of ducks we've seen i don't suppose they're much of a rarity there any more than they are with you. why don't you keep these ducks yourself, alex, for your family?" "very well," said alex, "suppose you take half dozen or so, and let me get the others when i come back--i'll pile them up on this muskrat house here, and pick them up after i have left you at the steamer. you see," continued he, "my people live about two miles on the other side of the town, closer to the hudson bay post. i must go back and get acquainted with my family." "have you any children, alex?" asked rob. "five," said alex. "two boys about as big as you, and three little girls. they all go to school." "i wish we had known that," said rob, "when we came through town, for we ought to have called on your family. never mind, we'll do that the next time we're up here." they paddled on now quietly and steadily along the edge of the marshes, passed continually by stirring bands of wild fowl, now indistinct in the dusk. at last they saw the lights of the steamer which was to carry them to the other extremity of little slave lake. and so at last, after they had gone aboard, it became necessary to part with alex in turn. rob called his friends apart for a little whispered conversation. after a time they all went up to alex carrying certain articles in their hands. "if you please, alex," said rob, "we want to give your children some little things we don't need any more ourselves. here's our pocket-knives, and some handkerchiefs, and what toffy john has left, and a few little things. please take them to your boys, and to the girls, if they'll have them, and say we want to come and see them some time." "that's very nice," said alex. "i thank you very much." he shook each of them by the hand quietly, and then, dropping lightly into the _jaybird_ as she lay alongside, paddled off steadily into the darkness, with indian dignity now, saying no further word of farewell. xxxii leaving the trail continually there was something new for the travelers, even after they had finished their steamboat journey across the lake on the second day. now they were passing down through the deep and crooked little river which connects slave lake with the athabasca river. they made what is known as the mirror landing portage in a york boat which happened to be above the rapids of the little slave river, where a wagon portage usually is made of some fifteen or sixteen miles. here on the athabasca they found yet another steamboat lying alongshore, and waiting for the royal mails from peace river landing. this steamer, the _north star_, in common with that plying on little slave lake, they discovered to be owned by a transportation company doing considerable business in carrying settlers and settlers' supplies into that upper country. indeed, they found the owner of the boat, a stalwart and kindly man, himself formerly a trader among the indians, and now a prominent official in the dominion government, ready to accompany them as far as athabasca landing, and eager to talk further with mr. wilcox regarding coming development of the country which moise had called the land of plenty. they found that the athabasca river also flows to the northward in its main course, joining the water of the peace river in the great mackenzie, the artery of this region between the rockies and the arctics; but here it makes a great bend far to the south, as though to invite into the far north any one living in the civilized settlements far below. their maps, old and new, became objects of still greater interest to the young travelers, both on board the vessel, where they had talked with every one, as usual, regarding their trip and the country, and after they had left the steamer at the thriving frontier town of athabasca landing. here they were almost in touch with the head of the rails, but still clinging to their wish to travel as the natives long had done, they took wagon transportation from athabasca landing to the city of edmonton, something like a hundred miles southward from the terminus of their water journey. at this point, indeed, they felt again that their long trail was ended, for all around them were tall buildings, busy streets, blazing electric lights, and all the tokens of a thriving modern city. here, too, they and their journey became objects of newspaper comment, and for the brief time of their stay the young _voyageurs_ were quite lionized by men who could well understand the feat they had performed. mr. wilcox was obliged to remain in the north for some time yet in connection with his engineering duties, which would not close until the approach of winter. he therefore sent the boys off alone for their railway journey, which would take them first to calgary, and then across the rockies and selkirks through banff, and forward to vancouver, victoria, and seattle, from which latter point they were expected to take coast boats up the long alaska coast to valdez--a sea voyage of seven days more from seattle. mr. wilcox gave them full instructions regarding the remaining portions of their journey, and at length shook hands with them as he left them on the sleeping-car. "tell the folks in valdez that i'll be back home on one of the last boats. so long! take care of yourselves!" he turned, left the car, and marched off up the platform without looking around at them even to wave a hand. his kindly look had said good-by. the boys looked after him and made no comment. they saw that they were in a country of men. they were beginning to learn the ways of the breed of men who, in the last century or so, have conquered the american continent for their race--a race much the same, under whatever flag. even on the railway train they found plenty of new friends who were curious to learn of their long journey across the rockies. the boys gave a modest account of themselves, and were of the belief that almost any one could have done as much had they had along such good guides as alex and moise. the rockies and the selkirks impressed them very much, and they still consulted their maps, especially at the time when they found themselves approaching the banks of the columbia river. "this river and the fraser are cousins," said rob, "like the athabasca and the peace. both of these rivers west of the rockies head far to the south, then go far to the north, and swing back--but they run to the pacific instead of to the arctic. now right here"--he put his finger on the place marked as the yellowhead pass--"is the head of the saskatchewan river, and the fur-traders used to cross here from the saskatchewan to the columbia just the way mackenzie and fraser and finlay used to cross to the peace from the fraser. i tell you what i think, fellows. i'd like to come back next year some time, and have a go at this yellowhead pass, the way we did at that on the head of the peace--wouldn't you? we could study up on alexander henry, and thompson, and all those fellows, just as we did on fraser and mackenzie for the northern pass." "well," said john, "if we could have alex and moise, there's nothing in the world i'd like better than just that trip." "that's the way i feel, too," added jesse. "but now we're done with this trip. when you stop to think about it, we've been quite a little way from home, haven't we?" "i feel as though i'd been gone a year," said john. "and now it's all over," added rob, "and we're really going back to our own country, i feel as if it would be a year from here to home." jesse remained silent for a time. "do you know what i am thinking about now? it's about our 'lob-stick' tree that our men trimmed up for us. we'll put one on every river we ever run. what do you say to that?" "no," replied rob, "we can't do that for ourselves--that has to be voted to us by others, and only if we deserve it. i'll tell you what--let's do our best to _deserve_ it first!" the others of the young alaskans agreed to this very cheerfully, and thus they turned happily toward home. the end transcriber's notes: . minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and intent. . "uncle dick" is variously referred to as both richard hardy and as richard wilcox in this book; in transcribing this book, no effort was made to correct this. [frontispiece: "jim urged the pack-horse he was leading and came up with carrie"] partners of the out-trail by harold bindloss author of "the buccaneer farmer," "the lure of the north," "the girl from keller's," "carmen's messenger," "brandon of the engineers," "johnstone of the border," etc. new york frederick a. stokes company publishers copyright, , by frederick a. stokes company published in england under the title "dearham's inheritance" all rights reserved contents part i--the linesman chapter i the broken wire ii in the snow iii the third partner iv on the trail v carrie's weak moment vi rolling stones vii a council viii jim keeps watch ix an honest antagonist x the rapid xi a confidential talk xii fire xiii jim's luck turns xiv the reckoning part ii--the landowner i jim comes home ii jim's guests iii mordaunt ponders iv an old man's caprice v shanks' dabbin vi the thorn hedge vii the fencing wire viii jim's relapse ix jim is left out x bernard ponders xi evelyn's adventure xii the shooting punt xiii mordaunt's repulse xiv footsteps in the sand xv jim's enlightenment xvi evelyn's resolution fails xvii dick's accusation xviii jim's release part i--the linesman partners of the out-trail chapter i the broken wire winter had begun and snow blew about the lonely telegraph shack where jim dearham studied an old french romance. he read rather by way of mental discipline than for enjoyment, and partly with the object of keeping himself awake. life is primitive in the british columbian bush and jim sometimes felt he must fight against the insidious influence of the wilds. although he had chosen the latter when the cities palled, he had studied at mcgill, with a view of embarking on a professional career. want of money was the main obstacle, but love of adventure had counted for much. his adventures had been numerous since he left the university, and he now and then tried to remind himself that he was civilized. outside the shack, the stiff dark pines rolled back to the frozen north where a new city fed the mining camps. jim had been up there and had found some gold, besides a copper vein, but when he got his patent for the latter his funds ran out and he returned to the south and followed a number of occupations. some were monotonous and some exciting. none paid him well. now his clothes were old and mended with patches cut from cotton flour-bags; his skin was browned by wind and frost. he was thin and muscular, and his eyes had something of the inscrutable calm that marks the indian's, but the old french romance and one or two other books hinted at cultivated taste. as a matter of fact, jim was afraid of getting like an indian. life in the wilds was good, but one ran some risks. the shack was built of logs, notched where they crossed at the corners and caulked with moss. there was a stone chimney, and a big wood fire snapped on the hearth. jim sat close to the blaze in a deerhide chair, with his old skin coat hung over the back to keep off the stinging draughts. he could see the telegraph instrument. his and his comrade's duty was to watch it day and night, because theirs was a bad section and accidents happened. jake had gone hunting and since the gale outside was freshening jim wondered why he stopped so long. after a time jim put down his book and mused. by comparison with the ragged tents in which he had lived in the northern barrens, the shack was comfortable. axes and tools for mending the line stood in a corner; old clothes, slickers, and long boots that must be mended occupied another. a good supply of provisions was stowed on some shelves; a rifle and a shotgun hung on the wall. he had all a man needed in the woods and admitted that he was lucky to have so much, but the rudeness of his surroundings sometimes jarred. this was strange, because he had never known luxury. he wondered whether he had inherited his dislike for ugliness, and the instincts of which he was now and then vaguely conscious. it was possible, for his father, who died when jim was young, had come from the old country. then he dwelt with languid enjoyment upon something that happened when he was a waiter at a fashionable restaurant at montreal. a party of english tourists came in one day for lunch. jim remembered the scene well: the spacious room with the sunshine on the pillars and the reflections on glass and silver; the flies about the tables, the monotonous throb of the electric fan, and the strangers looking for a place. there were two men, one older than the other, and a girl. jim had often pictured her since, and always with a curious satisfaction. it was not that she was beautiful, although her face was finely molded and her movements were graceful. it was her delicate fastidiousness and the hint one got of refinement and cultivation. although she smiled now and then, jim remembered her calm and the tranquillity of her voice. he had not met a girl like that before, but she went away with the others, one of whom gave him a dollar, and it was ridiculous to imagine he would see her again. this, however, was not important and he got up and went to the telegraph instrument. he called the next station and was satisfied when he got an answer. some government messages that must not be delayed were to be sent north and the line was working well. jim went back to his chair and soon afterwards leaned forward, listening. he heard the wind in the pine-tops and the thud of snow, shaken from the tossing branches, on the roof. that was all, but he had trained his senses in the woods until they worked unconsciously. somebody was coming and he knew it was not jake. a minute or two afterwards he heard steps in the snow. the steps were heavy, as if the men were tired. somebody knocked and jim opened the door. two men came in and throwing down their packs shook the snow from their ragged furs. their boots were broken, their leggins badly worn, and their faces were pinched with cold. "i don't suppose you'll turn us out. it's what our packers call pretty fierce to-night," one remarked. "certainly not," said jim. "come right up to the fire. how did you make the shack?" the strangers advanced and jim hid his surprise, although they were the men whose lunch he had served at the montreal restaurant. he had learned in the wilds something of the indian's reserve. "we hit the wire at dusk," one replied. "we had been climbing with a party of the canadian alpine club, and stopped among the high ranges longer than we meant. in fact, the snow rather surprised us. the others had gone before we started and we had a rough time coming south." "you didn't make it without packers," said jim, who knew they were english. "we left the boys some distance back. there was not much shelter at the camp and although they were satisfied, we resolved to follow the line and try to find a shack. the boys will, no doubt, arrive in the morning." jim nodded, because a line was cut through the forest for the telegraph wires. "you ran some risk. if you camped at sundown, it's a while since you had supper. i can give you coffee and a hot bannock." he put the kettle on the fire and when the meal was over studied his guests as they lighted their pipes. one was about thirty years old, and in spite of his ragged clothes, jim thought him a man with cultivated tastes and wide experience. the other was young and looked frank. he had a refined, intelligent face and was like the girl whom jim had seen at the restaurant; she was, perhaps, a relation. for a time the strangers talked about their journey and then one looked at jim rather hard. "haven't i seen you before?" jim smiled. "at cibbley's as you go to the new post-office at montreal." "oh, yes! it was a very well-served lunch," said the other and picked up the french romance. "a curious book, but rather fine in parts. do you understand the fellow?" "on the whole. i like him; you feel he has a grip. still he's puzzling now and then." "these french' writers are puzzling; always trying to work off an epigram," the younger man remarked. "however, i suppose there's as much french as english spoken at montreal and quebec." "not french like this," the other said with a smile. "i doubt if an up-to-date _boulevardier_ would own it for his mother's tongue. you would be surprised if you heard our cumberland farmers use chaucer's english." "i don't know; they go back beyond him now and then. when they count their sheep i imagine they talk like alfred or canute. but suppose you give us an example of ancient french." the older man opened the book and after turning a number of pages read a passage with taste and feeling. then he looked at jim. "he's primitive; our thoughts run in another groove. but i daresay there's something archaic about quebec french and you perhaps know the latter. have i struck the right note?" "hit it first time! anyhow, you've got my notion of what he meant," jim replied. then he paused and added thoughtfully: "but i don't know if we're as different as you think. in the north, men get back to primitive things." the other nodded. "it's possible. one certainly gets a primitive hunger and learns something about bodily needs." jim lighted his pipe and mused. he had not talked to cultivated people since he left mcgill. he felt rather moved and quietly excited; the strange thing was, their english voices and manner were not new. in a way, it was ridiculous, but he felt as if he had known them, or others of their kind, before. "you are from the old country and your friend seems to know cumberland," he said. "do you know langrigg hall?" he thought the older man gave him a keen glance, but next moment his face was inscrutable and with a little gesture of satisfaction he stretched his legs to the fire. his companion, however, looked interested. "why, yes," said the latter. "but there are a number of langriggs in the north of england." "at the place i mean there is a marsh." "then, i do know the hall. it stands upon a low ridge--what we call a knowe--with the big fells behind and the sands in front. at low-water, a river winds about the flats. it's a fine old house, although it's small." "isn't there a square tower with a battlement? the roof beams in the older part are bent, not straight." the other looked surprised. "have you been there?" "no," said jim, thoughtfully. "i've never left canada, but a man i knew used to talk about langrigg. i expect he told me about these things; he is dead now." he glanced at the older man. the latter's eyes were half-closed and his pose was slack, as if he were languidly enjoying the warmth, but jim thought he had been listening. then he wondered why the other's short description had given him so distinct a picture; he could see the rugged blue hills in the background and the river winding among the sands. after all, his father had not talked about langrigg often; in fact, only once or twice, when he was ill. moreover, jim reflected that he himself had used no western colloquialisms; he had talked to the strangers like an englishman. "then your friend must have been at langrigg. it looks as if he knew the hall well," remarked the younger man. his companion roused himself with a jerk. "i was nearly asleep. give me your pouch; my tobacco's out." he filled his pipe and turned to jim. "hope i didn't interrupt. i forget what we were talking about. it looks as if you didn't like a waiter's job." jim laughed and went to the telegraph, which began to click. he read the message and calling the next station waited for a time, and then turned to his guests. "line's broken and i've got to leave you. you can use the bunks; my partner must sit up and watch the instrument when he comes back. you can tell him i've gone to look for the break." "do you know where the break is?" the younger man asked. "i don't know," said jim, putting on his fur cap and old skin coat. "it mayn't be far off and it may be some distance. all i know is it's between here and the next shack." "we found it hard to face the wind and there's more now." jim smiled. "one gets used to storms up here and the line must be mended. some important messages from ottawa are coming along." he picked up some tools and when he opened the door the others heard the scream of the gale. the flames blew out from the snapping logs and an icy draught swept the room and roared in the chimney. then the door shut, the fire burned steadily, and all was quiet in the shack. "our host excites one's curiosity," said the younger man. "you mean he excited yours. you're an imaginative fellow, dick." richard halliday had remarked that since they reached the shack mordaunt had not called him dick and vaguely wondered why. lance mordaunt generally had an object. dick doubted if he had been as sleepy as he pretended when he asked for his tobacco pouch. "oh, well," he said, "if we were in england, you wouldn't expect to find a fellow like this using his leisure to study old-fashioned french." "we are not in england," mordaunt rejoined. "when you judge canadians by english standards you're likely to get misled. the country's, so to speak, in a transition stage; they haven't developed schools of specialists yet, and an intelligent man can often make good at an unaccustomed job. this fellow, for example, was a waiter." he picked up the romance and put it on a shelf. mordaunt was generally neat and dick noted that he replaced the book in the spot from which it had been taken and put the rest against it. "anyhow, it's curious he knew about langrigg," dick insisted. "i don't think so," said mordaunt, carelessly. "a number of our farmers' sons have emigrated. he stated he had not left canada and the man who told him about langrigg was dead." "the man who ought to own langrigg vanished in canada." "on the whole, i imagine that's lucky. the trustees spent a large sum in trying to find him and were satisfied he was dead. his age made this probable." "but he might have had a son." "of course," mordaunt agreed. "suppose he had a son? the fellow obviously knows nothing about his inheritance; and for that matter, langrigg is not worth much. i expect he's engaged in some useful occupation, chopping trees or keeping store, for example, and is, no doubt, satisfied with his lot. i don't suppose he is the kind of man you would like to see at langrigg. besides, if he turned up, a number of people would suffer." "that is so," dick said thoughtfully. "after all, however, if franklin dearham had a son, he ought to be at langrigg. joseph left the hall to franklin and his heirs." mordaunt smiled. "it was as illogical as other things joseph did. he was not a good business man and spent the most part of his money after he quarreled with franklin and turned him out. then, shortly before he died, when franklin had vanished and the estate would hardly pay its debts, he left him langrigg. however, the thing's done with, and if i found franklin's heir, i doubt if i'd feel justified in meddling. matters like this are better left alone." he got up and stretched himself. "now i'm going to bed." he got into the nearest bunk, which was filled with spruce-twigs and wild hay, and soon went to sleep, but for a time dick sat by the fire. the linesman had excited his curiosity; it was strange the fellow knew about langrigg. then he was obviously a man with rather unusual qualities and character; his books indicated this. dick resolved to find out something about him when he returned. by and by the other linesman came in with a mule-tail buck, and when dick gave him jim's message sat down by the telegraph. dick went to bed and did not wake until his packers arrived at daybreak. the linesman was watching the telegraph, but the finger had not moved and he owned that he was getting anxious about his comrade. dick suggested that they should look for him, but on the whole the linesman hardly thought this necessary. he said the man from the next post would have started to meet jim. then mordaunt wanted to get off. the snow had stopped, the wind had fallen, and if they missed this opportunity, they might be held up by another storm, while their food was getting short. dick hesitated, but mordaunt generally led him where he would and after some argument he agreed to start. half an hour later they left the shack and pushed on down the line. chapter ii in the snow when jim left the shack the cold pierced his furs like a knife. for a few moments he heard nothing but the roar of the gale and could hardly get his breath. his eyes ran water and the snow beat his smarting face. then he braced himself, for he had gone out to mend the line on other bitter nights and could not lose his way. where the telegraph runs through the forests of the north a narrow track is cut for packhorse transport to the linesmen's posts, and one could not push between the trunks that lined the gap without finding thickets and tangles of fallen logs. the track, however, was not graded like a road. outcropping rocks broke its surface, short brush had grown up, and although the snow had covered some of the obstacles its top was soft. for a time the trees broke the wind, and jim pushed on, hoping that he might soon find a trailing wire, but the posts loomed up, undamaged, out of the tossing haze. luck was obviously against him, and he might be forced to walk half-way to the next shack, from which the other linesman would start. the snow was loose and blew about in a kind of frozen dust that was intolerably painful to his smarting skin. although his cap had ear-flaps, he could not cover his mouth and nose, and the fine powder, dried by the cold, clogged his eyelashes and filled his nostrils. his old coat did not keep out the wind and, although he was in partial shelter, he was now and then compelled to stop for breath. the gale was getting worse and, as sometimes happens when a blizzard rages, the temperature was falling. jim's flesh shrank from the arctic blast, but he knew that in the north bodily weakness must be conquered. in the stern battle with savage nature prudence is a handicap; one must risk all and do what one undertakes since there is no place in the wilderness for the man who counts the cost. moreover, jim had fought harder fights, when his strength was lowered by want of food, and he went forward, conscious of one thing: the line was broken and must be mended. there was no other way. he must give up his post if he could not make good. in the meantime his physical senses, developed in the wilds, worked with mechanical regularity and guarded him. he could not hear much through his fur cap and often for some moments could not see, but he stopped when a tossing branch broke off and struck the snow in front, and sprang forward when a fir plunged down a few yards behind. he could not have stated that he knew the danger, but he avoided it where a stranger to the woods would have been crushed. perhaps the going was the worst. plowing through the loose snow, he struck his feet against outcropping rocks and sometimes stubbed them hard on a fallen log. in places he sank deep; the labor was heavy and wind and cold made it awkward to breathe. his lungs seemed cramped; the blood could not properly reach his hands and feet. it was a comfort that they hurt, because when he no longer felt the painful tingling the real trouble would begin. one cannot feel when one's flesh is frozen. he could not have seen his watch had he taken it out, and doubted if there was warmth enough in his body to keep it going, because watches and gun-locks often freeze in the north. for all that, he knew how long he had left the shack and how much ground he had covered. men like dearham learn such things, and by the half-instinctive faculties they develop canadian traffic is carried on in winter storms. telegraph linesmen in the bush and railroad hands on mountain sections use powers beyond the imagining of sheltered city men. they make good, giving all that can be demanded of flesh and blood; the wires work and montreal-vancouver expresses keep time in the snow. one thing made jim's task a little easier. the wire was overhead and when he reached the break he would see the trailing end. the trees had been chopped back; there was nothing to help the current's leap to earth, and he would not be forced to cut and call up the next shack with his battery. he wanted to find a fallen post, but as he struggled forward the half-seen poles came back out of the icy mist in an unending row. he had been out two hours and had not reached the worst spot. the line had no doubt broken at silver's gulch. some time afterwards he stopped and leaned against a post. the woods broke off behind him and in front a gap, filled with waves of snow, opened up. he could not see across; indeed, for a few moments, he could hardly see at all, but the turmoil that came out of the dark hollow hinted at its depth. he heard the roar of tossing trees far below and his brain reproduced an accurate picture of the gulch that pierced the high tableland. it was wide just there, but narrowed farther on, and a river, fed by a glacier, flowed through the defile. the river was probably frozen, although it ran fast. the wires went down obliquely, and in one place there was a straight fall of a hundred feet. the rest of the rugged slope was very steep and one needed some nerve to follow the row of posts when the light was good. jim did not hesitate when he had got his breath. with a blizzard raging, his job would not bear thinking about. he let go the post and slipped down some distance. when he stopped he got up badly shaken and crawled down cautiously, trying to keep the line in sight, but it was not a logical sense of duty that urged him on; he only knew he must not be beaten. he fought instinctively, because this was a region where to give ground in the battle generally means to die. he reached a bend of the line where a post stood on a broken pitch that was almost a precipice. twenty or thirty yards below it became a precipice and jim met the full force of the wind as he crept round the corner. then he saw a trailing wire, and, a little farther on, a broken post that had slipped down some distance. crouching in the snow behind a rock for a few minutes, he thought hard. although the post was short and not very heavy, he could not drag it back while the wire was attached. the latter must be loosed, and fixed again when the post was in its place, but it would be enough if the line was lifted a foot or two from the ground. proper repairs could be made afterwards; the important thing was the government messages should not be held up. for all that, it would be hard to reach the spot. he crawled down and stopped beside the post. the snow was blinding, the wind buffeted him savagely, and since he was near the top of the precipice it was risky to stand up. his fur mittens embarrassed him, but he could not take them off, because when the thermometer falls below zero one cannot touch steel tools with unprotected hands. after some trouble, jim loosed the wire and then saw the broken ends would not meet. however, since the line curved, a post could be cut in order to shorten the distance, and he crawled back to the spot where he had left his ax. had he not been used to the snowy wilds, he could not have found the tool. he cut the post and, with numbed and clumsy hands, joined the wire, but it must now be raised from the ground. it was impossible to get the fallen post on end and had he been able to do so powder would have been needed to make a hole. he could, however, support the post on a rock, and he floundered up and down in the snow, looking for a suitable spot. when he found a place, it was some way from the post, which was too heavy to move, and he went cautiously down hill for the other. although this was lighter, he did not see how he could drag it back to the level he had left, and he sat down behind a rock and thought. his coat and cap were heavy with frozen snow that the wind had driven into the fur; in spite of his efforts, he was numbed, and the gale raged furiously. the snow blew past the rock in clouds that looked like waves of fog; he had been exposed to the icy blast for three or four hours and could not keep up the struggle long. the warmth was leaving his body fast. yet he did not think much about the risk. his business was to mend the line and his acquiescence was to some extent mechanical. to begin with, he must get the post up the hill and he braced himself for the effort. he could just lift the butt and, getting it on his shoulder, faced the climb, staggering forward a few steps while the thin end of the post dragged in the snow, and then stopping. it was tremendous labor, and he knew he would need all the strength he had left to reach the shack, but in the meantime this did not count. getting home was a problem that must be solved after the line was mended. at length he reached the spot he had fixed upon, fastened the wire to the insulator, and lifted the top of the post a few feet. the job was done, but his body was exhausted and his brain was dull. he had made good and was conscious of a vague satisfaction. he could not, however, indulge feelings like this: he must now nerve himself for the effort to get home. he went down hill a little, in order to shorten the curve; and it was then, when he had conquered, his luck failed. his foot slipped and when he fell he started a small snowslide that carried him down. he could not stop, the dry snow flowed about him like a river, and he knew there was a precipice not far below. the snow carried him over a ledge; he plunged down a few yards, and brought up against a projecting rock. the blow shook him, he felt something snap, and for a minute or two nearly lost consciousness. then he was roused by a sharp prick and a feeling that something grated in his side. he knew what had happened: one, or perhaps two, of his ribs had broken and an incautious movement had driven the broken end into the flesh. the mechanical injury, however, was the worst, since jim was too hard to collapse from shock, and he lay quiet, trying to think. one could walk in spite of a broken rib; jim had known badly injured men walk two or three hundred miles to reach a doctor, but the blizzard would try his strength. it was a long way to the shack and farther to the next post, but on the whole he thought it prudent to make for the latter. the linesman, finding the line broken, would set out to look for the break, and when jim met him his help would be useful. in fact, it might be necessary. he felt a sharper prick as he got up, but he followed the posts down the gulch and toiled up the other side. his breathing was labored and painful as he climbed the rugged slope. at the top the ground was roughly level and the tossing pines gave some shelter from the wind. jim coughed now and then and thought there was a salt taste in his mouth. this looked ominous and the stabs caused by his jolting movements hurt, but he would not think about it. it was pain, not blood, that gave him the salt taste. he had done his job and begun a harder fight. the claim of duty had been met and now he was fighting for his life. the pines roared as he struggled on and at times a blinding haze of snow filled the gap. he had thrown away his tools, but his coat was getting heavy. now and then he tried to brush off the snow and wiped his lips. the salt taste was plainer; but he was not going to admit he knew what it meant and was glad he could not see his mittens when he took them from his mouth. speed was important and he labored on. he could not remember afterwards how long he stumbled forward, but at length he stopped and stood swaying dizzily when an indistinct object loomed through the snow. it was like a man and came towards him. "hallo! why, pete----" he gasped and with an effort reached and leaned against a pine. the other stopped. "it's pete, all right: but what d'you allow you're doing on my piece of the section?" "reckoned i might meet you coming along," jim replied, leaning hard against the tree. "you can take the back trail. the line's fixed." "that's good. but why are you heading this way? i don't get you yet." "i fell down the gulch. some ribs broke." "ah!" said pete. "which side?" jim indicated the spot where he felt the stabs and pete went to his other side. "it's a blamed long hike to my shack, but you've got to make it. if we stop here, we freeze. put your arm on my shoulder." they set off, and jim was glad to use such help as the other could give. he was getting dull and began to doubt if he could reach the shack, but although both would freeze if they stopped, pete would not leave him. it was not a thing to argue about. pete was a white man and in the north the white man's code is stern. one here and there might have a yellow streak, but as a rule such a man soon left the wilds. anyhow, pete was going to see him through. both would make the shack, or both would be buried in the snow. it was not a matter of generous sentiment; one did things like that. they made it somehow, at a cost neither afterwards talked about, for at length a pale glimmer pierced the blowing snow. then the dark bulk of a building loomed up ahead and pete pushed open a door. he was forced to use both hands to shut the door and jim, left without support, staggered into the room. his head swam, his eyes were dim, and his chin was red. there was a chair, if he could reach it, but it seemed to be rocking about and when he stretched out his hand it had gone. next moment he fell with a heavy thud. he felt a horrible stab, a fit of coughing shook him, and he knew nothing more. chapter iii the third partner some weeks after he mended the line, jim sat by a window in a small frame house at vancouver city. he had been very ill and knew little about his journey on a hand-sledge from the telegraph shack to the railroad. there was no doctor in the woods and jake winter, his helper, engaging two indians, wrapped jim in furs and started in a snowstorm for the south. it was an arduous journey, and once or twice jake thought his comrade would succumb, but they reached the railroad and he put jim on the cars. now jim was getting better and had left his bed for a rocking-chair. the house stood on the hill, and he looked down, across tall blocks of stores and offices, on the inlet. plumes of dingy smoke from locomotives burning soft coal moved among the lumber stacks, a tug with a wave at her bows headed for the wharf, the water sparkled in the sunshine, and there was a background of dark forest and white mountains. the picture had some beauty that was not altogether spoiled by the telegraph wires, giant posts, and advertisement signs. these emphasized the contrast between the raw and aggressive civilization that is typical of western towns and the austerity of the surrounding wilds. in the foreground were steamers, saw-mills, and street-cars; in the distance trackless woods and untrodden snow. the house stood in a shabby street and on the ground floor jake's mother and sister sold drygoods and groceries. the business was not remarkably profitable, but mrs. winter was a widow and carrie had sacrificed her ambitions for her sake. now she sat opposite jim, whom she had nursed. carrie did not know much about sickness when she began, but she was capable and jim liked to have her about. she knew when to stimulate him by cheerful banter and when he needed soothing. carrie could be quiet, although she could talk. jim imagined all girls were not like that. he studied her with languid satisfaction. carrie was tall and vigorous: he had seen her handle heavy boxes the transfer men dumped on the sidewalk. she did such things when jake was not about, and jim knew she baked the cakes and biscuit mrs. winter sold. for all that, her strength was not obtrusive; her movements were graceful and when not occupied she was calm. she had some beauty, for her face was finely molded and her color was warm, and jim liked her level glance. he liked her voice; it was clear without being harsh, and she seldom used smart colloquialisms. in fact, carrie was not the girl one would expect to meet at a second-class store. "you are looking bright this afternoon," she remarked. "i feel bright," said jim. "for one thing, i've got up, and then you have been here some time. you brace one. i felt that when i was very sick." carrie laughed. "you're trying to be polite!" "no," said jim, whose brain did not work quickly yet; "i don't think i tried at all. the remark was, so to speak, spontaneous. you helped me get better; you know you did!" "oh, well," said carrie, smiling, "you needed some control. you wouldn't take the doctor's stuff and we couldn't keep you quiet. i reckon you are pretty obstinate." "one has got to be obstinate in the north." "that's possible. it's a hard country and jake took some chances when he brought you out across the snow. do you remember much about what happened when you were on the trail?" "i don't," said jim, in a thoughtful voice. "all i do remember is the talk i had with two englishmen who made the shack just before i went to mend the line. i've been bothering about the fellows since." "but why?" jim pondered languidly. if he kept on talking, carrie might stop; moreover, he wanted to formulate his puzzling thoughts and carrie was intelligent. he would like to see if he could make her understand. "to begin with, they were people who had traveled and knew the world; i know the north and some canadian cities, but there i stop. the curious thing was, they didn't talk like strangers; i felt i'd got their point of view." "did you like them?" "i don't know. i might have hit it with the younger man; he was frank and i reckon he meant well, though you got a hint of something careless and weak. there was more to the other fellow; you couldn't tell right off if you'd trust him or not. but i'm afraid i make you tired." "oh, no," said carrie, and was silent for a few moments. she was frankly interested by jim. for one thing, she had helped him to get well and this gave her a motherly curiosity. then his remarks seemed to promise a clue to something she had found puzzling. in a way, jim was different from the young men she knew. the difference was elusive, but she felt it now and then. "well," she said, "why don't you go on?" "i'd met the men before," jim resumed with a laugh. "handed them their lunch at the montreal restaurant; they had a girl with them then. i'd certainly not met a girl like that, but somehow i'd a notion i could get in touch with her." "what kind of a girl was she?" carrie asked, with keener curiosity. "the kind we call a looker, but it wasn't that. she was fine-drawn, if you get me; clever and fastidious. i think fastidious is the word i want. she belonged to clean, quiet places where everything is right. that's what made my notion i understood her strange. you see, i have had to struggle in the dust and mud." carrie imagined jim had, so far, come through the struggle without getting much hurt or soiled. he wore no obvious scars. she smiled, and he resumed: "perhaps the strangest thing was, they knew a place in the old country my father sometimes talked about." "did you tell them your father knew the place?" carrie asked, for the clue was leading her on. "i did not; they were strangers," jim replied, and she saw he had a reserve that was not common in canada. "besides, my father didn't talk about langrigg much. still i had, so to speak, got the place; i could see it. i wonder whether one remembers things one's parents knew." "it doesn't look possible," carrie replied. "but do you know your father's people?" "i don't," said jim, with a touch of dryness. "there was a joseph dearham who lived at langrigg. i imagine he was my grandfather, but he and the others left my father alone and we cut out the lot." "were your father and you like each other?" "not in a way. i reckon i'm like my mother, but my father has kind of faded; i'm often sorry i can't locate him well. he was not the man to go far in this country. things i do remember show he had fine grit, but he hadn't punch enough. i think he was too proud to grab what was his." "you are not like that?" jim smiled. "i take what's mine, but i don't want more. you see, i had to hustle for my mother's sake and i'd got the habit when she died and left me all alone. well, that's all there is to my story, and i've certainly made you tired." "you are tired," carrie replied. "go to sleep. i have made you talk too much, and must get busy." she went off and jim mused about her. carrie was not like the english girl, but she had charm and he felt she was somehow wasted at the shabby store. she was pretty and clever; although she was kind, she was sometimes firm. then his eyes got heavy and he went to sleep. when he woke carrie had come back and was lighting the lamp. jake had entered with her and put a tray on the table. "supper's served," he said. "it's better hash than you used to hand out in the woods, and carrie has fixed some hot biscuit with magnolia drips in the way you like. well, you better get busy, and we'll play we're in camp. i'll locate at the bottom of the snow bank." jake sat down on a rug, with his back to the wall and a plate on his knee, and jim's thoughts wandered. he had got the habit of remembering things when he was ill, and the little shabby room, with the cheap rug on the rough, stained floor, seemed to melt like a dissolving view. he saw black pines, with the moon shining between their stiff branches, wood smoke drifting past, and a red fire snapping in the snow. jake wore ragged furs and his eyes twinkled, as they twinkled now. jake was a humorous philosopher and if his humor was sometimes thin his philosophy was sound. he was white; one could trust him. then jim came back to the room above the store. he liked the way jake waited on carrie, although jake owned he had not been a success when he made a trip in the mount stephen dining-car. "we're going to talk business," jake remarked presently. "i've been getting after the telegraph department since we came home and one of the construction bosses was in town to-day. he allowed you made good the night they sent the government messages through, and if we wanted the contract for the new line they're going to run across the ranges, he'd back our tender." "jim isn't well enough to go back yet. you mustn't bother him," carrie said firmly. "we can't do much until the thaw comes," jake rejoined. "it's a fighting chance and i don't see many chances for us in this old town." carrie looked thoughtful. she knew the wilds would draw jake back and jim must soon go, but the north was a stern country and she wanted to keep them for a time. she was honest and owned that she wanted to keep both. "can you finance the job?" she asked. "it's going to come hard, but we might put it over. our pay was pretty good and the construction boss could get us a check as we go on if the work was approved. of course, if we were pushed, we could sell out the bluebird. the assay's all right and one or two of the big syndicates are looking up copper. still i don't want to sell." "you mustn't sell." "very well," jake agreed. "what you say about it goes." jim looked up with some surprise. jake and he had done enough work on the copper vein to get their patent, but could develop the mine no further without capital. jim did not understand what carrie had to do with this. "he doesn't know," jake remarked, and turned to jim with a smile. "we put in the stakes and filed the record, but carrie's a partner. she helped us out." "ah," said jim, "i begin to see!" he felt disturbed. the placer gold they had found was all spent before they proved the copper vein. food cost much and nobody would let them have supplies. copper mines were hardly thought worth exploiting then, since transport was expensive. when it looked as if they must give up the claim, jake got some money from home, and now jim knew who had sent the sum. he did not know how carrie had saved it, but she must have used stern economy. "you don't like my sending the money?" she remarked, with a quick glance at jim. "i don't like to think of your going without things you probably wanted and ought to have had. we could have let the mine go and worked for somebody else." carrie laughed. "i don't know if you're nice or not. anyhow, i had the money; i'd been clerking for a time at the woolsworth store and they had given me a good job. why shouldn't i send jake the money i didn't know how to spend?" "you're exaggerating," jim rejoined. "a pretty girl can always spend money on hats and clothes. in fact, i think she ought." "now you're certainly nice, but we'll let it go. your taking the money made me a partner, and in the meantime the bluebird is not for sale. if you wait long enough, somebody will give you what the mine is worth." "i think so. copper's hard to smelt and when transport's expensive speculators stick to gold, but things will be different now the country's opening up. we will hold the patent until you are willing to sell." "thank you," said carrie. "it cost you something to prove the vein, up there in the melting snow, and no greedy city man is going to get your reward. however, we'll get on. if they give you the telegraph contract, i'm going north." jim turned to his comrade. "she can't go! you had better tell her it's impossible." "i'll leave it to you. there's not much use in telling carrie she can't do a thing when she thinks she can." jim began a labored argument about the hardships and the ruggedness of the country and carrie listened with inscrutable calm. then she said, "you don't want me to go?" "it isn't that. you don't know what you are up against." "i have a notion," carrie remarked with some dryness. "perhaps you imagine all goes smooth and i have a soft job here?" jim was silent. he was sometimes sorry for carrie, but she resumed: "you haven't lived in a shabby street, doing chores you don't like and trying to please people who are often rude. well, i've stood for it a long time, for mother's sake; but now cousin belle is coming, and she knows all there is to know about keeping store. do you think a girl ought to be kept at home? that she never hears the call of adventure like the rest of you?" "adventure palls. one soon gets enough," said jim. then he saw jake's smile and added: "after all, i don't know----" "i know," said carrie. "you are going back, and i am going too. but you won't have to take care of me. i mean to manage things." "she has some talent that way," jake observed. "if you're not very firm, jim, she'll manage you. but what's your particular job, carrie?" "supplies. when it comes to handling foodstuff, menfolk don't know how to buy. then they waste, and the hash a man camp-cook puts up is seldom fit to eat." "there's some truth in that," jake remarked with feeling. "it looks as if you had got your program fixed." "i have," said carrie, with resolute quietness. "i'm going." jake smiled at his comrade. "you had better agree. when carrie talks like that she can't be moved by argument. anyhow, the trail's broken to the wirehead and if she gets tired she can come back." "i may get tired," said carrie. "but i shall not come back. there's another thing: i have a share in the bluebird and want a stake on the telegraph line. well, i've saved a hundred dollars." "carrie's pile!" jake remarked. "she means to throw it in; that's the kind of girl my sister is. as a business proposition, our venture's humorous. we haven't capital enough to stand for one setback, and if luck's against us we'll sure go broke. to begin with, i've got to put up a big bluff on the construction department in order to get the job; look as if i owned a bank roll and didn't care if we got paid or not. well, one takes steep chances in this country, and i allow there's something to be said for the small man who goes out with an ax, five dollars, and a bag of flour, to make a road or build a log bridge. folks don't know how much he means and all he has to stand for." carrie's eyes sparkled. "you and jim know. i'm going to find out." then mrs. winter came in. she was a pale, quiet woman whom jim had thought dull until he saw her work. she listened, making a few remarks, while jake talked about their plans. "well," she said at length, "your cousin is coming and she'll help me run the store. it has certainly got to be run; you'll need some money if you go broke." "we're not going broke," carrie rejoined with a hint of emotion. "jake has got to make good for your sake. some day we'll sell out the business and you shall rest as long as you like." mrs. winter smiled, rather wearily. "i don't know if i'd like to do nothing; i've hustled so long. still i've sometimes thought i'd like to find out how it feels just to sit quiet for a piece. now the oven's good and hot; there's a batch of biscuit ready and you'd better come and help." she took carrie away and when they had gone jake looked at his comrade. "i allow the women's part is most as hard as ours, and carrie hit it when she said i had to make good." jim nodded. "i like your sister, and your mother's very fine. i want to help you help them all i can." "sure, i know," said jake, and then his eyes twinkled, for he had noted jim's slight awkwardness. "you went rather farther than you meant, didn't you? your english streak makes you shy, but you won't hurt my feelings; i'm all canadian. now, however, you are going to bed." jim went to bed and soon went to sleep. he was not well yet and had had an exciting day. chapter iv on the trail heavy rain swept the valley, the evening was cold, and jim stood near the big rusty stove at tillicum house, drying his wet clothes. he had eaten a very bad supper and imagined the wooden hotel on the north trail was perhaps the worst at which he had stopped. the floor was torn by lumbermen's spiked boots; burned matches and the ends of cheap cigars lay about. the board walls were cracked and stained by resin and drops of tarry liquid fell from the bend where the stove pipe went through the ceiling. a door opened on a passage where a small, wet towel hung above a row of tin basins filled with dirty water. there was no effort for comfort and jake, who was tired and did not like the hard chairs, sat, smoking, on a box. outside, shabby frame houses ran down hill to the angry green river where drifting ice-floes shocked. dark woods rolled up the other bank and trails of mist crawled among the pines. patches of snow checkered the rocks above; in the distance a white range glimmered against leaden cloud. the settlement looked strangely desolate in the driving rain, but the small ugly houses were the last jim's party would see for long. the wagon road ended there and a very rough pack trail led into the wilds. there was another hotel, to which the men jim had engaged had gone. "where's carrie?" he asked by and by. "i guess she's tired," jake replied. "it has been pretty fierce for carrie since we left the cars." jim frowned. they had been some days on the road and the rain had not stopped. it was cold rain; belts of road were washed away and the rest was full of holes, in which the loaded wagons sometimes stuck. the men got wet and their clothes could not be dried, and carrie was not sheltered much by a rubber sheet, while when they struck a wash-out all were forced to carry their tools and stores across slippery gravel. carrie had not grumbled, but it was rough work and jim knew she must have felt some strain. "she oughtn't to have come," he said. "why weren't you firm?" "i've a notion you agreed; but if you imagine i could have kept her back, you don't know carrie yet. anyhow, the bad weather won't last and we must make the head of the wire soon. summer's short." jim nodded. they had grounds for speed that disturbed them both. supplies and transport had cost more than they calculated; wages were high, and their money was running out. it was obviously needful to push on the work until enough of the line was finished to justify their asking for some payment. while jim mused a man came in. the stranger was big, and looked rather truculent, although he wore neat store-clothes and new long boots. his glance was quick and got ironical when he fixed his eyes on jake. "been some time beating it from the railroad, haven't you?" he asked. "i expect the trip has been made in better time," jake admitted. "we struck a number of wash-outs and didn't want to leave our truck along the road." "you were short of transport." "we had all we could pay for. transport comes high." "when you leave the railroad, everything comes high, as you're going to find out. guess your trouble is you haven't enough capital." "the trouble's pretty common," jake rejoined. "you don't find rich men hitting the trail to the woods." "a sure thing," said the other. "well, you're not going to get rich cutting the new telegraph line. your outfit's not strong enough; you haven't stores and tools. tell you what i'll do; i'll give you seven hundred and fifty dollars to let up." "i don't know if you're generous or if you're rash," jake remarked with a twinkle. "the truck we're hauling in cost us more than that." "i'll take it at a valuation and you can find the men to fix the price." jake looked at jim, who pondered and hesitated. he was dispirited and tired, and felt that the chance of their carrying out the contract was not good. it would be something of a relief to get their money back. "i don't know who you are and why you want to buy us off," he said. "then i'll put you wise. i'm probyn, cartner and dawson's man. they wanted the new branch-line job, and if you get out, it, will go to them. anyhow, you can't put it over. the bush is thick in the valley and there's loose gravel on the range that will roll down when you cut your track." "loose gravel's bad," jake remarked. "if there's much of it, i don't see why cartner and dawson want the contract." "for one thing, they reckon it's theirs. then they have money enough to get to work properly. you have taken up too big a job, and now's your chance to quit. if you're prudent, you won't let it go." jim pondered, for he thought he had got a hint. cartner and dawson were contractors and with one or two more did much of the public work. in fact, it was said that the few large firms pooled the best jobs and combined to keep off outsiders. jim had been somewhat surprised when jake secured the contract and imagined this was because it was not large enough for the others to bother about. the branch line was short. "oh, well," he said as carelessly as he could, "we've got to try to put it over. seven hundred and fifty dollars wouldn't pay us for the time we've spent." probyn leaned forward. "you want to call me up? well, i'll stand for a thousand dollars, but that's my best." jake looked at jim and both hesitated. a thousand dollars was a useful sum, and in a way they would get it for nothing. cartner and dawson would pay, but if the offer were refused, their opposition must be reckoned on. it was obvious that they did not mean to allow poaching on the preserves they claimed. then jim thought about carrie, and felt half ashamed of his caution. she was a partner and although she did not know the difficulties she would not hesitate. he did not know if he was weak or not, but he did not want her to think he had no pluck. while he mused, carrie came in, looking pale and tired, but she stopped and gave probyn a direct glance. "who is this?" she asked. "he comes from cartner and dawson, the big contractors, and wants to buy us off," jake replied. "he offers a thousand dollars if we'll get out." "ah!" exclaimed carrie. "what did you say?" "we haven't said much. we were thinking about it when you came in." carrie's eyes sparkled and her tired look vanished. "it won't stand for thinking about! tell him you undertook the job and are going to make good." jake shrugged humorously and turned to jim. "well, i guess we needed bracing. what do you say, partner?" "we'll hold on." probyn frowned. "is the dame a member of the firm?" "she is," jake said, smiling. "in fact, when we're up against it, she's the boss partner." "very well. i want you to get this, miss. here's a thousand dollars; they're yours for picking up and you take no risk. if you refuse and hold down the contract, you'll certainly go broke." "it's possible," said carrie. "all the same, we mean to hold it down." probyn shrugged. "then i quit. if you can put the job over, you're luckier than i think." he went off and carrie sat down. "looks as if i came along when i was needed. the fellow talked in hints. what did he mean?" "it's pretty obvious," jake replied. "his employers don't like our butting in. since they can't buy us, they'll try to freeze us out." "then i reckon we must fight." jake looked thoughtful. "they're strong antagonists; but i've a notion there's somebody on our side. in fact, i was puzzled when we got the contract. it's not often a job of this kind goes past the others, but the department may be using us to see if it's possible to shake the combine." he paused, and laughed as he resumed: "anyhow, we have made the plunge and if we're not going under have got to go ahead." jim agreed and for a time they talked about something else, but next morning jake got a jar when he went to load the pack-horses and found two of his helpers gone. "they pulled out at sun-up," one of the rest explained. "a stranger came along, looking for choppers; offered fifty cents more than you promised, and steve and pete went off with him." "he'll probably shake them in a week," jake replied. "still fifty cents a day's some inducement, and all of you can chop." the packer laughed. "that's a sure thing! we reckoned we were fixed well and had better stop with a boss we knew. besides, now we've a dame for commissary, the hash is pretty good." jake went back to the hotel, disturbed about probyn, but satisfied with his men. the two who had gone were strangers, but two of the rest had been with him in the north and the others had worked upon the telegraph line. one could trust them. for all that, he was quiet when they set off on the muddy trail that plunged into the bush. a cold wind blew the rain in their faces, the horses stumbled in the holes, and the wet men grumbled as they plodded through the mud. they knew the wilderness and felt themselves a small company for the work they must do. moreover, jake imagined they might have to meet the antagonism of rich and unscrupulous rivals. "you don't say much," he remarked to jim. "one doesn't say much the morning one pulls out to start a big job. anyhow, i'll own it's not my habit. for one thing, i know what we're up against," jim replied. then he saw jake's twinkle, and smiled. "my notion is you have been quieter than me." "oh, well," said jake, "you're not always very bright, but this trip's a picnic after some we've made. if we go broke, we can come down again; the last time we took the north trail we had to make good or freeze." "you hadn't your sister with you then." "that's so," jake agreed. "i reckon it makes some difference. perhaps you had better go ahead and talk to her. carrie's rather fed up, but she mayn't be as frank to you." jim urged the pack-horse he was leading and came up with carrie, who was a short distance in front. he wondered what he had better talk about, but found it easier to amuse her than he had thought. carrie did not look tired now; she had a touch of color and her eyes were bright. she laughed at his remarks, although he admitted that his humor was clumsy, and did not seem to mind when the horse splashed her with mud. carrie had pluck, but he imagined her cheerfulness was forced. by and by a knot on the pack-rope slipped and some tools and cooking pans fell with a clash. when jim began to pick them up carrie stopped a yard or two in front. "you needn't hurry; i'll go on," she said. "it's cleaner away from the horses, and one can look for the dry spots." jim gave her a quick glance. although she smiled, her voice had a note of strain. it had not been easy for her to pretend and he had forced her to the effort. "i'm sometimes dull, but i mean well," he said apologetically. "of course, you meant well. jake sent you, didn't he? he knows something about my moods." jim colored and, seeing his embarrassment, she laughed. "you don't deserve that; i get mad now and then. the thing's my fault, any way. i started well, but hadn't grit enough to keep it up. however, hadn't you better pick those pans out of the mud?" jim replaced the articles and when he had refastened the load waited for jake. "it looks as if carrie had turned you down," the latter remarked. "i'm not surprised," jim rejoined. "i've been talking like a drummer when she wanted to be alone." "oh, well," said jake, "you haven't a very light touch, but i expect she saw your intention was good." "she did not; she saw you had sent me. your sister is cleverer than you think." jake grinned and pulled his horse round a hole. "they're all cleverer than we think. sometimes it's an advantage and sometimes a drawback. anyhow, i guess i won't meddle again. carrie will make good if we leave her alone----" he turned, for the horse behind them pushed forward and bit the animal he led. "watch out!" he shouted. "drive your beast on!" jim did so and then stopped a few yards off, while the animals plunged round each other and a man behind ran up. jake, sticking to the bridle, was dragged about; his horse's load struck against a tree and a flour-bag burst. while he tried to stop the white stream running from the hole, the other horse seized his arm and shook him savagely. its driver joined in the struggle with a thick branch, and the men and animals floundered about the trail while the flour ran into the mud. "let up with the club!" jake shouted. "the dried apples have gone now. you have hit the bag." "hold your beast, then," gasped the other. "this trouble's not going to stop until mine gets in front." jake with an effort pulled the kicking animal between two trees and there was quietness when the other passed. it looked round for a moment, and then plodded forward steadily while the desiccated apples ran down on the trail. "now we'll stop and fix those bags," jake remarked. "why in thunder did you let the brute go, bill?" "he was mushing along good and quiet and i wanted to light my pipe. reckon he forgot he wasn't in his place." then they heard a laugh and saw carrie close by. jake was covered with mud and flour, and his hat, which had been trampled on, hung over his hot face. "you look the worse for wear," she said. "i guess i feel like that," jake replied, indicating his torn overalls. "putting some of the damage right will be a job for you, but my hat's past your help. you wouldn't think it cost three dollars, not long since!" "but what was the kicking and biting about?" "you heard the explanation! bill's cayuse forgot he wasn't in his proper place. when he remembered, he tried to get there." "i don't understand yet." "a pack-horse knows his place in the row. he's a creature of habit and hates to see another animal where he ought to be, but bill was late in loading up and we didn't stop for him. if i'd known what was coming to me, i'd have waited. now you have got the thing." carrie laughed and jim noted there was no reserve in her amusement. her moodiness had vanished. "it's ridiculous, but you must indulge him another time," she said. "food is dear." they went on with lighter hearts. the struggle and carrie's laugh had braced them, and by and by bright sunbeams touched the trunks beside the narrow trail. chapter v carrie's weak moment the rain had stopped and big drops fell from the dark firs about the camp. daylight was going; all was very quiet but for the distant sound of falling water, and the smoke of the sulky fire went straight up. white chips and empty provision cans lay beside the freshly-chopped logs. jake had left camp after supper, the men had gone to fish, and carrie had taken off her wet boots and sat by the fire, trying to dry her clothes. for the last three or four days the party had traveled across very rugged country, and had now reached the spot where the new line would branch off. carrie was cold and depressed. one of the men who joined probyn was cook, and although she had undertaken his duties cheerfully she found them harder than she thought. then when they pitched camp the wood the men brought was wet, the fire would not burn well, and the extra good supper she had meant to cook was spoiled. this was the climax of a number of small troubles and hardships, and carrie's patience had given way. by and by, jim came out of the gloom and stopped by the fire. "crying, carrie! why is that?" carrie, who had not heard his steps, started and tried to hide her feet behind her draggled skirt. "i wasn't," she said, rather sharply. "anyhow, if i was, you oughtn't to have noticed." "perhaps not. jake told me not long since my touch wasn't light. but what has gone wrong?" "it's all gone wrong," she answered drearily. "i oughtn't to have come. supper was the last thing----" "the supper was quite good," jim declared. "quite good! well, i suppose that's all you can say for it honestly. if you liked it, it's curious you didn't eat very much. then, you see, i can cook, and i wanted to make a little feast to celebrate your beginning the job." "nobody could cook at a fire like that. besides, folks are not fastidious in camp. when you're chopping and cutting rock all day, you can eat whatever you get." "your touch is certainly not light; i'd sooner you were fastidious," carrie rejoined. "looks as if i'd taken the wrong line," jim said gently. "i hate to see you disturbed." "do you hate it very much?" "yes," said jim. "that's why i'm awkward." carrie gave him a quick glance and turned her head. the firelight touched his face and she noted his grave sympathy. "oh!" she said, "i'm a silly little fool! i would come--although i knew you didn't want me." "i thought you would find things hard," jim replied, with some embarrassment. "i do find them hard; that's the trouble, because they're really not hard. the fault's mine; i haven't enough grit." "you are full of grit," jim declared. "i've known men knocked out by an easier journey." "you're trying to be nice and i don't like that. i didn't want you to come just now, but since you have come, sit down and smoke. i meant to be a partner and help you both along." "but you have helped----" carrie looked up quickly. "oh, you are dull! you don't see i want to confess. it's sometimes a comfort to make yourself look as mean as possible. afterwards you begin to imagine you're perhaps not quite so bad." "i don't know if it's worth while to bother about such things," jim remarked. "you don't bother. when you're on the trail, you're occupied about the horses and how far you can go. nothing else matters, and jake, of course, never bothers at all. he grins. but i insisted on coming and when the man at the hotel wanted to buy you off i made you refuse. you know i did. you were hesitating." "on the whole, i'm glad you were firm." "it was easy to be firm at the hotel, but i ought to have kept it up. i was vain and sure of myself, when i'd come up in a wagon, over a graded road." "the road was pretty bad," said jim. "anyhow, it was a road and i sat in a wagon," carrie rejoined. "when the road stopped and we hit the real wild country, i got frightened, like a child. what use is there in starting out, if you can't go on?" "you have gone on. i don't think many girls from the cities would have borne the journey with an outfit like ours. but i don't quite get your object for leaving home." "ah," said carrie, "you have done what you wanted, although it was perhaps hard. you have tasted adventure, seen the wild north, and found gold. you haven't known monotony, done dreary things that never change, and tried to make fifty cents go as far as a dollar. if you had talents, you could use them, but it wasn't like that with me. i don't know if i have talent, but i felt i could do something better than bake biscuit and sell cheap groceries. i longed to do something different; to go out and take my chances, and see if i couldn't make my mark. then i wanted money, for mother's sake. so i came, but as soon as i got wet and tired i was afraid." jim pondered. carrie had pluck; it meant much that she had owned her fears. she meant to conquer them and he imagined she looked to him for help. his business was to give her back her confidence, but this could not be done by awkward flattery. in the meantime, he looked about. the fire had sunk, the moon was rising, and through a gap between the trunks one could see a dark gulf, out of which thin mist rolled. the vapor streamed across long rows of ragged pines that ran up among the rocks until they melted in the gloom. in the distance, a glimmering line of snow cut against the sky. the landscape had grandeur but not beauty. it was stern and forbidding. "i think we are all afraid now and then," he said. "i never hit the north trail without shrinking. perhaps it's instinct, or something like that. in the cities, man lives in comfort by using machines, but he's up against nature all the time in the wilds. she must be fought and beaten and he must leave behind the weapons he knows. up north, a small accident or carelessness may cost you your life; an ax forgotten, a bag of flour lost, mean frostbite and hunger that may stop the march. you have got to be braced and watchful; it's a grim country and it kills off the slack. but we are only on its edge and things are different here. if we are beaten, we can fall back. the trail to the cities is open." "would you fall back?" carrie asked. "not unless i'm forced," jim answered with a laugh. "nor will i," said carrie. "i've been a fool to-night, but if i'm up against silly old things like instincts, i'm going to put them down." "you will make good all right. but what did your mother think when you resolved to come with us?" carrie hesitated, and then gave jim a level glance. "you didn't see mother much. she was busy; she's always busy, and you don't know her yet. she's quiet, you don't feel her using control, but one does what she wants, and i can't remember when that was wrong. well, i suppose she felt, on the surface, i oughtn't to go. it was the proper, conventional view, but when it's needful mother can go deep. i think she was willing to give me a chance of finding out, and trying, my powers; she knew i wouldn't be so restless afterwards, if i was happier or not." carrie paused and there was a touch of color in her face as she resumed: "besides, she knew she could trust jake and i think she trusts you." jim said nothing. it looked as if the little faded woman who had been occupied about the store all day had qualities he had not imagined, although he now remembered he had sometimes got a hint of reserved force. all was quiet for a minute or two while he mused, and then they heard steps and jake came up. "i've been prospecting up the line. we have got our job," he said. "what's the trouble? bush pretty thick?" "rocks! they're lying loose right up the slope and it's going to cost us high to roll them away. then it's possible another lot will come down." jim frowned. they had undertaken to clear a track of stated width, along which pack-horses could travel, as well as fix the telegraph posts; and a bank of big loose stones would, be a troublesome obstacle. much depended on the steepness of the hillside and he had not yet seen the ground. "if we have to build up and underpin the line, it will certainly cost us something," he said. "however, we'll find that out as we go on. the main thing is to start." "i allow that's so. when you start you finish," jake remarked. "still dollars will count in this fight and we may go broke." "it's possible. anyhow, we'll hold on until we are broke." carrie laughed. "and that's all there is to it, jim? i like your way of looking at things. it's simple and saves trouble." "it puts it off," jim rejoined dryly. "the trouble sometimes comes at the end. but it's rather curious how often you can make good by just holding on." "oh, well!" said carrie. "i hear the boys coming. go and see if they have caught some fish." jim went off and presently returned with a string of big gray trout. sitting down, he began to sharpen his knife, but carrie stopped him. "leave them alone! how many will the boys eat for breakfast?" "to some extent, it depends on how many they get. if they're up to their usual form, i reckon they'll eat the lot. but what has that to do with it? i'll fix the trout." "no," said carrie. "give me your knife." "certainly not. do you like dressing fish?" "i expect i'll hate it, but i'm going to try. do you want me to struggle with a small blunt knife?" jim looked hard at her. her mouth was firm and he knew what her touch of color meant. "i undertook to help cook," she resumed, and smiled. "it's curious how often you can make good by just holding on! now, however, you and jake can go away." they went off, but presently jim sat down and lighted his pipe. although he approved carrie's resolve to be useful, he felt annoyed. she had pretty white hands; he did not like her dressing trout. yet somebody must cook, and now the gang was two men short, he did not know whom he could spare. it was not a job for carrie, but she was obstinate. there was no use in going back, because she could beat him in argument, and he went to his bed of fir branches in a bark shack the men had built. carrie had a tent, with a double roof that would keep out rain and sun. jim had seen to this, although the tent was expensive. he got up rather early, but when he went out a big fire burned between the parallel hearth logs. aromatic wood-smoke hung about the camp in a thin blue haze. there was an appetizing smell of cooking, and carrie got up from beside the logs as he advanced. she gave him a cheerful glance, and then stood looking past him to the east. mist streamed out of the deep valley and rolled across the climbing pines; in the distance, snow cut, softly blue, against the dazzling sky. carrie looked fresh and vigorous. there was color in her face and her eyes were bright. "how long have you been about?" jim asked. "an hour," she said, smiling. "i was often up at daybreak at home, and it was different there. the street looked mean, the store smelt stale, and all was dreary. sun-up is glorious in the bush." "sometimes! i have wakened half-frozen and felt most too scared to look about." "ah," said carrie, "i was scared last night, but last night has gone and can't come back. i'll own i don't like the dark." jim studied her. her pose was unconsciously graceful; her tall figure and plain gray dress harmonized with the background of straight trunks and rocks. her head was slightly tilted back as she breathed the resin-scented air. jim thought she looked strangely virile and alert. "you belong to the dawn," he said. carrie laughed, a laugh of frank amusement, untouched by coquetry. "oh, jim! you're not often romantic." "i suppose that is so," he agreed. "anyhow, my feeling was quite sincere. you _are_ like the dawn." she turned her head for a moment and then said carelessly: "let's look if the bannocks i made are cooked." jim scattered a pile of wood ashes and lifted two or three large thick cakes from the hot stones beneath. he broke off a piece from one and when it cooled began to eat. "i imagine this is the best bannock that was ever made in the bush," he remarked. "do you feel you must be nice?" "no," said jim. "in a way, i don't care if i'm nice or not. the bannock is first grade; i think that's all that matters. if you don't mind, i'll take another bit." carrie laughed. "looks as if one could make you happy by giving you things to eat! but let's see if the trout are fried; i've got the spider full." she put the fish on a big tin plate and while she made coffee jim beat a piece of iron that hung from a branch. the sharp, ringing notes pierced the shadows and half-dressed men came out of the shack and plunged down the slope to the river. "some of them would be mad if they knew i'd roused them out ten minutes early," jim remarked. "a breakfast like this, however, is too good to spoil. now if you'll let me have the coffee, i'll take the truck along." he came back with the empty plates in about a quarter of an hour, for canadian choppers do not loiter over meals, and carrie, sitting on the hearth log, looked up anxiously. "well?" she asked, "were the boys satisfied?" "they were. i don't think i could have stood for it if they were not. one allowed he hoped probyn would keep the cook we lost. the others were enthusiastic." carrie blushed. "i'm glad. i was tired when things went wrong last night." "the trouble is, you can't go on. it's one thing to superintend, and cook a meal now and then, but quite another to cook all the time." "but this is what i want to do." "it can't be allowed," jim declared. carrie put down the forks she was cleaning. "you look very firm and solemn, but you can't bluff me. are you and jake very rich?" "you know we're not rich." "if you want to put your contract over, you have got to work, and it's obvious you can't work and cook. then, if you bring in a man to cook, he couldn't do much else and wages are high. aren't they high?" "i suppose they are," jim agreed. "very well! i came because i wanted to be useful, and if you won't let me, i'll go back. then jake and one of the boys would have to go down with me to the railroad. that would be awkward, wouldn't it?" "it certainly would be awkward. do you mean you'll insist on taking two of us away from the job unless i give in?" carrie smiled. "yes, jim. if you're going to be obstinate, there's no other plan. besides, you see, the trail's rough and i couldn't go very fast." "i'm beaten," said jim. "you will do what you like. you're a good sort, carrie, and if you find the job too hard, you can stop." "i may find it hard, but i don't know if i'll stop. anyhow, your control is gone. if you are not very nice, i'll spoil the hash, and then you'll have trouble with the boys." jim got up, moved by her pluck and yet half annoyed, for he had meant to make things easy for her. before he went off she laughed and remarked: "you'll find jake will understand why you gave way. sometimes he bluffs mother; he never bluffs me." chapter vi rolling stones sweet resinous smells drifted down the hill. the mists were melting and jim lighted his pipe and thoughtfully looked about. the sun had just risen above the distant snow and a streak of blue smoke, drawn across the woods, marked the camp. breakfast would not be ready for half an hour, but he knew carrie had been occupied for some time, although he had stolen out of camp without talking to her. jim did not like her working as she had worked for the last week or two, and if he had stopped they might have begun an argument. he would have gained nothing by this, for carrie was obstinate and he admitted that he was now and then impatient. carrie was plucky and they needed help, but cooking for the hired men was not the kind of thing she ought to do. then he had been disturbed in the night by a rattle of stones, and now saw he must grapple with a difficulty that was worse than he had thought. the hillside ran up steeply to a wall of crags, split by frost and thaw. tall firs clung to the slope where they could find a hold, but there were gaps, in which broken trunks lay among the rubbish a snow-slide had brought down. then, for some distance, large, sharp stones rested insecurely on the slope, and jim imagined that a small disturbance would set them in motion. below the spot where he sat, the stones ran down into a gulf obscured by rolling mist. the turmoil of a river rose from the gloomy depths. a row of telegraph posts crossed the stony belt, but one or two had fallen in the night and jim carefully studied the ground. his business was to put up the posts and clear a track in order to protect them from damage and enable pack-horses to travel along the line. it was plain that the stones were an awkward obstacle, but this was not all. as a rule, the provincial government allowed the small ranchers to undertake the construction of telegraphs, rude bridges, and roads. the plan helped the men to stop upon their half-cleared holdings, but it was not economical and rich contractors had recently got the large jobs. jim imagined they meant to keep the business in their hands and he knew something about political influence and graft. his contract was not important but he had grounds for believing the others resented his entering the field, and if he got behind schedule, the agreement might be broken. well, he must not get behind, and when he went back for breakfast he had made his plans. afterwards he got to work and rolled the stones down hill all day, without returning to camp for dinner. it was getting hot, and in the afternoon fierce sunshine beat upon the long slope. the shadow of the pines looked inviting and jim felt that half an hour might be occupied profitably by a quiet smoke and review of the undertaking, but resisted the temptation. the argument was false; he was a working boss and must set the pace for his men. his back began to ache, he tore his old blue shirt, and bruised his hands, while as the shadows lengthened he got disturbed. rolling heavy stones was slow and expensive work. it kept him from getting forward and wages were high. when the sun was low he stopped to wipe his bleeding hand and saw jake leaning on his shovel. "i've let up for a minute or two to think. sometimes it pays," jake observed. "it depends on what you think about," jim rejoined. "i don't know if there's much profit in wondering what's for supper." jake smiled. "perhaps not. i reckon you thought how you could hit up the pace. my notion is, you've put it most as high as the boys will stand for." "in this country, it's usual to work as hard as the boss." "something depends on the boss," jake said dryly. "when we're up against a hard streak, you are near the limit." jim gave him a sharp glance. "do you mean anything in particular? aren't you satisfied with the boys?" "on the whole, they're a pretty good crowd. there are two i'm not quite sure about." jim's eyes rested on two men who were languidly throwing stones down the hill. "i think we agree, but they have earned their pay so far, and i mean them to go on." he stopped and the men put down their tools, for a sharp, ringing noise rolled across the woods. when they reached camp jim was surprised to note two hobbled horses among the springing fern. the big pack-saddles stood near the fire and a man was helping carrie to fill the tin plates. he stopped when jim advanced, and carrie said, "this is mr. davies; he was at the woolsworth store with me." jim said he was glad to see him and studied the fellow when they sat down. davies was young and rather handsome. he wore overalls, long leggings, and an expensive buckskin jacket, but although his skin was brown, he did not look like a bushman. in fact, jim thought him a type that is common in western towns; superficially smart, and marked by an aggressive confidence. he was somewhat surprised the fellow was a friend of carrie's; jim had not expected her to like that kind of man, but hospitality is the rule in the bush and he tried to be polite. when supper was over and they lit their pipes he asked: "have you come to see the country, mr. davies?" "i'm out on business; going through to the new settlement. i belong to the martin outfit and we're bidding on the construction of a new bridge." "ah," said jim, for martin was a contractor and one of the ring. "this is not the shortest way to settlement," he added. "it is not," davies agreed. "i reckoned i'd go in up the vaughan river and hired two indians who know the way. wanted to look at the country; there's some talk about making a new wagon road. then, you see, i knew miss winter and heard she was at your camp." something about davies' manner hinted that the girl and he were good friends, and jim was sorry carrie was not there, since he wanted to see how she accepted the fellow's statement. for no very obvious reason, davies jarred him. "looking for a wagon road line is a different job from keeping store," he remarked. "i did keep store, but i've had other occupations and know the bush. if i didn't know it, they would have no use for me in the martin gang." jim nodded. the fellow was plausible, and in british columbia a man often puts his talents to very different uses. he thought davies had talent, although perhaps not of a high kind. by and by the latter got up. "if the boys are going fishing, i'll try my luck with them," he said. "i'd like a few gray trout and have brought a pole." two or three of the men picked up rods they had made from fir-branches, and when the party set off jim walked across to the fire where carrie was sitting. "davies has gone off to the river," he remarked. "it's curious!" "why do you think this curious?" jim hesitated, feeling that tact was needful. he was not jealous about davies. carrie and he were friends; he liked her much, but she had not inspired him with romantic sentiment. his imagination dwelt upon the girl he had met at the montreal restaurant. for all that, he was puzzled. "well," he said, "it looks as if he had come out of his way in order to see you." "did he tell you this?" "no," said jim. "he hinted at something like it. i suppose you knew him well?" carrie gave him a quick glance. his face was thoughtful and he frowned. she was quiet for a moment or two, and then smiled. "i do not know him well. he was at the woolsworth store, but his was a better post than mine, and we didn't often meet. in fact, i don't think i liked him much." "ah," said jim, whose satisfaction was plain. "well, of course, it is not my business." "but you're rather glad i didn't like him?" "of course," said jim. "the fellow's a poor type; not your type----" he stopped with some embarrassment and carrie laughed. "we'll let that go. you are puzzled, jim?" "i am. why did the fellow hint he'd come because he wanted to see you? he said something about looking for a line for a wagon road, but he'd have struck the valley the road will go through sooner if he'd pushed on east. i can't see what he did want." "perhaps he had some reason for stopping at our camp and felt he must account for his coming out of his way." "yes," said jim. "i believe you've hit it." "well, now you know i don't like davies and you have found out why he's here, you ought to be satisfied." "but i haven't found out why he's here; that's the trouble," jim rejoined, and was silent for a few moments. "however, perhaps you have put me on the track," he went on. "i was something of a fool when i wanted to leave you behind. you have helped us all the time. but you haven't enough wood for morning; i'll go and chop some." he went off and carrie sat quietly by the fire. there was faint amusement in her eyes, but they were soft. by and by the light began to fade and rousing herself she made some bannocks for breakfast. when davies came back with a string of fish she had vanished and the light that had burned in her tent was out. next morning davies left the camp and jim sent three or four men to build a wall to protect the line, while he and some others put up the posts. their progress was slow, because it was necessary to make the wall strong and jim was occupied for a week before he was satisfied with the length he had built. he thought it ought to stand, but felt disturbed when he calculated what the extra work had cost. it was, however, a comfort to know he had covered the worst ground, and soon after supper one evening he went off in better spirits than usual to a little bark shelter he had built for himself. he was tired and soon went to sleep, but after some hours awoke. he supposed he was rather highly strung after working hard, because he did not feel sleepy, and lifting his head he looked about. the end of the shelter was open and the pines outside rose like vague black spires, their tapered tops cutting against the sky. although there was no moon, the first row of trunks stood out against the deeper gloom behind. one could smell the resin and the warm soil, damped by heavy dew. all was very quiet, but after a few moments jim began to listen. he had lived in the wilds, his senses were keen, and sometimes he received unconsciously impressions of minute noises. although the stillness was only broken by the turmoil of the river far down in the valley, he imagined it was not for nothing he had wakened. then he raised himself on his elbow as he heard another sound. it was very faint, but somehow definite, although he could not tell what it was. a few moments afterwards, he knew; a stone was rolling down hill and disturbing others as it went. then there was a sharp crash and a rattle that began to swell into a roar, and jim, leaping up, ran along the hill. the bank he had built had broken and the stones behind it were plunging down. when he reached the line he struck his foot against a rock and stumbled. the ground was rough, the night was dark, but it was unthinkable that he should stop. he clenched his hands and ran, although he did not know what he could do. when trouble threatened he must be on the spot. in the meantime, the noise got louder. he heard great blocks strike the ledges down the slope and smash; trees broke and branches crashed, while behind the detached shocks there was a steady, dull roar of small gravel grinding across the rocks and tearing up the brush. the wall had obviously gone and its collapse had started a slide that might not stop until all the stones above the line had run down. if so, they might plane off a wide belt of hillside and carry the soil and broken timber into the valley. then jim would be forced to dig out another line. he gasped as he labored on, but the uproar had begun to die away when he reached an opening in the thin forest. at sunset, straggling trees had dotted the slope, but they had gone and, so far as he could see, nothing but a few stumps broke the smooth surface of the hill. the wall had vanished with the line it was meant to protect. now and then a big stone rolled by, but jim did not think about the risk. he must try to find out if much of the surface was left and if there was rock beneath. when he left the end of the line, small stones slipped away from his feet and plunged down into the dark. this was ominous, since gravel is awkward stuff to work among when it does not lie at rest. however, with plenty of stakes and some underpinning, he might be able to build up a new bank. by and by his foot struck something sharp and he looked up. he had kicked the edge of a large, ragged stone, and an indistinct, broken mass ran up the hill. the blocks had obviously come down from the bottom of the crags and, since they had gone no farther, the pitch was easy enough for them to lie. this would enable him to clear a line across the mass and build a fresh bank. jim sat down and took out his pipe. he had lost his labor and money he could not spare, but it was possible to run the line across the treacherous belt, although he was half afraid to count the cost. when he struck a match jake came up and indistinct figures moved in the gloom behind. "have you any use for us, boss?" one asked. "nothing doing now," said jim. "we'll get busy in the morning." the man looked about and then remarked: "something started the blamed wall off and i guess she didn't stop until she hit the river. it's surely bad luck!" "it is," said jim. "anyhow, we took this job and are going to make good. i don't want you and you'll probably need some sleep." "i reckon that's so, if you mean to speed us up," the other agreed, with a laugh, and when he went back to the others jim lighted his pipe. "a nasty knock, but not a knock-out," jake remarked. "at sun-up we'll have a better notion----" "oh, yes," said jim, rather impatiently, and added: "i've been wondering why i wakened." "i reckon that's plain enough. the noise would have roused me three miles off." "it was before the noise began," jim replied, in a thoughtful voice. "i think something woke me, but don't know what it was." "tom remarked that something had started off the wall. i allow he mayn't have reflected much, but perhaps it's significant he and you agree." jim was silent for a minute or two, and then asked: "did all the boys come along?" "so far as i remember. i didn't count." "well," said jim. "it's too soon to state what i think. after all, i don't know very much." jake said nothing. he knew his partner was generally marked by a grim reserve after a bad set-back. when jim was ready, he would talk, and in the meantime jake imagined his brain was occupied. crossing the track of the landslide cautiously, they returned to camp, but when they reached it jim lighted his pipe again and did not go to sleep. chapter vii a council jim got up at daybreak and went to the spot where the landslide had carried away the line. a hundred yards had gone and a great bank of soil and gravel ran down at an even slant to the river, where the current foamed about the rubbish that blocked its channel. the slope was dotted by broken trees and rocks, and in one place farther up a belt of smaller stones rested loosely at the top of a steep pitch. jim thought a slight disturbance would start another slide. he had wasted a week or two's labor and saw it would cost him some time to clear the ground before he could get to work again. even then, there would be a risk of the new line's being swept away. this was daunting, because money was short and he had no margin to provide against expensive accidents. when he took the contract he had trusted much to luck, and now his luck was bad. moreover, the thing was puzzling and his curiosity was aroused. he imagined he had made the line secure, and had worked among treacherous gravel in shallow mines long enough to know something about the job. the wall had obviously broken and started the landslide when it gave way, but he could not see why it had broken. this, however, must wait. he meant to solve the puzzle, but, to begin with, the line must be run across the gap and he occupied himself with the necessary plans. his habit was to concentrate and, sitting absorbed, he studied the ground until he felt a touch on his arm. then he looked up with a start and saw carrie. "i'm sorry, jim," she said. "is it very bad?" "it's bad enough," said jim, who began to get up, but she stopped him. "never mind; sit still! you're very polite, but i don't know if you need always use your best manners." "i don't know if i do," jim rejoined. "sometimes i'm too savage; i'm rather savage now. but don't you like me to be polite?" "if you get what i mean, i want you to feel i'm a working partner." "you are a partner," jim declared. "in fact, you're a remarkably useful member of the firm." carrie gave him a smile. "thank you! but you mustn't feel this bad luck too much. you've met worse." "much worse, but it was in the north, where we knew what we were up against and had nothing to lose. it's different now; i've staked all i've got on this undertaking. so has jake; and then you have joined us. i hate to think about your going back to the city broke." "oh," said carrie, smiling, "that doesn't count at all. besides, we're not going broke. we may have some set-backs, but we'll make good." "we'll try; but that's another thing. i don't know why you're so confident." carrie studied him with a twinkle of amusement. "i am confident. you're not a quitter, and it's wonderful what one can often do by just staying with a thing!" "the trouble is, you can't stay with this particular job when your money's gone. that's the difference between it and placer mining in the north. up there, we had no wages to pay, and could stop and root up the tundra until we froze, and when our money is spent the boys will light out." "but you'll stay until every dollar is gone." jim laughed. "it might be prudent to pull out before; but i rather think i'll hold on." "ah," said carrie, "that's what i like! you're bracing up; i knew you would! however, i must go back. breakfast must be cooked." jim went with her, feeling comforted. carrie did not know much about the mechanical difficulties, but her confidence was inspiriting. in a sense, the thing was illogical; the difficulties would not vanish because she did not see them. it was ridiculous for him to feel cheered, but he was cheered and he glanced at carrie as they went along. she was pretty and her impulsive frankness was often charming; but somehow he did not think of her as an attractive girl. she was a partner whom he trusted and a staunch friend. yet he had been annoyed by davies' stopping at the camp and had felt relieved when she told him she did not like the fellow. this was strange, but jim gave up the puzzle and helped carrie with breakfast when they reached the camp. when the meal was over he got to work and did not come back until supper was ready. jake and he had not time for quiet talk all day, but there was something to be said, and when the men went off to fish, jim sat down opposite carrie, while jake lay among the pine-needles close by. the shadows had crept across the camp and the hollows between the rows of trunks were dark. the snow had changed from white to an ethereal blue and the turmoil of the river hardly disturbed the calm. "have you any notion yet what started off the wall?" jake asked. "i have," said jim. "the trouble began at the underpinning. a king post broke and let down the stones." "so far, we are agreed. but do you know why the post broke? we used good logs." "i don't know. although it may take some time, i'm going to find out. we can't have this kind of thing happening again." jake nodded. "perhaps i have got a clew. when davies was here, he said he'd like to go fishing and some of the boys went along." "that is so," jim said with a puzzled look. "the two who moved first were the boys we allowed we were not quite sure about. i don't know if it means anything, but when they got to the river, they and davies lost the others." "it may mean much," jim said quietly. "the clew's worth following." carrie's eyes sparkled as she interrupted: "do you imply davies hired the boys to wreck the line?" "i allow it's possible," jim replied in a thoughtful voice. "and i cooked an extra good supper for him!" carrie exclaimed. "i'm beginning to understand why folks get poisoned. but now you know, what are you going to do about it?" "we don't know," said jim. "that's the trouble. we have got to wait." jake made a sign of agreement and carrie said nothing. she knew her brother and imagined she understood jim's quietness. after a time, the latter resumed: "i've been thinking, and the matter puzzles me. we're up against the big contractors. they'd be glad to see us broke and probyn took two of our outfit when we stopped at the hotel. but he was willing to buy us out and his offering the boys higher wages was, in a way, a fair deal. i allow he left two we didn't trust." "the two who went fishing with davies!" carrie remarked. "that is so," jim agreed. "davies, however, works for another boss. it's possible the big men would pool their resources to freeze us off, but i know something about martin and doubt if he would play a low-down game." "davies might," said jake. "i think he did," carrie interposed, and her voice was sharp. "in fact, it's obvious. he's poison mean; i knew this at the store." "i didn't like him," jim replied and added thoughtfully: "after all, the contract's not important, from the big men's point of view. no doubt, they'd sooner we let up, but somehow i can't see their finding it worth while to get after us." "it is puzzling," jake admitted; "i think we'll let it go. if we have any fresh bad luck, our money will run out long before we can make good. this would leave us without resources except for the bluebird claim." jim frowned. "i'll hold on while i have a dollar, but i don't want to sell the mine. for one thing, we couldn't get a price that would help us much, although i expect northern copper claims will soon be valuable. the country's fast being opened up and some day there'll be a railroad built." "perhaps it's significant that baumstein made us another offer for the bluebird." "when did he make the offer?" jim asked sharply. "when you were ill; i refused. thought i'd told you. he raised his limit a thousand dollars." "shucks!" said jim. "does the fellow think we'll give him the mine? anyhow, i'd sooner not sell to baumstein at all. he's a crook and has made his pile by freezing poor men off their claims." jake smiled. "poor men with mines to sell get used to freezing, and if we refuse to deal with anybody whose character isn't first grade, we're not going to progress much. i doubt if rich folks who like a square deal are numerous." "there are some," said jim. "for all that, the unscrupulous, grab-all financier is a blight on the country. the prospector risks his life in the struggle with half-frozen tundra bog, rotten rock, and snow, and the other fellow, with his net of bribes and graft, gets the reward. but, we won't stand for that kind of thing." "let's be practical. we're not running a purity campaign, and it looks as if nobody but baumstein is willing to buy the mine." "then my proposition is, we hold tight until the combine come into the field. they'll be forced to get busy before long, and while i don't know if all their deals are straight, they're better than baumstein's. in the meantime, we have got to stay with this telegraph contract while our money lasts." there was silence for a moment or two and carrie's eyes rested on jim. he looked tired, and his brown face was thin, but his mouth was firm. jim was resolute; she sometimes doubted if he was clever, but he could hold on. had he been weak or greedy, he would have sold the copper vein and taken probyn's offer to let the telegraph contract go. perhaps this would have been prudent, but she was glad jim had refused. she wanted to think he would not give way. "well? you claim you're a partner!" jake remarked with a twinkle. "jim's plan is my plan," she said quietly. "then it goes," jake agreed, and gave her a curious glance when jim got up and went off across the hill. "i don't know if you're rash or not, but you're playing up to jim. since i've known you to be cautious, your object isn't very plain." carrie hesitated, although she was generally frank with jake. "oh, well," she said, "i feel he ought to take a bold line; that's the kind of man he is." "rather a romantic reason. particularly as his boldness may cost us much." "i'm tired of thinking about what things cost," carrie rejoined. "sometimes it's fine to take one's chances. i'm going to be rash, if i want." "after all, it may pay as well as the other plan. however, if you mean to sketch a leading-character part for jim and see he plays it as you think he ought, perhaps he deserves some sympathy and you may get a jolt. jim's not theatrical." "i hate theatrical people," carrie declared. jake laughed. "you hate posers. you feel you'd like jim to play a romantic part, without his meaning it? well, i expect he'll miss his cues and let you down now and then, but he certainly won't pose." "you're rather clever sometimes," carrie admitted, with a blush. "but i think we have talked enough and i want some wood." she sat for a time, thinking, while the thud of jake's ax rang across the bush; and then went off to her tent with an impatient shrug. "i mustn't be a romantic fool," she said. for the next eight or nine days jim and the men were occupied running the line across the gap. when he had done so, he stole quietly out of camp for three or four nights, and returning before daybreak, imagined nobody had remarked his absence. then, one morning, carrie came up as he was lighting the fire. "you look tired, jim," she said. "if you mean to work hard, you must get some sleep." jim gave her a sharp glance and she smiled. "you see, i know your step!" "ah," said jim, who did not grasp all her statement implied, "you are very smart, carrie, and it's plain that i am clumsier than i thought. but do you think anybody else heard me?" "no. i listened and all was quiet. however, if it's needful for somebody to watch, you must let jake go." jim shook his head. "i've got to see this thing through. somehow i imagine i can do so better than jake." "but you can't keep it up, after working hard all day." "it won't be for long. we'll break camp soon and move to the next section. you're a good sort, carrie, but you really mustn't meddle." carrie blushed. "i won't meddle if you forbid it. all the same, i'd hate to see you worn out and ill. you're boss, and it would be awkward if you lost control." "it's only for another night or two. the fellow i'm watching for will have to try again, or let up, before we move camp." "but if you caught him, you and he would be alone." "yes," said jim, whose face got hard, "that's what i want. if i'm on the right track, the thing must be fixed without the boys knowing." carrie hesitated and then made a sign of acquiescence. "i don't like it, jim, but reckon you can't be moved. anyhow, you'll be cautious." jim promised he would not be rash and went off, half amused, to get some water. carrie was very staunch, but he did not want her to be disturbed about him. he was sorry she had heard him steal out of camp. in the evening jake came for a gun he kept in the tent. the game laws that limit the time for shooting are seldom enforced against bush ranchers and prospectors who kill deer and grouse for food. "i'd better oil the barrels to keep off the damp," he said. "it's a pretty good gun." carrie watched him push across the top lever and open the breech. "is that where you put the cartridges?" she asked. "you push the shells forward with your thumb, and then shut the gun--like this!" "then all you have to do is to pull the trigger?" "not with this type of gun. you see, the hammers have rebounded half way, but you must pull them farther back before it will go off." "suppose you miss and want to shoot again?" "you push the lever sideways, the barrels swing down, and the empty shells jump out. that's all!" "it looks easy," carrie remarked. "i've sometimes wondered how one used a gun. there's nothing more to shooting than there is to making bread." "maybe not," jake agreed with a grin. "i reckon a bad cook is as dangerous as a bad shot. if you miss with a gun, you have done no harm, but i've eaten bannocks that get you every time." when he had finished he hung the gun to the tent pole and went off, but carrie took it down, and carefully opened and shut the breech. after doing so once or twice, she was satisfied and put back the gun. then she went to a little bark store where their food was kept, and picking up a bag of flour that had been opened, weighed it in her hand. it was lighter than it ought to be, and this had happened before. next she examined a piece of salt pork and imagined that some had gone, while when she carefully looked about she noted a few tea leaves on the floor. carrie did not think she had spilt the tea, and knitted her brows. somebody had been stealing food, but the man had not taken much and had tried to do so in a way that would prevent its being missed. for example, he had gone to the flour bag twice and had cut the pork from both sides of the slab. carrie thought this significant, but resolved to say nothing. chapter viii jim keeps watch the night was not cold and jim had some trouble to keep awake as he sat with his back against a tree a short distance above the mended line. he had dug out a track and built a new wall to hold up the stones, and in the morning the camp would be moved. now he was very tired, but he meant to watch for another night. there was a half moon and puzzling lights and shadows checkered the hill. in some places the trees rose like scattered spires; in others they rolled down the slope in blurred dark masses. behind the woods snowy mountains cut against the sky. the dim landscape was desolate and savagely grand. it had the strange half-finished look one notes in canada. in order to banish his drowsiness, jim gave himself up to wandering memories. he knew the north, where he had risked and endured much. he had seen the tangled pines snap under their load of snow and go down in rows before the arctic gales; he had watched the ice break up and the liberated floods hurl the floes into the forest. he had crossed the barren tundra where only moss can live and the shallow bog that steams in summer rests on frozen soil. raging blizzards, snowslides, crevassed glaciers and rotten ice were things he knew; there were scars on his body he had got in stubborn fights. so far he had conquered; but he owned that he had had enough, and tried to picture the old country his father talked about. its woods were not primitive jungles, wrecked by gales and scorched by fires; men planted and tended them and the trees had room to grow. white farmsteads with gardens and orchards dotted the valleys; the narrow fields were rich with grass and corn. then there were wonderful old houses, stored with treasures of art. well, he meant to see england some day and he began to think about the girl he had met at montreal. she seemed to stand for all that was best in the old country; its refinement, its serenity, and ancient charm. one did not find girls like that in canada; they were the product of long cultivation and sprang from a stock whose roots went deep into the past. jim wondered with a strange longing whether he would see her again. perhaps it was the contrast that presently fixed his thoughts on carrie. carrie was a type that throve in virgin soil; she was virile, frank, and unafraid. her emotions were not hid by inherited reserve. one could imagine her fighting like a wildcat for the man she loved. yet she had a fresh beauty and a vein of tenderness. jim was fond of carrie but not in love with her. he wondered whether he might have loved her had he not met the english girl, but pulled himself up. this kind of speculation led to nothing, and he began to look about. the shadows of the pines had got shorter and blacker as the moon rose; the hill was checkered by their dark bars. he could not see far down the valley, because it was full of mist. the great hollow looked like a caldron in which the river boiled. its hoarse roar echoed among the rocks and made a harmonious background for smaller and sharper notes. a faint breeze sighed in the pine-tops and now and then there was a tinkle of falling stones. jim saw some stones roll down and stop at the wall he had built. this ran in a gentle curve across the slope and shone like silver in the moonlight. in places, it was broken by shadows that seemed to tremble and melt. jim knew he was getting sleepy and tried to rouse himself. it was something of an effort, because he had not slept much for a week, but by and by the strain slackened and he got suddenly alert. an indistinct object moved where a shadow fell across the wall, and jim knew it was a man. he was conscious of a grim satisfaction; he had watched for the fellow when brain and body needed rest, and now he had come. moreover, his object was plain. the wall was underpinned, supported by timbers, and if a log that bore much weight were cut, the stones would fall and bring down the rest. one could not hear an ax at the camp, the falling wall would sweep away the chips, and the fellow, stealing back, would join the men the noise brought out. jim thought he could get near him by using the rocks and trees to cover his advance, but the other could hide among them if he were alarmed, and it might be prudent to let him get to work. the stealthy figure avoided the moonlight. the thud of the ax echoed across the woods, and jim, taking care that he had a dark background, went cautiously down hill. he did not carry a pistol. on the whole, he thought one was safer without a gun, but he had brought a thick wooden bar with an iron point that they used for rolling logs. getting behind a tree, he stopped near the wall. the regular strokes of the ax indicated that the other was not disturbed, and jim, looking down from higher ground, could see the upper part of his body as he swung the tool. the sharp blows implied that he was chopping hard. after measuring the distance, jim sank down and crawled to the top of the wall. since the other had an ax, surprise would be a useful, and perhaps necessary, advantage in the attack. jim meant to attack; there was no use in talking before the fellow was in his power. as he crept forward a few stones rolled down the hill. he wondered what had disturbed them, but thought it imprudent to turn round, and lay quiet for a few moments, when the chopping stopped. he could not see the man now, because he was hidden by the top of the wall. the chopping began again, and jim, crawling a few feet, seized the stones on the edge and threw himself over just after the ax came down. he fell upon the man and tried to seize him, but although both were shaken by the collision, the other avoided his grasp and staggered back. jim followed and, swinging his bar, struck with all his strength. the other caught the blow on the curved shaft of the ax, and jim's hands were badly jarred. the vibration of the hard wood numbed his muscles, his fingers lost their grip. it looked as if he had been clumsy and rash, for the advantage was now with his antagonist, because the ax was longer than the bar. moreover, the canadian bushman is highly skilled in the use of the dangerous tool. for all that, jim had begun the fight and meant to win. the fellow had taken a bribe to ruin him. he lifted the bar, struck hard, and missed as his antagonist stepped back. then the latter swung his ax and jim bent from the waist as the shining blade swept past. they were now in the moonlight and he saw the other's face; it was the man who had gone fishing with davies, and he gave way to a fury that banished caution. the fellow had a longer reach and looked cool; indeed, he seemed to be studying jim with ironical humor. while the latter, breathing hard, watched for an opening, he lowered his ax. "suppose we quit fooling and talk about the thing?" he said. "i'm not fooling," jim rejoined. "anyhow, you'd better quit. i could get you with the ax, if i wanted, but i've not much use for that. i'd sooner you stopped here while i light out." "you'd starve before you made the settlement." "i guess not. there's enough flour and pork in a cache to see me through." "the trouble is, you can't make the cache," said jim. "i've watched for you since the first wall broke and you earned the money davies promised. put down the ax and start for camp." "davies?" said the other. "do you mean the guy who came along with the indian packers?" "are you pretending you don't know the man?" "it doesn't matter, anyhow," the other rejoined. "i'm not going back to camp, and there's something coming to you if you try to take me." jim meant to take him and wondered how far he could trust to bluff. if he could get near enough, he might knock out the fellow with the bar and yet not do him a serious injury. the ax was dangerous, but it was possible the other would hesitate about using it. in canada, crimes of violence are generally punished, and even in the wilds offenders seldom long escape the northwest police. yet there was a risk. "you are coming with me," he said, and advanced with lifted bar. the other cut at him and he narrowly missed the blow. he tried to run in before the fellow could recover from his swing, but was not quick enough. the ax went up and he met the blade with the bar. the keen steel beat down the wood and went through when it met the ground, and jim was left with a foot or two of the handle. stepping back, he hurled it at his antagonist and heard it strike with a heavy thud. the fellow staggered, but did not fall and, getting his balance, advanced on jim. the blow had roused him to fury and he saw that caution was useless. they must fight until one was disabled. jim gave ground, breathing hard and watching for a chance to grapple while he kept out of reach. the sweat ran down his face, he was savage but cool. the worst was, he must move backwards and could not see the holes in the uneven slope. when he had gone a few yards he heard a shout and his antagonist looked round. "stop right there!" said somebody, and jim saw carrie standing above them on the wall. she was in the moonlight and balanced a gun. her face was white but resolute. "put down your ax. i mean to shoot!" she said. jim thought quickly. the distance was short, but he had not seen carrie use a gun. she might miss and have some trouble to re-load. besides, he must save her the need for shooting, and the other's hesitation was his opportunity. pulling himself together, he leaped upon the fellow, who stumbled and dropped his ax. jim seized him round the waist and a savage grapple began. they swayed to and fro, kicking the ax that neither durst stoop to reach. the chopper's face was bleeding; jim labored for breath, but he was moved by anger that gave him extra strength. the chopper felt his resolve in his tightening grip and knew it would go hard with him if he were beaten. it was plain that the boss meant to exact stern justice and he fought with instinctive fury for self-preservation. the primitive passions of both were unloosed. they strained and grappled like savage animals, and for a time their strength and stubbornness seemed evenly balanced. then luck gave jim an advantage, for as the other trod upon the ax the long handle tilted up and got between his legs. he stumbled, and jim, with a tense effort, lifted him from the ground. then, gathering all his strength, he tried to throw him backwards, but lost his balance, and both plunged down the slope. the pitch was steep and they rolled for some distance until they struck a rocky ledge. the chopper let go, slipped across the ledge, and vanished. jim, jarred by the shock, lay still for some moments, and when he got up awkwardly saw nothing among the rocks and trees below. a rattle of gravel came out of the gloom, but it sounded some distance off. then he heard a step and saw carrie. she held the gun and was breathless. her look was strained and her face white. "are you hurt, jim?" she asked. "no; not much, anyhow. go back to the track. give me the gun." "why do you want the gun?" jim made an impatient gesture. he had forgotten that carrie had come to his help, and although he noted, mechanically, that she was highly strung and bearing some strain, he did not dwell on this. his antagonist had got away. he wanted to go after him, not to talk. "the brute's not far off, and unless i'm quick he'll light out. give me the gun!" "i won't," said carrie. she stood a few yards above jim, and jerked out the cartridges. stooping swiftly, she picked them up and threw them among the trees. then she laughed, a strained laugh, and held out the gun. "you may have it now," she added. "you can't find the shells." "then i'll go without them," jim rejoined, and plunged down the hill. when he had gone a short distance he stopped. his leg hurt and he had a dull recollection of a blow. his leg was not cut; perhaps the chopper had hit him with the flat of the ax or he had struck it on the rock. anyhow, he was lame and could hardly keep his balance on the rough slope. there was no use in going on like that, particularly as he heard a faint rattle of gravel some distance off. it was obvious that the chopper had got away and jim awkwardly climbed back. now he was getting cool, he began to see what carrie had done and when he joined her he felt embarrassed. "i'm sorry; i expect i was very rough," he remarked. "oh," she said, "that doesn't matter! i think i understand. besides, you are hurt." "leg's stiff; that's all. i ought to have remembered. but, you see----" carrie smiled. "you mean you didn't think about me at all? you had concentrated on catching the fellow." "something like that," jim admitted. "i ought to have thought, and after a few minutes i did think." "when you found you couldn't walk?" "well," said jim, awkwardly, "i now see how mean i was." he paused and resumed with sincere emotion: "if you hadn't come, the brute would have cut me down." carrie's rather ironical amusement vanished and she colored. "it doesn't matter, jim. all that's important is, i did come. but you are lame and mustn't stand." "i can stand as long as you can stand," said jim, who pulled off his jacket and threw it on the ground. "you'll find this softer than the stones." he sat down opposite her and resumed: "now, how did you happen----?" "i found some flour and pork had gone. since one can't get food between here and the settlement, it looked as if somebody meant to pull out before we broke camp." jim nodded. "the fellow said he'd made a cache. you're very smart. but why didn't you tell jake?" "i suppose i ought to have told him," carrie replied. he mused for a few moments and then broke out: "we have taken you for granted. when a thing needs doing you don't talk, but get to work. perhaps this has drawbacks; it doesn't always strike one how fine you really are." carrie said nothing, and he went on. "now i come to think of it, i've been strangely dull. you have cooked for us, and cared for us in ways we didn't know. i'd sometimes a notion my clothes were wearing longer than they ought--there was a jacket i meant to mend and when i got it out one evening i couldn't find the hole." he paused and spread out his hands. "well, that's the kind of fool i am and the kind of girl you are!" "the hole had bothered me for a long time. it was getting bigger and one doesn't like untidiness." "i've been very dull, but so has jake," jim declared. "i saw a neat patch on his overalls and thought he'd made a better job than he generally does when he starts sewing. i imagine he doesn't know how that patch got there." "i don't think he knows there is a patch," carrie rejoined. "it's possible," jim agreed, and studied her, for the moon was bright. her plain dress was very neat and seemed to have stood rough wear well. besides, it was remarkably becoming; carrie was tall and graceful. in fact, she was prettier than he had thought. "the way you keep your clothes is rather wonderful," he went on. "one never sees you untidy; all you wear looks just as it ought to look. one feels it wouldn't look half as well if it was worn by anybody else. yet you're generally occupied and your work's not clean. i can't touch a cooking pot without getting black, and jake gets blacker." carrie laughed to hide a touch of embarrassment. jim was not trying to flatter; she saw he was naïvely following a new line of thought. "well, we must get back to camp," she said. "can you walk?" jim got up quickly and gave her a suspicious glance. "i can walk to camp. i ought to have gone right off and sent the boys after that chopper. looks as if you meant to keep me." "i did mean to keep you. let him go, jim. he won't come back, and we have had trouble enough." "he has not had much trouble," jim rejoined. "however, i doubt if we could catch him, and i want the boys to move our truck at daybreak. then, in a way, i'd sooner they didn't know. of course, i've got to tell jake." "you mustn't tell him i came," carrie said, firmly. "why not?" jim asked with some surprise. carrie hesitated. "oh, well, i don't want him to know. for one thing, he might think i was rash----" "you were splendidly plucky," jim declared. "of course, i won't tell jake, if you'd sooner not. for all that, i don't understand----" "it isn't worth puzzling about," carrie answered with a smile, and they set off. chapter ix an honest antagonist it was very hot on the rocky hill, and jim stopped in the shade of a stunted pine, for he had gone far through the bush. his hudson's bay blanket and a bag of food, made up in a pack with straps for his shoulders, and a small ax, were a rather heavy load. when he had lighted his pipe he looked about. tangled forest rolled up the hills wherever the stiff, dark pines could find soil in which to grow. some were charred by fire and the tall rampikes shone silver-gray in the strong light; some were partly uprooted by storms and leaned drunkenly against each other. at the head of the valley there was a faint blue haze, and jim, knowing this was the smoke of a camp fire, began to muse. now he would soon meet the man he was looking for, he doubted if he had been wise to come, and wondered what he would say. he had set off when an indian reached the telegraph line and stated that a white man with a number of packers was camped in the valley. jim imagined the man was martin, davies' employer, and meant to see him. he did not know if davies was with martin or not. by and by he set off, avoiding fallen trees and scrambling across round-topped rocks. it was rough work and he was tired, but he could get forward without using the ax, which he had been forced to do when he fell among the horrible devil's club thorns. for all that, dusk was falling when he came to an opening by a creek where a big fire burned and a double-skinned tent stood at the edge of the trees. six or seven sturdy packers lounged beside the fire, and jim saw this was not a poor man's camp. for a few hot weeks, a traveler need suffer no hardship in the north, if he can pay for packers and canoes. a double-roofed tent will keep out sun and rain and a mosquito bar will keep off the flies, but packers who carry comforts cannot carry tools, and a utilitarian journey is another thing. jim was not traveling for pleasure and had gone alone. he was mosquito-bitten and ragged, and his boots were broken. the packers looked up with languid curiosity as he advanced, and when he asked for the boss one indicated the tent. jim stopped in front of the tent and a man came out. he wore clean summer flannel clothes and looked strangely neat, but he was sunburnt and strongly made. something about him indicated that he knew the bush and had not always traveled luxuriously. "are you prospecting?" he asked. "if you have struck us for supper, you can see the cook." "i came to see you, and got supper three or four miles back. i'm dearham, of winter & dearham. you have probably heard about us." "sure," said martin, rather dryly. "you hold the contract for the new telegraph line. somebody told me there was a dame in the firm." "my partner's sister; i expect davies told you, but don't see what this has to do with the thing." "sit down," said martin, indicating a camp-chair, and then beckoned one of the men. "bring some green bark and fix that smudge." the man put fresh fuel on a smoldering fire and pungent blue smoke drifted about the tent. "better than mosquitoes; they're pretty fierce, evenings," martin remarked. "will you take a cigar?" "no, thanks," said jim. "i'll light my pipe." he cut the tobacco slowly, because he did not know where to open his attack. martin was not altogether the man he had thought and looked amused. he was a bushman; jim knew the type, which was not, as a rule, marked by the use of small trickery. yet martin could handle money as well as he handled tools. "won't you state your business?" the contractor asked. "i expect you and the cartner people didn't like it when we got the telegraph job?" "that is so. we thought the job was ours," martin admitted. "and you got to work to take it from us?" "how do you mean?" "to begin with, probyn, cartner's man, offered us a thousand dollars to quit." "a pretty good price," said martin. "since you didn't go, i don't see why you are bothering me." "it looks as if you and cartner had pooled your interests. when we got to work, your man, davies, came along and tried to hold us up. it was not his fault he didn't; the fellow's a crook." "i haven't studied his character. in some ways, he's useful," martin rejoined coolly. "well, you reckon i sent him! how did he try to embarrass you?" "don't you know?" "it's for you to state your grievance." martin's face was inscrutable; one could not tell if he knew or not. it was curious, but jim could not take it for granted that he did know and he told him about the broken wall. "you imagine davies paid the fellow to cut your underpinning?" the contractor remarked. "the thing's obvious." "then i don't understand why you came to me. there's not much advantage in telling your antagonist he has hit you pretty hard." "i wanted you to understand that you hadn't hit us hard enough. your blow was not a knockout, and we mean to guard against the next. we have taken the contract and are going to put it over; i want you to get that. you can't scare us off, and while i don't know if you can smash us or not, it will certainly cost you high. hadn't you better calculate if the thing's worth while?" "you were far north for some time," martin said carelessly. "i was," jim admitted with surprise, for he could not see where the remark led. "so were you." martin nodded. "a blamed hard country! looks as if we were both pretty tough, since we made good yonder, and i think i get your proposition. your idea is, we had better make terms than fight?" "something like that," jim agreed. "very well," said martin, who paused and smiled. "now i'll tell you something. i don't like your butting in, but i did not put davies on your track." jim looked hard at him, and although he was surprised did not doubt his statement. "then, i imagine he made the plan himself; wanted to show you he was smart, but said nothing when it didn't work as smoothly as he thought." martin was silent for a few moments and jim imagined he was thinking hard. then he said, "it's possible; that's all." "perhaps the cartner people sent him without telling you," jim suggested. "cartner made you a square offer, and you can't grumble much because probyn hired your men. cartner is hard and i allow he'd like to break you, but i haven't known him play a crooked game." "then i can't see a light at all." "it's puzzling," martin agreed. jim filled his pipe again and pondered. there was something strange about his talking confidentially to a man he had thought an unscrupulous antagonist, but he was persuaded that martin was honest. the latter seemed to be considering, for jim saw his brows were knit when the firelight touched his face. it had got dark, but the fire leaped up now and then and threw a red glow upon the rows of trunks. the creek shone and faded; sometimes the smoke curled about the tent and sometimes blew away. "you struck copper up north," martin resumed after a time. "has anybody tried to buy your claim?" "baumstein gave us an offer twice." "ah," said martin, thoughtfully, "i suppose you wouldn't sell?" "not at his price. we thought we had better hold on; some day the combine might buy." "a pretty good plan," martin agreed. "there'll be a demand for northern copper before long. well, i see you have a blanket. you'll find a bed in the tent." "i picked a spot to camp a piece back," jim said rather awkwardly, as he got up. martin laughed. "since you reckoned cartner and i were on your track, you felt you'd sooner not stop with me? well, i don't think that ought to count. if we could have bought you off or scared you off, we might have done so, but since you are resolved to put the contract through, we'll be satisfied with seeing you don't get another. if you stop, you'll get a better breakfast than you can cook." jim's hesitation vanished and he went into the tent. next morning he got breakfast with martin, and when he was going the latter remarked: "i guess you understand you needn't bother about our getting after you. go ahead and finish the job." "thanks," said jim, smiling. "unless we go broke, we mean to finish." "very well," said martin, "if you have to choose between quitting and selling your copper claim, you had better let the telegraph contract go." he paused and gave jim a level glance. "looks like interested advice, but i guess it's sound." jim strapped on his pack and started down the valley. he reached the telegraph camp three or four days afterwards, and in the evening told jake and carrie about his interview. "perhaps it's strange, but i really don't think we're up against cartner and martin," he concluded. "we're up against somebody who hasn't many scruples," said jake. "that is so," jim agreed. "i suggested that davies might be playing a lone hand. martin admitted that it was possible, but didn't look satisfied. in fact, i imagined he was thinking hard. of course, the obvious line was to doubt his honesty, but somehow i didn't." "the obvious line's not always best," carrie interposed. "my notion is, it's a foolish habit to take it for granted your antagonist is a cheat. but what is he like, jim?" "big and rather quiet, although he had a twinkle. weighs all he says, and you feel that if he's satisfied he doesn't mind if you are or not. we know he was up north for some time; he looks like it, if you get me." jake nodded, for the men who push far into the frozen wilds conform to a type. struggles with cold and hunger leave their mark, endurance breeds stubbornness, and fronting perils gives a quiet courage that makes for candor. the man who has conquered fear is not tempted to be mean. "there are bad men, in some of the big camps, but no smooth rogues," he said. "martin is certainly not a smooth rogue," jim declared. "i thought it curious he told me to hold on to the copper and let the contract go, if we couldn't stick to both. he admitted it looked as if he was playing for his side when he gave me the advice." "well," said jake, thoughtfully, "if he meant to gain his object that way, it was a fool plan, but we know martin's clever. to jump at a shallow suspicion is a blamed lazy habit that often puts you wrong. if he didn't mean well, i can't see what he did mean." "i can't see," jim agreed. "better let it go," carrie interposed. "i like that man. if you have drawn him right, i think he could be trusted. however, you look as if you had been among the devil's club. what are you going to do with your clothes?" "if you insist, i meant to hide them," jim owned with a laugh. "so i thought," said carrie. "bring them to the tent instead. if you don't, i'll come for them in the morning." jim promised to bring the clothes and lighted his pipe, feeling somewhat moved. he knew now how much he and jake owed carrie, and the thought she gave their comfort. if things went smoothly, it was because carrie made them go; but this was not all. she was not satisfied with controlling the camp; jim was beginning to see that now and then she controlled their talk and helped their decisions. she was a girl and had, for the most part, lived at a shabby store, but he admitted that her judgment was often sound. carrie had qualities. then he started, for she looked at him with a smile. "what are you thinking about, jim?" she asked. "i was wondering how we would have got on if we hadn't brought you," he replied. carrie laughed. "i know. yet you wanted to leave me!" "if i did, i was a fool." "no," said carrie, thoughtfully, "you are not a fool, but sometimes you're rather dull. now you're half asleep and had better go to bed." jim knocked out his pipe and went. a few days afterwards he started for the settlement with two of his men. they were good workmen and jake was unwilling to let them go, but they had been with jim in the north and he needed helpers whom he could trust, for he was going to make a bold experiment. he needed food, powder, and tools, and it was hard to keep the camp supplied. pack-horses could not carry much over the mountain-trail and the freighters' charges were high. jim imagined he could bring up the goods cheaper by canoe, although the plan had drawbacks. he reached the settlement, and after waiting a few days sat one evening on the hotel veranda. burned matches and cigar-ends lay about the dirty boards; the windows of the mean ship-lap house were guarded by fine wire net. the door had been removed, and a frame, filled in with gauze and held by a spring, slammed noisily when one went in or out. for all that, the hotel was full of dust and flies, and mosquitoes hummed about the hot rooms at night. the snow had melted below the timber line and a long trail of smoke floated across the somber forest. a fire was working through the trees and a smell of burning came down the valley. three or four men in ragged overalls lounged about the veranda, and the landlord leaned against a post. he wore a white shirt with gold studs, and his clothes were good. "now you have got your truck, i reckon you'll pull out," he remarked. "we start up river at daybreak." "then you're surely foolish. if you can't make it, there's trouble coming to you next time." jim understood the hint. the pack-horse freighters had enjoyed a monopoly of transport to the mining camps. the river was off the regular line, and its navigation was difficult except when the water reached a certain level, but if jim's experiment proved that supplies could be taken by canoes transport charges would come down. "there are some awkward portages, but i think i can get through," he said. "i wasn't figuring on the portages," the landlord rejoined, meaningly. "somas charlie's a tough proposition to run up against." he indicated a man coming along the road. "somas has his tillicums, and around this settlement what he says goes." in the chinook jargon, _tillicum_ means something like a familiar spirit, and jim thought he saw what the other implied. he had had trouble to get articles he needed and had met with annoying delays; and he studied the advancing freighter with some curiosity. somas was big and powerful and walked with the pack-horse driver's loose stride. he had a dark face, cunning black eyes, and very black hair. it looked as if indian blood ran in his veins. he came up the veranda steps and gave jim an ironical glance. "got your canoes loaded up?" he asked. "not yet; the truck is ready," said jim, who had thought it prudent to put his goods in a store. "it's a sure thing you're not going to take your canoes through. say, i don't want to see you lose the grub and tools. drop the fool plan and i'll take off a cent a pound." "if you had offered that before, we might have made a deal. you're too late." "thought you were bluffing; i guess you're crazy now. you can't make it, anyway." "i'm going to try." the freighter shrugged. "trying's going to cost you something; you'll feel pretty mean when you meet the bill. fools like you make me tired." he beckoned the landlord. "get on a move; i want a drink." he went into the hotel and when the door slammed jim was thoughtful. chapter x the rapid in the morning jim started with three canoes and a few indians whom he had engaged at the settlement, because the siwash are clever river men. sometimes they tracked the canoes, floundering along the rough bank with a line round their shoulders; sometimes they poled against the rapid stream; and now and then carried the craft and cargo across a rocky portage. the canoes were of the siwash type, cut out of cedar logs and burned smooth outside. the high bow was rudely carved like a bird's head; the floor was long and flat. they paddled well and a strong man could carry one, upside down, on his bent shoulders. jim had loaded them heavily, and the tools and provisions had cost a large sum. his progress was slow and he was tired and disturbed when one evening he pitched camp after toiling across a long portage. speed was important and he had been longer than he thought, while he did not know if he could force his way up the dark gorge ahead. besides, an indian had shown him the print of somebody's foot on a patch of wet soil. there was only one mark and in a sense this was ominous, since it looked as if the fellow had tried to keep upon the stones. moreover, he wore a heavy boot, and jim could not see why a white man had entered the lonely gorge where there were no minerals or timber worth exploiting. after supper he got ready to start again at daybreak. this was his usual plan, because one's brain is dull when one rises from a hard, cold bed at dawn, and in the wilds to leave tools or food behind has sometimes disastrous consequences. he saw he had forgotten nothing, and when dusk was falling rested for a time on the bank, although he thought it prudent to sleep on board. up stream, the water threw back faint reflections, but its surface was dull and wrinkled where it narrowed at the top of the rapid, round which he had carried the canoes. then it plunged down into gloom that was deepened by a cloud of spray and its hoarse turmoil echoed among the hills. a few charred rampikes rose behind the camp, and jim sat beneath one, with his back against a stone. he had thrown off his jacket and his thin overalls were wet. his back and arms ached and his feet were bruised. he pondered about the footstep. the pack-horse trail running north was not far off, and while he slowly poled up stream the freighter could have reached the river in front of him. when they talked at the hotel, the fellow's manner was threatening, but jim hardly thought he would meddle. his party was strong, and if the other had meant to do him some injury, it was hardly probable he would have uttered his dark hints while the landlord was about. after all, the hints might forecast the difficulty jim would have to engage transport another time. still, somebody had passed the spot not long since. the gloom deepened, and although some light would linger in the sky all night, it was nearly dark at the bottom of the gorge. the packers lay about the fire, and by and by jim, calling one of the siwash, hauled the first canoe to the bank. when they got on board, he let the craft swing out with the eddy, and the row, curving as the current changed, rode behind a half-covered rock a short distance from the stones. blurred rocks and trees loomed in the mist up stream; below, the foaming rapid glimmered through the spray. the river, swollen by melting snow and stained green by glacier clay, was running fast. there was not much room in the canoe, for bags of flour occupied the bottom and a grindstone and small forge were awkward things to stow. jim, however, found a spot where he could lie down and the indian huddled in the stern. he was a dark-skinned man, dressed like the white settlers, except that he wore no boots. as a rule, he did not talk much, but by and by he put his hand in the water as if to measure the speed of the current. "_contox hiyu chuck_," he said in chinook. jim imagined he meant the river was rising and did not know if this was a drawback or not. a flood might make poling harder, but it would cover the rocks in the channel and probably leave an eddying slack along the bank. he agreed with the indian, because the rock to which they had moored the canoe was getting smaller. it made a kind of breakwater, but it would be covered soon and the craft would feel the force of the current. still they ought to ride safely, and an angry wash now beat against the bank of gravel where they had landed. there was no other landing, for, below the camp, the river ran in white waves between the rocks. although jim was tired, he could not sleep. for one thing, he had lost time at the settlement and on the river; jake was waiting for the tools, and since wages were high, delay was costly. then the gorge echoed with pulsating noise. the roar of the rapid rose and fell; he heard the wash of the eddy against the bank, the sharp ripple where the current split upon the rock, and the rattle of gravel striking the stones. the canoes rocked, swung to and fro, and brought up with sudden jerks. he did not know if the indian slept, but if he did, a new note in the confused uproar would waken him. after a time, the fellow moved, and as his dark figure rose jim became alert. the indian was looking fixedly ahead, but jim could see nothing in the gloom. he noted mechanically that the rock had vanished; its location was marked by a wedge-shaped streak of foam. he signed to the indian, who grunted but did not speak. then there was a crash as something struck the rock and a vague dark mass rebounded from and swung round the obstacle. it rolled, and half-seen projections vanished and appeared again. jim got on his knees and seized a pole, because he imagined a big log with broken branches was driving down on them. a river canoe is unstable, and to stand on the cargo might capsize her. he found bottom with the pole and saw the indian paddling hard. the row of canoes swung towards the bank, but the backwash caught them and it looked as if they would not swing far enough. jim felt the veins on his forehead tighten and the pole bend as he strained with labored breath. the log came on; its butt under water, its ragged top riding high and swinging round. there was a heavy shock, the canoe lurched, and a broken branch began to drag her down. jim could not push off the grinding mass and, letting go the pole, seized an ax. he cut the mooring line to ease the strain, but when the rope parted and the log swung clear he was faced by another risk; unless they could reach the gravel bank, they would go down the rapid. he could not find bottom now, and while he tried the log struck the next canoe. his canoe swerved outshore, the row was drifting fast, and he shouted as he felt for the ax. it was, however, obvious that the men in camp could not help much and he nerved himself to make a hard choice. if he held on, all the canoes would go down the rapid; if he let two go, one might be saved. he cut the line made fast astern, the log and canoes vanished, and he and the indian strained their muscles. they had lost ground they could not recover; the gravel bank was sliding past, and angry waves leaped about the rocks below. somehow they must make the bank before they were carried down. there was some water in the canoe; jim heard it splash about. she was horribly heavy and his pole would not grip the bottom. when it slipped the current washed its end under the craft. he threw the pole on board and found a paddle. the canoe rocked on a white eddy, but he got her head round and the revolution carried her towards the shore. they must drive her in before the backwash flung her off, and for some moments he labored with weakening arms and heaving chest. then a packer plunged in, the bow struck ground, and jim jumped over. he was up to his waist in the white turmoil, but another packer seized the canoe and the indian thrust hard on his bending pole. the bow went farther into the gravel and with a savage effort they ran her out. jim leaned against a rock, trying to get his breath, and when he looked about the other canoes had vanished. his tools and stores had gone for good. now there was no need for watchfulness, he could sleep, and he lay down by the fire. when he wakened day was breaking, and beckoning the indian he set off up the gorge. he had an object for his dangerous climb across the slippery rocks, and he noted that the stream flowed evenly along the bank. this implied that if a log were rolled into the water on his side of the straight reach, it would probably strike the rock behind which the canoes had been tied. after a time, when the roughness of the ground forced them high above the water, the indian indicated a clump of willows through which somebody had pushed. he declared two white men had gone through and one had carried an ax. jim had been looking for a white man's tracks and his face got stern as they climbed a neighboring gully. at the top he sat down and sent the indian to look about. it the other men had gone down again to the water, they must have had some grounds for doing so, and jim thought he knew what the grounds were. the indian found steps in a boggy patch, and jim, descending a ravine farther on, came back to the river bank. here and there a tree had fallen into the ravine and two or three battered trunks lay on the gravel at the bottom. a hollow in some disturbed gravel at the water's edge indicated that another log had rested there, and jim let the indian examine the ground. by and by the latter began to talk. he said the marks had been made by a trunk with branches broken short; one could see where it had rolled into the stream. the ravine was steep, but the other logs had not slipped down; the missing trunk had been helped on its way. in one place, the top had been lifted; in another, a pole had been pushed under the butt. some of the gravel was scratched, as if it had been trodden by nailed boots. a man using a lever would push it back like that. jim nodded, because he knew something about woodcraft and thought the indian had read the marks correctly. now and then the fellow said "_contox_," and jim understood the chinook word, which, roughly, means to know, rather implied supposition than certainty. for all that, if the indian doubted, he did not. he knew the log had been launched where the current would carry it down on the canoes, and when he went back to camp his mouth was set hard. after breakfast he broke up the party and, sending the indians off, started again with the two white men. the canoe would not carry all, but this did not matter, since, for the most part, she must be tracked from the bank, and when they poled her one man could travel through the bush and overtake them at the next rapid. it was a strenuous journey and jim was worn out when he climbed the hill to the telegraph camp. it was about six o'clock in the evening and the men had not returned from work, but carrie was cooking and got up with a cry of welcome when he came out of the woods. she stopped, however, when she saw his gloomy face. "what's the matter, jim?" she asked. "are you hurt or ill?" he dropped the heavy bag of flour he carried and forced a smile. "does it look as if i were ill? i've lost two canoes and their loads." "oh, jim!" said carrie, and added: "after all, it isn't so very important." "not important?" jim exclaimed. carrie hesitated. "oh, well; never mind. where are the boys? you haven't lost _them_?" "they're coming," said jim, who sat down on a log, feeling embarrassed. he was dull. carrie had been disturbed about him because he had been away longer than he thought, and her obvious relief when she saw he was not injured was soothing. he needed soothing, since the loss of the canoes and stores weighed heavily, but carrie had made him feel this did not matter much so long as he was safe. although he could not agree, it was a comfort to know her satisfaction was sincere. carrie always was sincere. she was quiet and he resumed in an apologetic voice: "i felt mean about coming back like this; losing the truck is going to make things harder for you. then i bought some new cookers; the steam went through a row of pans and i thought they'd save you work. there was a piece of stuff at the dry goods store the girl told me would make a dress; but it went down the rapid with the cookers." carrie gave him a gentle glance. "you bought them: the rest was an accident." "it was not an accident, but we'll talk about that again. i'm glad to get back; i'm always glad to get back now, though i didn't bother about it much when we camped in the bush before." carrie took off the lid of a cooking-pot and while she was occupied the packers arrived with their loads. soon afterwards jake and the other men came up and they got supper. when the meal was over jim told his story and jake looked thoughtful. "the obvious explanation is, the freighter tried to stop you by turning loose the log," he said. "i don't know if we ought to count on this; but we'll take it first." "i'm doubtful," jim replied. "somehow i feel the fellow was bluffing; he wanted to scare me so i'd agree to his terms. although i reckon he meant to charge me high when i came to him next time, i don't think he sent the log down. i haven't much ground for the conclusion, but there it is." "in some ways, you're not a fool," jake remarked with a twinkle. "i've known judgments you hadn't much ground for turn out sound. very well; we come to the big contractors. did they hire somebody to stop you?" "it looks like that, but i imagine martin's playing straight and he declared the cartner people wouldn't use a crooked plan." "then who did try to stop you?" jim shrugged and his face got hard. "i don't know yet. we must wait." "very well," said jake. "we'll trust our luck and hold on while we can, although i expect it won't be very long." jim did not answer. he was tired and now the reaction from the strain had begun, was glad to indulge his bodily and mental lassitude. the springy branches on which he lay were comfortable and the camp, with the red firelight flickering on the trunks and carrie sitting by the hearth-logs, had a curious charm. she, so to speak, dominated the tranquil picture and gave her rude surroundings a homelike touch. on other expeditions, when carrie was not there, jim had thought about his camp as a place at which one slept. now it was something else; a place from which one drew strength and cheerfulness. there was something strangely intimate about it; he was glad to get back. chapter xi a confidential talk shortly after jim's return, a prospector stopped one evening at the camp. "there was some mail for you at the settlement, and as i figured on using your line to get into the bush i brought the packet along," he said. carrie gave him supper and when he joined the other men jim opened the packet. in the evening they had leisure for rest and talk, and after the strain and bustle of the day, jim enjoyed the quiet hour. the air got sharp when the sun sank, the fire they gathered round drove back the creeping shadows, and the pungent smoke kept the mosquitoes off. sometimes he bantered carrie and sometimes lounged in contented quietness, watching her while she sewed. carrie was generally occupied. "how is your mother getting on?" he asked when she put down the letter he had given her. carrie smiled. "she is getting on very well. my cousin keeps store satisfactorily, and i don't know if i'm pleased or not. it's nice to feel you're wanted and people miss you when you're gone." "if there's much comfort in the thought, you are certainly wanted here." "the trouble is, one's friends often say what they think one would like to know," carrie rejoined. "i'm not sure i'd have minded much if mother had owned that belle breaks things and sometimes forgets how many cents go to the dollar when she makes up a bill. s'pose i'm mean, but belle does break things." "you are never mean and i was quite sincere." "perhaps you found new buttons on your overalls and that accounted for something." jim half consciously moved his hand to his jacket and then stopped. "i'm afraid i didn't know the buttons were there. after all, it ought to persuade you of my sincerity." "sometimes i'm not certain if you are nice or not. but is there anything important in your letters?" "one or two people want to know when we mean to pay our bills; i'm sorry we can't satisfy their curiosity just yet. then there's a letter from baumstein. he'll give us an extra five hundred dollars for the bluebird." "ah!" said carrie. "it's strange he makes the offer when we need money so!" "it is strange," jake broke in. "almost looks as if the fellow knew how we were fixed. but we're not sellers, and, for a clever crook, baumstein is too keen." "he states he has reached his limit and we won't get another chance," jim remarked. jake pondered and then resumed: "the thing's puzzling. i can't see why baumstein's fixed on buying a claim that nobody else wants, but you can reckon it a sure snap for him when he makes a deal. there's the puzzle! the ore is pretty good, but that's all. we were kind of disappointed by the assay. the specimens looked better than the analysis proved." "i was certainly disappointed and surprised," jim agreed. "suppose we ask the prospector about it? he has tested a good many mineral claims." they waited until the prospector returned to the camp, when jake gave him some bits of broken rock. "feel those and tell me what you think about the metal they carry," he said. the other examined the specimens and weighed them in his hand. "if you've got much rock like that, it's a pretty good claim." "do you reckon the stuff would come up to assay?" jake asked, giving him the analyst's report. the prospector looked at him rather hard. "come up to assay? if the bulk's like these specimens, it ought to pan out better than the figures show." he stated his grounds for believing this, and jake knitted his brows. "i expect you know the big mining men and what they're doing. have you heard if baumstein is looking for northern copper?" "he bought a claim called the darien not long since." jim smiled. "the darien? the next block to ours, but the vein begins to peter out before it crosses their boundary." "when baumstein gets the next block, you want to sell him your lot or watch out," the prospector rejoined. "if he can't buy you up, he'll make trouble for you. i reckon he knew what kind of ore the darien boys had got." "yes," said jim, "i imagined something like that." he said no more about the mine, and next morning the prospector resumed his journey. after this, for a week or two, nothing broke the monotony of their strenuous toil, until one day martin and his packers arrived. "i'm going down to the settlements and thought i'd strike your camp and stop a night," he said. "the woods get lonesome, and your line's a pretty good route to the pack trail." jim was somewhat surprised, but he took martin to jake and went to tell carrie. "i wanted to see that man and you had better leave him to me," she said. "to begin with, i'll give him the best supper i know how to cook. get busy and fix the fire while i see what we've got that's extra nice." "if you get after him, he's bound to give in," jim remarked. "however, i want you to study the fellow and tell me what you think." "then you would trust my judgment?" "of course. in many ways, it's as good as ours." carrie laughed. "sometimes," she said, "you're very modest, jim." martin ate a remarkably good supper and afterwards talked to carrie with obvious satisfaction. like the most part of the men who venture much in the wilds, he was marked by a grave quietness, but he had for all that a touch of humor. by and by he turned to jim and asked: "how are you getting on? have you struck fresh trouble since i saw you?" jim related his adventure at the rapid and martin gave him a keen glance. "i reckon you had an object for telling me, but i don't quite get it. you think i hired the man who sent down the log, or you know i didn't." "he knows you didn't," carrie declared. "thank you," said martin. "i imagine what you say goes at this camp." "some way. i belong to the firm." "it goes all the way," said jim. "i often think miss winter is really the head of the firm." martin's eyes twinkled. "well, you're both making good; i've been looking at the line you've cleared, and i've not often struck a supper like this in the bush. makes me feel i want to fire my cook." then his tone got grave. "anyhow, i had nothing to do with wrecking your canoes and don't think the freighter had. you see, i sometimes hire somas; he'll put the screw to you if he reckons you can be bluffed, but he's not a crook." "then we can rule him out," said carrie. "i imagine you don't make mistakes." "making mistakes about trusting folks sometimes costs you high," martin remarked. he looked at her thoughtfully and then smiled. "one could trust you all the time." "well," said carrie, "i suppose i gave you a lead, but there's no use in our trying who could be nicest, because i'd certainly beat you. i expect you don't often try and it's a girl's business." in the meantime, jim had studied both. he thought he knew carrie's worth, but somehow the other's approval made it plainer. although martin's humorous frankness jarred, jim recognized its note of sincerity. on the whole, he liked martin, but he would sooner carrie did not play up to the fellow. by and by martin turned to him. "when i was last at vancouver a man called mordaunt asked some questions about you." "mordaunt?" said jim, with a puzzled look. "he stopped at your telegraph shack." "oh, yes; i only met him once before and didn't learn his name. what did he want to know?" "all i could tell him about you. he was something of a high-brow englishman and used tact, but i reckoned he was keen on finding out what kind of man you were." "you couldn't tell him much." "that is so," said martin, rather dryly. "in fact, i didn't try." "oh, well, it's not important," jim replied. "perhaps my books roused his curiosity. they were not the books he'd imagine a telegraph linesman would read. but did he tell you much about himself?" "he did not. an englishman like that doesn't talk about himself." jim agreed carelessly, but was thoughtful afterwards, and when martin went off with jake, stopped by the fire and mused. after a time he looked up and saw carrie sitting in the shadow. now and then the flickering light touched her face and he thought she studied him. "i suppose you're thinking about that englishman?" she said. "yes. it's rather strange he asked martin about me." "perhaps he knows your relations." "it looks like that," jim agreed. "and he was with the girl you met at the restaurant! i expect she was a relation of his. aren't you curious?" jim imagined carrie was curious, but one could be frank with her, and he wanted to formulate his thoughts. "in a way, i am curious," he admitted. "i would like to see the girl again. still, i think it's really as a type she interests me." carrie smiled. "it isn't as a type a girl gets interesting, jim." "it would be ridiculous to think about her in any other way. i've had nothing to do with girls like that; she's the first i've met." "oh, well," said carrie. "don't you want to learn something about your english relations?" "no," said jim, in a thoughtful voice. "in a sense, i'm half afraid." "afraid?" said carrie. he was silent for a few moments and then resumed: "on the whole, i've been happy. i feel i've got my proper job and am satisfied. for all that, when those englishmen talked to me at the shack i had a strange notion that i knew things they knew and belonged to a world i hadn't lived in yet. sometimes at mcgill i got a kind of restlessness that made me want to see the old country. i fought against it." "why did you fight?" "for one thing, it's obvious i belong where i am; i can make good in this country, i know my job. something pulls another way, but i don't want to go." "ah," said carrie, "i think i understand. still, there's the adventure, jim. and if you didn't like it in england, you could come back." "there's a risk. i expect it's hard to get back when you leave your proper place. then i have much i value; you and jake and the boys who work for me. i stand on firm ground here; ground i know and like. in the old country it might be different----" "do you mean you might be different?" "you are clever, carrie. i think i do mean something like that. i feel now and then as if there was another jim dearham who, so to speak, hadn't developed yet. in a way, i'm afraid of him." carrie looked thoughtful, but her eyes were soft. "jake and i are satisfied with the jim we know. still, perhaps, you ought to give the other his chance." she paused, and her voice had a curious note when she resumed: "if i were a man, i'd let nothing stop my development." "you have grit," jim said, smiling. "grit that would carry you anywhere and makes you something of an aristocrat. so long as you're not afraid you must be fine. well, i suppose i made good when i was up against rotten ice and sliding snow, but when i think about what i have and what i'd risk, my pluck goes." "sometimes you're rather nice, jim, and you're a better philosopher than i thought," carrie remarked. she got up and, stopping a moment, gave him a half-mocking glance. "but i wonder what you'd get like if you went to the old country and met that english girl!" she went off and jim sat by the fire with his brows knit. perhaps he had talked too much and bored carrie, but he suspected that she had led him on. by and by he roused himself and went to chop some wood. martin did not start in the morning, as his hosts had expected. he said his packers needed a rest and loafed about the camp, sometimes talking to carrie and sometimes watching jake and jim at work. next morning, however, he said he must go, and while they were at breakfast turned to jim. "in the bush, one often runs up against obstacles one did not expect. if you find you can't put your contract over, i'd like you to send me word." "i don't see why we should bother you," jim replied with some surprise. martin smiled. "for one thing, you had a notion the cartner people and i were playing a crooked game. then you're making a good job, and i wouldn't like to see you beat." "we imagined you wouldn't like our butting in on jobs you thought were yours," jake observed. "that is so," said martin. "if i help, i'll make a proposition, to which i guess you'll be able to agree. in the meantime, we can let it go. looks as if you'd make good anyhow." he began to talk about something else and when he set off jake and jim went with him down the line. after a time, he stopped them. "i must hit the trail and not keep you from your job," he said. "i reckon you'll put it over, but if you want some backing, remember my offer stands." he paused and gave jake a steady glance. "i like the way you have treated me; your sister is a queen." then he went on with his packers and jake and jim returned quietly to camp. chapter xii fire the light had got dim, and carrie put down her sewing and looked about. a belt of yellow sky glimmered above the distant snow, but the valley was dark and the pines rolled in blurred masses up the hill. thin mist crept out of the deep hollow and carrie shivered when a cold wind shook the trees. she was beginning to know the wilds, and now and then their austerity daunted her. by and by a red twinkle in the distance drew her glance and she turned to jim. "what is that?" jim looked and frowned. "ah," he said, "i'd begun to think our luck was too good!" "but what is the light?" "a bush fire." jake indicated the drift of the smoke from their cooking fire. as a rule, the valleys of british columbia that open to the west form channels for the chinook wind from the pacific, but now and then a dry, cold current flows down them to the coast. "it won't bother us unless the wind changes," he remarked. "in this country, however, the wind generally does change when you'd sooner it did not, and it's not safe to trust your luck much. looks as if nature had put up her shingle on the mountains, warning the white man off." "but white men do live in the mountains," carrie objected. "men who are strong enough. they must fight for a footing and then use the best tools other men can make to hold the ground they've won. we're scouts, carrying axes, saws, and giant-powder, but the main body must coöperate to defend its settlements with civilization's heavy machines. it's sure a hard country, and sometimes it gets me scared!" carrie laughed. "you're romantic when you talk about the north. could the fire bother us?" "that depends. it couldn't burn the line, though it might burn the posts. if it spread and rolled up the valley, it might put us off the ground and stop the job." "while we waited the boys would have to be fed and wages would run on," carrie said in a thoughtful voice. "how do the fires start?" "nobody knows. i allow it looks ridiculous, but my notion is some fires start themselves; you'll find them burning in belts of woods the indians and prospectors leave alone. some are probably started by cooking fires. the man who knows the bush is careful; the tenderfoot is not." "then you don't think somebody may have had an object for lighting this fire?" "on the whole, i reckon not. the chances against its bothering us are too steep. for all that, i'd like it better if the blaze went out." carrie said nothing, and for a time they watched the light. sometimes it leaped up and sometimes it faded, but it got larger, and when they went to bed a red reflection played about the sky. in the morning there was no wind and a heavy trail of smoke stretched across the hills. in places, a bright flicker pierced the dark trail, and carrie noted a smell of burning when she filled the kettle. then she saw jim watching the smoke. "it's nearer and bigger, isn't it?" she asked. "yes," said jim, quietly. "it's bigger than i like. we'll go along and look at it after breakfast." they ate quickly and when the meal was over jim and carrie set off while jake went to work. it was not easy to push through the tangled bush, and now and then jim was forced to clear a path with his ax. after a time he stopped behind a trunk and touched carrie, who saw an animal leap out from the gloom. it cleared a big fallen branch with a flying bound, vanished almost silently in a brake of tall fern, and shooting out with forelegs bent sprang across a thicket. carrie thought it hardly touched the ground. it was wonderfully swift and graceful, and although the forest was choked with undergrowth and rotting logs all was very quiet when the animal vanished. "oh," she said, "i'm glad you stopped me! i haven't seen a wild deer before." "they are hard to see," jim replied. "if they're standing, they melt into their background at a very short distance. however, i didn't like the way that deer was going. it passed pretty close, without seeing we were about." noting that the scramble had tired her, he began to rub his ax with a sharpening stone, and carrie mused while she got her breath. by and by she looked up and saw his twinkling glance. "yes," she said, "i was thinking rather hard; i thought it was good for me to come north. all was always just the same at the store; the dull street, the mean frame houses, and the stale smell of groceries. there was nothing different; you knew you would do to-morrow what you did to-day, and you had made no progress when the reckoning came. if there was money enough to pay the bills, you were satisfied, and sometimes there was not. but i really mean you felt you had made no progress of any kind; you were slipping back." "slipping back? i'm not sure i get that----" "sometimes it's hard to put you wise, but perhaps slipping back wasn't altogether right. i meant things were moving on and leaving me behind. the time i could be happy was going and soon i'd be old and sour. i didn't want to feel i'd done nothing and had never tasted life. well, my chance came and i pulled out." "i'm afraid you haven't had your good time yet," jim remarked. carrie's eyes sparkled. "one always wants something better, jim, but i've begun to live. i've seen the woods and the wild back country; i'm helping at a big job." "your help is worth much, and if we put the job over, you can have the things a girl is supposed to like; for example, pretty clothes, opera tickets, a holiday at a fashionable summer hotel. they're things you ought to have." "i do like pretty clothes and think i'd like to meet smart people. the trouble is, they would know i didn't belong where they belonged and might leave me out. do you think that would happen, jim?" "certainly not," jim declared. "girls of your type don't get left out. i dare say pretty girls are numerous, but you have a calm and a confidence that make their mark." carrie smiled, but there was some color in her face. "i suppose you mean to be nice. yet you have seen me serving at the store and cooking for the boys!" "i've seen you nursing me when i was ill and hope i'm going to see you wear the smartest clothes money can buy. but there's much to be done first and i'm bothered about the fire." they pushed on while the smell of burning got stronger, and presently came to a rocky hill. its top cut off their view, but a dingy cloud rolled up behind it and as they climbed the air got hot. when they reached the summit carrie gasped and her eyes opened wide. the spur commanded the valley and the fire that had run through the woods below. in the foreground a wall of tossing flame threw out clouds of sparks, and leaping up here and there, ran in yellow trails to the top of the tall firs. it advanced slowly, with an angry roar, licking up the dry brush and branches before the big trunks caught. in front they were hung with streamers of flame, farther off they glowed red, and in the distance smoldering rampikes towered above a wide belt of ash. now and then one leaned and fell, and showers of sparks shot up as if the log had exploded. the shock of the fall hardly pierced the confused uproar, and carrie, shielding her scorched face with her hand, was appalled by the din. green wood split with detonating cracks, the snapping of branches was like musketry, and the flames roared in a deep undertone. her dress fluttered, for eddying draughts swept the rocks. she was dazzled but fascinated, unconscious of heat and fear, for she had not seen or imagined a spectacle like this. "it's tremendous!" she said in an awed voice. "pretty fierce," jim agreed. "a bush-fire's a big thing, but it doesn't grip you like the break up of the ice. when the river bursts the jam, the floes grind the rocks smooth and rub out the pines. you can hear the wreck drive down the channel a day's journey off." "i thought it a silent country. it's often so quiet it makes one half-afraid." jim nodded. "something forbidding in its quietness that's like a threat? well, it wakes up and gets busy in a dramatic way now and then. if you want to live in the mountains, you've got to be watchful." a wave of smoke rolled about them and sparks drove past like hail. a fiery shower fell on carrie's thin dress and jim, seizing her, beat them out. this was needful and he began without embarrassment but presently thrilled, and carrie's scorched face got red as he ran his smarting hands across the thin material. "keep still!" he said, roughly. "it's light stuff and will soon catch fire." then, picking off a glowing cinder, he took her arm and they started down hill. when they came out of the smoke he was breathless and carrie gasped. "oh, jim, you have burned your hands!" she said. "not much. they're hard and i have often hurt them worse. it's your dress that bothers me. look at the charred spots." "but you're not to blame for that." "i am to blame. i oughtn't to have let you stay." "i wanted to stay." "that doesn't matter," jim declared. "my business was to take care of you. in fact, it's my business all the time." "something of a responsibility, jim!" carrie remarked. "however, i think we'll go on." they stopped again before they reached the camp, for pushing through tangled bush is hard work, and carrie sat down on a fallen trunk. "isn't the fire moving up the valley?" she asked. "it is," jim said, frowning. "fires sometimes do move against a light wind. however, we won't talk about this yet." he paused and touched her dress. "here's another big hole. you can't mend the thing." "i'm afraid not," carrie agreed. "and the blue one has a nasty tear, besides the stain where jake spilt the coffee. i must make a trip to the settlement when the fire burns out." "you mustn't go," said carrie, firmly. "you can't leave your job. it's much more important than my clothes." "for all that, i am going, as soon as i can. when we were talking not long since i began to think. we have taken your help for granted, without reckoning what it cost; but it has hurt me to see you occupied with the cooking-pots." carrie gave him a level, smiling glance. "it's for jake and you and the boys. in a way, you're all mine, and i'm rather proud of my family." "we are yours," jim declared. "in fact, we were lucky when you, so to speak, took us under your wing. you have a kind of protective instinct that makes you look after folks and makes them trust you; but you oughtn't to be cooking for a crowd of hungry men. i've seen your face scorched, and sometimes you burn your hands. then your being forced to wear those faded and mended dresses makes me angry." she laughed, but the careless note in her voice was rather forced. "don't be foolish, jim! if i had lots of smart clothes, i couldn't wear them while i work about the fire." "that is so," he said, frowning. "you oughtn't to work about the fire." "oh, well, it's too late to bother now. for one thing, i have educated the boys; they wouldn't eat the hash you or jake could cook. but i expect you want to get to work and we had better make the camp." when they reached the camp jim got to work. he was anxious, but admitted that the fire might die out on a stony belt where the bush was thin, and perhaps he need not fear much trouble unless a chinook wind drove the flames up the valley. moreover, since there was a risk of his being stopped, it was prudent to push on. for two days he strained his muscles and urged the men; and then, one evening, sat in his usual place, listening rather moodily while jake and carrie talked. the evening was calm and the smoke had not advanced, although it now covered much of the sky. the men had not gone to fish and lounged about the shack. they were tired and quiet, for jim had driven them hard all day. he let his pipe go out and pondered. perhaps his disturbance was not logical, but his habit was to concentrate on the work he undertook and it would hurt to own himself beaten and let the contract go. he had not been badly beaten yet, and he had a vein of rather grim tenacity. after a time, carrie's laugh banished his moody reflections and he looked up. the firelight touched her, and although her eyes sparkled her pose was slack. now he studied her carefully; her face was getting thin. she was obviously playing up to jake, and he imagined their banter was meant to cheer him. carrie's clothes were shabbier than he had thought, but they did not spoil her unconscious grace. it was unconscious grace, because carrie did not pose. she looked at home and somehow made the camp look homelike. she was unembarrassed in the woods, as she was at the store. jim wondered whether, if they carried out the contract and earned the pay, she would hold her own in different surroundings; among fashionable women at summer hotels, for example. somehow he thought she would. then a curious feeling of tenderness moved him. carrie looked tired and he owed her much. "i wish you would put down that sewing," he said. "you are hurting your eyes." "very well," carrie agreed. "i wasn't getting on fast, and when you are bothered you have to be indulged. looks as if you were bothered, jim." "i suppose i've got the habit," he replied. "anyhow, i don't like your sewing when you have hustled round all day." carrie laughed. "you and jake are rough on clothes and somebody's got to mend." "no," said jim. "in this country, mending's not economical. it's cheaper to throw away the things and buy another lot." "where are you going to buy new clothes, jim?" "that is something of a difficulty. i was talking about the principle. you're too practical." "oh, well," said carrie, "i suppose i'm not romantic. unless you're romantic in the right way, you're ridiculous. i expect it's easier to be useful." "jim will agree," jake remarked. "he judges people by their talent for doing things, but you can't fix a standard for everybody. he reckons i do too little; i allow he does too much." he stopped and looked about. there was something oppressive in the heavy calm. the smoke went straight up and the pine twigs did not move. for a minute or two he waited with a feeling of tension and the others were silent. then the pine tops shook and were still again. jim got up abruptly. "that draught's not from the east!" jake struck a match. the flame burned upright, and then flickered and slanted. "no," he said, "it's blowing up the valley." the flame went out, the pine-tops shook and did not stop. the air got hot and a smell of burning stole into the camp. "i reckon it's a _chinook_," jake remarked. jim nodded and his face got stern. "i have expected it all day. the fire will roll up the valley and i don't know where it will stop. we must break camp to-morrow and pitch farther along." he turned to carrie. "can you be ready to start for the settlement in the morning?" "no, but this doesn't matter, because i'm not going." "you must. the bush will burn like a furnace." "do you and jake mean to quit?" "you ought to see we can't quit." carrie smiled. "i do see it, but if you have good grounds for stopping, so have i. your grounds, in fact." "shucks! you're ridiculous. in a way, of course, i don't want you to go." "thank you! was it hard to own that, jim? however, you won't have to make the effort to send me off, because i mean to stay." jim turned to jake. "this job is yours; i don't see why you put it on to me. she's your sister and you ought to have some control." "my control doesn't count for much," jake admitted with a grin. "besides, i allow you are the head of the firm." "if i'm head, some responsibility goes with the post----" "i suppose i am rather a responsibility," carrie interposed. "after all, you are not very old and don't know much about managing an obstinate girl." "i don't want to manage you," jim rejoined. "my notion is, you have quietly managed us." "ah," said carrie, "it looks as if you're really cleverer than i thought!" jim tried to hide his annoyance. "i wish i was clever, or somebody else had my job. anyhow, you can't stop. in a day or two the line will be smothered in smoke, and we may be forced back among the rocks where we can't take your tent. i don't see how we're going to get provisions through." "after all," said carrie, "i don't think i'd catch fire sooner than you and jake, and i certainly don't eat as much. then i can save where you would waste." she paused and gave jim a half-mocking smile. "i imagine you mean well, but i've resolved to stay." jim made a resigned gesture. "then i expect there's no more to be said! well, i'm tired and we must get busy again at sun-up." he rose, stretched his arms, and went off. chapter xiii jim's luck turns when the others went off carrie did not move. the smoke was getting thick, the air was hot, and now all was quiet she heard the roar of the fire. she pictured it creeping through the bush: the flames leaping from branch to branch, the red glow among the trunks that cracked and tottered, and the crash when one fell. now and then she thought she heard the shock, but it was scarcely distinguishable through the dull roar. the noise was strangely daunting. carrie meant to stay. she must hide her fears and smile. this was not a new line; life was not easy for a girl who must work for all she got, and she had known care. now and then unsatisfied creditors had threatened to close the store, but when tears were near her eyes she had forced a laugh. there was much she could do in camp; she could see the men were fed and try to cheer them when they came back gloomy and tired. sometimes a joke was strangely encouraging. by and by she got up and went to her tent. in the morning they broke camp and moved up the valley, but although the fire was advancing jim did not go far. they might soon be driven back among the rocks, where there were no trees to burn, and he meant to work as long as possible. besides, transport was difficult and he must have an open trail behind him. jim was getting anxious about this, because if the fire followed them up, provisions must be brought across the burning belt. it was characteristic that he took command. although jake had banteringly called him the boss, they had no agreement about the matter. when things were normal each did what he thought needful and they seldom jarred. now, however, jim half consciously assumed firm control, with his comrade's support. he made all plans, and the men seeing he had a leader's talent obeyed cheerfully. for some days their resolution was hardly tried. the fire rolled up the valley and for the most part they worked in thick smoke. at times the heat was intolerable, and when the wind freshened showers of ash and sparks fell about them. although the fire did not advance fast, their progress was slow. heavy stones must be rolled away, treacherous gravel must be walled up and the line roughly graded. ashes stuck to the men's wet skin and they were often scorched by the hot wind. then, at the close of each exhausting day, the camp must be moved to the end of the cleared track. there was not much grumbling. the men were hard and stubborn, but jim doubted if they could bear the strain long. he himself was worn out, he could not relax at night and did not sleep. jake's scorched face was getting pinched. carrie alone was cheerful and tried to ease the crushing strain when they rested for an hour after the evening meal. the meal was always ready and jim noted that the bill of fare was better than before. yet, sometimes when carrie did not know he was studying her, he thought her figure drooped and her eyes were dull. he said nothing, but he was moved by pity and gratitude. at length, one day when the wind was fresh and the fire had got ominously close, he made a hard decision. since he could not keep in front, he would follow the blaze, which would lick up the brush and do some part of his work. the trouble was, he must wait until the conflagration passed and the burned ruin cooled, while wages mounted up and food got short. he said nothing to the others, but when evening came and the tired men struck the tent he indicated a bare rocky slope. "we'll make the big stones yonder, boys. keep this side of the juniper scrub." the men's grim faces relaxed and one laughed. they saw the struggle was over for a time and the boss had made another plan. all had had enough and badly needed rest. carrie, however, looked at jim thoughtfully. "i know you're not giving up, but i don't understand." jim smiled. "i may have to give up, but not yet. in the morning the fire will reach the line. we are going to lie off and let it pass." "ah," said carrie, with a hint of relief. "can we wait?" "it will cost us something and we can't wait long, but perhaps this won't be needful. now give me that bundle. the ground is rough." "i won't," said carrie, moving back as he tried to take the bundle she had made of some clothes. "you have an ax and a big bag of flour. would it hurt very much to own that you sometimes get tired?" jim laughed but did not answer, and they went up the hill. they pitched camp among the rocks and in the morning jim climbed the range behind the spot. he did not come back until dusk, but saw no way of bringing the supplies he would soon need across the rugged hills. one could not get up the valley, for looking down from the heights, he could see behind the fire and the ground was strewn with fallen trees. some would burn for long and the ashes and hot stones would not cool soon, while the rampikes that stood above the ruin would come down when a strong gust shook them. a _brulée_ is dangerous when the wind blows, and sometimes in a calm. for the next few days the fire raged below the camp, and when jim ventured down hill he was driven back by heat and smoke. the fire was rolling up the valley, but the wreckage it had left smoldered and now and then broke into flame. half-burned underbrush suddenly blazed and blackened logs glowed in the wind. there was nothing to be done but use patience, and in the meantime the wages bill was mounting up and food was getting short. then, one day, the wind dropped. the distant peaks got hazy, the shining glaciers faded, and the outline of the rocks was blurred. although the sun was dim, it was very hot, and jim felt morose and gloomy as he loafed about the camp. there was no use in going down to the line, and he durst not hope for rain. after a few hours the wind might freshen and the sky clear. he had nothing to do and the reaction from the strain he had borne had begun. "we miss the trout," carrie remarked, as she cooked supper. "jake tried to get down to the river but couldn't make it." "i'm afraid we'll soon miss the flour and salt pork. when they're gone the boys will pull out," said jim, and then forced a laugh. "anyhow, if jake had got down, i doubt if he'd have caught much fish. i don't know a good bait for boiled trout." "the flour's not gone yet," carrie rejoined. "we'll hold on while it lasts and it's going farther than you think. somehow i don't feel as if we'd be beaten." "we have come near it," said jim, with rather grim humor. "one gets used to that, and resolution counts when you're fighting a snowslide or a flood; but we're up against another proposition now. it's so to speak, mathematical; nothing coming in and much going out! when we have no stores and money left we _must_ quit." "i suppose we must, but i'd hate to see you let the job go and would feel mean myself. after all, something may happen before we are forced to quit," carrie replied, and added with calm confidence: "something is going to happen." "you have an optimism that can't be cured," jim rejoined. "however, i don't know if i'd like it cured." he knocked out his pipe and began to cut some tobacco, but stopped abruptly and looked up. "what's that?" he asked as something pattered on the stiff foliage of a juniper. "big drops," said carrie. "i felt a few before." jim got up. the light was going and it felt cool, but the sky up the valley was not clouded much; he could not see the other way. then a few large cold drops fell on his upturned face and next moment there was a quick splashing on the dusty juniper. he drew a deep breath and shook off his languidness. "it's coming; heavy rain!" he cried. "we'll make good, after all. but let's move the stores." carrie laughed happily. "you said i was too practical! who's practical now? but sometimes you get things mixed; you reckoned not long since i was an optimist." "i did," jim admitted. "practical planning and optimism make a strong combine, and i imagine they are going to carry us through. but let's move the stores." he called the men, and as they got all that would spoil covered there was a rush of cold wind and the rain beat upon the camp. it rains hard in british columbia and often rains long. they knew that by morning the rocks would run water and the deluge would quench the smoldering wreckage; it might even quench the fire. after a day or two jim moved his camp to the line, and one afternoon when he was working in the rain stopped and straightened his aching back. fine ash that had turned to mud smeared his wet slickers; his face was thin and gloomy. his money was nearly gone, and although the fire had burned out he did not see how he could finish his contract. the tangled brush had vanished and wet ashes covered the ground. half-burned logs lay about, and here and there small trees, leaning at sharp angles with blackened branches locked, held each other up. in places, big charred rampikes stood in rows like colonnades. the nearer rows looked black; farther off they shone in the rain with a curious silver gleam. the fire had helped to clear the ground, but wet men were at work with axes and saws. by and by jim looked round. somebody had shouted and it was not one of his gang. the shout came from some distance off and while he tried to locate the spot a rampike slanted over and broke off. the burned trunk struck the ground with an echoing crash and a cloud of ash rolled up like smoke. there was now a gap in the row and as the ashes blew away jim saw pack-horses in the opening. "who is it?" he asked jake. "a government outfit, i expect. prospectors don't load up with tents and stores like that." "if they're government men, it means somebody from the telegraph department is coming to look at our job." "yes," said jake. "i reckon we'll soon know our luck." he waited for a few moments and added: "it's the boss surveyor." the surveyor presently joined them and remarked: "as i have business at the new settlement, i thought i'd see how you were getting on." "we might have got on faster, but we have had trouble all the time," said jim. "looks like that. i examined the work you've done as i came along and on the whole allow it's a pretty good job. however, we'll talk about that later; the boys are tired and i'm glad to make your camp." the pack-horses were unloaded and when the tents were pitched the surveyor's cook helped carrie to prepare an unusually good meal. when it was over the party sat outside the surveyor's tent, which had a double top stretched on poles beyond its front. the surveyor studied their faces with understanding, for he knew the wilds and noted signs of strain. he thought all had a fine-drawn look. "it's obvious that you have been up against it," he remarked. "the big landslide must have made you trouble and no doubt the fire cost you something. running a camp is expensive when transport's high." "that is so," carrie agreed feelingly. "it's curious, but i think the boys eat most when they have nothing to do." the surveyor gave her a sympathetic smile. "i imagine you don't stint them, if this supper is a good example." he turned to jim. "you're behind schedule, but if you have no more bad luck, i reckon you ought to finish on time." jim said nothing. he doubted if he could finish the job at all, and wondered whether the other suspected his embarrassment. he meant to ask for some payment, but it might be risky to admit that money was urgently needed. jake gave him a warning glance, although he was silent, and the surveyor looked about and noted much. jim's long boots were broken and his slickers were torn, winter's carelessness was obviously forced, but the surveyor's study of carrie gave him the plainest hint. although she was neat, he thought an attractive girl would not, without good grounds, wear clothes that had shrunk and faded and been mended as often as hers. "well," he resumed, "i expect you know payment in part is sometimes allowed before a job is finished, but when we made our agreement nothing was stated about this." "the custom has drawbacks for the people who let the contract," jake remarked. "very true," agreed the surveyor. "then you don't mean to bother us for money?" "it would, of course, be useful," jake admitted in a thoughtful voice. "however, if the office doesn't see its way----" "you would be satisfied to wait?" jim frowned. jake's pretended indifference was prudent, but he had overdone the thing. while jim wondered how he could put the matter right carrie interposed. "my brother is generally hopeful. in a way, that's good, but sometimes he's rash." the surveyor's eyes twinkled. "do you mean he's rash just now?" "yes," said carrie, "i really think i do mean this." "i didn't know if it was rashness or common bluff." jake grinned rather awkwardly and jim colored, but carrie fixed her eyes on the surveyor. "it was all bluff from the beginning. we hadn't the money we needed when we took the contract, and since then we have never had proper tools and help enough." "in fact, you had nothing much but obstinacy and grit? they sometimes go far in the bush; but i don't know if they'll go far enough to carry you through. perhaps you had better be frank." "i generally am frank. bluffing's dangerous, and my brother didn't know when to stop. anyhow, unless we get some money soon, i'm afraid we'll go broke." "perhaps it's strange, but i rather suspected this," the surveyor rejoined. "well, i'd like you to put the contract over. you have done good work up-to-date and i'll risk giving you an order on the pay office. if you'll wait while i get a form, i'll do it now." he went into the tent and carrie smiled at the others. jim was conscious of keen relief and a touch of annoyance. although carrie had saved the situation, he had let her undertake an awkward task that was properly his. then the surveyor came back and gave her a document. "i imagine you are sometimes rash," he remarked. "didn't you see the line you took was risky?" "no," said carrie, smiling; "i wasn't rash at all. i know when i can trust people and didn't think you would let us down. all the same, i knew you wouldn't give us a pay order unless you saw we'd make good. well, we are going to make good, and now that's done with, we'll talk about something else." the surveyor laughed and began to talk about his journey, but jim noted that he gave carrie an approving glance. next morning he went on and the others resumed their work with quiet confidence. the financial strain had slackened and they were not afraid of the physical difficulties that must yet be grappled with. rocks and trees could be moved so long as the men were paid and fed. still the fight was not over and their courage was tried when they carried the line along the moraine by a shrunken glacier and across a broken range. at length, one evening, jim took carrie up a hill and when they reached the top indicated a river that sparkled among the trees below. "follow it down and look across the big pines on the flat," he said. carrie looked and saw a thin, blue haze floating about the trees. "oh!" she cried, "it's smoke." "the high smear against the rocks is from a mine stack, and i think i see the steam from a sawmill by the river," jim said quietly. "the line will soon be finished, and you have helped us out." the color came into carrie's face and her eyes shone. "perhaps i have helped some; if i have, i'm glad. now i'm proud of my family. you have put it over." "we came near being beaten," jim replied with some emotion. "i think, if you had not been with us, we would have been beaten." carrie gave him a level glance. "it's done with, jim. i wanted you and jake to make good, for your sake and mine. you see, if you couldn't have stood for it, i'd have lost confidence in myself." "i'm not sure i do see," jim replied, as they started down hill. "it's good to concentrate, but perhaps you concentrate too much," carrie resumed by and by. "you see things right in front; you don't look about." "i suppose i am like that," jim admitted. "i don't know if it's good or not." carrie smiled rather curiously. "we didn't choose our characters; they were given us. i wonder what would have happened had we been different----" she stopped as they climbed across a fallen tree and said nothing more until they reached the camp. chapter xiv the reckoning when the line reached the settlement jim and his party returned to vancouver. shortly after their arrival martin came to see them. "i've been in town some time, and seeing a notice in the _colonist_ that you had finished the job, thought i'd like to tell you i was glad," he said. carrie thanked him and by and by he asked: "have you had a fresh offer from baumstein for your copper claim?" jim said they had not and martin smiled. "i reckon the offer will arrive, and now he knows you have got your pay he'll put up his price." "if it does arrive, we won't reply," said carrie, firmly. "i don't know if that's a good plan," martin remarked. "baumstein will offer about half as much as he's willing to give, but i'd take hold and negotiate until i thought he'd reached his limit. it will be under what the claim is worth. then i'd go along and try the combine." "would they buy?" jim asked. "go and see. although baumstein's pretty smart, he doesn't know they're quietly investing in northern copper; i do. there's another thing; if you have got specimens, send some for assay to a different man." jim pondered. the analysis of the ore was not as good as he had expected and the miner who had examined the specimens at his camp agreed. for all that, assayers were generally honest and skillful. "what's the matter with the man i went to?" he asked. "he's sometimes soused and you can't trust a tanker. then he's extravagant." "ah," said jim. "is that all?" martin gave him a dry smile. "i happen to know baumstein lent him money. it's possible he meant to get value for a risky loan." the others said nothing, but they saw the significance of the hint and jim's face got stern. "there's something else," martin resumed. "davies has left me and gone back to baumstein." "gone back?" jake exclaimed. "sure," said martin, quietly. "i didn't know he'd worked for the fellow when i hired him. now i've a notion he's been baumstein's man, not mine, all the time." jim clenched his fist and carrie's eyes sparkled. "we're up against a poisonous crook," she said, and looked at jim. "you see why he made us trouble? he wanted to break us, so we'd sell him the bluebird cheap." "it's pretty plain. all the same, i don't see what i ought to do about it. martin's plan doesn't quite meet the bill: i'd sooner try something a little more vigorous." carrie shook her head. "you mustn't be a fool! the best way to play that kind of man is to use him. when he finds out it will hurt most." jim hesitated. he remembered the blow they had got at the beginning of the struggle and all that carrie had borne. baumstein's plot had drained their resources and made her suffer. "martin's plan is best; you must agree," she urged. "very well," said jim. "jake can see the fellow and begin the negotiations; i'll come in afterwards. jake's something of a philosopher, but i'd probably spoil the plot if i met baumstein before i cool." martin gave them some useful advice and then went away, and a few days afterwards baumstein sent a message. jake played his part well; indulging the other's pretended indifference and arguing for better terms. sometimes he seemed on the point of yielding, and then on his next visit found grounds for delay. at length, when baumstein was getting impatient, jake took jim to the office. baumstein occupied a revolving chair in front of a fine hard wood desk, and gave the others a sharp glance as they came in. the office was very well furnished and baumstein wore fashionable clothes. there was a fine diamond in his ring. this annoyed jim, who knew that while hard-bitten prospectors braved the risks of starvation on the snowy trail, greedy company-floaters often got the reward. "i hope you have come to clinch the deal," baumstein remarked. "i've met your partner as far as i can, but the bargaining has gone on long enough." "then you can't raise your price?" jim asked. baumstein studied him. winter had been compliant and apparently anxious to sell, but there was something puzzling about his partner. baumstein got a hint of sternness that he did not like. for all that, bluff paid when one dealt with poor men. "no," he replied, dryly. "your partner has raised me to my limit and i've got to stop. you can agree right now or quit." "oh, well," said jim. "if you have gone as far as you are able----. may i use your telephone?" "certainly," said baumstein, and when jim, picking up the instrument on the desk, called the exchange, suddenly straightened himself. he knew the number for which jim asked. "winter and dearham," said the latter. "mr. lamson? all right; i'll come along and fix things. we'll record the transfer when you like." baumstein swung round his chair and his face got red. "what's that you told lamson? what does it mean?" "it means i've sold the bluebird claim." "then, you have been negotiating with the combine all the time? why in thunder did you come to me?" "for one thing, we wanted to find out how much you would bid. it would be safe to ask another party more than you would give. we didn't know how much we ought to get." baumstein clenched his fist. "you used me for a base to bluff from; reckoning you'd fall back on me if you couldn't put it over?" "no," said jim. "we didn't mean to deal with you at all. you helped us get a proper price; that was your job." they looked at one another, with mouths set hard, and then baumstein broke out: "you swine!" "stop there," said jim, with ominous quietness. "i'm back from using the ax in the bush and feel very fit. to put you out of your office would give me the keenest satisfaction and would be cheaper than getting after you through the court." "shucks!" exclaimed baumstein. "what are you giving me?" "i reckon you know. you put davies on our track; he broke the line, and sent a log down on our canoes. he's smart and both plots worked before we found him out. but we did find him out." baumstein hesitated, wondering how much was supposition and how much jim really knew. "you'll be blamed foolish if you go to law with a tale like that." "we don't propose to bother, because i think we're even. you helped us sell our claim and the combine know what you were willing to pay. we raised them some; one could take it for granted you wouldn't reach just value." "you told them what i offered?" baumstein shouted. "we did," jim said, smiling. "i expect they got a useful hint. in fact, if you want to control northern copper, you had better get busy. it looks as if the combine were on your track." he paused and beckoned jake. "well, perhaps there's enough said. we mustn't keep you." they went off and left baumstein sitting very still with his fist clenched. a few days afterwards, jim and jake waited for carrie one evening on the veranda at the store. mrs. winter had refused to sell the business, but jake had engaged extra help and they had arranged for a long holiday. the store, standing back from the rough board sidewalk, was small and shabby; the street was torn by transfer-wagon wheels. a chinese laundry and a pool-room occupied the other side. sawmill refuse and empty coal-oil cans had been dumped in a neighboring vacant lot. mean frame houses ran on from the store, some surrounded by a narrow yard, and some with verandas covered by mosquito gauze so that they looked like meat-safes. the neighborhood was strangely unattractive, but one could see the sparkling inlet and the dark forest that rolled back to the shining snow. jim, sitting in an old rocking-chair, was quietly satisfied. after taking mrs. winter and carrie to lunch at a smart hotel, he had loafed about the city without feeling bored. it was nice to know he had nothing to do and had money to spend. in fact, he had relished a novel enjoyment when he visited some shops and bought presents for his hosts without thinking what they cost. now he languidly looked back on the years that had gone so quickly since his parents died. they were strenuous years, marked by hardship, toil, and adventure, for jim had not known monotonous quietness. even when he studied at mcgill, he had worked between the terms in order to pay the fees. afterwards, finding no field for such talent as he had, he had sold his labor where he could. he had seen much and learned much, but he was young and had a curious feeling that there were fresh experiences in store. by and by he banished the memories and looked at jake. "i smile when i think about the time i hit martin's camp, pretty hungry and ragged, and got after him about his sending davies on our track," he said. jake laughed. "after all, i guess you took a useful line. made him feel he'd got to show us he wasn't a crook." "why did he want to show us? what we thought wouldn't matter a hill of beans." "the fellow's white," jake replied. "martin is white," jim agreed, looking at jake rather hard. "we were getting pretty near the rocks when he gave us a lift." jake nodded. when their money was very low after the fire, martin had suggested an arrangement that had worked for the benefit of all. jake hoped his comrade would be satisfied with his vague assent, but doubted. "why did he help?" jim resumed. "the profit he got wasn't worth his bothering about." "if you mean to know, i reckon he thought carrie would like it." "ah," said jim, frowning, "i suspected something like this! well, we owe martin much, but i'd sooner not think we let him give us a lift for your sister's sake. you ought to have refused." "i didn't know. the thing's got obvious since." "but you know now?" "yes," said jake, "my notion is, carrie could marry him when she liked." "do you think she sees it?" jake smiled. "carrie's not a fool. if you and i see it, the thing is pretty plain. all the same, i imagine she is quietly freezing him off." jim was conscious of a rather puzzling satisfaction. "martin's a good sort and he's rich; but there's no reason carrie should take the first good man who comes along," he said. "she ought to get the very best. however, it's not my business and i don't know if it's yours." "it's carrie's," said jake, rather dryly. "she's generally able to manage her affairs. in fact, i allow she was successful when she managed ours----" he stopped, for the door opened and carrie came out. she held a newspaper and looked excited. "you had better read this advertisement, jim," she said. jim saw the newspaper was printed at montreal two years before. he glanced at the place carrie indicated, started, and then looked straight in front. "how did you get the thing?" he asked after a moment or two. "mother bought some old paper for packing. she took this piece just now to light the stove and saw the notice. but are you the man they want?" "yes," said jim, quietly. "franklin dearham was my father." jake picked up the newspaper and they were silent for a few moments. then carrie asked: "what are you going to do about it?" "to begin with, i'll write to the lawyers at montreal," said jim, who knitted his brows. "after that i don't know. the advertisement is cautious, but it looks as if joseph dearham was dead. i don't think my father expected to inherit his property. it's puzzling." "was joseph dearham rich?" jake asked. "he had some land and money and the old house at langrigg. i've often thought about langrigg, but i'd sooner the lawyers had left me alone." "why?" "i've been happy in canada. i've friends i trust, i'm making good, and don't want to be disturbed." carrie gave him a quick glance, but he went on: "then we meant to take a holiday, and it looks as if i might be wanted in the old country." "if you go, they may keep you." "i feel i have got to go, although i don't like it," jim replied with a puzzled look. "something pulls and i resist. however, come along. we're going to the park." they set off and jim tried to talk. carrie helped him and for a time they laughed and joked, but the jokes got flat and all were rather quiet when they went home. they felt a disturbing change was coming; things would not be the same. next morning jim wrote to the lawyers, who asked him to meet a member of the firm at winnipeg. he grumbled and hesitated, but went and did not return for some time. on the evening after his arrival he and the others sat talking in a little room behind the store. the room was cheaply furnished. the rough black pipe from the basement stove went up the middle and a threadbare rug covered half the floor. mrs. winter, looking worn and faded, occupied a rocking-chair. she was better dressed than when jim first came to the house and he thought the rather expensive material had been chosen with taste. the quiet woman had a touch of dignity, although she wore the stamp of toil. carrie, sitting opposite, had been occupied in the store all day and had refused to change her working clothes. since jim's return was something of an event, mrs. winter was puzzled by her obstinacy. "i'm glad to be back," jim remarked. "winnipeg is a fine city, but i feel vancouver's home." mrs. winter smiled, but the look carrie gave jim was half ironical. "you are glad to get back here? after stopping at a big hotel!" "i am glad. the hotel was crowded and never quiet. they had noisy electric elevators that went up and down all night, and it wasn't much better when i dined at smart restaurants. thought i'd find this amusing, but i didn't. had to push for a place at the tables and the waiters were slow. i felt i wanted to hustle round with the plates." "sometimes you're rather clever, jim," carrie said, meaningly. "but i expect you liked the cooking." "it was tolerable, but no food i've got was half as good as the trout and bannocks we picked out of the hot spider in a valley of the north. then there's no drink as refreshing as the tea with the taste of wood smoke i drank from a blackened can." "it didn't often taste of smoke," carrie objected. "carrie can cook; she owes that to me," mrs. winter interposed. "she was ambitious when she was young and declared she had no use for studying things like that, but i was firm." "i wonder whether she's ambitious now," jim remarked. "i've got wise," said carrie. "i know where i belong." mrs. winter looked at them as if she were puzzled, and jim knitted his brows. "i don't know where i belong. that's the trouble, because it may hurt to find out. but how have you been getting on while i was away?" "trade's pretty good, thank you," carrie replied. "we have sold as much sweet truck as i could bake. the groceries have kept belle hustling." "shucks!" said jim, impatiently, and turned to jake. "you ought to make your mother sell out." "he tried," said mrs. winter. "i won't sell. jake has some money now, but he's not rich and may hit a streak of bad luck. my children must go out and fight for all they get, but i want them to know there's a little house in the home town where they can come back if they're hurt and tired. besides, i've kept store so long i've got the habit. anyhow, you have told us nothing about your business and we're curious." "jake and carrie don't look curious," jim remarked dryly. "well, i went to the lawyer's room, mornings, and answered his questions, read the night-letters the montreal office sent him, and waited for replies to their english cablegrams." "but what did he say about your claim?" "i don't know if it will interest your son and daughter, but i'll tell you. there are some formalities yet, but the fellow seems satisfied i'm joseph dearham's heir, and i'm going to england soon. whether i'll stay or not is another thing. well, we had arranged for a long holiday, and i don't mean to be cheated. i'm going to take you all to the old country." carrie colored, but jake smiled. "did you tell the lawyer about this plan?" "i did not," said jim, with a rather haughty look that carrie thought was new. "langrigg is mine. it's my pleasure to show it to my friends." mrs. winter looked disturbed. "you are kind, jim, but i'm an old woman and have never gone far from home. your relations mightn't like me." "i don't know yet if my relations will like me. anyhow, they have got to approve my guests. i wanted you to sell the store, because, if i'm satisfied with langrigg, you mayn't come back. there's no real difficulty about your coming. in fact, you have got to come." mrs. winter hesitated, as if she were thinking hard, and then her gentle face got resolute. "very well. i'd like carrie to see the old country." jim turned to the others with a triumphant smile. "it's fixed. your mother will need you, carrie, and i'll need my partner. we have put over some hard jobs and i imagine i'm up against another now. i want you, jake; you have got to see me out." "since i don't know your folks and their habits, it isn't plain how i could help," jake replied. "i don't know much. what about it? we made good prospecting when we had never used the rocker and thawn-out gravel. we graded the pack-trail across snowy range when we didn't know how to drill and start off giant-powder. well, we're going to make good at langrigg if i stay." "then i'll come, for a time," jake agreed and looked at carrie. "i wouldn't like to be left alone," she said and smiled. jim was satisfied. he had carried out his plan and it was significant that carrie was willing to go; if martin had attracted her; she would sooner have remained behind. in a way, he thought it strange that mrs. winter, from whom he had expected most opposition, was the first to agree, but this was not important. after a time they went to the stanley park, where jake and mrs. winter met somebody they knew. carrie sat down on a bench under a giant fir and jim lighted a cigarette. "you and jake rather puzzled me," he remarked. "you weren't curious; i'd a feeling that things were not the same." carrie gave him a steady look. "i'm afraid we were very mean--but there was a difference. you were one of us when you went away; you came back an english landowner." "ah," said jim, "i think i see! you wanted to give me a chance to drop you? did you think i would?" "no," said carrie, blushing. "but it was possible. cutting the line was different; it was a business proposition." she paused and added with a hint of regret: "it's finished now." "sometimes i think you're sorry." carrie said nothing and he went on: "was jake's throwing up his job and bringing me down from the shack a business proposition? your nursing me and our long talks by the camp fire? did you think i could forget these things? did you want me to forget?" she looked up, with some color in her face. "not in a way, jim, but we took the proper line. we felt you ought to have a chance to let us go." "and now i hope you're satisfied, since you have found out i'm not as shabby as you thought." "oh, well," said carrie, smiling, "i suppose we do feel some satisfaction." then jake and mrs. winter returned and they went to the canadian pacific station, where jim asked about the steamship sailings. part ii--the landowner chapter i jim comes home the car ran out from the tall hedgerows that bordered the narrow road and at length jim could look about. he had not been able to see much on his way from the station where mordaunt had met him, and now he had an unbroken view he studied the english landscape with keen curiosity. on one side, rugged mountains rose against the lowering sky, but a moving ray of sunshine touched the plain below. in front, the road ran across a marsh, between deep ditches where tall sedges grew. beyond the marsh, wet sands stretched back to the blurred woods across a bay, and farther off, low hills loomed indistinctly in the mist. jim noted that the landscape had not the monotony he had sometimes felt in canada. the fields behind the marsh looked ridiculously small, but some were smooth and green and some dotted by yellow stocks of corn. then there was a play of color that changed from cold blues and grays to silver and ochre as the light came and went. white farmsteads, standing among dark trees, were scattered about, but the country was not tame. the hills and wide belt of sands gave it a rugged touch. there had been some rain and the wind was cold. as the car jolted along the straight road between the ditches, jim began to muse. he had felt a stranger in london, where he had stopped a week. he knew the canadian cities, but london was different. yet since he left the station the feeling of strangeness had gone; it was as if he had reached a country that he knew. he wondered whether he unconsciously remembered his father's talk, or if the curious sense of familiarity was, so to speak, atavistic. this, however, was not important, and he glanced at carrie, who sat behind with mrs. winter and jake. carrie had frankly enjoyed her holiday; indeed, jim thought she had felt more at home than he when they were in town. somehow she did not look exotic among the englishwomen at the hotel, and when mordaunt met them at the station she had, with a kind of natural tact, struck the proper note. she knew mordaunt was a relation of jim's, but she met him without reserve or an obvious wish to please. if either were conscious of surprise or embarrassment, jim thought it was mordaunt. presently the latter indicated a low ridge that broke the level marsh. it rose against the background of misty hills, and a creek that caught the light and shone wound past it to the sands. in one place, a gray wall appeared among stunted trees. "langrigg," he said. "we'll arrive in a few minutes." he blew the horn, a boy ran to open a gate, and as they climbed the hill jim saw a stripped cornfield, a belt of dark-green turnips, a smooth pasture, and a hedge. then a lawn with bright flower-borders opened up, and on the other side a house rose from a terrace. its straight front was broken by a small square tower, pierced by an arch, and old trees spread their ragged branches across the low roof. the building was of a type not uncommon in the north of england and had grown up about the peel tower that had been a stronghold in the scottish wars. there were barns and byres in the background, and it was hard to tell if langrigg was a well-kept farm or a country house. the strange thing was, jim knew it well. he felt as if he had come to a spot he often visited; in fact, he had a puzzled feeling that he had come home. then he saw people on the terrace and the car stopped. he jumped out and after helping mrs. winter down got something of a shock, for as the group advanced he saw the girl he had met at the montreal restaurant. for a moment he forgot mrs. winter and fixed his eyes on the girl. she moved with the grace he remembered, and her white dress outlined her figure against the creeper on the wall. she was rather tall and finely, but slenderly, proportioned, and when she looked up he knew she was as beautiful as he had thought. then he roused himself and went forward with his friends. mordaunt presented him to mrs. halliday, who gave him her hand with a gracious smile. "i knew you when the car came up the drive. you look a dearham," she said. "since bernard is unwell, we thought we ought to come and welcome you." then she beckoned the others. "my daughter, evelyn, and my son, dick." the girl glanced at jim curiously, as if puzzled, but her brother laughed. "this is something of a romantic surprise!" he said. "perhaps it's curious, but i've thought about you since the night of the blizzard when we came to your shack." jim indicated his party. "i want you to know my canadian friends; i owe them much. mrs. and miss winter from vancouver city, and my partner, jake." mrs. halliday had studied the group, but she gave them another glance. she thought mrs. winter was not important. the thin, tired woman was of a common type and had obviously come from a rude canadian town: mrs. halliday did not know much about vancouver. the girl, however, had individuality and a touch of beauty; mrs. halliday felt she must be reckoned on. the young man puzzled her, because she could not place him. in some ways, he looked like a rather superior workman, but he was unembarrassed, and although he waited calmly, she imagined he was amused. on the whole, they were not the guests one generally received at an english country house, but mrs. halliday knew her duty and welcomed them with a gracious air. they went in and jim heard with satisfaction that the others meant to dine with him, because he wanted to talk with evelyn. he came down as soon as he could, hoping he might find her in the hall, but nobody was there and for some minutes he looked about. the hall occupied the lower story of the tower. it was square, and roughly-hewn beams, slightly curved, crossed the ceiling. the spaces between were paneled with dark wood and an oak wainscot ran round the wall. half of one side was occupied by a big fireplace and its old, hand-forged irons. the carved frame and mantel were jacobean and obviously newer than the rest. the old windows, however, had been enlarged and a wide casement admitted a cold light. by and by, mordaunt came in. the latter was thin and dark; his face was rather inscrutable, but he had a superficial urbanity. jim wondered what lay beneath this, and imagined it might be long before he found out. until he got down from the train, they had not met since mordaunt came to the telegraph shack, and jim did not know if he liked the fellow or not. after a time, there was a step on the stairs that went up the wall, and jim looked up, half expecting to see evelyn. at first he was conscious of some disappointment, for carrie was coming down. "by george!" said mordaunt, softly. jim understood the exclamation, for he had not until now realized that carrie was beautiful. her color was rather high and her face looked strangely clean-cut against the background of dull brown oak. her eyes were a curious gray that changed to sparkling hazel-brown with the light; her hair was brown with a coppery gleam, and her dress a soft green. jim had not seen the dress before and did not know if it was the latest fashion, but he felt that carrie's choice was good. it was not that the harmonious color gave her beauty; the effect was deeper. the girl had a touch of dignity that was rather natural than cultivated. she lifted her head and smiled as she went up to jim, and asked, as if mordaunt was not there: "how do you like me?" "in a way, you're wonderful," jim replied. "of course, i knew that before--when you nursed me, and in the woods--but somehow i hadn't expected _this_! when did you get the dress?" "when we were in london. i hadn't long, but i wanted to be just right," carrie answered with a blush. then she laughed. "you're very nice, jim; but do i really fit in?" "marvelously," mordaunt interposed. "if my opinion is worth much, you look as if you belonged to langrigg. that is, you go back, beyond our times, to the folks who built the peel to keep out the scots." jim nodded. mordaunt had said what he himself had vaguely thought. the fellow was sensitive and had felt the girl's virility. jim was a little surprised that carrie, who knew nothing about the border wars, seemed to understand, for she gave mordaunt a quiet but rather piercing look. "well," she said. "i have been up against nature, where she's raw and savage, in the woods." "perhaps that accounts for it," mordaunt replied, smiling. "nature is savage in the frozen north; perhaps jim told you i have been there. but i imagine you made good." "jim made good. i like to think i helped." "i expect your help was worth much!" said mordaunt. carrie's glance rested on him calmly and he felt that she needed study. she did not speak, however, and mrs. halliday and the others came in. after a few minutes they went to the paneled dining-room and jim forgot carrie when he sat down by evelyn. her color was subdued, her skin, for the most part, ivory white, and she had black eyes and hair. although rather tall, she looked fragile, but she was marked by a fastidious grace and calm that jim thought patrician. this was not the word he wanted, but he did not know another. "it's curious, but i seem to know you," she said, presently. "i don't think it is very curious," jim replied. "you see, i met you at the restaurant near the post-office in montreal." "yes," said evelyn, with a puzzled look, "i remember our going there, but we didn't talk to anybody." "i brought your lunch," said jim, fixing his eyes on her face. "then you were the waiter?" she remarked, tranquilly. jim smiled. he felt that she had passed a rather awkward test and he was satisfied. "since you must have waited on a large number of people, it is strange you remembered me," she resumed. "no," he said. "i hadn't met an english woman of your kind before, and, for that matter, i haven't met one since." he paused and added: "i expect this accounts for it." evelyn's eyes twinkled. he was obviously sincere and she felt amused. he was a new and rather good type, she thought. his figure was athletic: his face was thin and brown, his glance was steady but searching, and she liked his quiet manner. "but you had other occupations besides waiting, hadn't you?" she asked. "i was a miner in the north for some time." "that must have been interesting. were you successful?" "i found a copper vein and was lucky enough to sell it rather well." "then, is it difficult to sell a mine?" "as a rule, it's much harder than finding one," jim answered, with a smile. "in general, the miner struggles with half-thawn gravel that often fills up his shallow shaft, and sometimes nearly starves in the tundra bogs, while the man with money enough to work the vein gets the profit. it cost us something to hold on until we got a just price." evelyn did not know much about the canadian north, but she could imagine his holding on. "i expect you will find langrigg different from the british columbian wilds," she said. "do you feel strange here?" jim looked about. the long room was paneled, the ceiling was low, and the wide casement commanded a view of the level marsh and shining sands. it was different from the dark pine forests and snowy peaks of british columbia. the fine old china and silver, tall candlesticks, and the flowers on the table were in marked contrast with the rude furniture of camp and shack. "no," he said, thoughtfully. "when one has wandered about a new country, meeting all kinds of people and doing all kinds of jobs, i imagine one would not feel very strange anywhere. besides, i've a curious notion that i have come home." "after all, you are a dearham; perhaps this accounts for something," evelyn remarked and glanced at carrie. "did you meet your friends when you were at montreal?" "jim met us in vancouver. jake brought him to the store when he was ill," mrs. winter replied. "the store?" said evelyn. "mrs. winter means a shop," mordaunt explained. "oh," said evelyn, "that is interesting! what did you sell?" "most everything people wanted. dry goods, groceries, sweet biscuits--you'd call it cake--and we had quite a trade in sundaes." "what is a sunday?" mordaunt laughed. "a little delicacy you consume on the spot. i imagine it's sometimes an ice and sometimes a sweetmeat, or a cleverly mixed drink. perhaps it's oftenest enjoyed on sundays and holidays, but they don't spell it with a _y_." "i must try to remember. but who made these nice things?" "carrie," said mrs. winter, with a look of pride. "she baked the biscuit, too." "i don't think i should like baking. one must get so hot," evelyn remarked, and turned to carrie. "was it hard work?" carrie was talking to dick halliday, but she looked up and laughed, although there was a touch of color in her face. "oh, no," she said. "anyhow, it was not as hard as cooking for the boys in the woods. i did all the cooking, and they liked the hash i put up." jim thought carrie's western accent was rather marked and wondered why she had said _hash_. evelyn's questions had been asked with languid good humor, as if she meant to draw carrie into the talk, but somehow jim got a hint of antagonism between the girls. this puzzled him and he was glad when mrs. halliday began to talk about something else. evelyn did not support her much, but mrs. halliday was firm. "you must tell us about your adventures," evelyn said, as they got up, but when they went on the terrace jim followed carrie. although he wanted to talk to evelyn, carrie must not feel neglected. she gave him a rather curious smile when he stopped by the stone bench she occupied. "i allow your english relations have first claim on you to-night," she remarked. "you can talk to me when you like." "a new claim doesn't wipe out older ones," jim replied. "i suppose that is so," carrie agreed. "you're rather obvious, jim, but you mean well." then she got up and joined dick halliday, and jim felt puzzled. chapter ii jim's guests after breakfast next morning jim and his friends went out on the terrace. the tide was full and the woods across the bay looked like islands. a line of white surf marked the edge of the marsh, which ran back, broken by winding creeks, to the foot of the rising ground. sometimes a gleam of sunshine touched the lonely flats and they flashed into luminous green, silver, and yellow. then the color faded and the light moving on forced up for a few moments the rugged blue hills against their misty background. the landscape had not the sharp distinctness common in canada; it was dim and marked by an elusive charm. jim began to think about evelyn. she was somehow like the country. her charm was strong but not obtrusive. one could not, so to speak, realize evelyn at a glance; she was marked by subtle refinements and delicacies that one rather felt than saw. her english reserve was fascinating, because it hinted at the reward one might get if one could break it down. carrie, too, was thinking about evelyn, mrs. winter was sewing, and jake occupied himself by cleaning an old pipe. "it's some time since we broke camp on the telegraph line," carrie remarked. "do you find having nothing to do comes easy, jim?" "i don't expect to be idle long. it's prudent to consider before you begin to move." carrie felt that jim was getting english. he had, of course, been to mcgill, but since they reached the old country he was dropping his western colloquialisms. she thought it significant that he did so unconsciously. "perhaps i'd better tell you how things are, so far as i understand them," he went on. "to begin with, running a house like langrigg is expensive, and i doubt if i am rich enough to loaf in proper style." "if you want to loaf in proper style, you must be born and raised for the job," jake observed. "that's true, to some extent," jim agreed. "i was brought up to work and have got the habit. well, my farm rents amount to something, but when you have paid taxes and repaired the homesteads they don't leave very much. it seems there are people in england willing to pay for owning land; but that plan's not sound." "then, you have another?" "it's not worked out. the leases of two good farms soon fall in and i may manage them myself. then i own the marsh, which feeds some sheep and cattle in summer. the soil's good alluvial, like the gumbo on the manitoba plains, and would grow heavy crops if one could keep out the water. well, we have seen small homesteaders draining canadian muskegs, a long haul from a railroad, while we have a good market for all farming truck in two hours' ride. the proposition, however, needs some thought. it might cost me all i've got." jake's eyes twinkled. "i reckon that wouldn't stop you if you resolved to dyke the marsh. you didn't get much money when you got the estate?" "i did not. i understand joseph dearham was not rich, and when he found his health was breaking down he gave some money to his relations. people here try to get out of the inheritance duties like that; besides, he had not meant to give my father much. however, i have a rich relation, from whom i want nothing, but whom the others think i ought to satisfy." "bernard dearham? dick halliday talked about him." jim nodded. "bernard is my grandfather joseph's brother. joseph was satisfied to live quietly at langrigg like a small country gentleman; bernard got rich by opening some iron mines not far off. joseph married twice, and mrs. halliday and mordaunt's mother were his second wife's daughters. she was a widow with two children when she married joseph. so you see, mrs. halliday is not my aunt." "then, evelyn halliday is not your cousin," carrie remarked. "i suppose she's not," said jim. "anyhow, since i'm a dearham, a descendant in the male line, it seems i've a stronger claim on bernard than the others. i don't mean to urge the claim. he didn't give me langrigg, he left my father alone, and if i keep the place, i'm going to run it as i like." "do you mean to keep langrigg?" carrie asked. jim looked thoughtful. "i imagine so; i don't know yet. there are drawbacks, but something pulls. i'll wait a bit before i decide." he got up and beckoned jake. "let's go and see the farms." they went off and carrie turned to mrs. winter. "he'll stay; we'll lose him soon. i think i knew we would lose him when you found the advertisement------" she paused and mrs. winter remembered that when she had shown the girl the old newspaper carrie had hesitated for a moment or two. she, however, said nothing and carrie resumed: "well, i wanted to see the old country and you needed a rest. the life they live here is fuller than ours; it's something to enjoy it for a time, but we won't stay long, although jim is kind." mrs. winter gave her a keen glance, but carrie's face was calm. then she picked up her sewing and carrie studied the old house. langrigg meant much to jim and she thought would presently mean more. she vaguely understood his feelings and tried to sympathize, although the effort cost her something. in the meantime, jim went to see his tenants. he dined with one at noon in an old farm kitchen and afterwards occupied himself by examining horses, buildings, and agricultural machines. on the whole, he puzzled the small farmers, to whom a landlord of his type was new, although they liked his frankness and answered his direct questions, since it was obvious that this was a man who knew how things were done. some of the tenants who had known his grandfather talked about jim afterwards and agreed that he had not much in common with the country gentleman; he was like bernard dearham, who opened the famous iron mines. when they returned in the afternoon across the small turnip and stubble fields, jim said to jake, "i've seen enough of the plow land. let's go across the marsh." jake agreed, and by and by jim, leaning against a gate, indicated the long rows of hedges that ran down the slope and melted into an indistinct mass on the level plain. "there's nothing much to be done here in the meantime. these folks are wasting labor and money plowing their little fields, but i reckon they're slow and stubborn. it wouldn't pay to hustle them yet." "no," said jake, with a twinkle. "i expect it hurts to feel you must keep your hands off, but you seem to know when you've got to allow for the idiosyncrasies of human nature. it's harder to use men properly than horses and machines." "some day, perhaps, i'll grub out these hedges and make room for the tractors to rip a furrow right across the farms. i've no use for wasting land on weeds and thorns." "you think so now," jake rejoined. "you haven't been here very long and there's something insidious about the country; its old-time customs get hold of one. then i don't know if the tractor's picturesque, and cutting down trees and hedges might spoil the landscape. it wouldn't be quite so english after you had done." jim looked at him rather hard. "sometimes you're pretty smart. anyhow, i can't spoil the marsh by covering it with good grass and corn, and if the thing could be done economically, it ought to pay." "it's possible. are you keen about the profit? or do you want a new big job?" "i'm not going to philosophize; that's your proper line," jim answered with a laugh. "let's see if the creeks could be dyked." they went down the hill and plunged into a belt of tall dry grass, crossed a broad tract of smooth green turf, dotted by thrift and silver weed, and pushed on to the lower flats where the sea-lavender and samphire grew. then they skirted miry creeks that gradually filled with weeds as they neared dry ground, and went home to langrigg by the causeway road. jim was muddy, but happy; although he told himself he had not decided yet, half-formed plans floated through his brain. a day or two afterwards, dick halliday and mordaunt came over to langrigg and were shown into the hall. jim was not there, but his pipe and some books lay about and the others sat down. presently dick picked up a book and saw it was the old french romance from which mordaunt had read a passage at the telegraph shack. he opened it carelessly and then started when he saw, _franklin dearham_, written in faded ink, on the first blank page. he looked across at mordaunt and hesitated, with a vague suspicion in his mind. it was possible the latter had seen the writing when he opened the book at the shack, and if he had---- "you look as if you have found something interesting," mordaunt remarked. "it is interesting," said dick, and felt relieved when he heard a step in the passage. he did not think mordaunt, sitting some distance off, knew the book. next moment jim came in and stated that he was alone. mordaunt lighted a cigarette jim gave him and asked if his friends were staying long. "i don't know," said jim. "we have made no plans yet, but i imagine i shall keep langrigg." "do you mean you had thought about selling the estate?" mordaunt asked, rather sharply. "i did think about it, but don't know if i went much farther. the matter's complicated." "langrigg is rather an expensive house to manage and the farm rents are low," mordaunt answered in a thoughtful voice. "have you any money? perhaps i'm blunt, but i'm a relative." "i have some. not enough to help me do all i want." "you mean to do something, then?" "if i stay, i'm going to put up the farm rents, though i mean to help my tenants pay. i'm going to enlarge the small fields, alter boundaries, and fix things so the land can be worked on the economical canadian plan. the drawback is it may cost me much and i must wait for the return." dick laughed. "there are other drawbacks and it may cost you more than you know. in this country you can't do what you like, and we resent experiments. if you meddle with old-fashioned customs, you'll raise the neighborhood against you. in a sense, the trees and hedgerows you'd cut down are your neighbors." "i believe they're mine," jim rejoined dryly. "however, i don't suppose i'd bother anybody if i dyked and drained the marsh." "drain the marsh!" mordaunt exclaimed. "that's frankly ridiculous! it's a favorite haunt of the lag geese and, in a dry autumn, i don't know a better spot for snipe." "there you are, you see!" dick interposed, with a twinkle. "perhaps you don't understand that it's a serious matter to disturb a few sportsmen." "looks as if i might disturb a number of people before i'm through," jim replied. "anyhow, i haven't made my calculations yet and don't know if my money will go round." "i wonder whether you understand that you are bernard dearham's nearest relation and his approval is important?" mordaunt remarked. jim pondered. he liked dick and thought he trusted him, but he was not certain if he trusted mordaunt. on the whole, he thought the fellow meant to give him good advice, but he was a type jim did not know much about. although he was highly cultivated, jim thought he had conservative prejudices and an exaggerated pride. the pride was, of course, not obtrusive, but it was there. "the lawyers hinted something like that and mrs. halliday made it plainer," he answered cautiously. mordaunt saw he would say nothing more and they were silent for a few moments until dick got up and said he would ask the gardener for some plants the man had promised his mother. he wanted the plants, but he wanted to think, for he was curious about the french romance. if lance had seen franklin dearham's name, he must have known jim was his son, and had meant to let him stay in canada. lance's manner when they talked about jim at the shack to some extent justified the supposition. moreover, while lance had gone to langrigg with the object of giving jim good advice there was something curious about his tone. he was urbane, but one noted a hint of superiority, or perhaps patronage, that the other might resent. all the same, it was not dick's business and he went to look for the gardener. in the meantime, mordaunt said to jim: "you suggested that your canadian friends might make a long visit." "i did; i'd like them to stay for good." "do you think it's prudent?" mordaunt asked quietly. jim looked hard at him, with a touch of haughty surprise, and mordaunt resumed in a conciliatory voice: "perhaps i'm getting on dangerous ground, but i mean well and if you don't see----. to begin with, have you thought about marrying miss winter?" "i have not. i'm certain she has not thought about marrying me!" "no doubt, you know," mordaunt agreed with some dryness. "for all that, my inquiry was perhaps justified. the girl is unformed, but she's beautiful and i think she's clever." "you can leave miss winter out. now i suppose you have cleared the ground and there's something else?" mordaunt made a deprecatory gesture. "i'll be frank, because i don't want you to make mistakes. if you are going to stay at langrigg, you owe something to the family and yourself. a country gentleman has social duties and much depends on what your neighbors think about you at first. very well. your canadian friends wear the stamp of the rank to which they belong; it was hardly necessary for mrs. winter to state that she had kept a small store. these are not the kind of people your neighbors would like to receive. then bernard dearham's family pride is known: i imagine he largely persuaded your grandfather to alter his will." jim got up and his face was quietly stern. "langrigg is mine; my grandfather gave it to me without my asking for the gift," he said. "i owe my relations nothing and don't acknowledge bernard dearham's rule. none of you bothered about my father; you were glad to leave him and me alone. i had no claim on my canadian friends and they had nothing to gain; but they nursed me when i was ill and my partner stood by me in the blizzards and cold of the north. now you ask me to turn them down, because they're not the people neighbors i don't know would like to meet! do you think i will agree?" mordaunt shrugged and forced a smile. "oh, well, in a sense i suppose your attitude is correct. there is obviously nothing more to be said." dick came in soon afterwards and mordaunt went off with him, but he had given jim a jar and the latter walked about the terrace until mrs. winter and the others returned from a drive. carrie gave jim a quick glance as she advanced. she knew his moods and saw he was disturbed. the drive had brought the color to her skin; she looked very fresh and her step was light. jim felt savage as he remembered mordaunt's patronizing remark. carrie _was_ beautiful. "has something been bothering you, jim?" she asked. "it is not important," he replied. "if you own land in this country, it seems you must submit to a number of ridiculous rules and folks won't leave you alone. however, did you like the town?" "we were charmed. it's a quaint old place and the country round is so green and quiet. everything's smooth and well-kept; the trees look as if somebody had taught them how they ought to grow. you feel as if all the rough work had been done long since and folks have only to take care of things. i like it all." "then, you will be satisfied to stay at langrigg?" "for a time. if you want us." "i'd be happy if you'd stay for good!" carrie said nothing for a moment and then smiled. "that's impossible, though you're very nice. we'll make the most of our holiday; but it's only a holiday." she turned, rather quickly, and joined mrs. winter, who was going into the house. chapter iii mordaunt ponders it was raining and mordaunt stood by an open window in mrs. halliday's drawing-room at whitelees. a smell of stocks came in, and across the lawn, rows of dahlias, phlox, and autumn lilies made a belt of glowing color against a dark yew hedge. the hedge was neatly clipped and the turf was very smooth. by and by mordaunt turned and glanced about the room, which he knew well. whitelees was modern, and although mrs. halliday sometimes grumbled about her poverty, its furniture and decoration indicated extravagance. mordaunt, however, thought there was too much ornament and doubted if some of the pottery was genuine. the room was pretty, but he was a connoisseur and was not satisfied with prettiness. he liked langrigg better than whitelees. langrigg was austere and dignified. mordaunt was not at all austere, although he was not effeminate or luxurious. he was a good sportsman, something of an artist, and a traveler. he had talent, and might perhaps have made his mark, if he had not had just enough money to meet his needs and exaggerated dislike for competitive struggle. it had been a bitter disappointment that he had inherited very little of joseph dearham's property, although none of his relations suspected this, for mordaunt knew how to hide his feelings. he was stubbornly conservative and held tenaciously the traditions of his class. presently mrs. halliday came in. mordaunt, who knew his aunt well, thought she harmonized with her room. she was a handsome, gracious woman, but one felt now and then that her charm was forced and artificial. after telling mordaunt to sit down, she remarked: "i understand you went to langrigg." "i did go," said mordaunt. "my visit was not a success." "perhaps it's curious, but evelyn's judgment was better than ours. she doubted if you would succeed." "i believe she said you ought to go, because the thing needed a lighter touch than mine." mrs. halliday smiled. "your touch is not often clumsy, lance. but what line did jim take? i suppose we must call him jim." "a significant concession, but he certainly shows the dearham vein! he used some warmth and indulged a little raw sentiment. expediency doesn't count for much with him." "you mean his canadian friends are going to remain?" "yes," said mordaunt. "as long as they like! i imagine they will stay some time." mrs. halliday waited for a moment. she thought lance understood there was something else she wanted to know, but he was silent and she remarked: "after all, they might be left in the background. besides, the girl's mother is there." "it is hard to keep a canadian in the background and jim won't try. still he made an interesting statement; he has not thought about marrying the daughter!" "that is some relief. well, something depends on bernard." mordaunt agreed. much depended on bernard. the old man was rich and mordaunt had much less money than he would like; indeed he had long reckoned on an improvement in his fortune when bernard died. his claim, however, was not as strong as jim's, and bernard was eccentric. but mrs. halliday resumed: "is jim able to keep up langrigg properly?" "he was not remarkably frank about this. he stated he might not be able to do all he would like." "well, i have no doubt you gave him good advice, and your trying to persuade him was generous." mordaunt thought he had been generous, because if he had persuaded jim to rule in a way bernard approved and the latter made him his heir, all that jim got would be taken from the others. to some extent, he had been sincere, but he could not claim that he had done his best. a feeling of antagonism had sprung up and perhaps he had let this influence him. "it's unfortunate jim was obstinate," mrs. halliday went on. "his keeping these people is awkward, but after all it will cost him most, and he is one of us----." "jim has langrigg," said mordaunt, smiling. "our duty is to acknowledge and, if needful, indulge him." "i don't like you when you're ironical," mrs. halliday rejoined, and looking up saw that evelyn had come in. she wondered how long the girl had been there. "you don't look as if you were satisfied with your visit to langrigg, lance," evelyn said as she sat down. "i'm resigned." "that's different from being satisfied. but you were plucky. the matter must have needed tactful management; miss winter is attractive." "jim is not going to marry her, if that is what you mean; he stated he had not thought about it," mordaunt said bluntly. evelyn laughed. "then, it's probably true. if he had meant to marry miss winter, he would have said so, even if he thought you disapproved. jim is very much of a dearham." "is this an advantage or a drawback?" "i don't know," said evelyn. "it marks the difference between him and us. we're fastidious and complex; the dearhams are simple and firm." "a cruder type?" "not altogether. strength and simplicity are dignified. you're an artist and know the value of bold, austere line." "my notion is, jim is not as simple as he looks." "that's rather cheap," evelyn remarked. "i meant the simplicity of the old greeks." "theirs was cultivated; jim's is not." "there are things one does better by instinct than study," said evelyn, smiling. "but i'm getting bored. let's talk about something else." soon afterwards, mordaunt drove back to dryholm, where bernard had built his ambitious house. mordaunt had no occupation and generally stopped at dryholm. there was plenty of room and although the old man was often ironical mordaunt imagined he liked to have him about. the rain had stopped, the wet road was smooth, and as the car ran past the yellow stubble fields he gave himself to thought. it was plain that mrs. halliday meant to make a friend of jim and her object was not hard to see since langrigg gave its owner some importance. evelyn was curious about jim; mordaunt did not know if he attracted her, but the possibility of ruling at langrigg had no doubt some charm. she would toy with the idea. mordaunt was not in love with evelyn, but they agreed in many ways, and he had for some time weighed the advantages his marrying her would bring. she was his cousin, but cousins did marry now and then, and since the marriage would consolidate family interests, he imagined their relations would approve. in fact, he had imagined mrs. halliday knew his views and he could count on her support. now, however, he suspected she had gone over to jim. for all that, mordaunt's dissatisfaction was not quite selfish. jim was something of a savage and meant to manage the estate on business lines. the fellow was going to farm and make his farming pay. if he had been a sportsman and made experiments in agriculture when he had nothing else to do, it would have been different; but this was not jim's plan. the strange thing was, jim's notion of dyking the marsh annoyed him more than all; the annoyance was perhaps illogical, but he could not conquer it. mordaunt was a naturalist and a wildfowler, and did not think there was in england such a haunt of the lag and black geese as langrigg marsh. now jim, with rude utilitarian ideas, was going to drive the geese away. the car lurched on the grass by the roadside as it took a corner and mordaunt, roused by the jolt, concentrated on his driving. when he reached dryholm he crossed the lawn and stopped by a wheeled chair, in which bernard dearham sat with his foot propped up. the old man was tall and strongly made, but had got thin, and his pinched face was marked by deep lines. he had worked with consuming energy and sometimes indulged, for bernard had nothing of the fastidiousness that marked his relatives. now his strength was broken and he was bothered by gout. he dismissed the man who had pushed the chair and gave mordaunt a quick glance. bernard's brows were white, but his eyes were keen. "take me to the bench out of the wind," he said, and looked down when mordaunt began to move the chair. "it will give creighton a job to roll out these marks. the fellow grows fat and lazy and i hate the crunching gravel." mordaunt thought the remark was characteristic. the wheel-tracks could hardly be seen on the fine turf, but bernard disliked untidiness. when they reached the sheltered bench and mordaunt sat down bernard looked up and asked: "where have you been?" "i was at whitelees." "i expect you had something to talk about just now. you and janet halliday understand each other well. i don't know if you are confidants or accomplices." "perhaps we have made a few innocent plots," mordaunt admitted with a smile. "however, i imagine it has generally been for the advantage of the family." bernard nodded. "well, i suppose your objects are sometimes good, as far as you see, though i doubt if you always see far enough. but i wondered whether you had gone to langrigg. it's possible janet has made some plot for jim's advantage." "i hardly imagine him a promising subject for experiments." "you mean he's not compliant? what else?" "i haven't known him very long and would sooner reserve my judgment." bernard gave him an ironical smile. "you don't want to prejudice me against him? well, you're always tactful and it's comforting to feel you're sometimes just. however, i want to form an opinion. write and ask him to come." "he has friends at langrigg. perhaps you know?" "i do know. ask his friends. you may state that i'm an old man and am unable to go to him. i can leave you to strike the right note; you have some talent for that kind of thing." mordaunt said he would write. he was used to bernard's bitter humor and on the whole thought it advisable that he should see jim's friends. it was possible he would get a jar, but one could not tell. the old man was capricious and hard to understand. "didn't evelyn join the party that went to welcome jim?" bernard resumed. "rather a happy thought of janet's! do you know how he impressed evelyn?" "i do not. she did not give me her confidence," said mordaunt, as shortly as he durst. bernard's eyes twinkled. "was it necessary? with your talent, one ought not to find it difficult to read a girl's mind." "i haven't always found it easy," mordaunt rejoined. "well, i suppose evelyn is really a woman now; when one gets old one forgets that the young grow up," bernard remarked. "besides, she has an admirable model in janet. but take me in; i soon get cramped in this confounded chair." mordaunt set off and on his way to the house carefully skirted a spot where a tree had been uprooted and the turf relaid. to his surprise bernard made an impatient sign. "go straight across!" they crossed the freshly-sodded belt and when mordaunt stopped on the terrace bernard said: "it will not be your job to roll out our tracks." "i thought it would bother you if i went across," mordaunt replied. bernard gave him a sour smile. "i well know my relations' views about my character and in the main they're just; but they sometimes go wrong when they imagine their rules are mine. probably you have not felt it would be a relief to plow through things, without bothering about the marks you left." "no," said mordaunt, "i don't think i have felt this." "you're a logical fellow," bernard rejoined. "well, for the most part, i have been a slave to my notions of efficiency and order since i was a boy; but at times other feelings rebelled. then i, so to speak, ran loose and broke things, like the rest of mankind. moreover, i'm not repentant when i look back on the short-lived outbreaks. they gave me some satisfaction; after all, the dearham blood is what canadian jim would probably call red. i don't know what color yours is, unless you like to think it blue." mordaunt said nothing. bernard was often bitter, particularly when he had gout. when a servant came to help the old man in, mordaunt went to the library where he wrote a note to jim. he paused once or twice during its composition. now he had time to ponder, he began to doubt if it was advisable to let jim visit dryholm and imagined he could so turn a polished phrase that it would keep him away. mordaunt was clever at delicate implication and jim's blood was red. perhaps, however, it was not prudent to use his talent, since bernard might want to see the note. chapter iv an old man's caprice jim went to dryholm, although when he opened mordaunt's note he meant to refuse. a line added in a shaky hand persuaded him, for bernard had written, "i am lame and cannot come to you." besides, the invitation was extended to his party and jim wanted bernard to see the winters. they were his friends and he rather hoped mrs. winter would talk about the store. the evening was calm and the sun setting when the car rolled past a lodge half hidden by tall evergreens. a screen of ironwork cut in fine black tracery against the light, and jake remarked: "that's a noble gate." "hand-forged in belgium, i believe," jim replied, and they rolled on down an avenue where sunshine and shadow checkered the smooth grass. the avenue had been planted before the new house at dryholm was built. the spreading oaks were darkly green, but the beeches had begun to turn and their pale trunks glimmered among splashes of orange and red. on the hillside above the hollow, the birches hung sprays of shining yellow against a background of somber firs. all was very quiet and carrie sensed a calm she had not remarked in the forests of canada. there one heard the chinook in the pine-tops and the rapids brawl. they sped past a tarn where swans floated among the colored reflections of ancient trees, and then dryholm broke upon their view across its wide lawn. for a moment, carrie was vaguely disturbed. she had seen montreal and london, but the buildings there were crowded with occupants and this was one man's home. jim, whose clothes she had mended, belonged to people who built such houses. she glanced at him, but his face was inscrutable until he seemed to feel her gaze and gave her a smile. carrie felt braced. in some ways, jim had got strangely english, but he was, for all that, the jim she knew; and she studied the house with a pleasant thrill, as if she were embarking on a new adventure. dryholm was very large and modern, but it had dignity and glimmered in the sunset between shadowy woods. the stone was creamy white, with touches of soft pink and gray. cornices and pillars broke the long, straight front, and there were towers at the ends. carrie knew nothing about architecture, but she got a hint of strength and solidity. somehow, she felt relieved; mordaunt and mrs. halliday would not have built such a house. on the whole, she distrusted them, but it looked as if the head of the family was different. "it's very fine, jim," she said. "there's something of langrigg about it; something you don't feel at whitelees. the stone is curious." "i believe it was brought from a distance, but, in a sense, bernard dearham built dryholm of iron." "somehow it looks like that," carrie remarked. the car stopped in front of a plain arch and bernard received the party in the hall, where they found mrs. halliday, evelyn, mordaunt, and some others. bernard gave jim his hand and for a minute or two kept mrs. winter and carrie by him. when they went to dinner mrs. winter was put next to bernard, and carrie, sitting near, looked about with frank curiosity. the room was lofty and spacious. she had not seen such a room except when she dined at a big montreal hotel, but it had not the lavish decoration she had noted there. at dryholm, one got a sense of space and calm; nothing glittered and forced itself on one's glance. carrie thought it was somehow like a church, but rather the big quiet cathedral than the ornate notre dame. she had only seen big churches in montreal. the west window commanded distant hills that rose, colored dark-blue, against the yellow sky. shining water touched their feet and one could hear the sea. it was getting dark, however, and soon electric lights began to glow on the paneled ceiling and along the deep cornice. the lamps were placed among the moldings and one scarcely noticed them until the soft light they threw on the table got stronger. then carrie remarked that mrs. winter was talking, and bernard laughed. she had wondered whether she ought to give her mother a hint, and might have done so, for jim's sake, although it would have hurt her pride; but she was glad she had not. bernard dearham did not smile politely, as mrs. mordaunt smiled; he laughed because he was amused. carrie did not know much about english people, but the dinner was obviously a formal acknowledgment of the new owner of langrigg; and she studied her host. she had at first remarked a puzzling likeness to somebody she knew, and now she saw it was jim. the likeness was rather in bernard's voice and manner than his face, although she found it there. then he looked up and asked: "do you like dryholm?" "oh, yes," said carrie. "almost as much as i like langrigg." bernard smiled and nodded. "langrigg has a touch that only time can give. a house matures slowly." "i think that is so," carrie agreed. "one feels it in england. a house matures by being used; the people who live there give it a stamp, and perhaps when they go they leave an influence. it's different in canada. when our houses get out of date, we pull them down." bernard looked at her rather keenly. he was a shrewd judge of men and women and saw that she could think. "you are something of a sentimentalist; i don't know if you are right or not. when i built dryholm we tried to get the feeling langrigg gives one, as far as it could be expressed by line. but do you like whitelees?" "whitelees is pretty," carrie replied with caution. bernard's eyes twinkled. "very pretty. something new, in fact, after canada?" "yes," said carrie, who saw he wanted her to talk. she knew he was studying her, but he was not antagonistic like mordaunt and mrs. halliday. "this is why i'd sooner have langrigg, because i don't find langrigg new in the way you mean," she resumed. "one gets the feeling you talk about in canada; not in our houses but in the woods. they're different from the woods you have planted and trimmed. the big black pines grow as they want; sometimes they're charred by fire and smashed by gales. when it's quiet you hear the rivers and now and then a snowslide rolling down the hills." "rugged and stern? well, i imagine the men who built langrigg long since were rather like your pioneers." carrie thought bernard had something of the spirit of the pioneers; this was why he was like jim. she felt his strength and tenacity, but he did not daunt her. "why did you make dryholm so big?" she asked. "you don't think an old man needs so large a house?" he said. "well, i built for others whom i thought might come after me, but that is done with." he paused and looked down the table at mordaunt and evelyn; and then carrie imagined his eyes rested on jim, as he added: "sometimes i am lonely." he began to talk to mrs. winter, who presently remarked: "oh, yes, i like it in england. i knew it would be fierce in the jolting cars and on the steamer, but jim insisted, and now i'm glad i let him persuade me." "then jim insisted on your coming?" "why, yes. i meant to stay at home." "ah," said bernard, "i think jim took the proper line." "anyhow, i needed a holiday," mrs. winter resumed. "it's quiet and calm at langrigg and i've worked hard. you folks don't get busy all the time, like us in canada." bernard laughed. "there are a large number of busy people in this country, and for a long time i, myself, worked rather hard." he paused and looked down the table with ironical humor. "i was thought eccentric and my relations did not altogether forgive me until i got my reward. all approved then." mordaunt's face was inscrutable, but mrs. halliday smiled and evelyn looked at jim with faint amusement. "i imagine he meant mother; they sometimes clash," she said. "you don't know bernard yet. when you do, you will try to make allowances, like the rest of us." "in the meantime, it does not seem needful. he is kind----" "remarkably kind," evelyn agreed. "in fact, his kindness is puzzling. how far would you go to keep his favor?" "it would depend," said jim. "upon how much i liked him, for one thing. of course, i would go no distance if he tried to drive." evelyn smiled. "well, i suppose you can take a bold line. if one has pluck, it sometimes pays. at all events, it's flattering to feel one can be oneself. no doubt, you all develop your individuality in canada." "we are rather an independent, obstinate lot," jim owned. "i expect this comes from living in a new country. when you leave the cities, you have nobody to fall back on. you have got to make good by your own powers and trust yourself." "ah," said evelyn, "one would like to trust oneself! to follow one's bent, or perhaps, one's heart, and not bother about the consequences." she was silent a moment and then resumed with a soft laugh: "but unless one is very brave, it's not often possible; there are so many rules." jim felt sympathetic. she had laughed, but he thought the laugh hid some feeling. she was generous and strangely refined; mrs. halliday was conventional and calculating, and the girl rebelled. "i expect our host broke a number of the rules," he remarked. "he did and he paid. bernard was not rich and when he opened the brunstock mines nobody would help him. when he sold his farms to buy pumps and engines there was a quarrel with your grandfather and perhaps bernard has some grounds for bitterness. i don't know if it's strange, but while joseph dearham was a plain country gentleman, bernard, after getting rich in business, wears the stamp of the old school." jim agreed. bernard was obviously not fastidious, like his relatives, but he had the grand manner. this was not altogether what jim meant, but perhaps it got nearest. "i think it's because he's fearless--one sees that," he said. "shabbiness and awkwardness come when one's afraid." "it's possible," evelyn answered, with a curious smile. "one hates to be shabby but sometimes one is forced. pluck costs much." then mrs. halliday got up, and some of the party went to the drawing-room and some to the terrace. jim stayed in the hall and mused while he smoked a cigarette. evelyn had stirred his imagination by a hint that she was dissatisfied and struggled for free development. well, he had seen whitelees and was getting to know mrs. halliday. to some extent, he liked her, but he could understand the girl's rebellion. however, it was strange she had given him a hint, unless, of course, she had done so unconsciously. when the cigarette was finished he went to the terrace. the evening was warm and a faint glow lingered in the west. all was very quiet except when a herd of cattle moved about a pasture across the lawn. the party had broken up into small groups and jim joined evelyn. bernard got up stiffly when carrie came near his bench. "tell me about wild canada. i understand you were in the woods," he said. "yes," said carrie, sitting down. "i went north with jim and my brother and the boys, when the ice broke up." "the boys?" "the rock-cutters and choppers," carrie explained. "i see," said bernard. "was there no other woman? what did you do?" "the nearest woman was a hundred miles off. i cooked and looked after the stores. sometimes i mended the clothes." "and how were the others occupied?" carrie hesitated. although bernard had asked her to tell him about canada, she imagined he wanted to hear about jim, but after a few moments she began to relate the story of their cutting the telegraph line. she could not have told it to mrs. halliday, but she felt bernard would understand, and he helped her by tactful questions. she wanted him to know what kind of man jim was and she made something of an epic of the simple tale; man's struggle against nature and his victory. indeed, for bernard was very shrewd, she told him more than she thought. "but, when you were nearly beaten, you could have sold the copper vein you talked about and used the money," he remarked. "in a way, we couldn't sell. baumstein was putting the screw to us; he meant to buy for very much less than the claim was worth. we would have starved before we let him, and for a time we hadn't as much food as we liked." "after all, you might have been beaten but for the contractor. why did he help? no doubt, he knew it was a rash speculation." "oh, well," said carrie, "i think he liked jim. but we wouldn't have been beaten. we'd have made good somehow." "still it looks as if the contractor was a useful friend. did he stop at vancouver? does he write to you?" carrie hesitated, because she imagined she saw where bernard's questions led. "we won't forget him, but he doesn't write and i don't know where he is," she said; and added with a touch of dignity: "i don't see what this has to do with the rest." "perhaps it has nothing to do with it," bernard replied. "thank you for telling me a rather moving tale." he let her go and when she passed a bench where mrs. halliday and mordaunt sat the former looked at her companion. "i suppose you have remarked that bernard has been unusually gracious to the girl and her mother. is it his notion of a host's duty? or is it something else?" "i imagine it's something else," mordaunt replied. "but what? does he want to annoy us?" "it's possible he thought he might do so. are you annoyed?" "i am certainly surprised." "oh, well," said mordaunt; "perhaps he had another object. i don't know. he's rather inscrutable." mrs. halliday got up. "i thought we could be frank, lance. after all, our habit is to take bernard's cleverness for granted. he has a bitter humor and the thing may only be an old man's caprice." she went off and when soon afterwards the party began to break up bernard gave jim a cigar in the hall. "i note that you and your young relations are already friends," he said. "dick's a fine lad; he's generous and honest, although i doubt if he will go far. evelyn, of course, has no rival in this neighborhood." "that hardly needs stating," jim replied. bernard twinkled and his glance rested on a beautiful painted vase. "your taste is artistic; it looks as if you had an eye for color and line. in a sense, evelyn is like this ornament. she's made of choice stuff; costly but fragile. common clay stands rude jars best." jim was puzzled and half-annoyed, because he could not tell what bernard meant; but the latter began to talk about something else. "you were a miner for a time, i think," he presently remarked. "one would expect you to know gold when you see it." "it's sometimes difficult," said jim. "as a rule, gold is pure. it doesn't form chemical alloys, but it's often _mixed_ with other substances." "so that the uninstructed pass it by!" bernard rejoined. "one might make an epigram of that, but perhaps it would be cheap. well, i must wish the others good night. i hope you'll come back soon and bring your friends." jim put his party in the car and drove off, feeling strangely satisfied. evelyn had been gracious and although he did not altogether understand bernard he liked him better than he had thought. chapter v shanks' dabbin shortly after his visit to dryholm, jim returned, one morning, from the market town, where he had gone to see his lawyer and banker. when he reached langrigg he found jake on the terrace. "doing nothing makes me tired," the latter remarked. "i know you want to keep us, and mother and carrie like it here, but we can't stay for good." "your mother and sister can stay until they have had enough, and i hope that won't be soon; but i know you, jake, and think you're mean. anyhow, you can get rid of your scruples, because i'm going to give you a job. i've decided to drain the marsh." "labor's cheap in this country, but i reckon it's some job. however, now there's something doing----" "you'll stay and see me out?" jim suggested. "thank you, partner! doesn't seem much use in stating that what is mine is yours, but i wish you'd get it. another thing; this draining is a business proposition and we're partners in that sense, too. now we'll tell your mother." they told mrs. winter at lunch, and jim saw that she hesitated and looked at carrie. the girl's face was, however, inscrutable, and she gave no sign. jim felt puzzled. he thought mrs. winter liked langrigg and she had developed since she came. she was not so thin, she had lost her careworn look and gained a certain ease of manner. at the store, she had been highly-strung and restless; now she was happily calm. moreover, she was making her influence felt and quietly taking control. jim had noted that things were done better and cost him less. he wanted her to stay, because he thought she needed a rest and he would miss her if she went. "well," she said, doubtfully, "if you are all satisfied----" "i am satisfied," jim declared. "i imagine jake is, but carrie hasn't told us yet." carrie gave him a quick glance and he thought her color was rather high. "you are kind," she said. "mother looks younger than she has looked for long and perhaps we had better accept. but it is a big undertaking to drain the marsh. when do you begin?" "i thought we might begin this afternoon. however, i don't expect to drain it all right off. there's a pretty dry piece where i mean to start. i reckon i've money enough for the experiment, and can develop my plans afterwards when i see what the first lot costs." carrie laughed and the hint of strain all had felt vanished. "you are certainly the hustling jim we knew," she said. "i feel as if we were back in the woods." after lunch jim crossed the marsh with jake and stopped where a ridge of higher ground broke off at the edge of a muddy creek. in the corner, partly sheltered by a bank of gorse, stood a small white house with a roof of rusty iron where the thatch had been. the whitewash had fallen off in places, exposing a rough, granulated wall, for the house was a dabbin, built of puddled clay. a window was broken and the door hung crookedly. except for a few rows of withered potatoes, the garden was occupied by weeds. three or four shellducks, hatched from wild birds' eggs, paddled about the creek. "shanks' dabbin; his father squatted here," jim remarked. "i reckon i'm going to have trouble with the fellow." he opened the broken gate and two men came out. one was bent and moved awkwardly, but jake imagined that rheumatism rather than age had stiffened his joints. he looked at jim with sullen suspicion. the other was young and strongly made. "i've come to give you an offer, shanks," jim began. "this house is not fit to live in; i want you to use the cottage at bank-end instead. there's a good piece of garden and a row of fruit trees." "dabbin's bad, but it's mine," said shanks. "you canna put me oot." "i don't want to put you out; i want you to go. anyhow, the dabbin isn't yours. you have no title to the ground and i understand have been warned off, but we won't bother about that. bank-end cottage is dry and comfortable and you can have it for your lifetime." "i willun't gan." jim turned to the younger man. "this place is damp and falling down. can't you persuade your father?" "i'm none for trying. he has t' right o' it." there was silence for a few moments and then shanks asked: "what for do you want the bit hoose?" "i want to pull it down. the dyke i'm going to build starts here and the new cut for the creek must go through your garden." shanks looked at his son and remarked with dull surprise: "he's gan t' dyke marsh!" the other said nothing and shanks turned to jim. "if you were letten dry out marsh, t' wild geese and ducks wad gan." "it's possible. we'll raise good grass and corn instead. dairy cows are worth more than shellducks." "but you'll niver be letten," shanks replied doggedly. "shucks!" said jim. "the marsh is mine. although you have no claim to this place, i'll give you bank-end, the garden, and if needful the small field. you and your son can make pretty good pay there if you like to work. if you'd sooner loaf and shoot, there's the creek and sands." "'t' lag geese follow marsh," shanks insisted. jim pondered and jake studied the others. he had not seen men like these in canada, where some of the indians owned good farms and those who hunted had first-rate guns and canoes. shanks and his son were ragged and dirty. they slouched and looked slack and dull, although now and then the younger man's eyes gleamed cunningly. then jim said: "we won't argue about it. the dabbin must come down and when you're ready to move to bank-end you can tell my teamster to take your household fixings along. if this doesn't meet the bill, i'll give you a hundred pounds and you can go where you like." shanks said nothing and jim went off. when they were out of hearing jake remarked: "i allow you had to be firm, but i don't like it, jim. those fellows are what we call bad men." "i imagine we have been up against worse." "that's so. all the same, i wish you had been able to leave them alone." "i can't leave them alone, because the dyke must cross that corner of the creek. they're about the meanest whites i've met, and i certainly don't want them at bank-end. i'd sooner they took the hundred pounds and quit." "how do they live?" "by wildfowling and fishing, though i'm told they snare rabbits and poach pheasants." "well, i suppose you're giving shanks his chance of making good. the trouble is, he's forced to take the chance, whether he wants or not. some folks would sooner live like dogs than decent citizens." "do you think one ought to indulge their prejudice?" "i don't," jake admitted. "it would be bad economy. for all that i'd watch the fellows." they let it go and talked about jim's plans as they crossed the short grass where the silver-weed spread its carpet of yellow flowers. they trampled through belts of withered thrift and skirted winding creeks where tall reeds shook their bent leaves in the searching wind. light and shadow sped across the marsh, and a flock of plover, shining white and black, circled above the sands. jake got a sense of space and loneliness he had not expected to feel in england, but he smiled as he noted jim's brisk step and the sparkle in his eyes. he knew his comrade and saw he was happy. the marsh was something to conquer and the struggle would absorb his energies. next day jim returned to the market town. he was occupied for some time ordering tools, and driving back in the afternoon, hesitated as he got near the cross road that led to whitelees. he wanted to see evelyn, and mrs. halliday had told him to come when he liked, but it was perhaps significant that he wanted also to get on with his draining plans. seeing evelyn was a satisfaction he unconsciously reserved for his leisure; she was not, like carrie, to some extent his working partner and critic. he took the road to whitelees and smiled. perhaps carrie was patient when he thought her keen: it was possible that she was sometimes bored. mrs. halliday received him in a room that looked full of ornaments and flowers, and gave him tea in beautiful china. he was half-afraid to handle the fragile cup and plate and hesitated about eating his slice of dainty cake. he had been examining machines and thought his clothes smelt of oil; somehow he felt big and awkward. by and by mrs. halliday asked what had occupied him in town, and he told her about his plans. evelyn looked interested. "if you begin your dyke where you propose, won't shanks' dabbin be in the way?" "the dabbin must come down," jim replied. a question from mrs. halliday led to his relating his interview with shanks, and evelyn said, "could you not have left the old man his cottage? after all, it is picturesque." "it isn't picturesque when you are near. does beauty go with dirt and neglect?" "perhaps it does not. i suppose the old greeks gave us our standard of beauty and they attained it by careful cultivation. for all that, they rather conventionalized their type and one likes people with pluck enough to strike an independent note. to some extent, one can sympathize with shanks, because he won't be clean by rule." jim unconsciously looked about the room, and evelyn laughed. "oh," she said, "we don't copy the greeks! their model was austere simplicity, the bold, flowing line: but we are luxuriously modern. however, it would have been a graceful plan to leave shanks alone." "it wouldn't have been sound. you can't neglect a job that ought to be put over, because you'd like to be graceful." "you're not greek," said evelyn. "you're roman." "then, if i get your meaning, shanks is a barbarian, and the barbarians who stood up against roman order and efficiency were crushed. it's probably lucky for europe the legions marched over them." "i suppose one must agree. it looks as if i must try again. what about the king who coveted the vineyard?" "to begin with, the other man owned the vineyard, but the ground shanks occupies is mine. then it was a vineyard, while the shanks homestead is a hovel in a weed-choked garden lot. anyhow, if you'd like it, i'll see if it is possible to leave his place alone." evelyn was flattered. she enjoyed the sense of power, but she hesitated. jim was easy to understand and had gone farther than she had thought. to let him make a concession that might cost him extra work would give him a claim, and she did not want him for a creditor yet. "oh, no," she said carelessly, "you mustn't change your plans! i was indulging a romantic sentiment and expect you know what you ought to do. but you were nice when you were willing to think about the thing." then mrs. halliday began to talk and presently jim got up. "i must go," he said. "i didn't know i had stayed so long." evelyn gave him her hand and smiled. "i expect you will be occupied, but if you have time to come back you will find us at home." "thank you," said jim. "i was half-afraid i'd bored you. i'll certainly have time." he went out and mrs. halliday looked at evelyn thoughtfully. "on the whole, i imagine you were tactful. i expect you saw jim's offer to leave shanks alone was not made without an effort." "i did see," evelyn admitted. "i don't know if it was flattering or not." she paused and resumed with a touch of color: "for all that, i did not refuse because i was tactful; one sometimes gets tired of acting. besides, it would be thrown away on jim. he's not accomplished and critical like lance; he's frank and strong." "he is worth cultivating," mrs. halliday remarked, picking up a book. she knew when to stop and evelyn now and then developed a rebellious mood. for a week jim was occupied bringing tools and materials from the town and clearing the ground. shanks gave no sign that he meant to move, until one morning jim's teamster asked: "am i to gan t' dabbin and tak' a load to bank-end?" jim told him to go and turned to jake. "that's fixed! i've been holding back for a day or two and now we can push ahead. the dabbin must come down before we stop to-night." in the evening, jake and carrie went with him across the marsh. the workmen had gone but wheelbarrows, spades, and planks lay about, and a bank of fresh soil touched the edge of the neglected garden. gray clouds drifted across the gloomy sky, a cold wind tossed the reeds, and the dabbin looked strangely forlorn in the fading light. carrie shivered as she entered with jim, who carried a coil of fuse and a tin box. the clay walls were stained by damp and the broken window was grimed by dirt. a few peats occupied a corner, and a pile of ashes, on which tea-leaves and scraps of food had been thrown, stretched across the floor from the rusty grate. jim went to the window and began to cut the fuse. "i've got things ready and might have waited until to-morrow but the job's been bothering me and i want to put it over," he said. "do you think i'm harsh?" "no," said carrie, firmly. "shanks is white trash and lives like a hog. they wouldn't have stood for him a month at our settlements. but how do you think he'll use bank-end?" jim smiled. "i expect i'll have to burn down the cottage when he has done with it; his son is certainly not going to stop there afterwards. i don't know if a rich man is justified in loafing or not. we'll leave that to the economists, but i've frankly no use for the fellow who wants to loaf at other folk's expense. however, i'll fix the powder and we'll pull out. i don't like the job." carrie nodded. "you are a builder, jim, but before one builds one must clear the ground. things must be pulled down." "you're a staunch friend," said jim. "you always understand and generally approve." "perhaps it's because we often agree; but if i were really staunch, i'd tell you when i thought you wrong. this needs some pluck." "i'd weigh what you told me." carrie was silent for a moment, thinking about evelyn. the girl had, so to speak, dazzled jim. carrie did not approve, but could not meddle. "i wonder!" she remarked. "anyhow you must hustle. it's getting dark." after a few minutes jim lighted the fuse and they went out and stood some distance off. the light had nearly gone, and the dabbin loomed dark and desolate against a belt of tossing reeds. jim thought an indistinct figure stole through the gloom of the hedge, and he shouted a warning. the figure vanished. there was a flash behind the broken window and the shock of an explosion. for a moment the hovel was filled with light; then it tottered and a cloud of smoke rolled about the falling walls. blocks of hard clay splashed in the creek and fell about the marsh. the smoke cleared and carrie saw the dabbin had gone. a pile of rubbish, round which thin vapor drifted, marked the spot it had occupied. a man stood on the end of the ridge of high ground, his bent figure outlined against the sky, holding up his arms as if in protest. then he vanished, and jim and the others started silently for langrigg. chapter vi the thorn hedge mist drifted about the hollows and the new moon shone between the motionless light clouds. the air was damp and jim buttoned his driving-coat as he talked to bernard on the steps at dryholm. his small car stood near the arch, with its lights glistening on the dewy lawn. "your lamps are dim," said bernard. "if you will wait a minute, i'll send them to the garage." jim said he knew the road and the lamps would burn until he got home; and bernard resumed: "i expect you know that what you are doing at the marsh won't make you popular." "lance mordaunt hinted something like that, but i don't see why people should grumble," jim replied. "the marsh is mine." "your title's good," bernard agreed. "since the ground is not enclosed, joseph didn't bother about sporting rights and your neighbors took it for granted they could shoot a few ducks and snipe when they liked. the sport's rough for men who shoot hand-reared pheasants, but there's some satisfaction in killing birds that are really wild." "there is some satisfaction. the game i've shot was certainly wild; in fact, i sometimes took steep chances when i missed. when you get after a bull moose or a cinnamon bear it's prudent to hold straight. well, i'd sooner my neighbors liked me, but don't mean to keep my land waste for them to play on." bernard nodded. "you are not afraid of unpopularity? however, i think i'd have got rid of shanks, instead of sending him to bank-end. the fellow's cunning and there's some ground for believing him revengeful." "it doesn't look as if he could injure me." "it might pay to watch him," bernard rejoined. "some time since, jones, my gamekeeper, caught tom shanks and another netting partridges. it was obvious that old shanks had helped, but there was some difficulty about the evidence." bernard paused, and smiled as he resumed: "i imagine my friends on the bench used their best efforts to convict, but folk seemed to think it prudent not to tell all they knew, and while tom shanks went to jail his father got off. afterwards jones had a remarkable run of bad luck. the young pheasants died about the coops, his own ferret killed his hens, and he lost a fine setter he was training. then he had an adventure one night in a shooting-punt that ought not to have leaked." "i'll watch out," said jim, as he started his car. he did not think about shanks as he drove up the avenue, where the leaves were falling, and down a long hill. in the distance he saw the whitelees lights and now and then, farther off, the faint shining of the sea. mist that melted and gathered again drifted about the low ground. jim's thoughts sometimes dwelt on evelyn and sometimes on the marsh. evelyn was friendly and he had undertaken a big job that he liked. he was carrying out a duty, honoring a claim his inheritance made on him; he wanted to leave langrigg better than he found it. jim sprang from a land-owning stock, and felt that since he had got the estate for nothing he must justify his ownership and prove he was worthy of the gift and the woman he hoped to marry. when he ran out upon the low ground the mist got thicker and rolled in low belts across the fields. the carbide in his lamps was exhausted and the feeble beam that leaped up with the jolts flickered puzzlingly. he knew where he was, however, when he reached the marsh road that ran like a causeway across the boggy ground. tall, stiff reeds bordered the straight track. the lights were sinking fast and since he must reach langrigg before they went out he let the engine go. the fog streamed past him, the wind whipped his face, and he clenched the wheel as he rocked with the jolts. he was not far from home now and looked for the curve where his road branched off. the curve was sharp and ran between two rows of old thorn trees; jim remembered that he had meant to cut them down. there was a deep ditch between the trees and a belt of rough grass, then the narrow road, and a ditch on the other side. after a few minutes a dark mass loomed in the haze and jim knew it would be prudent to slacken speed, but his lamps were nearly out, and a little farther on he must avoid an awkward gatepost. a shadowy tree came out of the fog and he felt the wheels sink in boggy soil. he was obviously taking too wide a sweep, and he turned inwards. the damp road was indistinct, but he could see the white reeds that grew along its edge, and the trunks of the thorns across the ditch. he was going round the corner, looking for a triangular patch of grass, when he felt a violent jolt and fell forward on the wheel. the car swerved and the front wheels plunged into the soft ground between the road and ditch. jim was badly shaken, but he got the car straight while she plowed up the grass. then the wheel was torn from his grasp, the car swerved the other way, and he jambed [transcriber's note: jammed?] on the brakes, knowing it was too late. he felt her run across the road; she rocked as she took the grass, and then he was thrown out and knew nothing more. in the meantime, jake and carrie stood on the steps at langrigg, talking to halliday and mordaunt. the latter had brought a car from dryholm and it stood close by with its lamps burning. the night was calm, the noise of the sea came out of the distance, and presently they heard the throb of a car running across the marsh. "that's jim," carrie said to dick. "since you wanted to see him, you had better come in again." dick hesitated. he had not come to see jim, and carrie noted his irresolution with some amusement. "after all, it's not important and i want to get home for dinner," he said, and turned to mordaunt. "start your engine, lance." as mordaunt went down the steps the throb of the other car stopped suddenly and they heard a faint crash. "hallo!" dick exclaimed. "what was that?" "i imagine jim has cut the corner too fine," said mordaunt. "come on!" he ran down the steps and as he started the car the others jumped up. mordaunt had not meant to take carrie, but he did not stop and the car sped away. he let her go full-speed down the hill, dashed through the awkward gateway, touching the post, and drove furiously to the bend where the road ran on to the marsh. then there was a violent jerk as he put on the brakes, and the beam of the head-lamps touched and stopped upon a tilted car that lay with the wheels on one side in the ditch. "bring a lamp," said mordaunt coolly, and next moment they were all out of the car and running across the grass. a soft hat lay in the road, and broken glass was scattered about, but for a minute or two they could not see jim. he was not in the car and the grass and rushes were long. then jake stooped down, holding out the lamp. "this way!" he shouted. "he's in the ditch!" the others gathered round him as the light searched the ditch. jim lay with his legs in the water and the upper part of his body pressed against the bank by the front wheel of the car. his eyes were shut, his face was white and stained by blood. jake's hand shook so that he could hardly hold the lamp. "we must get him out right now," he said hoarsely. "the wheel's on his chest. if she slips down, she'll break his ribs." for a few moments they hesitated, standing in the strong illumination of the lamp on mordaunt's car that picked out their faces against the dark. jake wore an american dinner-jacket, carrie a thin evening dress, and she had no hat. dick noted that her hands were clenched and her mouth worked. she had, of course, got a shock; winter ought not to have let her see jim, but the keenness of her distress was significant. dick, however, could not dwell on this just then. they must get jim out and it was going to be difficult. the car rested insecurely on the edge of the bank and the broken branches of the thorns. if they disturbed it rashly, it might slip down and crush the unconscious man. mordaunt was the first to see a way and jumped into the ditch. "come down and get your backs under the axle," he said. they obeyed and, standing in the water, tried to lift the car. for a few moments it looked impossible, because the weight above forced their feet into the mud; then, while they gasped and strained, the wheel rose an inch or two from jim's chest. "lift him, carrie! lift him now!" jake shouted in a breathless voice. carrie seized jim's coat and tried to drag him up. he was heavy; she choked with the tense effort and did not know afterwards how it was made. for all that, she dragged him up a foot and then to one side. the strain was horrible, but she held on and thought she saw the car tilt and the back wheel tear the peaty soil from the top of the bank. jake shouted something, dick fell back, and she saw that jim was clear of the wheel. for a moment, mordaunt's face stood out against the gloom. it was dark with blood, his teeth shone between his drawn-back lips, and the veins on his forehead were horribly swollen. then there was a crash among the thorns, and the car seemed to go right over. mordaunt staggered and fell, and somebody helped her to drag jim up; carrie did not know if it was dick or jake. next moment mordaunt crawled out of the ditch and joined them. he gasped and the water ran from his clothes. "are you hurt?" carrie asked. "you got all the weight at the last." mordaunt smiled. it looked as if he could not speak, and while carrie wiped jim's face jake beckoned dick. "bring your car. we must get him home." dick turned the car and they put jim on the floor with his head against carrie's knee. when they started she bent and held his shoulders, and in a few minutes they rolled up the drive. then carrie pulled herself together, gave orders, and took control; and when they had carried jim to his room gave mordaunt her hand. "you saved him," she said. "we won't forget!" "i happened to see a plan before the others; that's all," mordaunt replied. "i'll get off now and send a doctor." he ran downstairs and carrie heard his car start while she stood with her mother by jim's bed. her face was white, but it flushed when jim opened his eyes. "what's the matter? where am i?" he asked. "you're at home," said carrie. "you mustn't talk." "i don't want to talk. things are all going round," jim rejoined and shut his eyes. after a time he began to breathe regularly and mrs. winter bent over him. "he's stunned; something hit his head. i don't think it's worse than that," she remarked. "i guess we can't do much until the doctor comes." mordaunt sent a doctor from the town and when he had seen him start went with dick into the smoking-room at a quiet hotel. there was nobody else about until a waiter came, and mordaunt sat down by the fire. "i feel we need a drink," he said. "it was a near thing when the car went over. i can hardly bend my back, and it will, no doubt, be worse in the morning." "you held her long enough for miss winter to pull jim out," dick replied. "it's lucky you were able. my feet slipped, and although winter is pretty strong i imagine he was beaten. all the weight came on you; i don't understand how you held on." "one can sometimes borrow a little extra strength from keen excitement and i remembered that if i let go the wheel would come down again on jim's chest. he might not have stood another shock." "he was badly knocked out," dick agreed. "i expect you saved his life." mordaunt smiled. "now i'm cool, i begin to think i was rash." "rot!" dick exclaimed. "you don't mean this and it's a bad joke!" "we don't owe jim much; if he had stopped in canada, langrigg would have been yours and mine. then it begins to look as if bernard approved the fellow, and i'm willing to admit i had rather counted on getting a good share of his money. you and evelyn would have got the rest." "after all, bernard's money is his. he's just, and i don't imagine he'll leave us out. we're not rich, but if he does give jim some of my share, i won't miss it very much." "i shall miss mine," mordaunt rejoined. dick was quiet for a minute or two, and then looked up. "you remember reading the french romance the night we reached the telegraph shack! did you see franklin dearham's name in the book?" "yes," said mordaunt very coolly, "i did see it." he paused, looking hard at dick, and went on: "of course, i know what this implies. there was some doubt, but the probability was the telegraph linesman was our relation and the owner of langrigg. well, i thought he was not the man to have the estate, and might be happier if we left him in the woods. it was not altogether because i wanted my share of what was his." dick did not doubt lance's sincerity, but he had got a jar. in a way, lance had tried to rob jim. "what do you think about him now?" he asked with some awkwardness. "what i thought then; he is not the man to own langrigg and ought to have stayed in canada. i'd have been resigned, had you got the estate, but this fellow will make us a joke. he has the utilitarian ideals of a western lumberman." "bernard is the head of the house and i doubt if he'd agree. you admitted he approved jim." "i did; i don't like his approving." "oh, well," said dick. "since you held up the car, i suppose you're entitled to criticize jim. if you hadn't made an effort, he would probably have been killed. you can grumble about him as much as you like; we'll remember what you did!" mordaunt smiled rather curiously and drained his glass. "we are late for dinner and my clothes are wet," he remarked. they went out; and both were quiet as they drove to whitelees. chapter vii the fencing wire next morning carrie, getting up early because she had not slept much, heard jim's step in the passage outside her room. he went rather unsteadily downstairs and a few minutes afterwards she found him sitting on the terrace wall. he was pale and his face was cut; but he had taken off the bandage. "you oughtn't to be out," she said. "why not?" he asked. "you were badly shaken. the doctor said we must keep you quiet." "he probably didn't state how long, and i've been quiet all night. i certainly got a knock; imagine my head went through the glass, but i feel my proper self again, and don't see any reason for staying in bed." carrie gave it up. she knew jim pretty well and asked where he was going. "i want to look at the car," he said. "i don't know why she left the road. but how did you find me and bring me home?" carrie told him, and he looked thoughtful. "i was in the ditch with the wheel on me? this accounts for my side's feeling sore. how did you lift the car?" "the others got into the ditch. a wheel began to slip and i thought the weight would overpower them; but lance mordaunt made a tremendous effort and held up the axle until we pulled you out." jim knitted his brows and looked across the lawn while he mechanically felt for his pipe. the morning was clear with scattered clouds and the grass was silvered by dew. the hills were sharp and belts of light and shadow checkered the marsh. in the distance, the sea sparkled. "if jake or dick had held her up, i could have understood," he said. "it was lance," carrie insisted. "why are you puzzled?" "for one thing, i imagine he doesn't like me," jim replied and indicated by a gesture the old house, and the sweep of smooth pasture and yellow stubble that rolled down the hill. "perhaps it's not strange. i have taken all this from him!" "but you took it as much from dick." "that is so," jim agreed. "dick's different. he's careless; i don't think he feels things. however, i must thank lance." he paused and resumed: "the boys were in the ditch and i was under the car. who pulled me out?" "i did," said carrie, blushing. "there was nobody else." jim took her hand. "my dear! when i needed help before, you were about. but that ditch is four feet deep and i'm heavy." carrie pulled her hand from his and smiled. "you are heavy, jim, and it was something of a strain. however, i'll come with you, if you are going down the hill." "to take care of me?" said jim, with a twinkle. "if you don't mind, i'd sooner go alone." he got up, and seeing that his step was firm, she let him go. it was not a caprice that he would not take her, but when she returned to the house she sent jake after him. as he went down the hill jim thought about mordaunt. the man was something of a puzzle, and jim admitted that he had, perhaps, not been just when he accounted for his antagonism. lance, no doubt, felt that he ought to have got langrigg, but he was not altogether moved by disappointed greed. their antagonism went deeper than that. lance was a conventionalist; he clung instinctively to traditions that were getting out of date. in fact, jim thought he would have been a very fine country gentleman had he inherited langrigg sixty years since. lance was what horse-ranchers called a throw-back; in a sense, he belonged to an older generation. there was another thing. jim imagined lance felt evelyn's charm, and although they were cousins, he understood cousins sometimes married, with their relatives' approval, when the marriage would advance the interests of the family. it was possible that he might hurt lance worse than by robbing him of langrigg. yet lance had held up the car for him and run some risk of being killed. after all, this did not clash with jim's notion of his character. lance might dislike the man he rescued, but he had the instincts of an english gentleman. then jim stopped and looked about, for he had reached the thorn hedge. a belt of peat, checkered by white tufts of wild cotton, ran back from the road, and a wire fence joined the hedge at a right angle. some of the posts had fallen and lengths of wire lay about. jim looked at the wire thoughtfully, and then went on to the spot where broken glass and torn up soil marked the scene of the accident. then he stopped again and lighted his pipe. in the canadian woods he had now and then trusted to his rifle to supply his food, and tracking large game trains one's observation. one must guess an animal's movements by very small signs. a broken twig or a disturbed stone tells one much. jim looked for some such clew that might help him, so to speak, to reconstruct the accident. he remembered a sudden jolt and the front wheels skidding. they had obviously struck something, and when he got the car straight had skidded again the other way. the marks the tires had made indicated this, and he examined the neighboring ground. the silverweed that covered the peaty soil between the road and ditch was not much crushed. he had, as he remembered, not gone far on that side before he, for a moment, recovered control of the car. the real trouble began when it swerved again and ran across the road. something had caught the wheels and interfered with the steering. jim looked for a big stone, but could find none; besides, it was improbable that he had hit the stone twice, and sitting down by the overturned car he thoughtfully finished his pipe. the car must be got out of the ditch, but this was not important, and he dwelt upon the fencing wire; he had a hazy notion that the obstacle he had struck was flexible. by and by he heard a step, and jake came up. "i don't know if you ought to be about," the latter said. "it will be an awkward job to get the car into the road." "i'm not bothering about the car," jim replied. "i want to find out why she ran into the ditch." "you don't know, then?" jim indicated the wheel-marks and told jake about the skidding. "she went off at an angle and i couldn't pull her round," he concluded. "do you expect to find the steering-gear broken?" "not unless it broke after she skidded." jake gave him a keen glance. "i begin to see! well, people sometimes find trouble coming to them when they won't leave things alone. but what kind of a clew do you expect to get?" "a mark on a thorn trunk; we'll look for one," said jim. "suppose you take the other side!" he walked a few yards along the ditch, examining the bottom of the trunks, and presently stopped and put his foot on the other bank. then he beckoned jake and indicated a few scratches on the bark of a thorn. the rough stem was tufted with dry moss and for an inch or two this was crushed. "i reckon something has been fastened to this tree," he said. "if we can find another mark on the opposite row, i'll be satisfied." they went across and after a few moments jake said, "here it is!" jim studied the mark and nodded. "very well! i think we'll get into the field and look at the old fence wire. i want a piece seven or eight yards long." after pulling about the wire that lay in the grass, they found a piece. one end was bent into a rough hook, and although the other was nearly straight jim noted a spot where the galvanizing was cracked. "it has been bent here twice," he said. "pulled over into a hook and then pulled back. you can see how the zinc has flaked." they sat down on a bank and jake remarked: "i think you ought to be satisfied. but what are you going to do about it?" "lie low and watch out. that's all in the meantime. i want the man who fixed the wire across the road to give himself away." "don't you know who he is?" "i think i know. it's not quite enough." "perhaps it's not," jake agreed. "you want to be able to show other folks he did the thing? the trouble is, he may try again!" "then it will be my fault if he gets me. i've had fair warning." "your nerve is pretty good; i knew this before," jake remarked. "well, i suppose nothing's to be said about it until you have some proof? now we'll go back to breakfast." they returned to langrigg, and after breakfast jim went to the marsh, where the men he had engaged were at work. soon after he had gone, a car from dryholm came up the drive and carrie met bernard dearham on the steps. "i came to ask how jim is. lance told me about the accident," he said. "i expect you won't let me see him yet?" "you might see him if you crossed the marsh. he is getting busy there," carrie replied. "but he was unconscious when lance left." carrie smiled. "yes. he got up at seven o'clock this morning and went out. that's the kind of man he is!" "then we needn't be disturbed about him," bernard replied and indicated a stone bench in the sun. "i cannot walk far and there is no road across the marsh. can you spare a few minutes to talk to me?" "why, of course," said carrie, and bernard waited until she sat down. although he thought she knew his importance, she was not anxious to please him; but she did not assert her independence. the girl had an ease of manner he approved and, if she remained at langrigg, would soon acquire the touch of polish she needed. but he pulled himself up. in the meantime, he was going too fast. "i understand you nursed jim once before," he said. "did you not use your authority to keep him in the house this morning?" "i did not," carrie replied, with a twinkle. "looks as if you didn't know jim yet! besides, if you have some authority, you don't want to strain it." "that is no doubt true," bernard agreed. none of his relations had so far disputed his firm rule, but he knew when it was prudent not to exercise his power. "you are a philosopher," he went on. "it is sometimes an advantage to use a light hand." "jim can be led." bernard bowed. "i imagine you have led him where he ought to go." "i wonder!" said carrie, with thoughtful frankness. "the trouble is, i don't know much and only understand simple things. still, perhaps, i did lead him in the woods. the right way was generally plain there. but at langrigg----" "you're sometimes puzzled?" bernard suggested. "well, we are all puzzled now and then, and perhaps to trust your instincts is a good plan. this, however, is not advice i would give to everybody." carrie said nothing. she liked bernard and was not afraid of him. he talked to her with the politeness of the old school and when he looked amused she thought his amusement was good-humored. "jim was under the car when you got to the spot, i think," he resumed. "you had some trouble to lift it." "lance really lifted the car at the dangerous moment, though the others helped. he saw the wheel was slipping; they were all in the ditch." "then who pulled jim out?" "i did," said carrie, with a touch of embarrassment. bernard pondered. lance had not told him about this and it was possible he had an object for not doing so. "well," he said, "i expect jim has had other accidents; as you remarked, he is that kind of man. did he get hurt when you were with him in the woods?" "he took some chances now and then, but he did not get hurt much." "although he came near it? i heard something about your going to his rescue one night with a gun." carrie blushed and bernard fixed his eyes on her face as he went on: "did you mean to use the gun?" she lifted her head, her mouth went hard, and her glance got steady. "yes. if i'd thought the other fellow could reach jim with his ax, i would have shot him!" bernard nodded. "sometimes the primitive plan is the only plan. one can see that you have pluck enough to meet a crisis. but i have kept you and have some other calls." he got up and when she went with him down the steps gave her his hand. "may i come back another day?" "of course, but unless he knows you're coming, jim will be occupied at the marsh." "i won't mind if jim is occupied." "then come when you like," said carrie, smiling. "i think you mean to be nice." in the meantime, jim had got to work and under his superintendence a gang of men piled barrowsful of peat soil on the wreck of the dabbin. by noon a bank had advanced across the piles of broken clay and a cut that was to make a new channel for the creek began to open. once or twice jake imagined an indistinct figure lurked among some clumps of gorse, as if watching the work, but he was not certain and said nothing. jim and he did not go home for lunch and when the men stopped at noon found a sheltered hollow and opened a basket of food jim had sent for. the day was bright, but a cold wind flecked the advancing tide with foam and swept the empty flats. dry reeds rustled in the creek and a flock of circling plover gleamed against a cloud that trailed its shadow across the marsh. for all that, the sun was warm in the corner where they ate their lunch. "did shanks send you notice that he had gone to the cottage?" jake asked presently. "he told the teamster to come for his truck. i expect he thought this enough." "wouldn't own up that he'd given in!" jake remarked. "the fellow's a blamed obstinate old tough. i wonder whether he felt curious if you were hurt." "i reckon he knew," said jim. "however, i thought this morning there was somebody about----" he stopped abruptly, and jake heard a step. they were quiet for a few moments, and then tom shanks came round a corner of the bank and stood looking at them. jim's face was cut and rather white, but the stains on his clothes indicated that he had been working among wet soil. jake gave shanks a keen glance and thought he looked surprised, as if he had not expected to see jim there. "do you want a job?" the latter asked. "i want nowt fra you. you can give your job to them as will ca' you maister," shanks rejoined and went off. "a sullen hog!" jake remarked. "i'd like to know when he or the old man moved the wire." "so would i. it's rather important," said jim. "if he was hanging about and came for the thing as soon as the car took the ditch, he probably saw me under the wheel and meant to leave me there. how long were you in making the spot after you heard the smash?" "perhaps five minutes. mordaunt's car was at the steps and we jumped on board while he started her." "if you had lost much time, i imagine you'd have found me dead." "then why did you offer shanks a job?" jim smiled. "in order to have him where he could be watched. a fellow like that is dangerous when he's out of sight." "shanks and his son are bad men," jake agreed. "we have sand-baggers and gun-men in canada, but they get after you for money and their methods are up to date. shanks' savageness is half-instinctive, like the indian's. i can't, so to speak, locate him; he goes too far back." jim got up. "it's not important just now. tell the teamster to bring his horses and we'll get busy." chapter viii jim's relapse jim made progress at the dyke until it began to rain. for some weeks a strong west wind drove dark clouds across the sea, the hills were wrapped in mist, the creeks swelled and the tides rose high. floods spread about the marsh and the floundering teams could hardly drag their loads through the bog. sometimes jim felt anxious, for the undertaking threatened to cost much more than he had thought. then came two fine days when, although the sun shone, heavy clouds rolled about the hills. jim, knowing the fine weather would not last, drove his men hard, since there was work he must push forward before the next flood. the new bank had reached a creek where he must build a strong sluice-gate and hold back the water by a rude coffer-dam while he dug for the foundation. he came up from the dam one afternoon and stood on the slope of the bank, looking down into the hole. his long boots, shirt, and trousers were stained by mud that had also splashed his face and hands; for since the work was risky he had helped the men. now he was rather highly-strung. below him, the water spirited [transcriber's note: spurted?] through the joints in a wall of thick planks and ran into the excavation, where a few men, sunk nearly to the knees in mud, were working. a forge stood on the top of the bank and the smith leaned on the crank of the blower. he was a short, strongly-built man, and looked sulky. "there's too much water blowing through; pressure's heavier than i reckoned and i don't like the way that brace sags," jim remarked, as a shower of mud and water fell into the hole. then he shouted to the men: "get a thick plank across and wedge her up." "looks as if the fastenings of the brace had slipped," said jake. "they oughtn't to slip. the plate and nut on the iron were meant to keep the beam in place." "i don't think i saw a nut when the boys fixed the thing." jim beckoned the smith. although the fellow was a good workman, he was obstinate and jim had not bothered him much until he needed some irons for the dam, when he made careful sketches and insisted on the other's working to his plans. this had caused some trouble and jim now meant to be firm. "i reckon i told you to screw the ends of the bar and make nuts to turn back against the plates," he said. "did you screw the ends?" "i did not," said the other. "there was nae use for nuts. i punched hole for pin that wad stop her pulling oot." "pulling out!" jim exclaimed. "did you imagine i wanted to hold the frames together?" "if yon wasn't what you wanted, you should have said." jim had meant to be calm, but the men had run some risk from the fellow's obstinacy, and he lost his control. "i told you to screw the ends. confound you! the dam's in compression; there's no pull at all. put a new bar in the vise and i'll stand by while you cut the thread." "stan', if you like. i'll not touch bar while you're aboot. are you gan t' teach me my job?" "it's plain you don't know your job. get out of my way and i'll cut the thread myself." the smith stood square in front with a frown on his face. "you'll not touch my tools. vise and forge is yours; screwing stocks is mine." "oh, shucks!" said jim. "get out of the way. we want the bar right now." the smith did not move, and although nobody afterwards remembered how the struggle began, jake, interfering a moment too late, imagined jim tried to get past the smith and jostled him. they grappled, and while they rocked to and fro the men in the pit stopped work. at first, jim would have been satisfied to throw his antagonist back, but after a moment or two he doubted if this would be enough. the fellow had defied him, they had begun to fight, and in canada a boss who could not enforce his authority lost his right to rule. jim imagined it was so in england and did not mean to stop until the smith was ready to submit. yet the fellow was powerful and fought with dogged pluck. while they floundered about, striking, and trying for a throwing hold, jake heard steps and looked up. he was half-embarrassed and half-amused, for it was obvious jim did not know mrs. halliday, evelyn, and bernard dearham stood on the top of the bank. he could not separate the men and did not think jim would hear if he shouted; besides, to shout a warning would make the thing ridiculous. there was nothing to do but wait, and after a few moments jim lifted his antagonist and threw him down the bank. it looked as if the sulky smith was not a favorite, for some of the men laughed and some growled hoarse applause. jim's muddy shirt was torn and his face was bruised; he was looking down into the hole and did not see bernard's party until he turned to go to the forge. then he stopped and stood with his head held back, while jake studied the others. he thought bernard was quietly amused, but mrs. halliday looked pained, and evelyn's delicate face was flushed. "we thought we would come to see how you were getting on," said mrs. halliday. "it was an adventure; your new road is very bad and the car nearly upset." "there is not much to see and i did not expect you," jim replied. "that is obvious," bernard remarked with a twinkle. "i imagine you don't know much about cumberland wrestling, but you are very quick. when you threw him, the other fellow was getting a hold that would have put you in his power." "you gave him a bad fall, anyhow. i suppose you are used to this sort of thing in canada," said mordaunt, who came from behind the others and glanced at evelyn. jake was interested; he sensed something of a drama, of which he thought his comrade was unconscious. there was a hint of a sneer in mordaunt's voice and jake thought his remark was meant for the girl. her eyes were fixed on jim, and she looked disturbed. it was plain that mordaunt noted this. mrs. halliday was rather ostentatiously careless, bernard quietly looked on, but jim gave no sign of embarrassment. "why, no," he answered mordaunt. "on the whole, i didn't have much trouble with the boys in canada. this fellow wouldn't do his job as i wanted, and through his stupidity we ran some risk of the dam's caving in. i'll show you----" they went with him, glad of something to banish the strain, and he indicated the men working in the mud behind the wall of planks. "if the timbering gave way, the water would break through and perhaps drown the gang. i'm boss and accountable. i take no chances about the safety of my men." mordaunt smiled as he glanced at evelyn and jake imagined he knew what the smile implied. jim was breaking conventions, his bold statement had a theatrical touch that no doubt jarred; reserved englishmen did not talk like that. moreover, he was wet and muddy, and his tense pose had not relaxed. standing with head held back and body highly-strung, he looked a stranger. jim did not belong to the others' circle, he came from outside. "yours is a good rule and force is useful now and then," bernard observed. "however, we came to take you to dryholm. i was feeling dull, and the others have promised to help me through the evening. if you can come, we will go on to langrigg for mrs. winter." jim wanted to go, because evelyn was going, but he gave her an apologetic glance as he answered bernard: "i'm sorry; i can't leave my job." evelyn said nothing, although her color was rather high, and mrs. halliday interposed: "after all, you would not lose much time. it will soon be dark." "dark generally comes before one's ready, but i have some plans to make for the morning when i get home," said jim, who turned to bernard. "we must push on before the water gets too high. if you wouldn't mind taking mrs. winter and carrie, i think they'd like it." mrs. halliday's look hinted that she was trying to hide her annoyance and evelyn turned her head. "very well," said bernard and beckoned the others. when they had gone jake laughed. "i imagine you have given your relations a jolt." "i felt something like that. i didn't mean to jolt them," jim said with a frown. "why didn't they come a few minutes earlier, or later?" "i wasn't altogether thinking of your throwing the smith down the bank. you have got rather english, but sometimes you break away; i think i mean break back." "perhaps that is so; i forget," jim agreed. "i was a miner and linesman before i was a landlord." "confusing for your friends, isn't it? they don't know which they have to reckon on--the canadian sourdough or the country gentleman. anyhow, i expect your suggestion that they should take mother and carrie didn't help much. were you talking like a sourdough or an english landlord then?" "you have a confoundedly mischievous humor," jim rejoined, with a twinkle. "do you want me to state that it's a country gentleman's duty to insist on the proper acknowledgment of his guests? bernard likes your people and i don't know if mrs. halliday and lance mordaunt count." "i was not thinking about mrs. halliday----" jake began, but stopped when his comrade looked hard at him, and a few moments afterwards the smith came up the bank. "well?" said jim, sharply. "what do you want?" "noo i see how bar's meant to gan, mayhappen it wad be better screwed. if you'll wait while i gan for dies, i'll do't for you." "all right. you can get busy," said jim. when the smith went off he smiled and remarked: "i don't know if i expected this, but the man will make no more trouble. however, we have lost some time and must push ahead." they got to work, and in the meantime bernard drove to langrigg and picked up mrs. winter and carrie. the party at dryholm broke up soon, but when evelyn returned to whitelees she felt that the evening had been too long. for one thing, she had been kept occupied and she wanted to think. now she sat, rather languidly, in an easy-chair and knitted her brows. she had got a jar in the afternoon and she tried to recapture the scene on the bank--the smith scowling at the bottom, and jim's bruised face, savage frown, and muddy clothes. jim was a new type, and she admitted that he attracted her, but his attraction was largely physical and sometimes she felt repelled. he was handsome and forceful; she liked his steady look, his athletic figure, and his clean brown skin. then she liked the respect he showed her and his obvious wish to please. this was flattering and his strength and candor made an appeal, but she was highly cultivated and he was not rude. indeed, when he stood on the bank, hot and triumphant after the fight, there was something barbarous about him. his virility moved her, but to live with him would demand some pluck; evelyn knew he could not, so to speak, be tamed. his refusal to come to dryholm, when he knew she was going, was a proof. it was significant that the dam he was building made a stronger claim. evelyn was drawn in different ways and, on the whole, it was a relief when mrs. halliday came in. "jim was not his best this afternoon," the latter said. "however, he has not been long in england and no doubt the risk of such outbreaks will presently vanish. in the meantime one must make some allowances." "for the owner of langrigg?" "oh, well," said mrs. halliday, "i suppose i did mean this, but perhaps not altogether in the way you think. there is a rude vein in the dearhams that comes to the surface now and then. one hardly noted it in joseph, but in bernard it's rather marked. i imagine he has some sympathy for jim's extravagances. this may have its influence." "bernard is inscrutable," evelyn rejoined. "one cannot foretell what he will do." mrs. halliday saw that evelyn understood; she had, in fact, expected her to understand, and her voice was thoughtful as she resumed: "after all, his approval is not essential. you have some money; i do not know about jim, but he is spending much." "it may be all he has; he is not afraid of a risk," said evelyn, with a touch of color, for she was fastidious and her mother was blunt. then for a moment or two she mused. she was afraid of a risk; this was the trouble. adventure, romance, and to some extent passion urged, but caution deterred. the romance would vanish and jim might jar. "langrigg gives its owner a firm position," mrs. halliday resumed. "even if he were poor, his wife would take a leading place in the holm country. people pretend to scoff at such things, but they count." "much would depend on the owner. if he broke the family traditions, defied our conventions, and made himself a joke----" "much would be forgiven him because he is a dearham," mrs. halliday rejoined. "still, of course, there is a limit and i see a risk. jim needs guidance for a time and it's possible his canadian friends encourage his un-english idiosyncrasies. the girl has some beauty; i would sooner she did not stay long. if jim could be advised----" evelyn smiled. "i cannot advise him. besides, he's very staunch and owes these people much." "oh, well," said mrs. halliday. "in such a matter, one cannot meddle unless it is certain one's advice would be well received. we must let it go. perhaps the winters do not mean to remain very long." "i think jake means to stay until the marsh is drained, and i don't suppose the others will go until he is ready." mrs. halliday frowned. "jim is rather annoying. sometimes he vexes me, but in a sense it is our duty to protect him. it has been a disturbing day; i think i'll go to bed." chapter ix jim is left out the sun shone on the terrace at dryholm, the house kept off the wind, and a creeper made a glowing background for the group about the tea-table. a row of dahlias close by hung their heads after a night's frost, a gardener was sweeping dead leaves from the grass, and the beeches round the tarn were nearly bare. bernard took a cup from mrs. halliday and glancing at the long shadows that stretched across the lawn, indicated a sundial on a pillar. "in another few minutes its usefulness will be gone and it warns me that mine is going," he said, and quoted a tag of latin. "i wonder why they carve such melancholy lines on sundials," somebody remarked. "perhaps there is a certain futility about the custom. you, for whom the sun is rising, don't heed the warning, and we others in the shadow know our day is done. i do not think i am a sentimentalist, but the news we got this morning proves the latin motto true. then it is hardly possible we shall have tea outside again, and we cannot tell if all will gather round the table when summer comes back." mrs. halliday began to talk about a neighbor who had died the day before. "alan raine will be missed; he was a good and useful english type," she said. "conscientious and public-spirited. one could depend on him for a subscription and a graceful speech. i have not known his equal for opening a village club or a flower show. then the hunt ball was always a success since he managed it, and we have not had so good a master of otter-hounds." "it is something to be remembered for these things. alan will be missed," bernard agreed and turned to carrie. "you have heard our notion of an english gentleman's duty. what do you think about it?" "it is not my notion. if i were a man, and rich, i should like to leave a deeper mark." "ah," said bernard, "you come from a strenuous country that breeds another type. your men fight with blizzards on the snowy trail and drive their shafts through ground the sun never melts. sometimes they come to england and teach us to hustle by altering the landscape and destroying our old landmarks. perhaps there is something to be said for the others who carry out quiet duties conscientiously." "oh, yes," said carrie, with a sparkle in her eyes. "but i'd sooner have cornfields running across a drained marsh than a hunt ball for my monument." "you have a good apologist," bernard said to jim. the others laughed, and mrs. halliday, not liking the turn bernard had given the talk, asked: "who will take the otter-hounds?" "the matter's important and cannot be decided rashly," bernard replied with some dryness, and addressed mordaunt. "i imagine jim might fill the post. what do you think, lance?" "the choice lies between langrigg and dryholm, sir. the dearhams have a kind of traditional right to keep the hounds. joseph did so." "i am too old." "then jim ought to make a good master. that is, if he doesn't think otter-hunting an idle man's game." bernard turned to jim, who laughed. "lance's shot was fair. when i first came over i had some prejudices, but they are going and i don't see why i shouldn't play now and then." he paused and his look was serious when he resumed: "in a way, it's strange, but your english customs have a grip; they get hold of one. in fact, i'm getting english fast, but perhaps that is not quite right. i begin to feel i am english." mrs. halliday gave him an approving smile. "you inherited more than langrigg from the dearhams, jim. i like to see you realize you got some duties when you got the estate." "i don't know if keeping the hounds is a duty," jim rejoined. "perhaps lance was nearest when he called it a game. all the same, i think i'd like the job." they began to talk about the advisability of moving the kennels and carrie, sitting quiet, studied the others. she saw mrs. halliday was pleased and thought she understood this. mordaunt puzzled her. his rather dark face was hard to read, but she had got a hint of disappointment when he said the choice lay between langrigg and dryholm and bernard declared he was too old. then she suspected a touch of bitterness in his next remark. the others had noted nothing, except perhaps bernard, who had looked at mordaunt hard. carrie did not like mordaunt; he sometimes sneered politely at jim. "it is something to know jim is willing, but the post is not my gift," bernard resumed. "a meeting will no doubt be held to weigh the matter and if jim is chosen, i should not be surprised." then he got up and shivered as the creeping shadow touched the bench he occupied. some of the others went off along the terrace and jim and evelyn crossed the lawn. they were talking animatedly and carrie felt a pang when jim's laugh came back to her. in the woods she had cheered him and he laughed at her jokes. now he was always kind but he forgot her when evelyn was about. she turned rather moodily towards the arch and saw bernard standing in the gloom. his eyes were fixed on the figures on the lawn and carrie thought he looked annoyed, but he smiled when he heard her step. "they have left you alone?" he said. "well, we must amuse each other, and there are some flowers in the hot-house that i don't think you have seen." carrie went with him thoughtfully. bernard's remarks were often oracular; he left one to guess what he meant, but she imagined his glance was sympathetic. although this was to some extent embarrassing, she began to talk; and when they reached the hot-house he answered her questions about the flowers with old-fashioned politeness. by and by he glanced at a thermometer and pulling down a skylight turned to carrie, who was looking at the patches of glowing color that broke the long banks of green. "beautiful things but fragile, and they have no smell," he said. "i suppose we grow them because they cost us much. the flowers of the bleak north are sweet." by and by jim came in and after a glance about exclaimed: "these are very fine!" "you have an eye for color," bernard remarked. "their beauty's almost insolent; i don't know if it's strange that they are foul-feeders and thrive on rottenness. sometimes i think i'd give them all for the cloudberry bloom i trampled on the moors when i was young. it feeds on the melting snow and opens its chaste white cup nearest the sky." "you declared you were not a sentimentalist," said jim. "oh, well," said bernard, "you must make allowances for an old man's inconsistency." he turned as a car began to throb, and smiled at carrie. "one mustn't keep the engine running and i expect the others are waiting. come back soon and cheer me up." he went with them to the steps, and when they drove off jim was thoughtful for a few minutes. he was glad bernard liked carrie, but perhaps it was strange he had not urged evelyn to come back. bernard, however, was puzzling; one could not understand his moods. then jim forgot about it as mrs. winter began to talk. a week later, four gentlemen sat one evening in the smoking-room at a house on the rolling ground where the hills dip to the seaboard plain. three were rather fat, gray-haired, and solemn, and one was young. the latter indicated a siphon and decanter on the table when mordaunt came in. "help yourself," he said. "where's dick?" "i arranged to pick him up at the cross-roads, but he wasn't there," mordaunt replied. "dick's a careless fellow and i didn't want to be late." he filled a glass and when he sat down one of the others remarked: "alan raine has gone and it is our melancholy duty to fill his post. this will not be easy; alan was a keen sportsman and a man of tact. he commanded the farmers' respect and had the interest of the hunt at heart. for all that, the hunt is a useful institution and must be kept up. fish are getting scarce; modern field drainage sends down the water in sudden floods and when, between times, the rivers run low the trout and salmon are the otter's easy prey. it is our duty to preserve the fisheries, and help, as far as we are able, a bracing english sport." he drained his glass while the others signed approval. hodson had cleared the ground neatly and the business could begin. "our choice is somewhat limited," said another. "i think we have all found it a drawback to keep the hounds near the hills, since the meets are generally held by the deep water in the flat holms. in fact, one feels the hounds ought to go to dryholm or langrigg." mordaunt quietly lighted a cigarette and then replied: "i'm afraid you must rule out dryholm. bernard declares he is too old to take the hounds." "but what about yourself?" "i am too poor," said mordaunt, smiling. the others hesitated. they were cautious and did not want to venture on dangerous ground, but there was something to be said, and herries, the youngest man, remarked: "after all, an offer of the hounds is a compliment and its acceptance, to some extent, a public duty. if this view were put before bernard dearham, some arrangement could perhaps be made." "you mean i might fill the post and bernard provide the money?" mordaunt suggested. "bernard, however, does not seem to see the advantage of the plan." herries gave him a keen glance. mordaunt's face was calm; but the other imagined he had felt some disappointment. "then we must fall back on langrigg. the new owner is your relation. what do you think about our asking him?" "i imagine you couldn't find a better site for the kennels," mordaunt replied. "langrigg is near the deep water where the big fish lie and you can generally find an otter----" he stopped, and herries said, "yes, of course! but this is not altogether what we mean. do you think dearham would take the post?" "it's possible," said mordaunt, very dryly. "have you decided to ask him?" the others were quiet for a moment or two. they felt they had got a hint, but the hint was vague. somebody must take the hounds and they could not. they resolved to leave the thing to herries; he was young and his remarks would not carry so much weight. besides, he knew mordaunt well. "let's be frank," he said, hiding some embarrassment by a twinkle meant for mordaunt alone. "choosing a master of hounds is an important job. would dearham fill the post properly?" "i think not," mordaunt answered in a quiet voice. "oh, well," remarked another. "i suppose there is no more to be said." mordaunt lighted a fresh cigarette. "i want you to understand. jim dearham is my relation, but i feel my responsibility. he is a good sort and i am not stating much to his disadvantage when i admit that he is not the proper man to take the hounds. he has not yet cultivated our sense of sport and his notions are utilitarian. i'm afraid he'd grumble about broken fences and trampled crops. then, for example, he's dyking the marsh." "exactly!" said one. "i imagine we do understand. well, we must ask watson of red bank. he's rich enough and ambitious, although he's not altogether the man i'd like." they agreed, and soon afterwards dick came in and asked mordaunt: "why didn't you stop for me, as you promised?" "i did stop. i waited some minutes." "then you must have come before the time." "look at your watch," said mordaunt, who took out his. "i got the time at the station this afternoon." dick said it did not matter much and asked whom they meant to make the master of hounds. "watson, of red bank," one replied, and began to talk about something else when he had filled a glass for dick. the latter was young and sometimes indiscreet; it was better he should not know what mordaunt had said. by and by two or three went off to the billiard-room and herries said to mordaunt: "sorry i had to urge you; but i knew the others hadn't pluck enough and meant to leave the thing to me. their notion was i didn't count and you wouldn't resent my remarks. rather an awkward job, but we felt we could trust you. all the same, i like jim, and expect he'll be popular when we get to know him. in fact, i imagine i'd have let him take the hounds." "he'd have jolted the others badly," mordaunt rejoined. "they belong to the old school; he belongs to the new." "one or two rather need a jolt, but we'll let it go. i want to watch dick's game; he's been playing well and using a new stroke." they went to the billiard-room and stayed until the party broke up. then, as the dryholm car rolled up to the steps, dick said to mordaunt: "you got the wrong time, after all. i compared my watch with hodson's. his was a presentation from the farmers' club, you know; the latest thing in watches, and he declares it's accurate." "it's not very important." "in a way, it is important," dick objected. "if i'd been here soon enough, i'd have urged their choosing jim." he paused and looked at mordaunt hard. "it's curious, but i imagined hodson was embarrassed when he said they meant to ask watson. why should they ask the fellow? he's not our sort." "after all, jim is not our sort." "rot!" exclaimed dick. "bernard is satisfied and i'd sooner trust him than hodson. in fact, bernard's a better judge than anybody in hodson's stodgy lot." mordaunt shrugged, but was glad the rattle of the engine covered his silence and the driver looked up as if to see if he were coming. he got into the car and pondered as he drove back to dryholm. dick's manner was curious and his annoyance was plain mordaunt wondered whether he suspected something. still, except perhaps for herries, the hunt committee were tactful; he did not think they would enlighten dick. chapter x bernard ponders it was getting dark in the hall at langrigg and jim, who had just returned from the marsh, sat in the hollow of the big fireplace. rain beat upon the windows, outside which the trees tossed their naked branches against the lowering sky, and a cold wind wailed about the ancient walls. oak logs snapped in the grate and carrie sat on the rug in the flickering light. she was toasting muffins, and a silver teapot and some cups stood on the low table in front of mrs. winter. now the days were getting cold and short, tea by the hearth was a popular function. carrie buttered a muffin and gave it jim on the end of the fork. "jake must wait for the next. i can't toast the things fast enough for him," she said. "they're quite nice if you eat them hot, but they're not like the flapjacks i made in the woods. after all, we had some pretty good times on the new line; hadn't we, jim? mother doesn't know; she wasn't there." "i was not," said mrs. winter. "if you had taken me along, i wouldn't be with you now. a roof that keeps out the rain, a warm room, and a comfortable chair are good enough for me." "you'd have said _for mine_, not long since. looks as if we were all getting english," carrie replied. "jim was very nice when he got you the chair. it's up against all the other things. if i was jim, i'd hate to have it around." jim laughed. he had sent to london for the american spring rocking-chair that clashed with the old oak in the hall, but it was a pattern mrs. winter liked and he was satisfied. he ate his muffin silently, for he was tired, and carrie's remarks had wakened memories of other fires that burned among the tall straight trunks in the canadian wilds; he thought he could hear the snow-fed river brawl, and smell the smoke that drifted in blue wreaths about the lonely camp. carrie had laughed and bantered him then and he had been happy. he was happy now and hoped to be happier yet, but carrie was often quiet and he had a puzzling feeling that he had lost something he could not recapture. presently she picked up a local newspaper and lighted a candle with a shade. the light only spread a yard or two, but it touched the page she folded back and sparkled in her hair. "they have got a master for the otter-hounds!" she exclaimed, and then her color rose and her eyes went hard. "i don't know the committee, but if the others are like hodson, they're solemn old fools." "i'd rather have liked the post, but it doesn't matter much," said jim, and added, with a smile: "now you're like the carrie who went north with us." "bernard meant you to have the hounds; he's a dear, although some stupid people are afraid of him," carrie went on. "he'd certainly have fixed it if he hadn't got lame again. but i remember--dick went to their old meeting and was mad about something afterwards. i think it was something about lance mordaunt--now i begin to see!" "i don't think it's worth while your bothering about the thing." "don't interrupt!" said carrie. "i'm going to talk. lance doesn't like you, and i imagine dick doesn't trust him. dick is smart sometimes and knows lance is mean. he is mean; he has a yellow streak----" she stopped, for she saw jim's frown. he was not vexed with her, but her statement chimed with some vague doubts of his. she got up and made him a formal curtsy. "i'm sorry, jim. that was the carrie you knew in the woods. if you don't want her, you oughtn't to burn logs and sit by the fire when it's getting dark, as we used to do. but she has gone back to the shadows that creep among the pines, and i don't think she will come out again." she pulled up an easy-chair, and when she sat down and shielded her face from the fire with her hand jake's eyes twinkled. he wondered whether jim saw she was cleverly imitating evelyn's graceful languidness. after a few moments she indicated the dark oak paneling and old furniture. "that's your proper background, jim, when you frown. it's plain that you belong to langrigg. when you fought the scots and hunted wolves i expect you often looked like you looked just now." "but i didn't fight the scots," jim objected. "your people did," said carrie. "sometimes you're very dull." jim laughed and glanced at her. flames leaped up round the logs and the red light played about her face. her color was rather marked, she looked strangely alert and forceful, and something about her dress gave her a touch of stateliness, for carrie had well chosen her english clothes. jim knew her to be staunch and fearless, and although her humor was sometimes puzzling he felt her charm. "by george!" he said impulsively, "i think you belong to the old days as much as i belong. one could have trusted you to hold the tower against all comers when your man went off to hunt." carrie held her hand to her face a moment, as if the fire were hot, and then smiled as she looked up. "if my man had gone off often, i would have taken the wolf-spear and gone with him." mrs. winter, who had quietly studied both, began to talk about something else, and presently a servant brought in some letters. jim moved the shaded candle and opened his, but after a time put one down and looked straight in front, knitting his brows. "what is it, partner?" jake asked. "i have got a knock. i told my vancouver agent to sell some shares and send along a check. he says i'd better wait; the market's very flat." "then you bought the bench-lands irrigation stock?" "i did. i have invested most of the money i got for the bluebird mine." "all ours is at the merchants' bank," carrie remarked. "jake wanted to buy irrigation stock, but i wouldn't let him. however, the company ought to make good." "i hope so. jeffreys is doubtful. i bought because i know the bench country and martin was interested in the scheme. it seems they are having trouble about their water rights and an order has been granted to stop the ditches. jeffreys says nobody wants the stock just now and imagines the lawsuit may go against them." "will this make things awkward for you?" "to some extent. langrigg costs much to run and the dykes are expensive. i'll get my farm rents soon, but they won't go very far. for all that, the dykes must be finished; it's the only way to get back the money i have spent." "besides, you want to finish them," carrie suggested. "that is so," jim agreed. "you can't leave a job half done." he began to ponder and struggle with a disturbing doubt. if the irrigation company failed, he must use economy, because the farm rents would not enable him to live at langrigg like a country gentleman. for himself, this did not matter much; he did not want a number of servants and gardeners. but evelyn was used to the extravagance at whitelees, and he knew mrs. halliday's views. "well," said carrie, "to begin with, the dykes must be finished. when your money runs out you will use ours." "carrie speaks for the rest of us," jake declared. "what she says goes." jim hardly understood the emotion by which he was moved and said awkwardly: "thanks! you're generous, but i can't let you pay for my mistakes." "we are partners, jim," said carrie. "until you break the partnership, all that's ours is yours. go on with the dykes and when you need money, ask jake for a check." "give him the book," said mrs. winter. "jake can sign some forms." jim hesitated and smiled to hide his embarrassment. "we'll wait. i'm not broken yet, and since martin is backing the scheme things can't go very wrong. however, it's lucky they didn't make me master of hounds." in the evening he went to dryholm and dined with bernard at a small table in the spacious room. afterwards they sat by the fire talking quietly. flickering reflections played about the carved marble and bright steel; electric lights, half-hidden by the cornice, threw down a soft light, and bernard looked old and worn as he leaned back languidly in his big chair. "since you have begun to drain the marsh, we may take it for granted you are going to stay at langrigg," he said. "yes, i mean to stay." "then it's obvious that you ought to marry." "i don't know if it's obvious or not," jim rejoined. "however, since you are the head of the house, i dare say you are entitled to feel some curiosity." bernard smiled. "suppose you think about me as an old man who would like to be your friend." "i'm sorry, sir," said jim. "we're an independent lot in canada and i've fought for my own hand since i was a boy. anyhow, i mean to marry evelyn, if she is willing." "it looks as if you had not asked her yet." "i have not; i'm half-afraid. in one way, it would be a rash plunge for a girl like evelyn. though i've inherited langrigg, i'm a western adventurer; i've lived with rough men in the wilds. she's refined and cultivated. well, i've gone slow, trying to persuade myself i was justified before i persuaded her. then i wanted her, so to speak, to get used to me." "you are modest," bernard remarked. "you imply that evelyn does not know." "i don't think she knows. i have been cautious. if i hinted at my hopes too soon, she might get disturbed and alarmed." bernard smiled. "well, perhaps you have taken a prudent line. but do you imagine your reserve has deceived janet halliday?" "perhaps it has not; mrs. halliday is clever. i think she is my friend." "it's possible," bernard agreed, with a touch of ironical humor. "how long do you think you must give evelyn, in order to avoid the jar she might get if you prematurely revealed your hopes?" jim knitted his brows. he was used to bernard's cynical dryness and trusted him. "it will be longer than i thought," he answered, grimly. "i have had a bad set-back." he told bernard about the risk of his losing his money, and the latter was silent for a minute or two. then he remarked: "i suppose you see that if i thought it a good plan i could help you out." "that is not why i told you," said jim. "i could not take your help." "i imagined you would not. well, perhaps your frankness accounts for our friendship. you are unembarrassed because you have no grounds for indulging my caprices and expect nothing from me." jim made a little abrupt movement. he had once said something like that; to mordaunt, he thought. "very well," bernard resumed. "if you think i can help, i am willing; but i will not insist." "thank you," said jim, "i must trust my own efforts." bernard lighted a cigar and pondered. he was satisfied and somewhat amused. it would not have cost him much to banish jim's difficulties and he would have liked to earn his gratitude, but was glad the other had refused. it was better that jim's troubles about money should not be banished yet. he was something of a romantic fool; but bernard knew evelyn was not. by and by he led jim into confidential talk about his investments in canada and his plans for developing his new estate, and then let him go. when jim had gone, he sat by the fire, thinking hard, and after a time sent a servant to the library for a bundle of architect's drawings. the drawings gave the plans and elevation of a new hospital and bernard thought the plain, straight front, looked mean. knowing something about building, he saw how it could be altered and ornamented, and the hospital enlarged, if funds permitted. he was one of the founders and thought it might be advisable to augment his gift. next day he went to whitelees and was received by mrs. halliday in her drawing-room, which always annoyed him. he felt he wanted to clear out janet's room and furnish it on another plan. bernard hated sensual prettiness and liked bold, clean lines and subdued color. besides, his gout was rather bad, the fragile chair was uncomfortable, and he could not rest his foot. when the pain gripped him he frowned, and mrs. halliday remarked that he was not looking well. "i am getting old and have recently felt my age," he replied. "one must pay for a strenuous youth, and it's becoming plain that i ought to straighten my affairs while the opportunity is mine." mrs. halliday looked sympathetic and felt curious. she had wondered when bernard would give her his confidence. "well," she said, "i suppose this is one's duty, although i hope you have no particular grounds for imagining it needful just now." "one cannot tell," bernard remarked. "anyhow, i have responsibilities that must not be shirked. well, evelyn and lance will get a share of my property; in fact, i have made some provision for them." "i expect you have been generous," said mrs. halliday, who wondered how far she durst go. "but what about jim?" "his claim will need some thought. for that matter, he has hinted that he is satisfied with langrigg. independence like his is not common and perhaps ought to be indulged." mrs. halliday was disturbed, but bernard did not seem to be curious about her feelings and resumed: "in the meantime, i've been thinking about the new brunstock hospital and am going to see the committee. since you promised us a donation, i have brought the plans." he unrolled the elevation and gave it her. "this is not the kind of building we want and i mean to propose some alterations." he indicated the alterations, and mrs. halliday said: "but it will cost a very large sum." "i expect so. my money came from the iron mines; the brunstock pitmen and furnace men earned the most part for me. a number get hurt and it is just that i should give them something back. then if we called it the dearham hospital, as the committee suggest, the building would keep my memory green, and i am vain enough to prefer a handsome monument." "in some ways it is a good ambition," mrs. halliday agreed, although she was puzzled, for she thought bernard had an object he had not stated. he certainly was not vain. "of course," he went on, "one must be just to one's relations, and it would be harsh to leave out jim altogether. still, you see, he's rash; we have an example in his dyking plan, and i would not like my money squandered. i expect you know he has lost much of his in a canadian speculation?" mrs. halliday did not know and got something of a jar. she gave bernard a quick and rather anxious glance. "but if he has lost his, your gift would be more needful." bernard made a sign of disagreement. "the drawback is, jim might use it as rashly as he has used the rest." "they sometimes waste money at hospitals." "that is so, but if i carry out my plans, there will not be much waste at brunstock. i have been pondering some stipulations, and if i give them a proper endowment, the trustees must consent." "do you mean to endow the new wards? we understood you would be satisfied with giving part of what they needed for the original building." "of course," said bernard. "since i'm going to urge the extension, i must find the money. the hospital is getting a hobby of mine and i may make the endowment much larger than i meant." he got up. "it's a long drive and i must not keep the committee." he went off and mrs. halliday tried to brace herself. she had grounds for disturbance, but she must think. if bernard carried out his plans, it was obvious that she must change hers. chapter xi evelyn's adventure after bernard had gone, mrs. halliday talked to evelyn. at first she was cautious and rather implied than stated her meaning, but by degrees she threw off her reserve. although evelyn and her mother generally agreed, mrs. halliday felt she was antagonistic, and this disturbed her. evelyn was not romantic; as a rule, her judgment was cool and sound, but she was human, and it began to look as if she were strongly attracted by jim dearham. "on the whole, it would be better if you did not go to langrigg to-morrow," mrs. halliday concluded. "you can make an excuse." "i think not," said evelyn. "you urged me not to disappoint jim the last time we went, but we will let this go. now he has had bad luck, it would look significant if you suddenly withdrew your approval. he knew it was his not long since." "in a way, i am forced to withdraw it. i like jim----" "but you do not like him to be poor," evelyn interrupted with a smile. "well, it seems to me a proper and tactful line for his friends to rally round him when he is in trouble." "one can, of course, be sympathetic if one meets him." evelyn laughed. "but one need not go too far?" she paused and gave her mother a steady look. "langrigg is a fine old house, i don't suppose jim is ruined, and i have some money. then you have taught me to expect that i may get some more." "bernard is capricious. he has a bitter humor and may disappoint us all. you have come to think refinement needful; you are extravagant and could not live with an impoverished husband. let me beg you not to be obstinate and rash." "ah," said evelyn, "i sometimes felt i would like to be rash, but was not brave enough. i do not know if i have much courage now." mrs. halliday got up. perhaps she had said enough and after all one could trust evelyn when she was cool. it looked as if the girl's disappointment had been sharp, and the wise plan was to leave her alone. yet she was puzzled; evelyn had given signs of a recklessness her mother thought new. when mrs. halliday went out evelyn tried to formulate her thoughts. to begin with, her mother's calculating caution repelled her; it had made her feel shabby. then she had, no doubt, taken much for granted. jim had, perhaps, had bad luck, but this did not mean that he was impoverished, and after all there were many expensive things one could go without. she was not as greedy as some people thought. indeed, it would be rather fine to make a plunge; to let cold caution go and play a romantic part. she mused about jim. he was marked by a certain roughness, but he had dignity. he gave one pleasant thrills--there was the scene on the dyke when she was half-shocked and yet strangely moved. his physical fineness appealed; his figure was like an old greek athlete's, his face was sharply cut and somehow ascetic. he was hot-blooded, but one knew he was not gross. his was a clean virility. evelyn thought she loved him, as much as she could love anybody, for she had not been touched by passion, and it counted for something that he loved her. the reserve he thought he used was, of course, ridiculous. evelyn resolved she would go to langrigg and sympathize with jim. then she would wait and by and by her feelings might get stronger and she would see her way. she would not admit that the possibility of learning whether jim would get over his difficulties had some influence. next evening she went to langrigg, without mrs. halliday, who made an excuse. jim called for her with his car, and, for the most part, she was quiet and he did not talk much. there were steep hills and awkward corners as they ran down from the rolling country to the plain. the evening was calm and the noise of the sea came softly out of the distance. now and then plover and curlew cried, a half-moon hung in the west, and the black hills rose out of fleecy mist. evelyn was imaginative and liked the drive across the flat holms in the dark. it was romantic ground, rich with traditions of the old border raids, and now as she watched jim, sitting, absorbed, with his hands on the wheel, she felt he, so to speak, dated back. he drove the powerful modern car with ease and skill, but somehow she imagined him wearing steel cap and leather jack and guiding a shaggy pony. perhaps it was the picture in a hall she knew that haunted her. one saw the shadowy horsemen and glitter of spears in the moonlight. meanwhile, she gave herself to irresolute thought. jim had some advantages and some drawbacks; evelyn saw the drawbacks plainly. he attracted her; it would be exciting to let him carry her away and embark with him on a romantic adventure. she knew he had recently used a stern control, but he was hot-blooded and his reserve might be undermined. yet there was a risk; she must give up much. she was drawn in different ways by romance and worldly caution and it looked as if caution would win. soon after she reached langrigg mordaunt arrived with dick. the latter declared that jim was a very good sort, and evelyn knew his feeling was sincere, but she imagined dick liked carrie and was sometimes disturbed. for all that, she had been relieved to note that carrie liked dick. dinner was a cheerful function, but when they went back to the hall evelyn was quiet. joseph dearham and others had made some renovations in the hall, but they harmonized with the crooked roof-beams and dark oak. there were one or two tall lamps and another that hung by iron chains, but jim generally used candles in old silver stands. evelyn wondered how jim knew that candles were right. it was strange that he often, unconsciously, she thought, struck the proper note. she studied him and jake while she talked to mrs. winter. jim seldom wore conventional evening clothes, but he had put on an american dinner-jacket. he and his comrade were strangely agile; their movements were quick, their step was light, like a cat's, and she noted how they lifted their feet. she did not know the prospector gets the habit by walking through tangled bush and across rough stones. they had a suppleness that came from using the long ax, and toil in the wilds had given them a fine-drawn look. in some ways both were modern, but in some they belonged to the past, when the fortress peels were built and the marsh-men fought the scots. jim crossed the floor, and when he began to talk to carrie, evelyn felt a jealous pang. the girl had been in the woods with jim; she had beauty and a curious primitive strength. jim leaned forward, smiling as he talked to her; they talked confidentially, like tried comrades. evelyn was moved to something near anger and went to the old grand piano jim had brought from the drawing-room when he found that carrie could play ragtime airs. evelyn had a talent for music and meant to make an experiment. if jim was what she thought, he would respond. "if somebody will light the candles, i will sing," she said. the candles had pale-yellow shades and when jim struck a match the colored light touched her face and dress. except for this, the corner was somewhat dark. amber was evelyn's color. she struck a few chords that seemed to echo in the distance and then, glancing at jim, began a prelude with a measured beat. his face was intent; he seemed to search for something in the music that sounded as if it were getting nearer. she wondered whether he heard the call of trumpets and horses' feet drumming in the dark. somehow she thought he did. perhaps she was debasing her talent; this kind of thing was rather a theatrical trick than music. for all that, it needed feeling, and she knew the old border ballads and their almost forgotten airs. jim was very still when she began to sing, for her voice and the music moved him strongly. the air was wild, the rude words rang with something one felt when one battled with floods and snowslides. they told how the moss-troopers rode down ettrick water long ago; but human nature did not change and hard-bitten men now went out on the snowy trail, carrying shovels and axes instead of spears. but how did evelyn, surrounded by luxurious refinements, understand? "it's fine!" he exclaimed when she stopped. "you have got it just right; horses' feet, and harness jingling. but you go back of that to the feeling one has when one braces up and sets one's mouth tight." evelyn laughed and looked at mordaunt, who frowned. "perhaps you are easily satisfied, jim, but music, critical folks contemptuously call descriptive, needs some talent." she paused and beat out a few bars imitating a horse's gallop. "it really does go back of this." "never mind critical folks," said jim. "sing another--the song of flodden." "i'm not sure the song you mean has really much to do with flodden, but i know one that has. it's old and rude, like the borderers. you know a band would not fight, but were too proud to run away. they stood fast, by themselves, and were shot down by the archers while the loyal scots fell round their wounded king. this, however, is shocking art; it's like writing what you are meant to see at the top of a picture. i know it annoys lance." "i can endure much from you," mordaunt rejoined. evelyn struck the keys and began to sing. words and air had a strange barbaric force, and jim pictured the stern scots spearmen closing round their fallen monarch and their hate for the stubborn mutineers. the blood came to his skin when the music stopped and the girl's voice flung out a dying soldier's curse. the curse was strangely modern; one heard it often in the west. "thank you! you have not sung like this before," he said, and turned to jake. "how does it strike you, partner?" "it hits me where i feel it, and hits me hard. i reckon the men who fought that old battle meant to make good. i don't know how miss halliday knows what a man with red blood feels when he's got to put over a big hard job, but she does know." "i'm afraid you would make me vain," said evelyn. she turned as she left the piano and gave carrie a quick glance. a sharp jealousy seized her, for while she could imagine what a strong man felt, carrie really knew. she had fronted danger with jim; she had watched and helped his struggle in the lonely north. evelyn was suddenly afraid of carrie. she was a powerful rival. the party went to the billiard-room, but evelyn would not play and sat in a corner, thinking hard. she was highly-strung, and her hesitation had vanished. jim loved her and nobody else should claim him. perhaps she was rash, but she had begun to feel passion, and saw she must embark upon her great adventure now, when jim had had reverses and was smarting from the blow. he must see that she had pluck and was willing to bear his troubles. after all, to have done with caution was exhilarating. yet she knew her lover. he would not ask her to make a sacrifice for him; unless his luck changed he would keep up his reserve. well, she must break it down, and she knew her power. then she turned as mordaunt stopped by the bench she occupied. "i think you did not like my song," she said. "you know i did not," mordaunt rejoined. "anyhow, i didn't like your exaggerated rendering of a ballad that is probably genuine, though one authority states it was written about an ancient football match. they played football before the scottish wars in the border towns." "is this important?" "it is not. i thought you were putting your talent to a shabby use." "art is imitation," evelyn remarked with a mocking smile. "why should one not imitate the drumming of horses' feet? or, for example, a storm at sea? i believe that kind of thing is popular at cheap concerts." mordaunt frowned. "you well know what your gift is worth. it's too fine to be used in order to rouse crude emotions in a handsome savage like jim." "ah," said evelyn, with a sparkle in her eyes, "are the great emotions crude? courage and loyalty that led to deeds that live four hundred years? i don't know if our refinements would stand comparison with the big primitive things." "jim is certainly primitive," mordaunt sneered. "and he's big! so big that he makes other men look small! i was disturbed when i saw him, bruised and muddy, that day at the marsh; but i begin to understand i was ridiculous. he fought the smith because he was accountable for his men." "oh, well; i expect he would value your approval," said mordaunt, who saw jim go out. "it looks as if he were getting bored." evelyn smiled. "he keeps some dyking plans in the hall. i don't think he will be bored if i join him." she got up languidly. "since you are not very amusing, i will go." she went off and found jim opening a drawer. "you can study your plans; i won't disturb you," she said, sitting down by the fire. "i really don't care for billiards." he shut the drawer and leaned against a table opposite. "you were not playing billiards; you were talking to lance. that was why i went away." "you flatter me," said evelyn. "but don't leave the plans. i expect they are important." "they are important. the rain is giving us trouble, and although i began the job to occupy my leisure, i'm going to finish it because i must." "i think i understand. i am sorry you have had bad luck in canada." "thank you. how did you know?" "bernard told us." "i wonder why," jim remarked, thoughtfully. "although it doesn't matter much, i didn't expect him to tell." evelyn pondered. bernard had, no doubt, had an object, but she could solve the puzzle afterwards. she was alone with jim, and in a few minutes the others might return. "i was rather hurt when i found you had given bernard your confidence and left me out," she said. "but does this reverse in canada hit you hard?" "it was a nasty knock. i expect to get over it, but it will be some time before i recover the ground i've lost. things will be better when we plow the land i'm reclaiming from the marsh." "in the meantime, you will have to struggle?" "yes," said jim, rather grimly, "it will be a struggle. but that is not all----" he pulled himself up. there was a risk that he might say too much, and while he hesitated evelyn listened. the door was open and the house was quiet, but she could not hear the click of the billiard balls. it looked as if dick and carrie had finished their game, there was no time for clever maneuvering; she must be frank. she gave jim a quick glance and then looked away. "jim," she said, "i am not poor." he started, and his face got red. evelyn's meaning was obvious, but he could hardly persuade himself that he had grasped it. "much of my money has gone and i may not get it back," he said, with forced quietness. "in one way, this does not matter; i'm not greedy, but i'm proud. i must farm the reclaimed land and make my farming profitable; i can't keep up langrigg as my friends expect. i've got to live and work as i lived and worked in canada." "people do live in the woods and on the plains. do you think your countrywomen have less pluck than these others? are we dull and weak, afraid of hardship and only willing to be amused?" jim lifted his head and laughed. "all this is ridiculous! i haven't met many english girls, but you are the finest thing in a woman's shape i have known. i've thought about you always since that day at montreal. when they told me langrigg was mine i would have sold it had i not thought i might find you in the old country." "then you didn't know i was here?" "i did not," said jim, who forgot his reserve and let himself go. "when i saw you on the terrace, i got a thrill and a sense of triumph i'd never known before. but to find you was not enough; i had got to claim, and keep you. i'd got to have something to offer; i had to justify myself. well, that's why i began to drain the marsh----" evelyn stopped him. "i wasn't worth it, jim," she said, with half-ashamed sincerity. "but i understand; you are too proud to take, you want to give. although you're foolish, i like your pride." for a moment jim was silent and his face got hard. "it's done with," he said, rather hoarsely. "i meant to make good before i claimed you, and this loss has set me back. i'm not beaten, but i must wait until i can give you all you ought to have. you're so fine and highly-tempered that you're fragile; rough jolts and jars are not for such as you. i've got to work----" she got up and looked at him shyly, with color in her face and her eyes shining. "and until you make good, you mean to leave me out? will it cost you nothing, jim?" "it will cost me much," he said, grimly. "more than i durst reckon, but i must brace up and pay." "but suppose i will not let you leave me out? am i to give nothing?" evelyn asked. "besides, it's my right to choose, and you meant to rob me of my right. if i didn't know you well, i should be angry. langrigg is yours; but if you had nothing, do you think i'd keep our extravagance at whitelees and let you go?" she turned her head and then looked up, stretching out her hands. "i can't let you go! i want to help." jim took her hands and next moment she was in his arms. then there were steps in the passage and she gently pushed him back. "you must tell nobody just yet," she said. the others came in and mordaunt looked at evelyn rather hard, but she went to the piano and opening a music-book, beckoned dick. "you know this," she said. "i'll play it for you." chapter xii the shooting punt on the morning after her interview with jim, evelyn sat in front of a writing-table by a window at whitelees. she had meant to tell a friend about her lover, but now did not know if she would or not. for one thing, the morning was cold and dreary and she felt dull. composition was difficult; the glowing phrases she had thought to use would not come. it was raining outside, the lawn was strewn with wet dead leaves, and the bare trees tossed their branches in the wind. shallow pools spread about the terrace and the hills were blurred by mist. winter had begun and evelyn did not like winter in the country. she put down her pen. last night's thrill had gone and she was languid. when she had broken his reserve, jim was the ardent and romantic lover she had thought; but she had been forced to break down his reserve and this carried a sting. for some hours she had been dazzled by the glamor of romance and had rejoiced in her rashness, but the light was getting dim. things looked different in the morning. jim loved her and she was flattered by his exaggerated notion of her worth. she had meant to justify his confidence, but she knew this would be hard, because she knew herself. in a sense, jim was not her kind, and by and by they might jar. she had self-control, but she was not patient. moreover, it looked as if jim were poor, and although she had some money she was not rich. thrilled by keen excitement and half-consciously acting, she had told him that poverty did not daunt her, but when she came to think, it would be hard to go without the expensive refinements she enjoyed. with something of an effort, she banished her disturbing thoughts. she was going to marry jim. perhaps she could mold him a little. yet she did not know; she did not want to conventionalize him; there was something rather fine about his ruggedness. then she began to wonder why she had asked him to tell nobody yet. girls she knew had found an obvious satisfaction in exhibiting their lovers, but she had felt a need for concealment. this was not because she feared her mother's disapproval; it looked as if she had unconsciously tried to leave open a way of escape. by and by a car rolled up the drive and mordaunt came in. "i am going to the town and wondered whether you wanted anything i could get for you," he said. evelyn said he might call for some goods her mother had ordered, and he was silent for a moment or two. then he asked: "were you and jim quarreling in the hall last evening?" "no," she said, smiling. "why do you imagine this?" "jim was preoccupied. i asked him for matches and he gave me his cigarette case." "he is often preoccupied," evelyn rejoined, with a careless laugh. "i expect he was thinking about his dykes; he talked about the marsh." mordaunt studied her. she was calm and looked amused by his curiosity. moreover, her suggestion was plausible. "jim is not always happy in his choice of subjects, but i won't sympathize with you," he said. "you could have stopped him if you had liked. you often stop me." "i suppose that is so," evelyn agreed. "for one thing, it is not much trouble. you know when one is bored." "your tastes are mine; we belong to the same school. it makes for understanding." "after all," said evelyn, "one likes something new." mordaunt laughed and said he must go, and when his car rolled away evelyn mused. lance's remark was justified; they did belong to the same school, and in the main their views agreed. this had some drawbacks, but it had advantages. novelty was stimulating for a time, but soon lost its charm; one was safe if one held fast by the things one knew and valued, even if one's standard of value was not altogether just. evelyn admitted her cynically philosophic mood was strange, but the dreary day accounted for something, and perhaps a reaction from last night's thrill had begun. a few minutes afterwards mrs. halliday came in and they talked about household matters. in the meantime, mordaunt drove to the town and stopped at a lawyer's office. there were three partners in the firm which managed bernard dearham's business; two sober, white-haired gentlemen, and one who was young. the others gave the house weight and respectability, but holbrook supplied the driving force and mordaunt imagined his partners did not know where he was leading them. holbrook's room, in a tall old house that looked across a quiet square, was handsomely furnished, and mordaunt sat down in a comfortable chair. "i want to borrow some money for about six months," he said. "how much do you want?" holbrook asked, and when mordaunt told him, looked thoughtful. mordaunt had borrowed before and had punctually repaid principal and interest. "we are not money-lenders, you know," he said. "i negotiated the last loan rather as a favor than a matter of business." mordaunt smiled indulgently. "for all that, you lend money; your clients', i suppose. i don't know if your legal business would keep you going long." "if we invest in anything outside the regular high-class securities, we run some risk." "i don't think the risk is great," mordaunt replied. "i sometimes speculate, and you have grounds for knowing i'm generally lucky. well, some friends floated a small private company to develop a west indian estate and we have spent much of our capital on new plantations. the value of our produce is rising, but we need funds to carry us on until the crop is shipped and have agreed to a fresh levy. i must pay my share." "the sum is large." "you lent me nearly as much before." "i did," said holbrook. "things were different then----" he stopped, and mordaunt gave him a keen glance. holbrook's hesitation was curious. "how are things different?" mordaunt asked. "you bought shares that seldom fluctuate much. you risked losing a small margin; now you may lose the principal." "the loss would be mine. i have always paid." "that is so. the trouble is, if this venture went wrong you might not be able to pay." mordaunt was silent for a few moments. holbrook had been willing to negotiate the other loans; it looked as if the fellow had now less grounds for trusting him, although it was not his honesty but his power to pay he doubted. why did holbrook think his power had got less? "am i to understand you refuse to lend?" he asked. "i would sooner not. however, if a smaller sum----" "a smaller sum would not help," mordaunt replied with a touch of haughtiness. "well, i will not urge you and dare say you are occupied." the lawyer let him go and mordaunt thought hard as he drove home. holbrook had formerly been accommodating, as if he wanted to satisfy a client whose business might by and by be valuable, but his attitude was now different. there was no traffic on the road that went up a long hill, and mordaunt could concentrate on the puzzle. when he was half-way up he began to see a light. bernard had gone to town and had stayed some time; he had probably called on the lawyers who had made his will. the light got clearer and when mordaunt reached the top he thought he understood. bernard had altered his will and mordaunt would not get as much as he, and no doubt holbrook, had thought possible. the hospital would cost a large sum, but this did not account for everything. although bernard often used the formal manners of the old school, he had a rude vein; he had broken down stubborn opposition and beaten determined strikers while he developed the famous iron mines. no doubt, he saw in jim qualities like his and now meant to leave him the most part of his estate. all jim got would be taken from the others, and mordaunt thought holbrook's caution indicated that his share had been severely cut down. jim was going to get money mordaunt had imagined was his. he let the engine go, the car leaped forward, and he drove furiously until he reached the dryholm lodge, for he wanted to find out if his supposition was correct. when he put the car into the garage a man was cleaning a limousine. "i'm afraid i have given you another job," mordaunt said. "you haven't got the big car properly polished yet." "she got very wet when i took mr. dearham to town." "it was a bad day. did he keep you waiting in the rain?" "i was outside the lawyers' office for an hour," the man replied. mordaunt frowned as he went to the house. the reason for holbrook's caution was plain, and if janet halliday imagined bernard meant to leave jim nothing, she was much deceived. bernard had probably meant to deceive her, but mordaunt thought he would not meddle. he went to his room and stopped for some time, smoking and pondering. a few days afterwards, jim and jake, wearing long waders and yellow oilskins, crept up a hollow in the sands. it was about nine o'clock in the evening, they were a mile from land, and light mist drifted about the bay, but the moon shone through. the tide was flowing, the water rippled noisily in the channel, and flakes of muddy foam and trailing weed floated past. the harsh cry of a black-backed gull rang across the flats and small wading birds whistled about the water's edge. farther off, the clanging call of black geese came out of the mist. jim carried a heavy ten-bore gun and his feet sank in the mud as he crept quietly up the hollow. he liked this rough shooting, and now and then jake and he went out at nights. when one had hunted fierce game in canada, shooting driven pheasants was tame sport, and the beaters found the birds; but on the sands one must match one's intelligence against the instinctive cunning of the ducks and geese. besides, there was some risk that gave the thing a spice. belts of sand were dangerously soft and the tides were treacherous. sometimes they rose faster than one reckoned. "the brant-geese can't be far off," he remarked presently. "it's a pretty big gaggle and i expect some of the fat gray-lag are feeding with them." jake looked at the water. "if you want a shot, i guess you'll go on; but if i'd been alone, i'd have started home some time since. the tide's rising fast." "we have a quarter of an hour yet," said jim. "anyhow, we'll shove on for the next bend." they went on. their waders and oilskins scarcely showed against the sand, and the murmur of the current drowned the noise they made. as they came near the bend the calling of the geese got louder, there was a creaking beat of wings and some of the harsh cries had a different note. "grey-lag," said jim. "another lot is coming up. they'll fly across to the marsh when the tide moves them." "it will move us soon," jake rejoined. when they reached the corner jim was a short distance in front. the geese were obviously restless and he crouched as low as he could get. jake found a hollow in the bank where the sand, undermined by the current, had fallen down, and stood with the water creeping to his feet. he imagined it would nearly reach his waist in mid-channel, and they must soon get across. the beat of wings began again and harsh cries echoed in the mist. the geese were moving and jake balanced his gun when jim rose half-upright. the bank behind jim was low and his bent figure was outlined against the glimmering reflection of the tide. then, although he did not know if he had heard a noise or not, jake looked round and saw a long gray object slide out of the mist. it was indistinct and very low in the water, but he knew it was a shooting punt. it drifted up the channel towards him; a faint ripple indicating that somebody was steering it with a short paddle. a blurred figure lay in the well behind a bunch of reeds, and the only bold line was the barrel of the big punt-gun that would throw a pound of shot. jim could not see the punt, because he was looking the other way, but it was obvious that the gunner could see him, although jake thought he himself was invisible against the bank. as a rule, one cannot aim a punt-gun; one must turn the punt, and jake noted that the craft swerved. the long barrel was now in line with jim, and although the man on board was probably steering towards the bank for concealment, jake thought there was something sinister about his quiet approach. he remembered that shanks owned the only punt on the lower bay. he waited a few moments, unwilling to call out, lest he should spoil his comrade's shot, but feeling disturbed. the punt was about fifty yards from jim and the heavy shot would not spread much; jake admitted that his disturbance was perhaps illogical, but he did not like the way the big gun pointed. when the punt was level with him he stepped out from the bank. the indistinct figure on board did not move, but the craft swerved again and the gun pointed straight up the channel. jake did not know if this was significant or not, because the current eddied, but he imagined the fellow had seen him. then jim threw his gun to his shoulder and a red flash leaped from the muzzle. there was a splash, but next moment jake saw a dark object overhead and pulled the trigger. the goose came down, whirling over with long neck hanging limp, until it struck the other bank, and jake plunged into the channel. "pick up your bird and get across," he shouted, while the current rippled about his legs. for the next minute or two they were occupied. the tide ran fast, the bottom was soft, and jim's goose drifted away. he reached it, however, and they came out on the other bank. jake could see nothing but the glimmering water and a narrow belt of wet sand. the geese had flown off and the punt had vanished in the fog. "we stopped long enough, but we've got a brant and a gray-lag. you ought to be satisfied," he said. "i'd have got another if you hadn't been so anxious to get across," jim rejoined. "wasn't there a punt about? i thought i saw something as i threw up my gun." "yes," said jake, dryly, "shanks' punt!" "of course! nobody else keeps a punt on the low marsh. well, we spoiled his shot and i expect he'll feel he has a fresh grievance. that is, if he knew who i was." "i reckon he knew all right," jake remarked. "nobody else has been on the sands for some weeks." jim looked at him rather hard. "anyhow, it doesn't matter. let's get home. there's a hole in my wader and the water has leaked through. this sport is pretty good, but you need a punt. i'll order one from the fellow across the bay." they set off and jake could not tell if he had excited his comrade's suspicions. jim was sometimes reserved. jake admitted that his own suspicions might not be justified, but he wondered what would have happened had he not moved out from the bank. chapter xiii mordaunt's repulse shortly after his visit to the lawyer, mordaunt walked over to whitelees. it was about four o'clock in the afternoon, and it would soon be dark, but although he had some distance to go he did not walk fast. tea was served early at whitelees and, as a rule, mrs. halliday afterwards went to sleep. mordaunt wanted to arrive when she had done so, and his leisurely progress gave him time to think. he meant to ask evelyn to marry him. he liked her and they generally agreed, but he was not sure he would have thought about marriage had he been rich. for all that, he knew no other girl who would suit him so well, and it would be an advantage to consolidate the family property, since both would inherit some part of bernard's estate. mordaunt knew mrs. halliday saw this, for she had been his friend until jim came on the scene. it now looked as if she thought jim would get little or nothing, and mordaunt did not mean to enlighten her. the loss of his west indian investment forced him to make a prudent marriage, but he did not feel that he was doing a shabby thing. evelyn understood him and was rather calculating than romantic. it was disturbing that she had obviously been attracted by jim, but mordaunt thought the attraction was not very strong. he did not mean to let jim rob him of his inheritance and the girl he hoped would be his wife. it was getting dark when he reached whitelees and found evelyn sitting by the fire in the drawing-room. the lamps were not lighted and the room was shadowy except for the reflection from the grate. evelyn did not get up and he stood opposite, talking quietly while she rested her chin in her hollowed hand and listened. he did not pretend passion, but she thought he struck the right note. he was sincere, as far as he went, and she admitted that he made the best of a not very strong appeal. one could trust lance to be graceful. "if you had asked me before, i might have married you. it is now too late," she said. mordaunt moved abruptly, but used some control. "ah," he said, in a rather strained voice, "i suppose this means jim has claimed you first?" "yes," she said, calmly, "i have promised to marry jim. so far, nobody else knows." he was silent for a moment or two, knitting his brows, and then looked up. "i'm sorry, and although your refusal hurts, don't think i'm altogether selfish. jim is a good sort, but he's not the man for you." evelyn colored and her eyes sparkled, and then the firelight left her face. "to some extent that is so, lance. i expect jim has drawbacks, but he's flesh and blood; red blood, i think they say in canada. you know what you and i are; we have cultivated out our vulgar passions. at least, i thought i had!" "has jim persuaded you that you were mistaken?" "he may persuade me. after all, there is some satisfaction in being human." mordaunt made a sign of vague agreement. "i thought i was a philosopher, but i'm frankly savage now. however, i don't imagine you will let passion guide you very long." he paused, and after a few moments resumed: "if you find you were deceived and romance gets stale, you will find me waiting. i think you know this, and there is no more to be said." "there is no use in waiting, lance," evelyn replied. "i have made the plunge. it cost me an effort, but i feel braced. jim is bracing; like cold water or a boisterous wind. you would have kept me in an enervating calm. well, i'm tired of artificial tranquillity; i'm going to try my luck in the struggle of life with jim." she let him go and he started for dryholm in a thoughtful mood. her refusal had hurt him, but he would not dwell on this. he was half-afraid to do so and wanted to think about her. she was pluckier than he had imagined and was obviously sincere, since she did not know jim would be rich, but he doubted if she could keep it up. jim was rude and tempestuous, and she would not be satisfied with him long. the trouble was the romantic impulse might sustain her until it was too late, for jim would, no doubt, urge an early marriage. mordaunt's face got hard as he thought about this, and he was rather surprised by the anger that fired his blood. he had cultivated a philosophic selfishness, but it no longer supported him. he hated jim, and felt troubled about evelyn. luck was with the headstrong fool; he had swept her off her feet, but she would recover her balance and then she would pay. mordaunt clenched his fist and raged with helpless savageness. it was long since he had indulged his passions, and now his control had gone the reaction was sharp. he got cooler and began to look about. there was a moon, the evening was calm, and the dew sparkled on the grass by the hedgerows. a thick wood bordered one side of the road, which went up a long hill, and pale birch trunks that caught the light stood out against dusky firs. now and then a rabbit ran across the road and plunged into the grass, and presently there was a sharp rattle of wings. a flock of wood-pigeons circled round in the moonlight and flew back into the frees. then a cock-pheasant crowed. mordaunt stopped in the gloom where a nut-bush hung over the gate of a ride. somebody had disturbed the birds; one could trust the pigeons to give the alarm when an enemy was about. mordaunt was a sportsman and a good shot, but he waited because he wanted to find some relief from his tormenting thoughts. he was just inside the langrigg boundary and imagined the gamekeeper began his round at the other end of the estate. by and by dry underbrush rustled and there was a noise like a briar dragging across somebody's clothes. afterwards all was quiet for a few moments, until a dark figure came out of the gloom close to the gate. mordaunt let the man get over and then touched his arm. the other started, and stepping back, struck the gate. the blow was soft as if something had eased the shock and the fellow's shape was bulky about his hips. mordaunt knew a poacher has generally a large pocket in the lower lining of his coat. as the fellow lifted a short, knotted stick, he turned his face to the light and mordaunt saw it was tom shanks, the old marshman's son. "you can put down the stick," he said, coolly. "i expect you have been smoking pheasants, but they're langrigg bird's, not ours." shanks leaned against the gate and looked at him with dull suspicion. although his face was coarse and heavy, his eyes were cunning; he slouched, but when he moved his step was light. "there's nowt that's not langrigg's," he growled, grasping his stick. "gentry stands by yan anodder. are you gan t' tell?" mordaunt pondered. they were alone and he knew shanks's sullen ferocity. on the whole, he thought he was in some danger unless he could satisfy the fellow. shanks did not mean to let him seize the heavy stick. "i've not much ground for standing by mr. dearham and it's not my business to protect his game," he said. "if i thowt you'd send keeper after me----" "put down your stick," said mordaunt, with haughty impatience. "if i wanted to send the keeper, i'd certainly do so. but how many pheasants did you get?" "nobbut two. t' birds is varra scarce." "then i don't see why you ran the risk of stealing langrigg pheasants when there are plenty in red bank woods." shanks was silent for a moment or two, and then replied, as if mordaunt's carelessness had banished his doubts: "mr. dearham put us oot o' dabbin and blew 't up." "it's possible he'll put you out of bank-end cottage soon." "do you ken that?" shanks asked with a start. "i heard something of the kind. dearham meant to let your father have the cottage, but said nothing about your getting it, and he's tired of you both. you are letting bank-end go to ruin and people complain about your poaching." shanks's sullen look changed to a savage frown. "if he puts us oot, there's nea place we'll can gan." mordaunt hesitated. he imagined shanks had had something to do with the accident to jim's car, and it was obvious that the fellow was bitterly revengeful. at the beginning, mordaunt had not meant to work upon his vindictive feelings; he had done so half-consciously, but now he meant to go on. "nobody in the neighborhood would let you have a cottage. you might get a laborer's job in the town, but you would have to work hard, and i don't know about your father. he's rheumatic and old. none of the farmers would engage you." "t'oad man wouldn't could live away from marsh, and i'm none for takin' a job in town; i'd sicken among t'hooses," shanks replied. mordaunt thought the fellow did not exaggerate. shanks and his father would find no place in organized industry. they belonged to the open spaces, the wide marsh and the wet sands. "then it's lucky i and not the gamekeeper caught you to-night," he said. "mr. dearham is waiting for an excuse to turn you out. i imagine you will soon give him one." shanks did not reply. seizing the top of the gate, he jumped over and vanished in the wood. for a few moments all was quiet, and then mordaunt heard steps in the road. he left the gate and when he had gone a few yards met dick halliday, who stopped and looked at him with surprise. "i thought i saw two people," dick remarked. "you did see two," mordaunt agreed. "it's curious the other fellow didn't hear you farther off, because i imagine his ears are very good. were you trying to get near us?" "not at first. they're mending the road up the hill and i walked on the grass. when i saw you at the gate i suspected poachers and came on quietly. who was the other fellow?" "tom shanks. i caught him coming out of the wood with some pheasants and warned him he'd have to leave bank-end if jim knew." "do you mean you promised not to tell jim?" "i imagined he understood something like that. he is a powerful fellow, and carried a heavy stick. still, my satisfying him doesn't bind you." "i don't know; perhaps it does bind me, in a way," dick replied. "all the same, shanks is a loafing thief; i'd have turned him out of the neighborhood." mordaunt hesitated. he would have liked dick to tell jim, since this might lead the latter to take the cottage from shanks. for all that, he did not see how he could persuade dick to do so, because he did not want him to think he had an object. "well, i must get on," he said. "bernard grumbles when i'm late for dinner." he felt rather angry with himself when he went off. luck had given him an opportunity and he had used it in a manner of which he was half-ashamed. the thing was done, however, and he was not sure he was sorry. shanks was a savage brute and had already borne jim a grudge. one or two of the farmers and country gentlemen had had grounds to regret they had not left him alone. he would not hesitate much if he saw a way to prevent jim's turning him out, but mordaunt shrank from wondering how far he would go. after all, he had merely warned shanks about the consequence of his poaching. when dinner was over he told bernard he had been to whitelees, and added: "i imagine evelyn would not like it publicly announced just yet, but she has promised to marry jim." bernard was silent for a few moments, and his face was inscrutable. "then, she is pluckier than i thought," he said, dryly. "but why does she not want people to know?" "it's something of a puzzle. perhaps she felt telling people would bind her to her promise." "jim is a handsome fellow; i suppose the flesh is willing but the calculating brain weighs the drawbacks that may after all tip the beam," bernard remarked, and added with a sneer: "you ought to have married evelyn; you would have got on with her. in fact, if she had been willing, i'd have seen that her prudence was properly rewarded. the curious thing is, i imagine you both knew this." "i don't think either of us deserves the taunt, sir," mordaunt rejoined. "anyhow, i doubt if your generous plan altogether sprang from good will to us." "you're clever," said bernard, with dry humor. "much cleverer than jim; but he'll go far while you stand still. hustling is new to evelyn and at first she may find it exciting, but i doubt if she'll enjoy the effort to keep up with her husband when the novelty wears off." he mused when mordaunt went away. for a time at least, his plot had failed and he was keenly disappointed. evelyn was not the wife for jim; he ought to have married the girl from canada. carrie was frankly flesh and blood, and although she had not much polish yet, this would come; she had a natural dignity and was staunch and fearless. she would keep pace with jim, fronting troubles with her steady glance; bernard smiled as he pictured evelyn's stumbling gait when jim, so to speak, took a rough, steep hill. the thought, however, did not amuse him much, and he resigned himself moodily to wait. chapter xiv footsteps in the sand jim had a shooting-punt built, and now and then when the tide served at night, paddled up the creeks and shot a goose or duck, although he did not use a big punt-gun. he liked to pick out his birds and not throw a pound of shot into a flock. in the meantime, he pushed on the draining of the marsh, and although he spent anxious hours counting the cost, resolved to hold out until the job was done. as a rule, he was preoccupied and quiet, and evelyn often found him dull. his talk about dykes and sluices did not amuse her. by and by he found it needful to engage some drain-cutters, and one afternoon jake, taking carrie with him, started for a village on the other side of the bay. it was a long way round the sands and when they were near the village the car stopped and jake found a valve had broken. he engaged the men he wanted and afterwards resolved to leave the car and walk back across the sands. the few cottages were very small and their occupants had no room for strangers, but the bay got narrow near its mouth and the distance across the sands was scarcely three miles. jake did not expect to find much water in the channels, and when he had borrowed a pair of fishermen's waders for carrie, and they had got a meal at a cottage, they set off. it was dark and fog drifted in from sea, but the moon shone between slowly-moving clouds. the throb of the surf was unusually loud and a fisherman told jake to get across as soon as he could. he said there was wind outside and the tide often turned before its proper time when a fresh breeze was coming. when dusk fell jim returned from the marsh and found mrs. winter in the hall. there was nobody else about, and he thought the hall looked lonely. he was tired after a day's hard work and sat down in an easy-chair when mrs. winter asked if he would like some tea. "i'll wait until carrie comes," he said. "jake ought to have brought her back by now. the house feels empty when they're not here." mrs. winter mused. although jim had rather unwillingly agreed when evelyn insisted that nobody should be told about their engagement, he took much for granted when he imagined that nobody knew. mrs. winter was not deceived by his silence and knew that carrie understood. "when do you reckon you'll finish the dykes, jim?" she asked presently. "i don't know," he said. "it looks like a long job and money's getting short. anyhow, i have got to put it over, because i can't stand for losing the sum i've already spent. but why do you ask?" "because we must go back when you have no more use for jake." "oh," said jim, smiling, "i'll always have some use for jake, and langrigg wouldn't be the same if he took you away. you and carrie make the old house feel like home." mrs. winter felt troubled. jim was obviously sincere, and she had liked him from the beginning. she had been happy at langrigg; after the strain of hard work and poverty, it was nice to rest and control the well-ordered english household. carrie, too, had been happy, but mrs. winter imagined she was not happy now. although the girl had grit and would play her part well, mrs. winter did not mean to let her wait for jim's wedding. "you know we can't stay very long," she said. "i don't see why it's impossible." "you may get married." "well?" said jim. "suppose i do? there's plenty of room at langrigg and my wife would be kind to my friends when she knew how much i owe them." "the plan wouldn't work. when you marry, your wife will have first claim on you. i reckon she'll have all the claim there is and won't want to share it with anybody else." jim frowned. perhaps mrs. winter was justified. now he came to think of it, he had once or twice got a hint that evelyn did not altogether understand his friendship for carrie. "i hate to think of your going," he declared. "anyhow, you must stay for some time yet. jake promised to help me finish the draining scheme, and i may go broke. then i'd need him more." he got up and was silent for a few moments. if he lost his money, his engagement to evelyn must be broken off. this was obvious, but if he had, for example, meant to marry carrie, his embarrassments would not, in one sense, matter much. carrie would meet their troubles with a smile and help him to make good. still he must not indulge thoughts like this. "i think i'll take the punt and paddle up the big creek," he said. "you can tell carrie she ought to have come back to give me tea. since she hasn't come, i'll wait for dinner." he went off and mrs. winter mused. jim generally knew what he wanted, but his attitude was puzzling now. although he meant to marry evelyn and imagined he loved her, mrs. winter doubted. she wondered whether evelyn had, so to speak, dazzled him by her grace and beauty. jim was resolute and practical, but not clever. mrs. winter sighed and imagined she had been foolish to let carrie stay so long, but she could not see her way. jim would not be married until he had drained the marsh and jake would not go before the work was finished. mrs. winter admitted that he could not go. in the meantime, jim launched his shooting-punt in a muddy creek. the punt would carry two people and measured about eighteen feet long and nearly three feet wide. she was decked, except for a short well, and when loaded floated a few inches above the water. a bundle of reeds was fastened across the head-ledge of the well to hide the occupant when he lay down and used the short paddle. jim stood on the after-deck and drove the punt down the creek with a pole. he could see across the bank, and the wet marsh, glistening faintly in the moonlight, ran back into thin mist. in front, the creek got wider until it melted into the expanse of sands. here and there a belt of smooth mud caught a silvery reflection, but for the most part the sands were dark. the night was calm and the advancing surf rumbled in the distance like a heavy train. it was a good night for shooting and jim wondered whether anybody else was about. mordaunt and dick now and then went after the geese, and shanks, in his shooting punt, generally haunted the channels when the gaggles came down to feed. it was some time after low-water when jim reached the main channel and stopped to listen. he thought the surf was unusually loud, but he could not hear the geese. the wild cry of a curlew came out of the dark and red-shanks were whistling in the distance. the water, so far as he could see, was still, and this meant the tide had not yet entered the channel. he thought he ought to have an hour before it did so, but the current would run fast then. tides rise high when high-water comes at twelve o'clock with a full moon. after a few minutes he set off again. there was no need for him to lie down and he stood on deck, using the pole. it sank about a foot, but presently the water shoaled and when the punt touched bottom he got over and dragged her by a line. he wore a yellow oilskin, long waders, and thin canvas shoes. at length, the punt would float no farther, and putting her on rollers, he pulled her a short distance up the bank and afterwards carried a small anchor as far as the line would allow. he was a mile and a half from land, the tide would soon flow, and if the geese were about, he might be away some time. then, picking up his gun, he set off up the nearly dry channel. there was a salt-water lake, bordered by a weedy scar, not far off, and he might find some brant geese or ducks. in the meantime, dick halliday called at langrigg, and was received by mrs. winter. "are you all alone?" he asked. mrs. winter told him where jake and carrie had gone, and that jim was shooting. dick inquired when jake had started and looked thoughtful when mrs. winter replied. "they ought to have been back some time since," he remarked. "the road is very bad where it runs across the head of the bay and high tides cover the causeway for an hour or two. i don't think jake would wait until dark; the car has probably broken down." "then they would have to stop all night?" "i doubt if anybody could take them in. there are only a few cottages and the mussel-gatherers and farm-hands have swarms of children. i rather imagine jake would walk across the sands----" he stopped and looked at the tall clock, and then crossing the floor, pulled back the window-curtains and opened a light. mrs. winter noted that his movements were quick and thought him anxious. dick came rather often to langrigg and she imagined carrie attracted him, although she knew the girl had not meant to use her charm. "it's nearly full-moon," he remarked when he came back. "i don't think jim will mind if i borrow one of his guns. i know where they are. don't bother to ring." "are you going to shoot?" mrs. winter asked. "i might get a shot," dick replied carelessly. "anyhow, i'll walk across the sands. i may find jim, or perhaps meet jake and carrie coming back." he went to the gun-room and took down a heavy ten-bore, that would make a loud report, for the fog he had seen from the window was getting thick. then he put some cartridges in his pocket, and finding a pair of waders, went back and smiled when he met mrs. winter's curious glance. "carrie may be glad of the waders," he said. "there's sometimes a little water in the hollows, and i don't expect jake knows the driest way. now i'll get off." mrs. winter let him go. she was beginning to feel alarmed, but dick's quick, resolute movements comforted her. he had been careful not to hint there was a risk, but if there was, he would know the best way of meeting it. dick did not hurry when he went down the freshly-raked gravel drive, but when he reached the road he walked as fast as the heavy gun would let him. carrie was on the sands, it was past low-water, and jake did not know much about the gutters through which the tide ran up the bay. dick did know, and had sometimes seen a white-topped bore roll like a wall of foam across the flats when the moon was full. to-night, when wind was coming, the tide would rise fast. it was rough walking across the marsh, where he was forced to jump ditches and wind about among deep holes, and he was glad to reach the sands. stopping for a few moments, he took off his boots. the sand was cold, but he meant to strike the shortest line across the bay and in places the mud was soft. he knew one can pull one's naked foot loose where one's boots would stick; moreover, carrie would like the waders dry. dick began to think about carrie as he set out across the flats. he liked her much, and admitted that it cost him an effort not to fall in love with her; carrie had made him feel that this could not be allowed. sometimes he wondered why, and sometimes he thought he knew; but then he suspected that jim would marry evelyn. dick approved jim, but doubted if he was altogether the man for evelyn. perhaps, however, when he came to think about it, he really meant that evelyn was not the girl for jim. there was a difference----. he pulled himself up. he was fond of evelyn, although he knew her faults; besides, the fog was thick and he must keep his proper course. he ought to strike the big gutter soon and was anxious about the tide: it would soon run up the hollows in the flats. he wondered where mordaunt was, because lance had told him he was going out on the sands and he had not heard his gun. shortly afterwards, dick went down the bank of the gutter and began to wade across. the water did not come much above his ankles; but it was moving; slowly yet, although it would soon run fast. he got across and saw jim's punt on the muddy sand. the fog was low and drifted about in belts, clearing now and then, and when he stopped by the punt the moon shone through. dick was puzzled. the punt had been moved since jim pulled her up the bank. it was prudent to leave her where one could get on board when the tide rose, but dick could not see why jim had afterwards moved her down. he had, however, done so, because the rollers he used had made a rut in the sand in advance of her present position. then the anchor had been carried up to higher ground, for one could see where the line had dragged, although it now lay close to the punt. dick began to examine the footsteps about the spot. he was something of a naturalist and a good wildfowler and had studied the tracks of animals and birds. jim had obviously come up the gutter and another man had joined him. the other was barefooted and the marks seemed to indicate that he had helped jim to run down the punt. then a third man had arrived and dick thought this was lance, because he wore nailed fishing brogues. lance often used brogues; he was cautious and did not like soft mud. dick imagined lance had reached the spot after the others and was somewhere about; he would not go far from the gutter when the tide was rising. the thing was strange, but since jim had moved the punt back, there was no reason why dick should meddle. jim had probably gone to the scar and no doubt knew how long he could stay. moreover, dick's business was to find carrie, and he set off again. he followed a small creek that joined the big gutter. its channel was narrow and cut rather deep into the sand. although a belt of fog rolled up he could see fifty or sixty yards, and presently distinguished a hazy figure near a bend of the creek. he thought it was about lance's height, and shouted; but the fellow did not answer and vanished next moment. it looked as if the fog had rolled nearer and hidden him, although he might have gone down into the creek. dick went to the edge, but saw nobody, although he crossed a row of steps. this was puzzling. he imagined the other had heard his shout and was in the hollow, where his shooting-clothes would melt into the background. the sand, however, was soft and the marks had begun to fill up. dick did not see why he should follow them, since the man might have meant to hide until the geese flew over. he gave it up and pushed on. the fog crept towards him and did not look as if it would soon roll away. for all that, he knew the sands and had the noise of the advancing surf for a guide, which was lucky because speed was important. a stream ran through the flats near the other shore, and if carrie and jake had started they would have crossed its channel and now be on the long peninsula of sand that went up the middle of the bay. when the water rose they could not get across the main gutter, and it would be hard to reach the land from the end of the peninsula because it was traversed by a number of little creeks, up which the tide forced its way. after a time, dick stopped and fired the gun. he heard nothing but the echoes that rolled across the waste and the roar of the sea. the latter was ominously loud and he began to run. when he had gone some distance, he tried another shot and disturbed two black-backed gulls that made a noise like hoarse laughter as they flew overhead. this was all, and he felt that the gulls were mocking him. he was getting anxious, and ran on until he was forced to stop for breath, as the fog began to lift. it rolled back before a little puff of wind, the moon shone through, and he saw glittering water in front. dick began to run the other way. he could do no more, and it looked as if jake and carrie were not on the middle sand. after all, he had not much ground for imagining they had meant to cross the bay; if there was no room at the village, they might have walked to a station four or five miles off and gone to the market town. he must save himself, and since he hardly thought he could reach jim's punt before she floated, he headed up the middle sand. one could cross the gutter farther on, if one knew the right spot, but it would mean wading some distance and he must be quick. he got through, and then ran back along the edge of the channel. he wanted to see if jim had returned to the punt. chapter xv jim's enlightenment jim waited for some time behind a bowlder by the salt-water pond, and then shot a duck. the report echoed among the belts of fog and after the noise died away the roar of the advancing tide was ominously loud, but jim thought he heard something else. he listened, and in a few moments a cry came faintly across the sands. somebody was calling for help, and jim began to run. he might have to go some distance and his punt would soon float. after a few minutes he plunged into a belt of mist. the sand was soft and his waders and heavy gun embarrassed him, but he heard the call again and thought he knew the voice. he labored on, breathing hard, until by and by the tog melted and he saw two figures not far off. "jake!" he shouted. "is it you and carrie?" jake answered, and jim was conscious of a relief that shook him when the others came up. carrie was splashed by mud and breathless with haste. "what are you doing on the sands?" he asked. "car broke down; we tried to get across," jake replied. "saw the langrigg hill when we started and then the fog came on. they told us to head for some stake-nets, but we couldn't find them. then we met the water and reckoned we were lost. is your punt about?" "she is not far off," said jim, who turned to carrie. "we must hustle. can you run?" carrie said she would try and they set off, but when they had gone a few hundred yards a wave of thick fog rolled up, blotting out the moonlight. "this is awkward," jim gasped, taking carrie's arm and helping her on. "still, if we keep going, we'll soon strike the gutter." the roar of the surf gave him some guidance, but sound is puzzling in a fog; there was very little wind, and he could not see the moon. he knew the tide was now running up the channel and hoped he was heading the right way. shortly afterwards a dull report rolled across the sands. "a ten-bore!" he exclaimed. "mordaunt uses a twelve. i expect dick's shooting, and since the water's rising, he's on the shore flat. where do you locate the shot?" "a little to the left," said jake. they swerved and presently heard the gun again. "that's for us," gasped jim. "dick has found the punt; i reckon she's afloat." "let me go, jim," said carrie. "hurry on and get the punt." jim pressed her arm and urged her forward. "i'm going to stick to you until you're safe on board." "water!" shouted jake, from a few yards in front; and something glimmered in the fog, which was getting thin again. they could see for a short distance, but when they stopped at the edge of the channel the punt was not about. she was, however, painted an inconspicuous gray, and jim thought she was not far off. while he hesitated, wondering which way to turn, a heavy report came out of the melting fog. "hallo!" jake shouted. "where's our punt?" "on your side," somebody answered. "saw her five minutes since and then the water drove me back." the voice came from their left and after running a short distance they stopped. a low, indistinct object floated about thirty yards off, and jim, dropping carrie's arm, stood for a moment with his hands clenched. the wave-lined sand was level, and this meant much, because the bank of the gutter was steep. the tide had filled the hollow and he could not see across. he was not disturbed about the depth, but the current rippled across the sand, carrying along clumps of weed and flakes of foam that showed how fast it went. "give me your knife," he said to jake, as he pulled off his oilskin. "i've got to swim. you must stay with carrie; i swim better." he slit the waders and tore them off with his canvas shoes; then he ran along the sand, heading up stream, and when he judged he had gone far enough plunged in. after he had taken a few steps the water frothed about his waist, and next moment swept him off his feet. he swam savagely, swinging his left arm out and steering obliquely against the current that carried him along. the water was horribly cold and cut his breathing and cramped his muscles, but if he missed the punt he might be swept some distance up the channel before he could land. he must not miss the punt, because he would be too exhausted to try again and did not think jake could reach her. after a minute or two he saw the punt; she was swinging about in the rush of tide and seemed to forge towards him. a rippling line marked her painter. he stopped swimming and let himself drift. he must not be carried past; and presently he made a quick stroke and felt a triumphant thrill when his numbed fingers clutched the craft's low side. for all that, he had not conquered yet. he was tired, and it is hard to get on board a floating punt. the current swept his legs under the boat, and when he tried to lift himself she rolled down with his weight and threatened to capsize. but he must not be beaten. he was fighting for carrie's life, and remembering this gave him extra strength. sliding his hands along the side of the punt, he let the current take him aft, and then with a desperate effort lifted the upper of his body above the pointed stern. next moment, he fell forward on the deck and crawled to the well. he had won. he tried to shout, but could not. his heart beat like a hammer and he choked. pulling himself together, he seized the line at the bow, and in a few moments the anchor was on board and he picked up the pole. the punt drifted fast up channel while he headed for the bank, but he saw jake running along the sand and presently threw the light anchor as far as he could. jake caught the line and jim, springing overboard, ran through the water and picked up carrie. he felt her tremble and kissed her as she put her arms round his neck. it did not matter it jake saw or not. after putting her on board he jumped in and grasped the pole. "shove us off," he said to jake. "i'll come back for you." they lost the bank in the fog, and soon the pole did not touch bottom and jim used the paddle. after a few minutes, he saw an indistinct figure, apparently in the water; and then his paddle struck sand. jumping over, he held out his arms and did not put carrie down until he had carried her some distance from the channel. he had afterwards a hazy notion that he kissed her again. when he turned back dick was pushing off the punt. "i'll bring jake; you have had enough," he said. jim shoved him back. "it's my job; he's my partner. look after carrie. start for the marsh." he got on board and when the punt vanished in the fog dick turned to carrie. "they may be ten minutes; the tide's running fast. you are wet and perhaps we had better get off." "no," said carrie. "i won't move until they're safe across." dick gave her a quick glance. she looked resolute; her voice had a strange exultant note. he was anxious to start, since he thought they might find some water in a gutter between them and land, but it was obvious that carrie could not be persuaded. presently the punt came across and the others got out. "have you been here long?" jim asked when he had driven the anchor into the sand. "no," said dick. "i fired the gun as soon as i arrived. the punt was on your side, i imagined you were about, and i can't swim much. i'd seen the punt before. i went to meet jake and carrie, but met the water. no doubt, they crossed the channel that stopped me, farther up." jim nodded. "looks like that. it was a big relief when we heard you shoot. but i'm puzzled: the punt was some distance from the bank and the anchor was covered. i thought i'd carried it far enough back." "then you didn't move her after you pulled her up?" "certainly not," jim rejoined, with some surprise. "if i'd wanted her to float, i wouldn't have bothered to drag her up over the steep mud." "oh, well, we must get off," said dick, who did not want to talk about the punt. "the tide's running fast across the flats; i think we'll make for the shell ridge." although the fog was thick, they reached the marsh, where dick left them. he was wet and it was some distance to whitelees, but he would not go to langrigg and put on dry clothes. when jim got calm he might feel curious about the punt. dick was not ready to satisfy his curiosity yet. he was disturbed and wanted to get away. the others went on, and when they came down to dinner nobody looked much the worse. jim, however, was quiet and although carrie talked and sometimes laughed, he imagined her cheerfulness was forced. jake alone seemed to have a good appetite and jim was annoyed when mrs. winter remarked that he did not eat much. she declared the dinner was pretty good, although it had been served an hour or two late. when it was over, jim looked at the clock and proposed that they should play cards. he would sooner have gone off to the library by himself, but jake might speculate about this and so long as they were occupied he need not talk. the others would go to bed soon, and then he could grapple with an awkward situation. at length, jake put down his cards. "i can't make it; you have beaten us," he said, and pushed back his chair. "if you want to see the men start to-morrow we had better go to bed." he brought mrs. winter a candle and they left the hall; but carrie stopped to pick up the cards, and jim waited. he heard jake say good night to his mother on the landing, and their steps died away. it was very quiet in the hall, except for the snapping of the fire; and jim's hand trembled as he struck a match and lighted carrie's candle. she heard him move and looked up. there was some color in her face, which cut sharply against the dark oak. jim put the candle on the carved newel-post at the bottom of the stairs. "i was badly scared when we found the water was round the punt," he said. "in fact, i rather lost my control." "you were not scared for yourself and were very cool and quick," carrie replied and forced a smile. "perhaps some people do lose control when they are strongly moved, but you are not that kind." jim gave her a keen glance. it looked as if she meant to persuade him that he had acted normally, but this was ridiculous. perhaps she meant to hint that his rashness must not be talked about. coolness was hard, but he was honest and there was something to be said. "i wonder whether you know i am going to marry evelyn?" he remarked. she met his glance. "yes, jim; i knew some time since. it doesn't matter that you told nobody. well, she's beautiful and very charming." she moved, and taking the candle from the post, calmly looked back at him. "of course, you're going to marry evelyn! but the others have gone, and i'm tired. good night." he let her go, and when she went up the shallow stairs, crossed the floor to the hearth. there was a looking-glass close by and he started as he saw his face. his brows were knitted and his mouth was set. carrie was clever and while he talked to her he had looked like that! he began to see what she had meant when she said he was, of course, going to marry evelyn. he sat down and gazed savagely at the sinking fire. what a fool he had been! evelyn had moved him to romantic admiration. her beauty, her high cultivation and refinement had made a strong appeal, but he had not known that they appealed mainly to his intellect, and it counted for much that she was the first englishwoman of her type he had met. he knew now, and saw he had deceived himself. enlightenment had come when carrie ran some risk of being drowned and he had taken her in his arms. evelyn was, so to speak, a model of perfection, worthy to be admired, but really out of his reach. in a sense, she left him cold; but carrie was warm and loving flesh and blood. she had worked with him and cheered him in the lonely north; her small failings had a curious charm. she appealed to all that was human in him; it was ridiculous that he had imagined his love for her was brotherly. he began to think about their last interview, when he had lighted the candle. she had said little, but she had meant much. his kissing her must be forgotten and he must marry evelyn. carrie wanted him to understand that she saw this and was jealous for his honor. if he drew back and broke his faith with evelyn, she would have nothing to do with him. moreover, it was unthinkable that he should draw back. he sat still for some time with his hands clenched and then got up abruptly and went out. the wind the surf had threatened had come and blown back the fog. its rude buffet braced him, the roar of the sea and wail of the trees that rolled down the slope were soothing. the moon was bright and when he saw the foam glitter in the bay his sense of rebellion began to melt. carrie was safe; he had saved her and she had shown him his duty. well, he was going to carry it out, and after all evelyn's charm was strong. he had been a fool, but only carrie knew, and evelyn must not pay. by and by he went back to the house, calmed but not much comforted. in the meantime, dick reached whitelees and did not say much about his adventure. when he had got some food he went to the smoking-room and looked for paper and a pencil. he wanted to refresh his memory of the footsteps about the punt and the marks left by the anchor line. it was important that he should do so, but although he sat for an hour, drawing rough plans of the spot, he was not satisfied. unluckily, he could not go back to the sands in the morning and study the ground, because he had promised to join some friends in town for a week. all the same, it was some relief to put off the matter and go to bed, but he did not sleep much and felt moody when he got an early breakfast and started for the station. chapter xvi evelyn's resolution fails disturbing thoughts spoiled dick's visit to town and one morning soon after his return he went out on the sands when the tide was low. he took a note-book and a compass, and before he went walked up and down a measured distance on the lawn until he thought he knew the length of his stride. since he was going to make some investigations that he tried to hope would banish his doubts, it was necessary to be accurate. he found the spot where jim had left his punt; there was a little runlet of water down the bank that fixed it, and he stepped off the distance to the level sand above. then he smoked a pipe while he tried to recapture the footsteps as he had seen them in the moonlight, and when he was roughly satisfied, went across to the creek that ran into the main channel. he counted his steps until he reached the spot where the shadowy figure had vanished in the fog. the creek bent just there; he remembered the bend, which he had cut across, and the bank was steep. if lance, wearing light-colored shooting clothes, had gone into the hollow, nobody could have seen him a few yards off. dick made some notes and marked the distances, and then went back to whitelees, feeling strangely troubled. his doubts had not vanished; they had changed to certainties. dick was young and often careless, but now a sense of responsibility weighed upon him. he had a liking for jim and an affection for carrie that might have ripened to a stronger feeling had she allowed it, and both had run some risk of being drowned. for all that, dick could not see his way. the honor of the house must be guarded, and although he knew himself a coward he hesitated for a miserable week. then jim came to whitelees one evening when mrs. halliday and dick were dining somewhere else. he stopped for two or three hours, and unluckily evelyn was bored when he arrived and jim was dull. he had had a disappointing day, for a sluice-gate had fallen down, a workman had got hurt, and a valuable horse had broken its leg. jim talked about his troubles at some length while evelyn tried to look sympathetic, and afterwards stated, with numerous particulars, his projects for improving the estate, although he carefully explained that his losing his money might prevent their being carried out. while he sketched his plans he unconsciously delineated his character, and when he went away evelyn felt daunted. pulling a chair to the fire, she sat for a time trying to face a crisis she had begun to fear must come. she had thought she understood jim and had known that when she married him she must give up much; but now she saw him as he really was. he cared nothing for amusements and not much for music and art; in fact, he had no use for the refinements and amenities that smoothed the life she enjoyed. langrigg could not be made a center of pleasant social intercourse and perhaps political influence; jim's wife must study economy and help to manage his farms. it was not that he was selfish. all his habits were utilitarian and he would not change. well, she could not marry a farmer and devote herself to strenuous work. she must be amused; the life jim had planned for her was frankly impossible. getting up before mrs. halliday returned, she left word that she had a headache and went to bed. next morning mordaunt came to whitelees and found evelyn alone. he sat down opposite with a careless smile and she noted his smooth urbanity and easy pose. jim as a rule was restless, and highly-strung. "seeing dick and your mother in the car encouraged me to call," he said. "dick and i were staunch friends, but i didn't want to meet him. he has recently been strange." "he has been moody since he came from town, although he was not in very good spirits the morning he left," evelyn agreed in a thoughtful voice. "i imagine something that might account for it happened the night jim's friends were lost on the sands." mordaunt felt disturbed, but evelyn's remark stiffened his resolution. she had noted dick's moodiness, and since the lad was suspicious he must act quickly. he might have trouble afterwards, but he would meet it when it came. "it's possible," he said, "dick's temperament is nervous and perhaps he had some grounds for feeling a strain. i expect you have noted that he is attracted by miss winter?" "i have noted it," evelyn admitted with an unconscious frown. "it will lead to nothing. dick's romantic, but he is not a fool." "he is headstrong and his own master. miss winter has beauty." "for all that, it's ridiculous to imagine dick would marry her." "i don't know," said mordaunt, coolly. "you are going to marry jim." evelyn colored, because she knew what he meant. for the most part, the objections that could be urged against carrie applied to jim. "i don't know if i'm going to marry jim or not," she said. mordaunt looked hard at her and his eyes sparkled. "ah," he said, "i imagined something like this would happen; in fact, i have waited for it. it was plain that jim would pall. he has his virtues, but he is not the man for you." "he has many virtues; he's big and strong and honest. it would be easier if he had some of our shabby faults. jim's code is as rude as himself, but it's stern and he lives up to it. i don't know if i can." "i know," said mordaunt, smiling; "you could not! jim is something of a savage, but all the same, he belongs to the old school and his rudeness is austere. we are modern and live on another plane. but how did you come to see the truth i've seen all along?" "jim showed me," evelyn replied with some feeling. "unconsciously, of course. he was here last evening and talked about his plans. they are good plans. had i been different, i might have helped, but they left me out. i don't like to be left out. am i the girl to satisfy a man who lives to farm and dig marsh drains? you know me, lance." "the thing is ridiculous," mordaunt declared, and was silent for a moment or two. he did know evelyn, and her frankness meant much. it was plain that she meant to break with jim but felt she needed help. "what are you going to do about it?" he asked. "i don't know," she said drearily. "i can't go on." mordaunt made a sign of sympathetic agreement. "you cannot; but there is a way out. i think you see the way. durst i hope you'll take it with me?" evelyn said nothing and turned her head, and he went on: "i'm not utilitarian, and my rule is yours. we understand each other. my talents will be used to amuse you and not to dig drains." he got up and stood by her chair. "you have pluck, evelyn. tell jim you have found you cheated yourself and let him go." "i haven't much pluck," she said, quietly. "jim rather carried me away. he stood for romance, struggle, and adventure; things i haven't known. he's a man, a plain, hot-blooded fighting man, and i was tired of conventional languidness. but i began to doubt and see i wasn't strong enough to live his life. i had wrapped myself up in flimsy artificialities until they got needful and i couldn't break loose." she paused and looked up. "well, you are my kind, lance, and if you want me, i am willing. i'll tell jim, but i shrink. he may not understand, and it will hurt us both." mordaunt thought for a moment. it might be better if evelyn did not tell jim, and he was afraid dick would meddle. he took and kissed her hand. "my dear!" he said. "but you must not get hurt, and i have a plan. hasn't florence urged you to stop with her in town? well, suppose you go and i join you there? we can be married by license and go to france or italy. before we come back jim's disappointment will have cooled and our friends have got over their surprise." evelyn saw the plan had advantages. it would obviate the need for awkward apologies, and when she and lance came back it would be too late for people to disapprove. she agreed and submitted without emotion when mordaunt put his arm round her, but in spite of some regrets she was firm. romance had been a treacherous guide; she had found this out and was logical again. when mordaunt went away all had been arranged, and when she sat down to write to florence in london her hand was steady and composition easy. after the note was written she hesitated for a moment, and then resolutely fastened the envelope. a few days after evelyn went to town, dick, coming back from shooting one afternoon, met tom shanks on the marsh. when he saw the fellow his anger flared up, for he had felt his responsibility and wondered with keen disturbance what he ought to do. although lance was on the sands the night carrie was nearly drowned and knew much about the matter, dick had grounds for believing shanks moved the punt. he had meant to be cautious and wait until he saw his way, but something in the fellow's furtive, sullen look, banished his control. he stopped shanks and found it a relief to let himself go. the other was cool and hinted darkly that dick had better leave things alone. he said dick had nothing to go upon; he had not seen shanks near the punt, and if he went to the police about it, might get somebody else into trouble. shanks knew what he knew, and if he were forced would tell. dick then used tact, scoffing at the other's hints until shanks abandoned some of his reserve, and when the stormy interview was over dick went home moodily. the plan he had made of the marks by the punt was accurate, but the line he ought to take not yet plain. lance was his relation. in the evening he drove mrs. halliday to dryholm, where jim and his friends had been asked to dine. they had not arrived, and while bernard talked to mrs. halliday, dick went to the library to look at a book about sport. when he opened the door mordaunt was writing and there was a letter, to which he seemed to be replying, on the table. he nodded and went on writing, and dick was glad he did not want to talk. after a few minutes a car rolled up the drive and when mordaunt fastened the envelope they heard jim's party in the hall. mordaunt went down stairs and dick, coming after, saw an envelope on the floor. imagining mordaunt had dropped it, he picked it up and frowned as he recognized evelyn's hand. mordaunt was talking to mrs. winter and dick did not want to disturb them; besides, he would sooner give lance the letter when they were alone. then bernard beckoned him and before long dinner was served. dick did not enjoy the meal. he could hardly rouse himself to talk to carrie and when she turned to mordaunt, the latter's careless smile as he began to joke moved him to almost uncontrollable rage. dick was in a black mood, for the secret he carried had worn his nerves, and he did not like evelyn's writing to lance. he was resolved that his sister should have nothing to do with the fellow. when dinner was over he said to mordaunt, "i'd like to see the gun you bought." "very well," said mordaunt and they went to the gun-room. the room was small. a glass case, holding guns and fishing rods, ran along one wall; a bench occupied the other. there was a plain table, stained by oil, and a fire burned in a stove with an open front, for the night was damp. a flickering glow played about the walls and shone on the greasy guns. dick stopped mordaunt, who put his hand on the electric-light switch. "never mind the light," he said, throwing a letter on the table. "you dropped this." "i did," said mordaunt, turning to dick, who leaned against the table. "imagined i'd put it in my pocket. thank you for picking it up." dick thought it significant that he had not opened the case to get the new gun. lance's voice was calm but his glance was quick. he seemed to be waiting. "what was evelyn writing to you about?" dick asked. the light from the stove touched mordaunt's face, which hardened. "then, you have not read the letter?" "you know i have not," dick rejoined, for his control gave way at the other's taunt. lance wanted to make him angry and find out how much he knew. well, he should find out and dick thought he would get a jar. "anyhow, you must stop writing to evelyn," he resumed. "i'd sooner you kept away from whitelees when she comes home." "you bore with my visits not long since. are you afraid to state why you want them to stop?" "not at all," said dick, seeing the other meant to force him to be frank; he knew lance had pluck. "you are a clever philanderer, but evelyn's going to marry jim." mordaunt smiled, imprudently, since his smile infuriated dick. "looks as if you wanted to quarrel! i imagine i shall not write to evelyn again for some time. this ought to satisfy you. perhaps i'm dull, but i don't know why our friendship should break off." "you well know!" dick exclaimed. "you meant to let jim drown not long since!" "you're a theatrical fool," mordaunt remarked, coolly, although his voice was rather hoarse. "anyhow, i think you're sober and you have made a statement that must be justified." "i'm willing to justify it, if you force me," dick declared. "but i'd sooner you admitted the thing and left the neighborhood, without an awkward explanation. if you go at once and don't come back, it's perhaps not needful the others should know why you went. you can live in town; i don't care where you live, so long as you don't see evelyn again." he stopped and his face got very red, for the door opened and mrs. halliday and bernard came in. "i imagined we would find you here, but it looks as if you were quarreling," bernard remarked. "we were quarreling," dick admitted with strange calm, for he was relieved that a chance to get rid of his load had come. it was his duty to tell jim and bernard and he had been afraid. now he could leave matters to the head of the house. "you are hot-blooded, dick, but i don't imagine you would get angry about nothing. may i inquire the grounds for the dispute?" "i'll tell you if you will send for jim. the thing touches him." bernard pressed an electric bell and mordaunt said: "you will be very sorry for this, dick." the bell rang and when a servant came bernard said, "tell mr. dearham we would like to see him here." chapter xvii dick's accusation the party in the gun-room were silent while they waited for jim. mrs. halliday glanced at the others curiously and got a sense of strain. dick, looking disturbed but resolute, leaned against the table opposite mordaunt, whose face was rather white; bernard occupied the bench by the wall and his look was inscrutable. all was very quiet except for the snapping of the stove and the occasional rattle of a cinder falling through the bars. it was something of a relief when jim came in and bernard turned on the light. "sit down, jim," he said. "dick has something to tell us that he thinks you ought to hear. he hints that it is important." "it is important," dick replied. "the thing has weighed on me for some time. in fact, the load is too heavy and i feel i must get rid of it. i want to hand over my responsibility, and you are the head of the house, sir." "very well," said bernard. "the post has drawbacks. you had better go on." "then i'll begin some time since; the night lance and i met jim at the telegraph shack. we talked about england and jim asked if we knew langrigg. there was an old french romance on a shelf and lance read a passage. he studied the book when jim left the shack, and i found out afterwards that franklin dearham's name was written across the front page. you see what this implies, sir?" "you mean lance knew who jim was, although you did not. when did you find out?" "i picked up the book one day at langrigg. lance was there. he admitted that he had seen the writing at the telegraph shack." jim turned to mordaunt sharply. "then, you meant to let me stay in canada!" "i did," said mordaunt, who addressed bernard. "i thought it would be better for jim and us if he did not know langrigg was his. i have not changed my views about it since." "that has been rather obvious," bernard remarked and asked dick: "why did you keep the thing dark?" "i was afraid to meddle; the matter was awkward. besides, until recently, i trusted lance. i thought his antagonism sprang from an honest prejudice." "perhaps it was honest! are you willing to state the grounds you had for trying to keep jim out of the country, lance?" "no grounds would justify his robbing jim of his inheritance," mrs. halliday interposed. mordaunt smiled. "i was not scrupulous but imagine my plot is condemned mainly because it failed. i did not think jim was the man to own langrigg. his education, character, and the life he had led, did not fit him for the position; it was plain that he would rule langrigg like a canadian industrialist and break all our traditions. right or wrong, i took some thought for the honor of the house." "i am the head of the house and was an industrialist," said bernard dryly. "you talk as if you belonged to the old school, but you do not go far enough back. the men who built langrigg were plain fighting farmers." he signed to dick. "go on!" "when jim's car was upset i suspected shanks was somehow accountable for the accident." "he was accountable," jim said grimly; "i didn't know you knew this. but one must be just. lance lifted the wheel off my body at some risk to himself." "that is so," dick agreed. "i think he took advantage of it afterwards; i mean he knew we would remember he had saved your life. it was a generous impulse, but that was all." "i imagine lance's character is too complex for your study," bernard remarked. "tell us about his deeds." "not long since, i was coming home in the dark when i found lance talking to tom shanks in the wood. lance said he had caught the fellow poaching, and i thought it strange they should talk quietly. i suspected he wanted me to tell jim, but i did not. his grudge against jim had been getting worse." "when did you find lance talking to shanks?" bernard asked, and smiled rather curiously when dick replied, for he remembered his visit to the lawyer. lance had known about the visit. "ah," he said, "i begin to see a light! but go on, dick; i expect you have now cleared the ground." "dick has missed his vocation; he ought to have been a barrister," mordaunt remarked. "i'm trying to be just to you and jim," dick resumed. "i have shirked my duty; i trusted you, lance, and when i found you out it hurt." "you trusted me until you found jim was the better man! well, it looks as if others had copied your example," mordaunt rejoined. bernard made an impatient sign and dick resumed: "i've been leading to the night jim and carrie were nearly drowned. you all know i was on the sands. well, i came to jim's punt when he had left her and gone to look for the geese." dick paused and taking out a plan that he put on the table, addressed jim: "you dragged the punt up the bank and carried out the anchor. is this sketch of the spot accurate?" mordaunt moved abruptly, but controlled himself and stood very quiet; jim picked up the paper and his face got dark. "so far as i remember, it is accurate." "did you pull the punt down again, or move the anchor?" "i did not. i was puzzled when i found her floating and the anchor covered." dick gave bernard the plan. "the punt ought not to have floated before jim got back. you will note the rows of dots. they stand for footsteps. the first was jim's; then shanks came and pulled the punt back into the channel--i saw the mark of the rollers, leading up and down. it is plain he wanted to leave jim on the middle sand when the tide rose." "how did you know the steps were shanks'?" bernard asked. "the night was very cold, sir, but he was bare-footed." "your surmise is, no doubt, right. anybody else would have worn boots or waders. but there are three rows of tracks." dick hesitated, then answered quietly: "the last were lance's. he passed the punt close; i don't know if he touched her, but it was plain that she would soon float and jim was not about." "this is frankly unthinkable, dick!" mrs. halliday exclaimed. for a moment or two the others were silent and their attitudes indicated that the strain was heavy. mrs. halliday's face was flushed, jim's was very stern, and bernard knitted his brows. dick and mordaunt stood motionless but tense at opposite ends of the table. "your statement is very grave, dick," bernard remarked. "are you persuaded the steps were lance's?" "i knew the marks of his fishing brogues, and saw him a short distance off. i think he saw me, because he vanished; he went down into the hollow of the creek, where i have drawn a ring. i went afterwards and carefully examined the ground. i think that is all, sir." "it is enough," said bernard, very dryly. "you imply that lance knew jim might be cut off by the tide and refused to meddle? but you take something for granted. why do you imagine jim's danger was plain to lance, if it was not then plain to you? you went away." "i knew carrie and jake were farther out on the sands, and came back as soon as possible. i fired my gun to warn jim. lance did nothing but went off; he tried to hide from me." bernard made a sign of agreement and then inquired: "why have you been frank about it now, after saying nothing for some time?" "i'd sooner not reply, sir. the thing mainly touches lance and me." "his horrible treachery touches us all," mrs. halliday declared. "if it were known, we should be forced to leave the neighborhood. we could not face a scandal like this." "i imagine it will not be known," bernard remarked with an ironical smile, and turned to mordaunt. "have you anything to state?" "i might urge that i risked getting badly hurt when i lifted the car off jim, and that i did not move his punt." "you consented to its being moved," dick broke in. bernard stopped him and mordaunt resumed: "it is plain that you have judged me. dick brings no proof of his statements; but we will let this go. there is obviously no use in my denying his tale. suppose i admit that it's correct?" "jim is the injured party. he must choose our line." "there is only one line," jim replied. "this thing cannot be talked about. lance knows we know i cannot punish him in any lawful way; but if he stops at dryholm, i'll use the backwoods plan. well, i give him a week to go." bernard nodded and looked at his watch. "a week is too long! if you pack quickly, lance, you can get the express to town. anyhow, you will leave dryholm as soon as the car is ready. but i must be just, and since you might have made your mark in a useful profession had i not allowed you to think you would inherit part of my estate, i will tell my lawyers to pay you a sum quarterly. if you come back to cumberland, the payments will stop." mordaunt made a sign of agreement, and glanced at dick. "you have won, but i doubt if you have much ground for satisfaction," he said and went out. dick was vaguely puzzled, but when the door shut the others were conscious of keen relief. they waited until mordaunt's steps died away and then bernard got up. "what has happened to-night is done with; i think you understand," he said, and turned to mrs. halliday. "we will join our friends, and if they wonder why we have been absent so long, we will leave you to satisfy their curiosity." they found the others in the drawing-room, but although mrs. halliday began to talk and bernard was now and then ironically humorous, dick was quiet and jim rather stern. all were ready to go when mrs. halliday got up, but bernard kept carrie a moment when the langrigg car throbbed at the steps. "this house is big and empty, my dear," he said. "if jim is not very much occupied, you will bring him now and then." carrie wondered when the car rolled off. bernard had pressed her hand and his voice was gentle. she blushed, for his imagining she could persuade jim was significant, but it was puzzling. he knew jim was going to marry evelyn. presently jim stopped the car, and getting down beckoned jake. "you can drive home, carrie," he said. "there's something we must look after but we won't be long." carrie started the car and when it rolled away jake looked at his comrade. jim wore thin shoes and a light coat over his dinner jacket; the road was wet and the low ground dotted by shining pools. it was some time after high-water and a gentle breeze blew across the marsh. a half-moon shone between slowly-drifting clouds. "i suppose you mean to see shanks," jake remarked. "on the whole, it might be wiser to send him notice to quit. you can't put the police on his track." "i'm going to see him. if i hadn't been able to swim well, carrie would have been drowned." "for that matter, we would all have been drowned," jake said dryly. "it's a curious argument for leaving shanks alone. i suspected we took some chances when we blew up the dabbin." "you blew up the dabbin," jake rejoined. "anyhow, carrie had nothing to do with the thing, and she ran the worst risk when we were on the sands. it was hard to hold myself when i thought about it. i was forced to let mordaunt go, but my grounds for sparing him don't apply to shanks." "you haven't even a stick and the fellow has a gun." "i've got my hands," said jim. "if i can get hold of tom shanks, i won't need a gun. but i've no use for talking. come along!" they made for a ridge of high ground that dropped to the marsh, and presently stopped outside the bank-end cottage. all was dark and nobody moved when jim beat on the door. "shanks is sleeping pretty sound if that doesn't waken him," he said. "bring the net-beam. we'll break in." jake picked up a thick wooden bar, and when the door gave way they plunged into the kitchen and jim struck a match. the house was horribly dirty, and old clothes, empty cartridges, brass snares, and fishing lines lay about, as if shanks had hurriedly sorted his belongings and left those he did not want. they found nobody when they went upstairs. "lance has been here before us," jim remarked. "the curious thing is, shanks had two big duck-guns and has moved some truck although he couldn't get a cart." "he had his shooting punt and the tide hasn't left the creek yet," said jake, and they ran across the marsh. when they stopped at a muddy pool the punt had gone, but there were fresh footmarks on the bank; and jim set off again. "the creek winds and he must shove her across the mud in places," he said. "my punt's on the sands. if we are quick, we might head him off." they stumbled among reeds and rushes, and fell into pools, and were wet when they reached a hollow at the edge of the sands. the bank was steep, but the tide had not left the channel, and jim, plunging in, pulled up the punt's anchor. then he stood on deck, using the pole, while jake paddled. the tide was running out and they drove the punt furiously past belts of mud and sandy shoals, but the bank was high and they could not see across. shanks, however, was not in front; jim imagined he had come down another gutter that joined the channel farther on. they must try to get there first. "keep it up!" he shouted, as he bent over the pole. "in five minutes we'll be round the bend and can see the bay." jake braced himself for an effort and the water foamed about the punt's low bow. floating weed and scum sped past; the bank was dropping to the level of the flats and its wet slope sparkled in the moonlight. jake saw the sandy point that marked the bend and resolved to hold out until they reached the spot. they shot round the bend, and jim threw down his pole. in front lay a broad expanse of sand, broken by belts of shining water. a flock of oyster-catchers, screaming noisily, circled about the foreground; but this was all. "shove her in!" jim shouted. "i reckon shanks hasn't made the meeting of the channels. we'll strike across the flat." the sand was soft and they labored hard. when they were halt-way across, a low, dark object rose above the edge of the bank. it was roughly triangular and moving fast. "shanks's punt!" said jake. "he has set the little black lugsail and the wind's fair. you can't head him off." "i'm going to try," said jim, who was now some yards in front; and they pushed on. they were exhausted when they stopped beside a belt of sparkling water, and jim cried out hoarsely and clenched his fist. the channel was wider than he had thought, and near the other bank a punt was running down with the tide. one could hardly see her low, gray hull, but the tanned lugsail cut sharply against the bank, and its slant and the splash of foam at the bows indicated speed. shooting punts are not built to carry canvas, but they sail fast in smooth water when the wind is fair. "we're too late; i don't know if i'm sorry," jake remarked with labored breath. "my notion is, shanks has pulled out for good, and nobody is going to miss him much. wind's off the land, water's smooth, and the tide will run west for three or four hours. he'll be a long way down the coast before it turns. in the meantime, we're some distance from langrigg and it looks as if you had lost your shoe." "so i have!" said jim. "guess it came off when i was plowing through the mud. well, let's get home. shanks has gone and he'll find trouble waiting if he comes back." they set off. both were wet and dirty, and when they reached langrigg jim's foot was sore. chapter xviii jim's release on the morning after his pursuit of shanks, jim was conscious of a flat reaction. dick's story and the excitement of the chase had helped him to forget his troubles, but now he was cool they returned. he had promised to marry evelyn and found out, too late, that he loved another. there was no use in railing at his folly, although this was great, and it was futile to wonder how he had so grossly misunderstood his feelings. evelyn was all he thought her, but romantic admiration and respect for her fine qualities were not love. the important thing was that she held his promise and he must make it good. there was no other way. carrie knew he loved her, but she had shown him his duty. if he drew back and broke with evelyn, he would earn her contempt; carrie was very staunch and put honor first. anyhow, he was going to draw back; he had been a fool, but he could pay. the trouble was, evelyn was clever and might find him out. his face went grim as he thought about it; the strain of pretending, the effort to be kind. for all that, the effort must be made, and perhaps by and by things would be easier. for a week he was quiet and moody and tried to occupy himself at the dyke. the evenings were the worst, because it soon got dark and he must talk to jake and carrie and try to look calm. then he was puzzled about other things. evelyn had gone to london and had not written to him. a few days afterwards, dick, too, went to town, and mrs. halliday did not know why he had gone. jim thought this strange, but it was not important. coming home one evening from the marsh, he found dick with the others in the hall. it was nearly dark, but there was a bright fire and carrie was making tea. dick kneeled on the rug, toasting muffins on a long fork, and laughed when carrie bantered him about being afraid to scorch his hands. jim envied dick, and remembered with poignant regret the days when he had helped carrie by the camp-fire in the woods. then dick looked up and jim thought him embarrassed. "hallo, dick!" he said. "when did you get back?" dick said he arrived in the morning, and jim asked if he had met evelyn in town. "i did," dick replied. "she was pretty well, but it's two or three days since. she said she'd write to you." jim nodded. dick's voice was careless, but jim thought his carelessness was forced. then he turned to carrie. "did the postman call?" "yes," said carrie. "your mail is on the table." jim got the letters and lighting a lamp sat down in an easy-chair. the envelope with the london postmark was from evelyn, but he would sooner read her note when he was alone. he opened another and presently looked up. "martin has written to me from vancouver. the irrigation company has won the lawsuit and proved its claim to the water-rights. the shares are going up again, and martin's hopeful about the future. i can sell out for face value, but he urges me to hold." "ah," said carrie, "that's good news! you can trust martin. i expect the company has straightened up because they made him a director." "it's very possible. he sends your mother and you greetings and hopes you haven't forgotten him." "one doesn't forget men like that," carrie replied. "martin's all white; clever and strong and straight. but doesn't this mean you have got over your troubles?" "i suppose i can go ahead with the dykes," said jim. he was quiet afterwards and let the others talk, until carrie got up and went away with mrs. winter and jake. when the door shut dick looked up. "has evelyn written to you?" "yes," said jim. "i haven't read her note yet." "i don't know if that is strange or not, but perhaps you had better read it. i expect it will clear the ground for me and i have something to say." jim opened the envelope and braced himself, for he was half-ashamed of the satisfaction he got from the first few lines; moreover, he did not want dick to know what he felt. evelyn was apologetic, but she set him free. "i thought i loved you, jim," she said. "i wanted to be brave and simple, but found it would cost too much. now i hope you won't be hurt, and by and by perhaps you will be glad i let you go. you will go far, jim, with your large stride, fronting the storms you love; but i could not have taken your path. mine must be sheltered and smooth----" there was more, for evelyn wrote with some feeling in a romantic strain, but jim had read enough. his look was puzzled as he turned to dick. "your sister has turned me down," he said. "the grounds she gives are good enough. i imagine you knew?" "i did know. i suspected for some time that she would do so, but she did not tell me until i was in town." "then i don't understand----" dick hesitated before he replied: "lance said something at dryholm that i thought ominous. he declared i'd be sorry, and i bothered about it for a day or two. then i saw a light and got the next train to town. he meant that he was going to marry evelyn." "that's unthinkable! besides, evelyn was then pledged to marry me." "it looks as if you didn't know lance yet; i'm not sure you altogether know evelyn. anyhow, i saw her and stopped the thing. i think she got a bad jolt when i told her about the punt." jim looked at the date on the note. "when did you see her?" dick told him and he pondered. then he said, "she wrote to me after she knew about the punt, although you imply that she agreed to marry lance before. it's puzzling." "i've got to be frank," dick replied. "evelyn is not like carrie; she takes the easiest line. i imagine she meant to say nothing until she had quietly married lance. then we'd have been forced to accept the situation." he paused and his face got red as he resumed: "i'm thankful i was not too late, but i'm sorry i could not find lance." jim was silent for a time. he had believed in evelyn after illumination had come on the sands. although he knew his imagination had cheated him, he owned her charm and his respect for her was strong. now he had got a jar. evelyn was not the girl he had thought; it looked as if she were calculating, unscrupulous, and weak. if she had let him go before she had agreed to marry lance, he could have forgiven her much. he was savage with himself. it was for evelyn's sake he had lost carrie, who was tender, brave, and staunch. by and by he roused himself and asked: "have you told your mother?" "i have not. i felt i was forced to tell you, but it would be better that nobody else should know. florence, with whom evelyn stayed, will not talk." jim nodded. "you can trust me, dick. the statements in this letter are enough; evelyn imagined she could not be happy with me, and she was, no doubt, right!" "you're a good sort, jim," said dick with some embarrassment. "it's not strange you feel sore. it cost me something to be frank; apologizing for one's sister is hard." "it's done with," jim said quietly, and as dick got up a servant came in with a pink envelope. "a telegram for mr. halliday," she said. "as mrs. halliday was not at home, the gardener brought it on." the servant went out and dick laughed harshly when he read the telegram. "evelyn was married this morning, but not to lance," he said. "well, i expect mother will be satisfied. from one point of view, the marriage is good." "then, you know the man?" said jim, who sympathized with dick's' bitterness. "i do," said dick, very dryly. "he's rich and getting fat, but on the whole, i imagine he's as good a husband as evelyn deserves. i sometimes thought he wanted her and she quietly held him off; it looks as if she had lost no time now." he paused and the blood came to his skin as he resumed: "i'm breaking rules, this is rotten bad form, but you ought to be thankful you hadn't the misfortune to marry into our family." jim put his hand on the other's arm. "stop it, dick! you have been honest and we are friends. but i think you have said enough." "then give me a drink and let me go. i need bracing; the thing has knocked me off my balance." "here you are," said jim, who went to a cupboard, and dick lifted his glass. "good luck, jim! you are lucky, you know. but if you're not a fool, you'll marry carrie winter." he went out and jim sat down again, looking straight in front, with knitted brows. he did not know how long he mused, but he got up abruptly when carrie came in. she glanced at him curiously when he indicated a chair, and for a few moments he stood opposite, irresolute and frowning. then he gave her evelyn's note. "after all, there is no reason you shouldn't read this," he said. carrie took the note and jim thought her hand trembled when she returned it. "i'm sorry, jim!" "i don't want you to be sorry; i want you to understand. evelyn married somebody else this morning. dick got a telegram." "ah," said carrie, "i suppose it hurt?" "let's be frank! it couldn't hurt my vanity, because i had none left. for all that, i got a knock. you see, i trusted evelyn, and after the night on the sands felt myself a shabby cur; but i meant to keep my promise." carrie's face flushed delicately, although her voice was calm as she said, "i did not trust evelyn. the trouble was, i couldn't warn you." "yet you wanted to warn me? oh, i know! you have stood between me and trouble before, but this job was too big. it was not your pluck that failed; you knew my obstinacy----" he stopped and carrie was silent. he moved a few paces and came back. "can't you speak?" he asked. "what am i to say, jim?" "well," he said hoarsely, "if you won't talk, you can listen. you have borne with my moods and i've got to let myself go now or be quiet for good; i'm something of a savage, but i've had to fight for all i wanted and winning made me proud. it gave me a ridiculous confidence. well, i expect i reached the top of my folly when i got evelyn. then our adventure on the sands knocked me flat; i knew myself a despicable fool. i'd taken the best you had to give; let you nurse me when i was sick, and cook for me in the woods. i knew your worth and chose evelyn! then, when i'd promised to marry her, i took you in my arms and kissed you!" "yet you meant to marry her; that was rather fine, jim," said carrie quietly. "i don't know if it was fine or not; it might have made bad worse. besides, you showed me you would be firm, although you knew i loved you." "yes; i did know. you made good in canada; i wanted you to make good at langrigg." jim thrilled with strong emotion. "oh, my dear! my staunch and generous dear! but i'm going to put your generosity to another test. i ought to have gone away and made things easier for you; i ought to have waited, to save your pride, but it would have been too hard. well, i'm taking a horribly wrong line, but i want you, and you know me for what i am. if you think i'm too mean, i'll sell langrigg and go away for good." carrie got up and looked at him with steady eyes. then her face softened and she gave him a tender smile. "you are rather foolish, jim, but you mean well and i am satisfied." he stood still for a moment, as if he doubted what he had heard, and she said quietly, "if my pride needed saving, it would be very small." "my dear!" he said, and took her in his arms. a few minutes afterwards, jake and mrs. winter came in and jim remarked: "you have owned you like the old country and i've urged you to stay." "when the dykes are finished we must go," mrs. winter replied. "you are kind, but we know where we belong----" she stopped and looked sharply at carrie, who stood by jim and smiled. her color was high and her face and pale-green dress cut against the background of somber oak. her pose was graceful but proud. jim remembered her coming down the stairs on her first evening in the house; she had looked like that then. somehow one felt she was there by right. "if you go, you must leave me," she said. "i belong to langrigg and jim." mrs. winter advanced and kissed her and jake gave jim his hand. "for a time, it looked as if we were going to lose you, partner. still i felt you would come back to us." "i don't know if i've come back or gone forward," jim rejoined. "all that's important is, carrie and i go on together." for half an hour they engaged in happy talk and when, after dinner, carrie and jim were again alone, she said, "you have forgotten something. oughtn't we to tell bernard?" "of course," jim agreed. "somehow i think he'd like it if you wrote the note." carrie sent him for a pen and soon after he came back fastened and gave him the envelope. "i suppose i ought to feel nervous, but i don't," she said. "i was never afraid of bernard." next evening bernard came to dinner. jim and his party met him in the hall, but he signed the others back when carrie gave him her hand. "i am the head of the house and claim my right," he said and kissed her. "some day jim will take my place and i think he will fill it well." carrie blushed, but jim noted with a thrill of pride that she carried herself finely. he thought she understood that bernard had formally acknowledged her. it was strange to know this was the girl who had made his bread and mended his clothes in the woods, but after all, the difference was only in her surroundings. carrie had not changed. "i don't mind confessing i plotted for this," bernard resumed with a twinkle, and took a leather box from his pocket. he opened the box and a row of green jewels set in rough gold sparkled in the light. "my wife last wore them; they were my grandmother's, and date farther back," he said. "now they are yours, and i would like you to put them on." carrie stood quiet for a moment, with the jewels in her hand, while her color came and went. for all that, she looked calm and rather proud. she remembered that bernard had not given the necklace to evelyn. "i have not worn such things, and i am the first of my kind to put on these stones," she said. bernard bowed. "brave and good women have worn them. i have studied human nature and give them to you. this is not altogether because you are going to marry jim." carrie drew the stones round her neck and fastened the clasp. the blood came to her skin and she looked strangely vivid, but in a moment or two her glance became soft. "you are kind and your trust means much," she said. "for one thing, it means i must make good. jim's inheritance must be managed well. we will try to rule at langrigg as his people ruled." the end [frontispiece: the first legislative assembly of vancouver island _back row_--j. w. m'kay, j. d. pemberton, j. porter (clerk) _front row_--t. j. skinner, j. s. helmcken, m. d., james yates after a photograph] the cariboo trail a chronicle of the gold-fields of british columbia by agnes c. laut toronto glasgow, brook & company _copyright in all countries subscribing to the berne convention_ {v} contents page i. the 'argonauts' . . . . . . . . . . . . . ii. the prospector . . . . . . . . . . . . . iii. cariboo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . iv. the overlanders . . . . . . . . . . . . . v. crossing the mountains . . . . . . . . . vi. quesnel and kamloops . . . . . . . . . . vii. life at the mines . . . . . . . . . . . . viii. the cariboo road . . . . . . . . . . . . bibliographical note . . . . . . . . . . index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {vii} illustrations the first legislative assembly of vancouver island . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . _frontispiece_ after a photograph. the cariboo country . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . _facing page_ map by bartholomew. sir james douglas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . " " from a portrait by savannah. indians near new westminster, b.c. . . . . . . . . . . . " " from a photograph by maynard. in the rocky mountains . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . " " from a photograph. a group of thompson river indians . . . . . . . . . . . " " from a photograph by maynard. sir matthew baillie begbie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . " " from a portrait by savannah. a red river cart . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . " " from a photograph. washing gold on the saskatchewan . . . . . . . . . . . . " " from a photograph. {viii} in the yellowhead pass . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . " " from a photograph. upper m'leod river . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . " " from a photograph. the cariboo road . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . " " from a photograph. indian graves at lytton, b.c. . . . . . . . . . . . . . " " from a photograph. [illustration: map of the cariboo country] { } chapter i the 'argonauts' early in the sleepy quiet of victoria, vancouver island, was disturbed by the arrival of straggling groups of ragged nondescript wanderers, who were neither trappers nor settlers. they carried blanket packs on their backs and leather bags belted securely round the waist close to their pistols. they did not wear moccasins after the fashion of trappers, but heavy, knee-high, hobnailed boots. in place of guns over their shoulders, they had picks and hammers and such stout sticks as mountaineers use in climbing. they did not forgather with the indians. they shunned the indians and had little to say to any one. they volunteered little information as to whence they had come or whither they were going. they sought out roderick finlayson, chief trader for the hudson's bay company. they wanted provisions from the company--yes--rice, flour, ham, salt, pepper, sugar, and tobacco; and at the smithy they { } demanded shovels, picks, iron ladles, and wire screens. it was only when they came to pay that finlayson felt sure of what he had already guessed. they unstrapped those little leather bags round under their cartridge belts and produced in tiny gold nuggets the price of what they had bought. finlayson did not know exactly what to do. the fur-trader hated the miner. the miner, wherever he went, sounded the knell of fur-trading; and the trapper did not like to have his game preserve overrun by fellows who scared off all animals from traps, set fire going to clear away underbrush, and owned responsibility to no authority. no doubt these men were 'argonauts' drifted up from the gold diggings of california; no doubt they were searching for new mines; but who had ever heard of gold in vancouver island, or in new caledonia, as the mainland was named? if there had been gold, would not the company have found it? finlayson probably thought the easiest way to get rid of the unwelcome visitors was to let them go on into the dangers of the wilds and then spread the news of the disappointment bound to be theirs. he handled their nuggets doubtfully. who knew for a certainty that it was gold anyhow? { } they bade him lay it on the smith's anvil and strike it with a hammer. finlayson, smiling sceptically, did as he was told. the nuggets flattened to a yellow leaf as fine and flexible as silk. finlayson took the nuggets at eleven dollars an ounce and sent the gold down to san francisco, very doubtful what the real value would prove. it proved sixteen dollars to the ounce. for seven or eight years afterwards rumours kept floating in to the company's forts of finds of gold. many of the company's servants drifted away to california in the wake of the 'forty-niners,' and the company found it hard to keep its trappers from deserting all up and down the pacific coast. the quest for gold had become a sort of yellow-fever madness. men flung certainty to the winds and trekked recklessly to california, to oregon, to the hinterland of the country round colville and okanagan. yet nothing occurred to cause any excitement in victoria. there was a short-lived flurry over the discovery in queen charlotte islands of a nugget valued at six hundred dollars and a vein of gold-bearing quartz. but the nugget was an isolated freak; the quartz could not be worked at a profit; and the movement suddenly died out. { } there were, however, signs of what was to follow. the chief trader at the little fur-post of yale reported that when he rinsed sand round in his camp frying-pan, fine flakes and scales of yellow could be seen at the bottom.[ ] but gold in such minute particles would not satisfy the men who were hunting nuggets. it required treatment by quicksilver. though maclean, the chief factor at kamloops, kept all the specks and flakes brought to his post as samples from to , he had less than would fill a half-pint bottle. if a half-pint is counted as a half-pound and the gold at the company's price of eleven dollars an ounce, it will be seen why four years of such discoveries did not set victoria on fire. it has been so with every discovery of gold in the history of the world. the silent, shaggy, ragged first scouts of the gold stampede wander houseless for years from hill to hill, from gully to gully, up rivers, up stream beds, up dry watercourses, seeking the source of those yellow specks seen far down the mountains near the sea. precipice, rapids, avalanche, winter storm, take their toll of dead. corpses are washed down in the spring floods; or the { } thaw reveals a prospector's shack smashed by a snowslide under which lie two dead 'pardners.' then, by and by, when everybody has forgotten about it, a shaggy man comes out of the wilds with a leather bag; the bag goes to the mint; and the world goes mad. victoria went to sleep again. when men drifted in to trade dust and nuggets for picks and flour, the fur-traders smiled, and rightly surmised that the california diggings were playing out. though vancouver island was nominally a crown colony, it was still, with new caledonia, practically a fief of the hudson's bay company. james douglas was governor. he was assisted in the administration by a council of three, nominated by himself--john tod, james cooper, and roderick finlayson. in a colonial legislature was elected and met at victoria in august for the first time.[ ] but, { } in fact, the company owned the colony, and its will was supreme in the government. john work was the company's chief factor at victoria and finlayson was chief trader. because california and oregon had gone american, some small british warships lay at esquimalt harbour. the little fort had expanded beyond the stockade. the governor's house was to the east of the stockade. a new church had been built, and the rev. edward cridge, afterwards known as bishop cridge, was the rector. two schools had been built. inside the fort were perhaps forty-five employees. inside and outside lived some eight hundred people. but grass grew in the roads. there was no noise but the church bell or the fort bell, or the flapping of a sail while a ship came to anchor. three hundred acres about the fort were worked by the company as a farm, which gave employment to about two dozen workmen, and on which were perhaps a hundred cattle and a score of brood mares. the company also had a saw-mill. buildings of huge, squared timbers flanked three sides of the inner stockades--the dining-hall, the cook-house, the bunk-house, the store, the trader's house. there were two bastions, and from each cannon pointed. close to the { } wicket at the main entrance stood the postoffice. only a fringe of settlement went beyond the company's farm. the fort was sound asleep, secure in an eternal certainty that the domain which it guarded would never be overrun by american settlers as california and oregon had been. the little admiralty cruisers which lay at esquimalt were guarantee that new caledonia should never be stampeded into a republic by an inrush of aliens. then, as now, it was victoria's boast that it was more english than england. so passed christmas of ' with plum-pudding and a roasted ox and toasts to the crown and the company, though we cannot be quite sure that the company was not put before the crown in the souls of the fur-traders. then, in march , just when victoria felt most secure as the capital of a perpetual fur realm, something happened. a few yankee prospectors had gone down on the hudson's bay steamer _otter_ to san francisco in february with gold dust and nuggets from new caledonia to exchange for money at the mint. the hudson's bay men had thought nothing of this. other treasure-seekers had come to new caledonia before and had gone back to san francisco disappointed. but, in march, these { } men returned to victoria. and with them came a mad rabble of gold-crazy prospectors. a city of tents sprang up overnight round victoria. the smithy was besieged for picks, for shovels, for iron ladles. men stood in long lines for their turn at the trading-store. by canoe, by dugout, by pack-horse, and on foot, they planned to ascend the fraser, and they mobbed the company for passage to langley by the first steamer out from victoria. goods were paid for in cash. before finlayson could believe his own eyes, he had two million dollars in his safe, some of it for purchases, some of it on deposit for safe keeping. though the company gave no guarantee to the depositors and simply sealed each man's leather pouch as it was placed in the safe, no complaint was ever made against it of dishonesty or unfair treatment. without waiting instructions from england and with poignant memory of oregon, governor douglas at once clapped on a licence of twenty-one shillings a month for mining privileges under the british crown. thus he obtained a rough registration of the men going to the up-country; but thousands passed victoria altogether and went in by pack-train from okanagan or rafted across from puget sound. { } the month of march had not ended when the first band of gold hunters arrived and settled down a mile and a half below yale. another boat-load of eight hundred and fifty came in april. in four months sixty-seven vessels, carrying from a hundred to a thousand men each, had come up from san francisco to victoria. crews deserted their ships, clerks deserted the company, trappers turned miners and took to the gold-bars. before victoria awoke to what it was all about, twenty thousand people were camped under tents outside the stockade, and the air was full of the wildest rumours of fabulous gold finds. the snowfall had been heavy in ' . in the spring the fraser rolled to the sea a swollen flood. against the turbid current worked tipsy rafts towed by wheezy steamers or leaky old sailing craft, and rickety row-boats raced cockle-shell canoes for the gold-bars above. ashore, the banks of the river were lined with foot passengers toiling under heavy packs, wagons to which clung human forms on every foot of space, and long rows of pack-horses bogged in the flood of the overflowing river. by september ten thousand men were rocking and washing for gold round yale. as in the late kootenay and in the still later { } klondike stampede, american cities at the coast benefited most. victoria was a ten-hour trip from the mainland. whatcom and townsend, on the american side, advertised the advantages of the washington route to the fraser river gold-mines. a mushroom boom in town lots had sprung up at these points before victoria was well awake. by the time speculators reached victoria the best lots in that place had already been bought by the company's men; and some of the substantial fortunes of victoria date from this period. though the river was so high that the richest bars could not be worked till late in august, five hundred thousand dollars in gold was taken from the bed of the fraser during the first six months of ' . this amount, divided among the ten thousand men who were on the bars around yale, would not average as much as they could have earned as junior clerks with the fur company, or as peanut pedlars in san francisco; but not so does the mind of the miner work. here was gold to be scooped up for nothing by the first comer; and more vessels ploughed their way up the fraser, though governor douglas sought to catch those who came by puget sound and evaded licence by charging six dollars toll each for all { } canoes on the fraser and twelve dollars for each vessel with decks. later these tolls were disallowed by the home authorities. the prompt action of douglas, however, had the effect of keeping the mining movement in hand. though the miners were of the same class as the 'argonauts' of california, they never broke into the lawlessness that compelled vigilance committees in san francisco. [illustration: sir james douglas. from a portrait by savannah] judge howay gives the letter of a treasure-seeker who reached the fraser in april, the substance of which is as follows: we're now located thirty miles above the junction of the fraser and the thompson on fraser river... about a fourth of the canoes that attempt to come up are lost in the rapids which extend from fort yale nearly to the forks. a few days ago six men were drowned by their canoe upsetting. there is more danger going down than coming up. there can be no doubt about this country being immensely rich in gold. almost every bar on the river from yale up will pay from three dollars to seven dollars a day to the man at the present stage of water. when the river gets low, which will be about august, the bars will pay very well. one hundred and ninety-six dollars was taken out by one man last winter in a few hours, but the water was then at its lowest stage. the gold on the bars is all very fine and hard to save in a rocker, but with quicksilver properly { } managed, good wages can be made almost anywhere on the river as long as the bars are actually covered with water. we have not yet been able to find a place where we can work anything but rockers. if we could get a sluice to work, we could make from twelve dollars to sixteen dollars a day each. we only commenced work yesterday and we are satisfied that when we get fully under way we can make from five dollars to seven dollars a day each. the prospect is better as we go up the river on the bars. the gold is not any coarser, but there is more of it. there are also in that region diggings of coarser gold on small streams that empty into the main river. a few men have been there and proved the existence of rich diggings by bringing specimens back with them. the indians all along the river have gold in their possession that they say they dug themselves, but they will not tell where they get it, nor allow small parties to go up after it. i have seen pieces in their possession weighing two pounds. the indians above are disposed to be troublesome and went into a camp twenty miles above us and forcibly took provisions and arms from a party of four men and cut two severely with their knives. they came to our camp the same day and insisted that we should trade with them or leave the country. we design to remain here until we can get a hundred men together, when we will move up above the falls and do just what we please without regard to the indians. we are at present the highest up of any white men on the river, and we must go higher to be satisfied. { } i don't apprehend any danger from the indians at present, but there will be hell to pay after a while. there is a pack-trail from hope, but it cannot be travelled till the snow is off the mountains. the prices of provisions are as follows: flour thirty-five dollars per hundred-weight, pork a dollar a pound, beans fifty cents a pound, and other things in proportion. every party that starts from the sound should have their own supplies to last them three or four months, and they should bring the largest size chinook canoes, as small ones are very liable to swamp in the rapids. each canoe should be provided with thirty fathoms of strong line for towing over swift water, and every man well armed. the indians here can beat anything alive stealing. they will soon be able to steal a man's food after he has eaten it. [illustration: indians near new westminster, b.c. from a photograph by maynard.] within two miles of yale eighty indians and thirty white men were working the gold-bars; and log boarding-houses and saloons sprang up along the river-bank as if by magic. naturally, the last comers of ' were too late to get a place on the gold-bars, and they went back to the coast in disgust, calling the gold stampede 'the fraser river humbug.' nevertheless, men were washing, sluicing, rocking, and digging gold as far as lillooet. often the day's yield ran as high as eight hundred dollars a man; and the higher up the treasure-seekers { } pushed their way, the coarser grew the gold flakes and grains. would the golden lure lead finally to the mother lode of all the yellow washings? that is the hope that draws the prospector from river to stream, from stream to dry gully bed, from dry gully to precipice edge, and often over the edge to death or fortune. exactly fifty-six years from the first rush of ' in the month of april, i sat on the banks of the fraser at yale and punted across the rapids in a flat-bottomed boat and swirled in and out among the eddies of the famous bars. a siwash family lived there by fishing with clumsy wicker baskets. higher up could be seen some chinamen, but whether they were fishing or washing we could not tell. two transcontinental railroads skirted the canyon, one on each side, and the tents of a thousand construction workers stood where once were the camps of the gold-seekers banded together for protection. when we came back across the river an old, old man met us and sat talking to us on the bank. he had come to the fraser in that first rush of ' . he had been one of the leaders against the murderous bands of indians. then, he had pushed on up the river to cariboo, travelling, as he told us, by { } the indian trails over 'jacob's ladders'--wicker and pole swings to serve as bridges across chasms--wherever the 'float' or sign of mineral might lead him. both on the fraser and in cariboo he had found his share of luck and ill luck; and he plainly regretted the passing of that golden age of danger and adventure. 'but,' he said, pointing his trembling old hands at the two railways, 'if we prospectors hadn't blazed the trail of the canyon, you wouldn't have your railroads here to-day. they only followed the trail we first cut and then built. we followed the "float" up and they followed us.' what the trapper was to the fur trade, the prospector was to the mining era that ushered civilization into the wilds with a blare of dance-halls and wine and wassail and greed. ragged, poor, roofless, grubstaked by 'pardner' or outfitter on a basis of half profit, the prospector stands as the eternal type of the trail-maker for finance. [ ] the same, of course, may be done to-day, with a like result, at many places along the fraser and even on the saskatchewan. [ ] this was the first legislative assembly to meet west of upper canada in what is now the canadian dominion. it consisted of seven members, as follows: j. d. pemberton, james yates, e. e. langford, j. s. helmcken, thomas j. skinner, john muir, and j. f. kennedy. langford, however, retired almost immediately after the election and j. w. m'kay was elected in his stead. the portraits of five of the members are preserved in the group which appears as the frontispiece to this volume. the photograph was probably taken at a later period; at any rate, two of the members, muir and kennedy, are missing. { } chapter ii the prospector by september, when mountain rivers are at their lowest, every bar on the fraser from yale to the forks of the thompson was occupied. the hudson's bay steamer _otter_ made regular trips up the fraser to fort langley; and from the fort an american steamer called the _enterprise_, owned by captain tom wright, breasted the waters as far as the swift current at yale. at yale was a city of tents and hungry men. walter moberly tells how, when he ascended the fraser with wright in the autumn of ' , the generous yankee captain was mobbed by penniless and destitute men for return passage to the coast. many a broken treasure-seeker owed his life to tom wright's free passage. fortunately, there was always good fishing on the fraser; but salt was a dollar twenty-five a pound, butter a dollar twenty-five a pound, and flour rarer than nuggets. so hard up were some of the { } miners for pans to wash their gold, that one desperate fellow went to a log shack called a grocery store, and after paying a dollar for the privilege of using a grindstone, bought an empty butter vat at the pound price of butter--twelve dollars for an empty butter tub! half a dollar was the smallest coin used, and clothing was so scarce that when a chinaman's pig chewed up walter moberly's boots while the surveyor lay asleep in his shack, mr moberly had to foot it twenty-five miles before he could find another pair of boots. saloons occupied every second shack at yale and hope; revolvers were in all belts and each man was his own sheriff; yet there was little lawlessness. with claims filed on all gold-bearing bars, what were the ten thousand men to do camped for fifty miles beyond yale? those who had no provisions and could not induce any storekeeper to grubstake them for a winter's prospecting, quit the country in disgust; and the price of land dropped in the boom towns of the fraser as swiftly as it had been ballooned up. prospecting during the winter in a country of heavy snowfall did not seem a sane project. and yet the eternal question urged the miners on: from what mother lode are { } these flakes and nuggets washed down to the sand-bars of the fraser? gold had also been found in cracks in the rock along the river. whence had it come? the man farthest upstream in spring would be on the ground first for the great find that was bound to make some seeker's fortune. so all stayed who could. fortunately, the winter of ' -' was mild, the autumn late, the snowfall light, and the spring very early. fate, as usual, favoured the dauntless. in parties of twos and tens and twenties, and even as many as five hundred, the miners began moving up the river prospecting. those with horses had literally to cut the way with their axes over windfall, over steep banks, and round precipitous cliffs. where rivers had to be crossed, the men built rude rafts and poled themselves over, with their pack-horses swimming behind. those who had oxen killed the oxen and sold the beef. others breasted the mill-race of the fraser in canoes and dugouts. governor douglas estimated that before april of ' as many as three hundred boats with five men in each had ascended the fraser. sometimes the amazing spectacle was seen of canoes lashed together in the fashion of pontoon bridges, with wagons full of provisions { } braced across the canoes. these travellers naturally did not attempt fraser canyon. before christmas of ' prospectors had spread into lillooet and up the river as high as chilcotin, soda creek, alexandria, cottonwood canyon, quesnel, and fort george. it was safer to ascend such wild streams than to run with the current, though countless canoes and their occupants were never heard of after leaving yale. where the turbid yellow flood began to rise and 'collect'--a boatman's phrase--the men would scramble ashore, and, by means of a long tump-line tied--not to the prow, which would send her sidling--to the middle of the first thwart, would tow their craft slowly up-stream. i have passed up and down fraser canyon too often to count the times, and have canoed one wild rapid twice, but never without wondering how those first gold-seekers managed the ascent in that winter of ' . there was no cariboo road then. there was only the narrow footpath of the trapper and the fisherman close down to the water; and when the rocks broke off in sheer precipice, an unsteady bridge of poles and willows spanned the abyss. a 'jacob's ladder' a hundred feet above a roaring whirlpool without { } handhold on either side was one thing for the indian moccasin and quite another thing for the miner's hobnailed boot. the men used to strip at these places and attempt the rock walls barefoot; or else they cached their canoe in a tree, or hid it under moss, lashed what provisions they could to a dog's back, and, with a pack strapped to their own back, proceeded along the bank on foot. the trapper carries his pack with a strap round his forehead. the miner ropes his round under his shoulders. he wants hands and neck free for climbing. usually the prospectors would appoint a rendezvous. there, provisions would be slung in the trees above the reach of marauding beasts, and the party would disperse at daybreak, each to search in a different direction, blazing trees as he went ahead so that he could find the way back at night to the camp. distress or a find was to be signalled by a gunshot or by heliograph of sunlight on a pocket mirror; but many a man strayed beyond rescue of signal and never returned to his waiting 'pardners.' some were caught in snowslides, only to be dug out years later. many signs guided the experienced prospector. streams clear as crystal came, he knew, from upper snows. those swollen at midday { } came from near-by snowfields. streams milky or blue or peacock green came from glaciers--ice grinding over rock. heavy mists often added to the dangers. i stood at the level of eight thousand feet in this region once with one of the oldest prospectors of the canyon. he had been a great hunter in his day. a cloud came through a defile of the peaks heavy as a blanket. though we were on a well-cut bridle-trail, he bade us pause, as one side of the trail had a sheer drop of four thousand feet in places. 'before there were any trails, how did you make your way here to hunt the mountain goat when this kind of fog caught you?' i asked. 'threw chips of stone ahead and listened,' he answered, 'and let me tell you that only the greenest kind of tenderfoot ever takes risks on a precipice.' and nine men out of ten were such green tenderfoots that winter of ' -' , when five thousand prospectors overran the wild canyons and precipices of the fraser. two or three things the prospector always carried with him--matches, a knife, a gun, rice, flour, bacon, and a little mallet-shaped hammer to test the 'float.' what was the 'float'? a sandy chunk of gravel perhaps flaked with { } yellow specks the size of a pin-head. he wanted to know where that chunk rolled down from. he knocked it open with his mallet. if it had a shiny yellow pebble inside only the size of a pea, the miner would stay on that bank and begin bench diggings into the dry bank. by the spring of ' dry bench diggings had extended back fifty miles from the river. if the chunk revealed only tiny yellow specks, perhaps mixed with white quartz, the miner would try to find where it rolled from and would ascend the gully, or mountain torrent, or precipice. queer stories are told of how during that winter almost bankrupt grocers grubstaked prospectors with bacon and flour and received a half-interest in a mine that yielded five or six hundred dollars a day in nuggets. but for one who found a mine a thousand found nothing. the sensations of the lucky one beggared description. 'was it luck or was it perseverance?' i asked the man who found one of the richest silver-mines in the big bend of the columbia. 'both and mostly dogged,' he answered. 'take our party as a type of prospectors from ' to ' , the thirty years when the most of the mining country was exploited. we had come up, eleven { } green kids and one old man, from washington. we had roughed it in east and west kootenay and were working south to leave the country dead broke. we had found "float" in plenty, and had followed it up ridges and over divides across three ranges of mountains. our horses were plumb played out. we had camped on a ridge to let them fatten up enough to beat it out of british columbia for ever. well, we found some galena "floats" in a dry gully on the other side of the valley. we had provisions left for only eleven days. some of the boys said they would go out and shoot enough deer to last us for meat till we could get out of the country. old sandy and i thought we would try our luck for just one day. we followed that "float" clear across the valley. we found more up the bed of a raging mountain torrent; but the trouble was that the stream came over a rock sheer as the wall of a house. i was afraid we'd lose the direction if we left the stream bed, but i could see high up the precipice where it widened out in a bench. you couldn't reach it from below, but you could from above, so we blazed the trees below to keep our direction and started up round the hog's back to drop to the bank under. by now it was nightfall, and we hadn't had { } anything to eat since six that morning. old sandy wanted to go back, but i wouldn't let him. he was trembling like an aspen leaf. it is so often just the one pace more that wins or loses the race. we laboured up that slope and reached the bench just at dark. we were so tired we had hauled ourselves up by trees, brushwood branches, anything. i looked over the edge of the rock. it dropped to that shelf we had seen from the gully below. it was too dark to do anything more; we knew the fellows back at the camp on the ridge would be alarmed, but we were too far to signal.' 'how far?' i asked. 'about twenty-two miles. we threw ourselves down to sleep. it was terribly cold. we were high up and the fall frosts were icy, i tell you! i woke aching at daybreak. old sandy was still sleeping. i thought i would let myself down over the ledge and see what was below, for there were no mineral signs where we were. i crawled over the ledge, and by sticking my fingers and toes in the rocks got down to about fifteen feet from the drop to a soft grassy level. i looked, hung for a moment, let go, and "lit" on all fours. then i looked up! the sun had just come over that east ridge and hit the rocks. i can't talk { } about it yet! i went mad! i laughed! i cried! i howled! there wasn't an ache left in my bones. i forgot that my knees knocked from weakness and that we had not had a bite for twenty-four hours. i yelled at old sandy to wake the dead. he came crawling over the ledge and peeked down. "what's the matter?" says he. "matter," i yelled. "wake up, you old son of a gun; we are millionaires!" there, sticking right out of the rock, was the ledge where "float" had been breaking and washing for hundreds of years; so you see, only eleven days from the time we were going to give up, we made our find. that mine paid from the first load of ore sent out by pack-horses.' other mines were found in a less spectacular way. the 'float' lost itself in a rounded knoll in the lap of a dozen peaks; and the miners had to decide which of the benches to tunnel. they might have to bring the stream from miles distant to sluice out the gravel; and the largest nuggets might not be found till hundreds of feet had been washed out; but always the 'float,' the pebbles, the specks that shone in the sun, lured them with promise. even for those who found no mine the search was not without reward. there was { } the care-free outdoor life. there was the lure of hope edging every sunrise. there was the fresh-washed ozone fragrant with the resinous exudations of the great trees of the forest. there was the healing regeneration to body and soul. amid the dance-halls and saloons the miner with money becomes a sot. out in the wilds he becomes a child of nature, simple and clean and elemental as the trees around him or the stars above him. i think of one prospector whose range was at the headwaters of the athabaska. in the dance-halls he had married a cheap variety actress. when the money of his first find had been dissipated she refused to live with him, and tried to extort high alimony by claiming their two-year-old son. the penniless prospector knew that he was no equal for law courts and sheriffs and lawyers; so he made him a raft, got a local trader to outfit him, and plunged with his baby boy into the wilderness, where no sheriff could track him. i asked him why he did not use pack-horses. he said dogs could have tracked them, but 'the water didn't leave no smell.' in the heart of the wilderness west of mounts brown and hooker he built him a log cabin with a fireplace. in that cabin he daily hobbled his little son, so { } that the child could not fall in the fire. he set his traps round the mountains and hunted till the snow cleared. by the time he could go prospecting in spring he had seven hundred dollars' worth of furs to sell; and he kept the child with him in the wilds till his wife danced herself across the boundary. then he brought the boy down and sent him to school. when the canadian pacific railway crossed the rockies, that man became one of the famous guides. he was the first guide i ever employed in the mountains. up-stream, then, headed the prospectors on the fraser in that autumn of ' . the miner's train of pack-horses is a study in nature. there is always the wise old bell-mare leading the way. there is always the lazy packer that has to be nipped by the horse behind him. there are always the shanky colts who bolt to stampede where the trail widens; but even shanky-legged colts learn to keep in line in the wilds. at every steep ascent the pack-train halts, girths are tightened, and sly old horses blow out their sides to deceive the driver. at first colts try to rub packs off on every passing tree, but a few tumbles heels over head down a bank cure them of that trick. always the course in new territory is { } according to the slope of the ground. river-bank is followed where possible; but where windfall or precipice drives back from the bed of the river over the mountain spurs, the pathfinder takes his bearings from countless signs. moss is on the north side of tree-trunks. a steep slope compels a zigzag, corkscrew ascent, but the slope of the ground guides the climber as to the way to go; for slope means valley; and in valleys are streams; and in the stream is the 'float,' which is to the prospector the one shining signal to be followed. timber-line is passed till the forests below look like dank banks of moss. cloud-line is passed till the clouds lie underneath in grey lakes and pools. a 'fool hen' or mountain grouse comes out and bobbles her head at the passing packtrain. a whistling marmot pops up from the rocks and pierces the stillness. redwings and waxbills pick crumbs from every camp meal; and occasionally a bald-headed eagle utters a lonely raucous cry from solitary perch of dead branch or high rock. [illustration: in the rocky mountains. from a photograph.] naturally enough, the pack-train unconsciously follows the game-trail of deer and goat and cougar and bear across the slope to the watering-places where springs gush out from the rocks. one has only to look close enough { } to see the little cleft footprint of the deer round these springs. to the miners, penetrating the wilds north of the fraser, the caribou proved a godsend during that lean first winter. the miners spelled it 'cariboo,' and thus gave the great gold area its name. the population of yale that winter consisted of some eight hundred people, housed in tents and log shacks roofed with canvas. between yale and hope remained two thousand miners during the winter. meals cost a dollar, served on tin plates to diners standing in long rows waiting turn at the counter. the regular menu at all meals was bacon, salmon, bread, and coffee. of butter there was little; of milk, none. wherever a sand-bar gave signs of mineral, it was tested with the primitive frying-pan. if the pan showed a deposit, the miner rigged up a rocker--a contraption resembling a cradle with rockers below, about four feet from end to end, two feet across, and two deep. the sides converged to bottom. at the head was a perforated sheet-iron bottom like a housewife's colander. into this box the gravel was shovelled by one miner. the man's 'pardner' poured in water and rocked the cradle--cradled the sand. the water ran through the perforated bottom to a second { } floor of quicksilver or copperplate or woolly blanket which caught the gold. on a larger scale, when streams were directed through wooden boxes, the gold was sluiced; on a still larger scale, the process was hydraulic mining, though the same in principle. in fact, in huge free milling works, where hydraulic machinery crushes the gold-bearing quartz and screens it to fineness before catching the gold on delicate sieves, the process is only a complex refinement of the bar-washer cradling his gold. fires had not yet cleared the giant hemlock forests, as they have to-day along the cariboo trail, and prospectors found their way through a chartless sea of windfall--hemlocks criss-crossed the height of a house with branches interlaced like wire. cataracts fell over lofty ledges in wind-blown spray. spanish moss, grey-green and feathery, hung from branch to branch of the huge douglas firs. sometimes the trail would lead for miles round the edge of some precipices beyond which could be glimpsed the eternal snows. sometimes an avalanche slid over a slope with the distant appearance of a great white waterfall and the echo of muffled thunder. where the mountain was swept as by a mighty besom, the pack-train kept an anxious eye on the snow { } amid the valleys of the upper peaks; for, in an instant, the snowslide might come over the edge of the upper valley to sweep down the slope, carrying away forests, rocks, trail, pack-train and all. the story is told of one slide seen by the guide at the head of a long pack-train. he had judged it to be ten miles away; but out from the upper valley it came coiling like a long white snake, and before he could turn, it had caught him. in a slide death was almost certain, from suffocation if not from the crush of falling trees and rocks. miners have been taken from their cabins dead in the trail of a snowslide that swept the shack to the bottom of the valley without so much as a hair of their heads being injured. though the logs were twisted and warped, the dead bodies were not even bruised. when a hushed whisper came through the trees, travellers looked for some waterfall. at midday, when the thaw was at its full, all the mountain torrents became vocal with the glee of disimprisoned life running a race of gladness to the sea. the sun sets early in the mountains with a gradual hushing of the voice of glad waters and a red glow as of wine on the encircling peaks. camp for the night was always near water for the horses; and every { } star was etched in replica in river or lake. sunrise steals in silence among the mountain peaks. there is none of that stir of song and vague rustling of animal life such as are heard at lower levels. nor does the light gradually rise above the eastern horizon. the walled peaks cut off the skyline in mid-heaven. the stars pale. trees and crags are mirrored in the lake so clearly that one can barely tell which is real and which is reflection. then the water-lines shorten and the rocks emerge from the belts and wisps of mist; and all the sunset colours of the night before repeat themselves across the changing scene. as you look, the clouds lift. the cook shouts 'breakfast!' and it is another day. such was the trail and the life of the prospector who beat his way by pack-train and canoe up the canyons of the fraser to learn whence came the wash of gold flake and nugget which he found in the sand-bars below. { } chapter iii cariboo indian unrest was probably first among the causes which led the miners to organize themselves into leagues for protection. the indians of the fraser were no more friendly to newcomers now than they had been in the days of alexander mackenzie and simon fraser.[ ] they now professed great alarm for their fishing-grounds. men on the gold-bars were jostled and hustled, and pegs marking limits were pulled up. a danger lay in the rows of saloons along the water-front--the well-known danger of liquor to the indian. so the miners at yale formed a vigilance committee and established self-made laws. the saloons should be abolished, they decreed. sale of liquor to any person whomsoever was forbidden. all liquor, wherever found, was ordered spilled. any one selling liquor to an indian should be seized and whipped thirty-nine lashes on the { } bare back. a standing committee of twelve was appointed to enforce the law till the regular government should be organized. it was july ' when the miners on the river-bars formed their committee. and they formed it none too soon, for the indians were on the war-path in washington and the unrest had spread to new caledonia. young m'loughlin, son of the famous john m'loughlin of oregon, coming up the columbia overland from okanagan to kamloops with a hundred and sixty men, four hundred pack-horses and a drove of oxen, had three men sniped off by indians in ambush and many cattle stolen. at big canyon on the fraser two frenchmen were found murdered. when word came of this murder the vigilance committee of yale formed a rifle company of forty, which in august started up to the forks at lytton. at spuzzum there was a fight. indians barred the way; but they were routed and seven of them killed in a running fire, and indian villages along the river were burned. meanwhile a hundred and sixty volunteers at yale formed a company to go up the river under captain snyder. the company's trader at yale was reluctant to supply arms, for the company's policy had ever been to conciliate the indians. { } but, when a rabble of two thousand angry miners gathered round the store, the rifles were handed over on condition that forty of the worst fire-eaters in the band should remain behind. snyder then led his men up the river and joined the first company at spuzzum. at china bar five miners were found hiding in a hole in the bank. with a number of companions they had been driven down-stream from the thompson by indians and had been sniped all the way for forty miles. man after man had fallen, and the five survivors in the bank were all wounded. when the indians saw the company of armed men under snyder, they fled to the hills. flags of truce were displayed on both sides and a peace was patched up till governor douglas could come up from the coast. not, however, before there occurred an unfortunate incident. at long bar, when an indian chief came with a flag of truce, two of the white men snatched it from him and trampled it in the mud. on the instant the indians shot both the white men where they stood. douglas had been up as far as yale in june, but was now back in victoria, where couriers brought him word of the open fight in august. he promptly organized a force of royal { } engineers and marines and set out for the scene of the disorders. royal engineers to the number of a hundred and fifty-six and their families had come out from england for the boundary survey; and their presence must have seemed providential to douglas, now that the miners were forming vigilance committees of their own and the indians were on the war-path. he went up the river in a small cruiser and reached hope on the st of september. salutes were fired as he landed. douglas knew how to use all the pomp of regimentals and formality to impress the indians. he opened a solemn powwow with the chiefs of the fraser. as usual, the white man's fire-water was found to be the chief cause of the trouble. without waiting for legislative authority, douglas issued a royal proclamation against the sale of liquor and left a mining recorder to register claims. he also appointed a justice of the peace. then he went on to yale. at yale he considered the price of provisions too high, and by arbitrarily reducing the price at the company's stores, he broke the ring of the petty dealers. this won him the friendship of the miners. within a week he had allayed all irritation between white man and indian. in a quarrel over a claim a { } white man had been murdered on one of the bars. douglas appointed magistrates to try the case. the trial was of course illegal, for colonial government had not been formally inaugurated in new caledonia or british columbia, as it was soon to be known, and douglas's authority as governor did not extend beyond vancouver island. but so, for that matter, were illegal all his actions on this journey; yet by an odd inconsistency of fact against law, they restored peace and order on the river. [illustration: a group of thompson river indians. from a photograph by maynard.] it was not long, however, before the formal organization of the new colony took place. hardly had douglas returned to victoria when ships from england arrived bringing his commission as governor of british columbia. arrived, also, matthew baillie begbie, 'a judge in our colony of british columbia,' and a detachment of royal engineers under command of colonel moody. at fort langley, on november , , the colony of british columbia was proclaimed under the laws of england. then, in january, just as douglas and the officers of his government had again settled down comfortably at victoria, came word of more riots at yale, led by a notorious desperado { } and deposed judge of california named ned m'gowan. the possibility of american occupation had become an obsession at victoria. there were undoubtedly those among the american miners who made wild boasts. douglas gathered up all his panoply of war and law. along went colonel moody, with a company of his royal engineers, lieutenant mayne of the imperial navy with a hundred bluejackets, and judge matthew begbie, to deal out justice to the offenders. douglas remembered the cry 'fifty-four forty or fight,' and he remembered what had happened to his chief, m'loughlin, in oregon when the american settlers there had set up vigilance committees. he would take no chances. the party carried along a small cannon. lieutenant mayne could not take his cruiser the _plumper_ higher than langley; and there the forces were transferred to tom wright's stern-wheeler, the _enterprise_. but, when they arrived at hope, the whole affair looked like semi-comic vaudeville. yale, too, was as quiet as a church prayer-meeting; and colonel moody preached a sermon on sunday to a congregation of forty in the court-house--the first church service ever held on the mainland of british columbia. [illustration: sir matthew baillie begbie. from a portrait by savannah.] { } the trouble had happened in this way. christmas day had been celebrated hilariously. at yale a miner of hill's bar, some miles down the river, had beaten up a negro. the yale magistrate had issued a warrant for the miner's arrest--poor magistrate, he had found little to do since his appointment in september! the miner, now sobered, fled back to his bar. the warrant was sent after him to the local peace officer for execution, but this officer had already issued a warrant for the arrest of the negro at yale; so there it stood--each fighter making complaint against the other and the two magistrates in lordly contempt of each other! the man who tried to arrest the negro was insolent and was jailed by the yale magistrate. ned m'gowan, the californian down on the bar, then came up to yale with a posse of twenty men to arrest the magistrate for arresting the man who had been sent to arrest the negro. bursting with rage, the astonished dignitary at yale was bundled into a canoe. he was fined fifty dollars for contempt of court. it was at this stage of the comedy of errors that moody, begbie, and mayne came on the scene. at first m'gowan showed truculence and assailed moody; but when he saw the { } force of engineers and bluejackets and saw the big gun hoisted ashore, he apologized, paid his fine for the assault, and invited the officers to a champagne dinner on hill's bar. both sides to the quarrel cooled down and the riots ended. the army stayed only to see the miners wash the gold and then put back to victoria. the miners had learned that an english judge and a field force could be put on the ground in a week. september had settled disorder among the indians. january settled disorder among the whites. in the wild remote regions of the up-country there was much 'claim jumping.' a man lost his claim if he stopped mining for seventy-two hours, and when the place of registration was far from the find, 'pardners' camped on the spot in dugouts or in lean-tos of logs and moss along the river-bank. there were fights and there was killing, and sometimes the river cast up its dead. the marvel is that there were not more crimes. in every camp is a species of human vulture living off other men's risk. whenever a lone man came in from the hills and paid for his purchase in nuggets, such vultures would trail him back to his claim and make what they could out of his discovery. so, by pack-train and canoe, the miners { } worked up to alexandria, to quesnel, to fort george. towards spring, when the prospectors had succeeded in packing in more provisions, they began striking back east from the main river, following creeks to their sources, and from their sources over the watershed to the sources of creeks flowing in an opposite direction. late in ' men reached quesnel lake and cariboo lake. binding saplings together with withes, the prospectors poled laboriously round these alpine lagoons, and where they found creeks pouring down from the upper peaks, they followed these creeks up to their sources. pockets of gravel in the banks of both lakes yielded as much as two hundred dollars a day. on horse fly creek up from quesnel lake five men washed out in primitive rockers a hundred ounces of nuggets in a week. the gold-fever, which had subsided when all the bars of the fraser were occupied, mounted again. great rumours began to float out from the up-country. bank facings seemed to indicate that the richest pay-dirt lay at bed-rock. this kind of mining required sluicing, and long ditches were constructed to bring the water to the dry diggings. by the autumn of ' a thousand miners were at work round quesnel lake. by the spring { } of ' yale and hope were almost deserted. men on the upper diggings were making from sixty to a hundred dollars a day. only chinamen remained on the lower bars. it was in the autumn of the year ' that doc keithley, john rose, sandy macdonald, and george weaver set out from keithley creek, which flows into cariboo lake, to explore the cup-like valley amid the great peaks which seemed to feed this lake. they toiled up the creek five miles, then followed signs up a dry ravine seven miles farther. reaching the divide at last, they came on an open park-like ridge, bounded north and east by lofty shining peaks. deer and caribou tracks were everywhere. it was now that the region became known as cariboo. they camped on the ridge, cooked supper, and slept under the stars. should they go on, or back? this was far above the benches of wash-gravel. going up one of the nameless peaks, they stepped out on a ledge and viewed the white, silent mountain-world. marmots stabbed the lonely solitude with echoing whistle. wind came up from the valley in the sibilant sigh of a sea. it was doubtful if even indians had ever hunted this ground. the game was so tame, it did not know enough to be afraid. the men { } could see another creek shining in the sunrise on the other side of the ridge. it seemed to go down to a valley benched by gravel flanks. they began wandering down that creek and testing the gravel. before they had gone far their eyes shone like the wet pebbles in their hands. the gravel was pitted with little yellow stones. where rain and spring-wash had swept off the gravel to naked rock, little nuggets lay exposed. the men began washing the gravel. the first pan gave an ounce; the second pan gave nuggets to the weight of a quarter of a pound. the excited prospectors forgot time. dark was falling. they slept under their blankets and awoke at daybreak below twelve inches of snow. they were out of provisions. somebody had to go back down to cariboo lake for food. each man staked out a claim. and, while two built a log cabin, the other two set off over the hills for food. there was some sort of a log store down at cariboo lake. the one thing these prospectors were determined on was secrecy till they could get their claims registered. bands of nondescript men hung round the provision-store of cariboo lake awaiting a breath to fan their flaming hopes of fortune. what let the secret out at the store is not { } known. perhaps too great an air of secrecy. perhaps too strenuous denials. perhaps the payment of provisions in nuggets. but when these two packed back over the hills on snowshoes, they were trailed. followers came in with a whoop behind them on antler creek. claims were staked faster than they could be recorded. the same claims were staked over and over, the corner of one overlapping another. when the gold commissioner came hurriedly across the country in march, he found the macdonald-rose party living in a cabin and the rest of the camp holding down their claims by living in holes which they had dug in the ground. this was the spring of ' ; and antler creek proved only the beginning of the rush to cariboo. over the divide in mad stampede rushed the gold-seekers northward and eastward. ed stout and billy deitz and two others found signs that seemed very poor on a creek which they named william's after deitz. the gold did not pan a dollar a wash; but in wild haste came the rush to william's creek. crossing a creek one party of prospectors was overtaken by a terrific thunderstorm, with rock-shattering flashes of lightning. shivering in the canyon, but afraid to stand under trees { } or near rocks, with the gravel shelving down all round them, one of the men exclaimed sardonically, 'well, boys, this _is_ lightning.' the stream became known as lightning creek and proved one of the richest in cariboo. william's creek was panning poorer and poorer and was being called 'humbug creek,' when miners staked near by decided to see what they could find beneath the blue clay. it took forty-eight hours to dig down. the reward was a thousand dollars' worth of wash-gravel. back surged the miners to william's creek. they put shafts and tunnels through the clay and sluiced in more water for hydraulic work. claims on william's creek produced as high as forty pounds of gold in a day. from another creek, only four hundred feet long, fifty thousand dollars' worth of gold was washed within a space of six weeks. lightning creek yielded a hundred thousand dollars in three weeks. in one year gold to the value of two and a half million dollars was shipped from cariboo. millions were not so plentiful in those days, and the reports which reached the outside world sounded like the _arabian nights_ or some fairy-tale. the whole world took fire. cariboo was on every man's lips, as were transvaal { } and klondike half a century later. the new england states, canada, the maritime provinces, the british isles--all were set agog by the reports of the new gold-camps where it was only necessary to dig to find nuggets. by way of panama, by way of san francisco, by way of spokane, by way of victoria, by way of winnipeg and edmonton came the gold-seekers, indifferent alike to perils of sea and perils of mountain. men who had never seen a mountain thought airily that they could climb a watershed in a day's walk. men who did not know a canoe from a row-boat essayed to run the maddest rapids in america. people without provisions started blindly from winnipeg across the width of half a continent. in the mad rush were clerks who had never seen 'float,' english school-teachers whose only knowledge of gold was that it was yellow, and dance-hall girls with very little possession of anything on earth but recklessness and slippers; and the recklessness and the slippers danced them into cariboo, while many a solemn wight went to his death in rockslide or rapids. by the opening of ' six thousand miners were in cariboo, and barkerville had become the central camp. how these people ever gained access to the centre of the wilderness before the famous cariboo road had { } been built is a mystery. some arrived by pack-train, some by canoe, but the majority afoot. governor douglas could not regulate prices here, and they jumped to war level. flour was three hundred dollars a barrel. dried apples brought two dollars and fifty cents a pound; and for lack of fruit many miners died from scurvy. where gold-seekers tramped six hundred miles over a rocky trail, it is not surprising that boots commanded fifty dollars a pair. of the disappointed, countless numbers filled unknown graves, and thousands tramped their way out starving and begging a meal from the procession of incomers. the places of the gold deposits were freakish and unaccountable. sometimes the best diggings were a mother lode at the head of a creek. sometimes they were found fifty feet under clay at the foot of a creek where the dashing waters swerved round some rocky point into a river. old miners now retired at yale and hope say that the most ignorant prospector could guess the place of the gold as well as the geologist. billy barker, after whom barkerville was named, struck it rich by going fifty feet below the surface down the canyon. cariboo cameron, the luckiest of all the miners and not originally a prospector, { } found his wealth by going still lower on the watercourse to a vertical depth of eighty feet. for seven miles along william's creek worked four thousand men. cariboo cameron took a hundred and fifty thousand out of his claim in three months. in six months of ' william's creek yielded a million and a half dollars, and this was only one of many rich creeks. from ' to ' came twenty-five million dollars in gold from the cariboo country. by ' hydraulic machinery was coming in and the prospectors were flocking out; but to this day the cariboo mines have remained a freakish gamble. mines for which capitalists have paid hundreds of thousands have suddenly ended in barren rock. diggings from which nuggets worth five hundred dollars have been taken have petered out after a few hundred feet. even where the gravel merged to whitish gold quartz, the most expert engineer in the camp could not tell when the vein would fault and cease as entirely as if cut off. and the explanation of this is entirely theoretical. the theory is that the place of the gold was the gravel bed of an old stream, an old stream antedating the petrified forests of the south-west, and that, when vast alluvial deposits were carried over a great part of the { } continent by inland lakes and seas, the gold settled to the bottom and was buried beneath the deposits of countless centuries. then convulsive changes shook the earth's surface. mountains heaved up where had been sea bottom and swamp and watery plain. in the upheaval these subterranean creek beds were hoisted and thrown towards the surface. floods from the eternal snows then grooved out watercourses down the scarred mountainsides. frost and rain split away loose debris. and man found gold in these prehistoric, perhaps preglacial, creek beds. however this may be, there was no possible scientific way of knowing how the gold-bearing area would run. a fortune might come out of one claim of a hundred feet and its next-door neighbour might not yield an atom of gold. only the genii of the hidden earth held the secret; and modern science derides the invisible pixies of superstition, just as these invisible spirits of the earth seem to laugh at man's best efforts to ferret out their secrets. what became of the lucky prospectors? i have talked with some of them on the lower reaches of the cariboo road. they are old and poor to-day, and the memory of their fortune is as a dream. have they not lived at { } hope and yale and lytton for fifty years and seen their trail crumble into the canyon, with not a dozen pack-trains a year passing to the upper country? john rose, who was one of the men to find cariboo, set out in the spring of ' to prospect the bear river country. he set out alone and was never again seen alive. cariboo cameron, a 'man from glengarry,' went back to glengarry by the ottawa and established something like a baronial estate; but he lost his money in various investments and died in in cariboo a poor man. billy deitz, after whom a famous creek was named, died penniless in victoria; and the scottish miner who rhymed the songs of cariboo died unwept and unknown to history. the romance of the trail is almost incredible to us, who may travel by motor from ashcroft to barkerville. in october ' a mr ireland and a party were on the trail when snow began falling so heavily that it was unsafe to proceed. they halted at a negro's cabin. out of the heavy snowfall came another party struggling like themselves. then a packer emerged from the storm with word that five women and twenty-six men were snowbound half a mile ahead. ireland and his party set out to the rescue; but they lost the trail and { } could only find the cabin again by means of the gunshots that the others kept firing as a signal. two dozen people slept that night in the log shack; and when dawn came, four feet of snow lay on the ground and the great evergreens looked like huge sugar-cones. on snowshoes ireland and three others set out to find the lost men and women on the lower trail. they found them at sundown camped in a ravine beside a rock, with their blankets up to keep off the wind, thawing themselves out before a fire. a high wind was blowing and it was bitterly cold. the lost people had not eaten for three days. twenty men from the cabin dug a way through the drifts with their snowshoes and brought horses to carry the women back to the coloured man's roof. but it was not of the perils of the trail that the outside world heard. the outside world heard of claims which any man might find and from which gold to the value of a hundred and fifty thousand dollars could be dug and washed in three months. the outside world thought that gold could be picked up amid the rocks of british columbia. necessity is the mother of invention. she is also the hard foster-mother of desperation and folly. times { } were very hard in canada. the east was hard up. farming did not pay. all eyes turned towards cariboo; and no wonder! many of the treasure-seekers holding the richest claims had gone to cariboo owning nothing but the clothes on their backs. a season's adventure in a no-man's-land of bear and deer, above cloud-line and amid wild mountain torrents, had sent them out to the world laden with wealth. some ran the wild canyons of the fraser in frail canoes and crazy rafts with their gold strapped to their backs or packed in buckskin sacks and carpet-bags. and some who had won fortune and were bringing it home went to their graves in fraser canyon. [ ] see _pioneers of the pacific coast_ in this series. { } chapter iv the overlanders when the cariboo fever reached the east, the public there had heard neither of the indian massacres in oregon nor that the sioux were on the war-path in dakota. promoters who had never set foot west of buffalo launched wild-cat mining companies and parcel express devices and stages by routes that went up sheer walls and crossed unbridged rivers. to such frauds there could be no certain check; for it took six months to get word in and out of cariboo. eastern papers were full of advertisements of easy routes to the gold-diggings. far-off fields look green. far-off gold glittered the brighter for the distance. cariboo became in popular imagination a land where nuggets grew on the side of the road and could be picked by the bushel-basket. besides, times were so hard in the east that the majority of the youthful adventurers who were caught by the fever had nothing to lose except their lives. { } a group of threescore young men from different parts of canada, from kingston, niagara, and montreal, having noticed advertisements of an easy stage-route from st paul, set out for the gold-diggings in may . tickets could be purchased in london, england, as well as in canada, for when these young canadians reached st paul, they found eighteen young men from england, like themselves, diligently searching the whereabouts of the stage-route. that was their first inkling that fraudulent practices were being carried on and that they had been deceived, that there was, in fact, no stage-route from st paul to cariboo. a few of them turned back, but the majority, by ox-cart and rickety stagecoach, pushed on to the red river and went up to a point near the boundary of modern manitoba, where lay the first steamboat to navigate that river, about to start on her maiden trip. on this steamboat, the little _international_, afterwards famous for running into sand-banks and mud-bars, the troops of overlanders took passage, and stowed themselves away wherever they could, some in the cook's galley and some among the cordwood piled in the engine-room. the sioux were on a rampage in minnesota { } and dakota, but alexander dallas, governor of rupert's land for the hudson's bay company, and mgr taché, bishop of st boniface, were aboard, and their presence afforded protection. on the way to the vessel some of the overlanders had narrowly escaped a massacre. the story is told that as they slowly made their way in ox-carts up the river-bank, a band of horsemen swept over the horizon, and the travellers found themselves surrounded by sioux warriors. the old plainsman who acted as guide bethought him of a ruse: he hoisted a flag of the hudson's bay company and waved it in the face of the sioux without speaking. the painted warriors drew together and conferred. the oxen stood complacently chewing the cud. indians never molested british fur-traders. presently the raiders went off over the horizon as swiftly as they had come, and the gold-seekers drove on, little realizing the fate from which they had been delivered. there had been heavy rains that spring on the prairie, and trees came jouncing down the muddy flood of the red river. the little _international_, like a panicky bicycle rider, steered straight for every tree, and hit one with such impact that her smokestack came toppling down. at another place she pushed { } her nose so deep in the soft mud of the riverbank that it required all the crew and most of the passengers to shove her off. but everybody was jubilant. this was the first navigation of the red river by steam. the queen's birthday, the th of may, was celebrated on board the vessel pottle-deep to the tune of the bagpipes played by the governor's scottish piper. but the governor's wife was heard to lament to bishop taché that the _international's_ menu consisted only of pork and beans alternated with beans and pork, that the service was on tin plates, and that the dining-room chairs were backless benches. the arrival of the steamer at fort garry (winnipeg) was celebrated with great rejoicing. indians ran along the river-bank firing off rifles in welcome, and opposite the flats where the fort gate opened, on what is now main street, the company's men came out and fired a royal salute. the people bound for cariboo camped on the flats outside fort garry. here was a strange world indeed. two-wheeled ox-carts, made wholly of wood, without iron or bolt, wound up to the fort from st paul in processions a mile long, with fat squaws and whole indian families sitting squat inside the crib-like structure of the cart. men and boys { } loped ahead and abreast on sinewy ponies, riding bareback or on home-made saddles. only a few stores stood along what is now main street, which ran northward towards the selkirk settlement. with the indians, who were camped everywhere in the woods along the assiniboine, the overlanders began to barter for carts, oxen, ponies, and dried deer-meat or pemmican. an ox and cart cost from forty to fifty dollars. ponies sold at twenty-five dollars. pemmican cost sixteen cents a pound, and a pair of duffel hudson's bay blankets cost eight or ten dollars. instead of blankets, many of the travellers bought the cheaper buffalo robes. these sold as low as a dollar each. john black, the presbyterian 'apostle of the red river,' preached special sermons on sunday for the miners. and on a beautiful june afternoon the overlanders headed towards the setting sun in a procession of almost a hundred ox-carts; and the fort waved them farewell. one wonders whether, as the last ox-cart creaked into the distance, the fur-traders realized that the miner heralded the settler, and that the settler would fence off the hunter's game preserve into farms and cities. a rare glamour lay over the plains { } that june, not the less rare because hope beckoned the travellers. the unfenced prairie billowed to the horizon a sea of green, diversified by the sky-blue waters of slough and lake, and decked with the hues of gorgeous flowers--the prairie rose, fragrant, tender, elusive, and fragile as the english primrose; the blood-red tiger-lily; the brown windflower with its corn-tassel; the heavy wax cups of the sedgy water-lily, growing where wild duck flackered unafraid. game was superabundant. prairie chickens nestled along the single-file trail. deer bounded from the poplar thickets and shy coyotes barked all night in the offing. night in june on the northern prairie is but the shadowy twilight between two long days. the sun sets between nine and ten, and rises between three and four, and the moonlight is clear enough on cloudless nights for campers to see the time on their watches. [illustration: a red river cart. from a photograph.] the trail followed was the old path of the fur-trader from fort to fort 'the plains across' to the rockies. from the assiniboine the road ran northerly to forts ellice and carlton and pitt and edmonton.[ ] thomas m'micking { } of niagara acted as captain and eight others as lieutenants. a scout preceded the marchers, and at sundown camp was formed in a big triangle with the carts as a stockade, the animals tethered or hobbled inside. tents were pitched outside with six men doing sentry duty all night. at two in the morning a halloo roused camp. an hour was permitted for harnessing and breaking camp, and then the carts creaked out in line. they halted at six for breakfast and marched again at seven. dinner was at two, supper at six, and tents were seldom pitched before nine at night. on sunday the procession rested and some one read divine service. the oxen and ponies foraged for themselves. by limiting camp to five hours, in spite of the slow pace of the oxen, forty to fifty miles a day could be made on a good trail in fair weather. while the scout led the way, the captain and his lieutenants kept the long procession in line; and the travellers for the most part dozed lazily in their carts, dreaming of the fortunes awaiting them in cariboo. some nights, when the captain permitted a longer halt than usual and when camp-fires blazed before the tents, men played the violin and sang and danced. each man was his own cook. three or four occupied { } each tent. in the company was one woman, with two children. she was an irishwoman; but she bore the name of shubert, from which we may infer that her husband was not an irishman. sunday having intervened, the travellers did not reach portage la prairie until the fourth day out. another week passed before they arrived at fort ellice. heavy rains came on now, and james m'kay, chief trader at fort ellice, opened his doors to the gold-seekers. harness and carts repaired and more pemmican bought, the travellers crossed the qu'appelle river in a hudson's bay scow, paying toll of fifty cents a cart. from the qu'appelle westward the journey grew more arduous. the weather became oppressively hot and mosquitoes swarmed from the sloughs. at carlton and at fort pitt the fur-traders' 'string band'--husky-dogs in wolfish packs--surrounded the camp of the overlanders and stole pemmican from under the tent-flaps. from fort pitt westward the trail crossed a rough, wooded country, and there were no more scows to take the ox-carts across the rivers. eleven days of continuous rain had flooded the sloughs into swamps; and in three days as many as eight corduroy bridges had to be built. two { } long trees were felled parallel and light poles were laid across the floating trees. where the trees swerved to the current, some one would swim out and anchor them with ropes till the hundred carts had passed safely to the other side. it was the st of july when the travellers came out on the high banks of the north saskatchewan, flowing broad and swift, opposite fort edmonton. there had been floods and all the company's rafts had been carried away. but the ox-carts were poled across by means of a big york boat; and the travellers were welcomed inside the fort. the arrival of the overlanders is remembered at edmonton by some old-timers even to this day. salvoes of welcome were fired from the fort cannon by a half-breed shooting his musket into the touch-hole of the big gun. concerts were given, with bagpipes, concertinas, flutes, drums, and fiddles, in honour of the far-travellers. pemmican-bags were replenished from the company's stores. miners often uttered loud complaints against the charges made by the fur-traders for provisions, forgetting what it cost to pack these provisions in by dog-train and canoe. if the hudson's bay officials at fort garry and { } edmonton had withheld their help, the overlanders would have perished before they reached the rockies. though the miner did everything to destroy the fur trade--started fires which ravaged the hunter's forest haunts, put up saloons which demoralized the indians, built wagon-roads where aforetime wandered only the shy creatures of the wilds--though the miner heralded the doom of the fur trade--yet with an unvarying courtesy, from fort garry to the rockies, the hudson's bay men helped the overlanders. the majority of the travellers now changed oxen and carts for pack-horses and _travois_, contrivances consisting of two poles, within which the horses were attached, and a rude sledge. a few continued with oxen, and these oxen were to save their lives in the mountains. [illustration: washing gold on the saskatchewan. from a photograph.] the farther the overlanders now plunged into the wilderness, the more they were pestered by the husky-dogs that roamed in howling hordes round the outskirts of the forts. the story is told of several prospectors of this time, who slept soundly in their tent after a day's exhausting tramp, and awoke to find that their boots, bacon, rope, and clothes had been devoured by the ravenous dogs. they { } asked the trader's permission to sleep inside the fort. 'why?' asked the amused trader. 'why, now, when the huskies have chewed all you own but your instruments? you are locking the stable door after your horse has been stolen.' 'no,' answered the prospectors. 'if those husky-dogs last night could devour all our camp kit without disturbing us, to-night they might swallow us before we'd waken.' the next pause was at st albert, one of father lacombe's missions. what surprised the overlanders as they advanced was the amazing fertility of the soil. at fort garry, at pitt, at edmonton, at st albert, at st ann, they saw great fields of wheat, barley, and potatoes. afterwards many who failed in the mines drifted back to the plains and became farmers. the same thing had happened in california, and was repeated at a later day in the rush to the klondike. great seams of coal, too, were seen projecting from the banks of the saskatchewan. here some of the men began washing for gold, and, finding yellow specks the size of pin-heads in the fine sand, a number of them knocked up cabins for themselves and remained west of edmonton { } to try their luck. later, when these belated overlanders decided to follow on to cariboo, they suffered terrible hardships. the overlanders were to enter the rockies by the yellowhead pass, which had been discovered long ago by jasper hawse, of the hudson's bay company. this section of their trail is visible to the modern traveller from the windows of a grand trunk pacific railway train, just as the lower sections of the cariboo trail in the fraser canyon are to be seen from the trains of the canadian pacific and the canadian northern. first came the fur-trader, seeking adventure through these passes, pursuing the little beaver. the miner came next, fevered to delirium, lured by the siren of an elusive yellow goddess. the settler came third, prosaic and plodding, but dauntless too. and then came the railroad, following the trail which had been beaten hard by the stumbling feet of pioneers. [illustration: in the yellowhead pass. from a photograph.] at st ann a guide was engaged to lead the long train of pack-horses through the pass from jasper house on the east to yellowhead lake on the west. colin fraser, son of the famous piper for sir george simpson of the hudson's bay company, danced a highland fling at the gate of the fort to speed the { } departing guests. and to the skirl of the bagpipes the procession wound away westward bound for the mountains. instead of the thirty miles a day which they had made farther east, the travellers were now glad to cover ten miles a day. fallen trees lay across the trail in impassable ramparts and floods filled the gullies. scouts went ahead blazing trees to show the way. bushwhackers followed, cutting away windfall and throwing logs into sloughs. horses sank to their withers in seemingly bottomless muskegs,[ ] so that packs had to be cut off and the unlucky bronchos pulled out by all hands straining on a rope. somewhere between the rivers pembina and m'leod the travellers were amazed to see what the wise ones in the party thought a volcano--a continuous and self-fed fire burning on the crown of a hill. science of a later { } day pronounced this a gas well burning above some subterranean coal seam. at length the overlanders were ascending the banks of the m'leod, whose torrential current warned them of rising ground. three times in one day windfall and swamp forced the party to ford the stream for passage on the opposite side. the oxen swam and the ox-carts floated and the packs came up the bank dripping. for eleven days in august every soul of the company, including mrs shubert's babies, travelled wet to the skin. at night great log fires were kindled and the overlanders sat round trying to dry themselves out. then the trail lifted to the foothills. and on the evening of the th of august there pierced through the clouds the snowy, shining, serrated peaks of the rockies. [illustration: upper m'leod river. from a photograph.] a cheer broke from the ragged band. just beyond the shining mountains lay--fortune. what cared these argonauts, who had tramped across the width of the continent, that the lofty mountains raised a sheer wall between them and their treasure? cheer on cheer rang from the encampment. men with clothes in tatters pitched caps in air, proud that they had proved themselves kings of their own fate. it is, perhaps, well that we have to climb our { } mountains step by step; else would many turn back. but there were no faint-hearts in the camp that night. even the irishwoman's two little children came out and gazed at what they could not understand. the party now crossed a ravine to the main stream of the athabaska. it was necessary to camp here for a week. a huge raft was built of pine saplings bound together by withes. to the stern of this was attached a tree, the branch end dipping in the water, as a sweep and rudder to keep the craft to its course. on this the overlanders were ferried across the athabaska. and so they entered the yellowhead pass. [ ] see the map in _the adventurers of england on hudson bay_ in this series. [ ] perhaps the distinction should be made here between the muskeg and the slough. the slough was simply any depression in the ground filled with mud and water. the muskeg was permanent wet ground resting on soft mud, covered over on the top with most deceiving soft green moss which looked solid, but which quaked to every step and gave to the slightest weight. many muskegs west of edmonton have been formed by beavers damming the natural drainage of a small river for so many centuries that the silt and humus washed down from the mountains have formed a surface of deep black muck. { } chapter v crossing the mountains like many lowland dwellers, the overlanders had thought of a pass as a door opening through a rock wall. what they found was a forested slope flanked on both sides by mighty precipices down which poured cataracts with the sound of the voice of many waters. huge hemlocks lay criss-crossed on the slope. above could be seen the green edge of a glacier, and still higher the eternal snows of the far peaks. the tang of ice was in the air; but in the valleys was all the gorgeous bloom of midsummer--the gaudy painter's brush, the shy harebell, the tasselled windflower, and a few belated mountain roses. long-stemmed, slender cornflowers and bluebells held up their faces to the sun, blue as the sky above them. everywhere was an odour as of incense, the fragrance of the great hemlocks, of grasses frost-touched at night and sunburnt by day, of the unpolluted earth-mould of a thousand years. { } where was the trail? none was visible! the captain led the way, following blazes chipped in the bark of the trees, zigzagging up the slope from right to left, from left to right, hanging to the horse's mane to lift weight from the saddle, with a rest for breathing at each turn as they climbed; and, when the ridge of the foothill was surmounted, a world of peacock-blue lakes lay below, fringed by forests. the cataracts looked like wind-blown ribbons of silver. instead of dipping down, the trail led to the rolling flank of another great foothill, and yet another, round sharp saddlebacks connecting the mountains. here, ox-carts were dangerous and had to be abandoned. it was with difficulty that the oxen could be driven along the narrow ledges. jasper house, whitefish lake, the ruins of henry house, they saw from the height of the pass. one foaming stream they forded eight times in three hours, driven from side to side by precipice and windfall; and in places they could advance only by ascending the stream bed. this was risky work on a fractious pony, and some of the riders preferred wading to riding. at noon on the nd of august the riders crossed a small stream and set up their tents on the border of a sedgy lake. then { } somebody noticed that the lake emptied west, not east; and a wild halloo split the welkin. they had crossed the divide. they were on the headwaters of the fraser, where a man could stand astride the stream; and the fraser led to the cariboo gold-diggings. they still had four hundred miles to travel. their boots were in shreds and their clothes in tatters; but what were four hundred miles to men who had tramped almost three thousand? but their progress had been so slow that the provisions were running short. the first snow of the mountains falls in september, and it was already near the end of august. there was not a moment to lose in resting. what had been a lure of hope now became a goad of desperation. so it is with all life's highest emprises. we plunge in led by hope. we plunge on spurred by fate. when the reward is won, only god and our own souls know that, even if we would, we could not have done otherwise than go on. those travellers who had insisted on bringing oxen had now to kill them for meat. chipmunks were shot for food. so were many worn-out horses. hides were used to resole boots and make mitts. not far from moose lake the last bag of pemmican was eaten. { } perhaps it was a good thing at this time that the band of overlanders began to spread out and scatter along the trail; for hungry men in large groups are a tragic danger to themselves. those of the advance-party were now some ten days ahead of their companions in the rear. mrs macnaughton, whose husband was with the rear party, of which we shall hear more anon, relates the story of a young fellow so ravenous that he fried the deer-thong he had bought for a tump-line back at one of the company's forts. fortunately, somewhere west of moose lake, the travellers came on a band of shuswap indians who traded for matches and powder enough salmon and cranberry cakes to stave off actual famine. trees with chipped bark pointed the way down the fraser. for three days the party followed the little stream that had come out of the lake hardly wider than the span of a man's stride. with each mile its waters swelled and grew wilder. on the third day windfall and precipice drove the riders back from the river bed into the heavy hemlock forest, where festoons of spanish moss overhead almost shut out the light of the sun and all sense of direction. and when they came back to the bank of the stream they saw a { } wild cataract cutting its way through a dark canyon. there was no mistake. this was the fraser, and it was living up to its reputation. and yet the overlanders were sorely puzzled. there were no more blazes on the trees to point the way; and, if this was the fraser, it seemed to flow almost due north. where was cariboo? mr m'micking, who was acting as captain, tried to find out from the indians. they made him a drawing showing that if he crossed another watershed he would come on a white man's wide pack-road. that must lead to cariboo; but the snow lay already a foot deep on this road; and unless the overlanders hastened they would be snowbound for the winter. on the other hand, if the white men continued to follow the wild river canyon north, it would bring them to fort george on the main fraser in ten days. there was no time to waste on chance travelling. the overlanders knew that somewhere south from moose lake must lie the headwaters of the thompson, which would bring them to kamloops. was that what the indians meant by their drawings of a white man's road? if that were true, between moose lake and the thompson must lie the land of their desire, { } cariboo; but to cross another unknown divide in winter seemed risky. to follow the bend of the fraser north might be the long way round, but it was sure. it was decided to let the party separate. let those with provisions still remaining try to push overland to cariboo. if they failed to find it, they could build cabins and winter on their pack animals. twenty men joined this group. the rest decided to stick to the river. behind were straggling a score more of the travellers, who were left to follow as they could. mrs shubert with her children joined the band going overland to find the thompson. the indians traded canoes for horses and showed the overlanders how to put rafts together to run the fraser. axes had been worn almost to the haft. cutting the huge trees and splitting them into suitable timbers was slow work. it was september before the rafts were ready to be launched. there were four. each had a heavy railing round it like that of a ferry, with some flat stones on which fires could be lighted to cook meals without pausing to land. when we recall the experiences of mackenzie and fraser on this river, it seems almost incredible that these landsmen made { } the descent on rafts with their few remaining ponies and oxen tied to the railings; yet so they did. if we imagine rafts, with horses and oxen tied to the railings, trying to run the whirlpool below niagara, we shall have some conception of what this meant. the canoes sheered out of the way and the rafts were unmoored. the scarborough raft, with men from whitby and scarborough, near toronto, swirled out to midstream on the afternoon of the st of september. 'poor, poor white men,' sighed the indians; 'no more see white men'; but the men in the canoes rapped the gunnels with their paddles and uttered rousing cheers. then the _ottawa_ and the _niagara_ and the _huntingdon_ rafts slipped out on the current. all went well for four days. sweeps made of trees with the branch ends turned down and long, slim poles kept the rafts in mid-current. meals were cooked as the unwieldy craft glided along the river-bank. two or three men kept guard at night, so that the rafts were delayed for only a few hours during the darkest part of the night. the sun shone hot at midday and there were hard frosts at night; but the rest in this sort of travel was wonderfully refreshing after four months of toil across prairie and { } mountain. but on the afternoon of the th of september the rafts began to bounce and swirl. the banks raced to the rear, and before the crews realized it, a noise as of breaking seas filled the air, and the _scarborough_ was riding her first rapid. luckily, the water was deep and the rocks well submerged. the _scarborough_ ran the rapid without mishap and the other rafts followed. on the next day, however, the waters 'collected' and began running in leaps and throwing back spume. some one shouted 'breakers! head ashore!' and the galloping rafts bumped on the bank of the river. the banks here were steep for portaging; and the scarborough boys, brought up on the lake-front, east of toronto, decided, come what might, to run the rapids. they let go the mooring-rope and went churning into a whirlpool of yeasty spray. all hands bent their strength to the poles. the raft dipped out of sight, but was presently seen riding safely and calmly below the rapids. those watching the _scarborough_ from the bank breathed freely again and plucked up heart; but the worst was yet ahead. the oily calm below the first rapid dropped into another maelstrom of angry waters. into this the _scarborough_ was drawn by the terrible undertow. for a moment the watchers on the bank could see nothing but the horns of the bellowing, frightened oxen tied to the railing. then the raft was mounting the waves again. the seaworthiness of a raft is, of course, well known. it may dip under water, or even split, but it seldom upsets and never swamps or sinks. before the other rafts ran the rapids, two of them were first lightened of their loads. the men preferred to pack their provisions over the precipices rather than take the risk of losing them in the rapid. nor was the packing child's play. there was a narrow portage-trail along the ledges of the rocks, and where the slabs of granite had split off indians had laid rickety poles across. over these frail bridges the packers, with great difficulty, carried the loads of the two rafts. fortunately most of them had long since discarded boots for moccasins. all the rafts came through safely. the canoes were not so fortunate. when the _scarborough_ reached a sand-bar at the foot of the rapids, the men were surprised to find three of their toronto friends, who had gone ahead in a canoe, now stranded high and dry. the canoe had sidled to the waves, swamped, and sunk with everything the toronto men { } owned, including their coats, tents, and boots. for two days they had been awaiting the coming of the rafts. they were almost dead from exposure and hunger. nine canoes in all were wrecked at this spot. one split on the reef. another was caught in the backwater. others sank in the whirlpool below the rapids. others went under at the first leap into the cataract. two of the canoes had foolishly been lashed abreast. they sidled, shipped a billow, and sank. all the men clung to the gunnels; but one who was a powerful swimmer struck out for the shore. the canoes stranded on the shore below and the clinging men saved themselves. when they looked for their friend who had struck out for the shore, he was no longer to be seen. these men were all from goderich, brought up on the banks of lake huron. a similar fate befell a crew of four men from toronto. two of them undertook to portage provisions along the bank of the canyon, while the other two, named carpenter and alexander, tried to run the canoe down the rapids. the episode has some interest for students of psychology. carpenter walked down the bank of the canyon a short distance to reconnoitre the different channels of the { } rapids. he was seen to take out his notebook and write an entry. he then put the note-book in the inner pocket of his coat, took off the coat, and slung it in a tree on the bank. when he came back to the canoe, he seemed preoccupied. the canoe ripped on a rock in midstream, flattened, and sank. carpenter went down insensible as though his head had struck and he had been stunned. alexander was washed ashore. he found himself on the side of the bank opposite the rest of the party. going below to calmer waters, he swam across. carpenter's coat hung on the trees. in the pocket was the note-book, in which alexander read the astounding words: 'arrived at grand canyon. ran the canyon and was drowned.' carpenter left a wife and child in toronto, for whom, evidently, he had written the message. but if he was of sound mind, desiring to live, and so certain of death that he was able to write his own fate in the past tense, why did he attempt the rapids? his friends had no explanation of the curious incident. there is another gruesome story of a sand-bar in the very middle of this raging canyon. it will be remembered that some of the overlanders had straggled far to the rear. some { } time before spring a party of them attempted to run this canyon. they were never again seen alive. some treasure-seekers who came over the trail in spring stranded on this sand-bar. they found the bodies of the missing men. all but one had been torn and partly devoured. it need not be told here that no wild beast could have stemmed the rapids from either side. unless wolves or cougars had accidentally been washed to the sand-bar, and washed away again, the wild solitude must have witnessed a horror too terrible to be told; for the body of the man who had apparently died last was fully clothed and unmolested. as absolutely nothing more is known of what happened than has been set down here, it seems well that there is no record of the names of these castaways. { } chapter vi quesnel and kamloops the walls of the river lowered and widened, the current slackened, and the surviving canoes and rafts were presently gliding peacefully down a smooth stream. that night the overlanders slept dead with weariness; but a fearful depression rested on the company. gold had begun to collect its toll, and the price appalled every soul. who would be the next? how soon would the unknown river turn west and south? where was fort george? what perils yet lay between the fort and the gold camp? as the heavy mists lifted at daybreak, the travellers observed that the river was narrowing again and that the wooded banks had begun to fly past very swiftly. there was no mistaking the signs. they were approaching more rapids. but the trick of guiding the craft down rapids had now been learned; so the flotilla rode the furious waters unharmed for fifteen miles. { } it was almost dark when canoes and rafts swung round a curve in the river and saw a flag waving above the little walled fur-post of fort george. the tired wanderers were welcomed in by clerks too amazed to speak, while a howling chorus of husky-dogs set up their serenade. a young englishman, who had joined the overlanders at st paul, died from the effects of exposure a few minutes after being carried into the fort. next morning the body was rolled in blankets, placed in a canoe, and buried under a rude wooden cross, with stones piled above the grave to prevent the ravaging of huskies and wolves. the chief factor was away, but the young clerks in charge sent indians along to pilot the overlanders through the rapids below fort george, known as the most dangerous on the fraser. these rapids, it will be recalled, had wrecked alexander mackenzie and had almost cost simon fraser his life. but the treasure-seekers did not have to go as far south as alexandria, where mackenzie had turned back. with guides who knew the waters, they ran the rapids below fort george safely, and moored at quesnel, the entrance to cariboo, on the th of september--four months after they had left canada. { } quesnel was at this time a rude settlement of perhaps a dozen log shacks--chiefly bunkhouses and provision-stores. north of yale the cariboo road had not yet been opened, and all provisions had been brought in from the lower fraser by pack-horse and dog-train at enormous cost and risk. food sold at extortionate prices. a meal cost two dollars and fifty cents, for beans, bacon, and coffee. salmon, of course, was cheap. fortunately, there was little whisky; so, though tattered miners were everywhere in the woods, order was maintained without vigilance committees. on one spectacle the far-travelled ragged overlanders feasted their tired eyes. they saw miners everywhere along the banks of creeks washing gold. but there were more gold-seekers than claims, and those without claims were full of complaints and fears for the winter. they declared the country was over-rated and a humbug. the question was how 'to get out' to victoria. overlanders, who had tramped across the breadth of a continent, did not relish the prospect, as one yankee miner described it, of 'hoofing it five hundred miles farther.' some of the disappointed overlanders floated on down to alexandria, where they sold their rafts and took jobs on the { } government road which was being constructed along the canyon. this ensured them safety from starvation for the winter at least. other overlanders followed these first pioneers 'the plains across.' and we have seen that some of those who had crossed the prairie with the first party had fallen behind. these stragglers did not reach yellowhead pass till the first week of september. they were entirely out of food; but they had matches, and each box of fifty bought a huge salmon from the shuswaps. some of the men pushed ahead, built a raft, and launched it on the fraser. the raft ripped on a rock in midstream and stuck there at an angle of forty-five degrees. money, tools, food, and clothing slithered into the tow of the rapids, while the men clung in desperation to the upper railing of the wreck. one man let go and dropped into the water. swimming and drifting and rolling over and over, he gained the shore, and hurried back to the pass with word of the accident. friends, accompanied by indians, came in canoes to the rescue, and, by means of ropes, every man was brought off the wrecked raft alive. but the party now stood in a more desperate predicament than ever, for lack of food and { } clothing. the shuswaps saved the whites from starvation. they took the white men to a pool in the fraser, where salmon, exhausted from the long run up the river, could be speared or clubbed by the boat-load. and while some of the men chopped down trees to build dugout canoes, others speared, cleaned, and dried the salmon. night and day they worked, and forgot sleep in their desperate haste. at length they launched their craft on the fraser. on the way down the dangerous canyon they saw the wrecked canoes of those who had gone before. the tenth day after leaving yellowhead pass they reached fort george. their story has been told by mrs macnaughton, whose husband was of the party. they arrived at fort george mostly barefoot, coatless, and trousers and shirts in tatters. their hair and beards were long and unkempt. it is supposed that they must have lost the salmon in some of the rapids, or else the supply was insufficient; for they were so weak from hunger that they had to be carried into the fort. they arrived at quesnel a month after the first overlanders, when the snow was too deep in the mountains for prospecting or mining. the majority of this party also took work on the government road. { } meanwhile, how had fared that band of the overlanders who had gone over the hills south from the pass in search of the upper branches of the thompson? a shuswap accompanied them as guide, and for a few days there was a well-defined game-trail. then the trail meandered off into a dense forest of hemlock and windfall, which had to be cut almost every mile of the way. they did not average six miles a day; but they finally came to the steep bank of a wild river flowing south which they judged must be a branch of the thompson. the mountains were so steep that it was impossible to proceed farther with horses and oxen; so they abandoned these in the woods, and cut trees for rafts. for seven days they ran rapid after rapid. one of the rafts stranded on a rock and remained for two days before companions came to the rescue. at another point a canoe was smashed in midstream. the crew struggled to a slippery rock and hung to the ledge. a man named strachan attempted to swim ashore to signal distress to those above. they saw him ride the waves. then a roll of angry waters swept over him and he passed out of sight. his companions clung to the rock till another canoe came shooting down-stream, when lines { } were hoisted to the castaways, and they were hauled ashore. where the clearwater comes into the thompson they found the fur-trader's horse-trail and tramped the remaining hundred miles overland south to kamloops. on the last lap of their terrible march all were so exhausted they could scarcely drag themselves forward. some would lie down and sleep, then creep on a few miles. about twenty miles from the mouth of the thompson they came to a field of potatoes planted by some rancher of kamloops. the starving overlanders could scarcely credit their eyes. no one occupied the windowless log cabin; but there was the potato patch--an oasis of food in a desert of starvation. they paused long enough at the cabin to boil a great kettleful and to feast ravenously. this gave them strength to tramp on to kamloops. we saw that the irish mother, mrs shubert, with her two children, accompanied this party. the day after reaching kamloops she gave birth to a child. did the overlanders find the gold which each man's rainbow hopes had dreamed? they had followed the rainbow over the ends of earth. was the pot of gold at the end of { } the rainbow? you will find an occasional overlander passing the sunset of his days in quiet retreat at yale or hope or quesnel or barkerville. he does not wear evidence of great earthly possessions, though he may refer wistfully to the golden age of those long-past adventurous days. the leaders who survived became honoured citizens of british columbia. few came back to the east. they passed their lives in the wild, free, new land that had given them such harsh experiences. { } chapter vii life at the mines fortunately, in that winter of ' -' , there was a great deal of work to be done in the mining country, and men were in high demand. the ordinary wage was ten dollars a day, and men who could be trusted, and who were brave enough to pack the gold out to the coast, received twenty and even as high as fifty dollars a day. there is a letter, written by sir matthew begbie, describing how the mountain trails were infested that winter by desperadoes lying in wait for the miners who came staggering over the trail literally weighted down with gold. the miners found what the great banks have always found, that the presence of unused gold is a nuisance and a curse. they had to lug the gold in leather sacks with them to their work, and back with them to their shacks, and they always carried firearms ready for use. there was very little shooting at the mines, but if a bad man 'turned up missing,' no one { } asked whether he had 'hoofed' it down the trail, or whether he hung as a sign of warning from a pole set horizontally at a proper height between two trees. in a mining camp there is no mercy for the crook. if the trail could have told tales, there would have been many a story of dead men washed up on the bars, of sneak-thieves given thirty-nine lashes and like the scapegoat turned out into the mountain wilds--a rough-and-ready justice administered without judge or jury. but a woman was as safe on the trail as in her own home--a thing that civilization never understands about a wild mining camp. mrs cameron, wife of the famous cariboo cameron, lived with her husband on his claim till she died, and many other women lived in the camps with their husbands. when the road opened, there was a rush of hurdy-gurdy girls for dance-halls; but that did not modify the rough chivalry of an unwritten law. these hurdy-gurdy girls, who tiptoed to the concertina, the fiddle, and the hand-organ, were german; and if we may believe the poet of cariboo, they were something like the glasgow girls described by wolfe as 'cold to everything but a bagpipe--i wrong them--there is not one that does not melt away { } at the sound of money.' sings the poet of cariboo: they danced a' nicht in dresses licht fra' late until the early, o! but o, their hearts were hard as flint, which vexed the laddies sairly, o! the dollar was their only love, and that they loved fu' dearly, o! they dinna care a flea for men, let them court hooe'er sincerely, o! cariboo was what the miners call a 'he-camp.' not unnaturally, the 'she-camps' heard 'the call from macedonia.' the bishop of oxford, the bishop of london, the lord mayor of london, and a colonial society in england gathered up some industrious young women as suitable wives for the british columbia miners. alack the day, there was no poet to send letters to the outside world on this handling of cupid's bow and arrow! the comedy was pushed in the most business-like fashion. threescore young girls came out under the auspices of the society and the church, carefully shepherded by a clergyman and a stern matron. they reached victoria in september of ' and were housed in the barracks. miners camped on every inch of ground from which the barracks could be { } watched; and when the girls passed to and from their temporary lodging, their progress was like a royal procession through a silent, gaping, but most respectful lane of whiskered faces. a man looking anything but respect would have been knocked down on the spot. we laugh now! victoria did not laugh then. it was all taken very seriously. on the instant, every girl was offered some kind of situation, which she voluntarily and almost immediately exchanged for matrimony. in all, some ninety girls came out under these auspices in ' -' . the respectable girls fitted in where they belonged. the disreputable also found their own places. and the mining camp began to take on an appearance of domesticity and home. matthew begbie, later, like douglas, given a title for his services to the empire, had, as we have seen, first come out under direct appointment by the crown; and when parliamentary government was organized in british columbia his position was confirmed as chief justice. he had less regard for red tape than most chief justices. like douglas, he first maintained law and order and then looked up to see if he had any authority for it. no man ever did more for a mining camp than sir { } matthew begbie. he stood for the rights of the poorest miner. in private life he was fond of music, art, and literature; but in public life he was autocratic as a czar and sternly righteous as a prophet. he was a vigilance committee in himself through sheer force of personality. crime did not flourish where begbie went. chinaman or indian could be as sure of justice as the richest miner in cariboo. from hating and fearing him, the camp came almost to worship him. many are the stories of his circuits. once a jury persisted in bringing in a verdict of manslaughter in place of murder. 'prisoner,' thundered begbie, 'it is not a pleasant duty to me to sentence you _only_ to prison for life. you deserve to be hanged. had the jury performed their duty, i might have the painful satisfaction of condemning you to death. you, gentlemen of the jury, permit me to say that it would give me great pleasure to sentence you to be hanged each and every one of you, for bringing in a murderer guilty only of manslaughter.' on another occasion, when an american had 'accidentally' shot an indian, the coroner rendered a verdict 'worried to death by a dog.' begbie ordered another inquest. this { } time the coroner returned a finding that the indian 'had been killed by falling over a cliff.' begbie on his own authority ordered the american seized and taken down to victoria. on his way down the prisoner escaped from the constable. this type of hair-trigger gunmen at once fled the country when begbie came. mr alexander, one of the overlanders of ' , tells how 'begbie's decisions may not have been good law, but they were first-class justice.' his 'doctrine was that if a man were killed, some one had to be hanged for it; and the effect was salutary.' a man had been sandbagged in a victoria saloon and thrown out to die. his companion in the saloon was arrested and tried. the circumstantial evidence was strong, and the judge so charged the jury. but the jury acquitted the prisoner. dead silence fell in the court-room. the prisoner's counsel arose and requested the discharge of the man. begbie whirled: 'prisoner at the bar, the jury have said you are not guilty. you can go, and i devoutly hope the next man you sandbag will be one of the jury.' on another occasion a man was found stabbed on the cariboo road. the man with whom the dead miner had been quarrelling was { } arrested, tried, and, in spite of strong evidence against him, acquitted. begbie adjourned the court with the pious wish that the murderer should go out and cut the throats of the jury. but, in spite of his harsh manner towards the wrong-doer, 'the old man,' as the miners affectionately called him, kept law and order. in the early days gold commissioners not only settled all mining disputes, but acted as judge and jury. against any decision of the gold commissioners begbie was the sole appeal, and in all the long years of his administration no decision of his was ever challenged. the effect of sudden wealth on some of the hungry, ragged horde who infested cariboo was of a sort to discount fiction. one man took out forty thousand dollars in gold nuggets. a lunatic escaped from a madhouse could not have been more foolish. he came to the best saloon of barkerville. he called in guests from the highways and byways and treated them to champagne which cost thirty dollars and fifty dollars a bottle. when the rabble could drink no more champagne, he ordered every glass filled and placed on the bar. with one magnificent drunken gesture of vainglory he swept the glasses in a clattering crash to the { } floor. there was still a basket of champagne left. he danced the hurdy-gurdy on that basket till he cut his feet. the champagne was all gone, but he still had some gold nuggets. there was a mirror in the bar-room valued at hundreds of dollars. the miner stood and proudly surveyed his own figure in the glass. had he not won his dearest desire and conquered all things in conquering fortune? he gathered his last nuggets and hurled them in handfuls at the mirror, shattering it in countless pieces. then he went out in the night to sleep under the stars, penniless. he settled down to work for the rest of his life in other men's mines. the staid overlanders, who had risked their lives to reach this wild land of desire, who had come from such church-going hamlets as whitby, such scottish-presbyterian centres as toronto and montreal, hardly knew whether they were dreaming or living in a country of crazy pixies who delved in mud and water all day and weltered in champagne all night. the cariboo poet sang their sentiments in these words: i ken a body made a strike. he looked a little lord. he had a clan o' followers amang a needy horde. { } whane'er he'd enter a saloon, you'd see the barkeep smile-- his lordship's humble servant he wi'out a thought o' guile! a twalmonth passed an' a' is gane, baith freends and brandy bottle! an' noo the puir soul's left alane wi' nocht to weet his throttle! in barkerville, which became the centre of cariboo, saloons and dance-halls grew up overnight. pianos were packed in on mules at a rate of a dollar a pound from quesnel. champagne in pint bottles sold at two ounces of gold. potatoes retailed at ninety dollars a hundredweight. nails were cheap at a dollar a pound. milk was retailed frozen at a dollar a pound. boots still cost fifty dollars. such luxuries as mirrors and stoves cost as high as seven hundred dollars each. the hurdy-gurdy girls with true german thrift charged ten dollars or more a dance--not the stately waltz, but a wild fling to shake the rafters and tire out the stoutest miners. a newspaper was published in barkerville. and it was in it that james anderson of scotland first issued _jeames's letters to sawney_. your letter cam' by the express, eight shillin's carriage, naethin' less! { } you maybe like to ken what pay miners get here for ilka day? jus' twa poond sterling', sure as death-- it should be four, between us baith-- for gin ye coont the cost o' livin', there's naethin' left to gang an' come on. sawney, had ye yer taters here and neeps and carrots--dinna speer what price; though i might tell ye weel, ye'd ainly think me a leein' chiel. the first twa years i spent out here werena sae ill ava'; but hoo i've lived syne; my freend, there's little need to blaw. like fitba' knockit back and fore, that's lang in reachin' goal, or feather blown by ilka wind that whistles 'tween each pole-- e'en sae my mining life has been for mony a weary day. later, when the dance-hall became the theatre of barkerville, james anderson used to sing his rhymes to the stentorious shouting and loud stamping of the shirt-sleeved audience. he thinks his pile is made, an' he's goin' hame this fall, to join his dear auld mither, his faither, freends, and all. his heart e'en jumps wi' joy at the thocht o' bein' there, an' mony a happy minute he's biggin' castles in the air! { } but hopes that promised high in the springtime o' the year, like leaves o' autumn fa' when the frost o' winter's near. sae his biggin' tumbles doon, wi' ilka blast o' care, till there's no stane astandin' o' his castles in the air. { } chapter viii the cariboo road when the railway first went through the fraser canyon, passengers looking out of the windows anywhere from yale to ashcroft were amazed to see something like a jacob's ladder up and down the mountains, appearing in places to hang almost in mid-air. between yale and lytton it hugged the mountain-side on what looked like a shelf of rock directly above the wildest water of the canyon. crib-work of huge trees, resembling in the distance the woven pattern of a willow basket, projected out over the ledges like a bird's nest hung from some mountain eyrie. the traveller almost expected to see the thing sway and swing to the wind. then the train would sweep through a tunnel, or swing round a sharp bend, and far up among the summits might be seen a mule-team, or a string of pack-horses winding round the shoulders of the rock. it seemed impossible that any man-made { } highway could climb such perpendicular walls and drop down precipitous cliffs and follow a trail apparently secure only for a mountain goat. the first impression was that the thing must be an old indian war-path, along which no enemy could pursue. but when the train paused at a water tank, and the traveller made inquiry, he was told that this was nothing less than the famous cariboo road, one of the wonders of the world. [illustration: the cariboo road. from a photograph.] as long as the discovery of gold was confined to the fraser river-bars, the important matter of transportation gave the government no difficulty. hudson's bay steamers crossed from victoria to langley on the fraser, which was a large fort and well equipped as a base of supplies for the workers in the wilderness. stern-wheelers, canoes, and miscellaneous craft could, with care, creep up from langley to hope and yale; and the fares charged afforded a good revenue to the hudson's bay company. even when prospectors struck above yale, on up to harrison lake and across to lillooet, or from the okanagan to the thompson, the difficulties of transportation were soon surmounted. a road was shortly opened from harrison lake to lillooet, built by the miners themselves, under the direction of the royal { } engineers; and, as to the thompson, there was the well-worn trail of the fur-traders, who had been going overland to kamloops for fifty years. it was when gold was discovered higher up on the fraser and in cariboo, after the colony of british columbia had taken its place on the political map, that governor douglas was put to the task of building a great road. henceforth, for a few years at least, the miners would be the backbone, if not the whole body, of the new colony. how could the administration be carried on if the government had no road into the mining region? and so the governor of british columbia entered on the boldest undertaking in roadbuilding ever launched by any community of twenty thousand people. the cariboo road became to british columbia what the appian way was to rome. it was eighteen feet wide and over four hundred and eighty miles long. it was one of the finest roads ever built in the world. yet it cost the country only two thousand dollars a mile, as against the forty thousand dollars a mile which the two transcontinental railways spent later on their roadbeds along the canyon. it was sir james douglas's greatest monument. { } five hundred volunteer mine-workers built the road from harrison lake to lillooet in at the rate of ten miles a day; and when the road was opened in september, packers' charges fell from a dollar to forty-eight cents and finally to eighteen cents a pound. but presently the trend of travel drew away from harrison lake to the line of the fraser. at first there was nothing but a mule-trail hacked out of the rock from yale to spuzzum; but miners went voluntarily to work and widened the bridle-path above the shelving waters. from spuzzum to lytton the river ledges seemed almost impassable for pack animals; yet a cable ferry was rigged up at spuzzum and mules were sent over the ledges to draw it up the river. when the water rose so high that the lower ledges were unsafe, the packers ascended the mountains eight hundred feet above the roaring canyon. where cliffs broke off, they sent the animals across an indian bridge. the marvel is not that many a poor beast fell headlong eight hundred feet down the precipice. the marvel is that any pack animal could cross such a trail at all. 'a traveller must trust his hands as much as his feet,' wrote begbie, after his first experience of this trail. [illustration: indian graves at lytton, b.c. from a photograph.] { } but by cutting and blasting and bridge-building had begun under the direction of the royal engineers; and before the great road was completed into the heart of the mining country at barkerville. henceforth passengers went in by stage-coach drawn by six horses. road-houses along the way provided relays of fresh horses. freight went in by bull-team, but pack-horses and mules were still used to carry miners' provisions to the camps in the hills which lay off the main road. it was while the road was still building that an enterprising packer brought twenty-one camels on the trail. they were not a success and caused countless stampedes. horses and mules took fright at the slightest whiff of them. the camels themselves could stand neither the climate nor the hard rock road. they were turned adrift on the thompson river, where the last of them died in . there was something highly romantic in the stage-coach travel of this halcyon era. the driver was always a crack whip, a man who called himself an 'old-timer,' though often his years numbered fewer than twenty. most of the drivers, however, knew the trail from having packed in on shanks's mare and camped under the stars. at the log taverns known { } as road-houses travellers could sleep for the night and obtain meals. on the down trip bags were piled on the roof with a couple of frontiersmen armed with rifles to guard them. many were the devices of a returning miner for concealing the gold which he had won. a fat hurdy-gurdy girl--or sometimes a squaw--would climb to a place in the stage. and when the stage, with a crack of the whip and a prance of the six horses, came rattling across the bridge and rolling into yale, the fat girl would be the first to deposit her ample person at the bank or the express office, whence gold could safely be sent on down to victoria. and when she emerged half an hour later she would have thinned perceptibly. then the rough miner, who had not addressed a word to her on the way down, for fear of a confidence man aboard, would present 'susy' with a handsome reward in the form of a gaudy dress or a year's provisions. start from a road-house was made at dawn, when the clouds still hung heavy on the mountains and the peaks were all reflected in the glacial waters. the passengers tumbled dishevelled from log-walled rooms where the beds were bench berths, and ate breakfast in a { } dining-hall where the seats were hewn logs. the fare consisted of ham fried in slabs, eggs ancient and transformed to leather in lard, slapjacks, known as 'rocky mountain dead shot,' in maple syrup that never saw a maple tree and was black as a pot, and potatoes in soggy pyramids. yet so keen was the mountain air, so stimulating the ozone of the resinous hemlock forests, that the most fastidious traveller felt he had fared sumptuously, and gaily paid the two-fifty for the meal. perhaps there was time to wash in the common tin basin at the door, where the towel always bore evidence of patronage; perhaps not; anyhow, no matter. washing was only a trivial incident of mountain travel in those days. the passenger jumped for a place in the coach; the long whip cracked. the horses sprang forward; and away the stage rattled round curves where a hind wheel would try to go over the edge--only the driver didn't let it; down embankments where any normal wagon would have upset, but this one didn't; up sharp grades where no horses ought to be driven at a trot, but where the six persisted in going at a gallop! the passenger didn't mind the jolting that almost dislocated his spine. he didn't mind the negro who sat on { } one side of him or the fat squaw who sat on the other. he was thankful not to be held up by highwaymen, or dumped into the wild cataract of waters below. outside was a changing panorama of mountain and canyon, with a world of forests and lakes. inside was a drama of human nature to outdo any curtain-raiser he had ever witnessed--a baronet who had lost in the game and was going home penniless, perhaps earning his way by helping with the horses; an outworn actress who had been trying her luck at the dance-halls; a gambler pretending that he was a millionaire; a saloon-keeper with a few thousands in his pockets and a diamond in his shirt the size of a pebble; a tenderfoot rigged out as a veteran, with buckskin coat, a belt full of artillery, fearfully and wonderfully made new high-boots, and a devil-may-care air that deceived no one but himself; a few shuswaps and siwashes, fat, ill-smelling, insolent, and plainly highly amused in their beady, watchful, black, ferret eyes at the mad ways of this white race; a still more ill-smelling chinaman; and a taciturn, grizzled, ragged fellow, paying no attention to the fat squaw, keeping his observations and his thoughts inside his high-boots, but likely as not to turn out the man who { } would conduct the squaw to the bank or the express office at yale. if one could get a seat outside with the guards and the driver--one who knew how to unlock the lore of these sons of the hills--he was lucky; for he would learn who made his strike there, who was murdered at another place, how the sneak-thief trailed the tenderfoot somewhere else--all of it romance, much of it fiction, much of it fact, but no fiction half so marvellous as the fact. bull-teams of twenty yokes, long lines of pack-horses led by a bell-mare, mule-teams with a tinkling of bells and singing of the drivers, met the stage and passed with happy salute. at nightfall the camp-fires of foot travellers could be seen down at the water's edge. and there was always danger enough to add zest to the journey. wherever there are hordes of hungry, adventurous men, there will be desperadoes. in spite of begbie's justice, robberies occurred on the road and not a few murders. the time going in and out varied; but the journey could be made in five days and was often made in four. the building of the cariboo road had an important influence on the camp that its builders could not foresee. the unknown el { } dorado is always invested with a fabulous glamour that draws to ruin the reckless and the unfit. before the road was built adventurers had arrived in cariboo expecting to pick up pails of nuggets at the bottom of a rainbow. their disillusionment came; but there was an easy way back to the world. they did not stay to breed crime and lawlessness in the camp. 'the walking'--as begbie expressed it--'was all down hill and the road was good, especially for thugs.' while there were ten thousand men in cariboo in the winter of ' and perhaps twenty thousand in the winter of ' , there were less than five thousand in ' . this does not mean that the camp had collapsed. it had simply changed from a poor man's camp to a camp for a capitalist or a company. it will be remembered that the miners first found the gold in flakes, then farther up in nuggets, then that the nuggets had to be pursued to pay-dirt beneath gravel and clay. this meant shafts, tunnels, hydraulic machinery, stamp-mills. later, when the pay-dirt showed signs of merging into quartz, there passed away for ever the day of the penniless prospector seeking the golden fleece of the hills as his predecessor, the trapper, had sought the pelt of the little beaver. all unwittingly, the miner, as well as the { } trapper, was an instrument in the hands of destiny, an instrument for shaping empire; for it was the inrush of miners which gave birth to the colony of british columbia. federation with the canadian dominion followed in ; the railway and the settler came; and the man with the pick and his eyes on the 'float' gave place to the man with the plough. { } bibliographical note the episode of cariboo is so recent that the bibliography on it is not very complete. _british columbia_, by judge howay and e. o. s. scholefield, provincial librarian, is the last and most accurate word on the history of that province, though one could wish that the authors had given more human-document records in the biographical section. in a very few years there will be no old-timers of the trail left; and, after all, it is the human document that gives colour and life to history. it was my privilege to know some of the overlanders intimately. one of the companies who rafted down the fraser came from the county where i was born; and though they preceded my day, their terrible experiences were a household word. with others i have poled the fraser on those very tempestuous waters that took such toll of life in ' . others have been my hosts. i have gone up and down the arrow lakes in a steamer as a guest of the man who came through the worst experiences of the overlanders. chance conversations are shifty guides on dates and place-names. for these, regarding the overlanders, i have relied on mrs macnaughton's _cariboo_. { } gosnell's _british columbia year book_ and hubert howe bancroft's _british columbia_ are very full on this era. walter moberly's pamphlets on the building of the trail and mr alexander's casual addresses are excellent. old files of the kamloops _sentinel_ and the victoria _colonist_ are full of scattered data. anderson's _hand book of _, begbie's report to the london geographical society, ; begg's _british columbia_; _fraser's journal_; mayne's _british columbia_, ; milton and cheadle's _north west passage_, ; palliser's _report_, ; waddington's _fraser river mines_--all afford sidelights on this adventurous era. on the prospector's daily life there is no book. that must be learned from him on the trail; and on many camp trips in the rockies, with prospectors for guides, i have picked up such facts as i could. { } index alexander, mr, his tragic experience on the fraser, - ; quoted, , . anderson, james, the scottish miner poet, , , - . antler creek, . barker, billy, . barkerville, ; life in, - ; the cariboo road terminus, . begbie, sir matthew baillie, chief justice of british columbia, , , , ; his popularity with the miners, - , , , . big canyon, . black, john, presbyterian 'apostle of the red river,' . british columbia, proclaimed a crown colony, ; and the building of the cariboo road, - ; and the miners, . see cariboo, fraser river, vancouver. cameron, cariboo, - , . cameron, mrs, . cariboo, prospecting in, - ; the mad rush for, - , - , - ; the mines a freakish gamble, - ; changes in, - . see barkerville and overlanders. cariboo road, ; the building of the, , - ; its effect on the mines, - ; stagecoach travel on, - . cariboo trail, perils of the, - ; evolution of, . see cariboo road. china bar, . cridge, rev. edward, . dallas, alexander, governor of rupert's land, . deitz, billy, , . douglas, sir james, governor of vancouver island, , , ; quells disturbances on the fraser, - , - ; governor of british columbia, , ; builds the cariboo road, . edmonton, the overlanders at, . finlayson, roderick, chief trader at victoria, - , , , fort george, the overlanders at, , . fort langley, british columbia proclaimed at, , . fraser, colin, and the overlanders, - . fraser, simon, explorer, . fraser canyon , , fraser river, the quest for gold on, - , , - , - , - ; disturbances among the indians, - ; and the whites, - ; the overlanders on, , - . see gold-fields, miners. gold, prospecting for, - , - , - ; the lure of the 'float,' - , - , - , ; mining for, - . see gold-fields, miners. gold-fields, the price of commodities in, , - , , , , ; 'claim jumping,' ; unused gold a curse, - , ; hurdy-gurdy girls, - , , . hope, , , , . horse fly creek, . howay, judge, quoted, , . hudson's bay company, and the quest for gold, - ; and vancouver island, - ; and the diggings on the fraser, , ; and the indians, - ; and the overlanders, , , , - . indians of the fraser, and the quest for gold, - ; their hostility, - ; and the overlanders, . see shuswaps. ireland, mr, his rescue party, - . kamloops, - . keithley, doc, - . langley, , . lightning creek, . long bar, . macdonald, sandy, - . m'gowan, ned, his affair on the fraser, - . m'kay, james, chief trader at fort ellice, . mackenzie, alexander, explorer, . maclean, chief factor at kamloops, . m'loughlin, john, . m'micking, thomas, captain of the overlanders, - , , . macnaughton, mrs, quoted, , , . mayne, lieutenant, and the yale riots, , , . miners, in the wilds, ; disappointed gold-seekers, , ; some lucky prospectors, - , - ; the miner and his boy, - ; their packhorses, , ; form vigilance committees, - ; their rough-and-ready justice, ; their chivalry, , ; the effect of sudden wealth on, - ; a device for concealing gold, , - ; an instrument for shaping empire, . see fraser river, gold, gold-fields. moberly, walter, his experiences on the fraser, , , . moody, colonel, and the yale riots, - . muskeg and slough, the difference between, n. overlanders, the, at st paul, ; their meeting with the sioux warriors, ; on the red river steamer, , - ; and the hudson's bay company, , , , - ; at winnipeg, - ; on the trail to edmonton, - ; and the husky-dogs, , - ; reach yellowhead pass, , - ; cross the divide and reach the fraser, - ; the party separate, , ; on the fraser, - , - ; a question for psychologists, - ; a gruesome story, - ; reach quesnel, , ; kamloops, - . prospecting for gold on the fraser, - , - , - , - , ; some lucky prospectors and their fate, - ; theory regarding gold deposits, - . psychology, a question of, - . queen charlotte islands, discovery of gold in, . quesnel, - , . quesnel lake, . red river, the first steamer on, - ; red river carts, - . rose, john, - , . saskatchewan, the quest for gold on the, - . shubert, mrs, with the overlanders, , , , , . shuswaps, the, and the overlanders, , , , , , . sioux, the, - . snyder, captain, leads attack on the indians, - . spuzzum, a fight with indians at, - . stout, ed, . taché, mgr, bishop of st boniface, , . vancouver island, the first council and legislative assembly of, and note. see victoria. victoria, and the quest for gold, , , - ; and the rush for the fraser, - , , ; and the matrimonial scheme, - . see vancouver island. weaver, george, - . william's creek, , , . winnipeg, - . work, john, chief factor at victoria, . wright, captain tom, a yankee skipper on the fraser, , . yale, , , , , , , , - , . yellowhead pass, , , . printed by t. and a. constable, printers to his majesty at the edinburgh university press the chronicles of canada thirty-two volumes illustrated edited by george m. wrong and h. h. langton the chronicles of canada part i the first european visitors . the dawn of canadian history by stephen leacock. . the mariner of st malo by stephen leacock. part ii the rise of new france . the founder of new france by charles w. colby. . the jesuit missions by thomas guthrie marquis. . the seigneurs of old canada by william bennett munro. . the great intendant by thomas chapais. . the fighting governor by charles w. colby. part iii the english invasion . the great fortress by william wood. . the acadian exiles by arthur g. doughty. . the passing of new france by william wood. . the winning of canada by william wood. part iv the beginnings of british canada . the father of british canada by william wood. . the united empire loyalists by w. stewart wallace. . the war with the united states by william wood. part v the red man in canada . the war chief of the ottawas by thomas guthrie marquis. . the war chief of the six nations by louis aubrey wood. . tecumseh: the last great leader of his people by ethel t. raymond. part vi pioneers of the north and west . the 'adventurers of england' on hudson bay by agnes c. laut. . pathfinders of the great plains by lawrence j. burpee. . adventurers of the far north by stephen leacock. . the red river colony by louis aubrey wood. . pioneers of the pacific coast by agnes c. laut. . the cariboo trail by agnes c. laut. part vii the struggle for political freedom . the family compact by w. stewart wallace. . the 'patriotes' of ' by alfred d. decelles. . the tribune of nova scotia by william lawson grant. . the winning of popular government by archibald macmechan. part viii the growth of nationality . the fathers of confederation by a. h. u. colquhoun. . the day of sir john macdonald by sir joseph pope. . the day of sir wilfrid laurier by oscar d. skelton. part ix national highways . all afloat by william wood. . the railway builders by oscar d. skelton. toronto: glasgow, brook & company the greater power by same author the cattle baron's daughter alton of somasco dust of conflict winston of the prairie for jacinta delilah of the snows by right of purchase lorimer of the northwest [illustration: "i am afraid i'm going to lose him, after all." _page _] the greater power by harold bindloss author of "the cattle baron's daughter," "by right of purchase," "lorimer of the northwest," "thrice armed," etc. with frontispiece in colours by w. herbert dunton new york frederick a. stokes company publishers copyright, , by frederick a. stokes company all rights reserved september, contents chapter page i overburdened ii the trail iii waynefleet's ranch iv laura waynefleet's wish v the flood vi the breaking of the dam vii laura makes a dress viii by combat ix gordon speaks his mind x the calling cañon xi the great idea xii wisbech makes inquiries xiii on the trestle xiv in the moonlight xv martial's misadventure xvi acton's warning xvii an eventful day xviii tranquillity xix nasmyth hears the river xx nasmyth goes away xxi the men of the bush xxii nasmyth sets to work xxiii the derrick xxiv realities xxv nasmyth decides xxvi one night's task xxvii timber rights xxviii a painful duty xxix a futile scheme xxx second thoughts xxxi the last shot the greater power chapter i overburdened it was winter in the great coniferous forest which rolls about the rocky hills and shrouds the lonely valleys of british columbia. a bitter frost had dried the snow to powder and bound the frothing rivers; it had laid its icy grip upon the waters suddenly, and the sound of their turmoil died away in the depths of the rock-walled cañons, until the rugged land lay wrapped in silence under a sky of intense, pitiless blueness that seemed frozen too. man and beast shrink from the sudden cold snaps, as they call them, in that country, and the rancher, who has sheep to lose, sits shivering in his log house through the long forenights with a marlin rifle handy, while the famished timber wolves prowl about his clearing. still, it is the loggers toiling in the wilderness who feel the cold snaps most, for the man who labours under an arctic frost must be generously fed, or the heat and strength die out of him, and, now and then, it happens that provisions become scanty when no canoe can be poled up the rivers, and the trails are blocked with snow. there were four loggers at work in a redwood forest, one january afternoon, rolling a great log with peevies and handspikes out of a chaos of fallen trunks. the bush, a wall of sombre green, spangled here and there with frost, and impressively still, closed in about the little gap they had made. not a sound came out of the shadowy avenues between the tremendous colonnades of towering trunks, and the topmost sprays of the cedars and douglas firs cut motionless against the blue high above. there was no wind, and the men's breath went straight up, a thin white vapour, into the biting air. still, they were warm and comparatively well fed, which was a good deal to be thankful for, and three of them toiled contentedly, with now and then a glance at their companion, who realized at length that he was beaten. in fact, it was only by calling up all the resolution that was in him that this fourth man, derrick nasmyth, had held himself to his task since early morning, for there is no occupation which demands from man more muscular effort and physical courage than logging, as it is generally carried on in the forest of western canada. nasmyth was a tall man, apparently under thirty, and leanly muscular, as were his companions, for those who swing the axe from dawn to dusk in that wilderness seldom put on flesh. his bronzed face was also lean, and a trifle worn. considering his occupation, it was, perhaps, too finely chiselled, and there was a certain elusive suggestion of refinement in it. he had clear blue eyes, and the hair beneath his battered fur cap was brown. for the rest, he wore a black leather jacket with several rents in it, ragged duck trousers, and long boots. his companions were the usual bush choppers--simple, strong-armed men of kindly nature--and nasmyth was quite aware that they had undertaken most of his share in the work during the last few hours. "another heave!" said one of the woodsmen. "hit her hard, boys, and away she goes!" they strained sinewy backs and splendid arms. the great log rolled a trifle farther, canted, as one of them slipped a handspike under the butt of it, and landed on the skids, which were laid like railway sleepers down the slope of a steep declivity. the snow was ground down and rammed back about the skids, and the worn-out hollow gleamed a faint blue-grey in the shadow of the firs. the men made another strenuous effort as the log started, but in another moment it rushed away, and, like a toboggan, sped downwards through the forest to the river-ice below. the skids screamed beneath it, the snow flew up like smoke, and then there was a thunderous crash and stillness again. nasmyth gasped heavily, and dropped his handspike. "boys," he said, "i'm used up. i'll go along to the shanty and get my time." he generally expressed himself much as his comrades did, but now his clean english intonation was a little more noticeable than usual. one of the others nodded sympathetically, as he answered: "well, i guess i've seen the trouble trailing you for quite a while. got to let up or play out. it's one i've been up against myself." he made a vague gesture. "a little rough on you." then he and one of his comrades took up a big crosscut saw, while the other swung a gleaming axe. nasmyth walked back wearily through the silent bush towards the camp. his back ached, his head ached, and he felt a trifle dazed. the strength seemed to have gone out of him, and he fancied that he was not very far from a physical collapse. he was glad when he reached the shanty, where, after he had shaken the snow from his dilapidated boots, he sat down by the glowing stove, and smiled wryly as he looked about him. the shed was rudely built of logs, and a row of bunks packed with swamp-grass and spruce-twigs, from some of which there hung portions of greasy blankets, ran down one side of it. it smelt horribly of acrid tobacco and cookery, but at least, it was warm, which counted for much, and, during the last few months, nasmyth had grown to look on it as home. he knew, also, that it would cost him something to leave it now, especially as he had nowhere else to go. lying back listlessly in a lounge an ingenious chopper had made out of a few branches and a couple of sacks, nasmyth vaguely recalled the comfort of his london chambers and the great pillared smoking-room of a certain exclusive club, for he was a man acquainted with the smoother side of life. he had various gifts which were apparently of no account in british columbia, and he had enjoyed an education that had, it seemed, unfitted him for anything strictly utilitarian. there are a great many men of his description chopping trees and driving cattle in western canada. indeed, his story was one which, with slight variations, may be heard frequently in that country. financial disaster had overtaken his family. friends in high places had regarded him coldly, and he had been too proud to ask for favours, or to profit by those that were grudgingly offered him. that was why he had gone out to canada and spent several years there earning his board, and, now and then, a few dollars as well, by bodily labour, until he went up into the bush with the loggers. for a time he had somehow contrived to hold his own with the other workers, though logging in heavy timber is one of the tasks one could almost fancy that man was never meant for, and the logger, whose overtaxed muscle fails him for a moment, is very likely to have the life crushed out of him by some ponderous, slipping trunk. perhaps, his lack of endurance was due to the excessive strain, or the ill-cooked food, but during the last few weeks he had been conscious that a slackness was creeping over him. once or twice the handspike or peevie had been torn from his grasp, and the lives of his comrades had been placed in peril. he had found it more and more difficult to drag himself out to his work each morning, but he had held on until that afternoon when his strength had suddenly failed him. nasmyth was half-asleep when the cook and the leader of the gang came in. the latter, who was a big, gaunt man with grizzled hair, stopped close by the stove and looked at him. "well," said the gang leader, "what do you figure you're doing here?" nasmyth explained with some difficulty, for in the bush, men acquire a certain pride in their physical manhood, and it is never a pleasant thing to own oneself defeated. the logger, however, nodded comprehendingly. he was a reticent, grim-faced person from ontario, where they breed hard men, though some have, also, kindly hearts in them. "that's quite right. i've noticed it myself," he commented. "in fact, i've been figuring on asking you to get out the last week or two." nasmyth smiled. like other men of his description in that country, he had become accustomed to hearing such remarks addressed to him. "i wonder," he answered reflectively, "why you didn't." the logger appeared to consider. it was characteristic of him and the stock he sprang from that he would never have admitted that he had borne with nasmyth as long as possible out of kindness. the thing would have hurt him. "well," he said, "it seemed to me we might start you teaming, if i could have got a span or two of oxen in, but i'm most afraid i can't get them at my figure." he changed the subject abruptly. "where are you heading for?" "i don't quite know, though i shall probably land in victoria sooner or later. i might strike something a little easier than logging there. still, it would be most of a week's march before i could reach the railroad, and there's not a ranch anywhere near the trail." the logger nodded. "well," he said, "i'd head west instead. there'll be nothing going on along the railroad just now, and the mines are running easy, while you ought to fetch the settlement south of butte lake on the third day. guess you might pick up a dollar or two in that neighbourhood, and, any way, there's a steamer running down the west coast to victoria. seems to me quite likely one of those bush-ranchers would take you in a while, even if he didn't exactly want a hired man; but they don't do that kind of thing in the city." nasmyth smiled. experience had already taught him that, as a rule, the stranger who is welcomed in the cities arrives there with money in his pockets, and that it is the hard-handed men with the axes from whom the wanderer in that country is most likely to receive a kindness. still, though he was naturally not aware of it, a great deal was to depend upon the fact that he followed the advice of the logger, who traced out a diagram on the bench upon which they sat. "there's an indian trail up the river for the first four leagues," said the logger. "then you strike southwest, across the divide--here--and you come to the butte river. she's running in a little cañon, and you can't get over 'cept where a prospector or somebody has chopped a big fir." the log span across a stream is an old device, and was probably primitive man's first attempt at bridge-building, though it is one frequently adopted on the pacific slope, where a giant tree grows conveniently close to an otherwise impassable river. it was, however, important that nasmyth should be able to find the tree. "you know exactly where that fir is?" he asked. "southwest of the highest ridge of the divide. once you're over, you'll fetch the butte lake in a long day's march. when d'you figure you'll start?" "to-night," said nasmyth, "after supper. if there's sickness of any kind hanging round me--and i feel like it--you don't want me here, and i dare say they'd take me into the hospital at victoria. walking's easier than logging, anyway, and it seems wiser to try for that fir in daylight." the logger nodded as if he concurred in this, and, taking a little book from his pocket, he turned it over, wrinkling his brows while nasmyth watched him with a smile. "well," he said at length, "we'll count you full time to-day, but there's the four days off when you got crushed by that redwood, and the week when you chopped your leg. then, counting the amount for your board, that's thirty-six dollars i'm due to you." "not quite," answered nasmyth. "there was the day or two after i fell through the ice and had the shivers. i'd sooner you knocked off the few dollars." the logger was said to be a hard man, and in some respects this was certainly the case; but a faint flush crept into his grim face. perhaps he had noticed the weariness in nasmyth's voice or the hollowness of his cheeks. "all right," he said awkwardly. "jake will put you up grub for four days, and we'll call it square." he counted out the money, which nasmyth slipped into the receptacle inside his belt. when the logger moved away the weary man crossed over to his bunk. nasmyth had brought his few possessions up in a canoe, and now, knowing that he could not take them all away, he turned them over with a curious smile. there were one or two ragged pairs of duck trousers stained with soil, a few old tattered shirts, and a jacket of much the same description. he remembered that he had once been fastidious about his tailoring, as he wondered when he would be able to replace the things that he left behind. then he rolled up some of the garments and his two blankets into a pack that could be strapped upon his shoulders, and, as he did this, his comrades came trooping in, stamping to shake the snow off their leggings. there were about a dozen of them--simple, strenuous, brown-faced bush-ranchers for the most part--and they ate in haste, voraciously, when the abundant but rudely served supper was laid out. nasmyth had not much appetite, and the greasy salt pork, grindstone bread, desiccated apples, flavoured molasses, and flapjacks hot from the pan, did not tempt him. he preferred to watch his companions, and now and then his glance was a trifle wistful. he had worked and eaten with them; they had slept about him, and he knew he had their rude good-will. when his strength had begun to give way, some of them had saddled themselves with more than their share of the tasks they were engaged in, and he knew that it was possible he might not fall in with comrades of their kind again. now that the time had come, he, who had once been welcomed at brilliant london functions, felt that it would cost him an effort to part with these rough comrades. perhaps this was not so astonishing, for, after all, strenuous, valiant manhood and rude kindliness count for much. the shanty was cheerfully lighted and cosily warm. nasmyth had slept soundly there on the springy spruce-twigs, and there was at least abundance when the mealtimes came round. now he was about to be cast adrift again to face a three days' march in the open, under the bitter frost, and what might await him at the end of it he did not know. at length, the meal was cleared away, and when the pipes were lighted, he told his comrades that he was going. they were not demonstrative in their expressions of regret, but they thrust upon him little plugs of tobacco, which could not well be replaced there, and several of them told him that, if he struck nothing he liked better, all he had to do was to present himself at this ranch or the other beside blue lake or frothing river when they went back in the spring. what was more to the purpose, they meant it. among those western pines men are reared who, in point of primitive vigour, slow endurance, and the dogged courage that leads them to attempt, and usually to accomplish, the apparently impossible, are a match for any in the world, and no wanderer who limps up to their lonely ranches is turned away. those who have no claim on them are honoured with their hospitality, and now and then one new to that country looks with wonder on their handiwork. down all the long pacific coast, from lonely wrangel, wrapped in the northern snow, to shasta in the south, it is written on hewn-back forest, rent hillside, and dammed river. the inhabitants are subduing savage nature; but, as time will surely show, their greatest achievement is the rearing of fearless men. though it cost him an effort, nasmyth contrived to smile as he shook hands with the loggers. then he set his lips tight as, with his pack strapped on his shoulders, he opened the door and looked out at the dimly shining snow. it was only natural that he hesitated for a moment. after all, brutal as the toil had been, he at least knew what he was leaving behind, and his heart sank as he drew the door to. the cold struck through him to the bone, though there was not a breath of air astir, and the stillness was almost overwhelming. the frost cramped his muscles and drove the courage out of him, and, as he plodded down the trail, he heard jacques, the french-canadian cook, tuning his battered fiddle. a little burst of laughter broke through the twanging of the strings, and nasmyth closed one hand hard as he strode on faster into the darkness. there was as much of the animal in him as there is in most of us, and he longed for the cheerful light and the warmth of the stove, while one learns the value of human companionship when the frost king lays his grip on that lonely land. he was once more homeless--an outcast--and it was almost a relief to him when at length the twanging of the fiddle was lost in the silence of the pines. the trees rose about him, towering high into the soft darkness in serried ranks, and the snow gleamed a cold blue-grey under them. not a twig stirred; the tall spires were black, and motionless, and solemn, and he felt that their stateliness emphasized his own feebleness and inconsequence. in the meanwhile, though the snow was loose and frost-dried, it was not much above his ankles, and the trail was comparatively good. it seemed to him advisable to push on as fast as possible, for he had only four days' provisions, and he was not sure of his strength. there was no doubt as to what the result would be if it failed him in the wilderness that lay between him and the settlement. chapter ii the trail a half-moon rose above the black tops of the pines, and a faint light, which the snow flung back, filtered down between the motionless branches upon the narrow trail that wound sinuously in and out among fallen trunks and thickets draped with withered fern, for the siwash indians passed that way when the salmon came up the rivers, and the path an indian makes is never straight. over and over again, an indian will go around an obstacle through which the bush-rancher would hew a passage. this is essentially characteristic of both, for the primitive peoples patiently fit their lives to their environment, while the white man grapples with unfavourable conditions, and resolutely endeavours to alter them. until daylight nasmyth made a tolerable pace. he had been troubled with a curious lassitude and an unpleasant dizziness, but walking is considerably easier than rolling ponderous logs, and he knew that it was advisable for him to push on as fast as possible. at length, the dawn broke high up in a dingy grey sky, and he stopped to build a fire. it did not take long to boil a can of strong green tea, and to prepare a piece of doughy bread, with a little salt pork, for his breakfast. then he wrapped one of his blankets around him and took out his pipe. he did not remember how long he sat there, but it was clear daylight when he noticed that the fire was burning out, and, somewhat to his annoyance, he felt curiously reluctant to get up again. though it cost him an effort, he rose, and stood a minute or two shivering in the bitter wind, which now set the dark firs sighing. he could see the trees roll upwards before him in sombre ranks until their topmost sprays cut in a thin filigree very high up against the sky, and he knew that he must now leave the easy trail and cross the big divide. when he set out he was a little annoyed to find that the pack-straps hurt his shoulders, and that one of his boots galled his foot. knee-boots are not adapted for walking long distances, but the only other ones that nasmyth possessed were so dilapidated that he had left them behind. he went up for several hours through withered fern and matted undergrowth, and over horrible tangles of fallen tree-trunks, some of which were raised high above the snow on giant splintered branches. the term "virgin forest" probably conveys very little to the average englishman, since the woods with which he is acquainted are, for the most part, cleaned and dressed by foresters; but nature rules untrammelled in the pine-bush of the pacific slope, and her waste material lies piled in tremendous ruin until it rots away. there are forests in that country, through which a man accustomed to them can scarcely make a league in a day. still, nasmyth crossed the divide, struggling against a bitter wind, and then went down the other side, floundering over fallen branches, and smashing through thickets of undergrowth and brakes of willows. he wanted to find the river, and, more especially, the tree that bridged it, as soon as possible. it was, however, noon when he reached the river, and it frothed and roared a hundred feet below him in a smooth walled cañon, which had apparently kept the frost out, for there were only strips of crackling ice in the eddies. it was clearly out of the question for him to get down to the river, even if he had wished to make the descent, and without stopping to make another fire, he plodded along the bank until the afternoon was almost spent. there were a good many fallen trees, as he discovered to his cost, since each one had to be painfully clambered over, but none of them spanned the chasm. then, as his foot was becoming very sore, he decided to camp where a big cedar lay across a little ravine that rent the bank. it promised to afford him a partial shelter. he had no axe, but he tore off an armful or two of the thinner branches, with the twigs attached to them, to form a bed, and then, crawling down to the river, filled his smoke-blackened can and came back wearily to make a fire. man needs very little in those solitudes, but there are two things he must have, and those are food to keep the strength in him, and warmth, though there are times when he finds it singularly difficult to make the effort to obtain them. the most unpleasant hour of the long day of persistent toil is often the one when worn-out muscle and jaded intelligence must be forced to the task of providing the evening meal and shelter for the night. nasmyth ate his supper, so far as it went, voraciously, but with a prudent check upon his appetite, for he had set out with only four days' provisions, and he could not find the tree. when he had eaten, he took out his pipe, and crouched a while beside the fire, shivering, in spite of the blankets wrapped about him. the heat dies out of the man who has marched for twenty hours, as those who have done it know. in the meanwhile, darkness crept up from the east, and the pines faded into sombre masses that loomed dimly against a leaden sky. a mournful wailing came out of the gloom, and the smoke whirled about the shivering man in the nipping wind, while the sound of the river's turmoil and the crash of stream-driven ice drifted up out of the cañon. nasmyth listened drowsily, while his thoughts wandered back to the loggers' shanty. he could see the men with bronzed faces sitting smoking about the snapping stove, two or three of them dancing, while jacques coaxed music full of fire from his battered fiddle. then his thoughts went farther back to the chambers that he had once occupied in london, and he saw himself and frobisher, who shared them with him, sitting at a little table daintily furnished with choice glass and silver covers. there were big candles upon it--frobisher, who was a fastidious man, had insisted upon them. after that, the artistically furnished room faded out of his memory, and he recalled a larger one in which he had now and then dined. he could picture the wine, and lights, and costly dresses, the smiling faces of those who had at that time expected a great deal from him, and he saw the girl who usually sat at his side. she had a delicate beauty and a dainty mind, and he had sometimes fancied they might be drawn closer when he had made his mark, which in those days appeared a very probable thing. he wondered vaguely what she was doing then, or if she ever thought of him. after all, as she had not answered the one letter which he wrote, it scarcely seemed likely that she remembered him. those who fail, he reflected, are soon forgotten. then, as he was falling forward into the fire, he roused himself, and smiled wryly. he was once more an outcast, shivering, half-asleep in the wilderness, worn out, ragged, and aching, with a foot that was now distinctly painful. it is, however, fortunate for such men as he, and others among the heavily burdened, that the exhaustion of the body has its deadening effect upon the mind. rolling the blankets round him, he lay down on the cedar branches and went to sleep. he did not hear the timber wolves howling in the blackness of the night, though several that got wind of him flitted across the ravine after the fire burned low, and, when at length he awakened, it was with the fall of a wet flake upon his face, and he saw the dim dawn breaking through a haze of sliding snow. it seemed a little warmer, and, as a matter of fact, it was so, for the cold snaps seldom last very long near the coast; but the raw damp struck through him as he raked the embers of the fire together. again he felt singularly reluctant to start when he had finished breakfast, and he found that he could hardly place one foot upon the ground; but haste was imperative now, so he set off limping, with the pack-straps galling his shoulders cruelly. he also felt a little dizzy, but he pushed on all that day beside the river through a haze of snow without coming upon the tree. the dusk was creeping up across the forest when at length the river emerged from the cañon, and he ventured out upon the ice in a slacker pool. the ice heaved and crackled under him with the pulsations of the stream, but he got across, and roused himself with difficulty for the effort to make another fire. he was an hour gathering fuel, and then, after a sparing supper, he lay down in his wet clothing. the snow that eddied about him whitened his spongy blankets, but he got a little sleep, and, awakening, found the fire out. he tried to light it and failed. his fingers seemed useless. he was cramped and chilled all through, and there was in one hip-joint the gnawing pain that those who sleep on wet ground are acquainted with. sometimes it goes away when one gets warmed up, but just as often it does not. nasmyth, who found it a difficult matter to straighten himself, ate a little damp bread, and then, strapping his pack upon his shoulders, stumbled on into the forest. he afterwards fancied it did not snow very much that day, but he was not sure of anything except that he fell over many rotten branches, and entangled himself frequently in labyrinths of matted willows. night came and he went to sleep without a fire. he contrived to push on next day, walking during most of it half asleep. indeed, now and then he would stagger along for minutes after consciousness of what he was doing had deserted him, for there are men in that bush, at least, who know what it is to stop with suddenly opened eyes on the verge of a collapse, and find that they have wandered from the path--only in nasmyth's case there was no path at all. he was never sure whether it was that day or the next when, floundering through an undergrowth of willows, he came upon a break in the forest that was covered with sawn-off stumps. as he made for it, he fell into a split-rail fence, some of which he knocked down until he could climb over it. there was a faint smell of burning fir-wood in the air, and it was evident to him that there was a house somewhere in the vicinity. the snow was not deep in the clearing, and he plodded through it, staggering now and then, until he came to a little slope, and fell down it headlong. this time he did not seem able to get up again, and it was fortunate that, when he flung the split fence down, the crash made by the falling rails rang far through the silence of the woods. while nasmyth lay in the slushy snow, a girl came out from among the firs across the clearing, and walked down the little trail that led to a well. she was tall, and there was something in her face and the way she held herself which suggested that she was not a native of the bush, though everything she wore had been made by her own fingers--that is, except the little fur cap, whose glossy brown enhanced the lustre of her hair. this was of a slightly lighter tint, and had gleams of ruddy gold in it. her eyes were large and brown, and there was a reposeful quietness in the face, which suggested strength. it was significant that her hands were a trifle hard, as well as shapely, and that her wrists were red. she came to the top of the slope near the foot of which nasmyth, who had now raised himself on one elbow, lay, and though this might well have startled her, she stood quietly still, looking down on him. nasmyth raised himself a trifle further, and blinked at her stupidly, and she noticed that his face was drawn and grey. "i heard the rails fall," she said. "what are you doing there?" it did not appear strange to nasmyth that she should speak in well-modulated english, for there are probably as many insular english as canadians in parts of that country. besides, he was scarcely in a condition to notice a point of that kind just then. "i think i upset the fence," he answered. "you see, i couldn't get over. then i must have fallen down." it naturally struck the girl as significant that he did not seem sure of what had happened, but the explanation that would have suggested itself to anyone fresh from england did not occur to her. there was not a saloon or hotel within eight or nine miles of the spot. "can you get up?" she asked. "i'll try," said nasmyth; but the attempt he made was not a complete success, for, although he staggered to his feet, he reeled when he stood upon them, and probably would have fallen had she not run down the slope and taken hold of him. "you can rest on me," she said, laying a firm and capable hand upon his shoulder. with her assistance, nasmyth staggered up the slope, and there were afterwards times when he remembered the next few minutes with somewhat mixed feelings. just then, however, he was only glad to have someone to lean upon, and her mere human presence was a relief, since nature had come very near to crushing the life out of him. "this is your ranch?" he inquired, looking at her with half-closed eyes, when at length she moved away from him, a pace or two, and, gasping a little, stood still, beneath a colonnade of towering firs. "it is," she said simply; and a moment or two later he saw a little house of logs half hidden among the trees. they reached it in another minute, and, staggering in, he sank into the nearest chair. a stove snapped and crackled in the middle of the little log-walled room, which in spite of its uncovered, split-boarded floor, seemed to possess a daintiness very unusual in the bush. he did not, however, know what particular objects in it conveyed that impression, for the whole room seemed to be swinging up and down; but he was definitely conscious of a comforting smell of coffee and pork, which came from the stove. he sat still, shivering, and blinking at the girl, while the water trickled from his tattered clothing. he fancied from the patter on the shingle roof, that it was raining outside. "i wonder if you would let me camp in the barn to-night," he said. the girl's eyes had grown compassionate as she watched him, for there was a suggestive greyness in his face. it was evident to her that he was utterly worn-out. "go in there," she said, pointing to a door. "you will find some dry clothes. put them on." nasmyth staggered into a very small room, which had a rude wooden bunk in it, and with considerable difficulty sloughed off his wet things and put on somebody else's clothing. then he came back and sank into a deer-hide lounge at the table. the girl set a cup of coffee, as well as some pork and potatoes, before him. he drank the coffee, but finding, somewhat to his astonishment, that he could scarcely eat, he lay back in his chair and looked at the girl deprecatingly with half-closed eyes. "sorry i can't do the supper justice. i think i'm ill," he said. then his head fell back against the deer-hide lounge, and, while the girl watched him with a natural consternation, he sank into sleep or unconsciousness. she was not sure which it was, but he certainly looked very ill, and, being a capable young woman, she remembered that within the next hour, the weekly mail-carrier would strike a trail which passed within a mile of the ranch. rising, she touched nasmyth's shoulder. "stay there, and don't try to get up until i come back," she commanded in a kindly tone. nasmyth, as she had half-expected, said nothing, and, slipping into another room--there were three in the house--she returned, wearing a jacket of coarse fur, and went quietly out into the rain. it was dark now, but she had, as it happened, not long to wait for the mail-carrier. "i want you to call at gordon's ranch, dave," she told the man. "tell him he is to come along as soon as he can. there's a stranger here who seems very ill." the mail-carrier would have asked questions, but she cut him short. "how long will it be before you can tell gordon?" she asked. "well," answered the man reflectively, "i'm heading right back for the settlement, but it's a league to gordon's, anyway. he could be here in two hours, if he starts right off, and, considering what the trail's like, that's blamed fast travelling." he disappeared into the darkness, and the girl went back to the ranch. it was, perhaps, significant that she should feel sure that the man she had sent for would obey the summons, but she grew anxious while the two hours slipped by. at last, a man opened the door and walked in, with the water dripping from the long outer garment he flung off. he was a young man, with a bronzed face and keen grey eyes, and he had swung the axe, as one could see by his lithe carriage and the hardness of his hands, but there was something professional in his manner as he stooped down, regarding nasmyth closely while he gripped the stranger's wrist. then he turned to the girl. "he's very sick," gordon said. "guess you have no objections to my putting him in your father's bunk. first, we'll warm the blankets." the girl rose to help him, and--for she was strong--they stripped off most of nasmyth's garments and lifted him into the bunk in the next room. then gordon sent her for the blankets, and, when he had wrapped them round nasmyth, he sat down and looked at her. "pneumonia," he said. "anyway, in the meanwhile, i'll figure on it as that, though there's what one might call a general physical collapse as well. where did he come from?" "i don't know," said the girl. "your father won't be back for a week?" "it's scarcely likely." the man appeared to reflect for a moment or two. then he made a little expressive gesture. "well," he said, "it's up to us to do what we can. first thing's a poultice. i'll show you how to fix it; but while we're here, i guess we might as well run through his things." "is that needful?" and the girl glanced at nasmyth compassionately. "well," said the man with an air of reflection, "it might be. this thing's quick. leaves you or wipes you out right away. there's very little strength in him." he turned out the pockets of nasmyth's clothes, which were, however, empty of anything that might disclose his identity. "not a scrap of paper, not a dollar; but i guess that wasn't always the case with him--you can see it by his face," he said. then he laughed. "he's probably like a good many more of us--not very anxious to let folks know where he came from." the girl, though he did not notice it, winced at this; but next moment he touched her shoulder. "get some water on," he said. "after we've made the poultice, i'll take charge of him. we may get mrs. custer round in the morning." the girl merely smiled and went out with him. she was aware that it was in some respects an unusual thing which she was doing, but that did not greatly trouble her. they are not very conventional people in that country. chapter iii waynefleet's ranch though he afterwards endeavoured to recall them, nasmyth had never more than a faint and shadowy recollection of the next few days. during most of the time, he fancied he was back in england, and the girl he had left there seemed to be hovering about him. now and then, she would lay gentle hands upon him, and her soothing touch would send him off to sleep again; but there was a puzzling change in her appearance. he remembered her as slight in figure--sylph-like he had sometimes called her--fastidious and dainty, and always artistically dressed. now, however, she seemed to have grown taller, stronger, more reserved, and, as he vaguely realized, more capable, while her garments were of a different and coarser fashion. what was still more curious, she did not seem to recognize her name, though he addressed her by it now and then. he pondered over the matter drowsily once or twice, and then ceased to trouble himself about it. there were several other things that appeared at least as incomprehensible. after a long time, however, his senses came back to him, and one evening, as he lay languidly looking about him in his rude wooden bunk, he endeavoured to recall what had passed since he left the loggers' camp. the little room was comfortably warm, and a plain tin lamp burned upon what was evidently a home-made table. there was nothing, except a rifle, upon the rough log walls, and nothing upon the floor, which was, as usual, rudely laid with split boards, for dressed lumber is costly in the bush. looking through the open door into the general living-room, which was also lighted, he could see a red twinkle beneath the register of the stove, beside which a woman was sitting sewing. she was a hard-featured, homely person in coarsely fashioned garments, which did not seem to fit her well, and nasmyth felt slightly disconcerted when he glanced at her, for she was not the woman whom he had expected to see. then his glance rested on a man, who had also figured in his uncertain memories, and now sat not far away from him. the man, who was young, was dressed in plain blue duck, and, though nasmyth noticed that his hands were hard, and that he had broken nails, there was something in his bronzed face that suggested mental capacity. "i suppose," the sick man said, "you are the doctor who has evidently taken care of me?" he was not quite himself yet, and he spoke clean colloquial english, without any trace of the western accentuation he usually considered it advisable to adopt, though, as a matter of fact, the accent usually heard on the pacific slope is not unduly marked. the other man naturally noticed it, and laughed somewhat curiously. "i have some knowledge of medicine and surgery," gordon answered. "now and then i make use of it, though i don't, as a rule, get a fee." then he looked rather hard at nasmyth. "quite a few of us find it advisable to let our professions go when we come to this country." nasmyth nodded, for this was a thing he had discovered already. many of the comrades he had made there were outcasts--men outside the pale--and they were excellent comrades, too. "well," he said, "i have evidently been very sick. how did i get here? i don't seem to remember." "miss waynefleet found you lying in the snow in the clearing." "ah!" said nasmyth--"a tall girl with a quiet voice, big brown eyes, and splendid hair?" gordon smiled. "well," he said, "that's quite like her." "where is she now?" asked nasmyth; and though he was very feeble still, there was a certain expectancy in his manner. "in the barn, i believe. the working oxen have to be fed. it's very probable that you will see her in the next half-hour. as to your other question--you were very sick indeed--pneumonia. once or twice it seemed a sure thing that you'd slip through our fingers. where were you coming from when you struck the clearing?" nasmyth, who had no reason for reticence, and found his mind rapidly growing clearer, briefly related what had led him to set out on his journey through the bush, and his companion nodded. "it's very much as i expected," he said. "they paid you off before you left that logging camp?" "they did," said nasmyth, who was pleased to recall the fact. "i had thirty-two dollars in my belt." his companion looked at him steadily. "when you came here you hadn't a belt on. there was not a dollar in your pockets, either." this was naturally a blow to nasmyth. he realized that it would probably be several weeks at least before he was strong enough to work again, and he had evidently been a charge upon these strangers for some little time. still, he did not for a moment connect any of them with the disappearance of his belt. he was too well acquainted with the character of the men who are hewing the clearings out of the great forests of the pacific slope. as a matter of fact, he never did discover what became of his belt. "well," he said, "i suppose i forgot to put it on, one of those mornings on the march. still, it's not very astonishing that the thing should worry me. i can't expect to stay on at this ranch. when do you think i can get up and set out again?" "how long have you been out here?" "been out?" gordon laughed. "you're from the old country--that's plain enough." "several years." "in that case i'm not going to tell you we're not likely to turn you out until you have some strength in you. i believe i'm speaking for miss waynefleet now." nasmyth lay still and considered this. it was, at least, quite evident that he could not get up yet, but there were one or two other points that occurred to him. "does the ranch belong to miss waynefleet?" he inquired. "she can't live here alone." "she runs the concern. she has certainly a father, but you'll understand things more clearly when you see him. he's away in victoria, which is partly why mrs. custer from the settlement is now in yonder room. her husband is at present building a trestle on the dunsmore track. i come up here for only an hour every day." nasmyth afterwards discovered that this implied a journey of three or four miles either way over a very indifferent trail, but at the moment he was thinking chiefly of miss waynefleet, who had given him shelter. "you practise at the settlement?" he asked. "yes," said his companion dryly, "chopping big trees. i've a ranch there. still, i don't know that you could exactly call it practising. by this time, i've acquired a certain proficiency in the thing." nasmyth fancied that he must have gone to sleep soon after this, for when he opened his eyes again there was no sign of the doctor, and a girl was quietly moving about the room. she sat down, when she saw that he was awake, and looked at him with a little smile, and it was only natural that nasmyth should also look at her. it struck him once more that she had wonderful hair. in the lamp-light, it seemed to glow with curious red-gold gleams. she had also quiet brown eyes, and a face that was a trifle darkened by sun and wind. he guessed that she was tall. she looked so as she moved about the room with a supple gracefulness that had a suggestion of strength in it. that was all he noticed in detail, for he was chiefly conscious of the air of quiet composure that characterized her. he was a trifle fanciful that night, and, while he looked her, he felt as he had sometimes felt when he stood at sunset in the silence of the shadowy bush, or gazed down into the depths of some still river pool. only her gleaming red-gold hair and her full red lips slightly counteracted this impression. there was in them at least a hint of fire and passion. "you are much better," she said, and her softly modulated voice fell pleasantly on his ears. he contrived to raise himself a trifle. "i believe i am," he answered, "in any case, i know i owe it to you that i'm alive at all. still"--and he hesitated--"i can't help feeling a bit uncomfortable. you see, i have really no claim on you." laura waynefleet laughed. "did you expect me to leave you out in the snow?" "if you had, i couldn't have complained. there wasn't the least obligation upon you to look after a penniless stranger." "ah!" said the girl, with a little smile which was curiously expressive, "after all, many of us are in one sense strangers in the bush." nasmyth pondered over this, for, in view of what he had noticed in her voice and manner, he fancied he understood her meaning. "well," he said, "it's evident that i can do nothing in return for all your kindness, except take myself off your hands as soon as possible. that's partly why i'm particularly anxious to get better." he stopped a moment, with a faint flush in his hollow face. "it sounds very ungracious, doesn't it? but, after all, it's sense. besides, i scarcely feel up to expressing myself very neatly." the girl moved across the room, and gently pressed him down again on the pillow. "go to sleep again at once," she said. nasmyth did as he was bidden, which, since he felt that he wanted to lie awake and watch her, was in one way significant. as a matter of fact, what laura waynefleet considered advisable was usually done. nasmyth's head was clearer next morning, and, during the week that followed, he grew stronger rapidly, until one night, as he sat beside the stove, he realized that he could, in all probability, set out again on his journey in a day or two. while he talked to laura waynefleet, there were footsteps outside, and she ran towards the door as a man came into the room. nasmyth fancied the newcomer was her father, for he was grey-haired and elderly, but he did not look in the least like a bush-rancher. beneath the fur coat, which he flung off when he had kissed his daughter, he was dressed as one who lived in the cities, though his garments were evidently far from new. he was tall, but his spareness suggested fragility, and his face, which emphasized this impression, had a hint of querulous discontent in it. "i didn't expect to get through until to-morrow, but they've altered the running of the stage," he said. "wiston drove me up from the settlement, and said he'd send my things across to-morrow. i was glad to get out of victoria. the cooking and accommodation at the hotel i stayed at were simply disgusting." nasmyth glanced at the speaker in amused astonishment, for the bush-ranchers of the pacific slope are not, as a rule, particular. they can live on anything, and sleep more or less contentedly among dripping fern, or even in a pool of water, as, indeed, they not infrequently have to do, when they go up into the forests surveying, or undertake a road-making contract. laura waynefleet directed her father's attention to her convalescent guest. "this is mr. nasmyth," she said. "you will remember i mentioned him in my letter." waynefleet made the young man a little inclination that was formally courteous. "i am glad to see you are evidently recovering," he said. "i hope they have made you at home here." then he turned to his daughter. "if you could get me some supper----" laura busied herself about the stove, while waynefleet sat down and talked to nasmyth about generalities. waynefleet appeared to be a politician, and he criticized the government, which, in his opinion, was neglecting the bush-ranchers shamefully. it was evident that he considered it the duty of the government to contribute indirectly towards the support of settlers. then the supper was laid out. as he ate fastidiously, he made a few faintly sardonic observations about the cookery, and, after the girl had brought in a pot of coffee, he frowned at the cup he put down. "there is one place in victoria where you can get coffee, as it ought to be, but this is merely roasted wheat," he said. "you will excuse me from drinking any more of it. as you have probably discovered, mr. nasmyth, one has to put up with a good deal in this country. it is in many respects a barbarous land." nasmyth saw the faint flush in laura waynefleet's face, and said nothing. he fancied that he knew the establishment in victoria to which waynefleet referred, but it was not one which he had ever visited, or which the smaller bush-ranchers usually frequented. soon after supper, nasmyth withdrew to the bed, which he had insisted on preparing for himself in the loft above the stables, and it was next day when he spoke to laura waynefleet alone. "i can't abuse your kindness any longer," he said. "i must go away." the girl looked at him quietly. "you are far from strong yet, and--it must be mentioned--there was not a dollar in your pockets." "that is certainly the case;" and nasmyth flushed a little. "still, i can get as far as the settlement, and i dare say somebody, who won't be too hard on me at first, may want a hand. i am really rather a good chopper." laura smiled as she glanced at his face, but it was not its hollowness she was thinking of. nasmyth had not the appearance of the average chopper. "well," she said, "perhaps you had better see my father. i think he has something to say to you." she left him, and, half an hour later, waynefleet came up to nasmyth, who was sunning himself outside the ranch-house. like many other houses in that country, it stood beneath a few great firs on the edge of a desolate clearing, round which the primeval forest rose in an unbroken wall. behind it, and a little farther back among the trees, was the rude barn, built of big notched logs, and roofed with cedar shingles. in front there lay some twenty acres of cleared land, out of which rose the fir-stumps, girdled with withered fern, for a warm wind from the pacific had swept the snow away. beyond that, in turn, and outside the split-rail fence, rows of giant trunks lay piled in the tremendous ruin usually called the "slashing." some day, these would be sawn up and burnt, and the clearing driven farther back into the bush. the little gap into which the sunlight shone, however, had been hewn out at the cost of several years of strenuous labour, and nasmyth, who was aware of this, felt inclined to smile as the man who owned it strolled up to him. it was a little difficult to imagine that he had had any great share in the making of that clearing. waynefleet was dressed in duck, but it was whole and unsoiled, and nasmyth made his own deductions from a glance at the delicate hands. as a rule, waynefleet's expression was discontented and querulous, but for the time being his manner was gracious. in fact, he was generally more or less courteous to nasmyth. "miss waynefleet tells me you are thinking of going away," said the owner of the ranch. nasmyth replied that he intended to leave the ranch, and was explaining that he felt he had already abused his host's kindness, when waynefleet cut him short. "we have been glad to have you here," he said; "in fact, i have been wondering if you might feel disposed to stay. it is probably evident to you that i cannot do all that is necessary about this place with one pair of hands." nasmyth knew, from what he had seen on other and larger ranches, that one man could do the work, though he felt that it was more than one could reasonably have expected from waynefleet. it was, however, clear that somebody did a great deal, and he fancied that it was the rancher's daughter. "well," continued waynefleet, "i am disposed to spend a little upon the ranch. they are talking of building a pulp-mill near the settlement. that will make land more valuable, and probably lead to a demand for produce. with that in view, i wish to raise a larger crop, and i'm open to hire somebody." he made a little gesture. "my strength scarcely permits me to undertake any severe physical effort, and i may confess that my faculty is rather that of administration. now i will make you an offer." nasmyth considered it gravely. as it happened, he was feeling sorry for the rancher's daughter, and it was this fact chiefly which led him to come to terms with the man, since it seemed to him that there were tasks the girl must shrink from--tasks of which he could relieve her. though he was quite aware that when his strength came back, he could probably earn more than waynefleet offered him, he accepted the chance to stay at the ranch. moreover, the varied work was likely to be much easier than logging. "it's a bargain. i'll make a start now, and haul one or two of those logs out with the oxen," he said. "still, i'm afraid you must not expect too much from me for a week or two." waynefleet made no objections. there was, as a matter of fact, a great deal to be done, and nasmyth went back to his new quarters over the stable almost too weary to hold himself upright that night. he, however, gathered strength rapidly, and a few days later he was chopping a great tree, standing on a narrow plank notched into the trunk of it several feet from the ground as he swung the axe, when the man who had instructed miss waynefleet how to nurse him came up the trail. gordon sat down on a log close by, and looked at nasmyth. "i was coming round to make sure i was quite through with your case, but it's tolerably evident you have no more use for me," he said. "stopping here?" nasmyth said he was, and gordon nodded. "well," he said, "in several ways i'm rather glad. it's going to make things easier for miss waynefleet. guess you understand what i meant when i said she ran the ranch?" nasmyth said he thought he did, and then, with a certain diffidence, he changed the subject. "you must have spent a good deal of time looking after men--professionally," he said. gordon laughed in a somewhat curious fashion. "we'll let that go. in one sense, i've dropped my profession. i had to, and it's scarcely likely that i shall take it up again." "i wonder," said nasmyth reflectively, "if it's admissible for me to mention that i had fancied something of the kind. you see, in the bush, i have naturally come across a good many men who have turned their backs upon the cities." gordon made a little gesture. "it's a sure thing you'll hear a good deal about me at the settlement, where, though the boys don't cast it up to me, i'm credited with having killed somebody back east, and as i've had an idea that i could hit it rather well with you, i'd sooner tell you the thing myself. well, i was making my mark in a big city, several years ago, when i lost my head. when success comes too quickly, it's a thing you're rather apt to do. the trouble is that you have usually to face the results of it." he broke off for a moment with a little wry smile. "in my case they were serious. there was a woman of hysterical temperament with a diseased imagination. i was overworked and a trifle overwrought, and had a glass of brandy too much at a certain committee lunch. then there was a rather delicate operation in a hospital, and though i'm not sure yet that i blundered, it was suggested that i did, and the thing was complicated by what the woman said when the committee took it up. it didn't matter that the patient recovered, for when he took action against the woman, the thing made a sensation in the eastern papers." he looked at nasmyth with a question in his eyes. "now," he said, "you more or less understand my reasons for ranching here. how's it going to affect you?" nasmyth gazed reflectively towards the east. "i think," he replied, "there are more of us who have left a good deal behind back yonder. perhaps it's fortunate that the thing is possible." then he swung his axe again, and gordon, who saw waynefleet approaching, strolled away towards the ranch-owner. chapter iv laura waynefleet's wish it was a hot summer evening, and a drowsy, resinous fragrance stole out of the shadowy bush when nasmyth, who had now spent six months at waynefleet's ranch, lay among the wineberries by the river-side. across the strip of sliding water the sombre firs rose in a great colonnade from the grey rock's crest, with the fires of sunset blazing behind their wide-girthed trunks. the river was low and very clear, and the sound of it seemed to intensify the solemn stillness of the bush. nasmyth had come there to fish, after a long day of tolerably arduous labour, but he did not expect much success, though the trout rise freely just after sunset in those rivers. indeed, he had almost forgotten that the rod and net lay near his side, for his employer's daughter sat on a fallen cedar not far away from him. she had laid her hat aside, and, as it happened, two humming-birds that flashed, bejewelled, in a ray of ruddy light hung poised on invisible wings about the clustered blossoms of an arrow-bush that drooped above her head. she was, however, not looking at them, but watching nasmyth with thoughtful eyes. everything she wore was the work of her own fingers, but the light print dress became her curiously well. "you have been here six months now," she said. "i have," answered nasmyth, with a little laugh. "i almost venture to think i do you credit, in view of the state i was in when i reached the ranch. if you hadn't taken me in hand, two or three days would probably have been the length of my stay." the girl made no disclaimer. she was one who admitted facts, even when they did not chime with her wishes, and she still regarded nasmyth thoughtfully. he certainly did her credit, so far as his physical appearance went, for his strength had fully come back to him, and, as he lay among the wineberries in an easy pose, his thin duck garments displayed the fine proportions of a figure that had been trained almost to muscular perfection by strenuous labour. the light of the paling sunset was on his bronzed face, and it revealed the elusive delicacy that characterized it. nasmyth was certainly a well-favoured man, but there were respects in which his companion was not altogether satisfied with him. she had, as she admitted, restored him to bodily health, but, after all, that was only going so far, and she felt it was possible that she might accomplish a little more, though there was no very evident reason why she should wish to do so. still, she was conscious of the wish. "i was wondering," she said, "how long you would be content to stay." nasmyth gazed at her in evident astonishment. "stay!" he exclaimed. "oh, you can call it twenty years, if one must be precise." "ah!" replied laura, "in one sense, that is an admission i'm not exactly pleased that you should make." the man raised himself slowly, and his face became intent as he strove to grasp her meaning. he was not in the least astonished that she should speak to him as she did, for there are few distinctions drawn between the hired man and those who employ him on the pacific slope, and he had discovered already that the girl was at least his equal in intelligence and education. in fact, he had now and then a suspicion that her views of life were broader than his. in the meanwhile it was in one respect gratifying to feel that she could be displeased at anything he might think or do. "i'm not quite sure i see the drift of that," he said. "you would be content to continue a ranch-hand indefinitely?" "why not?" nasmyth asked, with a smile. laura once more looked at him with an almost disconcerting steadiness, and she had, as he was already aware, very fine eyes. she, however, noticed the suggestive delicacy of his face, which had, as it happened, more than once somewhat displeased her, and a certain languidness of expression, with which she had also grown almost impatient. this man, she had decided, was too readily acquiescent. "that," she continued, "is rather a big question, isn't it?" "ah!" said nasmyth reflectively. "now i begin to understand. well, i don't mind admitting that i once had ambitions and the means of gratifying them, as well as an optimistic belief in myself. that, however, was rudely shattered when the means were withdrawn, and a man very soon learns of how little account he is in western canada. why shouldn't i be content to live as the ranch-hands do, especially when it's tolerably evident that i can't do anything else?" "you are forgetting that most of them were born to it. that counts for a good deal. have you noticed how far some of the others drift?" a faint trace of heightened colour crept into her cheeks. "perhaps one couldn't blame them when they have once acquired the whisky habit and a siwash wife." nasmyth lay very still for a few moments, resting on one elbow among the wineberries, for she had, after all, only suggested a question that had once or twice troubled him. it was, however, characteristic of him that he had temporized, and, though he knew it must be answered some day, had thrust it aside. "ah!" he exclaimed, "you want to send me away. now, i had almost fancied i had made things easier in various ways for you, and we have been good comrades, haven't we? one could call it that?" "yes," agreed laura slowly; "i think one could call it that." "then," returned nasmyth, "why do you want me to go?" it was difficult to answer, and, to begin with, laura did not exactly know she desired him to leave the ranch--in fact, she was willing to admit that there were several reasons why she wished him to stay. still, perhaps because she had watched over him in his sickness, and, so gordon said, had snatched him back to life again, she had a certain pride in him, and vaguely felt that. in one sense, he belonged to her. she would not have him throw away the life she had saved, and she had recognized, as many of his english friends had not, the perilously acquiescent side of his character. he was, she feared, one who had an unfortunate aptitude for drifting. "that," she said, "is rather more than i could explain either to myself or to you, but i will tell you something. they are going to build the pulp-mill down the valley, and they are now asking for tenders for the construction of the dam. the thing, i have heard, is not big enough to interest contractors from the cities, and most of the men round here have their hands full with their ranches." nasmyth became a trifle more intent. "still," he remarked, "i have never built a dam." "you told me you were rather a good chopper, and i think you are. you have made roads, too, and know how to handle giant-powder in the rock-cutting, and how to use the drill." "there are shoals of men in this country who know considerably more about those things than i do." laura made a little impatient gesture. "yes," she admitted, "there are, but they are simple bushmen for the most part; and does intellect count for nothing at all? are a trained understanding and a quick comprehension of no use when one builds a dam?" nasmyth frowned, though she saw a little glow kindle in his eyes. "i'm by no means sure that i possess any of those desirable qualities. besides, there's a rather serious objection--that of finance." then laura waynefleet made it clear that she had considered the question, and she favoured the man with a glimpse of the practical side of her character. "the stores give long credit, and partial payments are generally made as a work of that kind goes on. then it is not a very unusual thing for workmen to wait for their wages until the contract is carried through." nasmyth lay still for at least another minute. he had gradually lost his ambition during the few years he had wandered through the bush of british columbia. the aimless life was often hard, but it had its compensations, and he had learned to value its freedom from responsibility and care. when he did not like a task he had undertaken, he simply left it and went on again. still, he had had misgivings now and then when he noticed how far some of his comrades had drifted. presently he rose slowly to his feet. "well," he said, "you're right, i think, and, if i'm given an opportunity, i'll undertake the thing. the credit will be yours if i'm successful." the girl rose. "then," she admonished, with a faint smile, "don't tell me that you have failed." she turned away and left him somewhat abruptly, but nasmyth did not resume his fishing, though he could hear the big trout splashing in the pool as the sunset light faded off the water. he lay down among the wineberries, which were scattered among the glossy leaves like little drops of blood, to think harder than he had thought for a considerable time. an hour ago, as he had told laura waynefleet, he would have been well content to stay on at the ranch, and, though she had roused him, he knew that it would cost him an effort to leave it. he was not, he fancied, in love with her. indeed, he now and then admitted that she would probably look for more from the man who won her favour than there was in him, but the camaraderie--he could think of no better word for it--that had existed between them had been very pleasant to him. he realized that he was in one sense hers to dispose of. she had, in all probability, saved his life, and now she was endeavouring to arouse his moral responsibility. she was sending him out to play a man's part in the battle of life. he admitted that he had shrunk from it, of late, or, at least, had been content to sink back among the rank and file. he had made the most of things, but that, he was beginning to realize, was, after all, a somewhat perilous habit. laura waynefleet evidently considered that a resolute attempt to alter conditions was more becoming than to accept them, even though one was likely to be injured while making it. he heard footsteps, and, looking up, saw gordon sit down upon the cedar-log. "i came to look at wiston's hand, and walked across when i heard that waynefleet hadn't been about," he explained. "i don't think you need feel any particular anxiety about your employer." nasmyth grinned at this. waynefleet had spent part of one day chopping a big balsam, and was apparently feeling the effects of the very unusual exertion. then gordon took out his pipe. "i guess you're fishing?" he observed. "i came here to get a trout for breakfast." "you look like it." gordon smiled. "as it happened, i saw miss waynefleet crossing the clearing. it occurs to me that she may have said something that set you thinking." "i wonder," said nasmyth reflectively, "what made you fancy that?" gordon regarded him with a little twinkle in his eyes. "well," he replied, "i have the honour of miss waynefleet's acquaintance, and have some little knowledge of her habits." men make friends with one another quickly in the western forests, and nasmyth had acquired a curious confidence in his companion, in spite of the story gordon had told him. as the result of this he related part, at least, of what the girl had said. gordon nodded. "it's quite likely you'll get that contract if you apply for it. the folks about the settlement haven't sent an offer in," he said. "the notion is naturally miss waynefleet's. it's the kind of thing that would appeal to her, and, in a way, it's fortunate you have fallen into her hands. she's one of the protesters." "the protesters?" "yes," answered gordon; "i can't think of a better name for them, though it doesn't exactly convey all i mean. to make the thing a little clearer, we'll take the other kind--in this country they're best typified by the indians. the siwash found it a wilderness, and made the most of it as such. they took their toll of the salmon, and fed their ponies on the natural prairie grass. if we'd left it to them for centuries it would have remained a wilderness. we came, and found nature omnipotent, but we challenged her--drove the steel road down the great cañon to bring us provisions in, dyked the swamp meadows, ploughed up the forest, and rent the hills. we made our protest, and, quite often, it was no more than that, for the rivers were too strong for us, and the bush crept back upon our little clearings. still, we never let go, and it's becoming evident that we have done more than hold our own." he paused, and laughed in a deprecatory fashion before he went on again. "now and then i have an outbreak of this kind," he added lightly. "the thing would make an epic, but, if one could write it, it wouldn't be worth while. the protest that counts in this land is made with the axe and drill." the outbreak was comprehensible, for it must be remembered that the average westerner, either by birth or adoption, is seldom a reticent man. he is, in fact, usually characterized by a daring optimism, and not infrequently filled to overflowing with the clean pride of achievement. one can hear this new-world enthusiasm bubble over on public platforms and at brilliant functions, as well as in second-rate saloons, but it is most forcibly expressed where men toil waist-deep in icy water building dyke and dam, or blast their waggon roads out of the side of the gloomy cañons. their handiwork is not always beautiful, but one wonders to see what they have made of that great desolation. nasmyth lay still among the wineberries, for a minute or two, and, though a cold green transparency had replaced the fires of sunset behind the tall trunks now, and the trout were splashing furiously in the pool, he forgot all about the rod beside him as he pondered over a question which had often occurred to him. "how is it that miss waynefleet is content to stay here?" he asked. "you would hardly expect her to leave her father." "no," said nasmyth. "any way, that is scarcely an answer. what keeps waynefleet here? one wouldn't fancy he likes living in the bush." "it's a little curious that you haven't heard. anyway, somebody is bound to tell you. waynefleet had to get out of the old country. some trouble about trust-money. he came out to victoria and set up in the land agency business, but it was his misfortune that he couldn't keep out of politics. there are folks like that. when they can't handle their own affairs, they're anxious to manage those of the community. somebody found out the story and flung it in his face. the man hadn't the grit in him to live it down; he struck up into the bush and bought the half-cleared ranch." for the next minute or two nasmyth gazed straight in front of him with a very thoughtful face, for he had now a vague recollection of hearing or reading of the affair in which his employer had played a discreditable part. he had already decided that he was not in love with laura waynefleet--in fact, it was perhaps significant that he had done so more than once, but he had a warm regard for the girl who had saved his life, and, after all, his ideas were not quite so liberal as he fancied they had become in the western forest. it was a trifle disconcerting to discover that she was the daughter of a swindler. "it hurts?" inquired gordon dryly. nasmyth rose. "to be frank," he admitted, "it does. still, though the subject's a rather delicate one, i don't want you to misunderstand me. after all, miss waynefleet is not in the least responsible for anything her father may have done." "that," said gordon, "is a sure thing. well, i must be hitting the trail home. aren't you going to try for some of those trout in the pool?" "no," answered nasmyth, and his smile was a trifle grim; "i don't think i am." he watched gordon stride away through the undergrowth, and then, in the creeping dusk, went slowly back to the ranch. waynefleet was out when he reached it, but laura was sitting sewing by the lamp, and she looked at him sharply when he came in. he was unpleasantly conscious that the light was on his face. then the girl laid down her sewing and turned fully towards him. "i saw mr. gordon cross the clearing. he has told you why we are living here?" she said. "i think," said nasmyth, with a slowness that was very expressive, "it was not done out of unkindness." "oh, no," and laura smiled in a rather curious fashion, "he had probably quite another motive." then she leaned forward a little, looking at him steadily. "i knew that he would tell you." nasmyth stood still, with his forehead deeply furrowed, and an unusual gravity in his eyes. the girl's courage and serenity appealed to him, and he was conscious that his heart was beating rapidly. he said nothing, for a moment or two, and afterwards remembered how still the little room was, and how the sweet, resinous scent of the firs flowed in through the open window. then he made a vague gesture. "there is, perhaps, a good deal one could say; but i fancy most of it would savour of impertinence," he said. "after all, the thing doesn't affect you in any way." laura glanced down at her hands, and nasmyth guessed what she was thinking, for they were hard, and work-roughened. the toil that her hands showed was, as he realized, only a part of her burden. "i think it affects me a very great deal," she declared slowly. then a curious compassion for her troubled the man. she was young and very comely, and it was, he felt, cruelly hard on her that, bearing her father's shame, she must lead a life of hard labour at that desolate ranch. he felt an almost uncontrollable desire to comfort her, and to take her cares upon himself, but that was out of the question, since he was merely a ranch-hand, a bush-chopper, who owed even the food he ate and the clothes he wore to her. there is, as he realized then, after all, very little one can do to lighten another's load, but in that moment the half-formed aspirations that she had called into existence in his mind expanded suddenly. there was, he felt, no reason why he should not acquire money and influence, once he made the effort. "miss waynefleet," he said haltingly, "i can only offer you my sincere sympathy. still"--and perhaps he did not recognize how clear the connection of ideas was--"i am going down to see about that dam-building contract to-morrow." then laura smiled, and took up her sewing again. her burden, as she realized, was hers alone, but she knew that this man would no longer drift. she had called up his latent capacities, and he would prove his manhood. chapter v the flood the autumn afternoon was oppressively hot when gordon, floundering among the whitened driftwood piled along the river-bank, came upon nasmyth, who lay upon a slope of rock, with his hands, which were badly bruised, clenched upon a drill. another man, who stood upon a plank inserted into a crevice, swung a hammer, and its ponderous head came ringing down upon the drill, which nasmyth jerked round at every stroke, so many times to the minute, with rhythmic regularity. as nasmyth was apparently too busily engaged just then to trouble about him, gordon sat down on a big log, and taking out his pipe, looked about him when he had lighted it. the river had made a gap for itself in the great forest that filled the valley, and the sombre firs that rose in serried ranks upon its farther bank rolled back up the hillside, streaked here and there with a little thin white mist. a mile or so away, and lower down the valley, there was an opening in their shadowy masses, out of which rose the ringing of hammers and a long trail of smoke, for workmen from the cities were building the new wood-pulp mill there. in the foreground the river swirled by, frothing at flood level, for a week's fierce sunshine had succeeded a month of torrential rain, and the snow high up on a distant peak was melting fast. nobody about the little settlement at the head of the deep inlet had seen the water quite so high at that season, and gordon noticed how it frothed and boiled about the row of stone-backed piles that stretched out from either bank. as he listened to the hoarse roar of the pent-up torrent, he understood what that partly completed dam must have cost nasmyth. after a little time nasmyth rose, and, stepping on the plank, wearily straightened his back. "we're down far enough," he announced. "let me have the two sticks of giant-powder, and then tell the boys to jump for cover." the other man, who sprang down from his perch, handed him what appeared to be two thick sticks of yellow wax, and gordon watched him as he carefully nipped a copper detonator down on a length of snaky fuse, and embedded it in the plastic material. then he cautiously tamped the two yellow rolls down into the drilled-out hole. after that he lighted the fuse, and, clambering down the slope of rock, saw gordon. "we'll get out of this. it's a short fuse," he said. gordon, who was acquainted with the action of giant-powder, had no desire to stay, and they floundered as fast as possible over the driftwood and masses of shattered rock until nasmyth drew his companion behind a towering fir. then there was a sharp detonation, a crash, and a shower of flying stones went smashing through the forest and into the river. one, which gordon fancied must have weighed about two hundred pounds, drove close past them, and struck a young cedar, which snapped off beneath the impact. then there was a sudden silence, and nasmyth stretched out his arms with a suggestive weariness before he sat down and took out his pipe. "no one could have expected that stone to come this way," he remarked, with a little laugh. "it's an example of how contrary things can be. in fact, they've been about as contrary as it's possible the last month or so. as no doubt you have noticed, one very seldom gets much encouragement when he takes the uphill trail. it's very rarely made any easier for him." gordon grinned, though he realized that the trail his companion had set out upon was very steep indeed. he had secured the dam-building contract, which was not astonishing, since nobody else appeared anxious to undertake it, and he had already acquired a certain proficiency with the axe and drill. there is as yet very little specialization in that land, which is in many respects fortunate for those who live in it, and the small rancher cheerfully undertakes any kind of primitive engineering that seems likely to provide him with a few dollars, from building timber bridges to blasting waggon roads out of the hardest rock. what is more, he usually makes a success of it. in nasmyth's case, however, the rise of water had made his task almost insuperably difficult, and it had already left a certain mark on him. gordon, who was, after all, a doctor, naturally noticed this as he watched him. nasmyth was very lean now, but he was also hard and muscular, and the old blue shirt, which hung open at the neck, and torn duck trousers, which clung about him still wet with river-water, accentuated the wiry suppleness of his frame; but it was in his face that gordon noticed the greatest change. the good-humoured, tolerant indifference he remembered had melted out of it, the lips seemed set more firmly, and the eyes were resolute and keen. nasmyth, so gordon noticed, had grown since he first took up his duties as waynefleet's hired hand. still, though it was less apparent, the stamp of refinement and what gordon called, for want of a better term, "sensibility," clung to him, and it seemed to the trained observer that the qualities it suggested might yet handicap his comrade in a country where the struggle with primitive forces chiefly demands from man an unreasoning animal courage. in that land the small contractor and bush-rancher must bear the brunt on his body every day, toiling waist-deep in icy waters, or gripping the drill with bleeding hands, while each fresh misfortune that follows flood and frost is met with a further strain on weary muscles and sterner resolution. it is a fight that is usually hardest for the man who thinks, and in which the one thing that counts is the brutal, bulldog valour that takes hold and holds on in spite of each crushing blow. "this high water," said gordon, "has kept you back considerably." "it has," nasmyth replied with emphasis. "it has cost me more money that i care to figure up the last month, and we're considerably behind. the dam's still at the mercy of the next big flood." "it's a little curious that you seem to stand it better than you did the logging," said gordon, with a quick glance at him. nasmyth appeared to consider this. "i do, and that's a fact. for one thing, i'm fighting for my own hand, and no doubt that counts, though, perhaps, it doesn't go quite far enough. after all, it's a point you ought to know more about than i do." his companion smiled. "i can describe the mechanical connection between the thought in a man's brain and the movement of his muscles. it's comparatively simple; but when you understand that, you're only beginning. there's much more behind. to particularize, if you had done what you're doing now when you were logging, it would, in all probability, have broken you up again." nasmyth fancied that this was correct, though, as he had admitted, he could give no reason for it. he was only conscious that he was being constrained by some new influence, and, under the pressure it laid upon him, he became almost insensible to physical weariness. he had now a motive for fighting, in place of drifting, that no mere hired hand can possess. his indolent content had been rudely dissipated, and something that had lain dormant in the depths of his nature had come uppermost. it was certainly laura waynefleet who had given it the first impulse, but why he had permitted her to impose her will on him was a matter that was still incomprehensible to him. seeing that he did not answer, gordon changed the subject. "some of the boys and i have been wondering how you contrived to finance the thing," he said. nasmyth smiled, though there was just a trace of darker colour in his face. "well," he replied, "one can get tolerably long credit from most of the bush stores, and clipton has let me have provisions for the boys on quite reasonable terms. besides, as it happens, there is money in the family. there was a time when one might have considered it almost the duty of certain relatives of mine to give me a lift, but i didn't offer them the opportunity. i came out here and set about driving cows and chopping trees instead." "you felt you'd sooner cut your hand off than give them a gentle hint," remarked gordon. "it's not an uncommon feeling, but, when you give way to it, it clears the other people. won't you go on?" "when i undertook this affair, i laid the opportunity before them, and one--the last i expected anything of that kind from--sent me out a draft. he kindly pointed out that there appeared to be in me certain capabilities, which he had never supposed i possessed, and added that, if i ever really succeeded in building a dam or anything else useful, he would be pleased to take a share in my next venture. in the meanwhile, he would charge me interest on the amount of that draft. perhaps i may mention that the man in question was naturally the one the rest of them rather looked down upon." gordon laughed. "oh, yes," he said, "i like that, naturally. i guess you would have taken their view of him once. well, since you can put your pride in your pocket, you're evidently growing. there's just one way of putting anything through here, and that's to take hold and hang right on, no matter what it costs. i guess there's one of the boys wanting you." a man stood knee-deep in the river waving his hand. nasmyth rose and stretched himself. "they seem to want me all the time from sun-up until it's dark," he said. "in one way it's a little curious, since there's reason to believe that most of them know a good deal more about what we're doing than i do myself. you'll excuse me." gordon smiled as his comrade strode away. he was one who had studied human nature, and because he was well acquainted with the bushman's capabilities, he knew that there were also limitations to them. even in such matters as the splitting of hard rock and the driving of massive piles into the river-bed, the higher intelligence of the man of intellect had its effect. gordon smoked his pipe out as he watched nasmyth flounder into the stream among the other men, pushing a little car loaded with broken rock that apparently ran along a submerged track. then he strolled back toward the settlement. nasmyth toiled on in the river until the camp-cook hammered upon a suspended iron sheet as a signal that supper was ready. the summons was answered without delay. with the water running from their clothing nasmyth and his men went back to the little log shanty. one or two changed their dripping garments, but the rest left their clothes to dry upon them, as their employer did. when the plentiful, warm supper had been eaten, nasmyth went back to the little hut that served him as store and sleeping quarters. a big, grizzled man from mattawa, ontario, went in with him, and lounged upon the table while he sat in his bunk, which was filled with fresh spruce twigs. "i'm pretty well played out, and if i'm to work to-morrow, i've got to sleep to-night," said nasmyth. the grizzled axeman nodded. "well," he volunteered, "i'll stand watch. i was in the last two nights, and i guess it's up to me to see you through. we're going to have trouble, if one of those big logs fetches up across the sluiceway. the river's full of them, and she's risen 'most a foot since sun-up." nasmyth held up one hand, and both heard the deep roar of frothing water that came in with the smell of the firs through the open door. the bush was very still outside, and that hoarse, throbbing note flung back by the rock slope and climbing pines filled the valley. nasmyth smiled grimly, for it was suggestive of the great forces against which he had pitted his puny strength. then there was a crash, and, a few moments later, a curious thud, and both men listened, intent and strung up, until the turmoil of the river rose alone again. "a big log," said the older man. "she has gone through the run. guess we'll get one by-and-by long enough to jamb. now, if you'd run out those wing-frames i was stuck on, she'd have took them straight through, every one." "the trouble was that i hadn't the money, mattawa," said nasmyth dryly. his companion nodded, for this was a trouble he could understand. "well," he answered, "when you haven't got it you have to face the consequences. i'll roust you out if a big log comes along." mattawa went out, and soon afterwards nasmyth, whose clothes were now partly dry, lay down, dressed as he was, in his twig-packed bunk, with his pipe in his hand. it was growing a little colder, and a keen air, which had in it the properties of an elixir, blew in, but that was a thing nasmyth scarcely noticed, and the dominant roar of the river held his attention. he wondered again why he had been drawn into the conflict with it, or, rather, why he had permitted laura waynefleet to set him such a task, and the answer that it was because he desired to hold her good opinion, and, as he had said, to do her credit, did not seem to go far enough. it merely suggested the further question why he should wish to keep her friendship. still, there was no disguising the fact that, once he had undertaken the thing, it had got hold of him, and he felt he must go on until his task was successfully accomplished or he was crushed and beaten. it seemed very likely, then, that utter defeat would be his fate. while he pondered, the pipe fell from his hand, and the river's turmoil rang in deep pulsations through his dreams. he was awakened suddenly by a wet hand on his shoulder, and, scrambling out of his bunk on the instant, he saw mattawa with a lantern in his hand. "log right across the sluice-run," said the watcher. "more coming along behind it. they'll sure get piling up." nasmyth did not remember that he gave any directions when he sprang, half asleep, out of the shanty. the roar of water had a different note in it, and the clangour of the iron sheet one of the men was pounding rang out harshly. a half-moon hung above the black pines, and dimly-seen men were flitting like shadows toward the waterside. they appeared to know what it was advisable to do, but they stopped just a moment on the edge of the torrent, for which nobody could have blamed them. the water, streaked with smears of froth and foam, swirled by, and there was a tumultuous white seething where the flood boiled across the log in the midst of the stream. the log blocked the gap left open to let the driftwood through, and, as nasmyth knew, great trees torn up in distant valleys were coming down with the flood. it seemed to him that he could not reasonably have expected to clear that obstacle with a battalion of log-drivers, and he had only a handful of weary men. still the men went in, floundering knee-deep in the flood, along the submerged pile of stone and clutching at the piles that bound it to save themselves when the stream threatened to sweep their feet from under them, until they came to the gap where the great tree, rolling in the grip of the torrent, thrashed its grinding branches against the stone. then, though it was difficult to see how a man of them found a foothold, or kept it on the heaving trunk, the big axes flashed and fell, while a few shadowy figures ran along the top of the log to attack the massy butt across the opening. it would have been arduous labour in daylight and at low-water, but these were men who had faced the most that flood and frost could do. they set about their task in the dark, for that land would have been a wilderness still if the men in it had shown themselves unduly careful of either life or limb. the great branches yielded beneath the glinting blades, and went on down river again, but nasmyth, who felt the axe-haft slip in his greasy hands, did not try to lead. it was sufficient if he could keep pace with the rest of the wood-choppers, which was, after all, a thing most men, reared as he had been, would certainly not have done. the lust of conflict was upon him that night, and, balancing himself ankle-deep in water on the trunk that heaved and dipped beneath him, he swung the trenchant steel. he felt that he was pitted against great primeval forces, and, with the gorged veins rising on his forehead and the perspiration dripping from him, man's primitive pride and passions urged him to the struggle. how long it was before they had stripped the tree to a bare log he did not know, but twice, as they toiled on, he saw a man splash into the river, and, rising in the eddy beneath the submerged dam, crawl, dripping, out again, and at length he found himself beside mattawa, whirling his axe above a widening notch, and keeping rhythmic stroke. he knew he was acquitting himself creditably then, for mattawa had swung the axe since he could lift it, and there are men, and mechanics, too, who cannot learn to use it as the bushmen do in a lifetime; but he also knew that he could not keep pace with his comrade very long. in the meanwhile, he held his aching muscles to their task, and the gleaming blades whirled high above their shoulders in the pale light of the moon. as each left the widening gap the other came shearing down. the other men were now plying peevie and handspike at the butt of the log, and he and mattawa toiled on alone, two dim and shadowy figures in the midst of the flood, until at last there was a rending of fibres, and mattawa leapt clear. "jump!" he gasped. "she's going." nasmyth jumped. he went down in four or five feet of water, and had the sense to stay there while the log drove over him. then he came up, and clutching it, held on while it swept downstream into a slacker eddy. there were several other figures apparently clinging to the butt of it, and when he saw them slip off into the river one by one, he let go, too. he was swung out of the eddy into a white turmoil, which hurled him against froth-lapped stones, but at length he found sure footing, and crawled up the bank, which most of his companions had reached before him. when the others came up, he found that he was aching all over, and evidently was badly bruised. he stood still, shivering a little, and blinked at them. "you're all here?" he said. "where are those axes?" it appeared that most of them were in the river, which was not very astonishing, for a man cannot reasonably be expected to swim through a flood with a big axe in his hand, and when somebody said so, nasmyth made a little gesture of resignation. "well," he said, "the logs will just have to pile up, if another big one comes along before the morning." this was evident. they were all dead weary, and most of them were badly bruised, as well, and they trooped back to the shanty, while nasmyth limped into his hut. nasmyth sloughed off his dripping garments, and was asleep in five minutes after he had crawled into his bunk. chapter vi the breaking of the dam a faint grey light was creeping into the shanty when nasmyth awoke again, and lay still for a minute or two, while his senses came slowly back to him. the first thing of which he was definitely conscious was a physical discomfort that rendered the least movement painful. he felt sore all over, and there was a distressful ache in one hip and shoulder, which he fancied was the result of falling on the log, or perhaps of having been hurled against the boulders by the rapids through which he had reached the bank. his physical condition did not trouble him seriously, for he had grown more or less accustomed to muscular weariness, and the cramping pains which spring from toiling long hours in cold water, and, although he made a grimace, as he raised himself a trifle, it was the sound outside that occupied most of his attention. the door stood open, as he had left it, and a clean, cold air that stirred his blood came in, with the smell of fir and cedar, but what he noticed was the deeper tone in the roar of the river that seemed flung back in sonorous antiphones by the climbing pines. it had occurred to him on other occasions when he was in a fanciful mood that they were singing a majestic _benedicite_, but just then he was uneasily conscious that there was a new note in the great reverberating harmonies. stately pine and towering cedar had raised their voices, too, and a wild wailing fell through the long waves of sound from the highest of them on the crest of the hill. it was evident that a fresh breeze was blowing down the valley, and, as it must have swept the hollow farther up among the ranges, which was filled with a deep blue lake, nasmyth realized that it would drive at least another foot of water into the river as well as set adrift the giant logs that lay among the boulders. even then they were, he fancied, in all probability driving down upon his half-finished dam. rousing himself with an effort, he clambered out of his bunk, and then gripped the little table hard, for his hip pained him horribly as his weight came upon it. then, as he struggled into his clothing, there was a heavy thud outside, that was followed by a crashing and grinding, and a gasping man appeared in the door of the shanty. "big log across the run," he cried, "three or four more of them coming along." nasmyth, who said nothing, set his lips tight, and was out of the shanty in another moment or two. a glance at the river showed him that any effort he could make would, in all probability, be futile; but he and the others waded out into the flood and recommenced the struggle. that, at least, was a thing they owed to themselves, and they toiled for an hour or two very much as they had done in the darkness; only that fresh logs were now coming down on them every few minutes, and at last they recognized that they were beaten. then they went back dejectedly, and nasmyth sat down to breakfast, though he had very little appetite. he felt that all the strength he had would be needed that day. after breakfast he lay among the boulders gnawing his unlighted pipe and watching the growing mass of driftwood that chafed and ground against the piles of the dam. nothing, he recognized, could save the dam now. it was bound to go, for the piles were only partly backed with stone, and, in any case, men do not build in that new country as they do in england. their needs are constantly varying, and their works are intended merely to serve the purpose of the hour. it is a growing country, and the men in it know that the next generation will not be content with anything that they can do, and, what is more to the purpose, they themselves will want something bigger and more efficient in another year or two. hence the dam was a somewhat frail and temporary structure of timber as well as stone, but it would probably have done what was asked of it had it been completed before the floods set in. as it was, nasmyth knew that he would see the end of it before another hour slipped by. it came even sooner than he had expected. there was a dull crash; the piles that rose above the flood collapsed, and the mass of grinding timber drove on across the ruined dam. then nasmyth rose, and, stretching himself wearily, went back to his shanty. he felt he could not face the sympathy of his workmen. he was still sitting there in a state of utter physical weariness and black dejection, when, towards the middle of the afternoon, the door was quietly opened, and laura waynefleet came in. she looked at him as he remembered she had done once or twice at the ranch, with compassion in her eyes, and he was a little astonished to feel that, instead of bringing him consolation, her pity hurt him. then he felt the blood rise to his face, and he looked away from her. "you have heard already?" he asked. "yes," said the girl softly. "i was at the settlement, and they told me there. i am so sorry." nasmyth winced, but he contrived to say, "thank you," and then glanced round the untidy shanty, which was strewn with dripping clothes. "of course," he added, "it is something to know that i have your sympathy; but i must not keep you here." it was not a tactful speech, but laura smiled. "i meant to take you out," she said. "you have been sitting here brooding since the dam went, and from what mattawa told me, you haven't had any dinner." "no," said nasmyth; "now i come to think of it, i don't believe i have. i'm not sure it's very astonishing." "then we'll go away somewhere and make tea among the pines." nasmyth glanced suggestively at his attire. his duck jacket had shrunk with constant wetting, and would not button across the old blue shirt, which fell apart at his bronzed neck. the sleeves had also drawn up from his wrists, and left the backs of his hands unduly prominent. his hands were scarred, and the fingers were bruised where the hammer-head had fallen on them in wet weather as it glanced from the drill. the girl was immaculate in a white hat and a dress of light flowered print. "do i look like going on a picnic with you?" he said. "the few other things i possess are in much the same condition." laura had naturally noticed the state of his attire, but it was his face that troubled her. it was haggard and his eyes were heavy. as she had decided long before, it was a face of grecian type, and she would sooner have had it roman. this man, she felt, was too sensitive, and apt to yield to sudden impulses, and just then her heart ached over him. still, she contrived to laugh. "pshaw!" she said. "i told mattawa to get me a few things ready." nasmyth followed her out of the shanty, and when he had picked up the basket and kettle somebody had left at the door, she turned to him. "where shall we go?" she asked. "anywhere," said nasmyth, "that is, as long as it's away from the river." laura saw the shrinking in his eyes as he gazed at the swirling flood, and though she was sorry for him, it roused in her a momentary spark of anger. then she went with him up the hillside beneath the climbing pines until they reached a shadowy hollow near the crest of it, out of which a little stream trickled down. "now light a fire, while i see what there is in the basket," she said. she found a splendid trout, a packet of tea, and a little bag of self-raising flour, among other sundries, and for the next half-hour she kept nasmyth busy making flapjacks and frying the trout. then they sat down to a simple meal, and when it was over, nasmyth laughed. "it's a little astonishing, in view of how i felt at breakfast, but there's nothing left," he sighed. "in one way the admission's a little humiliating, but i almost feel myself again." "it's supposed to be a very natural one in the case of a man," said laura. "you can smoke if you like. i want to talk to you." nasmyth stretched himself out on the other side of the fire, and laura, leaning forward a little, looked at him. without knowing exactly why, he felt somewhat uneasy beneath her gaze. "now," she said, "i would like to hear what you are going to do." the man made a little rueful gesture. "i don't know. chop trees again for some rancher, most probably--in fact, i was wondering whether you would have me back as a ranch-hand." "ah!" cried the girl sharply, while a trace of hardness crept into her eyes, "that is very much what i expected. as it happens, i am far from satisfied with the man we have, but i should not think of replacing him with you just now." nasmyth winced, and it was characteristic of him that he endeavoured to beguile her away from the object she evidently had in view. "what's the matter with the man?" he asked. "a diversity of gifts. among other things, he appears to possess an extensive acquaintance with colonial politics, and he and my father discuss the regeneration of the government when they might with advantage be doing something else." nasmyth frowned. "i understand. that's one reason why i wanted to come back. after all, there is a good deal i could save you from. in fact, i get savage now and then when i think of what you are probably being left to do upon the ranch. i ventured a hint or two to your father, but he seemed impervious." he hesitated for a moment. "no doubt it's a delicate subject, but it's a little difficult quietly to contemplate the fact that, while those men talk politics, you--" "i do their work?" suggested laura with a lifting of her arched eyebrows. "after all, isn't that or something like it what generally happens when men turn their backs upon their task?" nasmyth flushed. "i admit that i was trying to break away from mine, but it seems you have undertaken to head me off and drive me back to it again." "that was more or less what i wished," said laura quietly. "well," nasmyth replied, "as i think you're a little hard on me, i'll try to put my views before you. to begin with, the dam is done for." "you are quite sure? you built it so far once. is it altogether out of the question for you to do as much again?" nasmyth felt his face grow hot. she was looking at him with quiet eyes, which had, however, the faintest suggestion of disdain in them. "the question is why i should want to do it," he said. "ah!" rejoined laura, "you have no aspirations at all? still, i'm not quite sure that is exactly what i mean--in fact, i think i mean considerably more. you are quite content to throw away your birthright, and relinquish all claim to the station you were born in?" the man smiled somewhat bitterly. "i think you understand that it's a custom of this country not to demand from any man an account of what he may have done before he came out to it. in my particular case it was, however, nothing very discreditable, and i once had my aspirations, or, as you prefer to consider it, i recognized my obligations. then the blow fell unexpectedly, and i came out here and became a hired man--a wandering chopper. after all, one learns to be content rather easily, which is in several ways fortunate. then you instilled fresh aspirations--it's the right word in this case--into me, and i made another attempt, only to be hurled back again. there doesn't seem to be much use in attempting the impossible." "then a thing is to be considered impossible after one fails twice? there are men who fail--and go on again--all their lives long." "i'm afraid," nasmyth declared in a dull tone, "i am not that kind of man. after all, to be flung down from the station you were born to--i'm using your own words--and turned suddenly adrift to labour with one's hands takes a good deal of the courage out of one. i almost think if you could put yourself in my place you would understand." laura smiled in a suggestive fashion, and looked down at the hands she laid upon her knee. they were capable, as well as shapely, and, as he had noticed more than once, the signs of toil were very plain on them. "i never did an hour's useful work before i came out west," she said. she had produced the effect she probably desired, for in the midst of his sudden pity for her nasmyth was troubled with a sense of shame. this girl, he realized, had been reared as gently as he had been himself, and he knew that she now toiled most of every day at what in the older country would have been considered most unwomanly tasks. still, she had borne with it cheerfully, and had courage to spare for others whose strength was less than hers. he sat silent for almost a minute, looking down between the great pines into the valley, and, as he did so, he vaguely felt the influence of the wilderness steal over him. the wind had fallen now, and there was a deep stillness in the climbing forest which the roar of the river emphasized. those trees were vast of girth, and they were very cold. in spite of whirling snow, and gale, and frost, they had grown slowly to an impressive stateliness. in nature, as he recognized, all was conflict, and it was the fine adjustment of opposing forces that made for the perfection of grace, and strength, and beauty. then it seemed to him that his companion was like the forest--still, and strong, and stately--because she had been through the stress of conflict too. these were, however, fancies, and he turned around again to her with a sudden resolution expressed in his face and attitude. "there's an argument you might have used, miss waynefleet," he told her. "i said i would try to do you credit, and it almost seems as if i had forgotten it. well, if you will wait a little, i will try again." he rose, and, crossing over, stood close beside her, with his hand laid gently on her shoulder, looking down on her with a quiet smile. "after all," he added, "there's a good deal you might have said that you haven't--in fact, it's one of your strong points that, as a rule, you content yourself with going just far enough. well, because you wish it, i am somehow going to build that dam again." she looked up at him swiftly with a gleam in her eyes, and nasmyth stooped a little, while his hand closed hard upon her shoulder. "you saved my life, and you have tried to do almost as much in a different way since then," he went on. "it is probably easier to bring a sick man back to health than it is to make him realize his obligations and to imbue him with the courage to face them when it's evident that he doesn't possess it. still, you can't do things of that kind without results, and i think you ought to know that i belong to you." there was a trace of colour in laura waynefleet's face, and she quivered a little under his grasp, but she looked at him steadily, and read his mind in his eyes. the man was stirred by sudden, evanescent passion and exaggerated gratitude, while pity for her had, she fancied, also its effect on him; but that was the last thing she desired, and, with a swift movement, she shook off his hand. "ah!" she said; "don't spoil things." her tone was quiet, but it was decisive, and nasmyth, whose face flushed darkly, let his hand fall back to his side. then she rose, and turned to him. "if we are to be friends, this must never happen again," she added. then they went down the hillside and back to the settlement, where nasmyth harnessed the team, which the rancher who lived near occasionally placed at waynefleet's disposal, to a dilapidated waggon. when she gathered the reins up, laura smiled down on him. "after all," she reminded him, "you will remember that i expect you to do me credit." she drove away, and nasmyth walked back to his camp beside the dam, where the men were awaiting the six o'clock supper. he leaned upon a pine-stump, looking at them gravely, when he had called them together. "boys," he said, "the river, as you know, has wiped out most of the dam. now, it was a tight fit for me to finance the thing, and i don't get any further payment until the stone-work's graded to a certain level. well, if you leave me now, i've just enough money in hand to square off with each of you. you see, if you go you're sure of your pay. if you stay, most of the money will go to settle the storekeeper's and the powder bills, and should we fail again, you'll have thrown your time away. i'd like you to understand the thing; but whether you stay or not, i'm holding on." there was silence for half a minute, and then the men, gathering into little groups, whispered to one another, until mattawa stood forward. "all you have to do is to go straight ahead. we're coming along with you solid--every blame one of us," he said. a red flush crept into nasmyth's face. "thank you, boys. after that i've got to put this contract through," he answered. chapter vii laura makes a dress the frost had grown keener as darkness crept over the forest, and the towering pines about the clearing rose in great black spires into the nipping air, but it was almost unpleasantly hot in the little general room of waynefleet's ranch. waynefleet, who was fond of physical comfort, had gorged the snapping stove, and the smell of hot iron filled the log-walled room. there was also a dryness in its atmosphere which would probably have had an unpleasant effect upon anyone not used to it. the rancher, however, did not appear to feel it. he lay drowsily in a big hide chair, and his old velvet jacket and evening shoes were strangely out of harmony with his surroundings. waynefleet made it a rule to dress for the six o'clock meal, which he persisted in calling dinner. he had disposed of a quantity of potatoes and apples at the settlement of late, and had now a really excellent cigar in his hand, while a little cup of the mocha coffee, brought from victoria for his especial use, stood on the table beside him. waynefleet had cultivated tastes, and invariably gratified them, when it was possible, while it had not occurred to him that there was anything significant in the fact that his daughter confined herself to the acrid green tea provided by the settlement store. he never did notice a point of that kind, and, if anyone had ventured to call his attention to it, he would probably have been indignant as well as astonished. as a rule, however, nobody endeavours to impress unpleasant facts upon men of waynefleet's character. in their case it is clearly not worth while. "do you intend to go on with that dressmaking much longer?" he asked petulantly. "the click of your scissors has an irritating effect on me, and, as you may have noticed, i cannot spread my paper on the table. it cramps one's arms to hold it up." laura swept part of the litter of fabric off the table, and it was only natural that she did it a trifle abruptly. she had been busy with rough tasks, from most of which her father might have relieved her had he possessed a less fastidious temperament, until supper, and there were reasons why she desired an hour or two to herself. "i will not be longer than i can help," she said. waynefleet lifted his eyebrows sardonically as he glanced at the scattered strips of fabric. "this," he said, "is evidently in preparation for that ridiculous pulp-mill ball. in view of the primitive manners of the people we shall be compelled to mix with, i really think i am exercising a good deal of self-denial in consenting to go at all. why you should wish to do so is, i confess, altogether beyond me." "i understood that you considered it advisable to keep on good terms with the manager," said laura, with a trace of impatience. "he has bought a good deal of produce from you to feed his workmen with." her father made a gesture of resignation. "one has certainly to put up with a good deal that is unpleasant in this barbarous land--in fact, almost everything in it jars upon one," he complained. "you, however, i have sometimes wondered to notice, appear almost content here." laura looked up with a smile, but said nothing. she, at least, had the sense and the courage to make the most of what could not be changed. it was a relief to her when, a minute or two later, the hired man opened the door. "if you've got the embrocation, i guess i'll give that ox's leg a rub," he said. waynefleet rose and turned to the girl. "i'll put on my rubber overshoes," he announced. "as i mentioned that i might have to go out, it's a pity you didn't think of laying out my coat to warm." laura brought the overshoes, and he permitted her to fasten them for him and to hold his coat while he put it on, after which he went out grumbling, and she sat down again to her sewing with a strained expression in her eyes, for there were times when her father tried her patience severely. she sighed as she contemplated the partly rigged-up dress stretched out on the table, for she could not help remembering how she had last worn it at a brilliant english function. then she had been flattered and courted, and now she was merely an unpaid toiler on the lonely ranch. money was, as a rule, signally scarce there, but even when there were a few dollars in waynefleet's possession, it seldom occurred to him to offer any of them to his daughter. it is also certain that nobody could have convinced him that it was only through her efforts he was able to keep the ranch going at all. she never suggested anything of the kind to him, but she felt now and then that her burden was almost beyond her strength. she quietly went on with her sewing. there was to be a dance at the new pulp-mill, which had just been roofed, and, after all, she was young, and could take a certain pleasure in the infrequent festivities of her adopted country. besides, the forest ranchers dance well, and there were men among them who had once followed other occupations; while she knew that nasmyth would be there--in fact, having at length raised his dam to the desired level, he would be to a certain extent an honoured guest. she was not exactly sure how she regarded him, though it was not altogether as a comrade, and she felt there was, in one sense, some justice in his admission that he belonged to her. she had, in all probability, saved his life, and--what was, perhaps, as much--had roused him from supine acquiescence, and inspired him with a sustaining purpose. after the day when she had saved him from abject despair over his ruined dam, he had acquitted himself valiantly, and she had a quiet pride in him. moreover, she was aware of a natural desire to appear to advantage at the approaching dance. there was, however, difficulty to be grappled with. the dress was old, and when remade in a later style would be unfortunately plain. the few pairs of gloves she had brought from england were stained and spotted with damp, and her eyes grew wistful as she turned over the stock list of a victoria dry goods store. the thing would be so easy, if she had only a little more money, but she sighed as she glanced into her purse. then she took up the gloves and a strip of trimming, and looked at them with a little frown, but while she did so there were footsteps outside, and the door was opened. a man, whom she recognized as a hired hand from a ranch in the neighbourhood, stood in the entrance with a packet in his hand. "i won't come in," he said. "i met nasmyth down at the settlement. he'd just come back from victoria, and he asked me to bring this along." he went away after he had handed her the packet, and a gleam of pleasure crept into laura's eyes when she opened it. there was first of all a box of gloves of various colours, and then inside another packet a wonderful piece of lace. the artistic delicacy of the lace appealed to her, for though she possessed very few dainty things she was fond of them, and she almost fancied that she had not seen anything of the kind more beautiful in england. as she unfolded it a strip of paper fell out, and the warm blood swept into her face as she read the message on it. "considering everything, i really don't think you could regard it as a liberty," it ran. "you have given me a good deal more than this." then for just a moment her eyes grew hazy. in proportion to the man's means, it was a costly gift, and, except for him, nobody had shown her much consideration since she had left england. she was a trifle perplexed, for she did not think there was lace of that kind on sale often in victoria, and, in regard to the gloves, it was not evident how he had known her size. then she remembered that one of the cotton ones she sometimes wore had disappeared some little time before, and once more the flush crept into her cheeks. that almost decided her not to wear his lace, but she felt that to refrain from doing so would raise the question as to how they stood with regard to one another, which was one she did not desire to think out closely then; and, after all, the lace was exactly what she wanted to complete the dress. she rolled it together, and put it and the gloves away, but she treasured the little note. it was a week later when her father drove her to the pulp-mill in a jolting waggon, and arrived there a little earlier than he had expected. a dance usually begins with a bountiful supper in that country, but waynefleet, who was, as a rule, willing to borrow implements or teams from his bush neighbours, would seldom eat with them when he could help it. he was accordingly not quite pleased to find the supper had not yet been cleared away, but laura, who understood what he was feeling, contrived to lead him into a vacant place at one of the tables. then she sat down, and looked about her. the great room was hung with flags and cedar boughs, and the benches down the long uncovered tables were crowded. the men's attire was motley--broadcloth and duck; white shirts, starched or limp, and blue ones; shoes with the creeper-spikes filed down, and long boots to the knees. there were women present also, and they wore anything from light print, put together for the occasion, to treasured garments made in montreal or toronto perhaps a dozen years before, but for all that the assembly was good to look upon. there was steadfast courage in the bronzed faces, and most of those who sat about the long tables had kindly eyes. the stamp of a clean life of effort was upon them, and there was a certain lithe gracefulness in the unconscious poses of the straight-limbed men. there was no sign of limp slovenliness about them. even in their relaxation they were intent and alert, and, as she watched them, laura realized something of their restless activity and daring optimism. they believe in anything that is good enough in that country, and are in consequence cheerfully willing to attempt anything, even if to other men it would appear altogether visionary and impossible, and simple faith goes a long way when supplemented by patient labour. laura suddenly became conscious that the manager of the pulp-mill, a little wiry man, in white shirt and store clothes, was speaking at the head of the table. "in one way, it's not a very big thing we have done, boys," he said; and laura was quick to notice the significance of the fact, which was also characteristic of the country, that he counted himself as one of them. "we've chopped a hole in the primeval forest, held back the river, and set up our mill. that's about all on the face of it, but there's rather more behind. it's another round with nature, and we've got her down again. it's a thing you have to do west of the rockies, or she'll crush the life out of you. there are folks in the eastern cities who call her beneficent; but they don't quite understand what was laid on man in eden long ago. here he's up against flood and frost and snow. well, i guess we've done about all we can, and now that i've paid my respects to the chopper and carpenter-gang, there's another man i want to mention. he took hold of the contract to put us up our dam, and kept hold through the blamedest kind of luck. there's hard grit in him and the boys he led, and the river couldn't wash it out of them. well, when the big turbines are humming and the mill's grinding out money for all of you, i guess you're going to remember the boys who built the dam." there was a shout which shook the wooden building, and laura sat very still when nasmyth stood up. there was no doubt that he was a favourite with everybody there, and she knew that she had nerved him to the fight. he did not appear altogether at ease, and she waited with a curious expectancy for what he had to say. it was very little, but she appreciated the tact which made him use the speech his audience was accustomed to. "i had a good crowd," he said. "with the boys i had behind me i couldn't back down." then his voice shook a little. "still, i was mighty near it once or twice. it was the boys' determination to hold on--and another thing--that put new grit in me." without being conscious of what he was doing, he swept his glance down the long table until it rested on laura waynefleet's face. she felt the blood creep into her cheeks, for she knew what he meant, but she looked at him steadily, and her eyes were shining. then he spread his hands out. "i felt i daren't shame boys of that kind," he said, and hastily sat down. his observations were certainly somewhat crude, but the little quiver in his voice got hold of those who heard him, and once more the big building rang with cheering. as the sound of hearty acclamation died away there was a great clatter of thrust-back benches through which the tuning of a fiddle broke. then out of the tentative twang of strings rose, clear and silvery, the lament of flora macdonald, thrilling with melancholy, and there were men and women there whose hearts went back to the other wild and misty land of rock and pine and frothing river which they had left far away across the sea. it may be that the musician desired a contrast, or that he was merely feeling for command of the instrument, for the plaintive melody that ran from shift to shift into a thin elfin wailing far up the sobbing strings broke off suddenly, and was followed by the crisp jar of crashing chords. then "the flowers of edinburgh" rang out with caledonian verve in it and a mad seductive swing, and the guests streamed out to the middle of the floor. that they had just eaten an excellent supper was a matter of no account with them. nasmyth, in the meanwhile, elbowed his way through the crowd of dancers until he stood at laura's side, and as he looked at her, there was a trace of embarrassment in his manner. she wore his lace, but until that moment her attire had never suggested the station to which she had been born. now she seemed to have stepped, fresh and immaculate, untouched by toil, out of the world to which he had once belonged. she was, for that night at least, no longer an impoverished rancher's daughter, but a lady of station. with a twinkle in his eyes, he made her a little formal inclination, and she, knowing what he was thinking, answered with an old-world curtsey, after which a grinning ox-teamster of habitant extraction turned and clapped nasmyth's shoulder approvingly. "v'la la belle chose!" he said. "mamselle laura is altogether ravissante. me, i dance with no one else if she look at me like dat." then nasmyth and laura laughed, and glided into the dance, though, in the case of most of their companions, "plunged" would have been the better word for it. english reserve is not esteemed in that land, and the axemen danced with the mingled verve of grey caledonia and light-hearted france, while a little man with fiery hair from the misty western isles shrieked encouragement at them, and maddened them with his fiddle. even nasmyth and laura gave themselves up to the thrill of it, but as they swung together through the clashing of the measure, which some of their companions did not know very well, confused recollections swept through their minds, and they recalled dances in far different surroundings. now and then they even fell back into old tricks of speech, and then, remembering, broke off with a ringing laughter. they were young still, and the buoyancy of the country they had adopted was in both of them. the dance ended too soon, and, when the music broke off with a crash of clanging chords, nasmyth led his partner out of the press into a little log-walled room where the half-built dynamos stood. it was lighted, but a sharp cool air and the fret of the river came in through a black opening in one wall. laura sat upon a large deal case, and nasmyth, looking down upon her, leaned against a dynamo. he smiled as he recognized that she grasped the significance of the throbbing roar of water. "it was very pleasant while it lasted, but--and it's a pity--the music has stopped," he said. "what we are now listening to is the turmoil of a canadian river." laura laughed, though there was a wistfulness in her eyes. "oh, i understand, but couldn't you have let me forget it just for to-night?" she said. "i suppose that privilege was permitted to cinderella." the man felt curiously sorry for her as he remembered how hard her life was at the lonely ranch, but he knew she would not be pleased if he expressed his thoughts. "well," he observed reflectively, "a thing often looks most attractive when it's forbidden you, or a long way off, and, you see, there are always compensations. in fact, i'm beginning to come across quite a few of them." he broke off for a moment, and laura, who noticed that he looked at her, fancied she understood in what direction his thoughts were drifting; but he went on again with a laugh. "after all," he said, "there are exiles who realize that they are in various ways better off than in all probability they would have been had they stayed in the land they were driven out of." "ah," answered laura, "would you go back if you were given the opportunity?" "no," nasmyth asserted slowly, "i don't think i should do that--now." again she understood him, the more clearly because she saw by the slight wrinkling of his forehead, during the significant pause, that he had grappled with the question. she did not think he was altogether in love with her, but she knew, at least, that he did not wish to go away while she was left behind in canada. it seemed desirable to change the subject, and she touched the lace. "i have to thank you for this," she said. "it has given me pleasure." then--and the words were wholly unpremeditated--she added: "i wanted to look well--just for once--to-night." she was sorry, a moment later, when she saw the quick change in the man's expression, for she remembered that they had always seemed to understand what the other meant. it was clear that the qualification just for once had not misled him, but, after all, it seemed to her that he must presently realize that the admission was not one a reticent woman really in love with him would have made. "oh," he said, "you are always beautiful." then his manner became deprecatory. "i didn't think you'd mind. in one way what i owe you makes me a privileged person. i felt that i could venture----" this, too, was clear to her, and though she considered his attitude the correct one, it jarred a little upon her. she was content that they should be merely comrades, or, at least, that was what she had endeavoured to convince herself, but, after all, there was no reason why he should emphasize the fact. "yes," she replied quickly, "i think i understand." then once more she changed the subject. "i want to compliment you on building the dam." nasmyth laughed, but there was a light in his eyes. "i should never have built it, if it hadn't been for you. still"--and he made her a reverent bow--"i owe you a good deal more than that." laura made no response to this. she had thrilled at his achievement, when she had heard the manager's speech, and it became still plainer that there was a certain hazard in dwelling upon his success. she could also be practical. "in one way," she said, "i suppose the result was not quite so satisfactory?" "it certainly wasn't. of course, the work is not quite completed yet, but after settling up everything, the interim payment left me with about fifteen dollars in hand." laura was not astonished at this, but she was more than a little perplexed, for she fancied that the lace she was wearing must have cost a good deal more than fifteen dollars. still, she had no wish to make it evident that he had been extravagant; and, while she considered the matter, a man appeared in the doorway. "i guess you two have got to come right out," he said. "what d'you figure you were asked here for?" nasmyth held his arm out, but when laura would have laid her hand upon it, the man broke in with a grin. "no, sir," he said severely, "miss waynefleet's going right round. now you're coming along with me, and we'll show them how to waltz." laura smiled good-humouredly, and he swept her into the dance, while nasmyth was seized upon by a girl, who drove him through it much as she did her brother's steers in the bush. "a bump or two don't count for much. what you want to do is to hump yourself and make things hum," said nasmyth's partner, when another couple jostled them. nasmyth expressed his concurrence in a gasp, and contrived to save her from another crash, but when the dance was over, he felt limp, and was conscious that his partner was by no means satisfied with him. "i'm sorry," he said. "still, i really think i did what i could." the girl regarded him half compassionately. "well," she said, "it wasn't very much, but i guess you played yourself out building that blamed dam." chapter viii by combat nasmyth's partner condescended, as she said, to give him another show, but he escaped from that dance with only a few abrasions, and, though he failed to obtain another with laura, he contrived to enjoy himself. all his bush friends were not primitive. some of them had once played their parts in much more brilliant functions. they had cultivated tastes, and he had learned to recognize the strong points of those who had not. after all, kindly hearts count for much, and it was not unnatural that, like other exiles who have plodded up and down that rugged land, he should think highly of the hard-handed men and patient women who willingly offer a night's shelter and a share of their dried apples, salt pork, and grindstone bread to the penniless wanderer. what was more to the purpose, a number of the guests at the dance had swung the axe by his side, and fought the river with him when the valley was filled with the roar of water. they had done their work gallantly, when it seemed out of the question that they would ever receive the money he had promised them, from sheer pride in their manhood, and to keep their word, and now they danced as determinedly. there are no cramping conventions and very few shams--and the shams in those forests, it must be confessed, are as a rule imported ones. in fact, there was that evening, among all those in the pulp-mill, only one man who seemed to disassociate himself from the general good-will. that man was waynefleet. he wore his old velvet jacket as a cloak of superciliousness--or, at least, that was how it seemed to the bush-ranchers, who recognized and resented an effete pride in the squeak of his very ancient lacquered shoes. it is possible that he did not mean to make himself in any way offensive, and merely desired to indicate that he was graciously willing to patronize their bucolic festivities. there would have been something almost pathetic in his carefully preserved dignity had it not been so obtrusively out of place; and when they stood watching him for a moment or two, gordon expressed nasmyth's thoughts. "how a man of that kind ever came to be laura waynefleet's father is more than i can figure out!" he said. "it's a question that worries me every time i look at him. guess she owes everything to her mother; and mrs. waynefleet must have been a mighty patient woman." nasmyth smiled, but gordon went on reflectively: "you folks show your sense when you dump your freaks into this country," he said. "it never seems to strike you that it's a little rough on us. what's the matter with men like waynefleet is that you can't teach them sense. i'd have told him what i thought of him once or twice when i saw the girl doing his work up at the ranch if i'd figured it would have made any impression." "i expect it would have been useless," remarked nasmyth. "after all, i'm not sure that it's exactly your business." gordon watched laura waynefleet as she swung through a waltz on the arm of a sinewy rancher, and his eyes softened curiously. "only on the girl's account," he admitted. "i'm sorry for her. stills the blamed old image isn't actively unkind." then he saw the sudden contraction of nasmyth's face, and turned toward him. "now," he said, "i want you to understand this thing. if it would be any comfort to her, i'd let miss waynefleet wipe her boots on me, and in one way that's about all i'm fit for. i know enough to realize that she'd never waste a moment thinking of a man like me, even if i hadn't in another way done for myself already." "still," nasmyth replied quietly, "some women can forgive a good deal." gordon's face hardened, and he seemed to straighten himself. "well, there are men--any way, in this country--who have too much grit in them to go crawling, broken, to any woman's feet, and to expect her to pick them up and mend them. now you have heard me, and i guess you understand." nasmyth merely made a little gesture of sympathy. after all, he had the average englishman's reticence, and the free speech of that country still jarred upon him now and then. he knew what gordon had meant to impress on him, and he was touched by generosity of the motive, but for all that he felt relieved when gordon abruptly moved away. he danced another dance, and then sauntered towards the dynamo room, where the manager had set up a keg or two of heady ontario cider. several men were refreshing themselves there, but they did not see him when he approached the door. "the only thing that's out of tone about this show is waynefleet," said one of them who had once worked for the rancher. "what do we want that blamed old dead-beat round here for, when he can't speak to anyone but the crown land-agent and the mill manager?" one of the others laughed, but nasmyth saw venomous hatred in the big axeman's face. it was, however, not his business, and waynefleet was a man for whom he had no great liking. he was about to turn away when the chopper went on again. "waynefleet's a blamed old thief, as everybody knows," he said. "him being what he is, i guess you couldn't blame his daughter----" nasmyth, whom they had not noticed yet, could not quite hear what followed; but when somebody flung a sharp, incredulous question at the speaker, he stood fast in the doorway, with one hand clenched. "well," said the man, with a suggestive grin, "what i mean's quite plain. is there any other girl, round this settlement who'd make up to that dam-builder as she's doing, and slip quietly into his shanty alone?" nasmyth never learned what grievance against waynefleet or his daughter had prompted this virulence, nor did it appear to matter. there was just sufficient foundation for the man's insinuation to render it perilous if it was once permitted to pass unchallenged, and nasmyth realized that any attempt to handle the affair delicately was not likely to be successful. he was afterwards greatly astonished that he could think clearly and impose a certain command upon himself; but he understood exactly what it was most advisable for him to do, and he set about it with a curious cold quietness which served his purpose well. there was a gasp of astonishment from one of the group as he stepped forward into the light and looked with steady eyes at the man who had spoken. "jake," he said, "you are a d---- liar." it was what the others had expected, and they rose and stood back a little from the pair, watching expectantly; for they recognized that the affair was serious, and, though nasmyth had their sympathy, an impartial attitude was the correct one now. jake was tall and lean and muscular; but perhaps the dam-builder's quietness disconcerted him, or his bitterness had only extended to the rancher. "now," jake growled, "you light out of this. i don't know that i've anything against--you." nasmyth had his back to the door, and he did not see the grizzled mattawa, who was supposed to be one of the strongest choppers about the settlement, standing a little behind him, and watching him and jake attentively. still, one of the others did, and made a sign to mattawa that any support he might feel disposed to offer his employer would not be tolerated in the meanwhile. nasmyth, however, realized that there was only one course open to him, and he drew back one hand as he met the uneasy eyes of the man in front of him. "you are going to back down on what you said?" he asked, with incisive quietness. "not a d---- word," the other man assured him. "then," said nasmyth, "you must take the consequences." he swung forward on his left foot, and there was a thud as his scarred knuckles landed heavily in the middle of the detractor's face. he struck with an unexpected swiftness and all the force that was in him, for he had learned that the rules of the trial by combat are by no means so hard and fast in british columbia as they are in england. as a matter of fact, it is not very frequently resorted to there; but when men do fight, their one object is to disable their opponents as soon as possible and by any means available. jake reeled backwards a pace or two, and the spectators said afterwards there was no reason why nasmyth should have permitted him to recover himself, as he did. two axes which the carpenters had been using stood against the wall, and jake caught up the nearest of them. he swung the gleaming blade high, while the blood trickled from his cut lips and the swollen veins rose on his forehead. this, however, was going further than the others considered admissible, and there was a protesting shout, while one sturdy fellow cautiously slid along the wall to get in behind the man who had the axe. still, for a second or two, which might have proved fatal to him, nasmyth had only his own resources to depend upon, and he did the one thing that was possible. the canadian axe-haft is long, and he sprang straight in at the man. as he did so, the big blade came down, and flashed by a hand's breadth behind his shoulders. he felt a burning pain on the outside of his thigh, but that did not seem to matter, and he was clutching at his opponent's throat when he was bodily flung aside. then, as he fell against the log wall, he had a momentary glimpse of jake bent backwards in mattawa's arms. there was a brief floundering scuffle as the two men reeled towards the black opening in the wall, and after that a splash in the darkness outside, and mattawa stepped back into the room alone. "the d---- hog is in the flume," he said. that did not appear to trouble any of the others. the sluice was not deep, and, though it was certainly running hard, it was scarcely likely that a stalwart bushman would suffer greatly from being washed along it. "guess it will cool him off," said one of them. "if it doesn't, and he comes back to make a fuss, we'll heave him in again." then they turned and looked at nasmyth, who sat down somewhat limply on a cider keg. the blood, which was running down his leg, made a little pool at his feet. mattawa, who crossed over to him, asked for a knife, and when a man produced one, he slit nasmyth's trousers up to the hip. then he nodded. "boys," he said, "one of you will slip out kind of quiet and bring mr. gordon along. two more of you will stand in the door there and not let anybody in." they obeyed him, and mattawa looked down at nasmyth again. "i guess the thing's not serious," he commented. "well," said nasmyth ruefully, "in one way, i think it is. you see, store clothes are dear, and this is the only pair of trousers i've got." there was a little laugh from the others, and he knew he had done wisely, when they clumsily expressed their satisfaction at his escape. he had, at least, discredited jake, and it was evident that if the man made any more assertions of a similar nature, which was very unlikely, no one would listen to them. in the meanwhile, nobody else seemed to be aware that anything unusual was going on. all had happened in a minute or two, and the clanging of the fiddle and the patter of the dancers' feet had drowned any sound that rose from the dynamo-room. nasmyth had not long to wait before gordon stepped in and quietly set about his surgical work, after someone had dipped up a little water from the sluice. "yes," said gordon, "it's quite a nice clean slice, and i guess it's not going to trouble you much, though you won't walk very far for a week or two. as soon as we can get you to the dam, i'll put a proper dressing on." then he looked up sharply. "in the meanwhile, i don't quite see how you cut yourself like that." "as a matter of fact, i didn't," said nasmyth, with evident reluctance. "i suppose you will have to be told." he looked round at the others. "boys, i particularly don't want this thing to go any further." he related what had happened, and one of the men stood up. "i wouldn't worry over that," he replied. "we're not going to talk, and if jake does, one of us will pound a little sense into him. now i'll slip out and get highton's team." after that they gave nasmyth some cider, and a few minutes later he limped out through the opening in the wall and across the plank they laid above the sluice to the waiting waggon. it was not far to the dam, and before very long gordon was back again at the mill. it naturally happened, though he was anxious to avoid her, that laura waynefleet was the first person who accosted him. "have you seen mr. nasmyth?" she asked. "oh, yes," said gordon. "i saw him a little while ago. you are wanting him?" laura laughed. "i believed i promised him another dance. it's a little curious he hasn't come for it." "in one way it's deplorably bad taste." the girl was quick to notice that his gaze was not quite frank, and he winced when for a moment she laid her hand upon his arm, for he saw the veiled anxiety in her eyes. "something has been going on," she said. "you don't want to tell me where mr. nasmyth is." "he has just gone back to the dam. he got hurt--a trifling cut--nothing more than that. still, i insisted on tying it up." "ah," cried laura sharply, "you evidently don't wish me to know how he got it!" "it is just what i don't mean to do. any way, it's not worth while troubling about. nasmyth's injury isn't in the least serious." "it doesn't seem to strike you that i could ask him myself." gordon would have liked to warn her to keep away from the dam, but he did not see how it could be done unless he offered some reason, and that was a thing he shrank from. "oh, yes," he said, "you certainly could." then he glanced down at her hands. "those are unusually pretty gloves you have on." his answer was, as it happened, almost as injudicious as he could have rendered it, since it left the girl determined to sift the matter thoroughly. she, however, only smiled just then. "i think there isn't a nicer pair of gloves in canada than these," she said. gordon took himself away, wondering what she could have meant by that; and laura waited until next day, when, although there was, as usual, a good deal to be done about the ranch, she went down to find out what was the matter with nasmyth. the injured man was sitting in his shanty, with his foot upon a chair, but he rose when she came in, and stood leaning rather hard upon the table. "it is very kind of you to come," he said, taking her hand. he made shift to limp to the door, whence he called for mattawa. "bring those two chairs out, tom, and put them in the sun," he said. the old axeman shook his head severely. "you sit right down again. what in the name of wonder are you on your legs for, any way?" he asked. then he saw laura, and made a little gesture of resignation. "well, i guess it will have to be done." the sudden change in his attitude was naturally not lost upon the girl, but she kept her astonishment to herself, and waited until mattawa had made nasmyth as comfortable as possible. then she turned to him. "i am very sorry you are hurt," she said. "i understand it was an axe cut. how did it happen?" nasmyth appeared to reflect. "well," he answered, "i suppose i was a little careless--in fact, i must have been. you see, some of the building gang had left their axes in the dynamo-room." "that," said laura dryly, "certainly accounts for the axe being there. i'm not sure it goes very much further." "it really wasn't very much of a cut." nasmyth's desire to escape from the topic was a trifle too plain, as he added, "isn't it nice out here?" it occurred to laura that it was uncomfortably cold, for there was a nip of frost in the air, though the sun hung coppery red above the sombre pines. "i almost fancied you were not overjoyed to see me," she remarked. nasmyth appeared momentarily embarrassed, but his expression suddenly changed, and laura felt a faint thrill when he laid his hand upon her arm. "that," he said, "is a fancy you must never entertain again." in one respect laura was fully satisfied, and, though there was still a great deal upon which she meant to be enlightened, she talked about other matters for almost half an hour, and then rose with a little shiver. "i must get back to the settlement, where i have left the team," she said, and glanced down at him for a moment with solicitude in her eyes. "you will be very careful." nasmyth let her go, but he did not know that she signed to mattawa, who was then busy hewing out a big redwood log. the axeman strolled after her into the bush, and then stopped to look hard at her as he uttered an inquiring, "well?" "tom," said the girl, "can't you understand that it would be very much wiser if somebody told me exactly how mr. nasmyth got hurt?" the axeman nodded. "yes," he admitted, with a wink, "that's just how it strikes me, and i'm going to. the boss has no more arms and legs than he's a use for anyway." laura gazed at him in bewilderment, but the man's expression was perfectly grave. "now," he added, "i guess one can talk straight sense to you, and the fact is i can't have you coming round here again. just listen about two minutes, and i'll try to make the thing clear to you." he did so with a certain graphic force that she had not expected from him, and the colour crept into her cheeks. then, to mattawa's astonishment, she smiled. "thank you," she said simply. "but the other man?" "well," replied mattawa, "if he goes round talking, somebody will 'most pound the life out of him." then he swung round abruptly, for he was shrewd, and had his primitive notions of delicacy; and laura went on through the stillness of the bush, with a curious softness in her eyes. mattawa had been terse, and, in some respects, his observations had not been tactful, but nobody could have impressed her more in nasmyth's favour. indeed, at the moment, she scarcely remembered how the aspersions jake had made might affect herself. as it happened, she met gordon near the settlement, and he stopped a moment. he had come upon her suddenly, and had looked at her with a suggestive steadiness, but she smiled. "yes," she said, "i have been to the dam. after the way in which you made it evident that you didn't want me to go there, it was, perhaps, no more than you could have expected." "ah!" rejoined gordon, with a look of anxiety, "you probably got hold of mattawa. well, after all, i guess he has done the wise thing." then after a pause he observed, "there is very little the matter with your courage." "i fancy," observed laura half wistfully, "that is, in several respects, fortunate." then she went on again, and though gordon felt exceedingly compassionate, he frowned and closed one hand. "it's a sure thing i'll have to tell waynefleet what kind of a man he is," he said. chapter ix gordon speaks his mind it was a nipping morning, and the clearing outside the ranch was flecked with patches of frozen snow, when waynefleet sat shivering in a hide chair beside the stove. the broken viands upon the table in front of him suggested that he had just made a tolerable breakfast, but his pose was expressive of limp resignation, and one could have fancied from the look in his thin face that he was feeling very sorry for himself. self-pity, in fact, was rather a habit of his, and, perhaps, because of it, he had usually very little pity to spare for anybody else. he looked up when, flushed and gasping, his daughter came in with two heavy pails of water. she shivered visibly. "it would be a favour if you would shut that door as soon as you can," said waynefleet. "as i fancy i have mentioned, this cold goes right through me. it occurred to me that you might have come in a little earlier to see if i was getting my breakfast properly." laura, who glanced at the table, thought that he had acquitted himself reasonably well, but she refrained from pointing out the fact, and, after shutting the door, crossed the room to her store-cupboard, and took out a can of fruit which she had set aside for another purpose. waynefleet watched her open it and made a little sign of impatience. "you are very clumsy this morning," he said. the girl's hands were wet and stiff with cold, but she quietly laid another plate upon the table before she answered him. "charly is busy in the slashing, and i don't want to take him away, but there are those logs in the wet patch that ought to be hauled out now the ground is hard," she said. "i suppose you don't feel equal to doing it to-day?" "no," said waynefleet with querulous incisiveness, "it is quite out of the question. do i look like a man who could reasonably be expected to undertake anything of that kind just now?" it occurred to laura that he did not look as if there was very much the matter with him, and she stood still a minute considering. as gordon had said, it was she who managed the ranch, and she recognized that it was desirable that the trees in question should be dragged out of the soft ground while the frost lasted. still, there was the baking and washing, and it would be late at night before she could accomplish half she wished to do, if she undertook the task in question. while she thought over it her father spoke again. "i wish you would sit down," he said. "i feel i must have quietness, and your restless habits jar upon me horribly." that decided her, and slipping into her own room, she put on an old blanket coat, and went out quietly. she walked through the orchard to the little log stable where the working oxen stood, and, after patting the patient beasts, shackled a heavy chain to the yoke she laid upon their brawny necks. then, picking up a handspike, she led them out, and for an hour walked beside them, tapping them with a long pointed stick, while they dragged the big logs out of the swamp. now and then it taxed all her strength to lift the thinner end of a log on the chain-sling with a handspike, but she contrived to do it until at length one heavier than the others proved too much for her. she could hear the ringing of the hired man's axe across the clearing, but there was a great deal for him to do, and, taking up the handspike again, she strained at it. she heard footsteps behind her, and she straightened herself suddenly. she turned and saw gordon watching her with a curious smile. tall and straight and supple, with a ruddy, half-guilty glow on her face, she stood near the middle of the little gap in the bush, the big dappled oxen close at her side. the wintry sunlight, which struck upon her, tinted the old blanket dress a shining ochre, and the loose tress of red-gold hair, which had escaped from beneath her little fur cap, struck a dominant tone of glowing colour among the pale reds and russets of the fir-trunks and withered fern. gordon shook his head reproachfully. "sit down a minute or two, and i'll heave that log on to the sling," he said. "this is not the kind of thing you ought to be doing." laura, who was glad of the excuse, sat down on one of the logs, while the man leaned against a fir and gravely regarded her. "the work must be done by somebody, and my father is apparently not very well again," she explained. "charly has his hands full in the slashing. we must get it cleaned up, if it is to be ploughed this spring." "nasmyth contrived to look after all these things. why didn't you keep him? the man didn't want to go away." the colour deepened in laura's face, and gordon, who saw it, made a sign of comprehension. "well," he added, "i suppose that wasn't a thing one could expect you to tell me, though i don't quite see why you shouldn't think of yourself now and then. you know it wasn't on your own account you sent him away." "how does this concern you?" she asked. gordon flung one hand out. "ah," he said, "how does it concern me?" then he seemed to lay a restraint upon himself. "well, it does in one sense, anyway. after all, i am a doctor, and a friend of yours, and i'm going to warn you against attempting things women weren't meant to do. if that doesn't prove efficacious, i'll say a word or two to nasmyth, and you'll have him back here again. it's a sure thing your father would be glad to get him." "if you do, i shall never forgive you," warned laura, with a flash in her eyes. she was sorry she had spoken so plainly when she saw that gordon winced. she had guessed more or less correctly what the man felt for her, and she had no wish to pain him. except for that, however, the admission she had made did not greatly matter, since she fancied that he was quite aware why she had sent nasmyth away. gordon changed the subject abruptly. "there are very few of those blanket dresses this side of the rockies," he said. "you probably got it back east." the girl's eyes had a wistful look as she answered: "we spent our first winter in montreal, and we had some friends who were very kind to us. i like to look back upon those first few months in canada." gordon nodded. "oh, yes," he replied. "i know--sleigh-rides, snowshoe meets, skating-rinks, toboggan-slides. quite as lively as a london season, and considerably more invigorating; i guess you've been through that, too. in one way it's a pity you didn't stay in montreal." he saw her sudden embarrassment, and fancied that she could have stayed there, if she had wished to do so, but he felt that he must speak frankly, and he shook his head severely. "do you never think of your own advantage at all?" he inquired. "have you none of the ambitions that most women seem to have?" "aren't you forgetting?" laura asked with sudden quietness. "my father found it would not be advisable for him to settle in montreal--for the same reason that afterwards led us to leave victoria--and we went west. perhaps he could have faced the trouble and lived it down, but i could not leave him alone." gordon sat silent a moment or two. he knew, though she very rarely mentioned it, how heavy was the burden that had been laid upon her, and he was divided between a great pity for her and anger against her father. then he rose slowly to his feet. "miss waynefleet," he said, "if i have said anything that hurt you, i'm sorry, but there are times when i must talk. i feel i have to. in the meanwhile i'll heave those logs up on a skid so that you can slip the chain round them." for the next half-hour he exerted himself savagely, and when at last he dropped the handspike, his face was damp with perspiration. he smiled grimly when laura, who had hauled one or two of the logs away, came back tapping the plodding oxen. "now," he said, "i'm going in to see your father. custer happened to tell me he was feeling low again, and it's going to afford me a good deal of pleasure to prescribe for him." he swung off his wide hat, and, when he turned away, laura wondered with a few misgivings what had brought the little snap into his eyes. three or four minutes later he entered the house, where waynefleet lay beside the stove with a cigar in his hand. "i ran across custer at the settlement, and i came along to see how you were keeping," said gordon. waynefleet held out a cigar-box. "make yourself comfortable," he answered hospitably. "we'll have dinner a little earlier than usual." the sight of the label on the box came near rousing gordon to an outbreak of indignation. "i'm not going to stay," he declared. "it seems to me miss waynefleet has about enough to do already." he saw waynefleet raise his eyebrows, and he added: "i guess it's not worth while troubling to point out that it's not my affair. now, if you'll get ahead with your symptoms." waynefleet looked hard at him for a moment. the older man was not accustomed to being addressed in that brusque fashion, and it jarred upon him, but, as a matter of fact, he was not feeling well, and, as he not infrequently pointed out, he had discovered that one had to put up with many unpleasant things in that barbarous country. he described his symptoms feelingly, and was rather indignant when gordon expressed neither astonishment nor sympathy. "that's all right," said gordon. "the thing's quite plain--especially the general lassitude you complain of. the trouble is that if you don't make an effort it's going to become chronic." again waynefleet looked at him in astonishment, for gordon's tone was very suggestive. "yes," added the medical adviser, "it's a complaint a good many men, who haven't been raised to work, are afflicted with. well, i'll mix you up a tonic, and you'll drive down for it yourself. the thing won't be half as efficacious if you send the hired man. then you'll set to every morning soon as breakfast's over, and do a couple of hours' smart chopping for a week. by that time you'll find it easy, and you can go on an hour or two in the afternoon. nobody round here will recognize you, if you keep it up for the next three months." waynefleet's thin face grew red, but gordon's imperturbable demeanour restrained him from betraying his indignation. "you don't understand that i couldn't swing an axe for five minutes together," he objected. "the trouble," answered gordon, "is that you don't want to." waynefleet made an attempt to rise, but his companion laid a hand upon his arm and pressed him down again. "you were anxious for my advice, and now i'm going to prescribe," gordon continued. "two hours' steady chopping every day, to be raised by degrees to six. then i'd let up on smoking cigars of that kind, and practise a little more self-denial in one or two other respects. you could make things easier for miss waynefleet with the money you save." he rose with a laugh. "well, i'm going. all you have to do is to carry out my suggestions, and you may still make yourself and your ranch a credit to the district. in the meanwhile, this place would be considerably improved by a little ventilation." he went out, and left waynefleet gazing in indignant astonishment at the door he carefully fixed open. it seemed to waynefleet almost incredible that such words should have been spoken to him, and the suggestion that at the cost of a painful effort he should endeavour to make himself a credit to that barbarous neighbourhood rankled most of all. he had felt, hitherto, that he had conferred a favour on the community by settling there. he lay still until his daughter came in and glanced at him inquiringly. "you have seen mr. gordon?" she queried. "i have," answered waynefleet with fine disdain. "you will understand that if he comes back here, he must be kept away from me. the man is utterly devoid of refinement or consideration." in the meanwhile gordon was riding, circumspectly, down the rutted trail, and it was an hour later when he dismounted at the shanty of nasmyth's workmen, and shared a meal with the gang employed on the dam. after that he sat with nasmyth, who still limped a little, in the hut, from which, as the door stood open, they could see the men stream up into the bush and out along the dam. the dam now stood high above the water-level, for the frost had bound fast the feeding snow upon the peaks above, though the stream roared and frothed through the two big sluice-gates. by-and-by, the ringing of axes and the clink of drills broke through the sound of the rushing waters. gordon, who stretched himself out on a deer-hide lounge, smiled at nasmyth as he lighted his pipe. "i've been talking a little sense to waynefleet this morning. i felt i had to, though i'm afraid it's not going to be any use," he announced. "whether you were warranted or not is, of course, another matter," said nasmyth. "perhaps you were, if you did it on miss waynefleet's account. anyway, i don't altogether understand why you should be sure it will have no effect." gordon looked at him with a grin. "well," he remarked oracularly, "it's easy to acquire an inflated notion of one's own importance, though it's quite often a little difficult to keep it. something's very apt to come along and prick you, and you collapse flat when it lets the inflation out. in some cases one never quite gets one's self-sufficiency back. the scar the prick made is always there, but it's different with waynefleet. he is made of self-closing jelly, and when you take the knife out the gap shuts up again. it's quite hard to fancy it was ever there." nasmyth nodded gravely, for there was an elusive something in his comrade's tone that roused his sympathy. "gordon," he said, "is it quite impossible for you to go back east again?" gordon leaned back in his chair, and glanced out across the toiling men upon the dam, at the frothing river and rugged hillside, with a look of longing in his eyes. "in one way it is, but i want you to understand," he replied. "i might begin again in some desolate little town--but i aimed higher--and was once very nearly getting there. as it is, if i made my mark, the thing i did would be remembered against me. we'll let it go. as a surgeon of any account i'm done for." "still, it's a tolerably big country, and folks forget. you might, at least, go so far, and that would, after all, give you a good deal--a competence, the right to marry." gordon laughed, but his voice was harsh. "this is one of the days on which i must talk. i feel like that, now and then," he said. then he looked at nasmyth hard. "well, i've seen the one woman i could marry, and it's certain that, if i dare make her the offer, she would never marry me." "ah," said nasmyth, "you seem quite sure of that?" "quite," declared gordon, and there was, for a moment or two, an almost uncomfortable silence in the shanty. then he made a little forceful gesture as he turned to his companion again. "well," he said, "after all, what does it count for? is it man's one and only business to marry somebody? of course, we have folks back east, who seem to act on that belief, and in your country half of them appear to spend their time and energies philandering." "i don't think it's half," said nasmyth dryly. "it's not a point of any importance, and we'll let it go. anyway, it seems perilously easy for a man who gets the woman he sets his mind upon to sink into a fireside hog in the civilized world. now and then, when things go wrong with folks of that kind, they come out here, and nobody has any use for them. what can you do with the man who gets sick the first time he sleeps in the rain, and can't do without his dinner? oh, i know all about the preservation of the species, but west of the great lakes we've no room for any species that isn't tough and fit." he broke off for a moment. "after all, this is the single man's country, and--we--know that it demands from him the best that he was given, from the grimmest toil of his body to the keenest effort of his brain. marriage is a detail--an incident; we're here to fight, to grapple with the wilderness, and to break it in, and that burden wasn't laid upon us only for the good of ourselves. when we've flung our trestles over the rivers, and blown room for the steel track out of the cañon's side, the oat-fields and the orchards creep up the valleys, and the men from the cities set up their mills. prospector, track-layer, chopper, follow in sequence here, and then we're ready to hold out our hands to the thousands you've no use or food for back yonder. i'm not sure it matters that the men who do the work don't often share the results of it. we bury them beside our bridge trestles and under tons of shattered rock, and, perhaps, when their time comes, some of them aren't sorry to have done with it. anyway, they've stood up to man's primeval task." he rose with another half-deprecatory laugh, but his eyes snapped. "you don't talk like that in your country--it would hurt some of you--but if we spread ourselves now and then, you can look round and see the things we do." then he touched nasmyth's shoulder. "oh, yes, you understand--for somebody has taught you--and by-and-by, you're going to feel the thing getting hold of you." he moved towards the doorway, but turned as he reached it. "talking's cheap, and i have several dozen blamed big firs to saw up, as well as waynefleet's tonic to mix. he'll come along for it when that prick i gave him commences to heal." chapter x the calling caÑon there were four wet and weary men in the siwash canoe that nasmyth, who crouched astern, had just shot across the whirling pool with the back feathering stroke of his paddle which is so difficult to acquire. tom from mattawa, grasping a dripping pole, stood up in the bow. gordon and wheeler, the pulp-mill manager, knelt in the middle of the boat. wheeler's hands were blistered from gripping the paddle-haft, and his knees were raw, where he had pressed them against the bottom of the craft to obtain a purchase. it was several years since he had undertaken any severe manual labour, though he was by no means unused to it, and he was cramped and aching in every limb. he had plied pole or paddle for eight hours, during which his companions had painfully propelled the craft a few miles into the cañon. he gasped with relief when mattawa ran the bow of the canoe in upon the shingle, and then rose and stretched himself wearily. the four men stepped ashore. curiously they looked about them, for they had had little opportunity for observation. those who undertake to pole a canoe up the rapids of a river on the pacific slope usually find it advisable to confine their attention strictly to the business in hand. immediately in front of them the river roared and seethed amid giant boulders, which rose out of a tumultuous rush of foam, but while it was clearly beyond the power of flesh and blood to drive the canoe up against the current, a strip of shingle, also strewn with boulders and broken by ledges of dripping rock, divided the water from the wall of the cañon. the cañon, a tremendous slope of rock with its dark crest overhanging them, ran up high above their heads; but they could see the pines clinging to the hillside which rose from the edge of the other wall across the river, so steep that it appeared impossible to find a foothold upon it. the four men were down in the bottom of a great rift in the hills, and, though it would be day above for at least two hours, the light was faint in the hollow and dimmed by drifting mist. it was a spot from which a man new to that wild country might well have shrunk, and the roar of water rang through it in tremendous, nerve-taxing pulsations. nasmyth and his companions, however, had gone there with no particular purpose--merely for relaxation--though it had cost them hours of arduous labour, and the journey had been a more or less hazardous one. wheeler, the pulp-mill manager, was waiting for his machinery, and, nasmyth had finished the dam. when they planned the journey for pleasure, mattawa and gordon had gone with them ostensibly on a shooting trip. there are game laws, which set forth when and where a man may shoot, and how many heads he is entitled to, but it must be admitted that the bush-rancher seldom concerns himself greatly about them. when he fancies a change of diet, he goes out and kills a deer. still, though all the party had rifles no one would have cared very much if they had not come across anything to shoot at. now and then a vague unrest comes upon the bushman, and he sets off for the wilderness, and stays there while his provisions hold out. he usually calls it prospecting, but as a rule he comes back with his garments rent to tatters, and no record of any mineral claim or timber rights, but once more contentedly he goes on with his task. it may be a reawakening of forgotten instincts, half-conscious lust of adventure, or a mere desire for change, that impels him to make the journey, but it is at least an impulse with which most men who toil in those forests are well acquainted. nasmyth and mattawa pulled the canoe out, and when they sat down and lighted their pipes, wheeler grinned as he drew up his duck trousers and surveyed his knees, which were raw and bleeding. then he held up one of his hands that his comrades might notice the blisters upon it. he was a little, wiry man with dark eyes, which had a snap in them. "well," he observed, "we're here, and i guess any man with sense enough to prefer whole bones to broken ones would wonder why we are. it's most twelve years since i used to head off into the bush this way in washington." gordon glanced at him with a twinkle in his eyes. "now," he observed, "you've hit the reason the first time. when you've done it once, you'll do it again. you have to. perhaps it's nature's protest against your axiom that man's chief business is dollar-making. still, i'm admitting that this is a blamed curious place for nasmyth to figure on killing a wapiti in. say, are you going to sleep here to-night, derrick?" it was very evident that none of the big wapiti--elks, as the bushman incorrectly calls them--could have reached that spot, but nasmyth laughed. "i felt i'd like to see the fall--i don't know why," he said. "it's scarcely another mile, and i've been up almost that far with an indian before. there's a ravine with young spruce in it where we could sleep." "then," announced wheeler resolutely, "we're starting right now. when i pole a canoe up a place of this kind i want to see where i'm going. i once went down a big rapid with the canoe-bottom up in front of me in the dark, and one journey of that kind is quite enough." they dumped out their camp gear, and took hold of the canoe, a beautifully modelled, fragile thing, hollowed out of a cedar log, and for the next half-hour hauled it laboriously over some sixty yards of boulders and pushed it, walking waist-deep, across rock-strewn pools. then they went back for their wet tent, axes, rifles, blankets, and a bag of flour, and when they had reloaded the canoe, they took up the poles again. it was the hardest kind of work, and demanded strength and skill, for a very small blunder would have meant wreck upon some froth-lapped boulder, or an upset into the fierce white rush of the river, but at length they reached a deep whirling pool, round which long smears of white froth swung in wild gyrations. the smooth rock rose out of the pool without even a cranny one could slip a hand into, and the river fell tumultuously over a ledge into the head of it. the water swept out of a veil of thin white mist, and the great rift rang with a bewildering din. one felt that the vast primeval forces were omnipotent there. as the men looked about them with the spray on their wet faces and the white mist streaming by, mattawa, who stood up forward, dropped suddenly into the bottom of the canoe. "in poles," he said. "paddle! get a move on her!" nasmyth, who felt his pole dip into empty water, flung it in and grabbed his paddle, for the craft shot forward suddenly with the swing of the eddy towards the fall. he did not know whether the stream would sweep them under it, but he was not desirous of affording it the opportunity. for perhaps a minute they exerted themselves furiously, gasping as they strained aching arms and backs, and meanwhile, in spite of them, beneath the towering fall of rock, the canoe slid on toward the fall. it also drew a little nearer to the middle of the pool, where there was a curious bevelled hollow, round which the white foam spun. it seemed to nasmyth that the stream went bodily down. "paddle," said mattawa hoarsely. "heave her clear of it." they drove furiously between the white-streaked shoot of the fall and that horribly suggestive whirling; then, as they went back towards the outrush from the pool, they made another desperate, gasping effort. for several moments it seemed that they must be swept back again, and then they gained a little, and, with a few more strokes, reached the edge of the rapid. they let the canoe drive down the rapid while the boulders flashed by them, for there was the same desire in all of them, and that was to get as far as possible away from that horrible pool. at last mattawa, standing up forward, poled the canoe in where a deep ravine rent the dark rock's side, and the party went ashore, wet and gasping. wheeler looked back up the gorge and solemnly shook his head. "if you want to see any more of it, you've got to do it alone. i've had enough," he declared. "a man who runs a pulp-mill has no use for paddling under that kind of fall. i'm not going back again." mattawa and gordon set the tent up in the hollow of the ravine, while wheeler hewed off spruce branches with which to make the beds; but nasmyth did nothing to assist any of them. thinking hard, he sat on a boulder, with his unlighted pipe in his hand. the throbbing roar of water rang about him; and it was then that the great project crept into his mind. it was rapidly growing dark in the bottom of the great rift, but he could still see the dim white flashing of the fall and the vast wall of rock and rugged hillside that ran up in shadowy grandeur, high above his head, and as he gazed at it all he felt his heart throb fast. he was conscious of a curious thrill as he watched and listened to that clash of stupendous forces. the river had spent countless ages cutting out that channel, hurling down mighty boulders and stream-driven shingle upon the living rock; but it was, it seemed to him, within man's power to alter it in a few arduous months. he sat very still, astonished at the daring of his own conception, until wheeler strolled up to him. "how much does the river drop at the fall?" he asked. "about eight feet in the fall itself," answered wheeler. "seems to me it falls much more in the rush above. still, i can't say i noticed it particularly--i had something else to think about." "it's a short rapid," remarked nasmyth reflectively. "there is, no doubt, a great deal of the hardest kind of rock under it, which is, in one or two respects, unfortunate. i suppose you don't know very much about geology?" "i don't," confessed the pulp-miller. "machines are my specialty." "well," said nasmyth, "i'm afraid i don't either, and i believe one or two of these cañons have puzzled wiser folks than i. you see, the general notion is that the rivers made them, but it doesn't seem quite reasonable to imagine a river tilting at a solid range and splitting it through the middle. in fact, it seems to me that some of the cañons were there already, and the rivers just ran into them. one or two indians have come down from the valley close to the fall, and they told me the river was quite deep there. the rock just holds it up at the fall. it's a natural dam--a dyke, i think they call it." "i don't quite understand what all this is leading to," observed wheeler. nasmyth laughed, though there was, as his companion noticed, a curious look in his eyes. "i'll try to make it clearer when we get into the valley. we're going there to-morrow." it was almost dark now, and they went back together to the little fire that burned redly among the spruces in the ravine. there mattawa and gordon had a simple supper ready. the others stretched themselves out, rolled in their blankets, soon after they had eaten, but nasmyth lay propped up on one elbow, wide awake, listening to the roar of water until well into the night. the stream drowned the faint rustling of the spruces in a great dominant note, and he set his lips as he recognized its depth of tone and volume. he had once more determined to pit all his strength of mind and body against the river. still, he went to sleep at last, and awakening some time after it was dawn on the heights above, roused his comrades. when breakfast was over he started with them up the ravine to cross the range. it was afternoon before they accomplished the climb, though the height was not great and a ravine pierced the crest, and they had rent most of their clothes to tatters when they scrambled down the slope into the valley. those pine-shrouded hillsides are strewn with mighty fallen trees, amid which the tangled underbrush grows tall and rank, and, where the pines are less thickly spaced, there are usually matted groves of willows, if the soil is damp. they pitched camp on the edge of the valley, and gordon and nasmyth prepared supper, while wheeler cut firewood and mattawa went out to prospect for the tracks of feeding deer. the axeman came back to say there were no signs of any wapiti, though the little bush deer were evidently about, and it was decided to try for one that night with the pitlight, a mode of shooting now and then adopted when the deer are shy. they ate their supper, and afterwards lay down with their blankets rolled about them, for it grew very cold as darkness crept up the valley. like most of the other valleys, this one was walled in by steep-sided, pine-shrouded hills; but in this case there were no trees in the bottom of it, which, while very narrow, appeared several miles long. it was also nearly level, and the river wound through it in deep, still bends. there are not many valleys in that country in which heavy timber fails to grow, and those within reach of a market have been seized upon; for all ranch produce is in excellent demand, and the clearing of virgin forest is a singularly arduous task. in fact, there was only one reason why this strip of natural prairie had not already been claimed. most of it was swamp. nasmyth, who was quieter than usual, watched the filmy mist creep about it as the soft darkness rolled down the hillsides. gordon rose and hooked a pitlight into his hat. this pitlight consists simply of a little open miner's-lamp, which has fixed beneath it a shield cut out of any convenient meat-can. the lamp is filled with seal oil. once a man has fastened it upon his head, the light is cut off from his person, so that he stands invisible, and the little flame appears unsupported. deer of any kind are endued with an inquisitiveness which frequently leads to their destruction, and when they notice the twinkling light flitting through the air they approach it to ascertain the reason for such an unusual thing. then the rancher shoots, as soon as their shining eyes become visible. the party divided. gordon and nasmyth, who kept near each other, fell over several rotting trees, and into what appeared to be crumbling drains. they floundered knee-deep through withered timothy, which is not a natural grass. for an hour or two nobody saw any deer. then gordon, who was cautiously skirting another drain, closed in on nasmyth until he touched his comrade. nasmyth heard a crackling rustle among the withered grass. gordon made a little abrupt movement. "if we both blaze off, we double the odds on our getting it," he said. nasmyth only just heard him, for his heart was beating with excitement; but as he stood knee-deep in the grass, with both hands ready to pitch the heavy rifle up, it seemed to him that mattawa could not have been correct when he said that there were only the bush deer about. judging by the noise it was making, the approaching beast, he thought, must be as big as a wapiti. then he saw two pale spots of light, which seemed curiously high above the ground. "i'm shooting," he said, and in another moment the butt was into his shoulder. he felt the jar of it, but, as usual in such cases, he heard no detonation, though the pale flash from gordon's rifle was almost in his eyes. he, however, heard the thud of the heavy bullet, and a moment or two later, a floundering amidst the grass. "that can't be a bush deer!" he cried. "it sounds 'way more like an elephant," said gordon, with a gasp. they ran forward until they stopped a few yards short of something very big and shadowy that was still struggling in the grass. gordon cautiously crept up a little nearer. "those aren't deer's horns, anyway," he announced. "plug it quick. the blamed thing's getting up." nasmyth flung the rifle up to his shoulder, and twice jerked a fresh cartridge into the chamber, but this time there was silence when the crash of the heavy marlin died away among the woods. they crept forward a little further circumspectly, until gordon stopped again with a gasp of consternation. "well," he said, "i guess it couldn't be either a bush deer or a wapiti." they were still standing there when their comrades came running up, and mattawa, who took down his light, broke into a great hoarse laugh. "a steer!" he said, and pointed to a mark on the hide. "one of custer's stock. guess he'll charge you quite a few dollars for killing it." nasmyth smiled somewhat ruefully, for he was by no means burdened with wealth, but he was, after all, not greatly astonished. few of the small ranchers can feed their stock entirely on their little patches of cleared land, and it is not an unusual thing for most of the herd to run almost wild in the bush. now and then, the cattle acquire a somewhat perilous fondness for wrecking road-makers' and prospectors' tents, which explains why a steer occasionally fails to be found and some little community of axemen is provided with more fresh meat than can well be consumed. "i'm afraid it's rather more than likely i'll have to pay a good price," said nasmyth. "do you feel anxious for any more shooting to-night, wheeler?" "no," said the pulp-miller, with a grin, as he surveyed his bemired clothes. "guess it's going to prove expensive, and i've had 'most enough. i don't feel like poling that canoe any farther up-river, either. what's the matter with camping right where we are until we eat the steer?" there was, however, as mattawa pointed out, a good deal to be done before they could make their first meal off the beast, and none of them quite relished the task, especially as they had only an axe and a couple of moderately long knives. still, it was done, and when they carried a portion of the meat out of the swamp, and had gone down to wash in the icy river, they went wearily back to their tent among the firs. chapter xi the great idea the night was cold, and a frost-laden wind set the fir branches sighing as nasmyth and his comrades sat about a snapping fire. the red light flickered upon their faces, and then grew dim again, leaving their blurred figures indistinct amid the smoke that diffused pungent, aromatic odours as it streamed by and vanished between the towering tree-trunks. the four men were of widely different type and training, though it was characteristic of the country that they sat and talked together on terms of perfect equality. two of them were exiles, by fault and misfortune, from their natural environment. one had forced himself upwards by daring and mechanical genius into a station to which, in one sense, he did not belong, and mattawa, the chopper, alone, pursued the occupation which had always been familiar to him. still, it was as comrades that they lived together in the wilderness, and, what was more, had they come across one another afterwards in the cities, they would have resumed their intercourse on exactly the same footing. after all, they were, in essentials, very much the same, and, when that is the case, the barriers men raise between themselves do not count for much in the west, at least. wheeler, the pulp-mill builder, who had once sold oranges on the railroad cars, led up to a conversation that gave nasmyth an opportunity for which he had been waiting. "you and mattawa are about through with that slashing contract," he said. "you will not net a great pile of money out of it, i suppose?" "my share is about thirty," answered nasmyth, with a little laugh. "my partner draws a few dollars more. he got in a week when the big log that rolled on my cut leg lamed me. i seem to have a particularly unfortunate habit of hurting myself. are you going back to ontario when we get that money, mattawa?" "no," the big axeman replied slowly; "anyway, not yet, though i was thinking of it. the ticket costs too much. they've been shoving up their eastern rates." "you ought to have a few dollars in hand," remarked nasmyth, who was quite aware that this was not exactly his business. "are you going to start a ranch?" mattawa appeared to smile. "i have one half cleared back in ontario." "then what d'you come out here for?" gordon broke in. "to give the boy a show. he's quite smart, and we were figuring we might make a doctor or a surveyor of him. that costs money, and wages are 'way higher here than they are back east." it was a simple statement, made very quietly by a simple man, but it appealed forcibly to those who heard it, for they could understand what lay behind it. love of change or adventure, it was evident, had nothing to do with sending the grizzled mattawa out to the forests of the west. he had, as he said, merely come there that his son might be afforded opportunities that he had never had, and this was characteristic, for it is not often that the second generation stays on the land. though teamsters and choppers to the manner born are busy here and there, the canadian prairie is to a large extent broken and the forest driven back by young men from the eastern cities and by exiled englishmen. their life is a grim one, and when they marry they do not desire their children to continue it. yet, they do not often marry, since the wilderness, in most cases, would crush the wives they would choose. the men toil on alone, facing flood, and drought, and frost, and some hate the silence of the winter nights during which they sit beside the stove. "then," inquired wheeler, "who runs the ranch?" "the wife and the boy. that is, when the boy's not chopping or ploughing for somebody." there were reasons why nasmyth was stirred by what he had heard, and with his pipe he pointed to mattawa, as the flickering firelight fell upon the old axeman's face. "that," he said, "is the man who didn't want his wages when i offered them to him, though he knew it was quite likely he would never get them afterwards unless i built the dam. he'd been working for me two or three months then, in the flooded river, most of the while. now, is there any sense in that kind of man?" mattawa appeared disconcerted, and his hard face flushed. "well," he explained, "i felt i had to see you through." he hesitated for a moment with a gesture which seemed deprecatory of his point of view. "it seemed up to me." "you've heard him," said gordon dryly. "he's from the desolate bush back east, and nobody has taught him to express himself clearly. the men of that kind are handiest with the axe and drill, but it has always seemed to me that the nations are going to sit round and listen when they get up and speak their mind some day." he saw the smile in nasmyth's eyes, and turned to wheeler, who was from the state of washington. "it's a solid fact that you, at least, can understand. it's not so very long since your folks headed west across the ohio, and it's open to anyone to see what you have done." then he flung his hand out towards the east. "they fancy back yonder we're still in the leading-strings, and it doesn't seem to strike them that we're growing big and strong." it was characteristic that wheeler did not grin, as nasmyth certainly did. what gordon had said was, no doubt, a trifle flamboyant, but it expressed the views of others in the west, and after all it was more or less warranted. mattawa, however, gazed at them both as if such matters were beyond him, and wheeler, who turned to nasmyth, changed the subject. "well," he said, "what are you going to strike next?" nasmyth took out his pipe, and carefully filled it before he answered, for he knew that his time had come, and he desired greatly to carry his comrades along with him. "i have," he said quietly, "a notion in my mind, or, anyway, the germ of one, for the thing will want some worrying out. it's quite a serious undertaking. to begin with, i'll ask gordon who cut these drains we've been falling into, and what he did it for?" "an englishman," gordon answered. "nobody knew much about him. he was probably an exile, too. anyway, he saw this valley, and it seemed to strike him that he could make a ranch in it." "why should he fix on this particular valley?" "the thing's plain enough. how many years does a man usually spend chopping a clearing out of the bush? isn't there a demand for anything that you can eat from our miners and the men on our railroads and in our mills? why do we bring carloads of provisions in? can't you get hold of the fact that a man can start ranching right away on natural prairie, if he can once get the water out of it?" "oh, yes," assented nasmyth. "the point is that one has to get the water out of it. i would like mattawa and wheeler to notice it. you can go on." "well," said gordon, "that man pitched right in, and spent most of two years cutting four-foot trenches through and dyking up the swamp. he went on every day from sun-up to dark, but every time the floods came they beat him. when he walked over the range to the settlement, the boys noticed he was getting kind of worn and thin, but there was clean grit in that man. he'd taken hold of the contract, and he stayed with it. then one day a prospector went into the valley after a big freshet and came across his wrecked shanty. the river had got him." wheeler nodded gravely. "it seems to me this country was made by men like that," he commented. "they're the kind they ought to put up monuments to." there was silence for a moment or two after that, except for the sighing of the wind among the firs and the hoarse murmur that came up, softened by the distance, from the cañon. it was not an unusual story, but it appealed to those who heard it, for they had fought with rock and river and physical weariness, and they could understand the grim patience and unflinching valour of the long struggle that had resulted, as such struggles sometimes do, only in defeat. still, the men who take those tasks in hand seldom capitulate. gordon glanced at nasmyth. "now," he said, "if you have anything to say, you can get it out." nasmyth raised himself on one elbow. "that englishman put up a good fight, but he didn't start quite right," he said. "i want to point out that, in my opinion, the river has evidently just run into the cañon. it's slow and deep until you reach the fall, where it's merely held up by the ridge of rock the rapid runs across. well, we'll call the change of level twelve to sixteen feet, and, as gordon has suggested, a big strip of natural prairie is apt to make a particularly desirable property, once you run the water out of it. you can get rid of a lot of water when you have a fall of sixteen feet." "how are you going to get it?" asked wheeler. "by cutting the strip of rock that holds the river up at the fall. i think one could do it with giant-powder." again there was silence for a few moments, and nasmyth looked at his comrades quietly, with the firelight on his face and a gleam in his eyes. they sat still and stared at him, for the daring simplicity of his conception won their admiration. mattawa slowly straightened himself. "it's a great idea," he declared. "seen something quite like it in ontario; i guess it can be done." he turned to nasmyth. "you can count me in." wheeler made a sign of concurrence. "it seems to me that mattawa is right. in a general way, i'm quite open to take a share in the thing, but there's a point you have to consider. most of the work could be done only at low water, and a man might spend several years on it." "well?" said nasmyth simply. wheeler waved his hand. "oh," he said, "you're like that other englishman, but you want to look at this thing from a business point of view. now, as you know, the men who do the toughest work on this pacific slope are usually the ones who get the least for it. well, if you run the river down, you'll dry out the whole valley, and you'll have every man with a fancy for ranching jumping in, or some d---- land agency's dummies grabbing every rod of it. it's crown land. anybody can locate a ranch on it." "you have to buy the land," said nasmyth. "you can't pre-empt it here." "how does that count?" wheeler persisted. "if you started clearing a bush ranch, you'd spend considerably more." nasmyth smiled. "i fancy our views coincide. the point is that the crown agents charge the usual figure for land that doesn't require making, which is not the case in this particular valley. well, before i cut the first hole with the drill, they will either have to sell me all i can take up on special terms, or make me a grant for the work i do." gordon laughed. "are you going to hammer your view of the matter into the crown authorities? did you ever hear of anyone who got them to sanction a proposition that was out of the usual run?" "well," said nasmyth, "i'm going to try. if they won't hear reason, i'll start a syndicate round the settlement." wheeler, leaning forward, dropped a hand on his shoulder. "count on me for a thousand dollars when you want the money." he turned and looked at gordon. "it's your call." "i'll raise the same amount," said gordon, "though i'll have to put a mortgage on the ranch." mattawa made a little diffident gesture. "a hundred--it's the most i can do--but there's the boy," he said. nasmyth smiled in a curious way, for he knew this offer was, after all, a much more liberal one than those the others had made. "you," he said severely, "will be on wages. yet, if we put the thing through, you will certainly get your share." he looked round at the other two, and after they had expressed their approval, they discussed the project until far into the night, and finally decided to recross the range, and look at the fall again, early next morning. it happened, however, that mattawa, who went down to the river for water, soon after sunrise, found a siwash canoe neatly covered with cedar branches. this was not an astonishing thing, since the indians, who come up the rivers in the salmon season, often hew out a canoe on the spot where they require it, and leave it there until they have occasion to use it again. after considering the matter at breakfast, the four men decided to go down the cañon. they knew that one or two indians were supposed to have made the hazardous trip, but that appeared sufficient, for they were all accustomed to handling a canoe, and an extra hazard or two is not often a great deterrent to men who have toiled in the bush. they had a few misgivings when the hills closed about them as they slipped into the shadowy entrance of the cañon. no ray of sunlight ever streamed down there, and the great hollow was dim and cold and filled with a thin white mist, though a nipping wind flowed through it. for a mile or two the hillsides, which rose precipitously above them, were sprinkled here and there with climbing pines, that on their far summits cut, faintly green, against a little patch of blue. by-and-by, however, the canoe left these slopes behind, and drifted into a narrow rift between stupendous walls of rock, though there was a narrow strip of shingle strewn with whitened driftwood between the side of the cañon and the river. then this disappeared, and there was only the sliding water and the smooth rock, while the patch of sky seemed no more than a narrow riband of blue very high above. fortunately, the river flowed smoothly between its barriers of stone, and, sounding with two poles lashed together, the men got no bottom, and as the river swept them on, they began to wonder uneasily how they were to get back upstream. once, indeed, wheeler suggested something of the kind, but none of the others answered him, and he went on with his paddling. at last a deep, pulsating roar that had been steadily growing louder, swelled suddenly into a bewildering din, and mattawa shouted as they shot round a bend. there was a whirling haze of spray into which the white rush of a rapid led close in front of them, and for the next minute they paddled circumspectly. then mattawa ran the canoe in between two boulders at the head of the rapid, and they got out and stood almost knee-deep in the cold water. the whirling haze of spray which rose and sank was rent now and then as the cold breeze swept more strongly down the cañon, and it became evident that the rapid was a very short one. the walls of rock stood further apart at this point, and there was a strip of thinly-covered shingle and boulders between the fierce white rush of the flood and the worn stone. mattawa grinned as the others looked at him. "i'm staying here to hang on to the canoe," he said. "guess you don't feel quite like going down that fall." they certainly did not, and they hesitated a moment until nasmyth suddenly moved forward. "we came here to look at the fall, and i'm going on," he said. they went with him, stumbling over the shingle, and now and then floundering among the boulders, with the stream that frothed about their thighs almost dragging their feet from under them. each of them gasped with sincere relief when he scrambled out of the whirling pool. they reached a strip of uncovered rock that stretched across part of the wider hollow above the fall, and stood there drenched and shivering for several minutes, scarcely caring to speak as they gazed at the channel which the stream had cut through the midst of it. wheeler dropped his hand on nasmyth's shoulder. "well," he said--and nasmyth could just hear him through the roar of the fall--"it seems to me the thing could be done if you have nerve enough. still, i guess if they let you have the whole valley afterwards, you'd deserve it." then he seemed to laugh. "i'll make my share one thousand five hundred dollars. in the meanwhile, if you have no objections, we'll get back again." chapter xii wisbech makes inquiries a little pale sunshine shone down into the opening between the great cedar trunks when laura waynefleet walked out of the shadowy bush. the trail from the settlement dipped into the hollow of a splashing creek, just in front of her, and a yoke of oxen, which trailed along a rude jumper-sled, plodded at her side. the sled was loaded with a big sack of flour and a smaller one of sugar, among other sundries which a rancher who lived farther back along the trail had brought up from the settlement in his waggon. waynefleet's hired man was busy that morning, and as her stores were running out, laura had gone for the goods herself. other women from the cities have had to accustom themselves to driving a span of oxen along those forest trails. the beasts descended cautiously, for the slope was steep, and laura was half-way down it when she saw that a man, who sat on the little log bridge, was watching her. he was clearly a stranger, and, when she led the oxen on to the bridge, tapping the brawny neck of one with a long stick, he turned to her. "can you tell me if waynefleet's ranch is near here?" he asked. laura glanced at him sharply, for there was no doubt that he was english, and she wondered, with a faint uneasiness, what his business was. in the meanwhile the big, slowly-moving beasts had stopped and stood still, blowing through their nostrils and regarding the stranger with mild, contemplative eyes. one of them turned its head towards the girl inquiringly, and the man laughed. "one could almost fancy they wondered what i was doing here," he remarked. "the ranch is about a mile in front of you," said laura in answer to his question. "you are going there?" "i am," said the man. "i want to see miss waynefleet. they told me to ask for her at the store." laura looked at him again with some astonishment. he was a little man, apparently about fifty, plainly dressed in what appeared to be english clothing. nothing in his appearance suggested that he was a person of any importance, or, indeed, of much education, but she liked the way in which he had laughed when the ox had turned towards her. "then," she replied, "as that is my name, you need not go any further." the man made a little bow. "mine's wisbech, and i belong to the birmingham district, england," he explained. "i walked over from the settlement to make a few inquiries about a relative of mine called derrick nasmyth. they told me at the store that you would probably know where he is, and what he is doing." laura was conscious of a certain resentment against the loquacious storekeeper. it was disconcerting to feel that it was generally recognized that she was acquainted with nasmyth's affairs, especially as she realized that the fact might appear significant to his english relative. it would scarcely be advisable, she decided, to ask the stranger to walk on to dinner at the ranch, since such an invitation would probably strengthen any misconceptions he might have formed. "mr. nasmyth is expecting you?" she asked. "no," said wisbech--and a little twinkle, which she found vaguely reassuring, crept into his eyes--"i don't think he is. in all probability he thinks i am still in england. perhaps, i had better tell you that i am going to japan and home by india. it's a trip a good many english people make since the c.p.r. put their new empress steamers on, and i merely stopped over at victoria, thinking i would see derrick. he is, as perhaps i mentioned, a nephew of mine." there was a certain frankness and something whimsical in his manner which pleased the girl. "you have walked from the settlement?" she asked. "i have," answered wisbech. "it is rather a long time since i have walked as much, and i found it quite far enough. a man is bringing a horse up to take me back, but i am by no means at home in the saddle. that"--and he laughed--"is, i suppose, as great an admission in this country as i have once or twice found it to be at home." laura fancied she understood exactly what he meant. most of her own male friends in england were accustomed to both horses and guns, and this man certainly did not bear the unmistakable stamp that was upon his nephew. "then my father and i would be pleased if you will call at the ranch and have dinner with us," she said, and continued a trifle hastily: "anyone who has business at a ranch is always expected to wait until the next meal is over." wisbech, who declared that it was evidently a hospitable land, and that he would be very pleased, went on with her; but he asked her nothing about nasmyth as they walked beside the plodding oxen. instead, he appeared interested in ranching, and laura, who found herself talking to him freely and naturally, supplied him with considerable information, though she imagined once or twice that he was unobtrusively watching her. he also talked to waynefleet and the hired man, when they had dinner together at the ranch, and it was not until the two men had gone back to their work that he referred to the object he had in hand. "i understand that my nephew spent some time here," he said. laura admitted that this was the case, and when he made further inquiries, related briefly how nasmyth had first reached the ranch. she saw the man's face grow intent, as he listened, and there was a puzzling look in his eyes, which he fixed upon her. "so you took him in and nursed him," he said. "i wonder if i might ask why you did it? he had no claim on you." "most of our neighbours would have done the same," laura answered. "that hardly affects the case. i presume he was practically penniless?" "i wonder why you should seem so sure of that. as a matter of fact, he had rather more than thirty dollars in his possession when he set out from the logging camp, but on the journey he lost the belt he kept the money in." a queer light crept into wisbech's eyes. "that is just the kind of thing one would expect derrick nasmyth to do. you see, as i pointed out, he is my nephew." "you would not have lost that belt?" wisbech laughed. "no," he said, "i certainly would not. what i meant to suggest was that i am naturally more or less acquainted with derrick nasmyth's habits. in fact, i may admit i was a little astonished to hear he had contrived to accumulate those thirty dollars." laura did not know exactly why she felt impelled to tell him about the building of the dam, but she did so, and made rather a stirring story of it. she was, at least, determined that the man should realize that his nephew had ability, and it is possible that she told him a little more than she had intended, for wisbech was shrewd. then it suddenly flashed upon her that he had deliberately tricked her into setting forth his nephew's strong points, and was pleased that she had made the most of them. "the dam seems to have been rather an undertaking, and i am glad he contrived to carry it through successfully," he commented. then he looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes. "i do not know yet where he got the idea from." the girl flushed. this was, she felt, regrettable, but she could not help it, for the man's keenness was disconcerting, and she was, also, a little indignant with him. she had recognized that derrick nasmyth's character had its defects, but she was by no means prepared to admit it to his relatives. "then it didn't occur to you that an idea of that kind was likely to appeal to your nephew?" she said. "no," declared wisbech, "to be candid, it didn't." he smiled again. "after all, i don't think we need trouble about that point, especially as it seems he has acquitted himself very well. i, however, can't help feeling it was in some respects fortunate that he fell into your hands." laura was usually composed, but he saw her face harden, for she was angry at his insistence. "it is evident," he went on, "that he would not have had the opportunity of building the dam unless you had nursed him back to health and taken him into your employment." "it was my father who asked him to stay on at the ranch." "i am not sure that the correction has any very great significance. one would feel tempted to believe that your father is, to some extent, in the habit of doing what you suggest." laura sat still a moment or two. she was certainly angry with the stranger, and yet, in spite of that fact, she felt that she liked him. there was a candour in his manner which pleased her, as his good-humoured shrewdness did, though she would have preferred not to have the shrewdness exercised upon herself. it may be that he guessed what she was thinking, for he smiled. "miss waynefleet," he said, "i almost fancy we should make excellent friends, but there is a point on which i should like you to enlighten me. why did you take the trouble to make me understand that you were doing nothing unusual when you asked me to dinner?" laura laughed. "well," she said, "if one must be accurate, i do not exactly know. i may have been a little unwise in endeavouring to impress it on you. why did you consider it worth while to explain you had very seldom been in the saddle?" wisbech's manner became confidential. "it's a fact that has counted against me now and then. besides, i think you noticed my accent--it's distinctly provincial, and not like yours or derrick's--as soon as i told you i was a relative of his. you see, i know my station. in fact, i'm almost aggressively proud of it." he spread out his hands in a forceful fashion. "it's a useful one." he reached out, and, to the girl's surprise, took up a bowl from the table, and appeared to weigh it in his hands. it was made of the indurated fibre which is frequently to be met with in the bush ranches. "this," he said, "is, i suppose, the kind of thing they are going to turn out at that wood-pulp mill. you have probably observed the thickness of it?" "i believe it is, though they are going to make paper stock, too." "well," pursued wisbech; "it may meet the requirements of the country, but it is a very crude and inartistic production. i may say that it is my business to make enamelled ware. the wisbech bowls and cups and basins are justly celebrated--light and dainty, and turned out to resemble marble, granite, or the most artistic china. they will withstand any heat you can subject them to, and practically last for ever." he broke off for a moment with a chuckle. "i can't detach myself from my business as some people seem to fancy one ought to do. after all, it is only by marriage that derrick nasmyth is my nephew." his manner became grave again. "i married his mother's sister--very much against the wishes of the rest of the family. as derrick has lived some time here, the latter fact will probably not astonish you." laura said nothing, though she understood exactly what he meant. she was becoming more sure that she liked the man, but she realized that she might not have done so had she met him before she came out to canada, where she had learned to recognize the essential points in character. there were certainly respects in which his manner would once have jarred upon her. her expression was reassuring when he turned to her again. "i was a retail chemist in a little pottery town when i discovered the properties of one or two innocuous fluxes, and how to make a certain leadless glaze," he said. "probably you do not know that there were few more unhealthy occupations than the glazing of certain kinds of pottery. i was also fortunate enough to make a good deal of money out of my discovery, and as i extended its use, i eventually started a big enamelling works of my own. after that i married; but the nasmyths never quite forgave me my little idiosyncrasies and some of my views. they dropped me when my wife died. she"--his face softened curiously--"was in many ways very different from the rest of them." he broke off, and when he sat silent a moment or two laura felt a curious sympathy for him. "won't you go on?" she said. "we had no children," said the man. "my own folks were dead, but i contrived to see derrick now and then. my wife had been very fond of him, and i liked the lad. once or twice when i went up to london he insisted on making a fuss over me--took me to his chambers and his club, though i believe i was in several ways not exactly a credit to him." laura liked the little twinkle that crept back into his eyes. it suggested the genial toleration of a man with a nature big enough to overlook many trifles he might have resented. "well," he continued, "his father died suddenly, and, when it became evident that his estate was deplorably involved, derrick went out to canada. none of his fastidious relatives seemed inclined to hold out a hand to him. perhaps this was not very astonishing, but i was a little hurt that he did not afford me the opportunity. in one way, however, the lad was right. he was willing to stand on his own feet. there was pluck in him." he made an expressive gesture. "now i'm anxious to hear where he is and what he is doing." laura was stirred by what he had said. she had imagination, and could fill in many of the points wisbech had only hinted at. nevertheless, she was not quite pleased to recognize that he seemed to consider her as much concerned about his nephew as he was himself. "he is"--she tried to speak in an indifferent tone--"he is at present engaged in building a difficult trestle bridge on a railroad. it is not the kind of work any man, who shrank from hazardous exertion, would delight in; but i believe there is a reason why the terms offered were a special inducement. he has a new project in his mind, though i do not know a great deal about it." "i think you might tell me what you do know." laura did so, though she had never been in the cañon. the man listened attentively. "well," he said, "i fancy i can promise that he shall, at least, have an opportunity of putting that project through. you haven't, however, told me where the railroad bridge is." the girl made him understand how he could most easily reach it, and, while she was explaining the various roads he must follow, there was a beat of hoofs outside. wisbech rose and held out his hand. "i expect that is the man with my horse, and i'm afraid i have kept you talking a very long while." he pressed her hand as he half apologized. "i wonder if you will permit me to come back again some time?" laura said it would afford her and her father pleasure, and she did not smile when he went out and scrambled awkwardly into his saddle. the man who had brought the horse up grinned broadly as he watched wisbech jolt across the clearing. "i guess that man's not going to make the settlement on that horse. he rides 'most like a bag of flour," he remarked, with evident enjoyment of the stranger's poor horsemanship. chapter xiii on the trestle it was with difficulty that wisbech reached the railroad track upon which laura waynefleet had told him nasmyth was occupied. from the winding waggon-road, he was forced to scramble down several hundred feet through tangled undergrowth, and over great fallen logs. then he had to walk along the ties, which were spaced most inconveniently apart, neither far enough for a long stride nor close enough for a short one. it is, in fact, unless one is accustomed to it, a particularly wearying thing to walk any distance along a western railroad track; since local ticket rates are usually high on the pacific slope, and roads of any other kind are not always available, the smaller ranchers and other impecunious travellers frequently tramp miles upon the ties. wisbech, however, had not very far to go, and, though it entailed an occasional stumble, he endeavoured to look about him. he was progressing along the side of the wonderful fraser gorge, which is the great channel clearly provided by nature for the commerce of the mountain province, and he was impressed by the spectacle upon which he gazed. in front of him rose great rocky ramparts, with here and there a snow-tipped peak cutting coldly white against the glaring blue. beneath these the climbing pines rolled down in battalions to the brink of a vast hollow, in the black depths of which the river roared far below. wisps of gauzy mist clung to the hillside, and out of them the track came winding down, a sinuous gleaming riband that links the nations with a band of steel. there were, as he knew, fleet steamers ready at either end of it, in vancouver inlet, and at montreal, two thousand four hundred odd miles away, for this was the all-british route round half the world from london to yokohama and hong-kong. that fact had its effect on wisbech as he plodded painfully along the ties. he had democratic notions, but he was an imperialist, too, which was, perhaps, after all, not surprising, for he knew something of england's great dependencies. there are a good many men with similar views in the dominion, and they have certainly lived up to them. men undoubtedly work for money in western canada, but one has only to listen to their conversation in saloon and shanty to recognize the clean pride in their manhood, and their faith in the destiny of the land to which they belong. they have also proved their faith by pitting their unshrinking courage and splendid physical strength against savage nature, and, among their other achievements, that track blown out of the living rock, flung over roaring rivers, and driven through eternal snow, supplies a significant hint of what they can bear and do. they buried mangled men in roaring cañon and by giddy trestle, but the rails crept always on. wisbech came to the brink of a gorge which rent the steep hillside. he could not tell how deep it was, but it made him dizzy to look down upon the streak of frothing water far below. the gorge was spanned by the usual western trestle bridge, an openwork fabric of timber just wide enough to carry the single track rising out of the chasm on tapering piers that looked ethereally fragile in that wilderness of towering trees and tremendous slopes of rock. the chunk of axes and ringing of hammers jarred through the roar of the stream, and he could see men clinging in mid-air to little stages slung about the piers, and moving among the pines below. a man in a ragged duck suit strode by him with an axe on his shoulder, and wisbech half-diffidently ventured to inquire if he could tell where derrick nasmyth could be found. the man, who paid no attention to him, stopped close by, and shouted to some of his comrades below. "you ought to get that beam fixed before the fast freight comes through, boys. there's no sign of her yet," he called in a loud voice. somebody answered him, and the man turned to wisbech. "now, sir," he replied tardily, "you were asking for nasmyth?" wisbech said he wished to see derrick nasmyth, and the man nodded. "well," said he, "you'll have to wait a few minutes, i guess he's busy. there's a log they want to put into the trestle before the train comes along. it's not his particular business, but we're rather anxious to get through with our contract." "ah," returned wisbech, "then i fancy i know who you must be. in fact, i'm rather glad i came across you. you are evidently the man who looked after my nephew when he was ill, and from what miss waynefleet told me, derrick owes you a good deal." gordon looked at wisbech with a little smile, as he recalled what nasmyth had said about the man who had sent him the draft. "well," he remarked, as he pointed to the hillside, "it would be quite hard to fancy there was very much the matter with him now." wisbech agreed with gordon when he saw a man, who was running hard, beside four brawny oxen that were hauling a great dressed fir-log by a chain. they came from an opening between the pines, and rushed along the rude trail, which had a few skids across it. the trail led downhill just there, and man and oxen went down the slope furiously in the attempt to keep ahead of the big log that jolted over the skids behind them. wisbech had never seen cattle of any kind progress in that fashion before, but he naturally did not know that the bush-bred ox can travel at a headlong pace up and down hills and amidst thickets a man would cautiously climb or painfully crawl through. as they approached the level at the foot of the slope, the man who drove them ran back, and slipping his handspike under it, swung the butt of the log round an obstacle. wisbech gazed at his nephew with astonishment when nasmyth came up with the beasts again. his battered wide hat was shapeless, his duck trousers were badly rent, and the blue shirt, which was all he wore above the waist, hung open half-way down his breast. he was flushed and gasping, but the men upon the trestle were evidently urging him to fresh exertion. "oh, hit her hard!" shouted one of them; and a comrade clinging to a beam high above the river broke in: "we're waiting. get a hump on. bring her right along." it was evident that nasmyth was already doing all that reasonably could have been expected of him, and in another moment or two, four more men, who ran out of the bush, fell upon the log with handspikes, as the beasts came to a long upward slope. they went up it savagely, and wisbech was conscious of a growing amazement as he watched the floundering oxen and gasping men. "do you always work--like this?" he asked. gordon laughed. "well," he answered, "it isn't the bosses' fault when we don't. as it happens, however, a good many of us are putting a contract through, and the boys want to get that beam fixed before the fast freight comes along. if they don't, it's quite likely she'll shake it loose or pitch some of them off the bridge. it has stood a few years, and wants stiffening." "a few years!" said wisbech. "there are bridges in england that have existed since the first railways were built. i believe they don't require any great stiffening yet." "oh, yes," said gordon. "it's quite what one would expect. we do things differently. we heave our rails down and fill up the country with miners and farmers while you'd be worrying over your parliamentary bills. we strengthen our track as we go along, and we'll have iron bridges over every river just as soon as they're wanted." wisbech smiled. it seemed to him that these men would probably get exactly what they set their minds upon in spite of every obstacle. "why don't they stop the train while they get the beam into place?" he inquired. "nothing short of a big landslip is allowed to hold that fast freight up," gordon replied. "it's up to every divisional superintendent between here and winnipeg to rush her along as fast as possible. half the cars are billed through to the empress liner that goes out to-morrow." in the meanwhile the men and oxen had conveyed the big log up the slope, and, while nasmyth drove the beasts back along the skidded track, it swung out over the chasm at the end of a rope. men leaning out from fragile stages clutched at and guided it, and when one of them shouted, nasmyth cast the chain to which the rope was fastened loose from his oxen. then little lithe figures crawled out along the beams of the trestle, and there was a ringing of hammers. gordon, who gazed up the track, swung his arm up in warning. "you've got to hump yourselves, boys," he admonished. the faint hoot of a whistle came ringing across the pines, and a little puff of white smoke broke out far up the track from among their sombre masses. it grew rapidly larger, and the clang of the hammers quickened, while wisbech watched the white trail that swept along the steep hillside until there was a sudden shouting. then he turned and saw his nephew running across the bridge. "somebody has forgotten a bolt or a big spike," said gordon. wisbech felt inclined to hold his breath as he watched nasmyth climb down the face of the trestle, but in another minute or two he was clambering up again with several other men behind him. there was another hoot of the whistle, and, as wisbech glanced up the track, a great locomotive broke out from among the pines. it was veiled in whirling dust and flying fragments of ballast, and smoke that was grey instead of white, for the track led down-grade, and the engineer had throttled the steam. the engine was a huge one, built for mountain hauling, and the freight cars that lurched out of the forest behind it were huger still. wisbech could see them rock, and the roar which they made and which the pines flung back grew deafening. most of the cars had been coupled up in the yards at montreal, and were covered thick with the dust that had whirled about them along two thousand four hundred miles of track, and they were still speeding on through the forests of the west, as they had done through those of far-off ontario. it seemed to wisbech as he gazed at the cars that they ran pigmy freight trains in the land he came from, and he was conscious of something that had a curious stirring effect on him in the clang and clatter of that giant rolling stock, as the engineer hurled his great train furiously down-grade. it was man's defiance of the wilderness, a symbol of his domination over all the great material forces of the world. the engineer, who glanced out once from his dust-swept cab, held them bound and subject in the hollow of the grimy hand he clenched upon the throttle. with a deafening roar, the great train leapt across the trestle, which seemed to rock and reel under it, and plunged once more into the forest. a whistle sounded--a greeting to the men upon the bridge--and then the uproar died away in a long diminuendo among the sombre pines. it was in most respects a fortuitous moment for wisbech's nephew to meet him, and the older man smiled as nasmyth strode along the track to grasp his outstretched hand. "i'm glad to see you, derrick," said wisbech, who drew back a pace and looked at his nephew critically. "you have changed since i last shook hands with you in london, my lad," he continued. "you didn't wear blue duck, and you hadn't hands of that kind then." nasmyth glanced at his scarred fingers and broken nails. "i've been up against it, as they say here, since those days," he replied. "and it has done you a world of good!" nasmyth laughed. "well," he said, "perhaps it has. any way, that's not a point we need worry over just now. where have you sprung from?" wisbech told him, and added that there were many things he would like to talk about, whereupon nasmyth smiled in a deprecatory manner. "i'm afraid you'll have to wait an hour or two," he said. "you see, there are several more big logs ready for hauling down, and i have to keep the boys supplied. i'll be at liberty after supper, and you can't get back to-night. in the meanwhile you might like to walk along to where we're getting the logs out." wisbech went with him and gordon, and was impressed when he saw how they and the oxen handled the giant trunks. he, however, kept his thoughts to himself, and, quietly smoking, sat on a redwood log, a little, unobtrusive, grey-clad figure, until gordon, who had disappeared during the last hour, announced that supper was ready. then wisbech followed nasmyth and gordon to their quarters, which they had fashioned out of canvas, a few sheets of corrugated iron, and strips of bark, for, as their work was on the hillside, they lived apart from the regular railroad gang. the little hut was rudely comfortable, and the meal gordon set out was creditably cooked. wisbech liked the resinous scent of the wood smoke that hung about the spot, and the faint aromatic odour of the pine-twig beds and roofing-bark. when the meal was over, they sat a while beneath the hanging-lamp, smoking and discussing general topics, until nasmyth indicated the canvas walls of the hut and the beds of spruce twigs with a wave of his hand. "you will excuse your quarters. they're rather primitive," he said. wisbech's eyes twinkled. "i almost think i shall feel as much at home as i did when you last entertained me at your club, and i'm not sure that i don't like your new friends best," he said. "the others were a trifle patronizing, though, perhaps, they didn't mean to be. in fact, it was rather a plucky thing you did that day." a faint flush crept into nasmyth's bronzed face, but wisbech smiled reassuringly as he glanced about the hut. "the question is what all this is leading to," he observed with inquiry in his tone. gordon rose. "i'll go along and talk to the boys," he announced. "i won't be back for an hour or two." nasmyth glanced at wisbech before he turned to his comrade. "i would sooner you stayed where you are," he said. then he answered wisbech. "in the first place, if we are reasonably fortunate, it should lead to the acquisition of about a couple of hundred dollars." "still," said wisbech, "that will not go very far. what will be the next thing when you have got the money?" "in a general way, i should endeavour to earn a few more dollars by pulling out fir-stumps for somebody or clearing land." wisbech nodded. "no doubt they're useful occupations, but one would scarcely fancy them likely to prove very remunerative," he said. "you have, it seems to me, reached an age when you have to choose. are you content to go on as you are doing now?" nasmyth's face flushed as he saw the smile in gordon's eyes, for it was evident that wisbech and laura waynefleet held much the same views concerning him. they appeared to fancy that he required a lot of what might be termed judicious prodding. this was in one sense not exactly flattering, but he did not immediately mention his great project for drying out the valley. he would not hasten to remove a wrong impression concerning himself. "well," resumed wisbech, seeing he did not answer, "if you care to go back and take up your profession in england again, i think i can contrive to give you a fair start. you needn't be diffident. i can afford it, and the thing is more or less my duty." nasmyth sat silent. there was no doubt that the comfort and refinement of the old life appealed to one side of his nature, and there were respects in which his present surroundings jarred on him. it is also probable that, had the offer been made him before he had had a certain talk with laura waynefleet, he would have profited by it, but she had roused something that was latent in him, and at the same time endued him with a vague distrust of himself, the effect of which was largely beneficial. he had realized then his perilous propensity for what she had called drifting, and, after all, men of his kind are likely to drift fastest when everything is made pleasant for them. it was characteristic that he looked inquiringly at gordon, who nodded. "i think you ought to go, if it's only for a year or two," said gordon. "it's the life you were born to. give it another trial. you can come back to the bush again if you find it fails." nasmyth appeared to consider this, and the two men watched him intently, wisbech with a curious expression in his shrewd eyes. then, somewhat to their surprise, nasmyth broke into a little harsh laugh. "that there is a possibility of my failing seems sufficient," he said. "here i must fight. i am, as we say, up against it." he turned to wisbech. "now if you will listen, i will tell you something." for the next few minutes he described his project for running the water out of the valley, and when he sat silent again there was satisfaction in wisbech's face. "well," said wisbech, "i am going to give you your opportunity. it's a thing i insist upon, and, as it happens, i'm in a position to do it more or less effectually. i have letters to folks of some importance in victoria--government men among others--and you'll go down there and live as you would have done in england just as long as appears advisable while you try to put the project through. it is quite evident that you will have to get one of the land exploitation concerns to back you, and no doubt a charter or concession of some kind will have to be obtained from the crown authorities. the time you spend over the thing in victoria should make it clear where your capacities lie--if it's handling matters of this kind in the cities, or leading your workmen in the bush. i purpose to take a share in your venture, and i'm offering you an opportunity of making sure which is the kind of life you're most fitted for." "i guess you ought to go," remarked gordon quietly. nasmyth smiled. "that," he agreed, "is my own opinion." "then we'll consider it as decided," said wisbech. "it seems to me i could spend a month or two in this province very satisfactorily, and we'll go down to victoria together, as soon as you have carried out this timber-cutting contract." they talked of other matters, while now and then men from the railroad gang dropped in and made themselves pleasant to the stranger. it must be admitted that there are one or two kinds of wandering englishmen, who would not have found them particularly friendly, but the little quiet man with the twinkling eyes was very much at home with them. he had been endued with the gift of comprehension, and rock-cutter and axeman opened their minds to him. in fact, he declared his full satisfaction with the entertainment afforded him before he lay down upon his bed of springy spruce twigs. chapter xiv in the moonlight there was a full moon in the clear blue heavens, and its silvery light streamed into the pillared veranda where nasmyth sat, cigar in hand, on the seaward front of james acton's house, which stood about an hour's ride from victoria on the dunsmer railroad. like many other successful men in that country, acton had begun life in a three-roomed shanty, and now, when, at the age of fifty, he was in possession of a comfortable competence, he would have been well content to retire to his native settlement in the wilderness. there was, however, the difficulty that the first suggestion of such a course would have been vetoed by his wife, who was an ambitious woman, younger than he, and, as a rule, at least, acton submitted to her good-humouredly. that was why he retained his seat on several directorates, and had built bonavista on the bluff above the straits of georgia, instead of the ranch-house in the bush he still hankered for. bonavista had cost him much money, but mrs. acton had seen that it was wisely expended, and the long wooden house, with its colonnades of slender pillars, daintily sawn scroll-work, shingled roof, and wide verandas, justified her taste. acton reserved one simply furnished room in it for himself, and made no objections when she filled the rest of it with miscellaneous guests. wisbech had brought him a letter from a person of consequence, and he had offered the englishman and his nephew the freedom of his house. he would not have done this to everybody, though they are a hospitable people in the west, but he had recognized in the unostentatious wisbech one or two of the characteristics that were somewhat marked in himself, and his wife, as it happened, extended her favour to nasmyth as soon as she saw him. she had been quick to recognize something she found congenial in his voice and manner, though none of the points she noticed would in all probability have appealed to her husband. acton leaned upon the veranda balustrade, with a particularly rank cigar in his hand, a gaunt, big-boned man in badly-fitting clothes. it was characteristic of him that he had not spoken to nasmyth since he stepped out from one of the windows five minutes earlier. "it's kind of pretty," he said, indicating the prospect with a little wave of his hand. nasmyth admitted that it was pretty indeed, and his concurrence was justified. sombre pinewoods and rocky heights walled in the wooden dwelling, but in front of it the ground fell sharply away, and beyond the shadow of the tall crags a blaze of moonlight stretched eastwards athwart the sparkling sea. "well," said acton, "it's 'most as good a place for a house as i could find anywhere the cars could take me into town, and that's partly why we raised it here." then he glanced down at the little white steamer lying in the inlet below. "that's one of my own particular toys. you're coming up the coast with us next week for the salmon-trolling?" nasmyth said that he did not know what his uncle's intentions were, but he was almost afraid they had trespassed on their host's kindness already. acton laughed. "we have folks here for a month quite often--folks that i can't talk to and who don't seem to think it worth while to talk to me. now i can get along with your uncle; i can mostly tell that kind of man when i see him. you have got to let him stay some weeks yet. it would be in one way a kindness to me. what makes the thing easier is the fact that mrs. acton has taken to you, and when she gets hold of anyone she likes, she doesn't let him go." nasmyth was content to stay, and he felt that it would be a kindness to his host. acton appeared willing to fall in with the views of his wife, but nasmyth fancied that he was now and then a little lonely in his own house. "both of you have done everything you could to make our stay pleasant," nasmyth declared. "it was quite easy in your case," and a twinkle crept into his host's eyes. "your uncle's the same kind of a man as i am, and one can see you have been up against it since you came to this country. that's one of the best things that can happen to any young man. i guess it's not our fault we don't like all the young men they send us out from the old country." he glanced down at his cigar. "well, i've pretty well smoked this thing out. it's the kind of cigar i was raised on, but i'm not allowed to use that kind anywhere in my house." in another moment acton swung round, and stepped back through an open window. he generally moved abruptly, and was now and then painfully direct in conversation, but nasmyth had been long enough in that country to understand and to like him. he was a man with a grip of essential things, but it was evident that he could bear good-humouredly with the views of others. nasmyth sat still after acton left him. there were other guests in the house, and the row of windows behind him blazed with light. one or two of the big casements were open, and music and odd bursts of laughter drifted out. somebody, it seemed, was singing an amusing song, but the snatches of it that reached nasmyth struck him as pointless and inane. he had been at bonavista a week, but, after his simple, strenuous life in the bush, he felt at times overwhelmed by the boisterous vivacity with which his new companions pursued their diversions. there are not many men without an occupation in the west, but mrs. acton knew where to lay her hands on them, and her husband sometimes said that it was the folks who had nothing worth while to do who always made the greatest fuss. but nasmyth found it pleasant to pick up again the threads of the life which he had almost come to the conclusion that he had done with altogether. it was comforting to feel that he could sleep as long as he liked, and then rise and dress himself in whole, dry garments, while there was also a certain satisfaction in sitting down to a daintily laid and well-spread table when he remembered how often he had dragged himself back to his tent almost too worn out to cook his evening meal. on the whole, he was glad that acton had urged him to remain another week or two. then he became interested as a girl stepped out of one of the lighted windows some little distance away, and, without noticing him, leaned upon the veranda balustrade. the smile in her eyes, he fancied, suggested a certain satisfaction at the fact that what she had done had irritated somebody. why it should do so he did not know, but it certainly conveyed that impression. in another minute a man appeared in the portico, and the manner in which he moved forward, after he had glanced along the veranda, was more suggestive still. the girl who leaned on the balustrade no doubt saw him, and she walked towards nasmyth, whom, apparently, she had now seen for the first time. nasmyth thought he understood the reason for this, and, though it was not exactly flattering to himself, he smiled as he rose and drew forward another chair. he believed most of mrs. acton's guests were acquainted with the fact that he was an impecunious dam-builder. the girl, who sat down in the chair he offered, smiled when he flung his half-smoked cigar away, and nasmyth laughed as he saw the twinkle in her eyes, for he had stopped smoking with a half-conscious reluctance. "it really was a pity, especially as i wouldn't have minded in the least," she observed. nasmyth glanced along the veranda, and saw that the man, who had discovered that there was not another chair available, was standing still, evidently irresolute. probably he recognized that it would be difficult to preserve a becoming ease of manner in attempting to force his company upon two persons who were not anxious for it, and were sitting down. nasmyth looked at the girl and prepared to undertake the part that he supposed she desired him to play. she was attired in what he would have described as modified evening dress, and her arms and neck gleamed with an ivory whiteness in the moonlight. she was slight in form, and curiously dainty as well as pretty. her hair was black, and she had eyes that matched it, for they were dark and soft, with curious lights in them, but, as she settled herself beside him in the pale moonlight it seemed to him that "dainty" did not describe her very well. she was rather elusively ethereal. "i really don't think you could expect me to make any admission of that kind about my cigar, miss hamilton," he said. "still, it would perhaps have been excusable. you see, i have just come out of the bush." violet hamilton smiled. "you are not accustomed to throw anything away up there?" "no," answered nasmyth, with an air of reflection; "i scarcely think we are. certainly not when it's a cigar of the kind mr. acton supplies his guests with." he imagined that his companion satisfied herself that the man she evidently desired to avoid had not gone away yet, before she turned to him again. "aren't you risking mrs. acton's displeasure in sitting out here alone?" she inquired. "you are probably aware that this is not what she expects from you?" "i almost think the retort is obvious." and nasmyth wondered whether he had gone further than he intended, when he saw the momentary hardness in his companion's eyes. it suggested that the last thing her hostess had expected her to do was to keep out of the way of the man who had followed her on to the veranda. he accordingly endeavoured to divert her attention from that subject. "any way, i find all this rather bewildering now and then," he said, and indicated the lights and laughter and music in the house behind him with a little movement of his hand. "this is a very different world from the one i have been accustomed to, and it takes some time to adapt oneself to changed conditions." he broke off as he saw the other man slowly turn away. he looked at the girl with a smile. "i can go on a little longer if it appears worth while." violet hamilton laughed. "ah," she said, "one should never put one's suspicions into words like that. besides, i almost think one of your observations was a little misleading. there are reasons for believing that you are quite familiar with the kind of life you were referring to." it was clear to nasmyth that she had been observing him, but he did not realize that she was then watching him with keen, half-covert curiosity. he was certainly a well-favoured man, and though his conversation and demeanour did not differ greatly from those of other young men she was accustomed to; there was also something about him which she vaguely recognized as setting him apart from the rest. he was a little more quiet than most of them, and there were a certain steadiness in his eyes, and a faint hardness in the lines of his face, which roused her interest. he had been up against it, as they say in that country, which is a thing that usually leaves its mark upon a man. it endues him with control, and, above all, with comprehension. "oh," he said, "a man not burdened with money is now and then forced to wander. he naturally picks up a few impressions here and there. i wonder if you find it chilly sitting here?" the girl rose, with a little laugh. "that," she said, "was evidently meant to afford me an opportunity. i think i should like to go down to the inlet." nasmyth, who understood this as an invitation, went with her, and, five minutes later, they strolled out upon the crown of the bluff, down the side of which a little path wound precipitously. nasmyth held his hand out at the head of it, and they went down together cautiously, until they stood on the smooth white shingle close by where the little steamer lay. the girl looked about her with a smile of appreciation. a lane of dusky water, that heaved languidly upon the pebbles, ran inland past them under the dark rock's side, and it was very still in the shadow of the climbing firs. on the further shore a flood of silvery radiance, against which the dark branches cut black as ebony, streamed down into the rift, and beyond the rocky gateway there was brilliant moonlight on the smooth heave of sea. the girl glanced at it longingly, and then, though she said nothing, her eyes rested on a little beautifully modelled cedar canoe that lay close by. in another moment nasmyth had laid his hands on it, and she noticed how easily he ran it down the beach, as she had noticed how steady of foot he was when she held fast to his hand as they came down the bluff. with a curious little smile that she remembered afterwards, he glanced towards the shadowy rocks which shut in the entrance to the inlet. "shall we go and see what there is out yonder beyond those gates?" he asked. "ah," replied the girl, "what could there be? aren't you taking an unfair advantage in appealing to our curiosity?" nasmyth made a whimsical gesture as he answered her, for he saw that she could be fanciful, too. "unsubstantial moonlight, glamour, mystery--perhaps other things as well," he said. "if you are curious, why shouldn't we go and see?" she made no demur, and helping her into the canoe, he thrust the light craft off, and, with a sturdy stroke of the paddle, drove it out into the inlet. it was a thing he was used to, for he had painfully driven ruder craft of that kind up wildly-frothing rivers, and the girl noticed the powerful swing of his shoulders and the rhythmic splash of his paddle, though there were other things that had their effect on her--the languid lapping of the brine on shingle, and the gurgle round the canoe, that seemed to be sliding out towards the moonlight through a world of unsubstantial shadow. she admitted that the man interested her. he had a quick wit and a whimsical fancy that appealed to her, but he had also hard, workman's hands, and he managed the canoe as she imagined one who had undertaken such things professionally would have done. when the shimmering blaze of moonlight lay close in front of them, he let his paddle trail in the water for a moment or two, and, turning, glanced back at the house on the bluff. its lower windows blinked patches of warm orange light against the dusky pines. "that," he said, "in one respect typifies all you are accustomed to. it stands for the things you know. aren't you a little afraid of leaving it behind you?" "i think i suggested that you were accustomed to them, too!" nasmyth laughed. "oh," he said, "i was turned out of that world a long while ago. we are going to see a different one together." "the one you know?" "well," returned the man reflectively, "i'm not quite sure that i do. it's the one i live in, but that doesn't go very far after all. now and then i think one could live in the wilderness a lifetime without really knowing it. there's an elusive something in or behind it that evades one--the mystery that hides in all grandeur and beauty. still, there's a peril in it. like the moonlight, it gets hold of you." the girl fancied that she understood him, but she wondered how far it was significant that they should slide out into the flood of radiance together when he once more drove the light craft ahead. the smooth sea shimmered like molten silver about the canoe, and ran in sparkling drops from the dripping paddle. the bluff hung high above them, a tremendous shadowy wall, and the sweet scent of the firs came off from it with the little land breeze. they swung out over the smooth levels that heaved with a slow, rhythmic pulsation, and nasmyth wondered whether he was wise when he glanced at his companion. she sat still, looking about her dreamily, very dainty--almost ethereal, he thought--in that silvery light, and it was so long since he had talked confidentially to a woman of her kind, attired as became her station. laura waynefleet's hands, as he remembered, were hard and sometimes red, and the stamp of care was plain on her; but it was very different with violet hamilton. she was wholly a product of luxury and refinement, and the mere artistic beauty of her attire, which seemed a part of her, appealed to his imagination. he did not remember how she set him talking, but he told her whimsical, and now and then grim, stories of his life in the shadowy bush, and she listened with quick comprehension. she seemed to endow him with that quality, too, since, as he talked, he began to realize, as he had never quite comprehended before, the something that lay behind the tense struggle of man with nature and all the strenuous endeavour. perhaps he expressed it in a degree, for now and then the girl's eyes kindled as he told of some heroic grapple with giant rock and roaring river, gnawing hunger, and loneliness, and the beaten man's despair. he found her attention gratifying. it was certainly pleasant, though he had not consciously adopted the pose, to figure in the eyes of such a girl as one who had known most of the hardships that man can bear and played his part in the great epic struggle for the subjugation of the wilderness. as it happened, she did not know that those who bear the brunt of that grim strife are for the most part dumb. their share is confined to swinging the axe and gripping the jarring drill. it was an hour after they left the inlet when the land breeze came down a little fresher, and swinging the canoe round, he drove it back over a glittering sea that commenced to splash about the polished side of the light craft. then both of them ceased talking until, as they approached the shadowy rift in the rock, the girl looked back with a laugh. "it is almost a pity to leave all that behind," she said softly. nasmyth nodded as he glanced up at the lighted windows of the house. "in one sense it is. still, it's rather curious that i think i never appreciated it quite so much before." he let his paddle trail as he wondered whether he had gone too far. "i suppose you are going up the coast with mrs. acton in the steamer?" he inquired. "yes," answered violet hamilton, with an air of reflection; "i was not quite sure whether i would or not, but now i almost think i will." nasmyth was sensible of a little thrill of satisfaction, for he knew it was understood at bonavista that he was going too. he decided that he could certainly go. he dipped his paddle strongly, and laughed as they slid forward into the shadow. "now," he said, "you are safely back in your own realm again." "you called it a world a little while ago," said the girl. "i did," replied nasmyth. "still, i almost think the word i substituted is justifiable." violet hamilton said nothing as they climbed the bluff, but she wondered how far the change he had made was significant. all the men at bonavista were her subjects, but until that night, at least, nasmyth had in that sense stood apart from them, and it is always more or less gratifying to extend one's sovereignty. chapter xv martial's misadventure there was not a breath of wind, and the night was soft and warm, when nasmyth lay stretched upon the _tillicum's_ deck, with his shoulder against the saloon skylights and a pipe in his hand. the little steamer lay with her anchor down under a long forest-shadowed point, behind which a half-moon hung close above the great black pines. some distance astern of her, a schooner lay waiting for a wind with the loose folds of her big mainsail flapping black athwart the silvery light, and her blinking anchor-light flung a faint track of brightness across the sliding tide. there was only the soft lap of the water along the steamer's side and the splash of the little swell upon the beach to break the stillness, for the sea was smooth as oil. the _tillicum_ would not have compared favourably with an english steam-yacht. she had been built for the useful purpose of towing saw-logs, and was sold cheap when, as the mill she kept supplied grew larger, she proved too small for it. acton, however, was by no means a fastidious person, and when he had fitted her with a little saloon, and made a few primitive alterations below, he said she was quite good enough for him. for that matter, anyone fond of it might navigate the land-locked waters of puget sound and the straits of georgia in an open whaleboat with satisfaction in summer-time. there are islands everywhere, wonderful rock-walled inlets that one can sail into, beaches to which the primeval forest comes rolling down, and always above the blue waters tower tremendous ramparts of never-melting snow. on the evening in question, acton was not on board. he had taken his wife and guests ashore that morning for an excursion to a certain river where there was excellent trout-fishing, and, as a hotel had lately been built for the convenience of sportsmen visitors, it was uncertain whether they would return that night. nasmyth had not made one of the party because there was scarcely room for everybody in the gig, and six miles, which was the distance to the river mouth, was rather far to row in the dinghy. another guest called martial also had been left behind, and afterwards had been rowed ashore to visit a ranching property somewhere in the neighbourhood. he was the man who had followed miss hamilton out on to the veranda one night, and nasmyth, who did not like him, understood that he was connected with a big land exploitation agency. nasmyth felt more or less contented with everything, as he lay upon the _tillicum's_ deck listening to the faint murmur of the swell upon the boulder beach. he had made certain propositions to the crown lands authorities, which he believed they would look into, and while he waited he found the customs and luxuries of civilization pleasant. he found the society of violet hamilton more pleasant still, and the demeanour of the man, martial, was almost the only thing that ruffled him. martial had constituted himself miss hamilton's special attendant, and though nasmyth fancied mrs. acton connived at this, it was by no means as evident that the girl was pleased with it. indeed, he surmised that she liked the man as little as he did. martial was brusque in mariner, and, though that is not usually resented in british columbia, he now and then went even further than is considered permissible in that country, and he had gained the sincere dislike of the red-haired george, who acted as the _tillicum's_ deck-hand, cook, and skipper. george sat upon the skylights sucking at his pipe, and it presently became evident that his thoughts and nasmyth's were very much alike. there was nobody else on board, for the man who fired and drove the engines was ashore. "i guess you can catch trout?" the skipper remarked. "oh yes," answered nasmyth indifferently. "as a matter of fact, i've had to, when there was very little else to eat." george, who was big and lank, and truculent in appearance, nodded. "juss so!" he rejoined. "you've been up against it in the bush. anybody could figure on that by the look of you and the way you use your hands. a city man takes holds of things as if they were going to hurt him. that's kind of why i froze on to you." nasmyth took this as a compliment, and smiled his acknowledgment, for george was a privileged person, and most of his recent companions held democratic views. he, however, said nothing, and george went on again. "mrs. acton's a mighty smart woman, but she plays some fool tricks," he commented. "where's the blame use in taking a boatload of folks after trout when none of them but the boss knows how to fish?" then he chuckled. "you'd have gone with the rest this morning if she wanted you to. guess the gig would have carried another one quite nicely." nasmyth fancied that this was possible, though he naturally would not admit it to his companion. the fact that his hostess had somewhat cleverly contrived to leave him behind had its significance, since it seemed to indicate that she recognized that miss hamilton regarded him with a certain amount of favour. "well," said george reflectively, "the boss is quite smart, too! mrs. acton crowded you out of the gig. the boss says nothing, but he knocks off that blame martial. that makes the thing even, and, unless he does it, none of them gets any fish. now, it kind of seems to me that for a girl like miss hamilton to look at a man like martial is a throwing of herself away. i guess it strikes you like that, too?" this was rather too pointed a question for nasmyth to answer, but, so far as it went, he could readily have agreed with the skipper. as a matter of fact it suggested the query why he should object to miss hamilton throwing herself away. "well," he observed, "i'm not quite sure that it's any concern of mine." george's grin was expressive of good-natured toleration. "oh!" he replied, "i guess that's plain enough for me. you're not going to talk about the boss's friends. still, one man's as good as another in this country, and, if i wasn't way better than martial, i'd drown myself. that's the kind of pernicious insect a decent man has no use for. what's he come on board for with three bags ram full of clothes, when many a better man humps his outfit up and down the bush in an old blanket same as you have done? it's a sure thing that no man with a conscience wants to get into the land agency business. it's an institution for selling greensuckers ranching land that's rock and gravel and virgin forest. besides, i heard the blame insect telling miss hamilton that nobody not raised in the hog-pen could drink my coffee." it seemed to nasmyth that there was a little reason in the skipper's observations, though he thought that martial's strictures upon the coffee accounted for most of them. "i guess it might have been wiser if martial had kept on good terms with the skipper," he laughingly rejoined. george chuckled softly. "well," he declared, "when anyone up and says my coffee's only fit for the hog-pen, i'm going to get even with him. i kind of feel i have to. it's up to me." he said nothing further for some little time, and nasmyth, who fancied that he would sooner or later carry out his amiable intentions, lay prone upon the deck smoking placidly. nasmyth was one who adapted himself to his environment with readiness, and on board the _tillicum_ the environment was particularly comfortable. through acton's hospitality, he was brought into contact with the luxuries of civilization without the galling restraints. miss hamilton had been gracious to him of late. that was a cause for satisfaction in itself. the days when he swung the heavy axe, or, drenched with icy water, stood gripping the drill had slipped far away behind him. for the time, at least, he could bask in the sunshine with ears stopped against the shrill trumpet-call to action that he had heard in the crash of rent trees and the turmoil of the wild flood. a faint cry came from the shore out of the stillness of the woods, and george listened carefully. "that can't be the boss. guess he's stopping at the hotel," he said. "it's quite likely it's that blame insect martial coming back. those ranchers he has been trying to freeze off their holding have no use for him." the cry rose again, a trifle louder, and george nodded complacently. "oh, yes," he exulted, "it's martial sure! we'll let him howl. any way, he can walk down the beach until he's abreast of us. when anybody expects me to hear him, he has got to come within half a mile." it seemed to nasmyth that martial would not have a pleasant walk in the dark, for most of the beach lay in the black shadow of the pines, and beneath highwater mark was covered with the roughest kind of boulders. above the tide-line, a ragged mass of driftwood interspersed with undergrowth separated the water from the tangled bush. both george and nasmyth were aware that one could readily tear one's clothes to pieces in an attempt to struggle through such a labyrinth. judging by the shouts he uttered at intervals, martial appeared to be floundering along the beach, and presently nasmyth laughed. "he appears to be getting angry," he said. "after all, it's only natural that he doesn't want to sleep in the woods all night." george filled his pipe, apparently with quiet satisfaction, but, some time later, he stood up suddenly with an exclamation. "the blame contrary insect means swimming off," he announced. nasmyth, glancing shorewards, saw a dim white object crawling on all-fours towards the water where the moonlight streamed down upon a jutting point, and it was then that the idea which had results that neither of them anticipated first dawned on the skipper, who broke into a hoarse chuckle. "i guess he wouldn't want miss hamilton to see him like that," he said. "some folks look considerably smarter with their clothes on." "how's she going to see him when she isn't here?" george grinned again. "her dresses are, so's her hat and her little mandolin. if you were pulled in tight you'd have quite a figure." it was clear to nasmyth that the scheme was workable, though he was quite aware that the thing he was expected to do was a trifle discreditable. still, he had lived for some time in the bush, where his comrades' jests were not particularly delicate, and martial once or twice had been aggressively unpleasant to him. what was more to the purpose, he felt reasonably sure that miss hamilton would be by no means sorry to be free of martial, and it was probable that their victim would never relate his discomfiture, if their scheme succeeded. as the result of these reflections he went down with george to the little saloon. the skipper, who left him there a few minutes, came hack with an armful of feminine apparel. they had no great difficulty in tying on the big hat with the veil, but when nasmyth had stripped his jacket off there was some trouble over the next proceeding. indeed, derrick did not feel quite comfortable about appropriating miss hamilton's garments, but he had committed himself, and it was quite clear that his companion would not appreciate his reasons for drawing back. "hold your breath while i get this blame hook in," said the skipper. nasmyth did so; but he could not continue to hold it indefinitely, and in a few moments there was a suggestive crack, and george desisted in evident dismay. "come adrift from the stiffening quite a strip of it," he said. "well, i guess i can somehow fix the thing up so as nobody will notice it. it should be easier than putting a new cloth in a topsail, and i've a mending outfit in the locker." nasmyth was by no means sure of george's ability to make the damage good, but he permitted the skipper to tie on the loose skirt, and then to hang the beribboned mandolin round his neck. when this was done george surveyed him with a grin of satisfaction. "well," said george, "i guess you'll do. now you'll keep behind the skylights, and only get up and bang that mandolin when martial wants to come on board. guess when he sees you he'll feel 'most like jumping right out of his skin. miss hamilton's not going to mind. i've seen her looking at him as if she'd like to stick a big hatpin into him." they went up, and nasmyth, who felt guilty as he crouched in the shadow, could see a black head and the flash of a white arm that swung out into the moonlight and disappeared again. martial was swimming pluckily, and the tide was with him, for his head grew larger every minute, and presently the gleam of his skin became visible through the pale shining of the brine. his face dipped as his left arm came out at every stroke, and the water frothed as his feet swung together like a flail. he paddled easily while the tide swept him on until he reached the _tillicum_. then his voice rose, breathless and cautious. "anchor watch," he called. "anybody else on board?" george, who kept out of sight, did not answer. martial called again. "don't let anybody out of the companion while i get up," he commanded. the _tillicum_ had a high sheer forward, and he could not reach her rail, but as the tide swept him along he raised himself to clutch at it where it was lower abreast of the skylights. "now," said george softly, "you can play the band." nasmyth rose and swept his knife-haft across the strings of the mandolin. for a moment he saw something like horror in martial's wet face, and then the man, who gasped, went down headforemost into the water. martial was nearly a dozen yards astern when his head came out again, and he slid away with the tide, with his white arm swinging furiously. george sat down upon the deck, and expressed his satisfaction by drumming his feet upon the planking while he laughed. "he's off," he said. "might have a high-power engine inside of him. guess he's going to scare those schooner men 'most out of their lives. it's quite likely they won't keep anchor watch when they're lying snug in a place of this kind." nasmyth managed to control his laughter, and went down to divest himself of his draperies. when he came up again, george reported that he had just seen martial crawling up the schooner's cable, and in another few moments what appeared to be a howl of terror rose from the vessel. it was not repeated, and shortly afterwards nasmyth went to sleep. martial remained on board the schooner that night, and nasmyth was not surprised when he failed to appear next morning. acton had come back with his party when a man dropped into the boat astern of the schooner, and pulled towards the _tillicum_ leisurely. everybody was on deck when he slid alongside, and, standing up in his boat, laid hold of the rail. "i've a message for mr. acton," he said, holding up a strip of paper. acton, who took the paper from him, was a trifle perplexed when he glanced at it. "it seems that martial didn't stay at that ranch last night as i thought he had done," he remarked. mrs. acton, who sat next to miss hamilton, looked up sharply. she was a tall woman with an authoritative manner. "where is he?" she inquired. "gone back to victoria," said her husband, who handed her the note. "it's kind of sudden, and he doesn't worry about saying why he went. there's a little remark at the bottom that i don't quite like." george naturally had been listening, and nasmyth saw his subdued grin, but he saw also mrs. acton's quick glance at miss hamilton, which seemed to suggest that she surmised the girl could explain why martial had departed so unceremoniously. there was, however, only astonishment, and, nasmyth fancied, a trace of relief in violet hamilton's face. mrs. acton turned to her husband with a flush of resentment in her eyes. "i should scarcely have believed mr. martial would ever write such a note," she said. "what does he mean when he says that he does not appreciate being left to sleep in the woods all night?" "that," answered acton, "is what i don't quite understand. if he'd hailed anchor watch loud enough, george would have gone off for him. still, we're lying quite a way out from the beach." then he remembered the man from the schooner, who still gripped the rail. "how did you come to get this note?" he asked. "the man who came off last night gave it to the skipper," said the schooner's deck-hand with a very suggestive grin. "how'd he come off?" acton asked. "did you go ashore for him?" "we didn't!" said the man. "he must have swum off and crawled up the cable. any way, when he struck the skipper he hadn't any clothes on him." there was a little murmur of astonishment, and mrs. acton straightened herself suddenly, while nasmyth saw a gleam of amusement creep into acton's eyes. the schooner man evidently felt that he had an interested audience, for he leaned upon the rail as he began to tell all he knew about the incident. "i was asleep forward, when the skipper howled as if he was most scared out of his life," he said. "i got up out of the scuttle just as quick as i could, and there he was crawling round behind the stern-house with an axe in his hand, and the mate flat up against the rail. "'shut that slide quick,' says the skipper. 'shut it. he's crawling up the ladder.' "'i guess you can shut it yourself if you want it shut.' he asked for whisky. 'tell him where it is,' says the mate." there was no doubt that the listeners were interested, and the man made an impressive gesture. "it was kind of scaring. there was a soft flippety-flop going on in the stern-house, and i slipped out a handspike. then the skipper sees me. "'there's a drowned man crawling round the cabin with water running off him,' he says. "then a head came out of the scuttle and a wet arm, and a voice that didn't sound quite like a drowned man's says, 'oh you----'" acton raised his arm restrainingly, and the narrator made a sign of comprehension. "he called us fools," the man explained, "and for 'most a minute the skipper was going to take the axe to him. then he hove it at the mate for being scared instead, and they all went down together, and i heard them light the stove. after that i went back and dropped off to sleep, and the skipper sent me off at sun-up to fetch the stranger's clothes. we set him ashore as soon as he'd got some breakfast into him." the man rowed away in another minute or two, and, as he had evidently told his story with a relish, nasmyth wondered whether martial had contrived to offend him by endeavouring to purchase his silence. there are, of course, men one can offer a dollar to on that coast, but such an act requires a certain amount of circumspection. acton's eyes twinkled, and the men who were his guests looked at one another meaningly. "well," answered one of them, "i guess there is an explanation, though i didn't think martial was that kind of man." nasmyth said nothing, but he saw mrs. acton's face flush with anger and disdain, and surmised that it was most unlikely that she would forgive the unfortunate martial. the women in the party evidently felt that it would not be advisable to say anything further about the matter, and when george broke out the anchor the _tillicum_ steamed away. it was after supper that night, and there was nobody except the helmsman on deck, when miss hamilton approached the forward scuttle where nasmyth sat with his pipe in his hand. nasmyth rose and spread out an old sail for her, and she sat down a little apart from him. the _tillicum_ was steaming northwards at a leisurely six knots, with her mastheads swaying rhythmically through the soft darkness, and a deep-toned gurgling at her bows. by-and-by nasmyth became conscious that miss hamilton was looking at him, and, on the whole, he was glad that it was too dark for her to see him very well. "i wonder if you were very much astonished at what you heard about mr. martial?" she asked. "well," said nasmyth reflectively, "in one way at least, i certainly was. you see, i did not think martial was, as our friend observed, that kind of man. in fact, i may admit that i feel reasonably sure of it still." "i suppose you felt you owed him that?" "i didn't want to leave you under a misapprehension." there was silence for half a minute, and then nasmyth turned towards the girl again. "you are still a little curious about the affair?" he suggested. "i am. i may mention that i found a certain dress of mine, which i do not remember tearing, had evidently been repaired by somebody quite unaccustomed to that kind of thing. now there were, of course, only the skipper and yourself on board while we were away." nasmyth felt his face grow hot. "well," he replied, "if it's any consolation to you, i am quite prepared, in one respect at least, to vindicate martial's character. in any case, i think i shall have an interview with mrs. acton to-morrow." his heart beat a little faster, for the girl laughed. "it really wouldn't be any consolation at all to me," she admitted. "ah," said nasmyth, "then, although you may have certain fancies, you are not dreadfully vexed with me?" violet hamilton appeared to reflect. "considering everything, i almost think you can be forgiven." after that, they talked about other matters for at least an hour, while the _tillicum_, with engines throbbing softly, crept on through the darkness, and acton, who happened to notice them as he lounged under the companion scuttle with a cigar in his hand, smiled significantly. acton had a liking for nasmyth, and though he was not sure that mrs. acton would have been pleased had she known where miss hamilton was, the matter was, he reflected, after all, no concern of his. chapter xvi acton's warning it was with somewhat natural misgivings, the next afternoon, that nasmyth strolled forward along the _tillicum's_ deck toward the place where mrs. acton was sitting. immaculately dressed, as usual, she reclined in a canvas chair with a book, which she had been reading, upon her knee. as nasmyth approached her he became conscious that she was watching him with a curious expression in her keen, dark eyes. the steamer had dropped anchor in a little land-locked bay, and nasmyth had just come back in the dinghy, after rowing one or two of the party ashore. mrs. acton indicated with a movement of her hand that he might sit upon the steamer's rail, and then, turning towards him, looked at him steadily. she was a woman of commanding personality, and imperiously managed her husband's social affairs. if he had permitted it, she probably would have undertaken, also, to look after his commercial interests. "i wonder why you decided not to visit the indian settlement with the others?" she inquired. nasmyth smiled. "i have been in many places of the kind," he answered. "besides, there is something i think i ought to tell you." "i almost fancied that was the case." "then i wonder if you have connected me with martial's disappearance?" "i may admit that my husband evidently has." "he told you, then?" and nasmyth realized next moment that the faint astonishment he had displayed was not altogether tactful. "no," said mrs. acton, with a smile, "he did not. that was, i think, what made me more sure of it. james acton can maintain a judicious silence when it appears advisable, and there are signs that he rather likes you." nasmyth bowed. "i should be very pleased to hear that you shared his views in this respect," he observed. "i am, in the meanwhile, somewhat naturally rather uncertain upon the point," she returned. "well," confessed nasmyth humbly, "i believe i am largely responsible for your guest's sudden disappearance. it was, of course, almost inexcusable, and i could not complain if you were very angry with me." "i should, at least, like to know exactly what you did." "that," said nasmyth, "is a thing i would sooner you did not urge me to explain. after all, i feel i have done martial sufficient injury, and i do not think he would like you to know. there are," he added somewhat diffidently, "one or two other reasons why i should prefer not to say anything further, but i would like to assure you that the explanation one of your friends suggested is not the correct one. i ventured to make this, at least, clear to miss hamilton." mrs. acton regarded him with a suggestive smile. "mr. martial was not effusively pleasant to you. the affair was premeditated?" "my one excuse is that the thing was done on the spur of the moment. i should never have undertaken it if i had reflected." nasmyth made a gesture of submission. "i am in your hands." mrs. acton sat silent for perhaps a minute gazing at the woods that swept round three sides of the little bay. great cedars and pines and hemlocks rolled down to the water's edge, and the stretch of smooth green brine between them and the steamer flashed like a mirror. "well," she said, after a long pause, "i must admit that at first i was angry with you. now"--and her eyes grew a bit scornful--"i am angry with martial, instead. in fact, i think i shall wash my hands of him. i have no sympathy with a man who allows himself to be placed in a ludicrously painful position that reflects upon his friends." "especially when he has the privilege of your particular favour," added nasmyth. mrs. acton laughed. "that," she returned, "was a daring observation. it, at least, laid a certain obligation on martial to prove it warranted, which he has signally failed to do. i presume you know why he took some little pains to make himself unpleasant to you?" nasmyth fancied that she was really angry with martial, and that he understood her attitude. she was a capable, strong-willed woman, and had constituted herself the ally of the unfortunate man who had brought discredit on her by permitting himself to be shamefully driven from the field. it was also evident that she resented the fact that a guest from her husband's yacht should have been concerned in any proceedings of the nature that the schooner's deck-hand had described. "i think i suspect why he was not cordial to me," nasmyth admitted. "still, the inference is so flattering that one would naturally feel a little diffident about believing that martial's suppositions were correct." "that," replied mrs. acton, "was tactfully expressed." she looked at the young man fixedly, and her next remark was characterized by the disconcerting frankness which is not unusual in the west. "mr. nasmyth," she said, "unless you have considerable means of your own, it would be wiser of you to put any ideas of the kind you have hinted at right out of your head." "i might, perhaps, ask you for one or two reasons why i should adopt the course you suggest." "you shall have them. violet hamilton is a lady with possessions, and i look upon her as a ward of my own. any way, her father and mother are dead, and they were my dearest friends." "ah," agreed nasmyth, "that naturally renders caution advisable. well, i am in possession of three or four hundred dollars, and a project which i would like to believe may result to my advantage financially. still, that is a thing i cannot be very sure about." mrs. acton gazed at him thoughtfully. "your uncle is a man of means." "i believe he is. he may put three or four thousand dollars into the venture i mention, if he continues pleased with me. that is, i think, the most i could expect from him." mrs. acton sat silent a while, and, though nasmyth was not aware of it, favoured him with one or two glances of careful scrutiny. he was, as she had naturally noticed, a well-favoured man, and the flannels and straw hat he wore were becoming to him. what was more to the purpose, there was a certain graceful easiness in his voice and manner which were not characteristic of most of her husband's friends. indeed, well-bred poise was not a characteristic of her own, though she recognized her lack. the polish that she coveted suggested an acquaintance with a world that she had not as yet succeeded in persuading her husband to enter. acton was, from her point of view, regrettably contented with his commercial status in the new and crudely vigorous west. "well," she remarked thoughtfully, "none of us knows what there is in the future, and there are signs that you have intelligence and grit in you." then she dismissed the subject. "i think you might take me for a row," she said. nasmyth pulled the dinghy alongside, and rowed her up and down the bay, but his intelligence was, after all, not sufficient for him to recognize the cleverness with which she led him on to talk about his uncle and england. he was not aware that he had been particularly communicative, but when he rowed back to the yacht mrs. acton was in possession of a great deal of information that was more or less satisfying. the _tillicum_ steamed away again when the remainder of the party arrived, and she was leisurely swinging over a little froth-flecked sea that night, with the spray flying at her bows, when acton came upon nasmyth leaning on the rail. "i wasn't quite certain what view mrs. acton might take of martial's disappearance," said acton. "just now, however, i think that she is rather pleased with you." "the fact," replied nasmyth, "is naturally a cause for satisfaction." acton appeared amused. "well," he said, "to some extent it depends upon what views she has for you. mrs. acton is a capable woman." acton strolled forward, leaving nasmyth thoughtful. the hint was reasonably plain, but the younger man was not quite sure that he would be willing to fall in with the strong-willed woman's views. there was no doubt that violet hamilton attracted him--he admitted that without hesitation--for she had grace and wit and beauty, but she had, also, large possessions, which might prove a serious obstacle. besides, he was sensible of a tenderness for the woman who had given him shelter and a great deal more than that in the lonely bush. laura, however, was still in the wilderness, and miss hamilton, whose society he found very pleasant, was then on board the _tillicum_, facts that had their significance in the case of a man liable to be swayed by the impulses of the moment. by-and-by, he started, for while he thought about her, miss hamilton came out of the little companion-way, and stood looking round her, with her long light dress rustling in the breeze, until she moved forward as her eyes rested on him. nasmyth fancied that there was a particular significance in the fact that she appeared just then. he walked to meet her, and, drawing a low canvas chair into the shelter of the skylights, sat down with his back against them close at her feet. he did not remember what they talked about, and it was in all probability nothing very material, but they had already discovered that they had kindred views and likes, and they sat close together in the shelter of the skylights with a bright half-moon above them, while the _tillicum_ lurched on over a glittering sea. both of them were surprised to discover that an hour had slipped by when their companions came up on deck, and nasmyth was once more thoughtful before he went to sleep that night. next day the _tillicum_ brought up off a little mining town, and george, who went ashore, came back with several letters. among the letters was a note for nasmyth from a man interested in land exploitation. this man, with whom nasmyth had been in communication, was then in the mining town, and he suggested that nasmyth should call upon him at his hotel. nasmyth showed acton the letter. "i understand these folks are straight?" the younger man remarked with inquiry in his tone. acton smiled dryly. "any way," he said, "they're as straight as most. it's not a business that's conducive to unswerving rectitude. hutton has come up here to see you about the thing?" "he says he has some other business." "well," replied acton, "perhaps he has." then he turned to wisbech, who sat close by. "i'll go ashore with nasmyth. will you come along?" "no," said wisbech; "i almost think i'll stay where i am. if derrick can hold out any reasonable prospect of making interest on the money, it's quite possible i may put three or four thousand dollars into the thing, but i go no further. it's his affair. he must handle it himself." acton nodded. "that's sensible, in one way," he declared, and one could have fancied there was a certain suggestiveness in the qualification. wisbech appeared to notice it, for he looked hard at acton. then he made an abrupt gesture. "it's my nephew's affair," he said. "oh, yes!" returned acton, significantly. "any way, i'll go ashore with him, as soon as george has the gig ready." acton and nasmyth were rowed off together half an hour later, and they walked up through the hot main street of the little colliery town. it was not an attractive place, with rickety plank sidewalks raised several feet above the street, towering telegraph-poles, wooden stores, and square frame houses cracked by the weather, and mostly destitute of any adornment or paint. blazing sunshine beat down upon the rutted street, and an unpleasant gritty dust blew along it. there was evidently very little going on in the town that afternoon. here and there a man leaned heavy-eyed, as if unaccustomed to the brightness, on the balustrade in front of a store, and raucous voices rose from one or two second-rate saloons, but there were few other signs of life, and nasmyth was not sorry when they reached the wooden hotel. acton stopped a moment in front of the building. "hutton's an acquaintance of mine, and if you have to apply to men of his kind, he is, perhaps, as reliable as most," he said. "still, you want to remember that in this country it's every man for himself, especially when you undertake a deal in land." he smiled suggestively. "and now we'll go in and see him." they came upon a man who appeared a little older than nasmyth. he was sitting on the veranda, which was spacious, and had one or two wooden pillars with crude scroll-work attached to them in front. acton nodded to the stranger. "this is mr. nasmyth," he said. "he came up with me. doing much round here?" the question was abrupt, but the man smiled. "oh," he answered, "we endeavour to do a little everywhere." "then i'll leave you to it, and look round again by-and-by. i guess i may as well mention that mr. nasmyth is coming back with me." acton looked hard at hutton, who smiled again. "oh, yes," replied hutton, "i understand that. it's quite likely we'll have the thing fixed up in half an hour or so. a cigar, mr. nasmyth?" nasmyth took a cigar, and went with hutton to the little table which had been set out, on the inner side of the veranda, with a carafe of ice-water and a couple of bottles. they sat down at it, and hutton took out two letters and glanced at them. "now," he said, "we'll get to work. i understand your proposition is to run the water out of the cedar valley. what's the area?" "about four thousand acres available for ranching land, though it has never been surveyed." "and you want to take up as many acres beforehand as you can, and can't quite raise the capital?" nasmyth said that was very much the state of affairs, and hutton drummed his fingers on the table. he was a lean-faced man, dressed quietly and precisely, in city fashion, but he wore a big stone in a ring on one hand, which for no very evident reason prejudiced his companion against him. "well," he averred, "we might consider going into the thing and finding part of the capital. it's our business, but naturally we would want to be remunerated for the risk. it's rather a big one. you see, you would have to take up the whole four thousand acres." "then," replied nasmyth, "what's your proposition?" "we'll put up what money you can't raise, and our surveyor will locate land at present first-class crown land figure. we'll charge you bank rate until the land's made marketable when you have run the water out. in a general way, that's my idea of the thing." nasmyth laid down his cigar and looked at him. "isn't it a little exorbitant? you get the land at cost value, and a heavy charge on that, while i do the work?" hutton laughed. "well," he said, "it's money we're out for, and unless you take it all up, your claim's no good. anybody else could jump right in and buy a few hundred acres. then he could locate water rights and stop you running down the river, unless you bought him out." "the difficulty is that the crown authorities haven't been selling land lately, and would sooner lease. they seem inclined to admit that this is a somewhat exceptional case; in fact, they have granted me one or two privileges." "what you would call a first option?" nasmyth remembered acton's manner when he had mentioned his acquaintance with his companion, and one or two things he had said. "no," he said, "not exactly that. i merely mentioned certain privileges." "then, what's to stop me or anybody going right down to victoria and buying the whole thing up to-morrow?" "i'm inclined to fancy you would discover one or two things that would make it difficult," answered nasmyth dryly. "for another thing, i hardly think you would get any of the regular rock-cutting or mine-sinking people to undertake the work about the fall at a figure that wouldn't make the risk too big. it's not a place that lends itself to modern methods or the use of machinery. besides, after approaching you to a certain extent in confidence, it wouldn't be quite the thing." hutton waved the hand which bore the ring. "well," he said, "we'll get back to our original offer. if it isn't good enough, how much more do you want?" nasmyth explained his views, and they discussed each proposition point by point, gradually drawing nearer to an agreement. nasmyth was quite aware that in a matter of this kind the man who provides the capital usually takes the lion's share, but, after all, the project was his, and he naturally wanted something for himself. at length hutton leaned forward with both elbows on the table, and a certain intentness in his lean face. "now," he said, "i've gone just about as far as i can. you have either got to close with my proposition or let it go." nasmyth said nothing, and there was silence for almost a minute while he lay back in his chair gazing at the weather-cracked front of the store across the street, and thinking hard. there was, he was quite aware, a very arduous task in front of him--one that he shrank from at times, for it could only be by strenuous toil that he could succeed in lowering the level of the river, and it was clear that if he accepted mutton's offer, his share of the proceeds would not be a large one. still, he must have more capital than he could see the means of raising, and once or twice he was on the point of signifying his concurrence. his face grew grimmer, and he straightened himself a trifle, but he did not see that the man who could supply the money was watching him with a smile. then it seemed to nasmyth that he heard a footstep in the room behind him, but it was not particularly noticeable, and hutton touched his arm. "well," said the promoter, "i'll just run over our terms again." he did so rapidly, and added: "if that doesn't take you, we'll call it off." nasmyth made a gesture which was vaguely expressive of resignation, and in another moment would have closed the bargain, but the footsteps grew plainer, and, as he turned round, acton appeared at the open window close behind them. he stood still, looking at them with amusement in his shrewd eyes, and then, stepping out, dropped heavily into the nearest chair. "not through yet? i want a drink," he said. it was probably not often that hutton was disconcerted, but nasmyth saw his fingers close sharply on his cigar, which crumpled under them, and that appeared significant to him. acton looked round again as he filled his glass. "when you're ready we'll go along," he suggested. "you can worry out anything hutton has put before you to-night. when i've a matter of consequence on hand, i generally like to sleep on it." nasmyth rose and turned to hutton. "i don't want to keep mr. acton, and i'm afraid i can't decide just yet," he said. "i'll let you know when i make up my mind." hutton made a sign of concurrence, but there was a suggestive frown on his face, when he leaned upon the balustrade, as nasmyth and acton went down the stairway together. when they were half-way down the street, acton looked at nasmyth with a dry smile. "well," he commented, "you have still got most of the wool on you?" nasmyth laughed, but there was relief in his voice. "i was very nearly doing what i think would have been an unwise thing," he said. "it was fortunate you came along when you did." acton waved his hand. "i'm open to admit that hutton has a voice like a boring bit. it would go through a door, any way. it's a thing he ought to remember." "there is still a point or two i am not very clear upon;" and nasmyth looked at him steadily. acton smiled again. "the fact is, mrs. acton gave me some instructions concerning you. she said i was to see you through." he made an expressive gesture. "she seemed to figure it might be advisable." "well," said nasmyth reflectively, "i fancy she was right." they said nothing further, but nasmyth was unusually thoughtful as they proceeded towards the water-front. chapter xvii an eventful day it was about eleven o'clock on a cloudy, unsettled morning when nasmyth stood knee-deep in a swirling river-pool, holding a landing-net and watching miss hamilton, who stood on a neighbouring bank of shingle with a light trout-rod in her hand. the rod was bent, and the thin line, which was drawn tense and rigid, ripped through the surface of the pool, while there was also a suggestion of tension in the pose of the girl's figure. she was gazing at the moving line, with a fine crimson in her cheeks and a brightness in her eyes. "oh," she cried, "i'm afraid i'm going to lose it, after all." nasmyth smiled reassuringly. "keep the butt well down, and your thumb upon the reel," he continued. "you have only to keep on a steady strain." a big silvery object broke the surface a dozen yards away, and then, while the reel clinked, went down again; but the line was moving towards nasmyth now, and, in another minute or two, he flung a sharp warning at the girl as he made a sweep with the net. then he floundered ashore, dripping, with the gleaming trout, which he laid at her feet. "you ran that fish very well," he told her. "in fact, there were one or two moments when i never expected you to hold it." the colour grew a little plainer in his companion's face, though whether this was due to his commendation or to elation at her own success was a question. as she had just caught her first big fish, it was, perhaps, the latter. "oh," she said complacently, "it isn't so very difficult after all. but i wonder what can have become of the others of our party?" it was at least an hour since nasmyth had last seen their companions considerably lower down the river. he and miss hamilton had pushed on ahead of them into the bush, which was a thing they had fallen into the habit of doing. the girl sat down on a boulder and seemed to be listening, but there was nothing to indicate the presence of any of the party. except for the murmur of the river and the sighing among the pine-sprays high overhead, the bush was very still, but it seemed to nasmyth that there was more wind than there had been. "i suppose we had better go back to them," observed the girl. the manner in which she spoke conveyed the impression that she would have been more or less contented to stay where she was with him; but next moment she added: "after all, they have the lunch with them, and it must have been seven o'clock when we breakfasted." "yes," said nasmyth, "i think it was. still, until this minute i had quite forgotten it." "i certainly hadn't," said violet hamilton. "i don't think i ever had breakfast at seven o'clock in my life until this morning." the fact had its significance to nasmyth. it was one of the many little things that emphasized the difference between his life and hers, but he brushed it out of his mind, and they went back together down the waterside. their progress was slow, for there was no trail at all, and while they laboriously plodded over the shingle, or crept in and out among the thickets, the wail of the breeze grew louder. half an hour had passed when the faint hoot of the _tillicum's_ whistle reached them among the trees. "what can the skipper be whistling for?" asked the girl. "i fancy the wind is setting inshore moderately fresh, and he wants us to come off before it roughens the water," said nasmyth. they went on as fast as possible after that, though it was remarkably rough travelling; but they saw no sign of their companions, and the whistle, which had shrieked again, was silent, which evidently meant that the gig had already gone off. when they reached the inlet the river fell into, and found only the _tillicum's_ dinghy lying on the shingle, nasmyth, looking down the lane of smooth green water somewhat anxiously, noticed that the sea was flecked with white. the _tillicum_, as he remembered, was also lying well out from the beach. "we had better get off at once," he said. "the breeze is freshening, and this dinghy isn't very big." he helped the girl into the boat, and when he had thrust the little craft off sent her flying down the riband of sheltered water; but he set his lips and braced himself for an effort when they slid out past a point of froth-lapped shingle. there was already a white-topped sea running, and the spray from the oar-blades and the dinghy's bows blew aft into his companion's face in stinging wisps as he drove the plunging craft over it. now and then an odd bucketful of brine came in and hit him on the back, while miss hamilton, who commenced to get very wet, shivered and drew her feet up as the water gathered deeper in the bottom of the boat. "i'm afraid i must ask you to throw some of that water out," he said. "there is a can to scoop it up with." the girl made an attempt to do so, but it was not surprising that in a few minutes, when the dinghy lurched viciously, she let the can slip from her fingers. nasmyth set his lips tighter, and his face was anxious as he glanced over his shoulder. the sea was white-flecked between him and the _tillicum_, which lay rolling wildly farther down the beach, at least half a mile away. it already taxed all nasmyth's strength to drive the dinghy off shore, and every sea that broke a little more sharply than the rest splashed into the boat. he held on for another few minutes, glancing over his shoulder and pulling cautiously, for it was evident that he might fill the dinghy up or roll her over if he failed to swing neatly over the crest of some tumbling comber. in spite of his efforts, a wave broke on board, and sitting ankle-deep in water, he waited until there was a slightly smoother patch in front of him, and then swung the dinghy round. "i'm afraid we'll have to make for the beach," he announced. he would have preferred to head for the inlet, but that would have brought the little white seas, which were rapidly getting steeper, dangerously on her beam, and the thrust of one beneath her side probably would have been sufficient to turn the diminutive craft over. he accordingly pulled straight for the beach before the wind, and the perspiration dripped from his set face as he strove to hold the dinghy straight, when, with the foam boiling white about her, she swung up on the crest of a comber. once or twice nasmyth glanced at violet hamilton reassuringly, but she sat, half-crouching, against the transom, gazing forward, white in face, with her wet hair whipping about her. nasmyth had not noticed it before, but her hat had evidently gone over. speech was out of the question. he wanted all his breath, and recognized that it was not advisable to divert his attention for a moment from his task, for it depends very largely upon the man at the oars whether a diminutive dinghy keeps right side uppermost in any weight of breeze. once or twice he risked a glance at the approaching land. sombre forest rolled down to the water's edge, and he could see that there was already a broad ribbon of frothy whiteness beneath it, while so far as he had noticed that beach consisted of rock ledges and very large boulders. it was about the last place he would have chosen to make a landing on, in a light and fragile dinghy. after that, he looked resolutely astern over his companion's shoulders as she swung up between him and the sea with the slate-green ridges and tumbling white tops of the combers behind her. at length a hazarded glance showed him that they were close inshore, and he wondered for a moment whether he could swing the dinghy round without rolling the boat over. he did not think it could be done, and set his lips as he let her go, careering on a comber's crest, with at least half her length out of the water. then there was a white upheaval close alongside, and for a moment a black mass of stone appeared amidst the leaping foam. they swept by it, and he gasped with relief as he looked at miss hamilton. "get hold of me when she strikes," he said. the dinghy swung round, twisting broadside-on with the brine pouring into her in spite of all that he could do; and while he tore at one oar, another white sea that curled menacingly rose up astern. it broke right into the boat, and in another moment there was a crash, and nasmyth, who let the oars drop, stretched out his arms to the girl. he jumped when she clutched him, and found himself standing amid the swirling froth on what seemed to be a ledge of very slippery stone, with both arms about her, while the crushed-in dinghy swept up among the foam-lapped boulders. he sprang down from the stone as another sea came in, and floundered ashore waist-deep with it, after which he set his dripping companion down upon the beach. "i'm afraid you're rather wet," he said, when he got his breath again. "still, i really couldn't help it. there was a good deal more sea than i had expected." miss hamilton, who sat down on a boulder with the water dripping from her skirt, looked ruefully at him and the dinghy, which was rolling over in the surf. "how are we going to get off?" she inquired. "not in that dinghy, any way," answered nasmyth. "she has knocked all one bilge in. they'll probably send the _tillicum's_ gig ashore for us by-and-by." "but she's going away!" said the girl, with a gasp of consternation. nasmyth, who turned round, saw that this was certainly the case. a cloud of steam blew away from beside the yacht's funnel, and in another moment the shriek of a whistle reached him. "i don't think we need worry about that," he remarked. "they evidently watched us get ashore. you see, with the breeze freshening she couldn't very well lie where she was. still, if i remember, there's an inlet a couple of leagues or so away along the coast where she'd find shelter." "but why didn't they send for us first?" "the trouble is that there is really a nasty sea, and they couldn't very well take us off if they knocked a big hole in the gig. i fancy the wisest thing would be to walk towards that inlet along the beach." they set off, when nasmyth had pulled the dinghy out, but the beach was strewn with driftwood which was difficult to flounder over, as well as very rough. they made no greater progress when they tried the bush. fallen trees lay across one another, and there were thorny thickets in between, while, here and there, the undergrowth seemed as impenetrable as a wall. by-and-by it commenced to rain, and for an hour or two they plodded on dejectedly through the pitiless deluge. it rains exceedingly hard in that country. at last the girl sat down on a fallen tree. she had already lost her hat, and the water soaked out of nasmyth's jacket, which he had tied by the arms about her shoulders. her drenched skirt clung about her, rent to tatters, and one of her little shoes was caked with mire. the other gaped open. "how far have we gone?" she asked. "about a league," answered nasmyth quietly. "i think we could make the inlet in another two hours. that is, if the beach isn't very much rougher." the girl leaned against a branch wearily. "i'm afraid i can't go a step further," she replied with trembling lips. the rain beat upon them, and nasmyth stood still a moment looking at her. "well," he said, "we really can't stay here. since there seems no other way, i think i could carry you." his diffidence was evident, and violet smiled. "have you ever carried anybody--a distance--before?" she asked. "no," said nasmyth, "i certainly haven't." "then i don't think there would be much use in trying. you couldn't carry me for more than four or five minutes. that wouldn't be worth while, would it?" nasmyth said nothing for a minute or two, for he felt compassionate as well as a trifle confused. he had, in fact, already discovered that there are occasions when a young woman is apt to show greater self-possession and look facts in the face more plainly than a man. then he set to work furiously with a branch which he tore from the fallen tree, ripping off rough slabs of bark, and in the course of half an hour had constructed a shelter about the base of a cedar. it, at least, kept the rain off when violet sat under it. "it might be as well if i pushed on for the inlet and brought george or acton back with me," he suggested. "we could make something to carry you in, if there was too much sea for the gig." a flush crept into the girl's face, and she looked at him reproachfully. "how could i stay here alone?" she asked. "don't say those foolish things. come in out of the rain." the bark shelter would just hold the two of them, and nasmyth, dripping, sat down close beside her. she looked very forlorn. "i'm sorry for you," he said awkwardly. the girl showed faint signs of temper. "you have told me that before. why don't you do something? you said you had lived in the bush, and now you have only been a few hours in it. it was seven o'clock when we had breakfast. can't you even make a fire?" "i'm afraid i can't," answered nasmyth deprecatingly. "you see, one has usually an axe and some matches, as well as a few other odds and ends, when one lives in the bush. a man is a wretchedly helpless being when he has only his hands." the fact was borne in upon violet forcibly as she glanced out at the wet beach, tumbling sea, and dreary, dripping bush. the bush rolled back, a long succession of straggling pines that rose one behind the other in sombre ranks, to the rugged hills that cut against the hazy sky. there was, no doubt, all that man required to provide him with warmth and food and shelter in that forest, but it was certain that it was only by continuous and arduous toil that he could render it available. indeed, since he could not make himself an axe or a saw or a rifle, it was also evident that his efforts would be fruitless unless backed by the toil of others who played their part in the great scheme of human co-operation. it is, however, probable that violet did not concern herself with this aspect of the matter, but she had led a sheltered life, and it was curiously disconcerting to find herself brought suddenly face to face with primitive realities. she was wet through and worn out, and although evening was not far away, she had eaten nothing since seven o'clock that morning. the momentary petulance deserted her. "oh!" she cried, "they mayn't be able to send off for us for perhaps a day or two." "it is quite likely that the breeze will drop at sunset," nasmyth replied cheerfully. "these westerly breezes often do. anyway, the rain seems to be stopping, and i may be able to dry my matches. in the meanwhile i might come across something to eat. there are oysters on some of these beaches." violet glanced at the bush apprehensively, and once more it was evident that she did not wish him to leave her. this sent a little thrill of satisfaction through him, and although he half-consciously contrasted her with laura waynefleet, it was not altogether to her disadvantage. it is a curious fact that some men, and probably women, too, feel more drawn to the persons upon whom they confer a benefit than to those from whom they receive one. laura waynefleet, he realized, would have urged him to make some attempt to reach the _tillicum_, and in all probability would have insisted on taking a share in it, while his companion desired only to lean on him. after all, laura's attitude was more pleasant to the subconscious vanity that was in his nature, and in this respect he probably differed but little from most of his fellows. "you won't be very long away?" she said. nasmyth reassured her upon this point, and floundered down to the beach, where he carefully laid out to dry the little block of sulphur matches that he carried. then he crawled among the boulders near low-water mark, and, since oysters are tolerably plentiful along those beaches, succeeded in collecting several dozen of them. after that he sat down and gazed seaward for a minute or two. there was no sign of the _tillicum_, only a strip of dingy, slate-green sea smeared with streaks of froth, which shone white beneath a heavy, lowering sky. close in front of him the sea hove itself up in rows of foam-crested ridges, which fell upon the boulders and swirled over them and among them a furious white seething. he fancied that it was near sunset, and it was clear that the breeze was a little lighter. it seemed to him just possible that four capable seamen might keep the gig afloat close enough to the beach for one to wade out to her, though there would be a certain peril in such a proceeding. still, there were not four capable seamen on board the _tillicum_! gathering up his matches, which had dried, nasmyth went back to the bark shelter. he was pleasantly conscious of the relief in miss hamilton's eyes when he reached it, and fancied that she was too overwrought and anxious to care whether he noticed it or not; but he set about making a fire, and she helped him to collect brittle undergrowth and fallen branches. then they sat down and ate the oysters that he had laid among the embers. he thought they were not in season, and they were certainly burnt and shrivelled, as well as somewhat gritty; but one is glad to eat anything after a long day of exertion, and nasmyth watched his companion with quiet appreciation as she handled the rough shells daintily with little delicate fingers. her evident reliance upon him had its effect. he carried an armful of branches to the beach, and started another fire where it could be seen from seawards, after which he went back and sat outside the shelter near miss hamilton, while darkness crept up from the eastwards across the bush. it grew dim and solemn, and the doleful wailing of the pines was curiously impressive. the girl shivered. "the wind is very chilly," she said, with a tremor in her voice. "you will stay here where i can see you. you won't go away?" "only to keep up the fire on the beach," nasmyth answered reassuringly. she crept into the shelter, and he could see her dimly when the flickering light blazed up, but he could never remember how many journeys he made to the fire upon the beach before his eyes grew heavy as he sat amid the whirling smoke. he endeavoured to keep awake, and resolutely straightened himself once or twice, but at last his eyes closed altogether, and he did not hear the shriek of the _tillicum's_ whistle ring far across the shadowy bush. indeed, he did not waken when acton and wisbech came floundering into the light of the fire; and the two men looked at each other when they stopped beside it and saw him lying there, and then discovered the girl inside the shelter. acton raised his hand warningly, while a faint twinkle crept into his eyes. "i guess there's no reason why anybody else should hear of this," he said. "it seems to me that miss hamilton would be just as well pleased if we were not around when she awakens." he stooped and shook nasmyth's shoulder as wisbech disappeared among the shadows. "get up," said acton. "wait until i get away, and then waken her." it was a minute before nasmyth, who stood up stiffly, quite understood him, and then the blood rose to his face as he crept into the shelter and touched the girl. she sprang to her feet with a little cry and clutched his arm. then she suddenly let her hand fall back, and her cheeks flushed crimson. "the steamer's close by," said nasmyth reassuringly. "they have sent for us at last." they went out together, and it was a minute or two later when they came upon wisbech and acton in the bush. nasmyth entered into confused explanations as they proceeded towards the beach. the sky was a little lighter when they reached it, and standing near the sinking fire, they could dimly see the gig plunging amidst the froth and spray. then george's voice reached them. "can't you let us have them, mr. acton? it's most all we can do to keep her off the beach," he said. acton glanced at the strip of tumbling foam--through which he had waded waist-deep--between them and the boat, and nasmyth turned towards miss hamilton, who, to his astonishment, recoiled from him. acton, however, made him a sign of command. "i guess," he said, "she'd be safer with you." nasmyth said nothing, but he picked the girl up, as unconcernedly as he could, for the second time that day, and staggered down the rough beach with her. he contrived to keep his footing when a frothing sea broke against him, and, floundering through the seething water, reached the lurching boat. george seized his burden, and gently deposited it in one of the seats. scrambling on board, nasmyth groped for an oar, and in another minute or two they laboriously drove the gig out towards the blinking lights of the _tillicum_. chapter xviii tranquillity the afternoon was very hot when nasmyth plodded down a steep hillside through the thick red dust of the waggon trail. a fire had swept the undergrowth away, and there was no shade among the trees which, stripped of their branches, towered about him, great charred and blackened columns. close ahead the primeval bush rose in an unbroken sombre mass, and nasmyth, who quickened his pace a trifle, sat down with a gasp of satisfaction when he reached the first of the shadow. it was fresh and cool there. the bush was scented with the odours of pine and cedar, and filled with the soft murmur of falling water, while he knew that just beyond it bonavista stood above the sparkling sea. he was on his way from the railroad depôt. it was just a fortnight since he had left the _tillicum_ at the little mining town, on the day after the one he and violet hamilton had spent on the beach, and he had not seen her before he went. now he fancied that a welcome awaited him, and he felt sincerely pleased to be back again. as he sat beneath a great cedar filling his pipe, it seemed to him only appropriate that he should approach bonavista through that belt of cool, sweet-scented bush. it made it easier to feel that he had left behind him all that associated him with the strife and bustle of the hot and noisy cities. at bonavista were leisure, comfort, and tranquillity, which were, after all, things that made a strong appeal to one side of his nature, and he had made no progress in the city. there was also no doubt that both mr. and mrs. acton were glad to entertain him for a time. he sat still a few minutes, and then went on slowly beneath the towering redwoods and cedars until he came out of the forest, and saw the sunlight stream down on the shingled roof of bonavista close ahead. the house appeared to be empty, and he had shed his dusty city clothes in his room and had dressed again before he came upon mrs. acton, sitting half asleep on a secluded strip of veranda. she roused herself and smiled when she saw him. "so you have come back at last. we have been expecting you all the past week," she said. "that," returned nasmyth, "was remarkably good of you. in fact, i have wondered now and then, with some misgivings, whether you have not seen too much of me already." mrs. acton laughed. "you needn't worry yourself on that point. we have all our little hobbies. my husband's is the acquisition of dollars and the opening of mines and mills. mine is the amusing of my friends, or, rather, the permitting them to amuse themselves, which is why i had bonavista built. i make only one stipulation--it is that when you stay with us, you are amused." with a little sigh of content, nasmyth settled himself in a canvas chair, and glanced out between the slender pillars of the cool veranda at the wall of dusky forest and the flashing sea. "ah," he replied, "can you doubt it, my dear lady? after logging camp and mine and city, this is an enchanted land. i think it is always summer afternoon at bonavista." mrs. acton smiled at him graciously. "that," she observed, "was quite nice of you. things haven't gone just as you would have liked them to go, in the city?" "they haven't," admitted nasmyth whimsically. "as a matter of fact, they very seldom do. still, i wouldn't like you to think that was the only reason i am glad to get back." mrs. acton's eyes twinkled. "i imagine i am acquainted with the other. you were rather tactful in going away." "i went because mr. acton handed me a letter which said that a business man in victoria would like a talk with me." "in any case, miss hamilton seems to be under the impression that it was nice of you." "nice of me to go away?" and nasmyth's tone was mildly reproachful. "one would not resent a desire to save one any little embarrassment." "still," observed nasmyth, with an air of reflection, "the trouble is that i couldn't contrive to keep out of her sight continually even if i wanted to, and"--he lowered his voice confidentially--"as it happens, i don't." mrs. acton laughed. "i don't know of any particular reason why you should do that. violet has probably quite recovered her equanimity and decided on her attitude towards you." then she changed the subject abruptly. "i wonder if i may point out that there has been a change in you, since my husband brought you here. for one thing, you are much more amusing. even your voice is different." nasmyth bowed. "but not my hands," he said; and as he held up one hand, she noticed the scars on it and the coarseness of his nails. "that tells a tale, i think. my dear lady, i scarcely think you quite realize all that you have given me. you have never seen how we lived in the lonely logging camps--packed like cattle in a reeking shed--and you do not know the grim side of our life in the bush. it would be no great use to tell you that i have now and then limped for days together over the ballast of a railroad track, wondering where my next dollar was to come from. these are the things one could not expect you to understand." mrs. acton's face softened a little. "still, i think my husband does," she replied. then she smiled at him. "it almost seems to me that you need never go back to that life again unless you like it. i mean, of course, that, for one thing, your uncle has his views concerning you. he has to some extent taken mr. acton into his confidence." nasmyth made no comment, and mrs. acton sank down a little further into her long chair. "the others are down on the beach," she announced drowsily. "i really think i was going to sleep when you made your appearance." nasmyth could take a hint, and he strolled away down the veranda stairway and around the edge of the wide clearing in the shadow of the bush, until he stood looking down upon the sea from the crown of the bluff. then he felt a little thrill, for some twenty or thirty feet beneath him was a patch of something white in the shadow of the shrubbery. he went down quietly until he stopped, and, stooping, touched violet hamilton's shoulder. she looked around with a start, and a faint trace of embarrassment crept into her face at the sight of him. "oh," she said, "i thought you were in victoria." nasmyth stretched himself out upon a ledge of rock near her feet. "mrs. acton was good enough to imply that she had been expecting me more or less anxiously for several days," he rejoined in a tone of reproach. "in fact, she used the plural pronoun, which led me to believe that somebody else must have shared her anxiety. she did not, however, point out who it was that she meant." "her husband, in all probability. she could, at least, speak for him." nasmyth appeared to ponder over this, though his heart was beating faster than usual, for the suggestion of confusion which he had noticed in the girl's manner had its significance for him. "well," he conceded, "it may have been acton, but i almost ventured to believe she meant somebody else. in any case, i shouldn't like to think you were displeased at my reappearance. if you are, i can, of course, go away again." "i am not the only person at bonavista. wouldn't anybody else's wishes count--mr. acton's, for instance?" "no," asserted nasmyth reflectively. "at least, not to anything like the same extent." violet laughed. "the difficulty is that nobody can tell how much you really mean. you are so seldom serious." she cast a quick glance at him. "you were not like that when you first came here." "then," said nasmyth, "you can blame it on bonavista. as i have been trying to explain to mrs. acton, who made a similar observation, there is glamour in this air. it gets hold of one. i was, no doubt, a tediously solemn person when i left the bush, but you will remember that soon after i arrived here, you and i sailed out together into the realms of moonlight and mystery. i sometimes feel that i must have brought a little of the latter back with me." violet said nothing for half a minute, during which she lay resting on one elbow, looking down upon the cool, green flashing of the water a hundred feet below, and again nasmyth felt a little thrill run through him. she was so very dainty in speech and thought and person, a woman of the world he had once belonged to, and which it now seemed he might enter again. her delicately chiselled, half-averted face matched the slight but finely moulded figure about which the thin white draperies clung. she turned and looked at him. "you certainly can't be serious now," she declared. "i assure you that when i mentioned the glamour and mystery, i was never half so serious in my life. they are, after all, very real things." he was, as a matter of fact, grimly serious for the moment as he wondered at the change that had come over him. his life in the silent bush, the struggle with the icy river, and even laura waynefleet, who had encouraged him in his work of rehabilitation, had by degrees become no more than a dim, blurred memory. he knew that he could recall it all, but he had no wish to make the effort, for it was more pleasant to hear the sighing of the summer wind about the firs of bonavista, and wonder languidly what his companion thought. "i haven't thanked you for taking care of me the day we were left behind on the beach," said violet. nasmyth made a sign of protest. "i don't think you are under any very great obligation to me. as a matter of fact, my efforts on your behalf nearly resulted in my drowning you. besides, you see, there was really not the slightest cause for uneasiness. acton certainly would have sent for us when the wind dropped." "but it might have blown for days." "then," said nasmyth, with a twinkle in his eyes, "we would have lived on salmon and berries until it stopped. one really can live on them for a considerable time, though they are not remarkably palatable when one has anything else to eat; in fact, it's a thing i've done." salmon is not esteemed in that country, except for the purpose of sending east in cans, and it is seldom that anybody eats it except the indians. there is probably no diet that more rapidly grows satiating. "ah," exclaimed the girl, with a shiver, "it would have been horrible." she was evidently not thinking of the salmon, but of the dreary, dripping bush, and nasmyth looked at her with reproach in his eyes. "i really don't think it would have been," he said. "in fact, i believe we could have lived there for a little while very contentedly--that is, when i had fixed things up a bit. after all, there is a certain glamour in the bush when one gets used to it." he saw the faint colour creep into her face, and, though it cost him an effort, laid a restraint upon himself. "well," he said, "i at least would not have felt that i had any cause to complain, though, no doubt, it would have been different with you. you see"--and he made an expressive gesture--"i have had a long tough tussle since i came to canada, and experiences of that sort have their effect on one. in fact, they set one apart from those who haven't undergone them. it seems to have struck you that i was prematurely solemn and serious when i came to bonavista." he thought he saw sympathy in violet hamilton's eyes, and her next observation made it clear that her mind was busy with the suggestion that he had conveyed. "after all," she said softly, "you cannot be very much older than i am." "four years, perhaps," returned nasmyth, with a trace of grimness. "that is, in one sense. in another, i think i am double your age. you see, you have never been brought into contact with the realities of life. if you had been, you would probably not be so ready to take me for what you think i am, as i believe you have graciously done. after all, you know so very little about me." he felt that he was doing no more than discharging an obligation in giving her this warning. he desired to afford her every opportunity of satisfying herself concerning him, for he was not a fool, and he had seen for a moment or two a suggestive softness in her face. it is possible that she did not know it had been there, but he felt that if he roused himself and made the effort, he might sweep away the barriers between them. violet appeared troubled by his words. she sat silent, while nasmyth wondered what she would say. he was aware that a good deal depended upon her next remark. then there were footsteps on the slope behind them, and, turning suddenly, he saw acton and another man approaching them. he rose with a little start when he recognized the second man as gordon, who was neatly attired in city clothes. gordon looked down at nasmyth with a faint sardonic smile. "mr. gordon turned up half an hour ago," acton said. "it appears that he was going into the city, and got off the cars to talk over things with you. i believe he had a notion of going on again to-night, but mrs. acton won't hear of it." gordon bowed in the direction of his host. "i'd have put up a more vigorous protest against troubling mrs. acton than i did, if i had felt it would have been of any use," he said. "well," replied acton, smiling, "i guess they'll be getting supper ready, and we were sent here to bring our friend and miss hamilton in." they went back to the house together, where they found the long table spread. it was characteristic of the owner of bonavista that he still called the evening meal supper. there were, besides nasmyth and wisbech, five or six other guests from victoria and one of the rising cities on puget sound, and gordon speedily made himself very much at home. most of his new acquaintances found what he had to say entertaining, but miss hamilton was, as nasmyth noticed, somewhat silent. nasmyth, on his part, felt slightly restless, for his old comrade's presence had an unsettling effect on him. it was, however, not until an hour or two later that he and gordon were able to discuss their own affairs. they sat on the veranda looking down upon the sea, while the dusk slowly crept up from the east. "now," said gordon, "i should like to hear what you have done." "i'm afraid it's not a great deal," replied nasmyth. "the crown land authorities appear disposed to sell the land instead of leasing it, which of late has been the more usual course; but they insist on counting a certain proportion of the hillside and big timber in. i may get one or two concessions, and i'm still keeping the affair before them. in the meanwhile i've been seeing what can be done to raise enough capital to take up all the land, but haven't met with any great success. the folks i've been in communication with, as usual, want all the profit; in fact, i almost fancy it might be as well to raise what money we can around the settlement, and content ourselves with locating a portion of the valley." gordon nodded. "you can't do much about the fall until after the autumn freshets, anyway, and there's a good deal you can't get at until the frost sets in," he declared. "in the meanwhile the offers wheeler and i made you hold." they discussed the matter until mrs. acton appeared on the veranda and shook her head at them. "what are you two doing here when there are pretty girls in the house waiting for a dance?" she inquired. "i'm afraid we have been very remiss," apologized nasmyth, when they joined her. "still, we didn't know, and we had some business to talk about." "there will be plenty of time for that to-morrow." "the trouble is that i shall be in the city then," said gordon. mrs. acton laughed. "oh, no!" she contradicted. "we are all going for a sail on the straits to-morrow, and we certainly expect you to join us. in the meanwhile, i believe there are two young women waiting for partners." she silenced gordon's objections as they turned back towards the house. they found the dancing had commenced, and nasmyth failed to secure miss hamilton as a partner for any time in the evening. he could not help a fancy that she had taken some little trouble to bring about this result. chapter xix nasmyth hears the river darkness had settled down on bonavista next evening when nasmyth lay in a canvas chair on the veranda, while gordon leaned against the balustrade in front of him with a cigar in his hand. a blaze of light streamed out from one of the long open windows a few yards away, and somebody was singing in the room behind it, while the splash of the gentle surf came up from the foot of the promontory in a deep monotone. now and then a shadowy figure strolled into the veranda or crossed it to the terrace below, but for the time being nobody disturbed the two men. "i haven't had a word with you since last night," said nasmyth. "how are the boys at the settlement?" "hustling along as usual." gordon laughed. "is there anybody else you feel inclined to ask about?" "yes," said nasmyth, "there certainly is. how is miss waynefleet?" gordon looked down at his cigar. "well," he said, "i'm a little worried on her account. she was attempting to do a great deal more than was good for her when i last saw her. they have no longer a hired man at the ranch. waynefleet, i understand, is rather tightly fixed for money, and, as you know, he isn't the kind of man who would deny himself. he was talking of selling some stock." nasmyth suddenly straightened himself, and closed one hand rather hard on the arm of his chair. "what right have you and i to be lounging here when that girl is working late and early on the ranch?" he asked. "gordon, you will have to buy two or three head of that stock at double value for me." "it's rather a big question;" and gordon's tone was serious. "in fact, i fancy it's one that neither you nor i can throw much light upon. anyway, i may as well point out that i arrived here only yesterday, and i'm going on again in the morning. as to the other matter, laura waynefleet has friends who will stand by her." "don't you count me one of them?" nasmyth demanded. "that girl saved my life for me." gordon glanced round sharply, for there were light footsteps on the veranda, and he almost imagined that a white figure in filmy draperies stopped a moment. it, however, went on again and vanished in the shadow. "i believe she did," he admitted. "well, if there's anything that can be done, you may rely on me." he made an abrupt gesture, and as he turned, the light from the window fell upon his face, showing the curious smile on it. "what are you doing here?" he flung the question at his comrade, and nasmyth, who knew what he meant, sat for a moment or two with wrinkled forehead. there was no reason why he should not stay there so long as mr. and mrs. acton desired his company, but it did not seem fitting that he should spend those summer days in luxurious idleness while laura waynefleet toiled late and early at the lonely ranch. again, he seemed to see her steady eyes with the quiet courage in them, and the gleam of her red-gold hair. even then she was, he reflected, in all probability occupied with some severe drudgery. it was a thing he did not like to contemplate, and he almost resented the fact that gordon should have brought such thoughts into his mind. his comrade had broken in upon his contentment like a frosty wind that stung him to action. still, he answered quietly. "i am within easy reach of the city here," he explained. "acton, who has once or twice given me good advice, is acquainted with most of the folks likely to be of any use to us, and has laid the scheme before one or two of them. that, at least, is one reason why i am staying at bonavista. it's perfectly evident that it wouldn't be any benefit to miss waynefleet if i went back to the bush." "no," agreed gordon grimly; "if you were likely to be of any use or consolation to her, you'd go, if i had to drag you." nasmyth smiled. he was too well acquainted with his comrade's manner to take offence at this remark, and the man's devotion to the girl who, he knew, would never regard him as more than a friend also had its effect. "well," he said, "since plain speaking seems admissible, you are probably aware that laura waynefleet has nothing beyond a kindly interest in me. she is, i needn't point out, a remarkably sensible young lady." he stopped somewhat abruptly, for wisbech emerged from the shadows beneath the pillars, and sat down in a chair close by. "yes," said wisbech, "i heard, and it seems to me derrick's right in one respect. though i don't know how far it accounts for the other fact he has just impressed on you, miss waynefleet certainly possesses a considerable amount of sense. she is also a young lady i have a high opinion of. still, if he had gone back to the bush merely because you insisted on it, i think i should have cast him off." gordon appeared to ponder over this, and he then laughed softly. "it's quite natural, and i guess i sympathize with you," he remarked. "in one way, however, your nephew's acquitting himself creditably, considering that there are apparently three people anxious to exert a beneficent influence upon him. the effect of that kind of thing is apt to become a trifle bewildering, especially as it's evident their views can't invariably coincide." "three?" said wisbech, with a twinkle in his eyes. "if you count me in, i almost fancy there are four." nasmyth said nothing, though he felt his face grow hot. gordon smiled. "as a matter of fact," he admitted, "i had a notion that miss hamilton resented my being here. any way, she didn't take any very noticeable trouble to be pleasant to me to-day. no doubt she considers any influence she may choose to exert should be quite sufficient." "it should be," said nasmyth. "that is, to any man who happened to be a judge of character, and had eyes in his head." gordon waved one hand. "oh," he averred, "she's very dainty, and i think there's a little more than prettiness there, which is a very liberal admission, since i'm troubled with an impression that she isn't quite pleased with me. still, when the woods are full of pretty girls, i guess it's wisest of a man who has anything worth while to do in front of him to keep his eyes right on the trail, and go steadily ahead." he turned to wisbech deprecatingly. "we don't mind you, sir. we regard you as part of the concern." "thanks," said wisbech, with a certain dryness. "i believe i am interested in it--at least, financially." "well," said gordon, "when i break loose, as i do now and then, i quite often say a little more than is strictly advisable without meaning to. it's a habit some folks have. your observation, however, switches us off on to a different matter. i've been telling your nephew we leave him to handle the thing and stand by our offers." "that is precisely what i mean to do. the affair is derrick's. he must take his own course," declared wisbech. gordon grinned as he turned to nasmyth. "there will be no reinforcements. you have to win your spurs." then he looked at wisbech. "if you will not be offended, sir, i would like to say i'm pleased to notice that your ideas coincide with mine. he'll be the tougher afterwards if you let him put up his fight alone." "the assurance is naturally satisfactory," said wisbech with quiet amusement. then he held up one hand. "it seems to me the person at the piano is playing exceptionally well." they sat silent while the crashing opening chords rang out from the lighted room, and then nasmyth, who was a lover of music, found himself listening with a strained attention as the theme stole out of them, for it chimed with his mood. he had been restless and disturbed in mind before gordon had flung his veiled hints at him, and the reality underlying his comrade's badinage had a further unsettling effect. he did not know what the music was, but it seemed in keeping with the throb of the sea against the crag and the fitful wailing of the pines. there was a suggestion of effort and struggle in it, and, it seemed to him, something that spoke of a great dominant force steadily pressing on; and, as he listened, the splash of the sea grew fainter, and he heard instead the roar of the icy flood and the crash of mighty trees driving down upon his half-built dam. these were sounds which sometimes haunted him against his will, and once or twice he had been a little surprised to find that, now that they were past, he could look back upon the months of tense effort with a curious, half-regretful pleasure. he was relieved when the music, that swelled in a sonorous crescendo, stopped, and he saw gordon glance at wisbech. "i think that man has understanding and the gift of expressing what he feels," said wisbech. "the music suggested something to you?" "the fast freight," confessed gordon.--"when she's coming down the big cañon under a full head of steam. i don't know if that's quite an elegant simile, in one way. still, if you care to think how that track was built, it's not difficult to fancy there's triumph in the whistles and the roar of the freight-car wheels." wisbech made a sign of comprehension, and gordon looked hard at nasmyth. "it's your call." "i heard the river," said nasmyth. "in fact, i often hear it, and now and then wish i didn't. it's unsettling." gordon laughed in a suggestive fashion. "well," he declared, "most of us hear something of that kind at times, and no doubt it's just as well we do. it's apt to have results if you listen. you have been most of a month in the city one way or another. you took to it kindly?" "i didn't," nasmyth answered, and it was evident that he was serious. "i came back here feeling that i had had quite enough of it." "bonavista is a good deal more pleasant?" and there was a certain meaning in gordon's tone. "you seemed to have achieved some social success here, too." he saw the flush in nasmyth's face, and his gaze grew insistent. "well," he said, "you're not going to let that content you, now you can hear the river. you'll hear it more and more plainly frothing in the black cañon where the big trees come down. you have lived with the exiles, and the wilderness has got its grip on you. what's more, i guess when it does that it never quite lets go." he broke off abruptly, and just then acton stepped out from the window. "mr. gordon," he said, "it's my wife's wish that you should come in and sing." gordon said that he was in mrs. acton's hands, and then turned to nasmyth. "i've had my say," he observed. "if there's any meaning in my remarks, you can worry it out." he went away with acton, and wisbech looked at his nephew over his cigar. "mr. gordon expresses himself in a rather extravagant fashion, but i'm disposed to fancy there is something in what he says," he commented. nasmyth did not answer him. he was, on the whole, glad that gordon had gone, but he still seemed to hear the river, and the restlessness that had troubled him was becoming stronger. he retired somewhat early, but he did not sleep quite so soundly as usual that night. as it happened, gordon rose before him next morning. gordon went out of doors, and presently came upon miss hamilton, who was strolling bareheaded where the early sunshine streamed in among the pines. it struck him that he was not the person whom she would have been most pleased to see, but she walked with him to the crown of the promontory, where she stopped and looked up at him steadily. "mr. gordon," she inquired, "what is laura waynefleet?" gordon started, and the girl smiled. "i crossed the veranda last night," she told him, when he hesitated before answering her. the man looked down on her with an unusual gravity. "well," he said simply, "laura waynefleet is quietness, and sweetness, and courage. in fact, i sometimes think it was to make these things evident that she was sent into this world." he thought he saw a gleam of comprehension in the girl's eyes, and made a gesture of protest. "no," he assured her, "i'm not fit to brush her little shoes. for that matter, though he is my comrade, nasmyth isn't either. what is perhaps more to the purpose, i guess he is quite aware of it." a delicate tinge of colour crept into violet hamilton's face, and the man realized that in case his suppositions were correct, what he had implied could hardly be considered as a compliment. he could also fancy that there was a certain uneasiness in her eyes. "ah," she said, "perhaps it is a subject i should not have ventured to inquire into." gordon smiled reassuringly. "i don't know of any reason why you shouldn't have done so, but i have scarcely told you anything about her yet. miss waynefleet lives at a desolate ranch in the bush. sometimes she drives oxen, and i believe she invariably makes her own clothes. i don't think nasmyth would feel any great diffidence in speaking about her." he believed this, or at least he strove to convince himself that he did, but he was relieved when the appearance of acton, who strolled towards them, rendered any further confidential conversation out of the question. gordon set out for victoria that afternoon, and nasmyth, who went with him to the railroad, returned to bonavista in a restless mood, and almost disposed to be angry with his comrade for having rudely broken in upon his tranquillity. in fact, he felt disinclined to face his fellow-guests, which was one reason why he was sauntering towards the inlet when he came upon wisbech sitting with a book in the shadow of the pines. wisbech looked up at his moody face. "you are annoyed because gordon wouldn't stay?" he suggested. "no," said nasmyth. "in fact, i'm a little relieved that he has gone away. i naturally like gordon, but just now he has an unsettling effect on me." wisbech made a gesture of comprehension. "that man," he said, "is in some respects fortunate. he has a simple programme, and is evidently more or less content with it. his work is plain in front of him. you are not quite sure about yours yet. to some extent, you feel yourself adrift?" "i have felt something of the kind." wisbech thought for a moment. "i suppose," he said, "it hasn't occurred to you that your classical features--they're nasmyth features--might be of some assistance to you in your career?" nasmyth felt the blood rise into his face, but he laughed. "they certainly haven't proved of any great benefit to me hitherto. it is scarcely likely that they will do so either in the cañon." "then you are still determined on directing operations in person? i was commencing to wonder if you had any reason for modifying your plans." the man's tone was dry, but nasmyth met his gaze, which was now inquisitive. "if it is in my power to do it, i shall certainly run the water out of the valley," said nasmyth. then he swung round and strolled away, while wisbech smiled in a fashion which suggested that he was pleased. it was some little time later when nasmyth, pacing moodily over the white shingle beside the winding inlet, came upon violet hamilton sitting in the shadow of a great boulder. the girl's light dress matched the rock's pale tinting, and he did not see her until he was within a yard or two of her. he stopped abruptly, with a deepened colour in his face. violet made a sign, which seemed to invite him to sit down, and he stretched himself out upon the shingle close in front of her. "it is very hot in the house this afternoon, but it is cool and quiet here," she observed. nasmyth glanced at the still water and the shadow that the pines which clung in the crevices flung athwart the dark rock's side. "stillness sometimes means stagnation. miss hamilton," he said. the girl flashed a quick glance at him. "well," she rejoined, "i suppose it does; but, after all, that is a question we need not discuss. what were you thinking of so hard as you came along? you didn't see me until you almost stepped upon my dress." "that," said nasmyth, with a laugh, "is proof that i was thinking very hard indeed. it's not a thing i often indulge in, but i was thinking of the bush." "you sometimes feel you would like to be back there?" "no," answered nasmyth reflectively; "i suppose i ought to feel that, but i'm not sure that i do." "ah," violet remarked, "you have told me a good deal at one time or another about your life and friends there, but i almost fancied now and then that you were keeping something back. after all"--and she smiled at him--"i suppose that would have been only natural." nasmyth raised himself on one elbow, and looked hard at her. "well," he admitted, "there was one thing i did not tell you, though i had meant to do so sooner or later. you see, there was nothing to warrant it in the meanwhile." "ah," queried the girl, "it concerns miss waynefleet?" nasmyth's face grew suddenly grave. he did not ask himself how she came to know. indeed, for the time being, that did not seem to matter. there was, it seemed, only one course open to him, and he adopted it. "yes," he answered, "i will tell you about her." he had meant to be brief and matter-of-fact in his narrative, but as he proceeded, the subject carried him away. indeed, he was scarcely conscious that miss hamilton was intently watching him, for once more he seemed to feel laura waynefleet's eyes fixed upon his face, and they were clear and brave and still. he spoke with a certain dramatic force, and it was a somewhat striking picture he drew of the girl. violet could realize her personality and the self-denying life that she led. it is possible that nasmyth had told her more than he intended, when he broke off for a moment with a startling abruptness. "i believe she saved my life," he added. "she certainly gave me back my courage, and set me on my feet again." violet looked at him with a strained expression in her eyes. "and because of that she will have a hold upon you while you live." nasmyth seemed to consider this. "i think i shall always realize what i owe to her. still--and how shall i say it?--that recognition is the most i would venture to offer, or that she would accept from me." he stopped for a moment, and then went on a trifle hastily. "laura waynefleet could never have taken more than a half-compassionate interest in me," he asserted. "there could scarcely be any doubt upon that point." "you said half-compassionate?" "yes," replied nasmyth; "i almost think that describes it. you see, i am naturally aware of my own disabilities." "still," persisted violet, "she nursed you when you were very ill, and, as you said, set you on your feet again. that would probably count for a good deal with her." nasmyth made a hasty gesture. "you don't understand. she would no doubt have taken pity on any dumb creature. she did it because she could not help it. one could fancy that kind of thing was born in her." violet did not speak for a moment or two. although it still remained uncertain whether the girl in the bush had any tenderness for the man she had set upon his feet again, he had spoken of her in a manner which did not quite please violet. "well," she ventured, with a little diffident glance at him, "some day you will go back into the bush." nasmyth nodded. "yes," he said, "i think that's certain. in fact, it's probable that i shall go back very soon. as it happens, i have undertaken a big and rather difficult thing, which will give me a considerable lift up if i am successful." he lay silent for a minute before he turned to her again. "you see, i have been some time in this country, and never have done anything worth mentioning. chopping trees and driving cattle are no doubt useful occupations, but they don't lead to anything. i feel that i am, so to speak, on my probation. i have still to win my spurs." "i wonder if that is one of the ideas miss waynefleet gave you?" nasmyth smiled. "i really believe it originated with her, but, as a matter of fact, it might have gone no further, which is an admission. still, the desire to win those spurs has been growing so strong of late that i can't resist it. in one way, i scarcely think that is very astonishing." violet looked away from him, for she saw the gleam in his eyes, and fancied she understood what the new motive he had hinted at might be. still, he did not appear disposed to mention it. "then you would have to go away?" she asked. a flush crept into nasmyth's face. she was a woman of his own caste, and probably without intending it, she had shown him in many ways that she was not averse from him. he felt his heart beat fast when for a moment she met his gaze. "the trouble is that if i do not go i shall never have the right to come back again," he told her. "then," replied the girl very softly, "you wish to come back?" "that is why i am going. there are those spurs to win. i have to make my mark." "but it is sometimes a little difficult to make one's mark, isn't it? you may be ever so long, and it must be a little hazardous in that horrible cañon." "if it gives me the right to come back, i think it will be very well worth while." "but suppose you don't succeed, after all?" "that," admitted nasmyth, "is a thing i daren't contemplate, because, if it happened, it is scarcely likely that any of my friends at bonavista would ever be troubled with me again." violet looked away from him. "ah," she said, "don't you think that would be a little hard on them? is it very easy for you to go away?" the restraint nasmyth had imposed upon himself suddenly deserted him. he moved a little nearer to her, and seized one of her hands. she sat still, and made no effort to draw it away from him. "i had never meant to say what i am going to say just now," he declared. "i had meant to wait until there was something successfully accomplished to my credit. i am, you see, a thriftless, wandering adventurer--one who has taken things as they came, and never has been serious. when i have shown that i can also be something else, i shall ask you formally if you will marry me. until then the thing is, of course, out of the question." he broke off for a moment, and held her silent by a gesture until he went on again. "i have been swept away, and even if you were willing to make it, i would take no promise from you. until i have won the right to come back you must be absolutely free. now you know this, it would be very much wiser if i went away as soon as possible." "ah," the girl answered with a thrill in her voice, "whenever you come back you will find me ready to listen to you." nasmyth let her hand go. "now," he asserted, "i think i cannot fail. still, it must be remembered that you are absolutely free." he would have said something more, but there was just then a laugh and a patter of feet on the path above, and, looking up, he saw two of mrs. acton's guests descending the bluff. chapter xx nasmyth goes away mrs. acton was sitting on the veranda next morning when nasmyth, fresh from a swim in the deep cold water of the inlet, came up across the clearing. it had brought a clear glow into his bronzed skin and a brightness to his eyes, and as he flung a word to a man who greeted him, his laugh had a clean, wholesome ring. he walked straight toward the veranda, and mrs. acton, sitting still, favoured him with a very keen and careful scrutiny. he was dressed in light flannels, which, she admitted, became him rather well; but it was the lithe gracefulness of his movements that she noticed most. his easy, half-whimsical manner had their effect on her; they won her favour. he was the kind of guest she had pleasure in welcoming at bonavista. he went up the veranda stairway, and, stopping near where she was sitting, looked down at her with a curious little glow in his eyes. she started, for she had not expected to see it there so soon. "you seem unusually satisfied with everything this morning," she observed. "there is probably some cause for it?" nasmyth laughed. "i believe i am. as i dare say you have noticed, tranquil contentment is one of my virtues. it is, however, one that is remarkably easy to exercise at bonavista." "still, contentment does not, as a rule, carry a young man very far in this country. in fact, it is now and then a little difficult to distinguish between it and something else that is less creditable to the man who possesses it." nasmyth smiled good-humouredly. "well," he replied, "i have discovered that if you worry fortune too much she resents it, and flies away from you. it seems to me there is something to be said for the quietly expectant attitude. after all, one is now and then given much more than one could by any effort possibly deserve." mrs. acton noticed the faint ring in his voice. "ah," she said, "then something of that kind has befallen you? hadn't you better come to the point?" nasmyth became grave. "madam," he said, "i have a confession to make. i am very much afraid i lost my head yesterday, and i should not be astonished if you were very angry with me." he spoke with a certain diffidence, and mrs. acton, who straightened herself in her chair, watched him steadily while he made his confession. he paused with a gesture of deprecation. "in one sense, it is a preposterous folly, but i am not quite sure that folly is not now and then better than wisdom," he added. "it has certainly proved to be so in my case." "no doubt." mrs. acton's tone was suggestive. "it is, however, miss hamilton i am most interested in." nasmyth spread one hand out forcibly. "i want you to understand that she is absolutely free. i have only told you because you once mentioned that you considered her a ward of yours. nothing will be said to anybody else, and, if she should change her mind, i will not complain. in fact, i have decided that it would be most fitting for me to go away." "i think," asserted mrs. acton, "you have been either too generous or not quite generous enough. the trouble with men of your kind is that when for once they take the trouble to reflect, they become too cautious." "i'm afraid i don't quite grasp the point of that." "you should either have said nothing, which is the course you ought to have adopted, or a little more. i fancy violet would have been just as pleased if you had shown yourself determined to make sure of her." nasmyth stood silent, and mrs. acton, who surveyed him again with thoughtful eyes, was not surprised that he should have appealed to the girl's imagination. the man was of a fine lean symmetry, and straight of limb. the stamp of a clean life was on him, showing itself in the brightness of his eyes and his clear bronzed skin, while he had, as wisbech had said, the classical nasmyth features. these things, as mrs. acton admitted, counted for something, while the faint lines upon his face, and the suggestive hardness that now and then crept into it, were, she decided, likely to excite a young woman's curiosity. "well," she said, "i feel myself considerably to blame, and i may admit that i had at first intended to make my husband get rid of you. i really don't know why i didn't. you can make what you like of that." nasmyth bowed with a deferential smile, and she laughed. "still," she said, "you must go away. violet must be free to change her mind, and, after all, it's consoling to reflect that she has not seen so very much of you yet. in one way, it would please me if she did. it would free me of a rather heavy responsibility." she stopped a moment, and looked at him with softening eyes. "go and run the water out of that valley, or do anything else that will make a mark," she advised. nasmyth's face was set as he replied: "if the thing is in any way possible, it shall be done. i think i will go into victoria again to-day." he turned away and left her, and it was an hour later when she came upon violet sitting alone in a shady walk beneath the pines. she looked at the girl severely. "if i had been quite sure of what was going on, i should have sent that young man away," she remarked. "as it is, i am very glad that he is going to victoria." violet slipped an arm about mrs. acton's neck and kissed her shyly. "you would never have been so cruel, and now you are going to be my friend," she said. "i don't want him to go back to that horrible cañon." mrs. acton smiled. "i almost feel that i could shake both of you, but i suppose i shall have to marshal my forces on your behalf." she set about her plans that evening, when she invaded acton's smoking-room, and her husband listened to her with a little dry smile. "i guess this is about the first time i have ever known you to do a real foolish thing," he observed. "well," said mrs. acton, "it is, perhaps, to my credit that i have done one now. anyway, i like the man." acton nodded. "oh, yes;" he agreed, "that's quite comprehensible. there's a good deal of tone about him, but except with women that's not a thing that counts in this country. it's the bulldog grip and grit that goes farthest here--anyway, when a man has no money behind him." "you wouldn't consider nasmyth a weak man?" "not in one way. when he's right up against it, he'll stiffen himself and fight, but when the strain slackens a little his kind are apt to let go too easily." this, as a matter of fact, was more or less correct, but mrs. acton's intention was not to discuss nasmyth's character, and she smiled at her husband. "well," she announced; "i expect you to take a hand in the thing." acton's gesture was expressive of resignation. "i guessed it. however, it seems to me that young man has quite enough friends to give him a shove here and there already. to begin with, there's wisbech." "what would wisbech do?" "not much." and acton smiled understandingly. "he means to let his nephew feel his own feet. he's a sensible man. then there's that man gordon from the bush, and it seems i'm to do my share, too. guess if i was nasmyth, i'd say 'thank you,' and go right ahead without listening to one among the crowd of us." "that," mrs. acton said, "isn't quite the question. i think i pointed out what i expect from you." acton's eyes twinkled. "you did," he assured her. "i'll try to set things in train the first time i go down to the city." this was somewhat vague, but mrs. acton was satisfied. nevertheless, she said nothing to nasmyth on the subject, and next afternoon he left bonavista for victoria. a day or two later he called by appointment at the office of a certain land exploitation agency, and found hutton waiting for him. hutton, who sat with his elbows on the table, pointed to a chair. "you have taken my view of the thing?" he said in a questioning tone. "if you'll sit down a minute, i'll call my clerk in, and he'll get the papers ready." nasmyth smiled. "i don't think you need trouble to do that just yet. you see, i haven't the least intention of closing with your offer." it is just possible that hutton had expected this, but, in any case, he betrayed no astonishment. he leaned forward, regarding his visitor with an almost expressionless face. "then," he returned, "i'll hear your proposition." "what do you think of the one i had the pleasure of making you some time ago?" nasmyth inquired. "quite out of the question." nasmyth smiled. "that," he remarked, "is in one sense a pity, as i couldn't repeat it to-day. if we are to do business together, i should have to ask you for a considerably larger share of the profit. in fact, i was wondering if you could see your way to offer half as much again." hutton gazed at him with sardonic amusement. "oh," he replied, "has somebody left you a fortune, or are they going to run a railroad through that valley?" nasmyth sat silent a moment or two, and it happened that his easy indifference served him tolerably well. had he been a keener man, the anxiety to get about his work in the cañon, of which he was certainly sensible, might have led to his undoing; but he was not one who often erred through undue precipitancy. the waiting fight was, perhaps, the one for which he was particularly adapted. if anything, he was rather too much addicted to holding out his hand, and he realized that it behooves the man without capital to be particularly wary in his negotiations with the one in possession of money. his recent interview with violet hamilton also had a stirring effect on him, and now he sat quietly prepared to hold his own. "no," he declared, "there has been no particular change in my affairs. i have only been thinking things over, and it seems to me i ought to get the terms i mentioned." "then you had better try. it won't be from any of the accredited land agencies." nasmyth noticed the faint ring in his companion's voice. this, it seemed to him, was not bluff. the man, he believed, meant what he said. "you seem quite sure of it," he observed. as a matter of fact, hutton was, but he felt annoyed with himself. "well," he said, "i naturally know what they would think of any proposition like the one you made me. anyway, as i suggested, all you have to do is to try them." again nasmyth, conscious that his companion was unobtrusively watching him, sat silent a moment or two. he knew that if he broke with hutton he might have considerable difficulty in raising the money he required from any corporation interested in such matters in that city; but he had also another plan in his mind. he was far from sure that the scheme would prove successful, and it was at least certain that it would cost him a good deal of trouble to carry it out. "then i don't think i need keep you any longer," he told hutton after a long pause. "i'll leave the thing over for a day or two, and you can send across to my hotel if you wish to discuss it again." he rose and reached out for his hat, and hutton, who watched him cross the room, was once or twice on the point of calling him back. hutton did not speak, however, since he fancied that nasmyth would presently return of his own accord--which was an expectation that proved unwarranted. the office was on the second floor of a big stone building, and, as he descended the stairway, nasmyth fancied he caught sight of martial in the entrance-hall. before he could be quite sure, the man turned down a corridor, and nasmyth, who did not trouble himself about the matter, went out into the street. he was not altogether satisfied that he had done wisely, but he meant, at least, to wait until events should prove him wrong. a few minutes later, martial strolled into the office where hutton sat, and smiled at him suggestively. he was also, as acton had once told nasmyth, interested in the land exploitation business, and it was evident that hutton had expected him. "nasmyth has been here," martial observed; "i saw him on the stairway. i suppose you got hold of him?" hutton's gesture was forcibly expressive of annoyance. "as a matter of fact, i didn't," he confessed. "the man's either considerably smarter than i gave him credit for being, or a thick-headed, obstinate fool. the one's as hard to handle as the other. i don't know which he is, and it doesn't greatly matter. the result's the same." "i guess it's the latter;" and martial laughed. "well, since you can't come to terms, have you any notion what his programme is?" "it's not a sure thing that he has one. anyway, he didn't mention it. we'll let him wait a day or two. it's quite likely he'll try the charters people." both of them smiled, for it was then not an unusual thing for the men interested in such affairs to put their heads together and take a joint hand in any deal that seemed to warrant it, and when they did so, the results were not, as a rule, encouraging to the outsider. martial looked at his comrade suggestively. "i had a talk with charters yesterday," he said. "he told me that if there was anything in it, he didn't expect us to let the thing go." hutton thought for a moment. "one could sell quite a few ranches in the valley; but it's going to cost considerable to run the water out, and i can't quite put my hand on anybody i'd feel like trusting with the work in the cañon. it's going to be difficult. besides, nasmyth has what you might call a first option on the land. nobody else seems to want it, and the crown people have evidently given way on a point or two. it's a sure thing they'd make no concession if we show our hands." he broke off for a moment, and flung a quick glance at his visitor. "you don't like the man?" "i don't," said martial--"that's a solid fact. still, it's not going to count for much. this"--and he waved his hand--"is a matter of business." he sat still for a moment or two, with a curious look in his face; for he had called at the hotel acton's party had visited on the night that he had endeavoured to crawl unobserved on board the _tillicum_. he had no difficulty in discovering that mrs. acton and miss hamilton had spent the night there, which made it evident that the girl could not have been on board the steamer. he had, however, not made the inquiries until business took him to the hotel several weeks afterwards, and acton's manner, when they met in the city, convinced him that the schooner men had been communicative. on thinking the matter over, it became clear that nasmyth and the skipper had played a trick on him; and, since it had cost him mrs. acton's good-will, without which he could not approach miss hamilton, he cherished a bitter grievance against nasmyth. "well," he inquired, "in case he tries to raise the money elsewhere, what do you suggest?" "i guess we'll let him try," answered hutton. "he's not going to raise much when things are humming and every man with capital is putting it into mines and mills. besides, the work in the cañon's evidently a big undertaking, and it's going to run into a long bill for labour. a thing of that kind usually costs four times as much as the man who starts it figures. well, we'll leave him to it, and when his money runs out we'll chip in." martial laughed. "that's very much my notion. let him do the work, and then jump in and put up our dummies to locate all the land he can't take hold of. once we get a ranch or two recorded, there would be a dozen ways we could get a grip on him. between us and charters, we ought to break him." they smiled at each other, but in a moment or two hutton looked thoughtful again. "you want to understand," he said, "it's not my business to break nasmyth. it's the money i'm out for. in fact, if there's an easier way than the one i suggested, i'm going to take it; and with that in view, i'll send up a man or two i can rely on to investigate." "if they get crawling round that cañon and up and down the valley, it will set the blame settlers talking. we want the thing run quietly," martial cautioned. "i guess it can be done," replied hutton. "they'll go camping out for pleasure. in fact, to make the thing more like it, i'll send them fishing." martial rose. "anyway," he said, "i'll leave it with you in the meanwhile." chapter xxi the men of the bush a cool shadow fell upon the descending trail that wound in among the towering firs, and nasmyth checked his jaded horse as he entered on the last league of his long ride from the railroad. the red dust had settled thick upon his city clothes, and for the first time he found the restraint of them irksome. the band of his new hat had tightened unpleasantly about his forehead, and in scrambling up the side of the last high ridge which he had crossed, one neatly-fitting boot had galled his foot, while he smiled with somewhat sinister amusement as he felt the grip of the tight jacket on his shoulders. these were, as he recognized, petty troubles, and he was rather astonished that he should resent them, as he certainly did. he remembered that a little while before he had made no complaint against the restraints of civilization, and had, indeed, begun to shrink from the prospect of going back to the untrammelled life of the wilderness. but, as he straightened himself in his saddle and gazed down the deep valley through which the trail twisted, he felt the shrinking melt away. after all, there was something in the wilderness that appealed to him. there was vigour in the clean smell of it, and the little breeze that fanned his face was laden with the scent of the firs. the trees rolled away before him in sombre battalions that dwindled far up the rocky sides of the enfolding hills, and here and there a flood of sunlight that struck in through the openings fell in streams of burning gold upon their tremendous trunks. beyond them the rugged heights rose, mass on mass, against the western sky. he rode into the shadow, and, though he thought of her, it was curious that violet hamilton seemed to become less real to him as he pushed on down the valley. he vaguely felt that he could not carry her with him into the wilderness. she was a part of the civilization upon which he had once more, for a time at least, turned his back, and he could not fit her into the environment of that wild and rugged land. indeed, he remembered with a compassionate tenderness how she had shrunk from it and clung to him--a forlorn, bedraggled object, in her tattered dress--the day they floundered through the dripping bush, and he subconsciously braced himself for conflict as he thought of it. the sooner his work was over, the sooner he could go back to her; but there was, as he remembered, a great deal to be accomplished first. wrapped in thought as he was, he was surprised when he saw a faint blue cloud of wood-smoke trailing out athwart the sombre firs in the hollow beneath him. then two figures became visible, moving upwards along the strip of trail, and he drove the jaded horse forward as he recognized them. he lost sight of them for a few minutes as he turned aside to avoid a swampy spot, but when he had left it behind they were close ahead in the middle of the trail, and it was with a thrill of pleasure that he swung himself stiffly from the saddle. with a smile on his bronzed face, gordon stood looking at him. gordon was dressed in soil-stained garments of old blue duck, with a patch cut from a cotton flour-bag on one of them. laura waynefleet stood a little nearer, and there was also a welcome in her eyes. nasmyth noticed how curiously at home she seemed amidst that tremendous colonnade of towering trunks. he shook hands with her, but it was gordon who spoke first. "you have come back to us. we have been expecting you," he said. "after all, store clothes and three well-laid meals a day are apt to pall on one." nasmyth turned to laura. "i should like to point out that this is the man who urged me to go," he said. "one can't count on him." "oh, yes," admitted gordon, "i certainly did urge you, but i guess i knew what the result would be. it was the surest way of quieting you. anyway, you don't seem sorry to be back again?" nasmyth glanced at laura. "no," he said; "in some respects i'm very glad." he became suddenly self-conscious as he saw gordon's significant smile. it suggested that he had, perhaps, made too great an admission, and he wondered for the first time, with a certain uneasiness, whether gordon had mentioned miss hamilton to laura, and, if that was the case, what miss waynefleet thought about the subject. laura talked to him in her old friendly fashion as they walked on towards the settlement, until gordon broke in. "i've called the boys together, as you suggested, and fixed up the meeting for to-night," he said. "they'll be ready to give you a hearing, after supper, in the hotel." laura left them on the outskirts of the settlement, and gordon, stopping a moment, looked hard at nasmyth. "i suppose you pledged yourself to that girl at bonavista before you came away?" he said. "i did," nasmyth admitted. gordon was silent for a moment or two. "of course, i partly expected it," he observed. "in fact, when i was talking to miss waynefleet about you, i ventured to predict something of the kind." the two men looked at each other for a moment, and then nasmyth smiled. "you haven't anything else to say," he suggested. "no," answered gordon,--"at least, nothing that's very material. anyway, until we're through with the business we have on hand, you'll have to put that girl right out of your mind." they went on towards the little wooden hotel, and nasmyth felt unusually thoughtful as he walked beside his jaded horse. he recognized that his comrade's last observation was more or less warranted, and it was to some extent a relief to him when they reached the veranda stairway and gordon led the horse away toward the stables. it was rather more than an hour later when a specially invited company of men who had, as they said, a stake in the district assembled in the big general room of the hotel. there was about a dozen of them, men of different birth and upbringing, though all had the same quiet brown faces and steadiness of gaze. for the most part, they were dressed in duck, though waynefleet and the hotel-keeper wore city clothes. the room was barely furnished, and panelled roughly with cedar-boards; but it had wide casements, from which those who sat in it could look out upon a strip of frothing river and the sombre forest that rolled up the rocky hills. the windows were wide open, and the smell of wood-smoke and the resinous odours of the firs flowed in. a look of expectancy crept into the men's faces, and the murmur of their conversation suddenly fell away, when nasmyth sat down at the head of the long table with gordon at one side of him. "boys," said nasmyth, "one or two of you know why gordon asked you here to meet me, but i had better roughly explain my project before i go any further. i'll ask you to give me your close attention for the next three or four minutes." when he stopped speaking there was a very suggestive silence for a moment. those who heard him had not the quick temperament of the men of the western cities. they lived in the stillness of the bush, and thought before they undertook anything, though, when they moved, it was usually to some purpose. one of the men stood up with a deprecatory gesture. "well," he declared, "it's a great idea. boys, wouldn't you call us blame fools for not thinking of it before?" he sat down suddenly, before anybody answered him, and the men were still again until another of them rose. "nasmyth's not quite through yet," he said. "we'll ask him to go ahead." gordon leaned forward, and touched his comrade's arm. "pitch it to them strong. you're getting hold," he whispered encouragingly. for another five minutes nasmyth spoke as he felt that he had never spoken before. he was intent and strung up, and he knew that a great deal depended upon the effect he could make. he had failed with the men of the cities, who wanted all the profit. he felt sure that he would henceforward have one or two of them against him, and it was clear that he must either abandon his project or win over these hard-handed men of the bush. with them behind him, there was, he felt, little that he need shrink from attempting. a ring crept into his voice as he went on, for he knew that he was getting hold as he saw their lips set and the resolute expression of their eyes. they were men who, by strenuous toil, wrung a bare living out of the forest, and now there was laid before them a scheme that in its sheer daring seized upon their attention. "boys," nasmyth concluded, "i am in your hands. this thing is too big for me to go into alone. still, it's due to you to say that, while i meant to give you an option of standing in, it seemed to me it would simplify the thing if i raised most of the money before i came to you. money is usually scarce in the bush." "that's a fact," agreed the shrewd-faced hotel-keeper, who also conducted the store. "anyway, when you have to trade with folks who take twelve months to square up their bills in." nobody seemed to heed him, and nasmyth added: "well, i found i couldn't do it--that is, if i wanted to keep anything for myself. i want you to come in, and as soon as i hear you're ready to give it your attention, i'll lay a proposition before you." he sat looking at them, in a state of tense anxiety, until one of them rose to his feet. "i guess you can count upon every one of us," he announced. a reassuring murmur ran along the double row of men, and nasmyth felt a thrill of exultation. "thank you, boys," he said with evident gratitude. "now, there are difficulties to be grappled with. to begin with, the crown authorities would sooner have leased the valley to me, and it was some time before they decided that as a special concession they would sell it in six hundred and forty acre lots at the lowest figure for first-class lands. the lots are to be laid off in rectangular blocks, and as the valley is narrow and winding, that takes in a proportion of heavy timber on the hill bench, and will not include quite a strip of natural prairie, which remains with the crown. the cost of the land alone runs close on twenty thousand dollars, of which, one way or another, i can raise about eight thousand." he looked at wheeler, who sat near the lower end of the table, and he nodded. "my offer stands," he said. "you want another twelve thousand dollars," said the hotel-keeper dubiously. "it's quite a pile of money." there was a little laughter from the men. "well," said one of them, "i guess we can raise it somehow among us, but it's going to be a pull." "then," said nasmyth, "we have provided for the cost of the land, but before we lower the fall and cut the drainage trenches in the valley we will run up a big bill--that is, if we hire hands. my notion is that we undertake the work ourselves, and credit every man with his share in it to count as a mortgage on the whole land that belongs to us." waynefleet stood up and waved his hand. "i want to point out that this is very vague," he objected. "the question will arise where the labour is to be applied. it would, for instance, be scarcely judicious to give a man a claim on everybody else for draining his own land." he would have said more, but that tom of mattawa laid a hard hand on his shoulder and jerked him back into his chair. "now," tom admonished, "you just sit down. when nasmyth takes this thing in hand he'll put it through quite straight. what you'd do in a month wouldn't count for five dollars, anyway." everybody laughed, and wheeler spoke again. "we'll get over that trouble by cutting so many big trenches only for the general benefit. in the meanwhile mr. nasmyth said something about trustees." "i did," said nasmyth. "the crown will sell in rectangular six hundred and forty acre blocks. my proposition is that we take them up in three separate names. you have to understand that the man who registers in the crown deed is legal owner." "then we're sure of two of them," declared the hotel-keeper. "nasmyth takes the first block, and wheeler the other." wheeler laughed. "i guess i stand out. as a united states citizen, i'm not sure i'm eligible to record crown lands. still, since nasmyth and i are putting up a good many of the dollars, i'll nominate gordon." as one man they decided on that, but there appeared to be a difficulty about the third trustee until nasmyth turned to them. "as you don't seem sure about him, i would like to suggest mr. waynefleet, boys," he said. "he is a man who has an extensive acquaintance with business and legal affairs." there was dead silence for several moments, and the men looked at one another uneasily. it was evident that the suggestion was unwelcome to most of them, and nasmyth was quite aware that he was doing an unpopular thing. in the meanwhile dusk had crept up the valley, and the room was growing dim. perhaps waynefleet could not see his companions' faces very well, but it is also possible that, had he been able to do so, he would not have troubled himself about the hesitation in most of them. there are men of his kind who appear incapable of recognizing the fact that they are not regarded with general favour. finally one of the men spoke. "seeing that the scheme is nasmyth's, i guess it's only reasonable to fall in with his views as far as we can," he said. "we'll fix on waynefleet." there was a murmur of very dubious agreement, and waynefleet, who stood up, smiled on the assembly patronizingly. his manner suggested that he was about to confer a favour. "our friend was warranted in mentioning that i have been accustomed to handling affairs of a somewhat similar nature, but of considerably greater magnitude," he said. "i have pleasure in placing what abilities i possess at your disposal, gentlemen." though it was growing dark, nasmyth saw the amused light in gordon's eyes. "i'm with you in this," said gordon. "still, i scarcely figured the boys would have stood him." they discussed the scheme at length, and when the assembly broke up, waynefleet approached the table where gordon, nasmyth and wheeler sat under a big lamp. "there is a point i did not mention at the time. it seemed to me it was one that could, perhaps, be arranged," said waynefleet. "it is, of course, usual for a director of any kind to hold a certain financial interest in the scheme." he looked at nasmyth, and made a significant gesture. "unfortunately there are not at the moment more than a very few dollars at my disposal. the fact, you will recognize, is likely to hamper my efforts in an administrative capacity." "precisely!" said nasmyth. "it is a matter i have provided for. you will be placed in possession of a holding of the size the others fixed upon as convenient when the blocks are divided off." "no larger?" "no," answered nasmyth; "i am afraid you will have to be content with that." waynefleet went out, and gordon turned to nasmyth. "it's going to cost you something," he said. "you can't charge it on the scheme. i'll divide it with you." there was a slight restraint in nasmyth's manner. "i'm afraid i can't permit it. it will be charged against my claim. considering everything, it was a thing i felt i had to do." then wheeler, who had been quietly watching them, broke in. "what did you put that image up for, anyway?" he asked. gordon smiled in a significant fashion. "it's our friend's affair, and i guess he's not going to tell you why he did it. still, in one sense, i 'most think it was up to him." wheeler let the matter drop, and in a few more minutes they went out, and nasmyth and gordon turned into the trail that led to gordon's ranch. chapter xxii nasmyth sets to work it was a scorching afternoon on the heights above, where rocky slope and climbing firs ran far up towards the blue heavens under a blazing sun, but it was dim and cool in the misty depths of the cañon. there was eternal shadow in that tremendous rift, and a savage desolation rolled away from it; but on this afternoon the sounds of human activity rang along its dusky walls. the dull thud of axes fell from a gully that rent the mountain-side, and now and then a mass of shattered rock came crashing down, while the sharp clinking of the drills broke intermittently through the hoarse roar of the fall. wet with the spray of the fall, nasmyth, stripped to blue shirt and old duck trousers, stood swinging a heavy hammer, which he brought down upon the head of the steel bar that his companion held so many times a minute with rhythmic precision. though they changed round now and then, he had done much the same thing since early morning, and his back and arms ached almost intolerably; but still the great hammer whirled about his head, and while he gasped with the effort, came down with a heavy jar upon the drill. so intent was he that he did not notice the three figures scrambling along the narrow log-work staging pinned against the rocky side above the fall, until his companion flung a word at him. turning with a start, he dropped his hammer. he saw gordon hold out a hand to laura waynefleet, who sprang down from the staging upon the strip of smooth-worn stone that stretched out from the wall of the cañon above the fall. wheeler was a few paces behind them. nasmyth looked around for his jacket, and, remembering that he had left it in the gully, he moved forward to shake hands with his visitors. "i scarcely expected to see any of you here. you must have had a hard scramble," he said. gordon waved his hand. "you don't say you're pleased, though after the trouble we've taken, it's a sure thing that you ought to be," he declared. "anyway, i'm not going back up that gully until i've had supper. wheeler's held up because his folks haven't sent him some machines, and i came along to see if i'd forgotten how to hold a drill. i don't quite know what miss waynefleet came for." laura laughed good-humouredly. "oh," she said, "i have my excuse. my father is at victoria, and i have been staying with mrs. potter for a day or two. she lent me a cayuse to ride over to fenton's ranch, and the trail there leads close by the head of the gully." mattawa looked up at gordon with a grin. "if you want to do some drilling, you can start right now," he remarked. "guess nasmyth doesn't know he has a back on him." gordon took up the hammer, and, when wheeler went back to the gully to inquire whether one of the men at work there would undertake some timber-squaring he wanted done at the mill, laura waynefleet and nasmyth were left together. it was wetter than was comfortable near the fall, and, scrambling back across the staging, they sat down among the boulders near the foot of the rapid that swirled out of the pool. nasmyth looked at laura, who smiled. "i am afraid i have taken you away from your work, and i haven't gordon's excuse," she said. "he, at least, is able to drill." nasmyth laughed. "i observe that tom seems very careful of his hands," he returned. "as to the other matter, i am very glad you did come. after all, drilling isn't exactly a luxurious occupation; and while, as tom remarked, i'm a little uncertain about my back, i'm quite sure i'm in possession of a pair of arms, because they ache abominably. besides"--and his gaze was whimsically reproachful--"do you really think any excuse is needed for coming to see me?" "in any case, i have one; there is something i want to say. you see, i have not come across you since the meeting at the settlement." "i suppose you object to your father taking any share in our crazy venture?" a faint flicker of colour crept into laura's cheek. "you know i don't," she replied. "it is the one thing i could have wished for him; indeed, i shall be thankful if he takes a sustaining interest in the scheme, as he seems disposed to do. it will be of benefit to him in many ways. he grows moody and discontented at the ranch." she broke off for a moment, and her voice had changed when she went on again. "there is one point that troubles me--you provided my father with the money to take his share in the venture." "no," explained nasmyth; "i think i can say that i didn't. i have merely set apart for him so many acres of swamp and virgin forest. he will have to earn his title to them by assisting in what we may call the administration, as well as by physical labour." laura looked at nasmyth with quiet eyes. "would you or gordon consider it a good bargain to part with a single acre for all the advice he can offer you?" she asked. nasmyth sat silent a moment, gravely regarding her. there was a little more colour in her face, but her composure and her fearless honesty appealed to him. she was attired very plainly in a print dress, made, as he knew, by her own fingers. the gown had somehow escaped serious damage in the scramble down the gully. it harmonized with the pale-tinted stone, and it seemed to him that its wearer fitted curiously into her surroundings. he had noticed this often before, and it had occurred to him that she had acquired something of the strength and unchangeableness of the wilderness. perhaps she had, though it is also possible that the quiet steadfastness had been born in her, and perfected slowly under stress and strain. "well," nasmyth broke out impulsively, "if it had been you to whom we made that block over, i could have abdicated with confidence and have left it all to you." laura smiled, and nasmyth became sensible that his face had grown a deeper red. "whatever made you say that?" she asked. "i don't quite know." nasmyth's manner was deprecatory. "after all, it's hardly fair to hold a man accountable for everything he may chance to say. anyway, i think i meant it." something in his voice suggested that he was of the same mind still, but laura glanced at him again. "aren't we getting away from the subject?" she queried. "the land you made over to my father must have cost you something. it is a thing i rather shrink from mentioning, but have you any expectation of ever getting the money back?" nasmyth did not exactly understand, until a considerable time afterwards, why he was so deeply stirred by what she had said, and he was quite mistaken in fancying that it was merely her courage that touched his heart. in the meanwhile, he was clearly sensible of at least a great pity for her. "well," he told her, "we can look at things openly, and not try to persuade ourselves that they're something else. i think that is one of the things that you have taught me. now, suppose i haven't any expectation of the kind you mention. how does that count? didn't you take me in when you found me lying in the snow? isn't it practically certain that i owe my life to you? admitting all that, is there any reason why you shouldn't permit me to offer you a trifling favour, not for your own sake, but your father's?" he broke off for a moment with a forceful gesture. "i might, no doubt, have suppressed all this and made some conventional answer, but, you see, one has to be honest with you. can you persuade yourself that i don't know what you have to bear at the ranch, and how your father's moody discontent must burden you? isn't it clear that if he takes an interest in this project and forgets to worry about his little troubles, it will make life easier for both of you?" laura looked at him curiously. "after all, it is my life. why should you be so anxious to make it easier?" the question troubled nasmyth. it seemed to go beyond the reason he had offered her a moment or two earlier. indeed, it flashed upon him that the fact that he certainly owed a good deal to her was not in itself quite sufficient to account for the anxiety he felt. "well," he answered, "if the grounds i mentioned don't appear to warrant my doing what i did, i can't at the moment think of anything more convincing. it's one consolation that you couldn't upset the little arrangement now, if you wanted to. your father's going into the thing headlong." somewhat to his astonishment the girl appeared embarrassed as she glanced away from him. it was a moment or two before she looked around again. "ah!" she exclaimed, "i don't want to upset it. he has not been so well and contented for several years. it has lifted him out of his moodiness." then she leaned a little toward him. "i dare not refuse this favour from you." nasmyth was puzzled by a vague something in her manner. "i certainly can't see why you should want to; but we'll talk of something else," he replied. "as you have noticed, i have set to work, though i expect it will be winter before we make any very great impression." laura glanced up the gloomy cañon, which was filled with the river's clammy, drifting mist. "winter," she said, "will be terrible here. then you are not going back to the coast or victoria for some time?" "certainly not, if i can help it." nasmyth spoke without reflection, but he felt what he said, and it was a moment before he realized that he might have expressed himself less decisively. he saw the smile on laura's lips. "so you have heard?" he asked. "there was, of course, no reason why gordon shouldn't have told you. it was a thing i had meant to do myself, only, as it happened, i haven't seen you. after that last speech of mine, i must explain that i feel there is a certain obligation on me to stay away. miss hamilton, as a matter of fact, is not engaged to me. nothing can be settled until i carry out this project successfully." laura waynefleet's face was very quiet, and he sat silent a moment or two, wondering somewhat uneasily what she was thinking. he was also slightly surprised at himself, for he realized that, after all, he had found it considerably easier to stay away than he had expected. indeed, during the last few weeks, when every moment of his time had been occupied, he had thought of nothing except the work before him. it occurred to him for the first time that it was curious that he had been able to do so. "you see," he made haste to explain, "in the meanwhile i must endeavour to put everything except this scheme out of my mind." again he was troubled by laura waynefleet's little smile. "yes," she said; "in one way, no doubt, that would be the wisest course. i'm not sure, however, that everybody would have sufficient strength of will." nasmyth said nothing further for a while, but--though he was probably not aware of this--his face grew thoughtful as he gazed at the river until his companion spoke again. "was it miss hamilton's wish that you should make your mark first?" she inquired. "no," answered nasmyth decisively; "i want you to understand that it was mine. she merely concurred in it." he changed the subject abruptly. "tell me about yourself." "there is so little to tell. one day is so much like another with me, only i have been rather busier than usual lately. my father has had to cut down expenses. we have no hired man." nasmyth set his lips and half-consciously closed one hand. it seemed to him an almost intolerable thing that this girl should waste her youth and sweetness dragging out a life of unremitting toil in the lone bush. still, while her father lived, there was nothing else she could look forward to, and he could imagine how the long colourless years would roll away with her, while she lost her freshness and grew hard and worn with petty cares and labour that needed a stronger arm than hers. she might grow discontented, he fancied, and perhaps a trifle bitter, though he could not imagine her becoming querulous. as yet there was a great patience in her steady eyes. then it became evident that she guessed what he was thinking. "sometimes i feel the prospect in front of me is not a very attractive one," she responded in answer to his thoughts. "still, one can get over that by not regarding it as a prospect at all. it simplifies the thing when one takes it day by day." she smiled at him. "derrick, you have done wisely. i think you need a sustaining purpose and a woman to work for." nasmyth's face paled. "yes," he agreed dryly; "it is, perhaps, rather a significant admission, but i really think i do." it was a relief to both of them that wheeler came floundering along the shingle just then with a box and a coil of wire in his hand. "i've brought you a little present, nasmyth," he announced. "firing by fuse is going to be uncertain when there's so much spray about, and i sent down for this electric fixing. we can charge it for you at any time at the mill. have you put in any giant-powder yet?" nasmyth said they had not fired a heavy charge about the fall, but that there were several holes ready for filling, and wheeler's eyes twinkled. "i'm quite anxious to try this little toy," he said. "when i was young, a rancher gave me an old played-out shot-gun, and i was out at sun-up next morning to shoot something. that's the kind of being a man is, miss waynefleet. put any kind of bottled-up power in his hands, and he feels he must get up and make a bang with it. after all, i guess it's fortunate that he does." "are all men like that?" laura asked with a strange undertone in her voice. "most of them," said wheeler, with an air of reflection. "of course, you do run across one here and there who would put the bottled power carefully away for fear that, when it went off, it might hurt him or somebody. the trouble is that when a man of that kind at last makes up his mind to use it he's quite likely to find that the power has gradually leaked out of the bottle. power's a very curious thing. if you don't use it, it has a way of evaporating." gordon had joined them in the meanwhile, and laura looked at him. "you agree with that?" she asked. gordon's smile was suggestively grim. "oh, yes," he said. "i guess our friend now and then says some rather forceful things. anyway, he has hit it with this one. for instance, there was that little matter of the man who was sick at his mill. a surgeon with nerve and hands could have fixed him up. we"--and he made an expressive gesture--"packed him out to victoria." he laughed harshly as he went on: "well, that's partly why we're going to set our mark on this cañon, if it's only to make it clear that we're not quite played out yet. you'll ram that hole full of your strongest powder, derrick." nasmyth turned and waved his hand to a man at the foot of the gully. "bring me down the magazine!" he ordered. "we're going to split that rock before supper." the man, who disappeared, came back again with an iron box, and for the next few minutes nasmyth, who scrambled about the rocks above the fall, taking a coil of thin wire with him, was busy. when he rejoined his companions, he led them a little further down the cañon until he pointed to a shelf of rock from which they had a clear view of the fall. a handful of men had clambered down the gully, and now they stood in a cluster upon the strip of shingle. nasmyth indicated them with a wave of his hand before he held a little wooden box with brass pegs projecting from it up to laura. "it's the first big charge we have fired, and they seem to feel it's something of an event," he said. "in one way, it's a declaration of war we're making, and there is a good deal against us. you fit this plug into the socket when you're ready." "you mean me to fire the charge?" inquired laura. "yes," answered nasmyth quietly. "it's fitting that you should be the one to set us at our work. if it hadn't been for you, i should certainly not have taken this thing up, and now i want to feel that you are anxious for our success." a faint flush of colour crept into laura waynefleet's face. for one thing, nasmyth's marriage to the dark-eyed girl whom gordon had described to her depended on the success of this venture, and that was a fact which had its effect on her. still, she felt, the scheme would have greater results than that, and, turning gravely, she glanced at the men who had gathered upon the shingle. they looked very little and feeble as they clustered together, in face of that almost overwhelming manifestation of the great primeval forces against which they had pitted themselves in the bottom of the tremendous rift. it seemed curious that they did not shrink from the roar of the river which rang about them in sonorous tones, and then, as she looked across the mad rush of the rapid and the spray-shrouded fall to the stupendous walls of rock that shut them in, the thing they had undertaken seemed almost impossible. wheeler appeared to guess her thoughts, for he smiled as he pointed to the duck-clad figures. "well," he declared, "in one way they're an insignificant crowd. very little to look at; and this cañon's big. still, i guess they're somehow going through with the thing. it seems to me"--and he nodded to her with sudden recognition of her part in the project--"it was a pretty idea of nasmyth's when he asked you to start them at it." laura remembered that the leader of the men had once said that he belonged to her. she smiled, and raised the hand that held the firing key. "boys," she said, "it's a big thing you have undertaken--not the getting of the money, but the beating of the river, and the raising of tall oats and orchards where only the sour swamp-grasses grew." she turned and for a moment looked into nasmyth's eyes, as she added simply: "good luck to you." she dropped her hand upon the little box, and in another moment or two a rent opened in the smooth-worn stretch of rock above the fall. out of it there shot a blaze of light that seemed to grow in brilliance with incredible swiftness, until it spread itself apart in a dazzling corruscation. then the roar of the river was drowned in the detonation, and long clouds of smoke whirled up. through the smoke rose showers of stones and masses of leaping rock that smote with a jarring crash upon the walls of the cañon. after that came a great splashing that died away suddenly, and there was only the hoarse roar of the river pouring through the newly opened gap. laura turned and handed the box to nasmyth. "now," she said, "i have done my part, and i am only sorry that it is such a trifling one." nasmyth looked at her with a gleam in his eyes. he answered softly: "you are behind it all. it is due to you that i am making some attempt to use the little power in my possession, instead of letting it melt away." chapter xxiii the derrick a bitter frost had crept down from the snow-clad heights that shut the cañon in, and the roar of the river had fallen to a lower tone, when nasmyth stood one morning shivering close by the door of his rude log shanty at the foot of the gully. the faint grey light was growing slightly clearer, and he could see the clustering spruces, in the hollow, gleam spectrally where their dark masses were streaked with delicate silver filigree. across the river there was a dull glimmer from the wall of rock, which the freezing spray had covered with a glassy crust. though it had not been long exposed to the nipping morning air, nasmyth felt his damp deer-hide jacket slowly stiffening, and the edge of the sleeves, which had been wet through the day before, commenced to rasp his raw and swollen wrists. he stood still for a minute or two listening to the river and stretching himself wearily, for his back and shoulders ached, and there was a distressful stiffness in most of his joints that had resulted from exposure, in spray-drenched clothing, to the stinging frost. this, however, did not greatly trouble him, since he had long realized that physical discomfort must be disregarded if the work was to be carried on. men, for the most part, toil strenuously in that wild land. indeed, it is only by the tensest effort of which flesh and blood are capable that the wilderness is broken to man's domination, for throughout much of it costly mechanical appliances have not as yet displaced well-hardened muscle. in most cases the bushman who buys a forest ranch has scarcely any money left when he has made the purchase. he finds the land covered with two-hundred-feet firs, which must be felled, and sawn up, and rolled into piles for burning by his own hand, and only those who have handled trees of that kind can form any clear conception of the labour such work entails. it is a long time before the strip of cleared land will yield a scanty sustenance, and in the meanwhile the bushman must, every now and then, hire himself out track-grading on the railroads or chopping trails to obtain the money that keeps him in tea and pork and flour. as a rule, he expects nothing else, and there are times when he does not get quite enough work. men reared in this fashion grow hard and tireless, and nasmyth had been called upon to lead a band of them. he had contrived to do it, so far, but it was not astonishing that the toil had left a mark on him. he heard the drifting ice-cake crackle, as it leapt the fall, and the sharp crash of it upon the boulders in the rapid. it jarred on the duller roar of the river in intermittent detonations as each heavy mass swept down. there was, however, no other sound, and seizing a hammer, he struck a suspended iron sheet until a voice fell across the pines from the shadowy gully. "guess we'll be down soon as it's light enough," it said. then another voice rose from the shanty. "the boys won't see to make a start for half an hour," it said. "i don't know any reason why you shouldn't shut the door and come right in. breakfast's ready." nasmyth turned and went into the shanty, conscious that it would cost him an effort to get out of it again. a stove snapped and crackled in the one room, which was cosily warm. gordon and waynefleet sat before the two big empty cases that served for table, and mattawa was ladling pork on to their plates from a blackened frying-pan, nasmyth sat down and ate hastily, while the light from the lamp hanging beneath the roof-beams fell upon his face, which was gaunt and roughened by the sting of bitter spray and frost. his hands were raw and cracked. "i want to get that rock-dump hove out of the pool before it's dark," he said. "one can't see to crawl over those ice-crusted rocks by firelight." gordon glanced at mattawa, who grinned. "well," said mattawa, "it was only yesterday when i fell in, and i figured charly was going right under the fall the day before. oh, yes, i guess we'd better get the thing through while it's light." "i have felt inclined to wonder if it wouldn't be advisable to suspend operations if this frost continues," said waynefleet reflectively. "our charter lays it down that the work is to be carried on continuously," answered gordon. "still, on due notice being given, it permits a stoppage of not exceeding one month, owing to stress of weather or insuperable natural difficulties. as a matter of fact, even with the fire going, it's practically impossible to keep the frost out of the stone." nasmyth looked up sharply. "the work goes on. there will be no stoppage of any kind. we can't afford it. the thing already has cost us two or three times as much as i had anticipated." gordon looked amused, though he said nothing further. nasmyth was up against it, with his back to the wall, but that fact had roused all the resolution there was in him, and he had shown no sign of flinching. it was evident that he must fight or fail ignominiously, and he had grown grimmer and more determined as each fresh obstacle presented itself while the strenuous weeks rolled on. there was silence for a few minutes, and then mattawa grinned at waynefleet. "i guess you've got to keep that rock from freezing, and the fire was kind of low when i last looked out," he remarked. with a frown of resignation waynefleet rose wearily and went out, for it was his part to keep a great fire going day and night. this was one of the few things he could do, and, though it entailed a good deal of sturdy labour with the axe, he had, somewhat to his comrades' astonishment, accomplished it reasonably well. in another minute or two nasmyth followed him, and when the rest of the men came clattering down from the shanty, higher up the gully, they set to work. there was just light enough to see by, and no more, for, though the frost was bitter, heavy snow-clouds hung about the hills. shingle and boulders were covered with frozen spray, and long spears of ice stretched out into the pool below the fall. now and then a block of ice drove athwart them with a detonating crackle. the pool was lower than it had been in summer, and the stream frothed in angry eddies in the midst of it, where shattered masses of rock rent by the blasting charges lay as they had fallen. it was essential that the rock should be cleared away, and a great redwood log with a rounded foot let into a socket swung by wire rope guys above the pool. another wire rope with a pair of iron claws at the end of it ran over a block at the head of the log to the winch below, and the primitive derrick and its fittings had cost nasmyth a great deal of money, as well as a week's arduous labour. they swung the apparatus over the pile of submerged rock, and, when the claws fell with a splash, they hove at the winch, two of them at each handle, until a mass of stone rose from the stream. then one guy was slackened, and another hauled upon, until the rock swung over the shingle across the river, where they let it fall. part of the growing pile would be used to build the road by which they brought supplies down the gully. in itself the work was arduous enough, since four men alone could toil at the winch, and some of the masses they raised were ponderous. indeed, there was scarcely room for four persons on the shelf hewn out above the tail of the pool, and the narrow strip of stone was slippery with ice. fine spray that froze on all it touched whirled about the workers, and every now and then a heavy fragment that slipped from the claws fell with a great splash. nasmyth's wrists grew raw from the rasp of the hide jacket, and wide cracks opened in his fingers. "i remember it as cold as this only once before," he said. "it was during the few days i spent between the logging camp and waynefleet's ranch." mattawa, who hove on the same handle, grinned. "well," he said, "this is a tolerable sample of blame hard weather while it lasts, but we get months of it back east. still, i guess we don't work then. no, sir, unless we're chopping, we sit tight round the stove." mattawa was right in this. excepting the loggers and the northwest police, men do not work in the open at that temperature back east, nor would they attempt it on the pacific slope were the cold continuous. in the western half of british columbia, however, long periods of severe weather are rare. it is a variable zone, swept now and then by damp, warm breezes, and men tell of sheltered valleys where flowers blow the year round, though very few of those who ramble up and down the mountain province ever chance upon them. but there are times when the devastating cold of the polar regions descends upon the lonely ranges, as it had done upon the frost-bound cañon. those who toiled with nasmyth were hardened men, and they held on with cracked hands clenched on the winch-handles, or they splashed through the icy shallows with the water in their boots, until, a little before their dinner-hour, when three of them stood straining by nasmyth's side beneath the derrick as a mass of rock rose slowly to the surface of the pool. mattawa glanced at this weight dubiously, and then up at the wire guy that gleamed with frozen spray high above his head. "i guess we've dropped on to a big one this time," he said. "she's going to be heavier when we heave her clear of the river." this, of course, was correct, and it was clear to nasmyth that it was only by a strenuous effort that his comrades were raising the stone then. still, it must be lifted, and he tightened his grasp upon the handle. "heave! lift her out!" he said. the veins rose swollen on their foreheads, and they gasped as they obeyed him, but as the stone rose dripping there was an ominous creaking overhead. "guess she's drawing the anchor-bolts," cried one. "we'll fetch the whole thing down. shall i let her run?" nasmyth flung a sharp glance at the big iron holdfast sunk in the rock above. there would, he knew, be trouble if that or the wire guy gave way, but it was only at some hazard that anything could be done in the cañon. "hold on!" he said hoarsely. "slack that guy, and let her swing." there was a clink and jar as the clutch took the weight off them; a wire rope set up a harsh rasping, and as gordon jerked a guiding-line across the river, the great boom swung, trailing the heavy stone just above the water. then the ominous creak grew sharper, and one of them shouted. "jump!" he said. "she's going!" two of them sprang on the instant into the pool, and washed out with the crackling ice-cake into the rapid at the tail of it. it was precisely what most men who could swim would have done, but nasmyth stayed, and mattawa stayed with him. nasmyth did not think very clearly, but he remembered subconsciously what the construction of that derrick had cost him. there was a lever which would release the load and let it run. he had his hand on it when he turned to his companion. "strip that handle, tom," he said. the iron crank that would have hurled him into the river as its span fell with a rattle, and that was one peril gone; but the lever he grasped was difficult to move, and his hands were stiff and numb. still he persisted, and mattawa watched him, because there was only room for one, until there was a crash above them, and the tilted top of the great boom came down. mattawa, flattened against the rock side, held his breath as the mass of timber rushed towards the pool, and next moment saw that nasmyth was no longer standing on the shelf. nasmyth lay partly beneath the shattered winch, and his face was grey, except for a red scar down one side of it. his eyes, however, were open, and mattawa gasped with relief when he heard the injured man speak. "it cleared my body. i'm fast by the hand," said nasmyth. three or four minutes had slipped by before the rest scrambled upon the ledge with handspikes, and then it cost them a determined effort before they moved the redwood log an inch or two. gordon, kneeling by nasmyth's side, drew the crushed arm from under it. nasmyth raised himself on one elbow, and lifted a red and pulpy hand that hung from the wrist. with an effort that set his face awry, he straightened it. "i can move it," he said. "i don't know how it got under the thing, or what hit me in the face." "it doesn't matter, either," said gordon quietly. "can you get up?" nasmyth blinked at him. "of course," he answered. "as a general thing, i walk with my legs. they're not hurt." nasmyth staggered to his feet, and, while gordon grasped his shoulder, floundered over the log staging laid athwart the fall and back to the shanty. gordon was busy with him there for some time. after the crushed hand had been bound up gordon flung the door open and spoke to the men outside. "it's only his hand, and there's nothing broken," he announced. "you can get your dinner. we'll see about heaving the derrick up when you've eaten." he went back and filled nasmyth's pipe. "i expect it hurts," he said. nasmyth nodded. "yes," he replied, "quite enough." "well," said gordon, "i don't know that it's any consolation, but if you expose it at this temperature, it's going to hurt you considerably more. you can't do anything worth while with one hand, and that the one you don't generally use, either. there's a rip upon your face that may give you trouble, too. i'm going to pack you out to-morrow." "the difficulty is that i'm not disposed to go." "your wishes are not going to be consulted. if there's no other way, i'll appeal to the boys. i'd let you stay if you were a reasonable man, and would lie quiet beside the stove until that hand got better; but since it's quite clear that nobody could keep you there, you're starting to-morrow for waynefleet's ranch." gordon turned to waynefleet. "we'll lay you off for a week. there's a little business waiting at the settlement, anyway, and you can see about getting the new tools and provisions in." waynefleet's face was expressive of a vast relief. the few bitter weeks spent in the cañon had taken a good deal of the keenness he had once displayed out of him. "i certainly think the arrangement suggested is a very desirable one," he agreed "i am quite sure that miss waynefleet will have much pleasure in looking after nasmyth." gordon turned to nasmyth. "now," he said, "you can protest just as much as you like, but still, as you'll start to-morrow if we have to tie you on to the pack-horse, it's not going to be very much use. you can nurse your hand for a week, and then go on to victoria and see if you can pick up a boring-machine of the kind we want cheap." nasmyth, who was aware that the machine must be purchased before very long, submitted with the best grace he could, and, though his hand was painful, he contrived to sleep most of the afternoon. now that he was disabled and could not work, he began to feel the strain. he set out with waynefleet at sunrise next morning, and they passed the day scrambling over the divide, and winding in and out among withered fern and thickets as they descended a rocky valley. here and there they found an easier pathway on the snow-sheeted reaches of a frozen stream, and only left it to plunge once more into the undergrowth when the ice crackled under them. they had a pack-horse with them, for now and then one of the men made a laborious journey to the settlement for provisions, and in places a fallen tree had been chopped through or a thicket partly hewn away. that, however, did little to relieve the difficulties of the march, for the trail was rudimentary, and the first two leagues of it would probably have severely taxed the strength of a vigorous man unaccustomed to the bush. but they pushed on, waynefleet riding when it was possible, while nasmyth plodded beside the horse's head, until a cloud of whirling snow broke upon them as they floundered through a belt of thinner bush. the snow wrapped them in its filmy folds, gathering thick upon their garments and filling their eyes, and nasmyth grew anxious as the daylight suddenly died out. they were in a valley, out of which they could not very well wander without knowing it, and they stumbled on, smashing into thickets and swerving round fallen trees, until they struck a clearer trail, and it was with relief that nasmyth saw a tall split-rail fence close in front of him. he threw a strip of it down, and then turned to waynefleet when he dimly made out a blink of light in the whirling haze of snow. "if you will go in and tell miss waynefleet, i'll try to put the horse up," he said. waynefleet swung himself down stiffly and vanished into the snow. he was half frozen, and it did not occur to him that nasmyth had only one hand with which to loose the harness. it is also possible that he would have made no protest if it had. nasmyth reached the stable, and contrived to find and to light the lantern, but he discovered that it would be difficult to do anything more. his sound hand was numbed. his fingers would not bend, and the buckles of the harness held, in spite of his efforts, but he persisted. the struggle he was waging in the cañon had stirred him curiously, and each fresh obstacle roused him to a half-savage determination. though the action sent a thrill of pain through him, he laid his bound-up hand upon the headstall, and set his lips as he tore at a buckle. he felt that if the thing cost him hours of effort he would not be beaten. he had, however, let his hand fall back into the bandage that hung from his neck, when the door opened and laura waynefleet came in. she saw him leaning against the side of the stall, with a greyness in his face, which had an angry red scar down one side of it, and her eyes shone with compassion. "sit down," she said. "i will do that." nasmyth, who straightened himself, shook his head. "i can manage it if you will loose the buckles," he said. "one feels a little awkward with only one hand." they did it together, and then nasmyth sat down, with his face drawn and lined. laura stood still a moment or two with the lantern in her hand. "the snow must be deep on the divide, and it is a very rough trail. i suppose you walked all the way?" she said. nasmyth contrived to smile. "as it happens, i am used to it." there was a flash of indignation in the girl's eyes, for she had, after all, a spice of temper, and she was naturally acquainted with her father's character. her anger had, however, disappeared next moment. "you are looking ill," she remarked anxiously. nasmyth glanced down at the bandage. "i've been working rather hard of late, and this hand is painful." he made a deprecatory gesture. "i don't know what excuse to offer for troubling you. gordon insisted on sending me." "you fancy i require one from you?" nasmyth looked at her with heavy eyes. "no," he answered, "it is evident that you don't. after all, perhaps i shouldn't have wished to make any excuse. it seems only natural that when i get hurt, or find myself in any trouble, i should come to you." he did not see the colour that crept into her face, for his perceptions were not clear then; but he rose with an effort, and together they went back to the house through the snow. there nasmyth changed his clothes for the dry garments he had brought in a valise strapped to the pack-saddle, and an hour after supper he fell quietly asleep in his chair. then laura turned to her father. "you let him walk all the way when he is worn-out and hurt!" she said accusingly. waynefleet waved his hand. "he insisted on it; and i would like to point out that there is nothing very much the matter with him. we have all been working very hard at the cañon; in fact, i quite fail to understand why you should be so much more concerned about him than you evidently are about me. i am, however, quite aware that there would be no use in my showing that i resented it." laura said nothing further. she felt that silence was wiser, for, after all, her patience now and then almost failed her. chapter xxiv realities though there was bitter frost in the ranges, it had but lightly touched the sheltered forests that shut in bonavista. the snow seldom lay long there, and only a few wisps of it gleamed beneath the northern edge of the pines. mrs. acton, as usual, had gathered a number of guests about her, and violet hamilton sat talking with one of them in the great drawing-room one evening. the room was brilliantly lighted, and the soft radiance gleamed upon the polished parquetry floor, on which rugs of costly skins were scattered. a fire of snapping pine-logs blazed in the big english hearth, and a faint aromatic fragrance crept into the room. miss hamilton leaned back in a softly padded lounge that was obviously only made for two, and a pleasant-faced, brown-eyed young englishman, who had no particular business in that country, but had gone there merely for amusement, sat at the other end of it, regarding her with a smile. "after all," he said reflectively, "i really don't think i'm very sorry the snow drove us down from our shooting camp in the ranges." violet laughed. she had met the man before he went into the mountains, and he had been at bonavista for a week or two now. "it was too cold for you up there?" she queried. "it was," answered the man, "at least, it was certainly too cold for jardine, who came out with me. he got one of his feet nipped sitting out one night with the rifle on a high ledge in the snow, and when i left him in vancouver the doctor told him it would be a month before he could wear a boot again." he laughed. "i have a shrewd suspicion that one has to get hardened to that kind of thing, and, surely, this is considerably nicer." "this," repeated violet, who fancied she understood what he meant, "is very much the same thing as you are accustomed to in london, except that the houses are, no doubt, more luxuriously furnished, and the company is more brilliant and entertaining." "you would not expect me to make any admission of that kind?" and the man looked at her reproachfully. "in any case, it wouldn't be warranted." "then," said violet, "i must have some very erroneous notions of your english mansions." the man smiled. "ah!" he said, "i was referring to the company." he had expressed himself in a similar fashion once or twice before, but violet did not resent it. she admitted that she rather liked him, and she did not know that, although he had been a week or two at bonavista, he had only intended to stay there a few days. it had naturally occurred to mrs. acton that there might be a certain significance in this, but she was misled by the open manner in which another young woman had annexed him. there were other guests in the room, and among them was a little bald-headed man, whom violet had heard had philanthropic tendencies, and was connected with some emigration scheme. this man was talking to acton. he spoke in a didactic manner, tapping one hand with his gold-rimmed spectacles, and appeared quite content that the rest should hear him. "there is no doubt that this country offers us a great field," he said. "in fact, i have already made arrangements for settling a number of deserving families on the land. what i am particularly pleased with is the manner in which the man who makes his home here is brought into close contact with nature. the effect of this cannot fail to be what one might term recuperative. there is a vitality to be drawn from the soil, and i have of late been urging the manifold advantages of the simple life upon those who are interesting themselves in these subjects with me." violet glanced at her companion, and saw the amusement in his eyes. "do you all talk like that in england?" she inquired. the man raised his hand reproachfully. "i'm afraid some of us talk a good deal of rubbish now and then. still, as a matter of fact, we don't round up our sentences in that precise fashion, as he does. just now we're rather fragmentary. of course, he's right to some extent. i'm fond of the simple life--that is, for a month or so, when i know that a two days' ride will land me in a civilized hotel. the trouble is that most of the folks who recommend it would certainly go all to bits in a few weeks after they tried it personally. can you fancy our friend yonder chopping tremendous trees, or walking up to his knees in snow twelve hours with a flour-bag on his back?" violet certainly could not. the man was full-fleshed, plethoric, and heavy of foot, and he spoke with a throaty gasp. "the tilling of the soil," he went on, apparently addressing anybody who cared to listen, "is man's natural task, and i think nature's beneficent influences are felt to their fullest extent in the primeval stillness of these wonderful western woods." violet's companion looked up at her with a smile. "the primeval stillness sounds rather nice, only it isn't still except you go up into the snow upon the peaks," he said. "in most of the other places my trail led through you can hear the rivers, and they make noise enough for anything. now, there's a man yonder i haven't seen before, who, i fancy, could tell us something about it if he liked. his face suggests that he knows. i mean the one talking to mrs. acton." violet followed his glance, and saw a man standing beside mrs. acton near the great english hearth; but his face was turned away from her, and it was a moment or two before he looked round. then she started, and the blood crept into her cheeks as she met nasmyth's gaze. he had changed since she last saw him--changed, she felt, in an almost disconcerting fashion. he wore plain city clothes, and they hung about him with a suggestive slackness. his face was darkened and roughened by exposure to the winter winds; it had grown sharp and stern, and there was a disfiguring red scar down one side of it. his eyes were keen and intent, and there was a look in them that she did not remember having noticed before, while he seemed to have lost his careless gracefulness of manner. even his step seemed different as he moved towards her. it was, though neither exactly understood why, a difficult moment for both of them when he stopped close by her side, and it was made no easier by the fact that they were not alone. violet turned to her companion, who rose. "mr. carshalton, from the old country," she said. "this is mr. nasmyth." carshalton nodded. "glad to meet you. won't you sit down?" he said. "as it happens, i had just pointed you out to miss hamilton. we were talking about the wilderness--or, to be more precise, the great primeval stillness. i ventured to suggest that you could tell us something about it." nasmyth smiled significantly. "well," he replied, "i have certainly spent a few months in the wilderness. that is one of the results." he meant to indicate the hand that hung by his side in a thick, soft glove by the gesture he made, but it was the other one that violet and carshalton glanced at. it was scarred and battered, and had opened in raw red cracks under the frost. "ah!" said carshalton, "i think i was quite warranted in assuring miss hamilton that it was a good deal nicer here. you see, i was up in the ranges for a week or two. i had to come down with my comrade, who sat out one night in the snow. the primeval stillness didn't agree with him." he met violet's eyes, and next moment glanced across the room. "i don't think i've spoken to mr. acton this evening," he said. "we'll have a talk about the wilderness by-and-by, mr. nasmyth." he strolled away, and nasmyth sat down by violet's side. "i fancied the man meant to stay," he remarked. violet leaned back in the lounge, and looked at him a moment or two silently. her thoughts were confused, and she was uneasy. in the first place, she almost wished it had not been so easy to make carshalton understand that she wished him to go away; for the fact that she had been able to do so by merely looking at him suggested that there was at least a certain confidence between them, and she was unwilling to admit that such was the case. that, however, was only a minor point. while carshalton had spoken of the simple life, and admitted that a few weeks of it was quite enough for him, she had thought with a certain tenderness of the man who had spent months of strenuous toil in the misty depths of the cañon. she was glad of this, and felt a slight compunction over the fact that she had seldom thought of him of late. still, when she saw him bearing the marks of those months of effort on his body and in his worn face, she was sensible that she shrank from him, as she had once done from the dreary, dripping wilderness. this was disconcerting, but she could not drive out the feeling. his worn face vaguely troubled her, and she was sorry for him, but she would not have liked to touch his scarred and roughened hands. she glanced at the injured hand inquiringly. "it is almost well again. it was crushed beneath a mass of timber," he told her briefly. conscious that the meeting so far left a good deal to be desired, violet sat still a moment. it certainly had not afforded her the pleasure she might reasonably have expected, and she subconsciously resented the fact. there was also, as she noticed, a suggestion of uneasiness in the man's scarred face. "i have been in victoria a few days," he explained. "there was a machine i had to buy, and one or two other matters had to be attended to. then i got a letter forwarded from waynefleet's ranch, from which it appeared that mr. acton wished to see me." a faint sparkle crept into violet hamilton's eyes. "it is evident," she observed, "that we both find it a little difficult to say the right thing." "i'm afraid i am now and then a little remiss in that respect. still, how have i offended?" violet contrived to smile. "i'm not sure it was particularly judicious of you to explain so fully what brought you here. couldn't you have left me to suggest another reason that would have been a little more satisfactory?" nasmyth laughed. "my dear, you know i have been longing to see you." "ah!" exclaimed violet, "i am not altogether sure. indeed, i could almost fancy that you have been thinking of nothing beyond what you are doing in that horrible cañon." nasmyth raised his hand in protest, though violet was quick to notice the uneasiness in his face; but now the worn look in it roused her pity. "well," she said, "you can show how anxious you were by staying here at least a week. i want you to stay. besides, you must for another reason--you are looking almost ill." there was, for the first time, a softness in her voice that stirred the man, but the uneasiness that had troubled him did not disappear. indeed, it seemed to grow stronger as he glanced about the room, which was furnished artistically, and flooded with light. mrs. acton's guests were of the station to which he had belonged, and he would once have found the sound of their voices and their light laughter pleasant. these, however, were things that no longer appealed to him, and he was conscious of a feverish impatience to get back to his work again in the misty cañon. "i'm afraid," he replied gravely, "it will be out of the question for me to stay just now. there is so much to do at the cañon; and i think you know why i am so anxious to carry the work through." the girl looked at him in a curious fashion, and though she was probably not aware of it, there was doubt in her eyes. for the moment she was troubled with a sense of comprehension, and she could not be quite sure whether it was only on her account that he was so determined to carry out the project. "well," she told him, "i know that mr. acton and your uncle are anxious to see you. in fact, i believe they have some suggestions to put before you, and though i do not know exactly what it is, i imagine that you need not go back to the bush if you will do what they wish." she broke off and glanced at him wistfully. "derrick, you won't decide rashly. i don't want you to stay away from me." nasmyth smiled reassuringly; but one of violet's companions approached them just then, and when she leaned upon the back of the lounge and spoke to the girl, nasmyth rose. he crossed the room, and a few minutes later, in the big cedar hall, came upon a man connected with the crown land agency. there was an open fire in the hall, and the man, who sat down by it, offered nasmyth a cigar. "mrs. acton will excuse us for a few minutes," the stranger remarked. "you are evidently fresh from the bush. how are you getting on there?" nasmyth told him, and the man looked thoughtful. "you don't hold all the valley," the man said. "i wonder if you know that folks are taking an interest in the land that's still unrecorded?" "i don't," said nasmyth. "it's mostly heavy timber that would cost a deal to clear. any way, as we couldn't take up any more than we hold, it doesn't appear to affect me at all." "well," returned his companion, "that's a point i'm not quite sure about. you only hold a provisional charter to lower the river. there's only one unworked holding near the valley, and, as you couldn't injure anybody's property, we permitted you to go ahead. still, if any parties supplied us with a sufficient reason for withdrawing that permission, we might have to listen to them." he broke off for a moment and waved his hand. "of course, i'm not speaking officially. i'm merely giving you a hint that may be useful. some persons might take up that land with the object of putting the screw on you. you see, it would be possible to get over any difficulty they might raise by buying them out." nasmyth's lips closed firmly. he was quite aware that, in view of the state of his finances, the course suggested was not one that he could adopt. "what kind of people are they?" he inquired. his companion laughed in an ominous fashion. "small ranchers, though it's just possible that there may be some of the big men connected with the land business behind them. the big promoters occasionally prefer to act through a dummy. our object is, of course, to get men who will cultivate the land, and keep it out of the hands of anyone who merely wants to hold it. now, while i'm far from sure my superiors would be pleased to hear i'd said so much to you, there's one piece of advice i can offer." he leaned forward and looked at nasmyth confidentially. "get that work through as soon as you can. once you lower the level of the river, nobody could compel you to put it back again. any man who wanted land would have to buy it as it was." "a man who wished to start a ranch would naturally prefer it with the water run out of it." "precisely!" argued nasmyth's informant. "that is why you got the charter. still, i wasn't contemplating the man who merely wished to ranch." his smile suggested that he intended to say no more upon that subject, and when he turned and glanced through the doorway into the lighted room, nasmyth saw that he was looking at violet hamilton. nasmyth also noticed that carshalton was once more seated beside the girl. "i rather like that englishman," declared the stranger. "acton apparently gets on with him, too. he seems to have been here some time. in fact, while it's nobody else's business, i've been inclined to wonder what miss hamilton thinks of him." nasmyth made no reply, but the observation slightly troubled him. a little later acton crossed the hall. "if you can give us a few minutes, your uncle and i have something to put before you," he said. "i'll go along with you to my room." chapter xxv nasmyth decides a shaded lamp stood on the table of acton's room, and, as nasmyth entered, he saw wisbech, whom he had not met since his arrival, sitting just inside the light of it in a lounge-chair. he strode forward and shook hands with his uncle. "until i got your letter i almost fancied you were in japan," he said. wisbech smiled at him. "i shall probably start very shortly. in fact, i never expected to stay here half so long as i have done, but i found a good deal to interest me in this country, and it's twenty years since i have been away from business for more than a week or two. the works were mine until very recently, but there are times now when i'm not altogether sorry i'm merely a director of the company." acton laid a handful of cigars on the table, and drew out a chair for nasmyth. "well," he replied reflectively, "there is a good deal in this country that would interest a sensible man, but i'm not sure that's exactly what has kept mr. wisbech so long in victoria. i've a point or two to mention later, but i'll let him speak first. it's his affair." nasmyth sat down, and he did not immediately notice that while acton had placed his chair where the light struck full upon his face, wisbech sat a little farther back in the shadow cast by the shade of the lamp. after a moment acton sought the dimmer part of the room. wisbech turned to nasmyth. "i understand that you expect to marry miss hamilton by-and-by," he said. "no doubt you have thought over the question of what you're going to keep a wife on?" "i admit that it's one that has caused me a good deal of anxiety;" and nasmyth leaned forward, with his elbows on the table. "still, it hasn't troubled me quite so much of late. if i succeed with the scheme i have in hand, it will bring me money enough to make a start with a larger venture of the kind, or to enable me to undertake ranching on a reasonably extensive scale. when the land is ready for cultivation, and you haven't to face the initial cost of getting rid of heavy timber, the business is a profitable one." "it is possible that miss hamilton would not care to live at even a tolerably extensive ranch. she has been accustomed to comfort of every kind and cheerful society, and there can't be very much of either in the bush; while, if you undertake any further work of the kind you suggest, it would be a few years before you made your mark. now, i'm not sure it would be reasonable to expect a young woman like miss hamilton to wait indefinitely." nasmyth flushed a little. "i think," he replied, "that is a question which concerns miss hamilton and me alone." acton leaned forward in his chair. "mrs. acton seems to fancy it concerns her, too. in fact, that's one reason why i wrote to you. well, i'm going to lay before you a business proposition. you have probably heard of the hecla mineral exploitation concern? it's run by two friends of mine, who have made a great deal of money out of their claims. they're getting elderly, and are open to take in a younger man--a man of education, who has some acquaintance with the work that's done in the bush. he must take hold now, and hold stock in the concern. here's the last letter they wrote me." he passed it across to nasmyth, whose face grew eager, and then suddenly hardened again. the concern in question was, as he had heard, one of excellent repute, and supposed to be carrying on a profitable mining business. "it's out of the question that i should raise the capital," he said. "the money can be raised," wisbech broke in quietly. "i'll buy that stock for you, and, if you insist on it, you can treat it as a loan." nasmyth sat very still for a moment or two, and slowly closed one hard hand. he had never expected such an offer from wisbech, and he recognized that it would free him of all his difficulties if he accepted it. there was, however, an obstacle in the way. "well," asked wisbech very dryly, "isn't the hecla minerals good enough for you?" nasmyth looked at acton. "i must go there--now?" "that is one of the conditions. they want to fix the thing before kekewich, who hasn't been well lately, starts east on a trip to montreal. i promised to wire if you were willing to go down and see them to-morrow." nasmyth turned to wisbech, and his voice was strained. "i am under many obligations to you already, sir, but i'm sorry i can't profit by your generosity in this case," he said. "why?" queried wisbech sharply. "it's a little difficult to explain. you see, the idea of lowering the river was mine. some of the boys up yonder have mortgaged their ranches, and put every dollar they could raise in that way into the scheme. they look to me to put the thing through; so that they may get their money back again." "is there no one else who could do that?" acton asked. "it seems to me there's nothing wrong with that man gordon. i guess you could leave it to him." nasmyth felt that wisbech was watching him with a curious intentness. "gordon," he answered slowly, "is at least as well fitted to lead the boys as i am. in fact, i might go farther than that. after all, however, there is a little more to be said." he stopped abruptly, and sat silent a moment or two, leaning with one elbow on the table, and the light full upon his face. there was trouble in his expressive eyes, but his mouth was tense and grimly resolute. he remembered the pleasant summer days that he and violet hamilton had spent together, but he also heard the roar of the river in the misty depths of the cañon, and the crash of stream-driven pines. the familiar sounds rang in his ears, rousing him to action, and something in his nature responded. in the meanwhile there was a heavy silence in the room. his companions watched him closely, and acton, who looked round for a moment, noticed the suggestive glint in wisbech's eyes. nasmyth straightened himself suddenly. "i know what i am turning my back upon," he added. "it is very probable that i shall never get another opportunity of this kind again. still, i owe the boys something, and i feel i owe a little to myself. this scheme in the cañon is the first big thing i have ever undertaken. i can't quite make the way that i look at it clear to you, but"--and he brought one hand down on the table in an emphatic fashion--"i feel that i must go on until it breaks me or i put it through." wisbech noisily thrust his chair back, and acton laughed--a laugh that had a faint ring in it. "well, i guess i partly expected this," said acton. "mr. nasmyth, it's a sure thing that river's not going to break you." nasmyth looked embarrassed, but next moment wisbech laid a hand upon his shoulder. "derrick," he said simply, "if you had closed with my offer, i wouldn't have blamed you, but i'd have felt i had done my duty then, and i'd never have made you another. as it is, when things are going wrong, all you have to do is to send a word to me." then, to the relief of his companions, acton, whose expression changed suddenly, broke in again. "well," he commented, "i'm not quite sure that miss hamilton will look at the thing from nasmyth's point of view. i guess we'll leave him to explain it to her and mrs. acton." nasmyth fancied that the explanation would not be an easy task. in fact, it was one he shrank from, but it had to be undertaken, and, leaving the others, he went back to the drawing-room. violet hamilton was surrounded by several companions, and he did not approach her until she glanced at him as she slipped out into the big cedar hall. she sat down on a lounge near the fire, and he leaned upon the arm of it, looking down on her with grave misgivings. he recognized that it was scarcely reasonable to expect that she would be satisfied with the decision he had made. "you have seen your uncle and acton?" she asked. "yes," answered nasmyth; "i have something to tell you." the girl turned towards him quickly. "ah!" she said, "you are not going to do what they proposed?" "i'm sorry the thing they suggested was out of the question. you will let me tell you what it was?" violet made a sign of assent, and nasmyth spoke quietly for a minute or two. then a faint flush crept into the girl's cheeks and a sparkle into her eyes. "you said no!" she interrupted. "i felt i had to. there seemed no other course open to me." violet looked at him in evident bewilderment, and nasmyth spoke again deprecatingly. "you see," he explained, "i felt i had to keep faith with those ranchers." "didn't it occur to you that you had also to keep faith with me?" she inquired sharply. "i think that was the one thing i was trying to do." violet showed no sign of comprehension, and it was borne in upon nasmyth then that, in her place, laura waynefleet would have understood the motives that had influenced him, and applauded them. "my dear," he said, "can't you understand that you have laid an obligation on me to play a creditable part? i couldn't turn my back on my comrades now that they have mortgaged their possessions, and, though i think gordon or one of the others could lead them as well as i could, when i asked them to join me, i tacitly pledged myself to hold on until we were crushed or had achieved success." he looked at her wistfully when he stopped speaking; but she made a gesture of impatience. "the one thing clear to me is that if you had done what mr. acton suggested you could have lived in victoria, and have seen me almost whenever you wished," she declared. "some of those ranchers must know a good deal more about work of the kind you are doing than you do, and, if you had explained it all to them, they would have released you." nasmyth sighed. apart from the obligation to his comrades, there were other motives which had influenced him. he vaguely felt that it was incumbent on him to prove his manhood in this arduous grapple with nature, and, after a purposeless life, to vindicate himself. the wilderness, as gordon had said, had also gotten hold of him, and that described what had befallen him reasonably well. there are many men, and among them men of education, in those western forests who, having once taken up the axe and drill, can never wholly let them go again. these men grow restless and morose in the cities, which seldom hold them long. the customs of civilization pall on them, and content comes to them only when they toil knee-deep in some frothing rapid, or hew the new waggon-road through a stupendous forest. why this should be they do not exactly know, and very few of them trouble themselves about the matter. perhaps it is a subconscious recognition of the first great task that was laid on man to subdue the earth and to make it fruitful. nasmyth, at least, heard the river. its hoarse roar rang insistently in his ears, and he braced himself for the conflict that must be fought out in the depths of the cañon. these, however, were feelings that he could not well express, and once more he doubted violet's comprehension. "my dear," he told her humbly, "i am sorry; but there was, i think, only one thing i could do." violet, looking up, saw that his face was stern, and became sensible of a faint and perplexing repulsion from him. his languid gracefulness had vanished, and he was no longer gay or amusing. a rugged elemental forcefulness had come uppermost in him, and this was a thing she did not understand. involuntarily she shrank from this grave, serious man. there was a disfiguring newly healed cut on one of his cheeks, and his hand was raw and horribly scarred. "you have changed since you were last here," she said, looking at him with disapproval. "perhaps you really are a little sorry to leave me, but i think that is all. at least, you will not be sorry to get back to the cañon." nasmyth started a little. it was a thing that he would at one time certainly not have expected, but he realized now that he was driven by a fierce impatience to get back to the work he had undertaken. "i think that is not astonishing in one respect," he replied. "i told you why i feel that i must carry the project through. the sooner i am successful, the sooner i can come back to you." the girl laughed somewhat bitterly. "if you would only be sensible, you need not go away. are you quite sure it is not the project that comes first with you?" she questioned. nasmyth felt the blood creep into his face, for it suddenly dawned on him that the suggestion she had made was to some extent warranted. "my dear," he answered quietly, "you must try to bear with me." violet rose. "well," she said, "when do you go away?" "in the morning." there was resentment in the girl's expression. "since you have made up your mind to go, i will make no protest," she declared. then, with a swift change of manner, she turned and laid her hand upon his arm. "after all, i suppose you must go. derrick, you won't stay away very long!" they went into the drawing-room together, and half an hour had passed when mrs. acton beckoned to nasmyth, and he followed her into an adjoining alcove. she sat down and looked at him reproachfully. "i am very angry with you," she asserted; "in fact, i feel distinctly hurt. you have not come up to my expectations." "i'm sorry," replied nasmyth quietly. "still, i'm not astonished. your indignation is perfectly natural. i felt at the time mr. acton made me the offer that he had been prompted by you. that"--and he made a deprecatory gesture--"is one reason why i'm especially sorry i couldn't profit by it." mrs. acton sat silent a moment or two, regarding him thoughtfully. "well," she declared, "from now i am afraid you must depend upon yourself. i have tried to be your friend, and it seems that i have failed. will you be very long at the cañon?" "if all goes as i expect it, six months. if not, i may be a year, or longer. i shall certainly not come back until i am successful." "that is, of course, in one sense the kind of decision i should expect you to make. it does you credit. unfortunately, i'm not sure that it's wise." nasmyth looked at her with quick apprehension. "i wonder," he said, "if you would tell me why it isn't?" mrs. acton appeared to weigh her words, "my views are, naturally, not always correct," she answered. "even if they were, i should scarcely expect you to be guided by them. still, i think it would not be wise of you to stay away very long." she rose, and smiled at him. "it is advice that may be worth taking. now i must go back to the others." nasmyth pushed aside the portieres for her, and then sauntered into the hall, where in a very thoughtful mood, he sat down by the fire. chapter xxvi one night's task daylight was dying out in a flurry of whirling snow, when nasmyth, who led a jaded horse, floundered down from the steep rock slopes of the divide into the shelter of the dark pines about the head of the gully. it was a little warmer there, and he was glad of it, for he was chilled, in spite of the toilsome climb. the dark boughs wailed above him, tossing athwart his path a haze of sliding snow, but he caught a faint and reassuring clink of drills, and straightened himself as he clambered down between the trees. the sound had a bracing effect on him, and he felt a curious little thrill as the clamour of the river came up to him in long pulsations. the sound of the waters was growing louder when gordon, with a big axe in his hand, materialized out of the shadows, and strode forward impulsively at the sight of him. "hand better? we're glad to see you; but you might have stayed another day or two," he said. nasmyth laughed. "well," replied he, "perhaps it's a little curious, considering everything, but i was impatient to get back again. in fact, i feel more at home each time i scramble down from the divide." he glanced round through the sliding snow at the dim white range and ranks of towering pines, and, as he did so, the roar of the river and the wail of trees that swayed beneath a fierce wind filled the rock-walled hollow. then the persistent clink of drills and thud of axes broke out again, while here and there the blurred white figure of a toiling man emerged from the snow. it was a picture that a man unused to the wilderness might have shrunk from, but gordon understood his comrade. they were engaged in a great struggle, with the powers of savage nature arrayed against them; but it was with a curious quickening of all the strength that was in them, mental and physical, that they braced themselves for the conflict. "i have a thing or two to tell you, but we'll get into the shanty and have supper first. the boys are just quitting work," remarked gordon. they clambered down over a practicable trail, though part of it was covered deep with snow, crept in and out among the boulders by the light of a great fire that blazed above the fall, and found mattawa laying a meal out when they reached the shanty. neither nasmyth nor gordon said anything of consequence until after the meal, and then nasmyth, who had put on his deer-hide jacket and duck trousers, flung himself down in an empty packing-case that was stuffed with soft spruce twigs, and looked about him with a smile of contentment. a lamp hung above him, and its light gleamed upon axes, drills, iron wedges, and crosscut saws, and made a chequered pattern of brightness and shadow on the rude log walls. a glowing stove diffused a cosy warmth, and the little room was filled with the odours of tobacco and drying boots and clothes. "i suppose you saw wisbech?" observed gordon. "miss waynefleet told one of the boys, who was through at the settlement, that she had a note from him asking if she'd get a letter he or acton had written into your hands as soon as possible. he seems to be making quite a stay in this country." "he has stayed several months longer than he intended," replied nasmyth. "i believe he did it on my account; but he's going on again in a week or two. i saw him at bonavista. where's waynefleet?" "i guess he's in victoria." "i didn't come across him. what took him there?" gordon laughed. "he said it was business. wanted to see if we couldn't get our tools and powder cheaper. as a matter of fact, it would be a relief if that could be done. any way, he has been working quite hard, and has hung on rather longer than i expected. administration's his strong point. he doesn't like chopping." gordon's face grew grave. "in one way it's rather a pity he's fond of talking. i'm 'most afraid somebody may start him discoursing on what we're doing over a glass of wine and a cigar. i like a man of that kind where i can put my hand on him. he's one of our weak spots." nasmyth nodded. "i'm sorry i didn't know he was in the city," he said. "how are you getting on?" "satisfactorily, so far as the work goes. we have pushed the blasting heading well under the fall, but there's a thing that has been worrying me. i'd gone across the range to see what the boys in the valley had done, when a man came in. it appears he resented our trying to lower the river. mattawa saw him." mattawa looked up with a grin. "he said he'd a claim up at the head of the valley, and we had got to quit work right away. if we didn't he'd get the crown people or the court to stop us. he liked plenty of water round his ranch. some of the boys got a little riled with him, and they took him up the gully and put him on his horse." "i never heard of a claim up yonder," declared nasmyth gravely. "well," said gordon, "i believe there is one. somebody recorded it a long while ago, and did nothing on it, but, as it was bought land, his title stands. potter says he understood the man was dead. it may be an attempt to get some money out of us." nasmyth sat thoughtfully silent a moment or two. "one of the crown people hinted at something of the kind," he said. "now i scarcely think any of the boys would go back on us by selling out his land?" "not one. any way, i guess they could hardly do it without the consent of the trustees. you and i are not likely to give ours." he paused for a moment. "well," he added, "i guess waynefleet could be depended on." nasmyth said nothing for almost a minute, and both recognized that the silence was significant. then he rose abruptly. "in one shape or other the trouble you suggested is one we will have to face," he commented. "that's why i'm going to fire a big charge in the blasting heading to-night. you can bring the giant-powder along, tom." mattawa appeared to be amazed, and gordon stared at his comrade curiously. "if you fire that charge now, you'll naturally make an end of the heading, and i understood your notion was to drive right under the fall and blow the whole ledge out at one time," objected gordon. "guess if you just rip the top of the rock off, as far as we have gone, it will take us quite a while to make another tunnel, and money, as i needn't remind you, is running out." "exactly!" agreed nasmyth. "that extra work will have to be faced, but if i can get a big charge in to-night i can cut down the ridge a foot or two. two feet less water will count for something in the valley, and i'm going to make sure of it. it seems certain that somebody will try to stop us by-and-by." gordon noticed the hard glint in nasmyth's eyes, and knew that now when he was being pushed back to the wall he meant to fight, and would not shrink from a sacrifice. they had driven that uncompleted heading at a heavy cost, cutting at first an open gallery in the face of the rock, drenched with the spray of the fall. then they had crawled into the dripping tunnel hewn out by sheer force of muscle, for it was seldom that powder could be used, and they had only a worn-out machine, and had toiled crouching with scarcely room to bring a hammer down on wedge or to hold the drill, while from odd fissures the icy river poured in on them. now, it seemed, all that severe effort was to be practically thrown away, but he recognized that his comrade was right. it was wiser to make sure of two feet than to wait until somebody set the law in motion and stopped the work. "yes," he assented simply; "i guess it has to be done." mattawa entered with the magazine, and nasmyth laid out several sticks of giant-powder near the stove. there was a certain risk in this, but giant-powder freezes, and when that happens one must thaw it out. it is a singularly erratic compound of nitro-glycerine, which requires to be fired by a powerful detonator, and, if merely ignited, burns harmlessly. one can warm it at a stove, or even flatten it with a hammer, without stirring it to undesired activity--that is, as a rule--but now and then a chance tap with a pick-handle or a little jolt suffices to loose its tremendous potentialities. in such cases the men nearest it are usually not shattered, but dissolved into their component gases. nasmyth was quite aware of this as he sat by the stove kneading the detonators into the sticks that he held up to warm. his lips were set, but his scarred hands were steady, for another risk more or less did not count for very much in the cañon. once, however, mattawa ventured a protest. "i guess that stick's quite hot enough," he observed. nasmyth said nothing, but went on with his work, until at length he laid the sticks and fuses in the magazine, and signalling to the others, moved towards the door. the snow beat into their faces when they went outside, and the glare of the fire above the fall emphasized the obscurity. now the flames flung an evanescent flash of radiance across the whirling pool and the dark rock's side, and then sank again to a dim smear of yellow brightness while a haze of vapour whirled amidst the snow, for a high wind swept through the cañon. sometimes they could see the boulders among which they stumbled, and the river frothing at their feet, but for the most part they saw nothing, and groped onward with dazzled eyes, until at last nasmyth swung himself up on the narrow staging that overhung the pool beneath the fall, and gordon heard the sticks of giant-powder jolt against the side of the magazine. that alone would have sufficed to indicate the state of his comrade's temper, for so far as it is possible, men handle giant-powder very tenderly. there was no rail to the narrow staging, which was glazed with frozen spray, and when gordon was half-way along it, the fire flung out a gush of radiance and sank suddenly. then thick smoke whirled about him, and for a moment or two he stopped and gasped, feeling for the rock with a cautious hand. he was aware that the man who slipped from the staging would be whirled round with the eddy and drawn down beneath the fall. a harsh voice came out of the darkness. "am i to wait here half the night?" it asked. gordon went on circumspectly, bruising his numbed fingers now and then upon the stone, until once more a blaze broke out, and he saw nasmyth floundering in haste over a pile of shattered rock. the magazine was slung over his shoulder, and now and then it struck his back or the side of the rock. while gordon would have been relieved had his comrade acted more circumspectly, he was not surprised. there were, he knew, times when men under strain broke out into an unreasoning fury. he had seen one hewing savagely on the perilous side of a tremendous tottering tree, and another grimly driving the bolts that could not save it into the stringers of a collapsing wooden bridge. it was, as he recognized, not exactly courage that they had displayed, but the elemental savagery that in the newer countries, at least, now and then seizes on hard-driven men ground down by mortgage-holders, or ruined by flood and frost. with man and nature against them they would make their last grim protest before they were crushed. gordon once or twice had been conscious of the same fierce desire. he could sympathize with nasmyth, but, after all, he wished he would not bang the giant-powder about in that unceremonious fashion. "leave the magazine yonder, and we'll bring it along," he cried. nasmyth made no answer, but he waited until gordon and mattawa joined him, and they lowered themselves down from a rock shelf on to a pile of broken rock, about which the eddy swirled. the spray of the fall beat upon them, and the roar of it was bewildering, but the noise was softened when they crawled into the entrance of a narrow tunnel. mattawa, with considerable difficulty, struck a match, and a pale light streamed out from the little metal lamp he fastened in his hat. the light showed the ragged roof of the tunnel and the rivulet of icy water that flowed in the bottom of it. they crawled forward through the water for a few yards, vainly trying to avoid the deluge which broke upon them from the fissures, and finally sat down dripping on a pile of broken rock. nasmyth took out his pipe, and was lighting it when gordon drew the magazine away from him. "you might just as well have done that before you opened the thing," he remarked. "anyway, if you merely want to sit down, it would have been quite as comfortable in the shanty." nasmyth was silent for several moments; then he turned to the other two men with a wry smile. "i don't quite know how we drove this heading with the tools we had, but i can't think of any means of saving it," he said. "there are men with money--martial, and more of them--in the cities waiting to take away from us what we expect to get, and since we have to fight them, it seems to me advisable to strike where it's possible." he laughed harshly. "there'll be two feet less water in the valley before the morning." "but no heading," cried mattawa. "well," replied nasmyth simply, "we'll start another one. i notice two holes yonder. we'll drill a third one, tom." nasmyth had been in the saddle since sunrise, in bitter frost and whirling snow, but he picked up a hammer, and mattawa seized a drill. there was no room to swing the hammer, and nasmyth struck half crouching, while, chilly as the heading was, the perspiration dripped from him, and the veins rose swollen on his forehead. he was up against it, and a man strikes hardest when he is pressed back to the wall. gordon sat and watched them, but--for the rock rang with each jarring thud--he wrapped the magazine in his wet jacket, and it was a relief to him when nasmyth finally dropped the hammer. "now," said nasmyth, "we'll fill every hole ram to the top." mattawa placed the giant-powder in the holes, and they crawled back, trailing a couple of thin wires after them, until they reached the strip of shingle near the gully, when nasmyth made the connection with the firing-plug. a streak of vivid flame leapt out of the rock, and the detonation was followed by the roar of the river pouring through the newly opened gap. nasmyth turned without a word and plodded back to the shanty. a group of men who had scrambled down the gully met him. "you were a little astonished to see me, boys?" he said with a question in his voice. then he laughed. "i've fired a big charge, and i guess you'll have to start another heading as soon as it's sun-up." it was evident that the men were disconcerted, and an expostulatory murmur rose from them. it ceased, however, when nasmyth waved his hand. "i had to do it, boys," he declared. it had cost them strenuous toil to drive that heading, but one could have fancied that they were satisfied with the terse assurance he offered them. he had proved himself fit to lead them, and they had a steadfast confidence in him. "well," commented one of the men, "in that case, i guess all we have to do is to start right off at the other one." nasmyth opened the door of the shanty. "i felt you'd look at it that way, boys," he said. "i'll explain the thing later. i'm a little played out to-night." the men plodded away up the gully, and in another few minutes nasmyth was sound asleep. chapter xxvii timber rights they set to work on the new heading at sunrise next morning, but it was a week or two before they had made much of an opening in the rock beneath the fall. though nasmyth had lowered the level of the river a little, the smooth-worn stone still rose sheer from the depths of the whirling pool, and the blasting had obliterated every trace of their previous operations. they were compelled to make new approaches, and they toiled, drenched with the icy spray, on frail, slung stages, cutting sockets for the logs to hold a heavier platform for the little boring-machine nasmyth had purchased in victoria. when the platform was built, the working face was narrow, and the rock of a kind that yielded very slowly to the cutting-tool. they had no power but that of well-hardened muscle, and none of the workers had any particular knowledge of engineering. they pushed the new heading toilsomely beneath the fall, working in rock fissured by the last explosion, through which the water poured in on them, while the river rose when the frost broke up and was succeeded by a week or two of torrential rain. the water swirled high among the boulders, and had crept almost to the mouth of the heading, when one evening wheeler walked into the shanty. he said nothing of any consequence until supper was over, and he then took a newspaper out of his pocket. "have you had any strangers round?" he asked. "no," answered nasmyth, with a dry smile. "that is, they didn't get any farther than the head of the gully. two of them turned up one wet day, and when they found they couldn't get down, they explained rather forcibly what they thought of me." wheeler nodded, and handed the paper across to him. "i guess you did quite right," he said. "this should make it clear that some of the city men with money are on our trail." nasmyth glanced at the paper, and saw a notification that certain timber rights in the forest belt surrounding the valley had been applied for. "the charters people!" he declared. "when i was in victoria i had a talk with them. i partly expected something of the kind. by the way, i got a notification from the rancher i mentioned that, if i continued operations, proceedings would be begun against me." "they mean business," commented wheeler, with a snap in his dark eyes. "it seems to me there are several of them in the thing, and they evidently expect to get their hands on the valley one way or another. in all probability their idea is to let you get most of the work in, and then scare you into selling out for what they like to offer. have you had any big trees coming along lately?" "yes," answered mattawa, "one or two went over the fall this afternoon." "drift logs?" "two had the branches chopped off them." wheeler made a sign of comprehension. "well," he predicted, "you're going to see a good many more of that kind before very long." he turned to nasmyth. "i'm going to stay over to-morrow. the mill's held up again. we had an awkward break, and i can't get the new fixings in. you can tell me how you're getting on." they talked until late that night, and on awakening next morning found the river higher and thick with shattered ice. it had also crept into the heading, and the men who worked in it were knee-deep in water. they, however, went on as usual, and it was in the afternoon that several great trees leapt the fall, and, driving down the rapid, whirled away into the black depths of the cañon. wheeler, who stood watching attentively, nodded as the trees drove by. "hemlock. that's not going to count for milling purposes," he observed. nasmyth, who came up dripping wet, sat down on a boulder and took out his pipe. "did you expect anything else?" he asked. wheeler laughed. "i'm not sure that i did. it seems to me the men who want those timber rights don't figure on doing much milling." he looked up sharply. "this one's red cedar." another great trunk leapt the fall, swept round the pool, and then brought up with a crash upon the pile of shattered rock which still lay athwart the head of the rapid. nasmyth rose and straightened himself wearily. "it's a trifle unfortunate i hadn't hove that rock out with the derrick. we'll have to take hold if the log won't swing clear," he said. the tree swung a little, and then the thinner head of it drove in among the boulders and stuck fast. in another moment a shout rose from a man standing on the ledge above the fall. "quite a batch of big logs coming along!" he called. nasmyth thrust his pipe into his pocket, and wheeler, who watched him, nodded. "they'll jam and pile up," said wheeler. "i guess that's what the other folks wanted. you have got to keep them clear." in another few moments nasmyth was beating a suspended iron sheet, and while its clangour broke through the roar of the river the men floundered towards him over the shingle. one or two of them had axes, and the rest, running into the shanty, brought out saws and handspikes. in the meanwhile a huge log crashed upon the one held fast, and there was no need to tell any of the men that those which followed would rapidly pile up into an inextricable confusion of interlocked timber. there was only one thing to be done, and that was to cut away the first log, which would hold them back, as soon as possible. the men set to work, two or three of them running recklessly along the rounded top of the slippery trunk, which rolled a little as it hammered upon the rock. mattawa, with a big crosscut saw, crouched on the half-submerged pile of stone, and a comrade, who seized its opposite handle, held himself somehow on the second trunk by his knees. it was difficult to understand how they could work at all, but they were accustomed to toiling under embarrassing conditions. the saw had hardly bitten through the bark when another log drove grinding against the rest, and mattawa's companion, who let the handle go, fell forward on his face. he was up again in a moment, and after that stuck fast while log after log drove smashing upon the growing mass. sometimes the one he clung to rose up under him, and sometimes it sank until he crouched in the water while another great butt crept up upon it, and it seemed that he must be crushed between them. still, the saw rasped steadily through the heaving, grinding timber. it was perilous work, but it was clear to all of them that it had to be done. in the meanwhile nasmyth and gordon stood knee-deep amidst the white foam of the rapid. the water was icy cold, and it was with difficulty they kept their feet, while every now and then a shower of spray that leapt out from among the timber fell upon them. the logs were already two deep at that spot, and one great top ground steadily forward over the others as its pressed-down butt was driven on by those behind. one could almost have fancied it was bent on escaping from the horrible confusion of piled-up trunks that moved on one another under the impact of the flood. more were sweeping on, and crash after crash rang through the hoarse clamour of the fall. nasmyth felt very feeble as he whirled the heavy axe about his head, for that mass of timber was impressively big. he had torn off his deer-hide jacket, and his soaked blue shirt gaped open to his waist at every heave of his shoulders. he stood in icy water, but the perspiration dripped from him as he swung with every blow. though some men with good thews and sinews can never learn to use the axe to any purpose, he could chop, and the heavy blade he whirled rang with a rhythmic precision in the widening notch, then flashed about his head, and fell with a chunk that was sharp as a whip-crack into the gap again. in between gordon's axe swept down, and the blades flashed athwart each other's orbits without a check or clash. it requires years to acquire that kind of proficiency with the axe, but the result is a perfecting of the co-operation between will and hardened muscle. it was fortunate that both could chop, for the men with the crosscut appeared in difficulties. the tree bent on the pile of rock, and in straining closed the cut upon the saw. another man who had joined them was endeavouring to hammer a wedge in, but with that crushing weight against him the attempt seemed futile. he persisted, however, and stood above the white froth of the rapid, a puny figure dwarfed by the tremendous rock wall, whirling what appeared to be a wholly insignificant hammer. his comrades were scattered about the grinding mass making ineffective efforts to heave a butt or top clear of the others with their handspikes, but there was clearly only one vulnerable point of attack, and that was the one nasmyth and gordon were hewing at. wheeler, who felt the tension, watched them, clutching hard upon an unlighted pipe. he was aware that if the mass of timber, which grew rapidly larger, once wedged itself fast, it might be a month or two before a flood broke it up; but he had also sense enough to recognize that, since most of the men's efforts were futile, he might just as well sit still. the trunk was partly hewn through when the top of it bent outwards, and gordon flashed an anxious glance at it. it was evident that if none of the others wedged themselves in upon and reinforced it the weight behind would shortly rend the trunk apart. then the position would become a particularly perilous one, for the whole mass would break away in chaotic ruin, and he and his comrade stood close in front of it; but he could not tell how much further strain the tree would bear, and he recognized that it was desirable to hew the notch as deep as possible before he relinquished chopping. the axes rang for another two minutes, and then there was a sudden crash, and a cry from wheeler that was drowned in the tumult of sound that rose from the liberated timber. great logs reared their butts or tops out of the heaving mass. some rolled round and disappeared beneath those that crept upon them, but for a moment or two the shattered trunk, jammed down by the weight upon it, held them back from the plunge into the rapid. it smashed among the rocks that ground and rent it as it slowly gave way, and wheeler ran his hardest towards a strip of shingle that projected a little into the river. he saw nasmyth, who had evidently lost his footing, driving downstream towards it, and knew that in another moment or two the logs would be upon him. nasmyth was not exactly swimming. in fact, strictly speaking, one cannot swim in a rapid, nor when there is only three or four feet of water can one get upon one's feet. he rolled over and over, went down and came up again, until wheeler, floundering into the foaming water, clutched him, and held on desperately, though he felt that his arm was being drawn out of its socket. he would probably have been swept away, too, had not somebody grabbed his jacket, and he heard a hoarse voice behind him. "heave!" it said--"heave!" the strain on wheeler's arm became intolerable, but somehow he held fast, and just then there was an appalling crash and roar. he felt himself being dragged backwards, and in another moment fell heavily upon the shingle with nasmyth across his feet. blinking about him half dazed, he saw the logs drive by, rolling, grinding, smashing, and falling on one another. then, as they whirled down the rapid, and the roar they made began to die away, he looked round, and saw several gasping men standing close behind him. "guess that was quite a near thing," said one of them. "any way, in this kind of contract you can sure figure on trouble." this, as a matter of fact, was perfectly correct, for it is only at considerable peril to life and limb that saw-logs are driven down the rivers to a western mill. they must be guided through each awkward pass and frothing rapid, and the men who undertake it spring with pike and peevie from one to another while the rolling trunks tumultuously charge on. nobody, however, troubled himself any further about the matter, and in a few more minutes the men had set to work again heaving the rocks that had held up the first log out of the river with the derrick. it was not until supper was over, and he sat with his companions in the shanty, that wheeler referred to the affair again. he looked at nasmyth with a smile. "i guess it's fortunate you got those logs away," he said. "it's probably a little more than the men who turned them loose on you figured you could do." "that," agreed nasmyth, "is very much my own opinion." wheeler filled his pipe. "now," he said reflectively, "anybody can apply for timber rights, and bid for them at public auction, but the man who secures them must cut up so many thousand feet every month. since that's the case, it's quite evident that nobody is likely to bid for timber rights round the valley, except the charters people, who have a little mill on the klatchquot inlet, and they'd probably get the timber rights 'most for nothing, though they might have to put in a new saw or two with the object of satisfying the legislature." "it's rather difficult to see how they expect to make a profit on hemlock in view of what it would cost them to get the logs there," gordon broke in. "they don't want to make a profit." wheeler smiled. "seems to me it's their programme to get hold of the rights cheap, and then worry you because they can't run the logs through this cañon. the legislature won't give you land or rights to do nothing with, and it's quite likely the charters people will file a notification that your workings are the obstacle. still, they'd probably make you an offer first. if you let them in on the ground-floor--handed them a big slice of the valley or something of the kind--they'd let up on their timber rights. i'm not sure they could run good milling fir to that mill at a profit." a grim look crept into nasmyth's face. difficulties were crowding thick upon him, and though he was as determined as ever on proceeding with the work, he almost felt that it would be only until they crushed him. "it seems to me we are in the hands of the charters people, unless i can keep the cañon clear," he commented. wheeler's eyes twinkled. "well," he returned, "they're smart. i have, however, come across smart folks who missed a point or two occasionally. now, i saw a couple of red cedar logs among that hemlock." he glanced at mattawa. "tom, you've been round the head of the valley. did you strike any trees of that kind up yonder?" "a few," answered mattawa. "it's quite likely there are more." "a sure thing. you and i are going out timber-right prospecting at sun-up to-morrow. just now they can't get red cedar shingles fast enough on to the eastern markets." nasmyth looked up and gordon laughed a soft laugh, while wheeler waved his hand. "anyone can bid for timber rights," he declared. "now, our folks are open for any business, and we have got a mill. it's not going to cost much to put a shingle-splitting plant in. we have easy water-carriage to the inlet, where a schooner can load, and the charters people would have to tow their raw material right along to their mill. besides, that inlet's a blame awkward place to get a schooner in. it's quite clear to me we could cut shingles way cheaper than they could." he paused for a moment. "yes," he said, "if there's milling cedar near the valley, our folks will make their bid. if charters wants those rights, he'll have to put up the money, and it's quite likely we'll take them up in spite of him if i'm satisfied with my prospecting. in that case, we're not going to worry you about the cañon. in fact, we would probably make you a proposition at so much the log for running the trees down for us." he filled his pipe again, and nasmyth looked at him with relief in his eyes. chapter xxviii a painful duty three months had slipped away since the evening on which wheeler had discussed the subject of shingle-splitting with his companions. nasmyth stood outside the shanty in the drenching rain. he was very wet and miry, and his face was lined and worn, for the three months of unremitting effort had left their mark on him. wheeler had secured the timber rights in question, and that was one difficulty overcome, but nasmyth had excellent reasons for believing that the men who had cast covetous eyes upon the valley had by no means abandoned the attempt to get possession of at least part of it. he had had flood and frost against him, and his money was rapidly running out. a wild flood swept through the cañon. the heading was filled up, so that no one could even see the mouth of it, and half the rock he had piled upon the shingle had been swept into the rapid, where it had formed a dam among the boulders that could be removed only at a heavy expenditure of time and powder when the water fell. he was worn out in body, and savage from being foiled by the swollen river at each attempt he made, but while the odds against him were rapidly growing heavier he meant to fight. a siwash indian whom he had hired as messenger between the cañon and the settlement had just arrived, and gordon, who stood in the doorway of the shanty, took a newspaper out of the wet packet he had brought. gordon turned to nasmyth when he opened it. "wheeler's getting ahead," he said. "here's his announcement that his concern is turning out a high-grade cedar shingle. that's satisfactory so far as it goes. i don't quite know how we'd have held out if it hadn't been for the money we got from him for running the logs down." then his voice grew suddenly eager. "try to get hold of the significance of this, derrick: 'we have got it on reliable authority that certain propositions for the exploitation of the virgin forest-belt beyond the butte divide will shortly be laid before the legislature. it is expected that liberal support will be afforded to a project for the making of new waggon-roads, and we believe that if the scheme is adopted certain gentlemen in this city will endeavour to inaugurate a steamboat service with the western inlets.'" he waved his hand. "when this particular paper makes an assertion of that kind, there's something going on," he added. "it's a sure thing that if those roads are made, it will put another thirty or forty cents on to every dollar's worth of land we're holding." "exactly," replied nasmyth, whose tense face did not relax. "that is, it would, if we had run the water out of the valley; but, as it happens, we haven't cut down very much of the fall yet, and this thing is going to make the men we have against us keener than ever. they're probably plotting how to strike us now. get those letters open." there was anxiety in his voice, and gordon started when he had ripped open one or two of the envelopes. "this looks like business," he remarked, as he glanced at a letter from a lawyer who had once or twice handled nasmyth's affairs in the city. "it's from phelps. he says he has been notified that, unless an agreement can be arrived at, proceedings will be taken by a man called hames, who claims to hold one hundred acres on the western side of the valley, to restrain you from altering the river level. atterly--he's the man we've heard from already--it seems, is taking action, too." "hames?" repeated nasmyth. "i've never heard of him. any way, he can't hold land on the western side. we haven't sold an acre." he stopped a moment, and looked hard at gordon. "that is, i haven't sanctioned it, and i believe there's nobody holding a share in the project who would go back on us." gordon made a gesture indicating his doubt in the subject, and they looked at each other for half a minute. "i'm afraid i can't go quite as far as that," he replied, and laughed harshly. "as it stands recorded, the land could be transferred to anyone by waynefleet. any way, it seems to be in his block. phelps cites the boundary-posts." nasmyth closed one hand tight. waynefleet, who had found the constant wetting too much for him, had left the cañon a week or two before this morning, on which it was evident a crisis of some sort was near. he had complained of severe pains in his back and joints, and had sent them no word after his departure. "is there anything from him?" asked nasmyth. gordon picked out an envelope and opened it. "here's a note from miss waynefleet. she desires you to ride across at once." with a troubled face nasmyth stood still in the rain another minute. "i'll take the pack-horse and start now," he said after a brief silence. "when i have seen miss waynefleet, i'll go right on to victoria." he turned and gazed at the river. "if one could get into the heading by any means, i'd fire every stick of giant-powder in it first. unfortunately, the thing is out of the question." in a few moments he was scrambling up the gully, and gordon, who went into the shanty and lighted his pipe, sat gazing at the letters very thoughtfully. they had no money to spare for any legal expenses. indeed, he was far from sure they had enough to supply them with powder and provisions until their task was accomplished. during the long grim fight in the cañon they had borne almost all that could be expected of flesh and blood, and it was unthinkable that the city man, who sat snug in his office and plotted, should lay grasping hands upon the profit. still, that seemed possible now that somebody had betrayed them. meantime, nasmyth had swung himself into the pack-saddle, and, in the rain, was scrambling up the rocky slopes of the divide. he had not changed his clothing, and it would have availed him little if he had, since there was a long day's ride before him. the trail was a little easier than it had been, for each man who led the pack-horse along it had hewn through some obstacle, but it was still sufficiently difficult, and every here and there a frothing torrent swept across it. there were slopes of wet rock to be scrambled over, several leagues of dripping forest thick with undergrowth that clung about the narrow trail to be floundered through, and all the time the great splashes from the boughs or torrential rain beat upon him. in places he led the pack-horse, in places he rode, and dusk was closing in when he saw a blink of light across waynefleet's clearing. in another few minutes he had led the jaded horse into the stable, and then, splashed with mire, and with the water running from his clothes, had limped to the homestead door. nasmyth opened the door and saw laura waynefleet sitting by the stove. she started as he came in. "i have been expecting you," she said. she gave him her hand and her eyes met his with a look of anxiety. she noticed his appearance of weariness and the condition of his clothing. "i can get you something dry to put on," she added. "no," said nasmyth, "you must not trouble. i would be quite as wet again, soon after i leave here. if i can borrow a horse, i must push on to the railroad in an hour." "to-night?" asked laura. "after riding in from the cañon, it's out of the question. besides, you could never get through the willow ford. listen to the rain." nasmyth sank wearily into the nearest chair, and heard the deluge lash the shingled roof. "i'm afraid it must be done," he declared. laura laid supper upon the table, and insisted that he should eat before she made any reference to the object she had in hand. then, while he sat beside the stove with his clothes steaming, she looked at him steadily, and a little colour crept into her face. "i wonder if you can guess why i sent for you?" she said. "where is your father?" nasmyth asked abruptly. "in victoria. he left six days ago. i suppose he sent you no word that he was going." "no," answered nasmyth very dryly, "he certainly didn't. i don't think i could have expected it from him." he sat silent for almost a minute, looking at her with a troubled air, and though laura was very quiet, her manner was vaguely suggestive of tension. it was nasmyth who broke the silence. "i believe you have something to tell me, miss waynefleet," he said. "still, i would sooner you didn't, if it will hurt you. after all, it's rather more than possible that i can arrive at the information by some other means." the tinge of colour grew plainer in laura's face, but it was evident that she laid a firm restraint upon herself. "ah!" she cried, "it has hurt me horribly already. i can't get over the shame of it. but that isn't what i meant to speak of. i feel"--and her voice grew tense and strained--"i must try to save you and the others from a piece of wicked treachery." she straightened herself, and there was a flash in her eyes, but nasmyth raised one hand. "no," he protested, almost sternly, "i can't let you do this. you would remember it ever afterwards with regret." the girl seemed to nerve herself for an effort, and when she spoke her voice was impressively quiet. "you must listen and try to understand," she said. "it is not only because it would hurt me to see you and the others tricked out of what you have worked so hard for that i feel i must tell you. if there was nothing more than that, i might, perhaps, never have told you, after all. i want to save my father from a shameful thing." her voice broke away, and the crimson flush on her face deepened as she went on again. "he has been offering to sell land that can't belong to him," she asserted accusingly. nasmyth felt sorry for her, and he made an attempt to offer her a grain of consolation. "a few acres are really his," he said. "i made them over to him." "to be his only if he did his share, and when the scheme proved successful," laura interrupted. "i know, if he has sold them, what an opportunity of harassing you it will give the men who are plotting against you. still, now you know, you can, perhaps, break off the bargain. i want you to do what you can"--and she glanced at him with a tense look in her eyes--"if it is only to save him." "that," replied nasmyth quietly, "is, for quite another reason, the object i have in view. i would like you to understand that i have guessed that he had failed us already. it may be some little consolation. now, perhaps, you had better tell me exactly what you know." laura did so, and it proved to be no more than nasmyth had suspected. letters had passed between waynefleet and somebody in victoria, and the day after he left for that city two men, who had evidently crossed him on the way, arrived at the ranch. one said his name was hames, and his conversation suggested that he supposed the girl was acquainted with her father's affairs. in any case, what he said made it clear that he had either purchased, or was about to purchase from waynefleet, certain land in the valley. after staying half an hour, the men had, laura understood, set out again for victoria. when she had told him this, nasmyth sat thoughtfully silent a minute or two. her courage and hatred of injustice had stirred him deeply, for he knew what it must have cost her to discuss the subject of her father's wrongdoing with him. he was also once more overwhelmingly sorry for her. there was nobody she could turn to for support or sympathy, and it was evident that if he succeeded in foiling hames, it would alienate her from her father. waynefleet, he felt, was not likely to forgive her for the efforts she had made to save him from being drawn into an act of profitable treachery. "well," he said after a moment's thought, "i am going on to victoria to see what can be done, but there is another matter that is troubling me. i wonder if it has occurred to you that your father will find it very difficult to stay on at the ranch when the part he has played becomes apparent. i am almost afraid the boys will be vindictive." "i believe he has not expected to carry on the ranch much longer. it is heavily mortgaged, and he has been continually pressed for money." "has he any plans?" laura smiled wearily. "he has always plans. i believe he intends to go to one of the towns on puget sound, and start a land agency." she made a dejected gesture. "i don't expect him to succeed in it, but perhaps i could earn a little." nasmyth set his lips tight, and there was concern in his face. she looked very forlorn, and he knew that she was friendless. he could hardly bring himself to contemplate the probability of her being cast adrift, saddled with a man who, it was evident, would only involve her in fresh disasters, and, he fancied, reproach her as the cause of them. a gleam of anger crept into his eyes. "if your father had only held on with us, i could have saved you this," he observed. there was a great sadness in laura's smile. "still," she replied, "he didn't, and perhaps you couldn't have expected it of him. he sees only the difficulties, and i am afraid never tries to face them." nasmyth felt his self-control deserting him. he was conscious of an almost overwhelming desire to save the girl from the results of her father's dishonesty and folly, and he could see no way in which it could be done. then it was borne in upon him that in another moment or two he would probably say or do something that he would regret afterwards, and she would resent, and, rising stiffly, he held out his hand. "i must push on to the railroad," he said, and he held the hand she gave him in a firm clasp. "miss waynefleet, you saved my life, and i believe i owe you quite as much in other ways. it's a fact that neither of us can attempt to disregard. i want you to promise that you will, at least, not leave the ranch without telling me." laura flashed a quick glance at him, and perhaps she saw more than he suspected in his insistent gaze, for she strove to draw her hand away. he held it fast, however, while his nerves thrilled and his heart beat furiously. he remembered violet hamilton vaguely, but there came upon him a compelling desire to draw this girl to whom he owed so much into his arms and comfort her. they both stood very still a moment, and nasmyth heard the snapping of the stove with a startling distinctness. then--and it cost him a strenuous effort--he let her hand go. "you will promise," he insisted hoarsely. "yes," answered laura, "before i go away i will tell you." nasmyth went out into the blackness and the rain, while laura sat trembling until she heard the beat of his horse's hoofs. then she sank lower, a limp huddled figure, in the canvas chair. the stove snapped noisily, and the pines outside set up a doleful wailing, but, except for that, it was very still in the desolate ranch. nasmyth rode on until he borrowed a fresh horse from a man who lived a few miles along the trail. there was a cheerful light from the windows as he rode into a little settlement, and the trail to the railroad led through dripping forest and over a towering range, but he did not draw bridle. he was aching all over, and the water ran from his garments, but he scarcely seemed to feel his weariness then, and he pushed on resolutely through the rain up the climbing trail. he remembered very little of that ride afterwards, or what he thought about during it. the strain of the last few minutes he had passed at waynefleet's ranch had left him dazed, and part of his numbness, at least, was due to weariness. several times he was almost flung from the saddle as the horse scrambled down a slope of rock. willow-branches lashed him as he pushed through the thickets, and in one place it was only by a grim effort that he drove the frightened beast to ford a flooded creek. then there was a strip of hillside to be skirted, where the slope was almost sheer beneath the edge of the winding trail, and the rain that drove up the valley beat into his eyes. still he held on, and two hours after sunrise rode half asleep into the little mining town. there was a train in the station, and, turning the horse over to a man he met, he climbed, dripping as he was, into a car. chapter xxix a futile scheme there was bright sunshine at bonavista when nasmyth, who had been told at the station that acton had arrived from victoria the day before, limped out from the shadow of the surrounding bush, and stood still a moment or two, glancing across the trim lawn and terrace towards the wooden house. the spacious dwelling, gay with its brightly painted lattice shutters, dainty scroll-work, and colonnades of wooden pillars, rose against the sombre woods, and he wondered with some anxiety whether mrs. acton had many guests in it. he had no desire to fall in with any strangers, for he was worn out and aching, and he still wore the old duck clothing in which he had left the cañon. it might, he fancied, be possible to slip into the house and change before he presented himself to mrs. acton, though he was by no means sure that the garments in the valise he carried in his hand were dry. he could see nobody on the terrace, and moved forward hastily until he stopped in consternation as he crossed one of the verandas. the sunlight streamed in, and mrs. acton and violet hamilton sat upon the seat which ran along the back of it. the girl started when she saw him, and nasmyth stood looking down on her, worn in face and heavy-eyed, with his workman's garb clinging, tight and mire-stained, about his limbs. there was, however, a certain grimness in his smile. he had seen the girl's start and her momentary shrinking, and it occurred to him that there was a significance in the fact that it had not greatly hurt him. "i must make my excuses for turning up in this condition," he apologized. "i had to start for the railroad at a moment's notice, and it rained all the way, while, when i reached it, the train was in the depôt. you see, my business is rather urgent." mrs. acton laughed. "evidently," she said. "i think we were both a trifle startled when we saw you. i should be sorry to hear that anything had gone seriously wrong, but you remind one of the man who brought the news of flodden." nasmyth made a quick gesture of denial. "well," he announced bravely, "our standard is flying yet, and i almost think we can make another rally or two. still, i have come for reinforcements. mr. acton is in?" "he is. as it happened, he came up from victoria yesterday. i believe he is discussing some repairs to the steamer with george just now. i'll send you out a plate of something and a glass of wine. you can't have had any lunch." mrs. acton rose, and nasmyth, who sat down, looked at violet with a smile. she was evidently not quite at ease. "you really haven't welcomed me very effusively," he remarked. the girl flushed. "i don't think i could be blamed for that," she returned. "i was startled." "and perhaps just a little annoyed?" the colour grew plainer in violet's cheeks. "well," she averred, "that isn't so very unnatural. after all, i don't mind admitting that i wish you hadn't come like this." nasmyth glanced down at his attire, and nodded gravely. "it's certainly not altogether becoming," he admitted. "i made that hole drilling, but i fancied i had mended the thing. still, you see, i had to start on the moment, and i rode most of twenty-four hours in the rain. i suppose"--and he hesitated while he studied her face--"i might have tidied myself at the depôt, but, as it happened, i didn't think of it, which was, no doubt, very wrong of me." "it was, at least, a little inconsiderate." nasmyth laughed good-humouredly, though he recognized that neither his weariness nor the fact that it must manifestly be business of some consequence that had brought him there in that guise had any weight with her. he had, after all, a wide toleration, and he acknowledged to himself that her resentment was not unreasonable. "i've no doubt that i was inconsiderate," he said. "still, you see, i was worried about our affairs in the cañon." "the cañon!" repeated violet reproachfully. "it is always the cañon. i wonder if you remember that it is at least a month since you have written a line to me." nasmyth was disconcerted, for a moment's reflection convinced him that the accusation was true. "well," he confessed, "i have certainly been shamefully remiss. of course, i was busy from dawn to sunset, but, after all, i'm afraid that is really no excuse." the girl frowned. "no," she said, "it isn't." it was a slight relief to nasmyth that a maid appeared just then, and he took a glass of wine from the tray she laid upon a little table. "to the brightest eyes in this province!" he said, when the servant had gone, and, emptying the glass, he fell upon the food voraciously. it was unfortunate that in such unattractive guise he had come upon violet, and the fashion in which he ate also had its effect on her. in the last thirty hours he had had only one hasty meal, and he showed a voracity that offended her fastidious taste. he was worn out and anxious, and since all his thoughts were fixed upon the business that he had in hand, he could not rouse himself to act according to the manner expected of a lover who returns after a long absence. it was, however, once more borne in upon him that this was significant. violet, on her part, felt repelled by him. he was gaunt and lean, and the state of his garments had shocked her. his hands were hard and battered. she was very dainty, and in some respects unduly sensitive, and it did not occur to her that it would have been more natural if, in place of shrinking, she had been sensible only of a tender pity for him. perhaps there were excuses for her attitude. she had never been brought into contact with the grim realities of life, and it is only from those whom that befalls that one can expect the wide sympathy which springs from comprehension. nasmyth, lounging at bonavista with amusing speeches on his lips and his air of easy deference, had been a somewhat romantic figure, and the glimpses of the struggle in the bush that he had given her had appealed to her imagination. she could feel the thrill of it when she saw it through his eyes with all the unpleasantly realistic features carefully wiped out, but it was different now that he had come back to her with the dust and stain of the conflict fresh upon him. the evidences of his strife were only repulsive, and she shrank from them. she watched him with a growing impatience until he rose and laid his empty plate aside. "well," he observed, "you will excuse me. i must see mr. acton as soon as i can." it was not in any way a tactful speech, and violet resented it. the man, it seemed, had only deferred the business he had on hand for a meal. she looked at him with her displeasure flashing in her eyes. "in that case," she said, "i should, of course, be sorry to keep you away from him." nasmyth gazed at her curiously, but he did not reply. he went away from her. a few minutes later when he entered acton's room he was attired in conventional fashion. his host shook hands with him, and then leaned back in a chair, waiting for him to speak, which he did with a trace of diffidence. "my object is to borrow money," he explained frankly. "i couldn't resent it in the least if you sent me on to somebody else." "i'll hear what you have to say in the first case," replied acton. "you had better explain exactly how you stand." nasmyth did so as clearly as he could, and acton looked at him thoughtfully for a moment or two. "i've been partly expecting this," he observed. "it's quite clear that one or two of the big land exploitation people have a hand in the thing. i guess i could put my finger right down on them. you said the man's name was hames?" nasmyth said it was, and acton sat thinking for several minutes. "it seems to me that the folks i have in my mind haven't been quite smart enough," he declared at length. "they should have put up a sounder man. as it happens, i know a little about the one they fixed upon. mr. hames is what you could call a professional claim-jumper, and it's fortunate that there's a weak spot or two in his career." acton paused, and nasmyth waited in tense expectancy until the older man turned to him again, with a twinkle in his eyes. "i almost think i can take a hand in this thing, and to commence with, we'll go down to victoria this afternoon and call on mr. hames," he added. "if he has bought that land, it will probably be registered in his name. the men you have against you are rather fond of working in the dark. then we come to another point--what it would be wisest to do with waynefleet, who went back on you. you said he had a mortgage on his ranch. you know who holds it?" nasmyth said he did not know, and acton nodded. "any way," he rejoined, "we can ascertain it in the city. now, i guess you would like that man run right out of the neighbourhood? it would be safest, and it might perhaps be done." nasmyth was startled by this suggestion, and with a thoughtful face he sat wondering what was most advisable. he bore waynefleet very little good-will, but it was clear that laura must share any trouble that befell her father, and he could not at any cost lay a heavier load upon her. he was conscious that acton was watching him intently. "no," he objected, "i don't want him driven out. in fact, i should be satisfied with making it impossible for him to enter into any arrangement of the kind again." "in that case, i guess we'll try to buy up his mortgage," remarked acton. "land's going to be dearer in that district presently." nasmyth looked at him with a little confusion. "it is very kind, but, after all, i have no claim on you." "no," agreed acton, with a smile, "you haven't in one way. this is, however, a kind of thing i'm more at home in than you seem to be, and there was a little promise i made your uncle. for another thing"--and he waved his hand--"i'm going to take a reasonable profit out of you." nasmyth made no further objections, and they set out for victoria that afternoon. hames was, however, not readily traced; and when, on the following morning, they sat in acton's office waiting his appearance, nasmyth was conscious of a painful uncertainty. acton, with a smile on his face, leaned back in his chair until hames was shown in. hames was a big, bronze-faced man, plainly dressed in city clothes, but there was, nasmyth noticed, a trace of half-furtive uneasiness in his eyes. acton looked up at him quietly, and let him stand for several moments. then he waved his hand toward a chair. "won't you sit down? we have got to have a talk," said acton. "i'll come right to the point. you have have been buying land." hames sat down. "i can't quite figure how that concerns you," he replied. "i'm not going to worry about it, any way." "i want that land--the block you bought from waynefleet." "it's not for sale," asserted hames. "if you have nothing else to put before me, i'll get on. i'm busy this morning." acton leaned forward in his chair. "when i'm in the city, i'm usually busy, too," he said; "in fact, i've just three or four minutes to spare for you, and i expect to get through in that time. to begin with, you sent mr. hutton a note from your hotel when my clerk came for you. he never got it. you can have it back unopened. i can guess what's in the thing." he handed hames an envelope. "now," he went on, "you can make a fuss about it, but i guess it wouldn't be wise. hutton doesn't know quite as much about you as i do. i've had a finger in most of what has been done in this province the last few years, and it's not often i forget a man. well, i guess i could mention one or two little affairs that were not altogether creditable which you had a share in." hames laughed. "it's quite likely." "still, what you don't know is that i'm on the inside track of what was done when the hobson folks jumped the black crag claim. there was considerable trouble over the matter." nasmyth saw hames start, but he apparently braced himself with an effort. "any way," replied hames, "that was 'most four years ago, and there's not a man who had a hand in it in this province now." acton shook his head. "there's one. i can put my hand on your partner okanagon jim just when i want to." there was no doubt that hames was alarmed. "jim was drowned crossing the river the night the water broke into the black crag shaft," he declared. "his horse was, and the boys found his hat. that, however, is quite a played-out trick. if you're not satisfied, i can fix it for you to meet him here any time you like." hames made a motion of acknowledgment. "i don't want to see him--that's a sure thing! i guess you know it was fortunate that jim and two or three of the other boys got out of the shaft that night. well, i guess that takes me. if jim's around, i'll put down my cards." "it's wisest," advised acton. "now, i'm going to buy that land waynefleet sold from you--or, rather, he's going to give you your money back for it. you can arrange the thing with hutton--who, i believe, supplied the money--afterwards as best you can." nasmyth fancied hames was relieved that no more was expected from him. "i guess i'm in your hands," observed hames. "then," acton said, "you can wait in my clerk's office until i'm ready to go over with you to waynefleet's hotel." hames went out, and acton turned to nasmyth. "he was hired with a few others to jump the claim he mentioned, and there was trouble over it. as usual, just what happened never quite came out, but that man left his partner to face the boys, who scarcely managed to escape with their lives that night. the man who holds waynefleet's mortgage should be here at any moment." the man arrived in a few minutes. after he had sat down and had taken the cigar acton offered him, he was ready to talk business. "you have a mortgage on rancher waynefleet's holding in the bush," said acton. "i understand you've had some trouble in getting what he owes you." the man nodded. "that's certainly the case," he said. "i bought up quite a lot of land before i laid down the mill, but after i did that i let most of it go. in fact, i'm quite willing to let up on waynefleet's holding, too. i can't get a dollar out of him." "have you offered to sell the mortgage to anybody?" "i saw martial and the charters people not long ago. they'd give about eighty cents on the dollar. hutton said he'd make me a bid, but he didn't." "well," said acton, "my friend here wants that ranch for a particular purpose. he'd bid you ninety." "i can't do it. if the new roads that have been suggested are made, the ranch ought to bring me a little more. still, i don't mind letting you in at what i gave for it." acton looked at nasmyth. "then," said acton, "we'll call it a bargain. you can write me a note to that effect, and i'll send my clerk across with the papers presently." the man went out a few minutes later, and acton rose. "i'll charge you bank interest; but if you care to put the mortgage up for sale, you'll get your money back 'most any time after they start those roads," acton said to nasmyth. "now we'll go along and call on waynefleet." they went out with hames, and a little while later came upon waynefleet sitting on the veranda of a second-rate hotel. he was dressed immaculately, and with a cigar in his hand, lay in a big chair. he started when he saw them. hames grinned, and sat down close in front of him. "i'm going back on my bargain. i want my money and you can keep your land," he said. "the fact is mr. acton has got on my trail, and he's not the kind of man i have any use for fighting." there was consternation in waynefleet's face, but he straightened himself with an effort. "i suppose you have brought this man, mr. nasmyth, and i scarcely think it is quite what one would have expected from you--at least, until you had afforded me the opportunity of offering you an explanation," he blustered. "can you offer me one that any sensible man would listen to?" nasmyth asked sharply. "he can't," acton broke in. "we're out on business. you may as well make it clear that we understand the thing." waynefleet turned and looked at acton with lifted brows, and had he been less angry, nasmyth could have laughed at his attitude. waynefleet's air of supercilious resentment was inimitable. "you have some interest in this affair?" he inquired. "oh, yes," answered acton cheerfully. "still, you needn't worry about me. all you have to do is to hand this man over the money and record the new sale. we don't want any unpleasantness, but it has to be done." waynefleet appeared to recognize that there was no remedy. "in that case there is the difficulty that i can't quite raise the amount paid," he said. "travelling and my stay in the city have cost me something." "how much are you short?" "about a hundred dollars." "then," replied acton, "i'll take a bill for the money. we'll go along and record the sale as soon as mr. nasmyth's ready. i expect he has something to say to you." acton went into the hotel with hames, and there was an awkward silence when they had disappeared. nasmyth leaned against a wooden pillar, and waynefleet sat still, waiting for him to speak. nasmyth turned to him. "it would, perhaps, be preferable to regard this affair from a strictly business point of view," said nasmyth. "you are, of course, in our hands, but to save your credit and to protect miss waynefleet from any embarrassment, we shall probably not insist upon your handing over the land to anybody else. i think we are safe in doing that. now that you have signally failed, you will not have nerve enough to attempt to betray us again." waynefleet waved his hand. "i resent the attitude you have adopted. it is not by any means what i am accustomed to, or should have expected from you." nasmyth felt a faint, contemptuous pity for the man, who still endeavoured to retain his formality of manner. "i'm afraid that hasn't any great effect on me, and my attitude is, at least, a natural one," he said. "i believe that gordon and i can arrange that the boys do not hear of your recent action, and though you will take no further part in our affairs, you will stay on at the ranch. i may mention that i have just bought up your mortgage." a flush of anger showed in waynefleet's cheeks. "is it in any way your business where i live?" he asked. "no," answered nasmyth, "not in the least--that is, as far as it affects yourself. still, i am determined that miss waynefleet shall have no fresh cause for anxiety. i don't mind admitting that i owe a great deal to her." he paused for a moment, and then turned to waynefleet with a forceful gesture. "when you have bought back the land from hames, i don't suppose you will have a dollar in your possession, and the ranch belongs to me. as i said, you will stay--at least, until you can satisfy me that you can maintain yourself and miss waynefleet in some degree of comfort if you go away. now i believe the others are waiting. we will go along and get the sale recorded." chapter xxx second thoughts it was getting dusk when wheeler swung himself from the saddle near the head of the gully and, with the bridle of the jaded horse in his hand, stood still a few moments looking about him. a wonderful green transparency still shone high up above the peaks, whose jagged edges cut into it sharply with the cold blue-white gleam of snow, but upon the lower slopes there was a balmy softness in the air, which was heavy with the odours of fir and cedar. summer was breaking suddenly upon the mountain-land, but wheeler, who had crossed the divide in bright sunshine, was sensible of a certain shrinking as he glanced down into the depths of the cañon. a chilly mist streamed up out of it, and the great rift looked black and grim and forbidding. wheeler noticed a dusky figure beneath the firs, and, moving towards it, came upon a man with a pipe in his hand, sitting upon a fallen tree. in view of the strenuous activity that was the rule in the cañon, such leisure was unusual. "well," he remarked, "you don't seem busy, any way." the man grinned. "i'm looking out," he replied. "guess i've had my eye on you for the last few minutes, and a stranger wouldn't have got quite so far. you haven't got any papers from the courts on you?" "no," said wheeler, who noticed that there was a rifle lying near the man, "i haven't. still, if i'd looked like a lawyer or a court officer----" "then," asserted the man, "it's a sure thing you wouldn't have got in. the boys have enough giant-powder rammed into the heading to lift the bottom right out of the cañon two minutes after any suspicious stranger comes along." wheeler laughed, for it was evident to him that nasmyth had been taking precautions, and, turning away, he led his horse down the gully. it grew colder as he proceeded, and a chilly breeze swept the white mist about him. the trees, that shook big drops of moisture down on him, were wailing, but he could hear them only faintly through the clamour of the fall. he left the horse with a man he came upon lower down, and, reaching the shingle at the water's edge, saw the great derrick swing black athwart the glare of a big fire. the smoke whirled about the dark rock wall, and here and there dusky figures were toiling knee-deep amid the white froth of the rapid. the figures emerged from the blackness and vanished into it again, as the flickering radiance rose and fell. scrambling to the ledge above the fall, wheeler found two men standing near the mouth of the heading, which was just level with the pool. "where's nasmyth, boys?" he inquired. "inside," answered one of the men. "guess he's wedging up the heading. if you want him, you'd better crawl right in." wheeler glanced down at the black mouth of the tunnel, on which the streaming radiance fell. he fancied that the river flowed into it, and the man's suggestion did not appeal to him. "won't you tell him that i'd like a talk with him?" he asked. the man laughed. "guess that's not going to bring him. it will be daylight, any way, before he lets up. you'll have to go right in." wheeler dropped cautiously upon a slippery staging, across which the water flowed, and, crawling into the heading, with a blinking light in his eyes, fell into a sled that was loaded with broken rock. he crept round the obstruction, and a few moments later found himself knee-deep in water before a little dam that had been thrown across the heading. the heading dipped sharply beyond it, which somewhat astonished him, and when he had climbed over the barricade, he descended cautiously, groping towards another light. big drops of water fell upon him, and here and there a jet of it spurted out. at last he stopped, and saw nasmyth lying, partly raised on one elbow, in an inch or two of water, while he painfully swung a heavy hammer. the heading was lined with stout pillars, made of sawn-up firs, and nasmyth appeared to be driving a wedge under one of them. two or three other men were putting heavy masses of timber into place. the smoky flame of a little lamp flared upon the rock above, which trickled with moisture, and the light fell upon nasmyth's wet face, which was deeply flushed. nasmyth gasped heavily, and great splashes of sand and mire lay thick upon his torn, drenched shirt. he appeared to see wheeler, for he looked up, but he did not stop until he had driven the wedge in. then he rose to his knees and stretched himself wearily. "the rock's badly fissured. we've got to get double timbers in as soon as we can," he explained. "i'm going to do some boring. we'll go along." wheeler crept after him down the inclined heading until they reached the spot where gordon sat crouched over a machine. gordon did not move until nasmyth seized his shoulders. "you can get back to the wedging, and send two or three boys along to heave the water out. i'll keep this thing going," he said. gordon, who greeted wheeler, floundered away, and wheeler sat down in the dryest spot he could find, while nasmyth grasped the handle of the machine. "there's no reason why you shouldn't smoke," he said. "that," replied wheeler, "is a point i'm not quite sure about. how many sticks of giant-powder have you rammed into this heading? as you know, it's apt to be a little uncertain." nasmyth laughed as he glanced at the flaring lamp above his head. "there's a hole with a stick in it just at your elbow. i've been filling the holes as we made them. in view of what i expect those folks in the city are arranging, it seemed advisable." wheeler was sensible of a certain uneasiness as he listened to the crunch of the boring tool and the jarring thud of the hammers. "what are you going so far down for?" he asked. "to get into sounder rock. it's costing us considerable time that we can badly spare, but once or twice i fancied the whole river was coming in on us. now we're getting almost through, i want to make quite sure." wheeler nodded. "i guess that's wise. so far, we have come out ahead of hutton and the rest of them," he asserted. "our people hold the timber rights, and we have got the shingle-splitting plant in. you headed him off in waynefleet's case, and there only remains the man with the old bush claim. there's, unfortunately, no doubt about his title to the ranch, and it's a sure thing the folks in the city will put him up again. have you heard from him lately?" "i have," answered nasmyth, with a smile. "as you know, i made him half a dozen different offers to buy him out. he naturally didn't close with them, but he wrote trying to raise me, and kept the thing up rather well. of course, it was evident that his friends were quite willing to let me get most of the work done before they showed their hand too visibly. i scarcely fancy they know how near we are to getting through, though that rancher man's lawyer said something about taking proceedings a little while ago." "suppose they went to court, and served you with a notice to quit what you're doing?" nasmyth, turning, pointed with a wet, scarred hand to several holes in the side of the heading, from which a wire projected. "well," he said, "they'd have to serve it, and while their man was trying to get down the gully i'd rip most of the bottom out of this strip of cañon. i'm not sure we haven't gone far enough already to split up the whole ridge that's holding back the river. still, i'm going on a little. i mean to make sure." he bent over the machine. "you have brought up some letters? the man has, perhaps, been trying to worry me again." "two or three," replied wheeler. "i called at the settlement for them. one is evidently from a lady." nasmyth swung round again and took the little dainty envelope from him. he smeared it with his wet hands as he opened it, and then his voice broke sharply through the thud of the hammers. "can't you move? i'm too far from that lamp," he said. he scrambled by wheeler and crouched close beneath the smoky, flickering flame, dripping, spattered with mire, and very grim in face. the note was from violet hamilton, and it was brief. "i should like to see you as soon as you can get away," it read. "there is something i must say, and since it might spare both of us pain, i feel almost tempted to try to explain it now. that, however, would perhaps be weak of me, and i think you will, after all, not blame me very greatly." he flung the note down in the water, and straightened himself wearily. "i am invited to go down to bonavista, and it's tolerably clear that i have another trouble to face," he announced in a dull tone. "in the meanwhile there's this heading to be pushed on, and it seems to me that the thing that counts most is what i owe the boys." wheeler, who had heard something from gordon, looked at him with grave sympathy, but nasmyth made an expressive gesture as he glanced down at his attire. "well," he remarked, "i probably look very much what i am--a played-out borer of headings and builder of dams, who has just now everything against him. still, i was fool enough to indulge in some very alluring fancies a little while ago." he turned to wheeler with a sudden flash in his eyes. "you can take those letters to gordon and tell him to open them. i've a little trouble to grapple with, and i don't feel inclined for conversation." wheeler could take a hint, and he crawled away along the heading, while nasmyth toiled for the next half-hour strenuously at the machine. the perspiration dripped from him. he gasped as he ripped the handle around; then he let it go suddenly, and his face became softer as he picked up the letter again. "well," he told himself, "i don't think i can blame her, after all, and with what she has to say it would hurt if i kept her waiting." he sat down again at the machine, and the boring tool crunched on steadily into the rock until after some time, a man took his place, and, crouching in the narrow heading, swung the heavy hammer as they wedged the extra timbers fast. a faint grey light was creeping into the eastern sky when nasmyth crawled out of the heading and scrambled back to the shanty. gordon, who was getting up when he entered, looked at him curiously. "i'm going into bonavista after breakfast," nasmyth said. "i don't want to leave the boys now, but i can't help it." gordon asked no injudicious questions, for wheeler had mentioned the letter, and his comrade's voice had its significance for him. "then," he said, "i'll tell mattawa to have the horse ready." nasmyth slept soundly until the meal was laid out. he rode into the settlement a little before dark that night. it was the next afternoon when he reached bonavista, and he found violet hamilton sitting upon the veranda alone. she appeared embarrassed when she saw him, and he leaned against one of the pillars, quietly looking down on her. for a moment or two neither of them said anything, and it was nasmyth who broke the awkward silence. "i felt very bitter when i got that note," he said. "when i grappled with the thing, however, i commenced to realize that you might be right. of course, i quite realized all you wished to imply." "ah!" answered the girl softly, "then you are not very angry with me." she leaned forward and met his gaze. "i think we were both very nearly making a terrible mistake." "i scarcely think that is a thing you could expect me to admit--that is, at least, as far as my part in it goes," said nasmyth. "still," replied violet, "you admitted that you felt i might be right." she looked anxious, and nasmyth realized that, since she might have written what she had to say, it must have cost her a good deal to break with him personally. the courage which had prompted her to summon him appealed to him, and, in place of anger, he was conscious of a certain sympathy for her. "in one sense you were certainly right," he said. "we belong to different worlds, and i should never have spoken to you as i did. that is a thing you must try to forgive me, and you have no reason to blame yourself. as i told you at the time, you were free." "ah!" cried violet, "you are very generous. after all, i expected that from you, and i think it will not hurt you very much to give me up." "i wonder why?" asked nasmyth gravely. violet sat silent a moment or two, and then looked up at him quietly. "oh," she said, "you owe so much to that girl in the bush! she would always have come between us. i think you made me recognize it when you told me about her, though it was only by degrees i came to understand it clearly." nasmyth's face flushed. "that," he queried, "is your reason for wishing to get rid of me?" violet looked away from him, and there was a telltale self consciousness in her manner when she turned to him again. nasmyth, who noticed it, winced. "well," he hazarded, "it was, perhaps, not the only one." "no," confessed violet very softly, "there was another thing which influenced me rather more." nasmyth, who understood her, stood silent a moment or two, with one hand tightly closed. "in that case there is nothing to be said, and i must try to face it gracefully," he told her. "reproaches are not exactly becoming in the case of a discarded man." he took off his wide hat as he held out his hand. "miss hamilton, the thing naturally hurts me, but perhaps i cannot reasonably blame you. i'm not sure you could expect me to go any further now." "ah!" exclaimed violet, "you have made it easy. i would like to assure you of my good-will." he held her hand a moment and swung abruptly away. he met mrs. acton as he went down a corridor. he stopped in front of her, and she looked at him questioningly when she saw his face. "i have not come up to expectations. it is, perhaps, fortunate miss hamilton found it out when she did," he said. "oh!" mrs. acton replied, "i told you it would not be well to stay away very long." "i scarcely think the result would have been different in any case," nasmyth declared. mrs. acton was silent for a moment. then she looked at him sharply. "where are you going now?" she asked. "back to the world i belong to," answered nasmyth,--"to the railroad, in the first case. i'm not sure that miss hamilton would like to feel that i was in the house." mrs. acton made no protest, and ten minutes later he had crossed the clearing and plunged into the bush. mrs. acton, crossing the veranda, laid her hand on the girl's shoulder. "i naturally don't know what he said to you, but i can't help believing that he acquitted himself rather well," she observed. "after all, it must have been a little painful to him." "perhaps it was," replied violet. "still, i don't think it hurt him dreadfully." she was more or less correct in this surmise, for, as nasmyth walked on through the bush, he became conscious of a faint relief. chapter xxxi the last shot laura waynefleet was preparing breakfast, and the door of the ranch stood open, when she heard the sharp clatter of the flung-down slip-rails in the fence across the clearing jar upon the stillness of the surrounding woods. it was early in the morning, and since it was evident that, if the strangers who were approaching came from the settlement, they must have set out as soon as it was light, she decided that their business was probably urgent. laying down the frying-pan in which she was making flapjacks, she moved toward the door, and stood watching two men ride across the clearing in the direction of the house. they did not belong to the settlement, for she had never seen either of them before, a fact which made it clear that they had not ridden in from the cañon. she had quick eyes, and she noticed that, although they could not have ridden very far that morning, their horses appeared jaded, which suggested that they had made a long journey the previous day. the men appeared weary, too, and she imagined that they were not accustomed to the bush. as she watched them she wondered with a trace of uneasiness what their business could be, and decided that it was, perhaps, as well that her father was busy in the stable, where he could not hear them arrive. since gordon usually called at the ranch when he went down to the settlement, she was more or less acquainted with what was being done at the cañon and with nasmyth's affairs, and she was on her guard when one of the strangers pulled his horse up close in front of her. "can we hire a couple of horses here?" he asked. "ours are played out." there was then a cayuse pony in waynefleet's stable, but it belonged to a neighbouring rancher, and laura had no intention of handing it over to the strangers. "i'm afraid not," she answered. "the only horse on the ranch does not belong to us, and i wouldn't care to hire it out unless i had permission. besides, i may want it myself. you could have obtained horses at the settlement hotel." "we didn't put up there." "but you must have come through the settlement. you have evidently ridden in from the railroad." the man laughed. "well," he admitted, "we certainly did, but we got off the trail last night, and they took us in at bullen's ranch. soon after we started out a chopper told us we could save a league by riding up the valley instead of by the settlement. does the man you said the horse belonged to live in the neighbourhood?" laura did not answer immediately. she was quick-witted, and she recognized that, while the man's explanation was plausible, there were weak points in it. for one thing, the previous night had not been dark, and it was difficult to understand how anyone could have wandered off the wide trail to the settlement into the one which led through thick undergrowth to bullen's ranch. she guessed that the strangers must have had an object in not visiting the settlement. then there was, it seemed to her, something suggestive in the fact that bullen, who had a share in nasmyth's project, and owned several horses, had not seized upon the opportunity to aid the travellers, for, if he had not been willing to lend his horses, it could only have been because he was a little dubious about the strangers. "the man who owns the horse lives at least an hour's ride away," she informed the stranger. "you are going on into the bush?" "yes," answered the man. "can you tell us the easiest way to reach the cañon?" laura was glad that he had asked for the easiest route, for soon after the snow had gone, nasmyth had broken out a shorter and somewhat perilous trail over the steepest part of the divide. only the pack-horses now went round by the longer way. she thought hard for a moment or two, and then told the man how to find the old trail. he rode away with his companion, and laura's face was thoughtful when she sat down again. she made a hasty breakfast, and went out to the stable. waynefleet was still busy when she reached it, and she took down the side-saddle before she turned to him. "i have left your breakfast ready, but you must excuse me," she announced; "i am going to the cañon." waynefleet raised his brows and looked at her with his most precise air, but, seeing that had no effect, he made a gesture of resignation. "very well," he said. "i presume you do not, as usual, think it worth while to acquaint me with your object." laura laughed. "i'm not exactly sure of it myself. i may tell you a little more when i come back." she led the horse out, and, crossing the clearing, rode hard for a league or so, and then made sure by the prints of their horses' feet that the strangers had followed her instructions before she struck into the shorter trail. it was scarcely wide enough to ride along, and for a while dense thickets of fern and undergrowth closed in on it. further on, it skirted a quaggy swamp, and led through several rapid creeks, while here and there great fallen trees compelled her to turn aside, and there were groves of willows to be painfully struggled through. the cayuse she rode was, however, more or less accustomed to that kind of work, and she made tolerable progress until she reached the foot of the big divide. there she dismounted, and led the cayuse up a steep gully through which a torrent poured. they stumbled amidst big boulders and over slippery shingle until they reached the head of the gully, and then there were almost precipitous slopes of rock to be faced. they climbed for a couple of hours, and laura gasped with relief when at last she stood upon the crest of the divide. the descent was perilous, but already the sun hung low above the western hills, and she went down in the saddle with the cayuse slipping and stumbling horribly, until the roar of the river came faintly up to her. then she drew bridle, and glanced ruefully at her attire. her skirt was rent in places, and one little shoe had burst. a branch that had torn her hat off had loosened a coil of gleaming hair, and, anxious as she was, she stopped for several minutes to set these matters straight as far as it was possible. there was, she felt, after all, no reason why nasmyth should see her in that state. then she rode on, and a little later a man appeared among the pines at the head of the gully. she was very weary when she got down beside him. "have two strangers arrived here yet?" she asked. "they haven't," answered the man. laura was glad she had undertaken the journey when she saw the sudden intentness of his face. "two of them are on the trail?" he inquired sharply. "yes," said laura. "they have gone round by the pack-horse trail. i rode in by the new one." the man was astonished that she had accomplished the trip, and she saw that he was troubled. "well," he advised, "you had better go right on and tell nasmyth as quick as you can. it's my business to see no strangers get in, or i'd go with you." laura left the horse with him, and, descending the gully, found an unusual number of men busy beside the river. in fact, she believed that all those who had been at work in the valley must have crossed the range to the cañon. it was also evident from their faces that most of them were in a state of eager expectation. something out of the usual course was clearly going on. she asked for nasmyth, and a few moments later he came scrambling towards her along the log staging. there was, she was quick to notice, a strained look in his eyes, but he shook hands with her, and then, remembering the state of her attire, she coloured a little. "do you expect two men from the city to-night?" she asked. nasmyth started. "i have, at least, been wondering when they would turn up," he answered. "there are two men of that kind on the trail?" his voice was sharp and insistent, and laura told him hastily about the men who had called at the ranch. "from what you say, they can't well be here for another hour or two," he said, and there was a determined glint in his eyes. "i fancy we'll be through by then." he swung around, and raised a hand to the men. "boys, you'll get the last holes filled with giant-powder as quick as you can, and couple up the firing battery. we'll lift that rock right out when you're ready." he turned again to laura. "i'm not sure you understand all that you have done," he said. "for one thing, i think, you have saved us from being beaten when what we have fought for was almost in our hand." he paused for a moment, and then his voice became hoarse as he indicated the clustering men with a little forceful gesture. "they have come in to see the last shot fired. we had arranged to put in a few more sticks of powder, and then lower the river once for all in another hour or two. some of the boys are now getting a big supper ready to celebrate the occasion, but if you hadn't brought us the warning, it's scarcely likely that any of us would have felt much inclined for festivity. in all probability, those strangers are bringing an order to restrain me from going any further. once it was in my hands, i could not have fired the shot. all we have done would have been thrown away." "ah!" cried laura, "that would be intolerable!" nasmyth laughed significantly. "any way," he declared, "until the papers are served on me, my charter stands. we'll have scattered the last strip of rock when those men ride in." he made her a grave little bow. "you set us to work," he said. "it is only fitting that you should once more hold the firing battery." he moved away abruptly from her and crawled into the heading. it was half an hour later when he came back, and almost every man who had a share in the undertaking gathered upon the strip of shingle. nobody spoke, however, and there was tense expectancy in the bronzed faces. nasmyth beckoned to laura and moved forward with gordon, and wheeler, who carried the battery. nasmyth swung his battered hat off as he held out his hand, and laura, clinging to him, climbed to a shelf of rock where she stood still a moment or two, looking about her. in front the white spray of the fall whirled beneath the tremendous wall of rock, and about her stood groups of hard-handed men, who had driven the heading with strenuous, insistent toil. she knew what the work had cost them, and could understand the look in their steady eyes. they had faced the river in the depths of the tremendous rift, borne with the icy winter, and patiently grappled with obstacle after obstacle. their money had not sufficed to purchase them costly machines. they had pitted steadfast courage and hardened muscle against the vast primeval forces of untrammelled nature. laura felt deeply stirred as she glanced at them. they were simple men, but they had faced and beaten roaring flood and stinging frost, caring little for the hazard to life or limb as they played their part in that tremendous struggle with axe and drill. suddenly laura became conscious that nasmyth, who held up a little box from which trailed a couple of wires, was speaking. "our last dollars bought that powder. wish us good luck," he said. laura stretched out her hands for the box, and standing upon the rock shelf, with one shoe burst and her skirt badly rent, raised her voice as she had done in that spot once before. "boys," she said, "you have stood fast against very heavy odds. may all that you can wish for--orchards, oat-fields, wheat, and cattle--be yours. the prosperity of this country is founded on such efforts as you have made." with a little smile in her eyes, she fitted in the firing-plug, and in another moment a streak of flame that seemed to expand into a bewildering brilliancy flashed through the spray of the fall. the flash of light was lost in rolling smoke and a tremendous eruption of flying rock that rang with deafening detonations against the side of the cañon. the smoke rolled higher, and still great shattered fragments came whirling out of it, striking boulder and shingle with a heavy crash, until the roar of the liberated river rose in tumultuous clamour and drowned all other sound. a great foaming wave swept forward, washing high along the bank, and poured seething down the rapid. shingle and boulder were lost in it. it drove on tumultuously, and a mad turgid flood came on behind. then it slowly fell away again, and a man, clambering out, in peril of being swept away, beneath the dripping rock, flung up a hand. his voice rang harsh and exultant through the sinking roar of the beaten river. "we've cut the last ledge clean away," he said. a great shout went up, and nasmyth held out his hand to laura. "i owe it all to you," he said with a curious gleam in his eyes. the men trooped about them both, and, though they were not as a rule effusive, some of them thumped nasmyth's shoulder and some wrung his hand. half an hour had slipped by before he was free of them. he and laura went slowly back up the climbing gully. it was growing dark, but a light still streamed down between the pines, and nasmyth, who pointed to a tree that had fallen, stood close by, looking down upon the girl. "i will ride back with you presently, but you must rest first; and i have something to say, though if we had not beaten the river i think i should never have had courage enough," he said. "when you found me lying in the snow, you took me in; you nursed me back to life, gave me a purpose, and set me on my feet again." he paused for a moment. a flush dyed his worn face, and his voice was strained when he went on again. "one result was that i went back to the world i once belonged to--it was really you who sent me--and you know what befell me there," he said. "i don't think i quite forgot what i owed to you, but i was carried away. still, she recognized her folly and discarded me." he stopped again, and laura looked at him steadily with a tinge of colour in her face. "well," he continued, "that was when i commenced to understand exactly what you had been all along to me. i don't know what came upon me at bonavista; but though the thing must seem preposterous, i believe i was in love with you then. now i have nothing to bring you. you know all my weak points, and i could not complain if you would not listen to me. but i have come back to you again." "ah!" answered laura very softly, "after all, it was fortunate that you went away. i think it was a relief to me when wisbech took you to the city." nasmyth looked at her in surprise, and she smiled at him. "derrick," she said, "once or twice when you were building the dam you fancied that you loved me. i, however, didn't want you to fancy. that was only going far enough to hurt me." nasmyth stooped toward her. "in the height of my folly i had an uneasy consciousness that i belonged to you. afterwards i was sure. it was a very real thing, but i naturally shrank from coming to you. i don't quite know how i have gathered the courage now." laura sat still, and he laid a hand on her shoulder. then she turned and looked up at him. "well," she confessed very simply, "i think i loved you in the days when you were building the dam." he bent down and kissed her, and neither of them ever remembered exactly what they said. a few minutes later there was a clatter in the shadow above them, and two men came scrambling down, each leading a jaded horse. nasmyth rose and turned toward them when they stopped close in front of him. "you have some business with me?" he inquired. one of them handed him a sealed paper, and he opened it with deliberation. "i may as well tell you that i expected this," he said. he glanced at laura. "i am summoned to attend in victoria and show cause why i should not be restrained from injuring the holding of a rancher at the head of the valley. in the meantime i am instructed to carry on the operations in the cañon no further." he turned to the men. "you should have come along an hour or two ago. i don't propose to do anything further in the cañon; in fact, i have accomplished the purpose i had in hand." as his meaning dawned on them, the men gazed at each other in evident consternation, until one of them turned to laura. "well," he commented, "in that case i guess it's quite a pity we didn't, but i begin to understand the thing. this is the young lady who told us the trail. she must have taken a shorter way." laura smiled at him. "you," she reminded him, "seemed anxious to go by the easiest one." the other man looked at nasmyth. "i'm acting for hutton, and it seems you have got ahead of him," he observed. "still, we're both out on business, and i don't bear you any ill-will. in fact, if you're open to make any arrangement, i should be glad to talk to you." nasmyth smiled as he answered: "you can at least come and get some supper. i expect the boys will fix you and your horses for the night." they went down the gully together, and a few minutes later walked into the flickering light of a great fire, near which a rudely bountiful supper had been laid out. nasmyth pointed to the strangers. "boys," he said, "these are the men we expected, but i don't think they mean to worry us now, and they've had a long ride." he turned to the strangers. "won't you sit down?" there was a great burst of laughter, and one of the strangers smiled. "we're in your hands, but i don't know any reason why you shouldn't be generous, boys," he said. he sat down, but for a moment or two nasmyth and laura stood still in the glare of the fire, and the eyes of everyone were fixed upon them. laura's face was flushed, but nasmyth was calm with a new dignity. "we have a little more to do, boys, but we have left the toughest of our troubles behind," nasmyth spoke in confident tones. "we'll have another supper when we're through with it, and i'll expect every one of you at the biggest event in my life." there was a great shout that rang through the roar of the rapid and far across the climbing pines. then the men sat down, and it was a little while later when their leader and the girl quietly slipped away from them. those who noticed this said nothing, and the men still sat round the snapping fire when nasmyth and laura crossed the ridge of the divide. there was a moon above them, and the night was soft and clear, while the bush rolled away beneath, shadowy and still. only the turmoil of the river came faintly up to them. the muffled sound sent a curious thrill through both of them, but they were silent as they went down the long slope among the climbing pines. laura sat in the saddle, looking out on the silent forest with eyes that shone softly in the moonlight, and nasmyth walked beside her, with his hand on the pack-horse's bridle. they had both borne the stress and strain, but now as the pack-horse plodded on they were conscious only of a deep contentment. the end handbook to the new gold-fields, by r.m. ballantyne. ________________________________________________________________________ this book was one of several books written by ballantyne in or about , for nelson, the publishers. from a literary point of view it does not rank very high, because it was a "pot-boiler", and not one of ballantyne's dashing and spirited books for teenagers. there were three other books in this category, and we do not rate very high our chances of finding any of them and adding it to our collection. much of the book consists of long quotes from the times correspondent. i am not sure, but i think that should really be read as "the new york times correspondent". there are also long letters from the governor of the area (a british colony), to the british government, and their answers. of course there were long intervals between these letters and their replies, because they had to cross the north american continent, and then the atlantic by sailing vessel. this book turned up in the early canadiana online collection of early books about canada, and the scans of the pages to be found on the canadiana website were acquired using the very new ( ) screen grabbing tool created by abbyy. canadiana publish their scans at five different scales, of which we used the middle one, except for the appendix, where we used the largest size, and ocred it in the usual manner. the reason for this was that the font size used by nelsons for the appendix was much smaller than that used for the bodytext of the book. the rest of the work was done using our athelstane editing programs, just as we do all other books. so doing it was something of a technical feat. ________________________________________________________________________ handbook to the new gold-fields, by r.m. ballantyne. introduction. handbook to the new el-dorado. the problem of colonisation in the north-western portion of british america is fast working itself out. the same destiny which pushed forward anglo-saxon energy and intelligence into the rich plains of mexico, and which has peopled australia, is now turning the current of emigration to another of the "waste-places of the earth." the discovery of extensive goldfields in the extreme west of the territories now occupied by the hudson's bay company, is a great fact. it no longer comes to us as the report of interested adventurers, or the exaggeration of a few sanguine diggers, but with well-authenticated results--large quantities of gold received at san francisco, and a consequent rush of all nations from the gold regions of california, as well as from the united states and canada. the _thirst for gold_ is, as it always has been, the most attractive, the strongest, the most unappeasable of appetites--the impulse that builds up, or pulls down empires, and floods the wilderness with a sudden population. in those wild regions of the far west men are pouring in one vast, gold-searching tide of thousands and tens of thousands, into the comparatively unknown territory beyond the rocky mountains, for which our legislature has just manufactured a government. how strange is the comparison instituted by the _times_ between the rush to fraser river and the mediaeval crusades, which carried so large a portion of the population of europe to die on the burning plains of palestine! at clermont ferrand, peter the hermit has concluded his discourse; cries are heard in every quarter, "it is the will of god! it is the will of god!"; every one assumes the cross, and the crowd disperses to prepare for conquering under the walls of the earthly, a sure passage to the heavenly, jerusalem. what elevation of motive, what faith, what enthusiasm! compare with this the picture presented by san francisco harbour. a steamer calculated to carry persons, is laden with . there is hardly standing room on the deck. it is almost impossible to clear a passage from one part of the vessel to the other. the passengers are not knights and barons, but tradesmen, "jobbers," tenants, and workmen of all the known varieties. their object in of the earth, earthy--wealth in its rawest and rudest form-- gold, the one thing for which they bear to live, or dare to die. although in the comparison the crusades may have the superiority in many points, yet so little have ideal, romantic, and sentimental considerations to do with the current of human affairs, that while the crusades remain a monument of abortive and objectless folly, fatal to those who embarked in them, and leaving as their chief result a tinge of asiatic ferocity on european barbarism, the exodus of san francisco, notwithstanding the material end it has in view, is sure to work out the progress of happiness and civilisation, and add another to the many conquests over nature, which the present age has witnessed. in a year more than ordinarily productive of remarkable events, one of the most noteworthy, and that which is likely to leave a lasting impression on the world, is this discovery of gold on the coasts of the pacific. the importance of the new region as a centre for new ramifications of english relations with the rest of the world cannot well be exaggerated either in a political or a commercial point of view. it will be the first really important point we shall have ever commanded on that side of the pacific ocean, and it cannot but be of inestimable value in developing our relations with america, china, japan, and eastern russia. this new discovery must also tend to make the western shore of the american continent increasingly attractive, from fraser's river down to peru the rivers all bear down treasures of a wealth perfectly inestimable. emigration must necessarily continue to flow and increase. gold digging is soon learned, and there will be an immense demand for every kind of labour at almost fabulous prices. it is further valuable as tending to open up a direct communication from the atlantic to the pacific, and from europe across the continent of america to india and china. this is a grand idea, and the colonial minister who carries it out will accomplish a greater thing than any of his predecessors, for he will open up the means of carrying english civilisation to the whole of that vast continent and to the eastern world. the pioneers in this movement will conquer the territory not with arms in their hands, but with the gold-rocker, the plough, the loom, and the anvil, the steam-boat, the railway, and the telegraph. commerce and agriculture, disenthralled by the influences of free institutions, will cause the new empire to spring into life, full armed, like minerva from the brain of jupiter. its pacific ports will be thronged with ships of all nations, its rich valleys will blossom with nature's choicest products, while its grand rivers will bear to the sea the fruits of free and honest labour. great as have been our achievements in the planting of colonies, we have never entered upon a more magnificent work than the one now before us, in which the united energies of the two great branches of the anglo-saxon race will be engaged, heart and hand. while the present volume is intended chiefly for those desiring information on the subject of the gold discoveries, it also addresses itself to the general public, for the condition and character of the country and its inhabitants cannot fail to be a subject of inquiry with all who can appreciate the importance of its situation. the book lays claim to no merit but that of careful collation. little information is given but what is derived from sources of general access; but it does profess to set forth the truth as far as that could be obtained from the conflicting statements of different parties. while the following pages will be found to contain ample proof as to the extent and richness of the gold fields; as well as the salubrity of the climate, it is satisfactory to be able to state here that the country is proved to be easily accessible both for english and american merchandise. the public have now certain, though unofficial news, of the journey of the governor of vancouver's island as far as fort hope, about one hundred miles above the mouth of the fraser river and seventy above fort langley. this voyage has established the extremely important fact, that the river is navigable for steamers at least up to this point, where the mines are now known to be of extraordinary wealth, although it is reported that their yield regularly increases as the stream is ascended. it is now proved that these districts are actually within from fifteen to twenty-three hours steam of victoria, the principal town of the vancouver's island colony. it is difficult to exaggerate the importance of this fact. it is true that the same voyage which the steamer carrying the governor of vancouver's island successfully performed, was attempted without success by another steamer about the same time--a fact which probably indicates that the river will be navigable only for vessels of small draught, and possibly, perhaps, not equally navigable at all seasons; for we must remember that in the early part of june, when this attempt was successfully made, the waters of the river had already begun to rise, in consequence of the melting of the snow from the rocky mountains, from which it springs. but they were then by no means at their full height; and even if the river be only navigable by vessels of small draught, that is a fact of very little importance as compared with the certainty that it is navigable at all to so considerable a height. fort hope is, as we have said, about one hundred miles up the river--that is to say, about one hundred and ninety from victoria in vancouver's island, the voyage across the gulf of georgia being about ninety miles. the rich diggings between fort yale and fort hope are, therefore, not so far from the fertile land of vancouver's island as london from hull and the distance from victoria to the mouth of the river, where gold is at present found inconsiderable quantities, is not so great as the distance from liverpool to dublin. now, as almost all the importance of a mining district depends on easy communication with a provision market--and the very richest will be rendered comparatively insignificant if provisions can only be carried thither at enormous cost and labour--no fact has yet been established of more importance than the easy navigability of the fraser river. immediately above fort yale, which is twelve miles higher up the river than the point reached by the steamer, a succession of cataracts begin, which, of course, interrupt all navigation, but thence even to "the forks," or junction between the fraser and thompson rivers, there is certainly not more than one hundred miles of road, which, as we learn from the government map, are mostly practicable for loaded waggons. hence it is evident that the new gold district will be easily accessible both for english merchandise from england, and for the provision market of vancouver's island. in explanation and refutation of the prejudice which almost universally exists against the climate and soil of north america generally, but especially of the divisions included in the hudson's bay company's territories, we cannot do better than quote the following just remarks from the reverend mr nicolay's treatise on oregon. he says:-- "a predisposition towards one opinion, or bias to one side of an argument, too often warps both the judgment and the understanding; and one man in consequence sees fertile plains where another could see only arid wastes on which even the lizards appear starving, while the other looks forward to their being covered with countless flocks and herds at no very distant period of time. both cook and vancouver, having previously made up their minds against the existence of a river near parallel degrees, passed the columbia without perceiving it, and the former even declared most decidedly that the strait seen by juan de fuca had its origin only in the fertility of the pilot's brain. as they were discovered to be in error, so it is not impossible that others not less positive in their assertions may be convicted of the same carelessness of examination as those navigators, so remarkable in all other respects for their accuracy, and so indefatigable and minute in their researches, that little has been left to their successors but to check their work. "with respect, however, to the attributed barrenness of great part of the territory, so peremptorily insisted on by many, there is some excuse for the earlier travellers from whom that opinion is derived. ignorant of the best routes, and frequently famishing in the immediate neighbourhood of plenty, they most justly reflect back to others the impressions they received; but in so doing, though they speak truth, they give very erroneous ideas of the country they think themselves to be describing most accurately, and of this very pregnant examples are found in the travels of lewis and clarke, and the party who came overland to astoria: both struck the head waters of the saptin, both continued its course to its junction with the main stream, both suffered--the latter party intensely; but had they, by the fertile bottoms of bear and rosseaux rivers, found access to the valley between the cascade and blue mountains--or, keeping still further west, crossed the former range into that of the wallamette, they would have found game, been banished from their pages, and the oregon would have appeared in her holiday attire-- "a nymph of healthiest hue--" and the depth of ravines and the elevation of rocks and precipices would have been changed into the unerring evidences of fertility and luxuriance of vegetation afforded by the dense forests and gigantic pine-trees of the coast district. we can scarce estimate the transition of feeling and change which would have been produced in their estimate of the country, if they could have been suddenly transported from their meagre horse-steak--cut from an animal so jaded with travel as to be in all probability only saved from death by starvation and fatigue, by being put to death to save over-wearied men from famine, and this cooked at a fire of _bois de vache_, with only the shelter of an overhanging rock--to the fat venison and savoury wildfowl of the woods and lakes, broiled on the glowing hardwood embers under the comfortable roof of sheltering bark, or the leafy shade of the monarch of the forest; while the cheerful whinny of their well-fed beasts would have given joyful token that nature in her bounty had been forgetful of nothing which her dependent children could desire. "while such and so great is the power of circumstances to vary the impressions made upon the senses, some hesitation must be used in their reception until fully confirmed, or they must be limited by other accounts, as unbiassed judgment may direct, especially as the temperament of individuals may serve to heighten the colouring, whether sombre or sunny, in which circumstances may have depicted the landscape. it is not every traveller who can, with mackenzie, expatiate on the beauty of scenery while in fear of treachery from fickle and bloody savages; or like fremont, though dripping from the recent flood, and uncertain of the means of existence even for the day, his arms, clothes, provisions, instruments, deep in the whirlpools of the foaming platte, stop to gaze with admiration on the `fantastic ruins' nature has `piled' among her mountain fastnesses, while from his bare and bleeding feet he draws the sharp spines of the hostile cacti. truth from travellers is consequently for the most part relative. abstractedly, with reference to any country, it must be derived from the combined accounts and different phases of truth afforded by many." chapter one. richness and extent of the gold fields. "destiny, which has lately riveted our attention on the burning plains of the extreme east," says the _times_ of th july, "now claims our solicitude for the auriferous mountains and rushing rivers of the far west and the shores of the remote pacific. what most of us know of these ultra-occidental regions may be summed up in a very few words. we have most of us read washington irving's charming narrative of `astoria,' sympathised with the untimely fate of captain thorn and his crew, and read with breathless interest the wanderings of the pilgrims to the head waters of the columbia. after thirty years, the curtain rises again on the stormy period of the ashburton treaty, when the `patriots' were bent upon `whipping the britishers' out of every acre of land on the western side of the rocky mountains. and now, for the third time, we are recalled to the same territory, no longer as the goal of the adventurous trader or the battle ground of the political agitator, but as a land of promise--a new el dorado, to which men are rushing with all the avidity that the presence of the one, thing which all men, in all times and in all places, insatiably desire is sure to create." this el dorado lies between the rocky mountains and the pacific; it is bounded on the south by the american frontier line, degrees of latitude, and may be considered to extend to the sources of fraser river, in latitude degrees. it is, therefore, about miles long in a straight line, its average breadth from to miles. taken from corner to corner, its greatest length would be, however, miles,--and its greatest breadth miles, mr arrowsmith computes its area of square miles, including queen charlotte's island, at somewhat more than , miles. of its two gold-bearing rivers, one, the fraser, rises in the northern boundary, and flowing south, falls into the sea at the south-western extremity of the territory, opposite the southern end of vancouver's island, and within a few miles of the american boundary; the other, the thompson river, which rises in the rocky mountains, and flowing westward, joins the fraser about miles from the coast. it is on these two rivers, and chiefly at their confluence, that the gold discoveries have been made. fraser river is about as famous a point as there is today on the earth's surface--as famous as were the californian diggings in , or the australian gold mines in . it is now the centre of attraction for the adventurous of all countries. the excitement throughout the canadas and northern states of america is universal. in fact, the whole interior of north america is quite in a ferment--the entire floating population being either "on the move," or preparing to start; while traders, cattle-dealers, contractors, and all the enterprising persons in business who can manage to leave, are maturing arrangements to join the general exodus. persons travelling in the mining regions reckon that, in three months, , souls will have left the state of california alone. the rapidity and extent of this emigration has never been paralleled. it is now established that the district of british columbia, holding a relation to puget's sound similar to that of sacramento valley to the bay of san francisco, contains rich and extensive gold beds. the fraser river mines have already been mentioned in the british parliament as not less valuable and important than the gold fields in australia, geologists have anticipated such a discovery; and governor stevens, in his last message to the legislative assembly of washington territory, claims that the district south of the international boundary is equally auriferous. the special correspondent of the _san francisco bulletin_, a reliable authority, writes from fort langley, twenty-five miles up the fraser, under date the th may, that he had just come down from fort yale, where he found sixty men and two hundred indians, with their squaws, at work on a "bar" of about five hundred yards in length--called "hills bar," one mile below fort yale, and fifteen miles from fort hope, all trading posts of the hudson's bay company. "the morning i arrived, two men (kerrison and company) cleaned up five and a-half ounces from the rocker, the product of half a day's work. kerrison and company the next day cleaned up ten and a-half ounces from two rockers, which i saw myself weighed. this bar is acknowledged to be one of the richest ever seen, and well it may be, for here is a product of fifteen and a-half ounces of gold, worth and a half dollars, or pounds sterling, from it in a day and a-half to the labour of two rockers. old californian miners say they never saw such rich diggings. the average result per day to the man was fully dollars, some much more. the gold is very fine; so much so, that it was impossible to save more than two-thirds of what went through the rockers. this defect in the rocker must be remedied by the use of quicksilver to `amalgamate' the finer particles of gold. this remedy is at hand, for california produces quicksilver sufficient for the consumption of the `whole' world in her mountains of cinnabar. supplies are going on by every vessel. at sailor diggings, above fort yale, they are doing very well, averaging from to dollars per day to the man. i am told that the gold is much coarser on thompson river than it is in fraser river. i saw yesterday about dollars of coarse gold from thompson river, in pieces averaging dollars each. some of the pieces had quartz among them. hill, who was the first miner on the bar bearing his name, just above spoken of, with his partner, has made some dollars on it in almost sixteen days' work. three men just arrived from sailor diggings have brought down dollars in dust, the result of twelve days' work. gold very fine. rising of the river driving the miners off for a time." correspondents from several places on the sound, both on the british and american territories, men of various nationalities, have since written that the country on the fraser river is rich in gold, and "equal to any discoveries ever made in california." the _times'_ correspondent, writing from vancouver's island on th june, says, "the gold exists from the mouth of fraser river for at least miles up, and most likely much further, but it has not been explored; hitherto any one working on its banks has been able to obtain gold in abundance and without extraordinary labour; the gold at present obtained has been within a foot of the surface, and is supposed to have averaged about ten dollars per diem to each man engaged in mining. of course, some obtain more, some less, but all get gold. thompson river is quite as rich in gold as fraser river. the land about thompson river consists of extensive sandy prairies, which are loaded with gold also; in fact, the whole country about fraser and thompson rivers are mere beds of gold, so abundant as to make it quite disgusting. i have already seen pounds and pounds of it, and hope before long to feast my eyes upon tons of the precious metal." and the same high authority writes on th june,--"there is no longer room to doubt that all the country bordering on fraser river is one continuous gold bed. miners abandoning the partially exhausted _placers_ of california, are thronging to this new _dorado_, and the heretofore tranquil precincts of victoria are now the scene of an excitement such as was witnessed at san francisco in , or since in melbourne. land has run up to prices fabulously high; and patches that six months ago were, perhaps, grudgingly purchased at the colonial price of shillings the acre, are re-selling daily at a hundred times that amount. the small number of steam ships hitherto found sufficient for the commerce between san francisco and these vicinities no longer suffices to convey a tithe of the eager applicants for passage. an opening for the enterprise of british capitalists such as was not anticipated has thus suddenly arisen, and the opportunity will, of course, be seized with alacrity. "lest i should appear too sanguine in my representations, i will cite one instance to illustrate the richness of these newly discovered diggings. three men returned for provisions lately, after an absence of seven days; they had during this interval extracted ounces of gold. i state this fact on the authority of governor douglas, who has just returned from the mining regions, whither he went with the view of establishing certain regulations for the maintenance of order. in short, all who have visited the mines are impressed with the conviction that their richness far excels that of california in its palmiest days." and, again, the correspondent of the _new york times_, in a letter dated st june, gives the following corroborative testimony:--"the gold is found everywhere, and even during the extreme height of the river, parties are averaging from ten to twenty dollars per day, digging in the banks or on the upper edge of the bars, nearly all of which are overflowed. big strikes of from fifty to two hundred and fifty dollars are frequently reported. nearly all the work at present is carried on between forts langley and yale, and for some twenty or thirty miles above the latter an entire distance along the river of about a hundred miles. some few are digging on harrison river, and other tributaries, where the gold is found in larger particles. those who were engaged in mining on the forks of thompson river shew still richer yields, but have been compelled to leave on account of the high stage of the water, the want of provisions, and the opposition of the indians. the gold where the most men are located (upon the bars of the river), is found in very minute particles, like sand. no quicksilver has been used as, yet, but when that is attainable, their yield is sure to be greatly augmented. at hill's bar those at work had averaged fifty dollars per day the whole time they had been there. the indians all have gold, and are as much excited as the whites. it is of no use to cite various reports of individual successes in this or that locality. the impression of all who have gone is unanimous and conclusive as to the great facts of new gold fields now being explored equal to any ever yet developed in california or elsewhere. no steamer has yet returned with more than twelve or fifteen passengers, and nearly every one of these had come down to obtain supplies for himself or his party left behind in the diggings. they all say they are going back in a few weeks." the following personal testimony may also be cited:--"on sunday," says the _san francisco globe_, "we received a visit from messrs. edward campbell and joseph blanch, both boatmen, well known in this city, who have just returned from the mines on fraser river. they mined for ten days on the bar, until compelled to desist from the rise in the river, in which time they took out dollars. they used but one rocker, and have no doubt that they could have done much better with proper appliances. there were from sixty to seventy white men at work on hill's bar, and from four to five hundred indians, men, women, and children. the indians are divided in opinion with regard to americans; the more numerous party, headed by pollock, a chief, are disposed to receive them favourably, because they obtain more money, for their labour from the `bostons' than from `king george's men', as they style the english. they have learned the full value of their labour, and, instead of one dollar a-day, or an old shirt, for guiding and helping to work a boat up the river, they now charge from five to eight dollars per day. another portion of the indians are in favour of driving off the `bostons,' being fearful of having their country overrun by them." the proprietor of the san francisco _news letter_ had determined to be at the centre of the present excitement in the el dorado, and to judge for himself, or, rather to solve the problem of how much gold, how many indians, and how much humbug, went on board the pacific mail steam-ship _cortes_, captain horner, and made the passage to victoria, miles, in five days. although nine hundred persons were on board, yet no actual inconvenience was felt by the high-pressure packing; the greatest good humour and accommodating spirit prevailing, controlled by the gentlemanly conduct of captain j.b. horner and his officers. on the day of arrival, the operations of the government land office at the fort in victoria was , dollars. the importance of the amount can best be realised by comparing it with the prices, viz. dollars per lot, by feet, unsurveyed. some of these lots have been sold at to dollars. lots at first sale, surveyed price, dollars; lots, second and last sale, dollars each, are now being sold from to dollars each. six lots together in the principal street are valued at , dollars. the figures at esquimault harbour and lots in that vicinity assume a bolder character as to value, from the fact that the harbour is a granite-bound basin, similar to victoria, with an entrance now wide and deep enough to admit the leviathan. victoria has a bar which must be dredged, dug, or blown away. we noted at victoria that the most valuable lot, with a flat granite level, with thirty feet of water, sufficient for any ship to unload without jetty, is now covered by a large building constructed of logs, belonging to samuel price and company. a ship was unloading lumber at this wharf at dollars per m, which was the ruling price. at victoria, on the st june, a frenchman landed from the steamer _surprise_, who came on board at fort langley with twenty-seven pounds weight of gold on his person, which we saw and lifted. another passenger, whom we know, states that there are six hundred persons within eight miles of fort hope, who are averaging per man an ounce and a half of gold per day minimum to six and a half ounces per day maximum. the largest sums seem to be taken out at sailor's bar, five miles above fort hope. the lowest depth as yet reached by miners is fifteen inches; these mere surface scratches producing often dollars per day. at fort hope, potatoes were selling at dollars per bag; bacon, cents per pound; crackers, cents. from fort hope to fort thompson the road is good, with the exception of twenty miles. for dollars, the steamers will take miners from victoria to the diggings at fort hope, and for three or four dollars more an indian will accompany you to fort yale. bowen, steward of the _surprise_, says that about a hundred indians usually ran after him to obtain little sweet cakes, which he traded off four or five for dollar in gold dust. sugar at fort langley, dollar cents per pound; lumber, dollar cents per foot; tea and coffee, dollar per pound; pierced iron for rockers, dollars; plain sheets, dollars each; five pounds of quicksilver sold for dollars-- dollars per pound was the ordinary price. the actual ground prospected and ascertained to be highly auriferous extends to three hundred and fifty miles from the mouth of fraser river. one hundred miles of thompson river has been prospected, and found to be rich, south-east of fraser river. the same will apply to all the tributaries of thompson river. a large extent of auriferous quartz has been discovered ten miles from fort hope. exceedingly rich quartz veins have been found on harrison river. the most astounding facts have yet to be divulged. a river emptying into the gulf of georgia, not a hundred miles north of fraser river hitherto supposed to contain no gold, has proved fabulously rich. an indian arrived at victoria from this locality, having twenty-three pounds weight of pure gold, obtained solely by his own labour, in less than twenty days. in confirmation of our figures, and being short of space, we append the following statistics, derived from an official and authentic source of the strictest reliability. we deem the above facts sufficient to cause an exodus of a far more alarming character, and of higher proportions as to number, than any hitherto known in history. suffice it to say, that the present _furore_ is well founded; that it holds out busy times, high prices, speculations, contracts, and employments of a thousand kinds. fountain's diggings (fraser river, at degrees minutes north), month of june . five rockers worked by half-breed canadians. +=======+=======+=======+=======+=======+=======+ |june | .| .| .| .| .| +-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ | |dollars|dollars|dollars|dollars|dollars| +-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ | | | | | | | +-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ | | | | | | | +-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ | | | | | | | +-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ | | | | | | | +-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ | | | | | | | +-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ | | | | | | | +-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ | | | | | | | +-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ |total | | | | | | +-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ |average| . | . | . | . | . | +=======+=======+=======+=======+=======+=======+ a highly reliable correspondent sends the following from san francisco, under date th july:-- the emigration for fraser river has gone on for months with no signs of growing less. the best means of judging what grounds there are for the belief in the existence of gold in large quantities on its banks, is by letters received from persons who are engaged in mining. it is worthy of note that there is no discrepancy between the accounts given by different individuals, all their statements agreeing. the mines are reported to be exceedingly rich, and yielding large returns to those engaged in digging. the river is very high, and miners have been driven from several of the most lucrative bars until the water subsides. mr hill, from whom hill's bar took its name, is mining some distance above that point. he and six hands were making from an ounce to an ounce and a-half of gold dust a day to each man. for three weeks prior to the freshet, mr hill and one man averaged one hundred to one hundred and fifty dollars a day. the freshet, however drove him off for the time being. mr e.r. collins, who has spent some time in the fraser river gold region, and who brought down last week a quantity of dust, has communicated the following intelligence to the _alta california_. mr collins is a trustworthy gentleman. he left san francisco in march last, and was at olympia when the excitement first broke out. he then, in company with three others, proceeded to point roberts, from whence they proceeded up fraser river to the mouth of harrison river, about twenty-five miles above fort langley. this portion of the journey they performed without guides or assistance from the natives. the current was moderate, and occasionally beautiful islands were discovered with heavy timber, which presented a beautiful appearance. from fort hope to fort yale, a distance of fifteen miles, the river runs narrow, and the current running about seven miles per hour, though, in some places, it might be set down at ten or twelve. at fort yale, the first mining bar was reached. it extended out from the left bank a distance of some thirty yards, and was about half a mile long. twenty or thirty squaws were at work with baskets and wooden trays, while, near by, large numbers of male indians stood listlessly looking on. here some of mr collins' companions, who had now increased to twenty, proposed to stop and try their luck, but the majority resolved to go on, having informed themselves satisfactorily that further up the "big chunks" were in abundance. after resting a while, therefore, the party went ahead. two miles from fort yale they entered upon the commencement of the real difficulties and dangers of navigation on fraser river, the water for a distance of thirty-five or forty miles passing through deep gloomy canons, and over high masses of rock. at this time the river had attained only a few feet above its usual height, so that by perseverance and the skill of the native boatman they were enabled to make slow progress. numerous portages were made--one of them, the last, being four miles long. these portages could not be avoided, the cliffs rising perpendicularly on either side of the river, sometimes to a height of fifty or sixty feet, affording not the slightest footpath on which to tow. at other places the whirls, and rocks partly submerged, rendered a water passage utterly impracticable. at every bar and shallow spot prospected in these wild localities gold was obtained in paying quantities, all of very fine quality--rather difficult to save without the use of quicksilver. from the head of the canons to the forks of thompson's river, thirty-five miles more, the current and general appearance of the river seemed about the same as from fort hope to fort yale, gold also being found where there was an opportunity for a fair "prospect". at the forks the party were told by travill, a french trader, whom they met by accident, that the richest and best diggings were up thompson's; but that river being navigable but a few miles up, it was thought best to keep on up fraser, which they did for a distance of forty miles, encountering no serious obstacles beyond a few rapids, and they were passed by towing. five miles above the forks some twenty white men were at work, making with common rockers from ten to sixteen dollars per day. arriving at a bar about ten miles below, where white men were congregating in numbers considered sufficient for mutual protection, they took up a claim and commenced digging. they worked here steady twenty-four days, averaging fifteen dollars per day to each man. the greatest day's work of one man was thirty-one dollars. these figures, it is thought, would apply to all the miners. our latest news from the new mines reach to the beginning of july. at that time there were immense numbers of miners on the banks of fraser river, waiting for the stream to fall and enable them to go to work on the bars, which are said to be fabulously rich. some dry diggings had also been discovered in the neighbourhood of the river; but owing to the presence of a large number of indians, not of the most friendly disposition, the miners dared not then extend their researches far from the stream, where the bulk of the whites were congregated. the town of victoria, on vancouver's island, has sprung rapidly into importance. great advances have been made on real estate there. lots, which a few months ago were sold by the hudson's bay company at twelve pounds ten shillings, are now selling at over pounds. a newspaper, called the _victoria gazette_ has been started there; and an american steamer, _the surprise_, is also running regularly between victoria and fort hope, which is one hundred miles above the mouth of fraser river. in the last week of june the arrivals by steamers and vessels at the various ports of british columbia reached the large daily average of one thousand, while those who have lately travelled through the mountains say that the principal roads in the interior present an appearance similar to the retreat of a routed army. stages, express waggons, and vehicles of every character, are called into requisition for the immediate emergency, and all are crammed, while whole battalions are pressing forward on horse or mule back, and on foot. of course, the shipments of merchandise from san francisco and other ports are very large, to keep pace with this almost instantaneous emigration of thousands to a region totally unsupplied with the commodities necessary for their use and sustenance. up to the present no outbreak or disturbance has occurred, and a certain degree of order has already been established in the mining region, through the judicious measures adopted by the governor. justices of the peace and other officials have been appointed, and a system protective of the territorial interests organised. licences, on the principle of those granted in australia, are issued; the price, five dollars per month, to be exacted from every miner. there was a good deal of talk, as to the right or propriety of levying this tax when it was first proposed, and some of the francisco papers were load in their denunciations; others took a calmer view. it is satisfactory to add that little difficulty has so far been experienced on this head. as a body, the miners are reported to be a steady set of men, well conducted, and respectful of the law. chapter two. climate, productions, and soil. next to the extent and richness of the gold mines, the most important inquiry is as to the character of the climate and soil. and in this respect the fraser river settlement does not lose any of its attractions, for, though seven hundred miles north of san francisco, it is still one or two degrees south of the latitude of london, and apparently with a climate of a mildness equal to that of the southern shores of england, being free from all extremes, both of heat and cold. one hundred and fifty miles back from the pacific, indeed, there lies a range of mountains reaching up to the regions of perpetual snow. but between that and the coast the average temperature is fifty-four degrees for the year round. snow seldom lies more than three days. fruit trees blossom early in april, and salad goes to head by the middle of may on vancouver's island. in parts of this region wheat yields twenty to thirty bushels to the acre. apples, pears, pease, and grains of all kinds do well. the trees are of gigantic growth. iron and copper abound, as does also coal in vancouver's island, so that altogether it bids fair to realise in a short time the description applied to it by the colonial secretary (sir e.b. lytton), of "a magnificent abode for the human race." when introducing the "government of new caledonia bill," on th july, the colonial secretary said in his place in the house of commons:--"the thompson river district is described as one of the finest countries in the british dominions, with a climate far superior to that of countries in the same latitude on the other side of the mountains. mr cooper, who gave valuable evidence before our committee on this district, with which he is thoroughly acquainted, recently addressed to me a letter, in which he states that `its fisheries are most valuable, its timber the finest in the world for marine purposes; it abounds with bituminous coal, well fitted for the generation of steam; from thompson river and colville districts to the rocky mountains, and from the th parallel some miles north, a more beautiful country does not exist. it is in every way suitable for colonisation.' therefore, apart from the gold fields, this country affords every promise of a flourishing and important colony." the _times_ special correspondent, in a letter from vancouver's island, published on th august, says, "productive fisheries, prolific whaling waters, extensive coalfields, a country well timbered in some parts, susceptible of every agricultural improvement in ethers, with rich gold fields on the very borders--these are some of the many advantages enjoyed by the colony of vancouver's island and its fortunate possessors. when i add that the island boasts a climate of great salubrity, with a winter temperature resembling that of england, and a summer little inferior to that of paris, i need say no more, lest my picture be suspected of sharing too deeply of _couleur de rose_." of the southern part of this district lieutenant wilkes, who commanded the late exploring expedition under the united states government, says, "few portions of the globe are so rich in soil, so diversified in surface, or so capable of being rendered the happy homes of an industrious and civilised community. for beauty of scenery and salubrity of climate it cannot be surpassed. it is peculiarly adapted for an agricultural and pastoral people, and no portion of the world beyond the tropics can be found that will yield so readily with moderate labour to the wants of man." perhaps the fullest account of the country yet given is that contained in "the narrative of a residence of six years on the western slopes of the rocky mountains," by ross cox, one of the earliest explorers of british north america. he says, "the district of new caledonia extends from degrees minutes north latitude to about degrees. its extreme western boundary is degrees minutes. its principal trading post is called alexandria, after the celebrated traveller sir alexander mackenzie. it is built on the banks of fraser river, in about latitude degrees north. the country in its immediate vicinity presents a beautiful and picturesque appearance. the banks of the river are rather low; but a little distance inland some rising grounds are visible, partially diversified by groves of fir and poplar. this country is full of small lakes, rivers, and marshes. it extends about ten days' march in a north and north-east direction. to the south and south-east the atnah, or chin indian country, extends about one hundred miles; on the east there is a chain of lakes, and the mountains bordering thompson river; while to the westward and north-west lie the lands of the naskotins and clinches. the lakes are numerous, and some of them tolerably large: one, two, and even three days are at times required to cross some of them. they abound in a plentiful variety of fish, such as trout, sucker, etcetera; and the natives assert that white fish is sometimes taken. these lakes are generally fed by mountain streams, and many of them spread out, and are lost in the surrounding marshes. on the banks of the river, and in the interior, the trees consist of poplar, cypress, alder, cedar, birch, and different species of fir, spruce, and willow. there is not the same variety of wild fruit as on the columbia; and this year ( ) the berries generally failed. service berries, choke-cherries, gooseberries, strawberries, and red whortleberries are gathered; but among the indians the service-berry is the great favourite. there are various kinds of roots, which the natives preserve and dry for periods of scarcity. there is only one kind which we can eat. it is called _tza-chin_, has a bitter taste, but when eaten with salmon imparts an agreeable zest, and effectually destroys the disagreeable smell of that fish when smoke-dried. saint john's wort is very common, and has been successfully applied as a fomentation in topical inflammations. a kind of weed, which the natives convert into a species of flax, is in general demand. an evergreen, similar to that we found at the mouth of the columbia, with small berries growing in clusters like grapes, also flourishes in this district. sarsaparilla and bear-root are found in abundance. white earth abounds in the vicinity of the fort; and one description of it, mixed with oil and lime, might be converted into excellent soap. coal in considerable quantities has been discovered; and in many places we observed a species of red earth, much resembling lava, and which appeared to be of volcanic origin. we also found in different parts of new caledonia quartz, rock crystal, cobalt, talc, iron, marcasites of a gold colour, granite, fuller's earth, some beautiful specimens of black, marble, and limestone in small quantities, which appeared to have been forced down the beds of the rivers from the mountains. the jumping-deer, or chevreuil, together with the rein and red-deer, frequent the vicinity of the mountains in considerable numbers, and in the summer season they oftentimes descend to the banks of the rivers and the adjacent flat country. the marmot and wood-rat also abound: the flesh of the former is exquisite, and capital robes are made out of its skin; but the latter is a very destructive animal. their dogs are of diminutive size, and strongly resemble those of the esquimaux, with the curled up tail, small ears, and pointed nose. we purchased numbers of them for the kettle, their flesh constituting the chief article of food in our holiday feasts for christmas and new year. the fur-bearing animals consist of beavers; bears, black, brown, and grizzly; otters, fishers, lynxes, martins; foxes, red, cross, and silver; minks, musquash, wolverines, and ermines. rabbits also are so numerous that the natives manage to subsist on them during the periods that salmon is scarce. under the head of ornithology we have the bustard, or canadian _outarde_ (wild goose), swans, ducks of various descriptions, hawks, plovers, cranes, white-headed eagles, magpies, crows, vultures, wood-thrush, red-breasted thrush or robin, woodpeckers, gulls, pelicans, hawks, partridges, pheasants, and snow-birds. the spring commences in april, when the wild flowers begin to bud, and from thence to the latter end of may the weather is delightful. in june it rains incessantly, with strong southerly and easterly winds. during the months of july and august the heat is intolerable; and in september the fogs are so dense that it is quite impossible to distinguish the opposite side of the river any morning before ten o'clock. colds and rheumatisms are prevalent among the natives during this period: nor are our people exempt from them. in october the falling of the leaves and occasional frost announce the beginning of winter. the lakes and parts of the rivers are frozen in november. the snow seldoms exceeds twenty-four inches in depth. the mercury in fahrenheit's thermometer falls in january to degrees below zero; but this does not continue many days. in general, i may say, the climate is neither unhealthy nor unpleasant; and if the natives used common prudence, they would undoubtedly live to an advanced age. the salmon fishery commences about the middle of july, and ceases in october. this is a busy period for the natives; for upon their industry in saving a sufficiency of salmon for the winter depends their chief support. jub, suckers, trout, and white-fish, are caught in the lakes; and in the month of october, towards the close of the salmon-fishery, we catch trout of a most exquisite flavour. large-sized sturgeon are occasionally taken in the _vorveaux_, but they are not relished by the natives." mr dunn, in his valuable "history of the oregon territory," thus describes the country and climate:--"after the columbia, the river next in importance is fraser river. it takes its rise in the rocky mountains, near the source of canoe river, taking a north-west course of eighty miles. it then turns to the southward, receiving stuart's river, which rises in a chain of lakes in the northern boundary of the territory. it then pursues a southerly course, and after receiving many tributaries, breaks through the cascade range of hills in a series of falls and rapids; and after a westerly course of seventy miles, empties itself into the gulf of georgia, in latitude degrees minutes north. this latter portion is navigable for vessels that can pass its bar drawing ten feet of water. its whole length is miles. there are numerous lakes scattered through the several sections. the country is all well watered; and there are but four places where an abundance of water cannot be obtained, either from lakes, rivers, or springs. "the climate of the western division is mild throughout the year, neither the cold of winter, nor the heat of summer predominating. the mean temperature is about degrees fahrenheit. the prevailing winds, in summer, are from the northward and westward, and in winter, from the west, south, and south-east. the winter lasts from about november till march, generally speaking. during that time there are frequent falls of rain, but not heavy. snow seldoms lies longer than a week on the ground. there are frosts so early as september, but they are not severe, and do not continue long. the easterly winds are the coldest, as they come from across the mountains, but they are not frequent. fruit trees blossom early in april in the neighbourhood of nasqually and vancouver; and in the middle of may pease are a foot high, and strawberries in full blossom; indeed, all fruits and vegetables are as early there as in england. the hills, though of great declivity, have a sward to their tops. lieutenant wilkes says, that out of days, were fair, cloudy, and rainy. the middle section is subject to droughts. during summer the atmosphere is drier and warmer, and in winter colder than in the western section; its extremes of heat and cold being greater and more frequent. however, the air is fine and healthy; the atmosphere in summer being cooled by the breezes that blow from the pacific. "the soil of the western section varies from a deep black vegetable loam to a light brown loamy earth. the bills are generally basalt stone and slate. the surface is generally undulating, well watered, well wooded, and well adapted for agriculture and pasturage. the timber consists of pine, fir, spruce, oaks (white and red), ash, arbutus, cedar, arbor-vitae, poplar, maple, willow, cherry, tew, with underwoods of hazel and roses. all kinds of grain, wheat, rice, barley, oats, and pease, can be procured there in abundance. various fruits, such as pears, apples, etcetera, succeed there admirably; and the different vegetables produced in england yield there most abundant crops. "the middle section, which is about feet above the level of the western, is not so well wooded or fertile; yet in the southern parts of it, where the missionaries have established settlements, they have raised excellent crops, and reared large stocks of cattle. notwithstanding the occasional cold, their cattle are not housed, nor is provender laid in for them in any quantity, the country being sufficiently supplied with fodder in the natural hay, that is everywhere abundant in the prairies, which the cattle prefer." mr wilkes says, "in comparison with the united states, i would say, that the labour necessary in this territory to acquire wealth or subsistence is in the proportion of one to three; or in other words, a man must work throughout the year three times as much in the united states to gain the like competency. the care of stock, which requires so much time with us, requires no attention there, and on the increase only, a man might find support." he further says, "there will be also a demand for the timber of this country at high prices, throughout the pacific. the oak is well adapted for ship timber, and abundance of ash, cedar, cypress, and arbor-vitae may be had for other purposes, building, fuel, fencing," etcetera. he also adds, "no part of the world affords finer inland sounds, or a greater number of harbours, than are found within the straits of juan de fuca, capable of receiving the highest class of vessels, and without a danger in them which is not viable. from the rise and fall of the tides (eighteen feet) every facility is afforded for the erection of works for a great maritime nation. the country also affords as many sites for maritime power as any other." on the northern coast there are a number of islands which belong to the territory. the largest are vancouver's island, and queen charlotte island, both of which enjoy a mild and salubrious climate, with a soil well adapted to agriculture. they have also an abundance of fine fish in their waters. coal of a very good quality is found there close by the surface, and they also contain numerous veins of valuable minerals. all the rivers abound in salmon of the finest quality, which run twice a year, beginning in may and october, and appear inexhaustible. in fraser river, the salmon are very numerous. the bays and inlets abound with several kinds of salmon, sturgeon, cod, carp, sole, flounders, perch, herring, and eels; also with shell-fish--crabs, oysters, etcetera. whales and sea otters in numbers are found along the coast, and are frequently captured by indians, in and at the mouth of the straits of juan de fuca. game abounds in the western section, such as elk, deer, antelopes, bears, wolves, foxes, musk-rats, martins. and in the spring and fall, the rivers are covered with geese, ducks, and other water-fowl. towards the rocky mountains buffaloes are found in great numbers. from the advantages this country possesses, it bids fair to have an extensive commerce, on advantageous terms, with most parts of the pacific. it is well calculated to produce the following staple commodities,--furs, salted beef and pork, grain, flour, wool, hides, tallow, timber, and coals. and in return for these--sugars, coffee, and other tropical productions may be obtained at the sandwich islands. advantages that in time must become of immense importance. those districts of british america west of the lakes which by soil and climate are suitable for settlement, may be thus enumerated:-- vancouver's island , square miles. fraser and thomson rivers , ditto sources of the upper columbia , ditto athabasca district , ditto saskatchewan, red river, assineboin, etcetera. , ditto , under these geographical divisions we propose to give the results of a parliamentary investigation (just published) into the affairs of the hudson's bay company, so far as they are descriptive of the foregoing districts:-- vancouver's island. this island is fertile, well timbered, finely diversified by intersecting mountain ranges, and small prairies, with extensive coal fields, compared by one witness to the west riding of yorkshire coal, and fortunate in its harbours. esquimault harbour, on which victoria is situated, is equal to san francisco. the salmon and other fisheries are excellent; but this advantage is shared by every stream and inlet of the adjacent coast. the climate is frequently compared with england, except that it is even warmer. the winter is stormy, with heavy rains in november and december; frosts occur in the lowlands in january, but seldom interrupt agriculture; vegetation starts in february, rapidly progressing in march and fostered by alternate warm showers and sunshine in april and may--while intense heat and drought are often experienced during june, july, and august. as already remarked, the island has an area of , square miles. fraser and thompson rivers. northward of vancouver's island the coast range of mountains trends so near the pacific as to obstruct intercourse with the interior, but "inside," in the language of a witness, "it is a fine open country." this is the valley of fraser river. ascending this river, near fort langley, "a large tract of land" is represented as "adapted to colonists;" while of thomson river, the same witness says that it is "one of the most beautiful countries in the world"--"climate capable of producing all the crops of england, and much milder than canada." the sources of fraser river, in latitude degrees, are separated from those of peace river (which flows through the rocky mountains, eastward, into the athabasca) by the distance of only yards. sources of the columbia. a glance at the map will shew how considerable a district of british oregon is watered by the upper columbia and its tributary, the mcgillivray or flat bow river. it is estimated above at , square miles, and has been described in enthusiastic terms, by the bishop of oregon--de smet--in his "oregon missions." the territory of the kootonais indians would seem, from his glowing description, to be divided in favourable proportion between forests and prairies. of timber, he names birch, pine of different species, cedar, and cypress. he remarked specimens of coal, and "great quantities of lead," apparently mixed with silver. the source of the columbia seemed to impress him as "a very important point." he observes that "the climate is delightful"--that the extremes of heat and cold are seldom known, the snow disappearing as it falls. he reiterates the opinion "that the advantages nature seemed to have bestowed on the columbia, will render its geographical position very important at some future day, and that the hand of civilised man would transform it into a terrestrial paradise." it is an interesting coincidence that bishop de smet published in a saint louis paper, a few months since, a similar description of this region, adding that it could be reached from salt lake city along the western base of the rocky mountains with waggons, and that brigham young proposed to lead his next mormon exodus to the sources of the columbia river. such a movement is not improbable, and would exhibit far greater sagacity than an emigration to sonora. the athabasca district. the valleys of the peace and athabasca rivers, which occupy the eastern base of the rocky mountains from latitudes degrees to degrees share the pacific climate in a remarkable degree. the rocky mountains are greatly reduced in breadth and mean elevation, and through the numerous passes between their lofty peaks the winds of the pacific reach the district in question. hence it is that sir alexander mackenzie, under date of th may, mentions the "exuberant verdure of the whole country"--trees about to blossom, and buffalo attended by their young. during the late parliamentary investigation, similar statements were elicited. dr richard king, who accompanied an expedition in search of sir john ross, as "surgeon and naturalist," was asked what portion of the country he saw was available for the purpose of settlement. in reply, he described as a "very fertile valley," a "square piece of country," bounded on the south by cumberland house, and by the athabasca lake on the north. his own words are as follows:--"the sources of the athabasca and the sources of the saskatchewan include an enormous area of country; it is, in fact, a vast piece of land surrounded by water. when i heard dr livingstone's description of that splendid country which he found in the interior of africa within the equator, it appeared to me to be precisely the kind of country which i am now describing. ... it is a rich soil interspersed with well-wooded country, there being growth of every kind and the whole vegetable kingdom alive." when asked concerning mineral productions, his reply was,--"i do not know of any other mineral except limestone; this is apparent in all directions. ... the birch, the beech, and the maple are in abundance, and there is every sort of fruit." when questioned further as to the growth of trees, dr king replied by a comparison "with the magnificent trees round kensington park in london." he described a farm near cumberland house under very successful cultivation--"luxuriant wheat"--potatoes, barley, pigs, cows and horses. saskatchewan, assineboin, and red river district. the area of this continent, north-west of minnesota, and known as the saskatchewan district, is estimated by english authorities to comprise , square miles. north-west from otter tail lake, the geographical centre of minnesota, extends a vast silurian formation, bounded on the west along the eastern base of the rocky mountains by coal measures. such a predominance of limestone implies fertility of soil, as in the north-western states, and the speedy colonisation of saskatchewan would be assured if the current objection to the severity of climate was removed. on this point a few facts will be presented. the sea of azof, which empties into the black sea, forming the eastern border of the crimean peninsula, freezes about the beginning of november, and is seldom open before the beginning of april. a point less than one hundred miles north, but far down in southern russia, namely, catherineoslay, has been found, from the observation of many years, to be identical in summer and winter climate with fort spelling. nine-tenths of european russia, therefore, the main seat of population and resources, is further north than saint paul. in fact, pembina is the climatic equivalent of moscow, and for that of saint petersburg, (which is degrees north), we may reasonably go to latitude degrees on the american continent. like european russia, also, the saskatchewan district has a climate of extremes--the thermometer having a wide range; but it is well understood that the growth of the cereals and of the most useful vegetables depends chiefly on the intensity and duration of the summer heats, and is comparatively little influenced by the severity of winter cold, or the lowness of the mean temperature during the year. therefore it is important to observe that the northern shore of lake huron has the mean summer heat of bordeaux, in southern france, or degrees fahrenheit; while cumberland house, in latitude degrees, longitude degrees, on the saskatchewan, exceeds in this respect brussels and paris. the united states army meteorological register has ascertained that the line of degrees mean summer heat crosses the hudson river at west point, thence descends to the latitude of pittsburg, but, westward, is traced through sandusky, chicago, fort snelling, and fort union, near latitude degrees, into british america. the average annual heat at quebec is experienced as far north as latitude degrees in the saskatchewan country. mr blodget states that not only all the vicinity of the south branch of the saskatchewan is as mild in climate as saint paul, but that the north branch of that river is almost equally favourable, and that the ameliorating influence of the pacific, through the gorges of the rocky mountains, is so far felt on mackenzie's river, that wheat may be grown in its valley nearly to the th parallel. in the foregoing account of the districts of the _interior_, we have given faithfully, as in duty bound, the _fact_ that have been elicited in the various investigations, public and otherwise, that have taken place. at the same time, we think it but fair to state, that large portions of these fine districts, especially the athabasca and saskatchewan, are at present very far beyond the reach of any civilised market, and overrun by hordes of warlike indians. we have thus given a brief survey of the position and resources, of the territory surrounding the new el dorado. one observation we may be permitted to hazard. perhaps there is no more striking illustration of the wisdom of that providence which presides over the management of our affairs, than in the fact that emigration was first led to the eastern coast, rather than to the slopes or plains of the west. had the latter been first occupied, it is doubtful whether the rocks and lagoons of the seaboard would ever have been settled. no man would have turned from the prairie sward of the pacific to the seamed elopes of the atlantic edge. as it is, we have the energy and patience which the difficult soil of the east generates, with that magnificent sweep of western territory, which, had it been opened to us first, might, from its very luxuriousness, have generated among those occupying it, an ignoble love of ease. chapter three. routes, etcetera. for some time to come, the great line of route to the new el dorado will likely be by water from the different settlements along the coast of the pacific. steam communication has long been established between panama and san francisco, and a line of vessels is now regularly plying between the latter port and vancouver's island, from whence easy access is had to the diggings, by means of small steamers. the steamers at present running on the coast make the voyage from panama to vancouver's island in fourteen or fifteen days. the following statistics of fares and freights are supplied by the _times'_ correspondent:-- "the rates of passage at present from san francisco to new york are-- steerage, dollars; second cabin, dollars; first cabin, dollars per berth for each passenger. an entire state-room is the price of two passengers-- dollars. from new york to san francisco the fares are the same. san francisco to panama, sometimes the same as to new york, and sometimes one-third less. freight on specie, per cent, to new york; and three quarters per cent to panama with a slight discount to shippers of large amounts. freight on merchandise from panama, dollars cents per foot. the quantity of freight is considerable in french silks, cloths, and light goods, but the bulk is in havannah cigars, nearly all the supply for this market coming _via_ panama. the fares up by the steamers from san francisco to victoria are--steerage, dollars; cabin, dollars." this route, besides being at present the most direct and expeditious, presents another great advantage. passing along the coast of california, it gives passengers an opportunity of either settling there, or continuing their journey to british columbia. that this is no unimportant advantage, will be at once conceded when it is borne in mind that it is not the gold-producing country on the fraser river alone that offers strong inducements to emigrants. in a letter published on th august, the _times'_ correspondent remarks:--"in a few weeks, with a continuance of the present drain upon our mining, mechanical, and labouring population generally, as good a field for labour of every kind will again be open in california as there was from to , when the country became flooded with immigrants. in fact, the openings now being made in the mines and in labour of all sorts, and the rise of wages in consequence of the exodus hence, offer greater inducements to emigrants than existed in the first years of our organisation. then there was little besides mining that a man could turn his hand to. now the gradual development of the resources of the country has opened many avenues for labour of various kinds, and mining claims, which pay well, and in which a competency would be realised in a moderate space of time, are abandoned because they do not produce gold in bushels, as their owners hope to find the new mines to yield." and in another letter, the same authority says:--"the excitement in the interior is universal. i was up the country this week, and returned only last night; so that i had an opportunity of judging for myself. from every point of the compass squads of miners were to be seen making for san francisco to ship themselves off; and i heard of arrangements having been completed for driving stock overland to meet the demands of the new population congregating in the puget sound country. one man had purchased a drove of mules, and another had speculated in californian horses, to supply the demand for `packing.' these two `ventures' were to proceed overland in two days hence. the speculator in horses had been at fraser river, and returned convinced of the judiciousness of his `spec.' he spoke of the overland trip with enthusiasm; plenty of game and of grass, a fine climate, and no molestation from indians. as a natural result of all this emigration, business in the interior is becoming much deranged. the operations of the country merchants are checked; rents and the value of property in the interior towns are diminishing. some of the merchants are `liquidating,' and some have already moved their business to san francisco, to take advantage of the business which must spring up between that port and the north-west. all the movements made in consequence of the new gold discovery have tended to benefit san francisco, and she will, no doubt, continue to derive great advantages from the change. the increase of business will bring an increase of immigration to the city, for there is every reason to believe, judging from past experience, that a considerable proportion of the emigration from europe, the atlantic states, and australia, will rest here; that the city will increase rapidly, and that an advance in the value of property must ensue in consequence. the fact is, that there is now in california so extensive an association of capital and labour engaged in mining successfully, that, happen what may in other countries, the `yield' here most continue to be very great. companies of men who have large amounts of money invested in mining of a variety of sorts, such as `tunnelling,' `sluicing,' and `quartz crushing,' on a large scale, are not going to abandon well-developed properties which produce profitable returns. we have no fear of having to suffer any inconvenience from a scarcity of gold in california in consequence of the removal from the country of so many miners. i make these statements for the information of parties abroad engaged in business with this country." the following is the journal of a traveller who lately proceeded on this route:-- "left san francisco on thursday, the th of june, at and a half p.m., and arrived in esquimault harbour, near victoria, on the following tuesday, at six in the morning--distance, miles. the steamer was so crowded with gold-hunters, speculators, merchants, tradesmen, and adventurers of all sorts, that exercise even on the quarterdeck could only be coaxed by the general forbearance and good-humour of the crowd. before starting there were stories to the prejudice of the steamer, the oregon, belonging to the pacific mail company, rife enough to damp the courage of the timid; but she behaved well, and beat another boat that had five hours' start of her. the fact is we had a model captain, a well-educated, gentlemanly man, formerly a lieutenant in the united states navy, whose intelligence, vigour, and conduct inspired full confidence in all. with captain patterson i would have gone to sea in a tub. whatever may be the sins of the company as monopolists of the carrying trade on this coast, justice must award them the merit of having selected a staff of commanders who atone for many shortcomings. "the voyage from san francisco to vancouver's island, which in a steamer is made all the way within sight of the coast, is one of the most agreeable when the voyager is favoured with fine weather. i know none other so picturesque out of the mediterranean. the navigation is so simple that a schoolboy could sail a steamer, for a series of eighteen headlands, which jut out into the ocean all along the coasts of california, oregon, and washington territory, served as landmarks to direct the mariner in his course. all he has to do is to steer from one to another; from point reyes outside the golden gate to point arena, the next in succession, and so on till he comes to cape flattery, upon rounding which he enters the straits of fuca, towards the end of his voyage. "the northern portion of the coast of california and the whole length of the coasts of oregon and washington are thickly wooded. in fact, this vast stretch of country is one continuous pine forest. from the shore, where the trees dip into the sea, back to the verge of the distant horizon, over hills, down valleys, across ravines, and on and around the sides and tops of mountains, it is one great waving panorama of forest scenery. timber--enough to supply the wants of the world for ages, one would think. yet the broken character of the country relieves the scene from monotony, and it fully realises the idea of the grand and the beautiful combined. one spot in particular made an impression upon me which i wish i had the power to convey by words. between cape mendocina and humboldt bay, on the northern limits of california, a grand collection of hills and mountains of every variety of size, shape, and form occurs. this grand group recedes in a gentle sweep from the coast far inland, where it terminates in a high conical mountain, overtopping the entire mass of pinnacles which cluster around it. the whole is well clothed with trees of that feathery and graceful foliage peculiar to the spruce and larch, and interspersed with huge round clumps of evergreens, with alternations of long glades and great open patches of lawn covered with rich grass of that bright emerald green peculiar to california. this woodland scene, viewed of an early morning, sparkling with dew-drops under the rising sun which slowly lifted the veil of mist hanging over it, surpassed in beauty anything i have seen on this continent. here everything in nature is on a grand scale. all her works are magnificent to a degree unknown in europe. a trip to these regions will pay the migratory englishman in search of novelty to his heart's content, and i will bear the blame if he is not well pleased with his journey. california alone should satisfy a traveller of moderate desires. here he will find combined the beauty and loveliness of english landscape with the bolder and grander features of the scenery of the western continent--a combination, perhaps, unequalled in any other country. on this, the northern coast, the bold and the picturesque predominate over the tamer park-like scenery of the interior valleys, which so nearly resemble the `fine old places' of england." another route, which it is proposed to open on the other side of the country, from minnesota to the fraser river gold mines, would appear to be very feasible. from saint anthony the mississippi is navigable for large steamers as far as the sauk rapids. thence to breckenridge, at the head of the navigation of the red river of the north, is a distance of miles. this part of the journey must be made overland; but already this district is being fast occupied by settlers, and a good road may easily be constructed. at breckenridge a settlement has also been established. here commences the fertile valley of the red river, and from this point, as appears from captain pope's survey, the river, which runs due north, is navigable for steamers all the way to its mouth, at the southern extremity of lake winnepeg. it begins with four feet of water, and gradually deepens to fifteen feet lake winnepeg, which is long, narrow, and deep, receives near its northern end the saskatchewan, flowing from the west, and having its sources in the rocky mountains. the river, and the country on its banks, have recently attracted attention as well fitted for colonisation. taking the climate of the eastern portion of the continent, and of the region round hudson's bay, as a standard, it was long supposed that all the interior of north america, beyond the th or th degree of north latitude, was too cold to produce grain crops; and unfit, therefore, for the habitation of civilised men. recent investigations, however, have fully established the curious and very important fact, that west of the western end of lake superior, at about the th degree of west longitude, a remarkable change begins to take place in the climate; to such an extent, that as we proceed westward the limit of vegetable growth, and of the production of grain, is extended far to the north, so as to include the whole valley of the saskatchewan, which is represented as in other respects well fitted for settlement. the saskatchewan is a river larger and longer than the red river of the north; and, according to governor simpson, of the hudson's bay company's service, in his notes on its exploration, it is navigable by its northern branch, with only one rapid to obstruct navigation, for seven hundred miles in a direct line to the foot of the rocky mountains. how serious an obstruction this may be does not clearly appear. it can hardly be a perpendicular fall, since, according to governor simpson, canoes and flat-boats pass over it in safety. from the head of navigation it is only about two hundred miles across the rocky mountains, of which the elevation here is much less than in oregon and california, to the thompson and fraser rivers. the distance from breckenridge to the mouth of the red river is estimated at miles. thence through lake winnepeg to the mouth of saskatchewan is miles. allowing for windings, the navigation by that river may be set down at miles. add miles of land carriage at one end of the route, and at the other, making in the whole a distance of about miles, from the starting point on the mississippi. so fully impressed are some enterprising people of minnesota with the practicability and advantage of this route, that measures have been already taken for building a steamer at breckenridge, designed to navigate the waters of the red river, lake winnepeg, and saskatchewan, and to be ready for that purpose by the opening of next spring. meantime as the greater part of the route is within the territories of the hudson's bay company, steps have been taken to open a communication with the governor of that company, and with other persons likely to assist in putting a line of steamers on these waters. at present various measures are being taken by the canadians to shorten this last route, and apparently with much success. they are making arrangements for passing around the headwaters of lake superior, and thus saving the detour in minnesota. in a very short time it is said that an easy and inexpensive means of communication will be formed between canada and the gold-fields; but, for the present, the panama route is _decidedly_ the preferable one for british emigrants. chapter four. description of coasts, harbours, etcetera. the pacific coast extends from panama westward and northward, without any remarkable irregularity in its outline, to the tropic of cancer, almost immediately under which is the entrance of the great gulf of california, separating the peninsula of california from the main continent on the east. from the southern extremity of this peninsula the coast runs generally north-westward to mount saint elias, a lofty volcanic peak, rising from the shore of the ocean under the th parallel, beyond which the continent stretches far westward, between the pacific on the south, and the arctic sea on the north, to its termination at cape prince of wales, in behring's straits, the passage separating america from asia. the part of the coast south of the th degree of latitude (the american boundary) presents few indentations, and the islands in its vicinity are neither numerous nor large. north of the th degree, on the contrary, the mainland is everywhere penetrated by inlets and bays; and near it are thousands of islands, many of them extensive, lying singly or in groups, separated from each other and from the continent by narrow channels. from the mouth of the columbia forty-five miles of unbroken coast reaches whidbey's bay, called by the americans bulfinches harbour, and not unfrequently gray's bay, which, with an entrance of scarce two miles and a-half, spreads seven miles long and nine broad, forming two deep bays like the columbia. here there is secure anchorage behind point hanson to the south and point brown to the north, but the capacity of the bay is lessened to one-third of its size by the sand banks which encroach on it in every direction. like the columbia, its mouth is obstructed by a bar which has not more than four fathoms water, and as it stretches some three miles to seaward, with breakers on each side, extending the whole way to the shore, the difficulty of entrance is increased. it lies nearly east and west, and receives from the east the waters of the river chikelis, having its rise at the base of the mountains, which, stretching from mount olympus in the north, divide the coast from puget's sound. from whidbey's bay to cape flattery, about eighty miles, but two streams, and those unimportant, break the iron wall of the coast, which rising gradually into lofty mountains is crowned in hoary grandeur by the snow-clad peaks of mount olympus. cape flattery, called also cape classet, is a conspicuous promontory in latitude degrees minutes; beyond it, distant one mile, lies tatouches island, a large flat rock, with perpendicular sides, producing a few trees, surrounded by rocky islets: it is one mile in length, joined to the shore by a reef of rocks, and a mile further, leaving a clear passage between them, is a reef named ducan's rock. here commences, in latitude degrees minutes, that mighty arm of the sea, which has been justly named from its first discoverer, the strait of juan de fuca, and which captain cook passed without perceiving. the entrance of this strait is about ten miles in width, and varies from that to twenty with the indentations of its shores, of which the northern, stretching to the north-west and south-east across the entrance, gives an appearance of continuity to its line on the pacific. running in a south-easterly direction for upwards of one hundred miles, its further progress is suddenly stopped by a range of snow-clad mountain, at the base of which, spreading abroad its mighty arms to the north and south, it gives to the continent the appearance of a vast archipelago. of the straits of fuca and surrounding shores, the latest and fullest information we possess is that contained in the letter of the _times'_ special correspondent, published on th august. he says:-- "we have now rounded cape flattery, and are in the straits of fuca, running up between two shores of great beauty. on the left is the long-looked-for island of vancouver, an irregular aggregation of hills, shewing a sharp angular outline as they become visible in the early dawn, covered with the eternal pines, saving only occasional sunny patches of open greensward, very pretty and picturesque, but the hills not lofty enough to be very striking. the entire island, property speaking, is a forest. on the right we have a long massive chain of lofty mountains covered with snow, called the olympian range--very grand, quite alpine in aspect. this is the peninsula, composed of a series of mountains running for many miles in one unbroken line, which divides the straits of fuca from puget sound. it belongs to america, in the territory of washington, is uninhabited, and, like its opposite neighbour, has a covering of pines far up towards the summit. the tops of these mountains are seldom free from snow. the height is unknown, perhaps , feet. we ran up through this scenery early in the morning, biting cold, for about forty miles to esquimault harbour--_the_ harbour--which confers upon vancouver's island its pre-eminence. "from the information of old miners, who pointed out some of the localities on the northern coast of california, and indicated the position of places in oregon in which they had dug for gold, i had a strong corroboration of an opinion which i stated in one of my late letters--that the fraser river diggings were a continuation of the great goldfield of california. the same miners had a theory that these northern mines would be richer than any yet discovered, because the more northern portions of california are richer than the central and southern portions. "the harbour of esquimault is a circular bay, or rather a basin, hollowed by nature out of the solids rock. we slid in through the narrow entrance between two low, rocky promontories and found ourselves suddenly transported from the open sea and its heavy roll and swell into a highland lake, placid as the face of a mirror, in the recesses of a pine forest. the transition was startling. from the peculiar shape of the bay and the deep indentations its various coves make into the shore, one sees but a small portion of the harbour at a glance from the point we brought up at. we therefore thought it ridiculously small after our expectations had been so highly wrought in san francisco. "the whole scenery is of the highland character. the rocky shores, the pine trees running down to the edge of the lake, their dark foliage trembling over the glittering surface which reflected them, the surrounding hills, and the death-like silence. i was both delighted and disappointed--delighted with the richness of the scenery, but disappointed at the smallness of the harbour. can this little loch, imprisoned within natural ramparts of rocks, buried in the solitude of a forest, be the place which i hoped would become so famous, the great destiny of which has been prognosticated by statesmen and publicists, and the possession of which is bitterly envied us by neighbouring nations; this the place where england is to centre a naval force hitherto unknown in the pacific, whence her fleets are to issue for the protection of her increasing interests in the western world; this the seaport of the singapore of the pacific; the modern tyre into which the riches of the east are to flow and be distributed to the western nations; the terminus of railway communication which is to connect the atlantic with the pacific? "victoria is distant from esquimault, by land, about three miles round by sea, double the distance. the intervening ground is an irregular promontory, having the waters of the straits of fuca on the south, the bay of victoria on the east, and the victoria arm encircling: it on the north. the promontory contains three farms, reclaimed from the forest of pines, oaks, alders, willows, and evergreens. the soil is good, and produces fair crops of the ordinary cereals, oats, barley, and wheat, and good grass, turnips, and potatoes. "i came the first time to victoria round by water. the rowing of our boat was much impeded by kelp. the shore is irregular; somewhat bold and rocky--two more facts which confirmed the resemblance of the scenery to that of the western coast of scotland. "the bay of victoria runs in a zigzag shape--two long sharp promontories on the southward hiding the town from view until we get quite close up to it. a long low sand-spit juts out into it, which makes the entrance hazardous for large vessels at some little distance below the town, and higher up the anchorage is shallow. twice at low tides i saw two or three ugly islands revealed, where ships would have to anchor. in short, victoria is not a good harbour for a fleet. for small vessels and traders on the coast, it will answer well enough. "victoria stands nobly on a fine eminence, a beautiful plateau, on the rocky shore of the bay of the same name. generations yet to come will pay grateful tribute to the sagacity and good taste of the man who selected it. there is no finer site for a city in the world. the plateau drains itself on every side by the natural depressions which intersect it, and there is space enough to build a paris on. the views are also good. across the straits you have the olympian range washed by the sea; towards the interior, picturesque views of wooded hills; opposite, the fine woodland scenery of the country intervening between it and esquimault, the victoria arm, glimpses of which, as seen through the foliage, look like a series of inland lakes; while in front, just at one's feet, is the bay itself and its tributaries, or arms rather-- james's bay, etcetera, always beautiful; and behind, towards the south-east end of the island, is a view of great beauty and grandeur--a cluster of small islands, san juan and others, water in different channels, straits and creeks, and two enormous mountains in the far distance, covered from base to summit with perpetual snow. these are mounts baker and rainier, in washington territory. such are a few--and i am quite serious when i say only a few--of the beauties which surround victoria. "as to the prospects of vancouver's island as a colony, i would say that if it shall turn out that there is an extensive and rich gold-field on the mainland in british territory, as there is every reason to believe, the island will become a profitable field for all trades, industries, and labour. the population will soon increase from canada, whence an immigration of many thousands is already spoken of, from australia, south america, the atlantic states,--and, no doubt, from europe also. if this happens, the tradesman and the labourer will find employment, and the farmer will find a ready market, at good prices, for his produce. "should the gold suddenly disappear, the island will have benefited by the impulse just given to immigration, for, no doubt, many who came to mine will remain to cultivate the soil and to engage in other pursuits. if this be the termination of the present fever, then to the farmer who is satisfied with a competency--full garners and good larder, who loves retirement, is not ambitious of wealth, is fond of a mild, agreeable, and healthy climate, and a most lovely country to live in--the island offers every attraction. its resources are, plenty of timber, towards the northern portion producing spars of unequalled quality, which are becoming of great value in england, and will soon be demanded in france, now that the forests of norway and of maine are becoming exhausted; limestone in abundance, which burns into good lime for building and for agricultural purposes; coal in plenty, now worked at nanaimo, on the northern side of the island, by the hudson's bay company--the quality is quite good, judging from the specimens i saw burning--it answers well for steam purposes, and would have found a ready sale in san francisco were it not subject to a heavy duty (of per cent, i think) under the american tariff; iron, copper, gold, and potter's clay. i have no doubt that a gold-field will be discovered on the island as it gets opened up to enterprising explorers. a friend of mine brought down some sand from the sea-beach near victoria, and assayed it the other day. it produced gold in minute quantity, and i have heard of gold washings on the island. the copper is undeveloped. the potter's clay has been tested in england, and found to be very good. "the character of the soil is favourable to agriculture. it is composed of a black vegetable mould of a foot to two feet in depth, overlaying a hard yellow clay. the surface earth is very fine, pulverised, and sandy, quite black, and, no doubt, of good quality; when sharpened with sheep-feeding it produces heavy crops. the fallen trees, which are very numerous, shew that the substratum of clay is too hard to produce anything. the roots of the pine never penetrate it. in some places the spontaneous vegetation testifies to the richness of the soil--such as wild pease or vetches, and wild clover, which i--have seen reach up to my horse's belly--and a most luxuriant growth of underwood, brambles, fern, etcetera. "i visited seven farms within short distances of victoria. the crops were oats, barley, wheat, pease, potatoes, turnips, garden herbs and vegetables, fruits, and flowers; no clover, the natural grass supplying sufficient food for the cattle and sheep. the crops were all healthy, but not heavy. the wheat was not thick on the ground, nor had it a large head. it was such a crop as would be an average only in a rich, well-cultivated district of england or scotland; far lighter than you would see in the rich counties of england and in the carse of gowrie. i was informed that the ground was very badly prepared by indian labour-- merely scratched over the surface. i believe that with efficient labour and skilful treatment, the crops could be nearly doubled. the oats and barley were very good crops, and the potatoes looked quite healthy, and i doubt not will turn out the best crop of all. the peas were decidedly an abundant crop. vegetables thrive well, and all the ordinary fruits, apples, currants, etcetera, are excessively abundant, some of the currant-bushes breaking down with the weight of their fruit. flowers of the ordinary sorts do well, but delicate plants don't thrive, owing to the coldness of the nights. "sheep thrive admirably. i saw some very fine pure southdowns. the rams were selling at dollars each ( pounds) to california sheep farmers. other breeds--hybrids of southdowns, merinos, and other stock--were also in good condition, and fair in size. black cattle do well also. the breed is a mixture of english and american, which makes very good beef. the horses are little indian breeds, and some crosses with american stock, all very clean limbed, sound, active, hardy, and full of endurance and high spirit, until they get into livery-stables. "during my stay, the climate was charming; the weather perfection--warm during the day, but free of glare, and not oppressive; cool in the evenings, with generally a gentle sea breeze. the long days--the protracted daylight eking out the day to nine o'clock at night--the lingering sunset, and the ample `gloaming,' all so different from what i had been accustomed to in more southern latitudes, again reminded me of scotland in the summer season. "so far as i wandered--about ten miles round victoria--the landscape is totted with extensive croppings of rock, which interfere with the labours of the husbandman. few corn-fields are without a lot of boulders, or a ridge or two of rocks rising up above the surface of the ground. consequently the cultivated fields are small, and were sneered at by my californian neighbours, who are accustomed to vast open prairies under crop. i have seen one field of acres all under wheat in california. but then no other country is so favoured as this is for all the interests of agriculture. "the scenery of the inland country around victoria is a mixture of english and scotch. where the pine (they are all `douglass' pines) prevails, you have the good soil broken into patches by the croppings of rock, producing ferns, rye-grass, and some thistles, but very few. this is the scottish side of the picture. then you come to the oak region; and here you have clumps, open glades, rows, single trees of umbrageous form, presenting an exact copy of english park scenery. there is no running water, unfortunately, but the meadows and little prairies that lie ensconced within the woods, shew no signs of suffering from lack of water. the nights bring heavy dews, and there are occasional rains, which keep them fresh and green. i am told that in september rains fall which renew the face of nature so suddenly, that it assumes the garb of spring, the flowers even coming out. the winter is a little cold, but never severe. i have heard it complained of as being rather wet and muggy. frost and snow fall, but do not endure long. "the climate is usually represented as resembling that of england. in some respects the parallel may hold good; but there is no question that vancouver has more steady fine weather, is far less changeable, and is on the whole milder. two marked differences i remarked--the heat was never sweltering, as is sometimes the case in england, and the wind never stings, as it too often does in the mother country. the climate is unquestionably superior in vancouver." to resume our description of the coast, the southern shore of the strait of juan de fuca is described by vancouver as being composed of sandy cliffs of moderate height, falling perpendicularly into the sea, from the top of which the land takes a further gentle ascent, where it is entirely covered with trees, chiefly of the pine tribe, until the forest reaches a range of high craggy mountains which seem to rise from, the woodland in a very abrupt manner, with a few scattered trees on their sterile sides, and their tops covered with snow. on the north the shore is not so high, the ascent more gradual from thence to the tops of the mountains, which are less covered with snow than those to the south. they have from the strait the appearance of a compact range. proceeding up the strait about seventy miles, a long low sandy point attracted vancouver's attention; from its resemblance to dungeness, on the coast of kent, he named it new dungeness, and found within it good anchorage in from ten to three fathoms; beyond this the coast forms a deep bay about nine miles across; and three miles from its eastern point lies protection island, so named from the position it occupies at the entrance of port discovery. vancouver landed on it on the st of may , and thus describes its appearance:--"on landing on the west end, and ascending its eminence, which was a nearly perpendicular cliff, our attention was immediately called to a landscape almost as enchantingly beautiful as the most elegantly finished pleasure-grounds in europe. the summit of this island presented nearly a horizontal surface, interspersed with some inequalities of ground, which produced a beautiful variety on an extensive lawn covered with luxuriant grass and diversified with abundance of flowers. to the north-westward was a coppice of pine trees, and shrubs of various sorts, that seemed as if it had been planted for the purpose of protecting from the north-west winds this delightful meadow, over which were promiscuously scattered a few clumps of trees that would have puzzled the most ingenious designer of pleasure-grounds to have arranged more agreeably. while we stopped to contemplate these several beauties of nature in a prospect no less pleasing than unexpected, we gathered some gooseberries and roses in a state of considerable forwardness." from this island, lying at the entrance of port discovery, commences the maritime importance of the territory, with, says vancouver, as fine a harbour as any in the world, though subsequently he awards the palm to its neighbour port hudson. its shores and scenery have been thus described by vancouver:-- "the delightful serenity of the weather greatly aided the beautiful scenery that was now presented; the surface of the sea was perfectly smooth, and the country before us presented all that bounteous nature could be expected to draw into one point of view. as we had no reason to imagine that this country had ever been indebted for any of its decorations to the hand of man, i could not possibly believe that any uncultivated country had ever been discovered exhibiting so rich a picture. the land which interrupted the horizon below the north-west and north quarters seemed to be much broken, from whence its eastern extent round to south-east was bounded by a ridge of snowy mountains, appearing to lie nearly in a north and south direction, on which mount baker rose conspicuously, remarkable for its height and the snowy mountains that stretch from its base to the north and south. between us and this snowy range, the land, which on the sea-shore terminated like that we had lately passed in low perpendicular cliffs, or on beaches of sand or stone, rose here in a very gentle ascent, and was well covered with a variety of stately forest trees; these, however, did not conceal the whole face of the country in one uninterrupted wilderness, but pleasantly clothed its eminences and chequered the valleys, presenting in many directions extensive spaces that wore the appearance of having been cleared by art, like the beautiful island we had visited the day before. a picture so pleasing could not fail to call to our remembrance certain delightful and beloved situations in old england." both the approaches to this port, round the extremities of protection island, are perfectly free from obstruction, and about a league in breadth. separated from port discovery only by a narrow slip of land from a mile and a-half to two miles broad, which trending to the east protects it from the north and west, is port hudson, having its entrance at the extremity of the point on the east side, but little more than one mile broad; from which the harbour extends, in a semicircular form, for about four miles westward, and then trending for about six more, affords excellent shelter and anchorage for vessels in from ten to twenty fathoms, with an even bottom of mud. in latitude degrees minutes the waters of the strait are divided by a high white sandy cliff, with verdant lawns on each side; this was named by vancouver point partridge. it forms the western extremity of an island, long, low, verdant, and well-wooded, lying close to the coast, and having its south end at the mouth of a river rising in those mountains which here form a barrier to the further progress of the sea. the snow-covered peak of the most lofty of these is visible soon after entering the strait. vancouver named it mount baker, from the officer of his ship by whom it was first seen. this mountain, with mount olympus, and another further to the south, named by the same navigator mount rainier, form nearly an equilateral triangle, and tower over the rest, the giant wardens of the land. from point partridge he southern branch extends about fifteen miles below the island before mentioned; this vancouver named admiralty inlet. here the tides begin to be sufficiently rapid to afford obstruction to navigation; and hence it parts in two arms, one named hood's canal, taking a south-west course, and the other continuing a south course for forty miles, and then also bending to the west, terminates in a broad sound studded with islands, called by him puget's sound. on the east coast of admiralty inlet, there is a broad sound with very deep water and rapid tides, but affording good anchorage in the mouth of the river. here vancouver landed and took formal possession of the country on monday, the th of june, (with the usual _solemnities_, and under a royal salute from the ships), in the name of his britannic majesty king george the third, and for his heirs and successors--that day being his majesty's birthday--from latitude degrees minutes to the entrance of this inlet, supposed to be the strait of juan de fuca, as well the northern as the southern shores, together with those situated in the interior sea, extending from the said strait in various directions between the north-west, north-east, and south quarters. this interior sea he named the gulf of georgia, and the continent bounding the said gulf, and extending southward to the th degree of north latitude, new georgia, in honour of his majesty george the third. the sound he named, from this incident, possession sound. of the country round the sound he thus writes:--"our eastern view was now bounded by the range of snowy mountains from mount baker, bearing by compass north, to mount rainier, bearing north degrees east. this mountain was hid by the more elevated parts of the low land; and the intermediate snowy mountains, in various rugged and grotesque shapes, were seen just to rear their heads above the lofty pine trees, which appeared to compose an uninterrupted forest between us and the snowy range, presenting a most pleasing landscape; nor was our west view destitute of similar diversification. the ridge of mountains on which mount olympus is situated, whose rugged summits were seen no less fancifully towering over the forest than those of the east side, bounded to a considerable extent our western horizon; on these, however, not one conspicuous eminence arose, nor could we now distinguish that which on the sea-coast appeared to be centrally situated, forming an elegant biforked mountain. from the south extremity of these ridges of mountains there seemed to be an extensive tract of land, moderately elevated and beautifully diversified by pleasing inequalities of surface, enriched with every appearance of fertility." the narrow channel from possession sound, at the back of the long island lying at its mouth, which vancouver named whidbey's island, affords some small but convenient harbours; its northern entrance is so choked with rocks as to be scarcely practicable for vessels; but its southern is wide, and the navigation unimpeded. the northern arm of the straits commences in an archipelago of small islands, well wooded and fertile, but generally without water; in one of them, however, vancouver found good anchorage, though exposed to the south, having wood, water, and every necessary; this he named strawberry cove, from that fruit having been found there in great abundance, and the island, from the trees which covered it, cypress island. about this part the continental shore is high and rocky, though covered with wood; and, it may be remarked generally, that the northern shore of the gulf becomes more rocky and sterile, shewing gradually a less and less variety of trees, until those of the pine tribe alone are found. above the archipelago the straits widen, swelling out to the east in a double bay, affording good anchorage, beyond which the shores become low and sandy, and a wide bank of sand extends along them about one or two miles, closely approaching the opposite side of the gulf, leaving a narrow but clear channel. this bank, affording large sturgeon, was named by vancouver after that fish; and keeping to the south around it, he did not observe that here the gulf receives the waters of fraser river from the north. here the gulf is open, and the navigation unimpeded, except by a few islands on the north shore; one of them, named by the spaniards de feveda, deserves notice; it is parallel with the shore, narrow, and about thirty miles long. among the natural features of this part of the north shore of the gulf, must not be omitted, on account of their singularity, the small salt-water lakes, which are found divided from the sea only by a narrow ledge of rock, having a depth over it of four feet at high-water. they are consequently replenished by the sea every tide, and form salt-water cascades during the ebb and rise of of the tides; some of them, divided into several branches, run through a low swampy woodland country. here also are streams of water, so warm as to be unpleasant to the hand; and every feature of this district evidences the violent effort of nature in its production. except the coast and canals, nothing is known of it; but its mineral riches are scarcely problematical. the channels between the several islands which here obstruct the gulf are narrow, deep, and much impeded by the strength of the tide, which is sufficient in some places to stop the progress of a steam-vessel, as has been frequently experienced by the hudson's bay company's steam-boat beaver; yet vancouver found no difficulty in working his vessels through johnstone's strait, the passage between these islands and the southern shore, against a head-wind; being compelled, as he says, to perform a complete traverse from shore to shore through its whole length, and without meeting the least obstruction, from rocks or shoals. he adds, "the great depth of water, not only here, but that which is generally found washing the shores of this very broken and divided country, must ever be considered a peculiar circumstance, and a great inconvenience to its navigation; we, however, found a sufficient number of stopping-places to answer all our purposes, and in general without going far out of our way." from this, archipelago, extending about sixty miles, the strait widens into a broad expanse, which swells to the north in a deep sound, filled with islands, called broughton's archipelago. this part was named by vancouver queen charlotte's sound; and is here fifteen miles broad, exclusive of the archipelago, but it contracts immediately to less than ten, and sixty miles from johnstone straits joins the pacific, its northern boundary. cape caution, being in latitude degrees minutes. the entrance to the sound is choked with rocks and shoals. here, between broughton's archipelago and cape caution, another mountain, called mount stephen, conspicuous from its irregular form and great elevation, and worthy to be named with those to the south, seems to mount guard over the northern entrance to the straits. from cape caution, off which are several groups of rocks to latitude degrees minutes, where the russian territory commences, the coast has much the same character as that already described between the gulf of georgia and the sea, but that its harsher features are occasionally much softened, and its navigation less impeded. throughout its whole length it is cut up by long and deep canals, which form various archipelagos of islands, and penetrate deeply and circuitously into the land, which is high, but not so precipitous as about desolation sound, and generally covered with trees. the islands lying close to the shore follow its sinuosities, and through the narrow channels thus formed the currents are rapid; those more detached are more fertile; they are all the resort of the natives during the fishing season. their formation is granite, the prevailing rock north of latitude degrees. distant thirty miles at its nearest and ninety at its furthest point from the line of islands which cover this coast, and under parallels degrees and degrees, lies queen charlotte's island, called by the americans washington. it is in form triangular, about miles long, and above sixty at its greatest breadth, and contains upwards of square miles. possessed of an excellent harbour on its east coast, in latitude degrees minutes, and another on the north, at hancock's river (the port entrada of the spaniards), it is a favourite resort of traders. the climate and soil are excellent, hills lofty and well wooded, and its coast, especially on the west side, deeply indented by arms of the sea, among which may be named englefield bay and cartwright's sound. coal and some metals are said to have been found on this island. on the whole the character of this coast seems to be well expressed by lieutenant wilkes, when he says--"nothing can exceed the beauty of these waters, and their safety; not a shoal exists within the straits of juan de fuca, admiralty inlet, puget's sound, or hood's canal that can in any way interrupt their navigation by a gun ship. i venture nothing in saying there is no country in the world that possesses waters equal to these." chapter five. native tribes. mr nicolay, in his treatise on the oregon territory, gives a minute and graphic account of the aboriginal inhabitants of this district, from which we purpose making some extracts to enrich our pages. the principal indian tribes, commencing from the south, are the callapuyas, shaste, klamet, umqua, rogues' river, and chinooks, between the californian boundary and columbia, to the west of the cascade mountains; the shoshones or snake and nezperces tribes about the southern branch of the columbia, and cascade indians on the river of that name; between the columbia and the strait of fuca, the tatouche or classet tribe; and the clalams about port discovery; the sachet about possession sound; the walla-walla, flat-head, flat-bow indians, and cour d'aleine or pointed heart, about the rivers of the same names; the chunnapuns and chanwappans between the cascade range and the north branch of the columbia; the kootanie to the east, between it and the rocky mountains; and to the north about okanagan, various branches of the carrier tribe. of those on the coast to the north and on vancouver island not much is known. their numbers may be stated at a rough estimate as-- +==========================================+======+ |on the coast below the columbia | , | +------------------------------------------+------+ |about the cascades | , | +------------------------------------------+------+ |on the snake river and its tributary | , | +------------------------------------------+------+ |between the columbia and strait of de fuca| , | +------------------------------------------+------+ |about fort vancouver | , | +------------------------------------------+------+ |walla-walla | , | +------------------------------------------+------+ |flat-head, etcetera | , | +------------------------------------------+------+ |okanagan | | +------------------------------------------+------+ |northward | , | +------------------------------------------+------+ |vancouver's and queen charlotte's island | , | +------------------------------------------+------+ |possession sound | | +------------------------------------------+------+ |fraser river | | +------------------------------------------+------+ |on the coast of the gulf of georgia | | +------------------------------------------+------+ |total | , | +==========================================+======+ this is, however, less than was reported to the congress of the united states, and more than mr wilkes' calculation. that there are errors in this there can be no doubt; and it is probable that some smaller tribes may be omitted in the above calculation; the number, therefore, between parallels degrees and degrees minutes may be roughly estimated at , . through the care of the hudson's bay company and the semi-civilised habits they have adopted, the number of indians to the north of the columbia is not on the decrease; to the south it is; and the total must be very considerably less than it was before the settlement was made among them. the indian nations in oregon may be divided into three classes, differing in habits and character according to their locality and means of sustenance--the indians of the coast, the mountains, and the plains. the first feed mostly on fish, and weave cloth for clothing from the wool or hair of the native sheep, having to a great extent settled residences, though these last characteristics are rapidly disappearing; the second, trappers and hunters, wandering for the most part in pursuit of game; and the third, the equestrian tribes, who, on the great plains about the waters of the rivers, chase on their fleet horses the gigantic bison, whose flesh supplies them with food, and whose hide covers them. the former bear some resemblance to the native inhabitants of the islands of the pacific. the two latter are in every respect red men. those on the coast were first known, and when visited by the early voyagers had the characteristics which, from contiguity to white men, have deteriorated in the south, but which have been retained in the north--high courage, determination, and great ingenuity, but joined to cruelty and faithlessness; and as in the south destruction island obtained its name from their savage cruelty, so does the coast throughout its length afford the same testimony. cook, who first discovered them, says, "they were thieves in the strictest sense of the word, for they pilfered nothing from us but what they knew could be converted to the purposes of utility, and had a real value according to their estimation of things." their form is thick and clumsy, but they are not deficient in strength or activity; when young, their colour is not dark nor their features hard, but exposure to the weather, want of mental culture, and their dirty habits, soon reduce them all to the same dark complexion and dull phlegmatic want of expression which is strongly marked in all of them. in cook's time, and till the white men settled among them, their dress was a flaxen mantle, ornamented with fur above, and tassels and fringes, which, passing under the left arm, is tied over the right shoulder, leaving the right side open: this is fastened round the waist by a girdle: above this, which reaches below the knee, a circular cape, perforated in the centre to admit the head, made of the same substance, and also fringed in the lower part, is worn: it covers the arms to the elbows. their head is covered with a cap, conical but truncated, made of fine matting, ornamented at the top with a knot or tassels. besides the above dress, common to both sexes, the men frequently throw over their garments the skin of a bear, wolf, or sea-otter, with the fur outwards: they wear the hair loose, unless tied up in the scalping-lock: they cover themselves with paint, and swarm with vermin; upon the paint they strew mica to make it glitter. they perforate the nose and ears, and put various ornaments into them. but besides these common habits, they have official and ceremonious occasions, on which they wear beautiful furs and theatrical dresses and disguises, including large masks; and their war-dress, formed of a thick doubled leathern mantle of elk or buffalo skin, frequently with a cloak over it, on which the hoofs of horses were strung, makes an almost impervious cuirass. their love for music, general lively dispositions, except from provocation, but determination in avenging insult or wrong, is testified by all. cook also gives a full description of their houses and manner of life. of the former, he says they are made of split boards, and large enough for several families, who occupy small pens on each side of the interior. they have benches and boxes, and many of their utensils, such as pipes, etcetera, are frequently carved; as are also gigantic human faces on large trunks of trees, which they set up for posts to their dwellings. in their persons and houses they were filthy in the extreme; in their habits lazy; but the women were modest and industrious. their principal food was fish, but they had edible roots and game from the land. a favourite article of food was also the roe of herrings, dried on pine branches or sea-weed. their weapons were spears, arrows, slings, and clubs, similar to the new zealanders; also an axe, not dissimilar to the north american tomahawk, the handle of which is usually carved. they made garments of pine-bark beaten fine; these were made by hand with plaited thread and woollen, so closely wove as to resemble cloth, and frequently had worked on them figures of men and animals: on one was the whole process of the whale fishery. their aptitude for the imitative arts was very great. their canoes were rather elegantly formed out of trees, with rising prow, frequently carved in figures. they differ from those of the pacific generally, in having neither sails nor outriggers; they had harpoons and spears for whale-fishing. vancouver, when at port discovery, saw some long poles placed upright on the beach at equal distances, the object of which he could not discover, and it was not till the last voyage of discovery, despatched from the united states under commodore wilkes, that they were ascertained to have been used for hanging nets upon, to catch wild-fowl by night: their ingenuity in this and in netting salmon is very remarkable. they have two nets, the drawing and casting net, made of a silky grass found on the banks of the columbia, or the fibres of the roots of trees, or of the inner bark of the white cedar. the salmon-fishing on the columbia commences in june, the main body, according to the habit of this fish, dividing at the mouth of the tributary streams to ascend then to their sources. at the rapids and falls the work of destruction commences; with a bag-net, not unlike to an european fisherman's landing-net, on a pole thirty feet long, the indians take their stand on the rocks, or on platforms erected for the purpose, and throwing their nets into the river above their standing-places, let them float down the rapids to meet the fish as they ascend. by this means many are caught; they have also stake-nets and lines with stones for leads; they also catch many with hook and line, and sometimes, now they have fire-arms, shoot them. their mode of fishing for sturgeon is also peculiar. the line, made of twisted fibres of the roots of trees, is attached to a large wooden hook and let down over the side of a canoe; those used for this purpose are small, having only one or two men at most in them: having hooked a fish, they haul him gently up till he floats on the water, then, with a heavy mallet, with one blow on the head they kill him; with singular dexterity they contrive to jerk a fish of three hundred pounds over the lowered side of the canoe by a single effort. they catch whales also by means of harpoons with bladders attached. the oil is sold to the hudson's bay company. it has been said that their houses were made of boards, but some constructive art is displayed in their erection as was much ingenuity in procuring the materials before axes were introduced among them; for they contrived to fell trees with a rough chisel and mallet. the houses are made of centre-posts about eighteen feet high, upon which a long pole rests, forming the ridge of the roof, from whence rafters descend to another like it, but not more than five feet from the ground; to these again, cross poles are attached, and against these are placed boards upright, and the lower end fixed in the ground; across these again, poles are placed, and tied with cords of cedar bark to those inside of the roof, which are similarly disposed: the planks are double. these houses are divided on each side into stalls and pens, occupied as sleeping places during the night, and the rafters serve to suspend the fish, which are dried by the smoke in its lengthened course through the interstices of the roof and walls. in their superstitions, theatricals, dances, and songs they have much similarity to the natives of polynesia. debased now, and degraded even beneath their former portrait--fast fading away before the more genial sun of the fortunes of the white man--the indians on the southern coast are no longer free and warlike, and being in subjection to the hudson's bay company, english manufactures are substituted for the efforts of their native industry. the mode of burial practised among the tribes on the coast is very peculiar. the corpse is placed sometimes in a canoe raised a few feet from the ground, with arms and other necessaries beside it. these are not unfrequently spoiled beforehand, to prevent their being stolen, as if they thought they might, like their owner, be restored to their former state in the new world. sometimes they are put in upright boxes like sentry-boxes--sometimes in small enclosures--but usually kept neat, and those of the chiefs frequently painted. mount coffin, at the mouth of the cowelitz, seems to have been appropriated to the burial of persons of importance; it is about seven hundred feet high, and quite isolated: on it were to be seen the canoe-coffins of the natives in every stage of decay; they were hung between the trees about five feet from the ground. this cemetery of the columbia is, however, destroyed, for the american sailors under wilkes, neglecting to put out their cooking-fire, it spread over the whole mountain, and continued to rage through the night, till all was burnt. a few small presents appeased the indians, who but a few years before could only have drowned the remembrance of such a national disgrace in the blood of those who caused it. among the tribes about the lower part of the columbia the singular custom of flattening the head still prevails, though not to the extent it did formerly; mr dunn thus describes the operation:-- "immediately after the birth, the infant is laid in an oblong wooden trough, by way of cradle, with moss under the head; the end on which the head reposes is raised higher than the rest; a padding is then placed on the infant's forehead, with a piece of cedar-bark over it; it is pressed down by cords, which pass through holes on each side of the trough. as the tightening of the padding and pressure of the head is gradual, the process is said not to be attended with much pain. the appearance of the infant, however, while under it, is shocking,--its little black eyes seem ready to start from their sockets; the mouth exhibits all the appearance of internal convulsion; and it clearly appears that the face is undergoing a process of unnatural configuration. about a year's pressure is sufficient to produce the desired effect; the head is ever after completely flattened;" and as slaves are always left to nature, this deformity is consequently a mark of free birth. the indians on the north coast possess the characteristics of the southern, but harsher and more boldly defined--they are of fiercer and more treacherous dispositions. indeed, those of the south have a disposition to merriment and light-hearted good humour. their mechanical ingenuity is more remarkably displayed in the carving on their pipes, and especially in working iron and steel. the indians of the coast are doubtless all from the same stock, modified by circumstances and locality. those, however, to the south of the columbia, about the waters of the rivers klamet and umqua, partake largely of the characteristics of the indians of the plains, their country having prairies, and themselves possessing horses: they are remarkable for nothing but their determined hostility towards the whites. idleness and filth are inveterate among all three, but among the indians of the plains there is a marked difference; there, their food consist of fish, indeed, and dried for winter, but not entirely, being more varied by venison than on the coast, and in the winter by roots, which they dig up and lay by in store. they live more in moveable tents, and to the south their great wealth is their horses. they are not, like the coast indians, of small stature and inelegantly made, but remarkable for comeliness of person and elegance of carriage. they are equestrian in their habits, and shew to great advantage on horseback. the principal tribes are the shoshones and walla-walla, between whom, as between the former and the blackfeet, there has been continual war. the shoshones dwell between the rocky and blue mountain ranges, the walla-walla about the river of that fame; the blackfeet at the foot of the rocky mountains, principally, but not entirely, on the eastern side. warlike and independent, the blackfeet had for a long time the advantage, having been earlier introduced to the use of fire-arms; but by the instrumentality of the hudson's bay company, they have been of late years more on an equality: they are friendly to the whites, but the blackfeet, their mortal enemies, and their hill-forts overhanging the passes of the rocky mountains, make the future safety of the journey to the united states depend on the temper of this fickle and bloodthirsty nation, who have been well termed the arabs of the west, for truly their hand is against every man, and every man's hand against them; and though seriously lessened in number by war and disease, they still dwell in the presence of all their brethren. the shoshones feed frequently on horse-flesh, and have also large quantities of edible roots, which stand them in great stead during the winter. when the men are fishing for salmon, the women are employed in digging and preserving the roots. there is, indeed, one tribe inhabiting the country of the salt lakes and springs to the south of the head-waters of the snake or saptin river, who have no wish, beyond these roots, living in the most bestial manner possible: these, from their single occupation, have been named diggers. above the walla-walla, also, there is a tribe called the basket people, from their using a basket in fishing for salmon. the apparatus consists of a large wicker basket, supported by long poles inserted into it, and fixed in the rocks; to the basket is joined a long frame, spreading above, against which the fish, in attempting to leap the falls, strike and fall into the basket; it is taken up three times a day, and at each haul not unfrequently contains three hundred fine fish. the flat-heads, dwelling about the river of that name, are the most northern of the equestrian tribes: their characteristics are intelligence and aptitude for civilisation; yet, in the early history of the country, their fierceness and barbarity in war could not be exceeded, especially in their retaliation on the blackfeet, of which ross cox gives a horrible account. the usual dress of these tribes is a shirt, leggings, and mocassins of deer-skin, frequently much ornamented with fringes of beads, and formerly in the "braves" with scalps; a cap of handkerchief generally covers the head, but the shoshones twist their long black hair into a natural helmet, more useful as a protection than many artificial defences: in winter a buffalo robe is added to the usual clothing. horses abound among them, and they are usually well armed. through the influence of the hudson's bay company, these tribes are beaming amalgamated by intermarriage, and will, doubtless, from their pliability of disposition, readiness of perception, and capability for improvement generally, no less than their friendship for the whites and devotion to the company, gradually lose their identity in acquired habits and knowledge, and become the peaceful proprietors of a country rich in flocks and herds, even very much cattle. the more northern indians inhabiting the mountainous country round the head-waters of oregon river and the branches of the columbia, evidence an origin similar to the chippewayan tribes on the east of the rocky mountains. mackenzie found but little difference, when travelling from one to the other, and his guides were generally well understood: like them, they have exchanged their shirts and robes of skins for european manufactures, and their bows and spears for fire-arms. among them the greater part of the furs exported by the hudson's bay company are procured, and the return of the traffic supplies all their wants: they differ, however, in manners and habits; for among them is found the tribe of carriers, whose filthiness and bestiality cannot be exceeded; whose dainties are of putrid flesh, and are eaten up with disease; nevertheless, they are a tall, well-formed, good-looking race, and not wanting in ingenuity. their houses are well formed of logs of small trees; buttressed up internally, frequently above seventy feet long and fifteen high, but, unlike those of the coast, the roof is of bark: their winter habitations are smaller, and often covered over with grass and earth: some even dwell in excavations of the ground, which have only an aperture at the top, and serves alike for door and chimney. salmon, deer, bears, and wild-fowl are their principal food: of the latter they procure large quantities. their mode of taking salmon is curious. they build a weir across the stream, having an opening only in one place, at which they fix a basket, three feet in diameter, with the mouth made something like an eel-trap, through which alone the fish can find a passage. on the side of this basket is a hole, to which is attached a smaller basket, into which the fish pass from the large one, and cannot return or escape. this, when filled, is taken up without disturbing the larger one. of the religion and superstitions of the indians little need be said; the features of polytheism being everywhere as similar as its effects. impudent conjurers are their priests and teachers, and exerted once unlimited sway; but under the satisfactory proofs of the value of scientific medical practice and the tuition of the missionaries, it is to be hoped both their claims to respect will be negatived; and as they have evinced great aptitude to embrace and profit by instruction, it may perhaps happen that secular knowledge may combine with religious to save them from the apparent necessary result. in closing this brief account of the gold-fields of new caledonia, we cannot avoid adverting to the great event which, has been, we may say, contemporaneous with these discoveries--the laying down of the atlantic telegraph. the sources of an apparently boundless and dazzling wealth have been opened up in the far west of america, and a mighty stream of thought has begun its perpetual flow backwards and forwards between her eastern shores and england. we hail the coincidence as an assurance that friendly communication, and peace, and good-will, shall go hand and hand with the getting of gold in, and the civilising of, these far off regions; and we believe that god will use both these new and mighty engines for the advancement of the blessed gospel of our lord jesus christ in the british possessions of north america. appendix. correspondence relative to the discovery of gold in the fraser river district, in british north america. presented to both houses of parliament by command of her majesty, july , . number . _governor douglas to the right hon. henry labouchere, m.p._ victoria, vancouver's island, april , . sir,--i hasten to communicate, for the information of her majesty's government, a discovery of much importance, made known to me by mr angus mcdonald, clerk in charge of fort colville, one of the hudson's bay company's trading posts on the upper columbia district. that gentleman reports, in a letter dated on the st of march last, that gold has been found in considerable quantities within the british territory, on the upper columbia, and that he is, moreover, of opinion, that valuable deposits of gold will be found in many other parts of that country; he also states that the _daily earnings_ of person's then employed in digging gold were ranging from pounds to pounds for each man. such is the substance of his report on that subject, and i have requested him to continue his communications in respect to any further discoveries made. i do not know if her majesty's government will consider it expedient to raise a revenue in that quarter, by taxing all persons engaged in gold digging; but i may remark, that it will be impossible to levy such a tax without the aid of a military force, and the expense in that case would probably exceed the income derived from the mines. i will not fail to keep you well informed in respect to the extent and value of the gold discoveries made; and circumstances will probably be the best indication of the course which it may be expedient to take, that is, in respect to imposing a tax, or leaving the field free and open to any persons who may choose to dig for gold. several interesting experiments in gold-washing have been lately made in this colony, with a degree of success that will no doubt lead to further attempts for the discovery of the precious metal. the quantity of gold found is sufficient to prove the existence of the metal, and the parties engaged in, the enterprise entertain sanguine hopes of discovering rich and productive beds. i have, etcetera, (signed) james douglas, governor. the right hon. henry labouchere, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. no. ii. _the right hon. henry labouchere to governor douglas_. downing street, august , . sir,--i have to acknowledge the receipt of your despatch, number , of the th april last, reporting the discovery of gold within the british territory of the upper columbia river district. in the absence of all effective machinery of government, i perceive that it would be quite abortive to attempt to raise a revenue from licences to dig for gold in that region. indeed, as her majesty's government do not at present look for a revenue from this distant quarter of the british dominions, so neither are they prepared to incur any, expense on account of it. i must, therefore, leave it to your discretion to determine the best means of preserving order in the event of any considerable increase of population flocking into this new gold district; and i shall rely on your furnishing me with full and regular accounts of any event of interest or importance which may occur in consequence of this discovery. i have, etcetera, (signed) h. labouchere. to governor douglas, etcetera, etcetera. no. iii. _governor douglas to the right hon. henry labouchere, m.p._ victoria, vancouver's island, october , . sir,-- . i have the honour to acknowledge the receipt of your despatch, number , of the th of august, communicating the arrival of my despatch, number , of the th april last, in which was reported the discovery of gold within the british territory in the upper columbia river district. . i have, since the date of that letter, received several other communications from my correspondent in that part of the country, who, however, scarcely makes any allusion to the gold discovery; but i have heard through other almost equally reliable sources of information, that the number of persons engaged in gold digging is yet extremely limited, in consequence of the threatening attitude of the native tribes, who, being hostile to the americans, have uniformly opposed the entrance of american citizens into their country. . the people from american oregon are, therefore, excluded from the gold district, except such, as resorting to the artifice of denying their country, succeed in passing for british subjects. the persons at present engaged in the search of gold are chiefly of british origin, and retired servants of the hudson's bay company, who, being well acquainted with the natives, and connected by old acquaintanceship and the ties of friendship, are more disposed to aid and assist each other in their common pursuits than to commit injuries against persons or property. . they appear to pursue their toilsome occupation in peace, and without molestation from the natives, and there is no reason to suppose that any criminal act has been lately committed in that part of the country. . it is reported that gold is found in considerable quantities, and that several persons have accumulated large sums by their labour and traffic, but i cannot vouch for the accuracy of these reports; though, on the other hand, there is no reason to discredit them, as about ounces of gold dust have been brought to vancouver's island direct from the upper columbia, a proof that the country is at least auriferous. from the successful result of experiments made in washing gold from the sands of the tributary streams of fraser river, there is reason to suppose that the gold region is extensive, and i entertain sanguine hopes that future researches will develop stores of wealth, perhaps equal to the gold fields of california. the geological formations observed in the "sierra nevada" of california being similar in character to the structure of the corresponding range of mountains in this latitude, it is not unreasonable to suppose that the resemblance will be found to include auriferous deposits. . i shall not fail to furnish you with full and regular accounts of every event of interest connected with the gold district, which may from time to time occur. i have, etcetera, (signed) james douglas, governor. the right hon. h. labouchere; etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. no. v. _governor douglas to the right hon. henry labouchere, m.p._ victoria, vancouver's island, july , . received, september , . sir,-- . i have the honour of communicating for your information the substance of advices which i have lately received from the interior of the continent north of the th parallel of latitude, corroborating the former accounts from that quarter respecting the auriferous character of certain districts of the country on the right bank of the columbia river, and of the extensive table land which divides it from fraser river. . there is, however, as yet a degree of uncertainty respecting the productiveness of those gold fields, for reports vary so much on that point, some parties representing the deposits as exceedingly rich, while others are of opinion that they will not repay the labour and outlay of working, that i feel it would be premature for me to give a decided opinion on the subject. . it is, however, certain that gold has been found in many places by washing the soil of the river beds, and also of the mountainsides; but, on the other hand, the quantities hitherto collected are inconsiderable, and do not lend much support to the opinion entertained of the richness of these deposits; so that the question as to their ultimate value remains thus undetermined, and will probably not be decided until more extensive researches are made. . a new element of difficulty in exploring the gold country has been interposed through the opposition of the native indian tribes of thompson river, who have lately taken the high-handed, though probably not unwise course, of expelling all the parties of gold-diggers, composed chiefly of persons from the american territories, who had forced an entrance into their country. they have also openly expressed a determination to resist all attempts at working gold in any of the streams flowing into thompson river, both from a desire to monopolise the precious metal for their own benefit, and from a well-founded impression that the shoals of salmon which annually ascend those rivers, and furnish the principal food of the inhabitants, will be driven off, and prevented from making their annual migrations from the sea. . the officers in command of the hudson's bay company's posts in that quarter, have received orders carefully to respect the feelings of the natives in that matter, and not to employ any of the company's servants in washing out gold, without their full approbation and consent. there is, therefore, nothing to apprehend on the part of the hudson's bay company's servants, but there is much reason to fear that serious affrays may take place between the natives and the motley adventurers who will be attracted by the reputed wealth of the country, from the united states' possessions in oregon, and may probably attempt to overpower the opposition of the natives by force of arms, and thus endanger the peace of the country. . i beg to submit, if in that case, it: may not become a question whether the natives are not entitled to the protection of her majesty's government, and if an officer invested with the requisite authority should not, without delay, be appointed for that purpose. i have, etcetera, (signed) james douglas, governor. the right hon. h. labouchere, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. no. vi. _extract of a despatch from governor douglas to the right hon. henry labouchere, m.p., dated victoria, vancouver's island, december_ , . (received march , .) since i had the honour of addressing you on the th july last, concerning the gold fields in the interior of the country north of the th parallel of latitude, which, for the sake of brevity, i will hereafter speak of as the "couteau mines" (so named after the tribe of indians who inhabit the country), i have received farther intelligence from my correspondents in that quarter. it appears from their reports that the auriferous character of the country is becoming daily more extensively developed, through the exertions of the native indian tribes, who, having tasted the sweets of gold finding, are devoting much of their time and attention to that pursuit. they are, however, at present almost destitute of tools for moving the soil, and of washing implements for separating the gold from the earthy matrix, and have therefore to pick it out with their knives, or to use their fingers for that purpose; a circumstance which in some measure accounts for the small products of gold up to the present time, the export being only about ounces since the th of last october. the same circumstance will also serve to reconcile the opinion now generally entertained of the richness of the gold deposits by the few experienced miners who have seen the couteau country, with the present paucity of production. the reputed wealth of the couteau mines is causing much excitement among the population of the united states territories of washington and oregon, and i have no doubt that a great number of people from those territories will be attracted thither with the return of the fine weather in spring. in that case, difficulties between the natives and whites will be of frequent occurrence, and unless measures of prevention are taken, the country will soon become the scene of lawless misrule. in my letter of the th of july, i took the liberty of suggesting the appointment of an officer invested with authority to protect the natives from violence, and generally, so far as possible, to maintain the peace of the country. presuming that you will approve of that suggestion, i have, as a preparatory step towards the proposed measure for the preservation of peace and order, this day issued a proclamation declaring the rights of the crown in respect to gold found in its natural place of deposit, within the limits of fraser river and thompson river districts, within which are situated the couteau mines; and forbidding all persons to dig or disturb the soil in search of gold, until authorised on that behalf by her majesty's government. i herewith forward a copy of that proclamation, and also of the regulations since published, setting forth the terms on which licences will be issued to legalise the search for gold, on payment of a fee of ten shillings a-month, payable in advance. when mining becomes a remunerative employment, and there is a proof of the extent and productiveness of the gold deposits, i would propose that the licence fee be gradually increased, in such a manner, however, as not to be higher than the persons engaged in mining can readily pay. my authority for issuing that proclamation, seeing that it refers to certain districts of continental america, which are not, strictly speaking, within the jurisdiction of this government, may, perhaps, be called in question; but i trust that the motives which have influenced me on this occasion, and the fact of my being invested with the authority over the premises of the hudson's bay company, and the only authority commissioned by her majesty within reach, will plead my excuse. moreover, should her majesty's government not deem, it advisable to enforce the rights of the crown, as set forth in the proclamation, it may be allowed to fall to the ground, and to become a mere dead letter. if you think it expedient that i should visit the couteau mines in course of the coming spring or summer, for the purpose of inquiring into the state of the country, and authorise me to do so, if i can for a time conveniently leave this colony, i freely place my services at the disposal of her majesty's government. no. vii. _the governor of vancouver's island to the right hon. h. labouchere, m.p._ victoria, vancouver's island, january , . [received march , .] sir,-- . with reference to the proclamation and regulations legalising the search for gold in the districts of fraser river and thompson river, transmitted with my despatch, number , of the th of december last, i have now the honour to communicate for your information, that we have since that date raised the licence fee from ten shillings to twenty-one shillings a-month, payable in advance, which is the present charge for gold licences. . we are induced to make that change through a desire to place a large amount of revenue at the disposal of government to meet the expense of giving protection to life and property in those countries, and at the same time from a well-founded conviction that persons really bent upon visiting the gold district will as readily pay the increased as the lower rate of charge. i have, etcetera, (signed) james douglas, governor. to the right hon. henry labouchere, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. no. viii. _governor douglas to the right hon. h. labouchere, m.p._ victoria, vancouver's island, april , . sir,-- . since i had last the honour of addressing you in my despatch, number , on the th of december last, in reference to the discovery of gold in the couteau, or thompson river district, we have had much communication with persons who have since visited that part of the country. . the search for gold and "prospecting" of the country, had, up to the last dates from the interior, been carried on almost exclusively by the native indian population, who have discovered the productive beds, and put out almost all the gold, about eight hundred ounces, which has been hitherto exported from the country, and who are, moreover, extremely jealous of the whites, and strongly opposed to their digging the soil for gold. . the few white men who passed the winter at the diggings--chiefly retired servants of the hudson's bay company--though well acquainted with indian character, were obstructed by the natives in their attempts to search for gold. they were on all occasions narrowly watched, and in every instance, when they did succeed in removing the surface and excavating to the depth of the auriferous stratum, they were quietly hustled and crowded by the natives, who having by that means obtained possession of the spot, then proceeded to reap the fruits of their labours. . such conduct was unwarrantable and exceedingly trying to the temper of spirited men, but the savages were far too numerous for resistance, and they had to submit to their dictation. it is, however, worthy of remark, and a circumstance highly honourable to the character of those savages, that they have on all occasions scrupulously respected the persons and property of their white visitors, at the same that they have expressed a determination to reserve the gold for their own benefit. . such being the purpose of the natives, affrays and collisions with the whites will surely follow the accession of numbers, which the latter are now receiving by the influx of adventurers from vancouver's island and the united states territories in oregon; and there is no doubt in my mind that sooner or later the intervention of her majesty's government will be required to restore and maintain the peace. up to the present time, however, the country continues quiet, but simply, i believe, because the whites have not attempted to resist the impositions of the natives. i will, however, make it a part of my duty to keep you well informed in respect to the state of the gold country. . the extent of the gold region is yet but imperfectly known, and i have, therefore, not arrived at any decided opinion as to its ultimate value as a gold-producing country. the boundaries of the gold district have been, however, greatly extended since ay former report. . in addition to the diggings before known on thompson river and its tributary streams, a valuable deposit has been recently found by the natives, on a bank of fraser river, about fifty miles beyond its confluence with the thompson, and gold in small quantities has been found in the possession of the natives as far as the great falls of fraser river, about eighty miles above the forks. the small quantity of gold hitherto produced--about eight hundred ounces--by the large native population of the country is, however, unaccountable in a rich gold-producing country, unless we assume that the want of skill, industry, and proper mining tools on the part of the natives sufficiently account for the fact. . on the contrary, the vein rocks and its other geological features, as described by an experienced gold miner, encourage the belief that the country is highly auriferous. . the miner in question clearly described the older slate formations thrown up and pierced by beds of quartz, granite, porphyry, and other igneous rocks; the vast accumulations of sand, gravel, and shingle extending from the roots of the mountains to the banks of fraser river and its affluents, which are peculiar characteristics of the gold districts of california and other countries. we therefore hope, and are preparing for a rich harvest of trade, which will greatly redound to the advantage of this colony. . i have further to communicate for your information that the proclamation issued by me, asserting the rights of the crown to all gold in its natural place of deposit, and forbidding all persons to dig for gold without a licence, has been published in the newspapers of oregon and washington territories, and that, notwithstanding, some seventy or eighty adventurers from the american side have gone by the way of fraser river to the couteau mines without taking out licences. . i did not, as i might have done, attempt to enforce those rights by means of a detachment of seamen and marines, from the "satellite," without being assured that such a proceeding would meet with the approval of her majesty's government; but the moment your instructions on the subject are received, i will take measures to carry them into effect. i have, etcetera, (signed) james douglas, governor. the right hon. henry labouchere, m.p., etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. no. x. _governor douglas to the right hon. henry labouchere, m.p._ victoria, vancouver's island, may , . since i had the honour of addressing you on the th of april last on the subject of the "couteau" gold mines, they have become more than ever a source of attraction to the people of washington and oregon territories, and it is evident from the accounts published in the latest san francisco papers, that intense excitement prevails among the inhabitants of that stirring city on the same subject. the "couteau" country is there represented and supposed to be in point of mineral wealth a second california or australia, and those impressions are sustained by the false and exaggerated statements of steamboat owners and other interested parties, who benefit by the current of emigration which is now setting strongly towards this quarter. boats, canoes, and every species of small craft, are continually employed in pouring their cargoes of human beings into fraser river, and it is supposed that not less than one thousand whites are already at work and on the way to the gold districts. many accidents have happened in the dangerous rapids of that river; a great number of canoes have been dashed to pieces, and their cargoes swept away by the impetuous stream, while of the ill-fated adventurers who accompanied them many have been swept into eternity. the others, nothing daunted by the spectacle of ruin and buoyed up by the hope of amassing wealth, still keep pressing onward towards the coveted goal of their most ardent wishes. on the th of last month, the american steamer "commodore" arrived in this port direct from san francisco, with passengers on board, the chief part of whom are gold miners for the "couteau" country. nearly of those men were landed at this place, and have since left in boats and canoes for fraser river. i ascertained from inquiries on the subject that those men are all well provided with mining tools, and that there was no dearth of capital or intelligence among them. about sixty british subjects, with an equal number of native born americans, the rest being chiefly germans, with a smaller proportion of frenchmen and italians, composed this body of adventurers. they are represented as being, with some exceptions, a specimen of the worst of the population of san francisco; the very dregs, in fact, of society. their conduct while here would have led me to form a very different conclusion; as our little town, though crowded to excess with this sudden influx of people, and though there was a temporary scarcity of food, and dearth of house accommodation, the police few in number, and many temptations to excess in the way of drink, yet quiet and order prevailed, and there was not a single committal for rioting, drunkenness, or other offences during their stay here. the merchants and other business classes of victoria are rejoicing in the advent of so large a body of the people in the colony, and are strongly in favour of making this port a stopping point between san francisco and the gold mines, converting the latter, as it were, into a feeder and dependency of this colony. victoria would thus become a depot and centre of trade for the gold districts, and the natural consequence would be an immediate increase in the wealth and population of the colony. to effect that object it will be requisite to facilitate by every possible means the transport of passengers and goods to the furthest navigable point on fraser river; and the obvious means of accomplishing that end is to employ light steamers in plying between, and connecting this port (victoria) with the falls of fraser river, distant miles from the discharge of that river, into the gulf of georgia; those falls being generally believed to be at the commencement of the remunerative gold diggings, and from thence the miners would readily make their, way on foot, or, after the summer freshets, by the river into the interior of the country. by that means also the whole trade of the gold regions would pass through fraser river and be retained within the british territory, forming a valuable outlet for british manufactured goods, and at once creating a lucrative trade between the mother country and vancouver's island. taking a view of the subject, simply in its relations to trade and commerce, apart from considerations of national policy, such perhaps would be the course most likely to promote the interests of this colony; but, on the contrary, if the country be thrown open, to indiscriminate immigration, the interests of the empire may suffer from the introduction of a foreign population, whose sympathies may be decidedly anti-british. taking this view of the question, it assumes an alarming aspect, and suggests a doubt as to the policy of permitting the free entrance of foreigners into the british territory for residence, without in the first place requiring them to take the oath of allegiance, and otherwise to give such security for their conduct as the government of the country may deem it proper and necessary to require at their hands. the opinion which i have formed on the subject leads me to think that, in the event of the diggings proving remunerative, it will now be found impossible to check the course of immigration, even by closing fraser river, as the miners would then force a passage into the gold district by way of the columbia river, and the valuable trade of the country in that case be driven from its natural course into a foreign channel, and entirely lost to this country. on the contrary, should the diggings prove to be unremunerative, a question which as yet remains undecided, the existing excitement, we may suppose, will die away of itself; and the miners, having no longer the prospect of large gains, will naturally abandon a country which no longer holds out any inducement for them to remain. until the value of the country as a gold-producing region be established on clearer evidence than can now be adduced in its favour--and the point will no doubt be decided before the close of the present year--i would simply recommend that a small naval or military force should be placed at the disposal of this government, to enable us to maintain the peace, and to enforce obedience to the laws. the system of granting licences for digging gold has not yet come into operation. perhaps a similar method of raising a revenue would be to impose a customs' duty on imports, to be levied on all supplies brought into the country, whether by fraser or the columbia river. the export of gold from the country is still inconsiderable, not exceeding ounces since i last addressed you. the principal diggings are reported to be at present, and will probably continue, flooded for several months to come, so that unless other diggings apart from the river beds are discovered, the production of gold will not increase until the summer freshets are over, which will probably happen about the middle of august next. in the meantime the ill-provided adventurers who have gone hither and thither will consume their stock of provisions, and probably have to retire from the country until a more favourable season. i shall be most happy to receive your instructions on the subject in this letter. no. xii. _copy of a better from the secretary of the admiralty to herman merivale, esquire_. admiralty, june , . sir,--i am commanded by my lords commissioners of the admiralty to send you herewith, for the information of secretary sir e. bulwer lytton, a copy of a letter from captain prevost, of h.m. ship "satellite," dated at vancouver's island, th may , respecting the discovery of gold on fraser and thompson rivers, near to the st parallel of north latitude, in north america. the newspaper and specimen of gold dust referred to in captain prevost's letter are also enclosed. i am, etcetera, (signed) h. corby. herman merivale, esquire, colonial office. _enclosures number _. h.m.s. "satellite," esquimault, vancouver's island, may , . i have the honour to report to you that considerable excitement has been occasioned recently in this neighbourhood by the discovery of gold on fraser and thompson rivers, at about the position of the juncture of the latter with the former river, near to st parallel of north latitude. the reports concerning these new gold diggings are so contradictory that i am unable to furnish you with any information upon which i can depend. that gold exists is certain, and that it will be found in abundance seems to be the opinion of all those who are capable of forming a judgment upon the subject; but it is so obviously to the advantage of the surrounding community to circulate exaggerated, if not altogether false reports, for the purpose of stimulating trade, or creating monopolies, that it is most difficult to arrive at any correct conclusion, or to, obtain any reliable information. i have every reason to believe that the indians have traded some quantity of gold with the officers of the hudson's bay company, and i am satisfied that individuals from this immediate neighbourhood who started off to the diggings upon the first intelligence of their existence, have come back with gold dust in their possession, and which they assert was washed by themselves; but whether such be really the case, or whether it was traded from the indians, i am unable to determine. these persons all declare that at the present moment, although the yield is good, yet there is too much water in the rivers to admit of digging and washing to be carried on with facility; but that when the water falls somewhat, as the summer advances, that the yield will be abundant. i am inclined to think that this information is not far from the truth, for these persons, after obtaining a fresh stock of provision, have all returned to the diggings. the excitement in vancouver's island itself is quite insignificant compared to that in washington and oregon territories, and in california, and which, of course, is increased by every possible means by interested parties. the result has been that several hundred persons from american territory have already flocked to the newly reported auriferous regions, and by the last accounts fresh steamers, and even sailing vessels, were being chartered to convey passengers to puget sound, or to vancouver's island, whence they have to find their way to the diggings principally by canoes. i have heard that all the crews of the ships in puget sound have deserted, and have gone to the diggings; i am happy to say that as yet i have not lost a single man from the "satellite" since the information was received, and i have every reason to hope that i may not be unfortunate in this respect, although, doubtless, soon the temptations to desert will be of no ordinary character. no. xiii. _secretary sir e. bulwer lytton to governor douglas_. downing street, july , . sir,--i have to acknowledge your despatch of the th ult, in continuation of former despatches, informing the secretary of state from time to time of the progress of the gold discoveries on fraser river, and the measures which you had taken in consequence. i am anxious not to let the opportunity of the present mail pass without informing you that her majesty's government have under their consideration the pressing necessity for taking some steps to establish public order and government in that locality, and that i hope very soon to be able to communicate to you the result. in the meantime, her majesty's government approve of the course which you have adopted in asserting both the dominion of the crown over this region, and the right of the crown over the precious metals. they think, however, that you acted judiciously in waiting for further instructions before you endeavoured to compel the taking out of licences, by causing any force to be despatched for that purpose from vancouver's island. they wish you to continue your vigilance, and to apply for instructions on any point on which you may require them. they are, however, in addition, particularly anxious to impress on you, that while her majesty's government are determined on preserving the rights, both of government and of commerce, which belong to this country, and while they have it in contemplation to furnish you with such a force as they may be able to detach for your assistance and support in the preservation of law and order, it is no part of their policy to exclude americans and other foreigners from the gold fields. on the contrary, you are distinctly instructed to oppose no obstacle whatever to their resort thither for the purpose of digging in those fields, so long as they submit themselves, in common with the subjects of her majesty, to the recognition of her authority, and conform to such rules of police as you may have thought proper to establish. the national right to navigate fraser river is, of course, a separate question, and one which her majesty's government must reserve. under the circumstance of so large an immigration of americans into english territory, i need hardly impress upon you the importance of caution and delicacy in dealing with those manifold cases of international relationship and feeling which are certain to arise; and which, but for the exercise of temper and discretion, might easily lead to serious complications between two neighbouring and powerful states. it is impossible by this mail to furnish you with any instructions of a more definite character. her majesty's government must leave much to your discretion on this most important subject; and they rely upon your exercising whatever influence and powers you may possess in the manner which from local knowledge and experience you conceive to be best calculated to give development to the new country, and to advance imperial interests. i have, etcetera, (signed) e. bulwer lytton. governor douglas, etcetera, etcetera. charter incorporating the hudson's bay company. in , a royal charter was granted by charles the second, for incorporating the hudson's bay company. the grant to the company was of "the sole trade and commerce of all those seas, straits, bays, rivers, lakes, creeks, and sounds, in whatsoever latitude they shall be, that lie within the entrance of the straits, commonly called hudson's straits, together with all the lands and territories upon the countries, coasts, and confines of the seas, bays, lakes, rivers, creeks and sounds aforesaid, that are not already actually possessed by or granted to any of our subjects, or possessed by the subjects of any other christian prince or state, with the fishing of all sorts of fish, whales, sturgeons, and all other royal fishes in the seas, bays, inlets, and rivers within the premises; and the fish therein taken, together with the royalty of the sea upon the coasts within the limits aforesaid, and all mines royal, as well discovered as not discovered, of gold, silver, gems, and precious stones to be found or discovered within the territories, limits, and places aforesaid;" and the charter declares that "the said land be from henceforth reckoned as one of our plantations or colonies in america, called rupert's land." comparison between price of labour in australia and california or british columbia. _from the times' correspondent_. i take the wages in australia from a melbourne paper of th march, which gives the wages current at that time! i received it direct a few days ago. i reduce our american currency into sterling at pence to the dollar, that being about its current value here. _melbourne wages_. married couples (servants), pounds to pounds per annum; female servants, pounds to pounds per annum; gardeners, pounds to pounds per annum; grooms, pounds to pounds a-year; carpenters, shillings to shillings per day; ditto, rough, shillings to shillings per week; masons and bricklayers, shillings to shillings per day; waiters, shillings to shillings per week; compositors, shilling pence per ; blacksmiths, shillings per week; farm labourers, shillings to shillings per week; shepherds, pounds to pounds a-year. _california wages_. married couples (servants), pounds per annum, and found; female servants, pounds to pounds, and kept; gardeners, pounds a-year, and found; by the day, dollars, now dollars; young men in stables as grooms, pounds a-year, and found, pounds a month and find themselves; carpenters, with us till lately pound a-day, now shillings a-day; "rough" and smooth, i never knew any difference--and all bad; masons and bricklayers at lowest time, shillings a-day, here at present shillings a-day; waiters, pounds to pounds a-month in san francisco; compositors, shillings and a half pence per type, our types double size; blacksmiths, pounds shillings to pounds a-week; general rate, dollars a day; farm labourers, pounds a-month, and found, and only work from o'clock to o'clock, with two hours for meals; shepherds, pounds, shillings a-year, and found; a competent shepherd worth pounds a-year, and found; or, to serve on shares of increase of stock, on very liberal terms. all provisions except animal food, are cheaper in san francisco than in melbourne. treaty made between the united states and great britain in regard to the limits westward of the rocky mountains, june , . article . from the point on the forty-ninth parallel of north latitude, where the boundary laid down in existing treaties and conventions between the united states and great britain, terminates, the line of boundary between the territories of the united states and those of her britannic majesty shall be continued westward along the said forty-ninth parallel of north, latitude to the middle of the channel which separates the continent from vancouver's island, and thence southerly through the middle of the said channel, and of fuca's straits, to the pacific ocean: provided, however, that the navigation of the whole of the said channel and straits, south of the forty-ninth parallel of north latitude, remain free and open to both parties. article . from the point at which the forty-ninth parallel of north latitude shall be found to intersect the great northern branch of the columbia river, the navigation of the said branch shall be free and open to the hudson's bay company, and to all british subjects trading with the same, to the point where the said branch meets the main stream of the columbia, and thence down the said main stream to the ocean, with free access into and through the said river or rivers, it being understood that all the usual portages along the line thus described shall, in like manner, be free and open. in navigating the said river or rivers, british subjects, with their goods and produce, shall be treated on the same footing as citizens of the united states; it being, however, always understood that nothing in this article shall be construed as preventing or intended to prevent, the government of the united states from making any regulations respecting the navigation of the said river or rivers not inconsistent with the present treaty. article . in the future appropriation of the territory south of the forty-ninth parallel of north latitude, as provided in the first article of this treaty, the possessory rights of the hudson's bay company, and of all british subjects who may be already in the occupation of land or other property, lawfully acquired within the said territory, shall be respected. article . the farms, lands, and other property of every description, belonging to the puget's sound agricultural company, on the north side of the columbia river, shall be confirmed to the said company. in case, however, the situation of those farms and lands should be considered by the united states to be of public and political importance, and the united states government should signify a desire to obtain possession of the whole, or of any part thereof, the property so required shall be transferred to the said government, at a proper valuation, to be agreed upon between the parties. form of licence granted to diggers. the bearer having paid to me the sum of twenty-one shillings on account of the territorial revenue, i hereby license him to dig, search for, and remove gold on and from any such crown land within the --- of --- as i shall assign to him for that purpose during the month of ---, --. this licence must be produced whenever demanded by me or any other person acting under the authority of the government. a.b., commissioner. proclamation issued by governor douglas. on the th day of may , governor douglas issued the following proclamation:-- by his excellency james douglas, governor and commander-in-chief of the colony of vancouver's island and its dependencies, and vice-admiral of the same, etcetera, etcetera. whereas it is commonly reported that certain boats and other vessels have entered fraser river for trade; and whereas there is reason to apprehend that other persons are preparing and fitting out boats and vessels for the same purpose. now, therefore, i have issued this my proclamation, warning all persona that such acts are contrary to law, and infringements upon the rights of the hudson's bay company, who are legally entitled to trade with the indians in the british possessions on the north-west coast of america, to the exclusion of all other persons, whether british or foreign. and also, that after fourteen days from the date of this my proclamation, all ships, boats, and vessels, together with the goods laden on board found in fraser river, or in any of the bays, rivers, or creeks of the said british possessions on the north-west coast of america, not having a licence, from the hudson's bay company, and a sufferance from the proper officer of the customs at victoria, shall be liable to forfeiture, and will be seized and condemned according to law. given under my hand and seal at government house, victoria, this eighth day of may, in the year of our lord one thousand eight hundred and fifty-eight, and in the twenty-first year of her majesty's reign. james douglas, governor. by his excellency's command, richard colledge, secretary. god save the queen. general sufferance for the navigation of fraser river. port victoria, vancouver's island. these are to certify, to all whom it doth concern, that the sufferance for the present voyage is granted on the condition annexed to ---, master of the ---, burthen --- tons, mounted with --- guns, navigated with --- men, to proceed on a voyage to fort langley with passengers, their luggage, provisions, and mining tools. the above-mentioned --- register being deposited in the custom house at victoria, hath here entered and cleared his said --- according to law. roderick finlayson, _pro_ hudson's bay company. _conditions of sufferance_. . that the owner of the boat does bind himself to receive no other goods on board but such goods as belong to the hudson's bay company. . that the said owner also binds himself not to convey or import gunpowder, ammunition, or utensils of war, except from the united kingdom. . that he also binds himself to receive no passengers, except the said passengers do produce a gold mining licence and permit from the government at vancouver's island. . that the said owner also binds himself not to trade with indians. advantages possessed by british columbia over australia as a field for emigration. _from the times' correspondent_. from australia, too, the emigration will be large. in that country the cream has already been skimmed off the "placers." the efflorescence of gold near the surface has been dug out, hence the results of individual exertions are becoming less promising; and the miner is a restless, excitable creature, whose love of freedom and independence indisposes him to associate himself in enterprises requiring an aggregation of capital and labour. he prefers to work "on his own hook," or with one or two "chums" at most. this is the feeling in this country. there is another cause which will bring vast numbers of miners from australia, and that is the great scarcity of water--a desideratum of the first importance. this first necessary for mining, operations exists in abundance at all seasons in the new el dorado, and this fact alone will attract additional miners to it from every mining country and locality in which water is scarce. another great objection to australia is the impossibility of acquiring land in fee in small parcels at or near to the mines. many men take to mining as a means of making sufficient money to buy farming implements and stock with. as soon as this object is accomplished, they abandon mining for farming. did not california afford the means of gratifying this wish, thousands of our miners would have left the country. as it is, with abundance of good land to be had cheap, i have found that a large proportion of the farms in the interior of this country are owned by farmers who bought them with the produce of their labour in the mines. the same advantages can be obtained in the new gold country, there being plenty of good land in the british territory in the neighbourhood and on vancouver's island. it is to be hoped the government will make the price reasonable. prices of provisions, etcetera, at the gold fields. the following tariff of charges, collected by the _times'_ correspondent, is now only valuable in a historical point of view, as, under the healthy competition of the californian merchants, prices have already found their own level:-- "canoes are very scarce; the price has risen from dollars and dollars to dollars each. many parties have built light boats for themselves, but they did not answer." "we have got up, but we had a hard time coming." "jordan is a hard road to travel; lost all our outfit, except flour. our canoe was capsized in the falls, and was broken to pieces. six other canoes capsized and smashed the same day near the same place. poor whites and two indians belonging to these six canoes drowned." provisions high up the river are exorbitant of course, as they can only be brought up in canoes requiring long "portages." here's the tariff at sailor's bar and other bars:--"flour, dollars a-barrel, worth in san francisco to dollars; molasses, dollars a-gallon; pork, dollar per pound; ham, dollar cents per pound; tea at one place, dollar per pound, but at another, dollars; sugar, dollars per pound; beans, dollar per pound; picks, dollars; and shovels, dollars each. there were no fresh provisions." i should have been greatly surprised to hear that there had been. "at fort hope there was nothing to be had but dried salmon." "at fort langley plenty of black flour at dollars a-hundred, and salt salmon, four for dollar." what lively visions of scurvy these provisions conjure up! the acme of extravagance was not arrived at, however, until the poor miner came to purchase auxiliaries to his rocker. at sailor's bar "rocker irons were at an ounce of gold each ( dollars), and at hill's bar, dollars each." this "iron" is simply a plate of thin sheet-iron, measuring inches by inches, perforated with round holes to let the loose dirt pass through. i priced one of them, out of curiosity, at a carpenter's shop in san francisco this morning-- and a half dollars. in england this thing would be worth shillings. at sailor's bar it would be worth pounds, shillings, and at hill's bar it would fetch pounds. quicksilver was also outrageously high, but not being of such prime necessity as "rocker irons," didn't come up to their standard of value. at one place it was sold at dollars per pound; but at fort langley a man bought one pound, paying dollars for it, and had to carry it a great distance. the price in san francisco is cents the pound (half-a-crown), and on fraser's river, pounds. "nails brought, from dollar to dollar cents per pound. one lot of a dozen pounds brought dollars, or two bits a-nail," which, being interpreted into queen's english, means shilling a-nail! these are some of the outgoings which tax the miner's earnings in a new unpeopled country; but these are not his only drawbacks. "there being no boards to be had, we had perforce to go in the woods and fell and hew out our lumber to make a rocker," causing much loss of time. then came the hunt for nails and for the indispensable perforated "iron," which cost so much. but worst of all the ills of the miner's life in new caledonia are the jealousy and audacious thieving of the indians, "who are nowise particular, in seizing on the dirt of the miners." "the whites" being in the minority, and the indians being a fierce athletic set of rascals, "suffered much annoyance and insult" without retaliating. what a trial to the temper of oregon men who used to shoot all indians who came within range of their rifle as vermin in california in and ! the difficulties of access to the mines will soon be ameliorated, as small steamers are to be put on the river, to ply as far up as the rapids will permit them; but as to the indian difficulties, it is much to be feared they will increase until a military force is sent into the country to overawe them. the prices of provisions and of mining tools and other necessaries will soon be regulated by the competition of the san francisco merchants, and the miners will not be long subjected to exorbitant rates. they have a vast advantage in the proximity of san francisco, abounding, as it does, in supplies for all their wants. when i recall our early troubles and victimisings, i almost cease to pity the victims of the "rocker irons," at pounds a-plate. in i paid dollar cents for the simple luxury of a fresh egg. i might have had one laid on the atlantic board, or in chile or the sandwich islands, for less, it is true; but these required french cookery to "disguise" their true state and condition, and i being then "fresh" myself was somewhat particular. even this did not cap the climax, for i paid a sum in american currency equal to pounds sterling for a pair of boots the day i was burnt out by the first fire--in the same year. and such a pair! they were navvy's boots, and worth in england about shillings. the new caledonians must not complain, for we have endured more (and survived it too) than they are likely to suffer. table of distances from victoria (vancouver's island) to the lower portion of the mines. the estimates may be relied upon as very nearly correct. +===================================================+========+ | |miles. | +---------------------------------------------------+--------+ |to mouth of fraser river across the gulf of georgia| | +---------------------------------------------------+--------+ |to fort langley (hbc posts on fraser river) | to | +---------------------------------------------------+--------+ |to fort hope (hbc posts on fraser river) | | +---------------------------------------------------+--------+ |to fort yale (hbc posts on fraser river) | | +===================================================+========+ steam navigation is established throughout. the steamer _surprise_ performed the trip from victoria to fort hope in twenty-four hours; her return trip occupied fifteen and a-half hours running time. the bill for the government of the north american colonies. a bill to provide, until the thirty-first day of december, one thousand eight hundred and sixty-two, for the government of new caledonia. whereas divers of her majesty's subjects and others have, by the licence and consent of her majesty, resorted to and settled on certain wild and unoccupied territories on the north-west coast of north america, commonly known by the designation of new caledonia, and the islands adjacent, for mining and other purposes; and it is desirable to make some temporary provision for the civil government of such territories until permanent settlements shall be thereupon established, and the number of colonists increased: be it therefore enacted by the queen's most excellent majesty, by and with the advice and consent of the lords spiritual and temporal and commons, in this present parliament assembled, and by the authority of the same, as follows:-- i. new caledonia shall, for the purposes of this act, be held to comprise all such territories within the dominions of her majesty as are bounded to the south by the frontier of the united states of america, to the east by the watershed between the streams which flow into the pacific ocean, and those which flow into the atlantic and icy oceans, to the north by the th parallel of north latitude, and to the west by the pacific ocean, and shall include queen charlotte's island and all other islands adjacent to the said territories, except as hereinafter excepted. ii. it shall be lawful for her majesty, by any order or orders to be by her from time to time made, with the advice of her privy council, to make, ordain, or establish, and (subject to such conditions or restrictions as to her shall seem meet) to authorise and empower such officer as she may from time to time appoint to administer the government of new caledonia, to make provision for the administration of justice therein, and generally to make, ordain, and establish all such laws, institutions, and ordinances, as may be necessary for the peace, order, and good government of her majesty's subjects and others therein; provided that all such orders in council, and all laws and ordinances so to be made as aforesaid, shall be laid before both houses of parliament as soon as conveniently may be after the making and enactment thereof respectively. iii. provided always, that it shall be lawful for her majesty, so soon as she may deem it convenient by any such order in council as aforesaid, to constitute or authorise and empower such officer to constitute a legislature to make laws for the peace, order, and good government of new caledonia, such legislature to consist of the governor and a council, or council and assembly, to be composed of such and so many persons, and to be appointed or elected such manner and in for such periods, and subject to such regulations, as to her majesty may seem expedient. iv. and whereas an act was passed in the forty-third year of king george the third, entitled "an act for extending the jurisdiction of the courts of justice in the provinces of lower and upper canada to the trial and punishment of persons guilty of crimes and offences within certain parts of north america adjoining to the said provinces:" and whereas by an act passed in the second year of king george the fourth, entitled "an act for regulating the fur trade, and establishing a criminal and civil jurisdiction, within certain parts of north america," it was enacted, that from and after the passing of that act the courts of judicature then existing or which might be thereafter established in the province of upper canada, should have the same civil jurisdiction, power, and authority, within the indian territories and other parts of america not within the limits of either of the provinces of lower or upper canada or any civil government of the united states, as the said courts had or were invested with within the limits of the said provinces of upper or lower canada respectively, and that every contract, agreement, debt liability, and demand made, entered into, incurred, or arising within the said indian territories and other parts of america, and every wrong and injury to the person or to property committed or done within the same, should be, and be deemed to be, of the same nature, and be cognisable, and be tried in the same manner, and subject to the same consequences in all respects, as if the same had been made, entered into, incurred, arisen, committed, or done within the said province of upper canada; and in the same acts are contained provisions for giving force, authority, and effect within the said indian territories and other parts of america to the process and acts of the said courts of upper canada; and it was thereby also enacted, that it should be lawful for his majesty, if he should deem it convenient so to do, to issue a commission, or commissions, to any person or persons to be and act as justices of the peace within such parts of america as aforesaid, as well within any territories theretofore granted to the company of adventurers of england trading to the hudson's bay as within the indian territories of such other parts of america as aforesaid; and it was further enacted, that it should be lawful for his majesty, from time to time, by any commission under the great seal, to authorise and empower any such persons so appointed justices of the peace as aforesaid to sit and hold courts of record for the trial of criminal offences and misdemeanours, and also of civil causes, and it should be lawful for his majesty to order, direct, and authorise the appointment of proper officers to act in aid of such courts and justices within the jurisdiction assigned to such courts and justices in any such commission, provided that such courts should not try any offender upon any charge or indictment for any felony made the subject of capital punishment, or for any offence, or passing sentence affecting the life of any offender, or adjudge or cause any offender to suffer, capital punishment or transportation, or take cognisance of or try any civil action or suit in which the cause, of such suit or action should exceed in value the amount or sum of two hundred pounds, and in every case of any offence subjecting the person committing the same to capital punishment or transportation, the court, or any judge of any such court, or any justice or justices of the peace before whom any such offender should be brought, should commit such offender to safe custody, and cause such offender to be sent in such custody for trial in the court of the province of upper canada. from and after the proclamation of this act in new caledonia the said act of the forty-third year of king george the third, and the said recited provisions of the said act of the second year of king george the fourth, and the provisions contained in such act for giving force, authority, and effect within the indian territories and other parts of america to the process and acts of the said courts of upper canada, shall cease to have force in and to be applicable to new caledonia. v. provided always, that all judgments given in any civil suit in new caledonia shall be subject to appeal to her majesty in council, in the manner, and subject to the regulations in and subject to which appeals are now brought from the civil courts of canada, and to such further or other regulations as her majesty, with the advice of her privy council, shall from time to time appoint. vi. no part of the colony of vancouver's island, as at present established, shall be comprised within new caledonia, for the purpose of this act; but it shall be lawful for her majesty, her heirs and successors, on receiving at any time during the continuance of this act, a joint address from the two houses of the legislature of vancouver's island, praying for the incorporation of that island with new caledonia, by order to be made as aforesaid, with the advice of her privy council, to annex the said island to new caledonia, subject to such conditions and regulations, as to her majesty shall seem expedient; and thereupon, and from the date of the publication of such order, in the said island, or such other date as may be fixed in such order, the provisions of this act shall be held to apply to vancouver's island. vii. in the construction of this act the term "governor" shall mean the person for the time being lawfully administering the government of new caledonia. viii. this act shall continue in force until the thirty-first day of december, one thousand eight hundred and sixty-two, and thenceforth to the end of the then next session of parliament. skookum chuck fables bits of history, through the microscope (some of which appeared in the ashcroft journal) by skookum chuck author of "songs of a sick tum tum," and some others copyright, canada, , by r.d. cumming preface it is more difficult to sell a good book by a new author than it is to sell a poor one by a popular author, because the good book by the new author must make its way against great odds. it must assert itself personally, and succeed by its own efforts. the book by the popular author flies without wings, as it were. the one by the well-known author has a valuable asset in its creator; the one by the new author has no asset but its own merits. i am not contending by the above that this is a good book; far from it. some books, however, having very little literary recommendation, may be interesting in other ways. there are several things instrumental in making for the success of a book: first, the fame of the author; second, the originality of the theme or style; third, the extent of the advertising scheme, and fourth, the proximity of the subject matter to the heart and home of the reader; and this last is the reason for the "skookum chuck fables." if the following stories are not literature, they are spiced with familiar local sounds and sights, and they come very close to every family fireside in british columbia. for this reason i hope to see a copy in every home in the province. the author. contents skookum chuck fables: page of the rolling stone of cultus johnny of the booby man of hard times hance of the too sure man of the unloved man of the chief who was bigger than he looked of simple simon up to date of the high class eskimo of the sweet young things of the two ladies in contrast of the ruse that failed of the real santa claus of the retreat from moscow of sicamous of the ubiquitous cat bits of history: of the foolhardy expedition of the laws of lycurgus of joan of arc of voices long dead of the white woman who became an indian squaw through the microscope of the rolling stone once upon a time in a small village in bruce county, province of ontario, dominion of canada, there lived a man who was destined to establish a precedent. he was to prove to the world that a rolling stone is capable at times of gathering as much moss as a stationary one, and how it is possible for the rock with st. vitus dance to become more coated than the one that is confined to perpetual isolation. like most iconoclasts he was of humble birth, and had no foundation upon which to rest the cornerstone of his castle, which was becoming too heavy for his brain to support much longer. his strong suit was his itinerate susceptibility; but his main anchorage was his better five-fifths. one of his most monotonous arguments was to the effect that the strenuousness of life could only be equalled by the monotony of it, and that it was a pity we had to do so much in this world to get so little out of it. "why should a man be anchored to one spot of the geographical distribution like a barnacle to a ship during the whole of his mortal belligerency?" he one day asked his wife. "we hear nothing, see nothing, become nothing, and our system becomes fossilized, antediluvian. why not see everything, know everything? life is hardly worth while, but since we are here we may as well feed from the choicest fruits, and try for the first prizes." now, his wife was one of those happy, contented, sweet, make-the-best-of-it-cheerily persons who never complained even under the most trying circumstances. it is much to the detriment of society that the variety is not more numerous, but we are not here to criticise the laws that govern the human nature of the ladies. this lady was as far remote from her husband in temperament as venus is from neptune. he was darkness, she was daylight; and the patience with which she tolerated him in his dark moods was beautiful though tragic. it was plain that she loved him, for what else in a woman could overlook such darkness in a man? "you see," he would say, "it is like this. here i am slaving away for about seventy-five dollars per month, year in and year out. all i get is my food and clothing--and yours, of course, which is as much necessary, but is more or less of a white man's burden. no sooner do i get a dollar in my hand than it has to be passed along to the butcher, baker, grocer, dressmaker, milliner. are our efforts worth while when we have no immediate prospects of improvement? and then the monotony of the game: eat, sleep, work; eat, sleep, work. and the environs are as monotonous as the occupations. i think man was made for something more, although a very small percentage are ever so fortunate as to get it. now, i can make a mere living by roaming about from place to place as well as i can by sitting down glued to this spot that i hate, and then i will have the chance of falling into something that is a great deal better, and have an opportunity to see something, hear something, learn something. here i am dying by inches, unwept, unhonoured and unsung." to be "blue" was his normal condition. his sky was always cloudy, and with this was mingled a disposition of weariness which turned him with disgust from all familiar objects. with him "familiarity bred contempt." one day when his psychological temperament was somewhat below normal the pent up thunder in him exploded and the lightning was terrible: "here i am rooted to one spot," he said, "fossilized, stagnant, wasting away, dead to the whole world except this one little acre. and what is there here? streets, buildings, trees, fences, hills, water. nothing out of the ordinary; and so familiar, they have become hateful. why, everything in the environment breeds weariness, monotony, a painfully disgusting sameness. the same things morning, noon and night, year after year. why, the very names of the people here give me nervous prostration. just think--cummings, huston, sanson, austin, ward, mcabee, hobson, bailey, smith, black, brown, white--bah! the sound of them is like rumors of a plague. i want to flee from them. i want to hear new names ringing in my ears. and i hate the faces no less than i do the names. i would rather live on a prairie where you expect nothing; and get it--anything so long as it is new." now, that which is hereditary with the flesh cannot be a crime. the victim is more to be pitied in his ancestral misfortune, and the monkey from which our hero sprang must have been somewhat cosmopolitan. of course his wife had heard such outbreaks of insanity from him before, so she only laughed, thinking to humor him back to earth again with her love and smiles. "conditions are not so bad in bruce county as you paint them," she said, "and if you do not go about sniffing the air you will not find so many obnoxious perfumes. why, i _love_ the locality; and i like the people. and i like you, and my home; and i am perfectly satisfied with everything. things might be a great deal worse. you should have no complaint to make. you have a steady situation, a good master, a beautiful home, plenty to eat--and then you have me," she exclaimed, as though her presence should atone for all else in the world that he did not have. and perhaps a treasure of this kind should have been a valuable asset, and an antidote against all mere mundane cares. "look out through the parlor door," she continued. "could anything be more beautiful? the sun is just setting. the lake is asleep. see the reflection of the trees beneath its surface. how peaceful, how restful! my mind is just like the lake--perfectly at ease. why do you not control your storm and calm down like the lake? look at the tall shadows of the contented firs reaching away out across its bosom. how like a dream." "bah! don't mention lake to me. i hate the sight of it. i have seen it too long. it is too familiar. it is an eyesore to me. i am weary of it all. i want a rest. here comes brown now. let me hide in the cellar. it would be hypocrisy to remain here and smile welcome to him when i hate the sight of his physiognomy and detest the sound of his name. no, he has gone by. he does not intend to call. thank heaven. five minutes of his society would be equal to ten years in purgatory. new sights, new scenes, new voices, new faces; all these are recreation to a mentally weary constitution." "i would consider it a crime to leave this beauty spot," said his wife, "and it is a sin against heaven to decry it." "then i am a sinner and a criminal," said the hereditary crank, "because i hate it and am going to leave. i will take fifty dollars and go, and if i do not return with fifty thousand i will eat myself. i have said all there is to say. those dull, uninteresting faces give me the nighthorse. i am going to-morrow. of course you remain, because it is more expensive to travel double than single," he snorted, "and i have not the plunks." he embarked into the big world a few days later with his wife's warm kiss burning his lips--faithful even in his unfaithfulness. she was cheerful for some time, thinking that he would return, but the magnetism which attracted him to the woman whom he had picked from among the swarming millions was of very inferior voltage. he wandered about canada and the united states for about two years. he had many ups and downs. on the average he made enough to induce his soul to remain in his body in anticipation of something better. to do him justice he remitted all odd coin to his wife in bruce county, and he wrote saying he was perfectly happy in his new life. he awoke one morning and found himself in the "best" hotel, ashcroft, british columbia, dominion of canada, and the first thing he saw was the sand-hill. he thought ashcroft was the most desolate looking spot he had ever seen. it looked like a town that had been located in a hurry and had been planted by mistake on the wrong site. he fell in with a bruce county fellow there who was running a general store, and they became very friendly. he secured employment from this friend, who proved to be a philanthropist. "i have a proposition to make to you," the friend said one day. "what is it?" asked the iconoclast. "buy me out," said the philanthropist. "i have all the money i can carry. when the rainy day comes i will be well in out of the drip, and my tombstone will be 'next best' in the cemetery." "but i have no bank balance," said the aspirant eagerly. "i have no debentures of any kind; i have not even pin money." "bonds are unnecessary," said the friend. "besides, when i sell you this stock and building you will have an asset in the property. i will sell outright, take a mortgage for the balance, which you will disburse at the rate of five hundred dollars per year. you can do it and make money at the same time. you will kill two birds with half a stone. why, in twenty years' time rockefeller will be asking you to endorse his notes." the sale was made and the hero jumped into a store on railway avenue without a seed or cell, and in a short time the moss began to grow so thick upon him that he had all the sharks in b.c. asking him for a coating. and then he wrote for his wife, whom he missed for the first time. the letter ran thus: "ultima thule, b.c., march st. . "my dear wife: "you will see by the heading of this letter that fortune has cast me off at ashcroft, and i must congratulate myself for initiating that rolling stone 'stunt.' i have stumbled upon the richest mine in b.c. the gold is sticking out of it in chunks. the auto that you will play when you arrive will be a 'hum dinger' and no mistake. i am enclosing my cheque for $ . buy out tim eaton and bring your dear self here, for i am lonely without you. "your hitherto demented husband." she read it fifty times, placed it next her heart and pranced about like a five-year-old. "now, just where is ashcroft?" she soliloquized. none of the bruce county aborigines seemed to know, so she consulted a world map, and she found it growing like a parasite to the canadian pacific railway away in among the mountains of british columbia. but this was nothing. she would have risked a journey over the atlantic in an aeroplane if it were a means of uniting her with the man who was the only masculine human in existence so far as she was concerned--the man whom she had singled out and adopted from among the millions of his kind. when they met the union was pathetic, but it was lovely. to make a woman happy, who loves you like this, should be the consummation of a man's domestic ambitions. it was pointed out to him afterwards that, after all, the moss did not begin to grow until he had settled down in ashcroft. so he lost his knighthood as an iconoclast. of cultus johnny once upon a time at spence's bridge, county of yale, province of british columbia, on the indian reserve, there lived two indians named cultus (bad) johnny and hias (big) peter. they were friends until peter got married, and then the trouble began, because they both wanted the same klootchman. they had been fishing for some time for the same fish, in the same pool in the thompson river, and had each been favored with very encouraging nibbles. one day, however, peter felt the tugging at his bait somewhat stronger than usual and with one jerk he pulled out his fish. peter had stolen a march on his rival. the priest married them when johnny was at the coast, fishing at new westminster for the canneries. when the intelligence reached him he sat down in the bottom of the boat and for a few moments imagined himself at spence's bridge giving hias peter a jack johnson trouncing. to cultus johnny the strange preference of this woman for his rival seemed like unmitigated discrimination. why, there was no comparison between the two when it came to worldly icties. peter had nothing: he had no illiha, no icties of any kind; he was broke morning, noon and night. johnny had a sixty dollar saddle, a five dollar bridle, a two and a half quirt and the best cayuse in spence's bridge, and worth seventy-five dollars. peter had nothing but the wage he earned working on the c.p.r. section, which had been just enough to supply him with his daily muck-a-muck (food) before marriage. how he calculated to feed two with the one basket of o-lil-ies (berries) which had been only large enough for one, did not seem to worry the community, as such things were taking place every day and were a common occurrence, and the klootchman always seemed to survive the ordeal. and it must not be forgotten that johnny had a seven and a half stetson hat while all peter could afford was a two bit cap. it will always remain a mystery why one indian should be more voluptuous, or gather more icties about him than another, when none of them have any visible assets from which to derive an income. unless it be that the more voluptuous indian works every day of his weary, aimless life, spends nothing, and hoards the residual balance like a miser, lives on the old man before marriage, and on his klootchman after, we are unable to arrive at a solution. no one knew by what means johnny had acquired all his wealth. perhaps he had bought all his luxuries on jaw-bone from one store while he paid cash for his muck-a-muck in another. there is one thing certain, the honest indian is always the poorest, and in these days of the high cost of beans and bacon and rice, he has to be poorer to be more honest. now it came to pass that one day johnny balanced his saddle, horse, quirt and stetson hat with peter's nothing and argued that all the weight was in his own favor. the keeka (girl) had made a mistake. and to a man who measured everything by worldly icties this was sound argument, for the only big thing about peter was his avoirdupois--barring his heart, of course. in the heat of his argument johnny determined to deprive peter of his sacred property. and among the indians this is not nearly so hazardous or hopeless or criminal an undertaking as it may seem through an anglo-saxon microscope. although a wife is considerable of an asset to a white man, she is not so to an indian; and it may be to his advantage that he is more or less philosophical about it. the cultus indian was at lillooet when this skookum tumtum (good thought) occurred to him. he was cutting fire-wood with some of the statlemulth (lillooet indians) in an effort to heal the wound in his left chest which had been left gaping since his recent defeat in battle. he went back to spence's bridge as fast as his seventy-five dollar cayuse, his sixty dollar saddle, his five dollar bridle and his two and a half quirt could carry him, and presented himself to his kith and kin. the old man gave him a warm hand-shake. they killed some fatted chickens and had the biggest time that the rancherie had ever known. peter and his schmamch (wife) were there and old acquaintances were renewed. johnny's strong suit with his ancient flame was his personal icties; and when peter was otherwise engaged he asked the girl to elope with him to kamloops or lillooet. the next day was sunday and peter was going out with others on a cayuse hunt which had been planned some time before. he invited johnny because it would not be safe to leave him in possession of the fort, and in charge of such a valuable, though fickle, asset; for a great number of the indian women are fickle. but cultus johnny declined the invitation. he was tired, and wanted to rest. besides, he had a bridle to finish which he was plaiting from the leather cut from the legs of an old pair of cow-boy boots which he had found; it would be worth ten dollars when finished. in spite of his good intentions johnny spent the whole day in idleness at the home of mrs. peter; and, as it is no insult among the indians for a buck to propose an elopement with his neighbor's wife, because it is a very common business transaction among them, johnny again suggested the escapade. the woman only laughed and seemed to enjoy the flirtation. but she would neither consent nor refuse. hias peter did not return that evening, and the next day johnny was at the works with greater cannonading, and with more skookum tumtum than ever, and this time he was braver. he was just on the point of putting his arm around the keeka's waist when the door opened and peter darkened the opening. they looked at one another for a few moments like two panthers about to spring at each other's throats. hias peter had a hias gun, and he raised it to his shoulder and glanced in a very savage and threatening way along the barrel toward cultus johnny's heart. johnny dropped to the floor and begged for mercy. now it requires some courage to shoot a fellow-being down in cold blood, although the punishment may be well deserved, so peter lowered his rifle. "klatawa!" (go!) he commanded. "hiak!" (quick!) he shouted. johnny crawled on his hands and knees towards the door, and as he was creeping over the threshold peter gave him one awful kick that sent him rolling on the ground outside. and turning to the woman: "fooled!" he roared. "i will shoot you down like a coyote next time," he said. as the indian is a man of few words, he drew himself up to his hias (large) size in front of her. but the woman pleaded that she was not to blame. johnny had persisted in his attentions to her, and she could not drive him off. "if you want to get rid of him, shoot him," said peter. now, among the indians, when you covet your neighbor's wife, or have been too familiar with her, and you are caught with the goods, you do not fly into a far country for fear of your life. you still hang around, and the worst you can get is perhaps a pounding from the jealous neighbor; and the sweet environment is worth the risk. johnny's skookum tumtum was somewhat out of commission for a while. when he met mrs. peter on the street after that they grinned at each other a few times without speaking; and by and by, when they thought peter was out of sight, they would stop and talk for a while. he asked her again to fly to kamloops with him, and she seemed to be swinging on the balance. johnny dwelt upon his worldly assets--his saddle, his bridle, and all his skookum icties. peter soon realized that his wife was eating at his table and living in another man's tumtum, but he kept on chewing his beans and bacon and dried soquas (salmon) in silence, and, but for the intervention of providence, peter might have followed in the footsteps of paul spintlum. one day cultus johnny and his sister went across the river to fish. they cast their nets directly across from the rancherie, beneath an angry-looking, hungry, threatening, overhanging gravel bed. he and his father and his father's fathers had fished there time out of memory. the old men of the village were squatted here and there weaving nets for the fishing season. squaws were bringing in bundles of tree branches on their backs for firewood; others were scraping the flesh from raw deer-skins, stretched on frames which leaned against buildings. some young fellows, among whom was hias peter, were rolling up driftwood from the river. children were capering about, laughing and shouting. dogs were barking, cats mewing, roosters crowing. there was nothing but joy, and peace, and harmony. it was just such a scene as may be witnessed on a bright sunny day at any indian village in the dry-belt at any time. suddenly there was a rush and a roar and a plunge of waters. the whole mountain across from the rancherie had fallen into the river with one mad roar like thunder, and the water was thrown up upon the village and its helpless inmates. in a moment the peaceful scene was one of death and torture. men, women and children were struggling helplessly in the water and trying in vain to reach the higher benches. at the next moment the water receded and carried many back struggling into the channel of the river. hias peter found himself, with others, struggling among logs, timbers and debris of every description. just before the water receded he saw his wife and heard her yell for help. he seized her skirt and dragged her to safety, clinging to a friendly sage brush. for a moment peter thought that, so far as he was personally concerned, she was scarcely worth saving; but it is very unnatural to allow a fellow being to drown before your eyes and make no attempt to save him. and perhaps our worst enemy could rely on us for protection under similar circumstances. but where was cultus johnny and his sister all this time? the whole world lay on top of them, and that is all we know. they were never seen again. mrs. peter looked across the river and sighed. mr. peter looked across the river and gave a grunt in his own language. a million tons of earth were holding down cultus johnny. of the booby man once upon a time in ashcroft there lived a "gink" who was very much wrapped up in himself. at a local social function he took the prize one day for being the most unpopular man in the community; and this caused him to sit up nights, and study himself as others saw him flitting across his unattractive and uneventful stage. the winning of this prize spoke to him with greater accent than could the exploding of a sixteen-inch german gun, and it sent a quiver through his entire avoirdupois. it was not only an appalling revelation to him to know that he was unpopular, but it was a disgrace to his pedigree right back to the days of samuel de champlain, so he began to paw the bunch grass and seek revenge. first he dug among the archives of history for a solution. there must be some reason for this disgraceful blur on his life pages. why was he the most unpopular man on these sand downs? why was he an outcast? why was he the job of ashcroft society? now, just why was he unpopular? had he boils, like job? was he an undesirable citizen? was he a german, or an austrian, or a turk? was he inflicted with some loathsome disease? was he a plague? had some false reputation preceded him into the community? had he a cantankerous disposition? was he repulsive in appearance? was he mean, stingy? was he stupid, ignorant, uneducated, brainless? no, personally he could not plead guilty of acquaintance with any of the above disqualifications. among the archives of his past ashcroft history he found some tell-tale manuscripts, the contents of which had never appealed to him until after the booby prize episode. in plain english, he found written facts which were as bold as the violation of belgian neutrality. incidents which had seemed very commonplace and unworthy of notice before, now loomed up on those pages and presented themselves to him as giants of the utmost importance. for instance, in looking up the records connected with the forming of the ashcroft rinks he found that he had not been consulted in the matter. his name was missing from that interesting page of ashcroft history. however, when the time arrived for the forming of a company to finance the erection of the building, great interest was taken in his bank account, and the promoters knocked very early one morning at his door seeking endorsement to purchase shares in the joint stock company which was about to be born. at the meeting for the election of directors to take charge of the affairs of the company he was again surrounded by the same zero atmosphere. he was not even nominated as a prospective member. his name had never been suggested. he was never consulted when anything serious was the point of debate. it had not occurred to him to become incensed at this frigid zone attitude on the part of his associates. he had not been expecting any handout, so he was not disappointed. he had been too much absorbed in his own personal affairs, too much wrapped up in himself, and could detect no grounds for offence. at the annual election of officers for the curlers, although a member for ten years, it had never occurred to any in the association to suggest his name as a probable pillar for the upholding of the business portion of the club. again his presence was not suspected, and he may as well have been in iceland. although present incarnate, he was to all intent and purpose only in the invisible spirit. when the hospital idea was being introduced the social thermometer in the vicinity was again standing at the zero point; and he remembered that he had never had the honor of being invited by the society to any of the annual pioneer banquets. he had received the alien "hand-out" upon all occasions, and had the same status in the community as a chinaman. of course, being hitherto so much wrapped up in personality, he took no notice of his social mercury, which always stood at its minimum. and then, as the management of the various institutions had been placed in hands which were, undoubtedly, more able and willing to cope with the difficulties than he, and as everybody seemed satisfied, there was no occasion for him raising his voice in protest throughout the dumb wilderness. being personally very much occupied with his own stamp mill, and the percentage of the pay-rock, he was just as pleased that no local burden should be placed across the apex of his spinal pillar. but now he had arrived at a point where the road divided. new scenes must be introduced into his play--new machinery installed. through the microscope he saw that present conditions could not be allowed to prevail. he was losing much valuable mineral over the dump. he was angry. the sensitiveness of his nature had received a shock; he had been shown up as the most unpopular man in ashcroft. it was time for him to have the mercury brought near to the fire. the next time prizes were being handed around his arm would be the longest, and his voice the loudest; and they would not be booby prizes neither. he had known men of a few weeks standing only, rise to the very apex of popularity, while he, with his ten years initiation, had not yet developed brains enough, in the estimation of the ashcroft people, that would justify them in placing in his charge the management of the most trivial social affair. what had he done that this measure should be constantly graduated out to him? well, things would be different. he would "can" personality and take up the "big mitt" of public things. but how was this revolution in the private disposition of a man to be accomplished? he had discovered the result, but not the cause; so he began rooting among the sage brush of the sand downs for the foundation stone of his social submergence. "i have it!" he shouted one day. "if one wishes to make a puncture in the affairs of this world one must assert himself; one must smite the table top with one's fist every morning before breakfast. one must assume such an atmosphere that the whole community will be cognizant of one's presence, to-day, to-morrow, and all the time. one must assert one's personality. i have been asleep, stagnant, dormant, an egyptian mummy. i have allowed others to take the cream while i have been passively contented with the whey. i have allowed others to elbow me to one side like a log languishing in the eddy of a river. henceforth i will be in the centre of the stream. i will rush down with the torrent and be "it" in the ashcroft "smart set" illumination. "there will be no public works in future that does not bear my signature. in a word, i will assert myself, lock, stock and barrel." so he hit out upon a new highway with the determination to be popular. he neglected his own stamp-mill that the work might be carried out to a successful issue. he engaged others to take charge of the tail race and dump, with which he would not trust his brother on previous occasions. in fact, he left the steam of the mill at high pressure to look after itself that he might have an unhampered course in the asserting of himself. he invaded immediately all the dances, carnivals, dinners and parties. he was both liberal and conservative in politics. he was the "guy" with the "big mitt" and the vociferous vocabulary at all the local functions. he even joined the church. he tumbled into popularity as quickly as the kaiser tumbled into the european war; and he elbowed his way into the run-way for all offices. previously bright stars were dimmed by the brilliancy of his superior luminosity. he became a parasite at the local stores and clubs, and was a wart on the grocer's counter. he became a whirlwind of popularity. he was as much in the advance as he had before been in the rear, and, if there was any german trench to take, he was always first to jump into it. he had the big voice in every local eruption. every time he batted he made a home run. he even made initiative suggestions for schemes which were more or less amalgamated with reason and insanity. it is said that he was first at the dances, and first in the hearts of the ladies. it is certain he was the first to invent the sewerage system idea; and the patents were applied for before the final endorsements had been secured. "i will make the man swallow his words who awarded me that booby prize," he thundered; and he was going the right way about it. he imposed his individuality with emphasis. he was taken by the hand and dragged along cheerfully. he found himself coveted and envied now, where, before, he had almost been denied citizenship. he was now a qualified voter, where, before, he had been disfranchised. he found himself in the front ranks of all social movements, for he had asserted himself with an accent. it was a case of applied personality with him, and it was developing just as he had anticipated. of course it was a superficial personality; it had no intrinsic value, but it answered the purpose. he received many important appointments. he was created secretary to the school board, secretary to the ashcroft rinks, secretary to the hospital, secretary to the ashcroft hockey boys, secretary to the ladies' knitting guild, secretary to the ladies' auxiliary. in fact, he was unanimously chosen an official in all the local public works which had no salary attached to them. but then, he was gaining in popularity, and what did it matter if his office was filled to overflowing with exotic paraphernalia, he was reaching that apex to which he had aspired, and the emolument was a mere bagatelle. the booby prize, after all, had been the foundation of his success. so things went on and he became the most talked of man in the town. when any difficulty arose he was the first to be consulted. the town found it necessary to come to him for information on every local scheme that had its birth in the local cerebrum, for no one else was capable of handling any emergency and carrying it through to a successful conclusion. just about this time the sewerage epidemic took possession of the town, and became an insane contagion. meetings were held at various places to discuss the matter, and at last the government agent allowed the court house to be used gratis for that purpose. of course our hero and two other victims were appointed commissioners to investigate. his salary was the same as he received from his various secretaryships. it was proposed to mortgage the town for forty years to the provincial government for its endorsement to local bonds, and the commissioners were empowered to have the alleys and necessary places surveyed with a view to ascertaining the magnitude of the undertaking, and the amount of the collateral which it would be necessary to raise in england, upon the endorsed bonds, to push the work through to a successful conclusion. the victims set to work with full knowledge of the stupendous responsibility which had been slung, yoke-like, across their shoulders. surveyors were engaged, and an expert calculator was summoned to give an estimate of the cost of such an undertaking. the estimate was placed at $ , . . this enlightenment gave the community a volcanic eruption; an epidemic of "cold feet" took possession of them, and they retired to warm these extremities at their respective air-tight heaters. in the meantime the commissioners had guaranteed payment to the experts whom they had engaged, and their personal notes were urgently requested. the expenses which they had incurred amounted to about five hundred dollars. when the vouchers were hawked about town for endorsements they received the "high ball," and the victims found it necessary to "make good" from their personal rainy day deposits. the unpopular man took a sly glance back at the ancient happy hunting-grounds antedating his booby prize days. it was just about this time that an agent of the independent trust company drifted into town "incidentally," and became acquainted with the boys. he made it known in a sort of casual way that he was disposing of shares in the said company, which were valued at more than they were worth--that is, were worth more than their valuation. to keep up the "bluff" the unpopular man bought a thousand "plunks" worth of shares. "now," said the shark, "since you have shown so much confidence in my company by purchasing shares, you can prove your patriotism more fully by placing a substantial deposit with the independent trust. this will help maintain the company on solid footing, and ensure you higher dividends on your stock. i will give you my personal guarantee that your money will be safer, and more productive than it would be in the bank." the "boob" seized the bait like a trout in the bonaparte, and made a deposit of five thousand dollars. shortly afterwards the company went into liquidation, and his six thousand dollars sailed away with the worthless liquid into the sea of oblivion. about this same time, when his popularity was at its zenith, and was rivalling that of dr. cook, the fake discoverer of the north pole, another shark came down with the rain selling the most marvellous money-making scheme ever offered to the public of british columbia. this was x.y.z. fire insurance shares, which he was disposing of at a great sacrifice. "let me sell you some shares in the only 'real thing' that has been offered to the public since the flood," he tempted. the victim was so much under the shark's influence that he was hypnotized. "certainly," he said. "write me down for five hundred 'doughbaby's' worth." "you mean a thousand," said the shark. "no," said the "gink," timidly, "i have only five hundred in my sock; that will be as much as my pack will carry." "exactly; that is just right. you see, you are buying a thousand dollars worth of goods with only five hundred dollars worth of cash. the shares are fifty dollars each, with a cash payment of twenty-five dollars, and the balance subject to call. this balance will never be called for, because on no occasion has an insurance company been known to call in its balance of subscribed stock; and the x.y.z. is not going to establish a precedent in this respect. you will have twenty shares for five hundred dollars. in other words, you will draw interest on one thousand dollars, and only have five hundred invested. was ever a business so philanthropic in its foundation?" our hero grabbed the bait like a pure-bred sucker, and handed out his last asset. a few weeks later the company was in the hands of receivers with all its assets vaporized. the popular man found himself on the "rocks." being popular for a short time had proved a very expensive expedition for him. the retreat rivalled that of the kaiser's retreat from paris. it was so sudden that the town heard the thud and felt the jar. the unpopular man realized that it is wiser to remain in one's natural element even if it is necessary to sacrifice many of the first prizes. perhaps it is better to go after the prizes for which we are qualified, than to aspire to elevations which we are unable to hold intelligently. the unpopular man backed himself up into his burrow, and for a time the silence around town was embarrassing. of hard times hance once upon a time on the foothills in the environs of clinton, lillooet district, province of british columbia, there lived a "mossback" who was as happy as the nd day of june is long in each year. at initiative conclusions he would be classified with the freak species of humanity, but beneath his raw exterior there lurked rich mines which the moss kept a secret from the inquisitive, avaricious world. he owned and operated an extensive ranch from which he encouraged enough vegetation to feed himself, his pigs, his horses, his cattle, his chickens, and his dog; and this, apparently, was all they derived from the great, green earth. but the asset side of our "mossback's" yearly balance sheet always made the liability side ashamed of itself. the asset increased annually, and the hidden treasure grew to alarming proportions. this growth was carefully salted away at the appropriate salting-down season, when the pork barrels were brought out of the dark cellars, dusted, scrubbed, and refilled with the carcasses of those animals which had been his companions for the greater part of a year. he was a standing joke with the "hands" on the ranch, for he was the most dilapidated of the whole gang, although the owner, and was reputed to be wealthy. but he was a man with a purpose in life, and that was more than a great many could say. he was chronically eccentric. when he first located on the homestead which had since become so valuable an asset, he had determined to live with one purpose in view, and that was to expand financially with the toil of his hands and the sweat of his brow, and then, when he had acquired sufficient sinking fund, to emerge suddenly into the limelight of society and shine like a newly polished gem. so he wandered up and down the trail which his own feet and the feet of his cayuse had worn through the woods, up the creek, along the face of the mountains, and away down to the limy waters of the fraser on the other side of the perpetual snows. there was a fascination for him on this old trail; it had become as part of his life, of his very soul. sometimes he would be rounding up cattle. sometimes he would be hunting mowich (deer), or driving off the coyotes. all his plans and schemes were built on trail foundation. he could not think unless he was tramping the trail through the woods, and down the valleys. here is where all his castles were constructed; and, from the trail observatory, he saw his new life spring into being, when the time would be ripe. in time the coin grew so bulky that it became a burden to him. it had grown very cumbersome. he might at any time resurrect himself into that new world of his, but there was no occasion for haste; he was very happy and contented; besides, it would mean leaving the old trail and things. he had his balance banked in a strong box which he buried in a hole under his bed, and the fear grew upon him that some mercenary might discover its lurking-place and relieve him of the burden of responsibility. this was the only skeleton which lurked in the man's closet. it was the only cloud in his sky; the rest of the zenith was sunshine and gladness. to the neighbors and itineraries he had been preaching hard times for twenty years, although the whole earth suspected the contrary. he became known throughout the width and breadth of yale, lillooet and cariboo as "hard times hance." although diplomatically reserved and unsociable, he was more popular and famed than he suspected. peculiarity is a valuable advertisement. his outward appearance and mode of life certainly justified the above appendix to his personality, and it was so blazoned that it could be seen and heard all over british columbia. he had but one competitor, and that was "dirty harry," who at one time frequented the streets of ashcroft. no other name could have distinguished him so completely from the other members of the human family. his overalls, which were once blue, had become pale with age, and had adopted a dishrag-white color; and one of the original legs had been patched out of existence. his stetson hat, which had left the factory a deep brown, now approached the color of his terrestrial real estate. his "jumper" had lost its blue and white "jail bird" stripe effect, and was now a cross between a faded brussels carpet and a grain sack. to save buying boots he wore his last winter's overshoes away into the summer, while his feet would blister in discomfort. braces were a luxury which he could not endure, so he supported his superfluously laundried overalls with a strand of baling-rope which had already served its time as a halter guy. his feet had never known the luxury of a factory or home-knitted stocking since he had graduated from the home crib, but were put off with gunny sacking which had already seen active service as nose bags for the cayuses. "if one wishes to acquire wealth in this world," he would say, "one must make a great many personal sacrifices." so he lived on and waxed wealthy at the expense even of the simplest of domestic comforts. the improvements with which he had enhanced the value of his ranch were much in keeping with his personal appearance, and they could be recognized as brothers with the least difficulty. the fences, which had refused to retain their youth against the passing years, had their aged and feeble limbs supported with thongs and makeshifts of every description; and where their pride had rebelled against such ingratitude, they were smothered beneath the limbs of fallen trees, which had been felled on the spot to serve as substitutes. his flumes were knock-kneed and bow-legged, and in places they had no legs at all. their sides were warped and bulged with the alternate damp and drouth, heat and cold. the lumber was bleached white, and porous with decay. it was with difficulty they could be persuaded to remain at their water-carrying capacity. the ditches were choked with willows and maples to such an extent that they were abandoned only in spots where they asserted themselves, and refused to convey the necessary irrigation stream. here they would burst their sides with indignation, and had to be repaired. the barns, stables and chicken-houses had for years been threatening to collapse unless supplied with some stimulant; so numerous false-works had been erected, outside and in, to retain them within their confines. the harness, which had originally been made of leather, betrayed very little trace of this bovine enveloper, but was composed chiefly of baling-rope and wire which had been picked up at random on the ranch as the occasion demanded. the various sections of the wheels of his wagons remained in intimate association with each other because they were submerged in the creek every night; the moisture keeping the wood swelled to its greatest diameter. one day's exposure to the drouth, without the convenient assistance of the creek water, would have been sufficient to cause the wheels to fall asunder. in this respect the unsuspecting creek was an asset of incalculable value. the boxes of his wagons could boast of nothing up to date, that was not possessed by the wheels; and in many cases the tongues and whiffletrees and neck-yokes had been substituted by raw maples or birch secured on the ranch. his unwritten law was to buy nothing that would cost money, and to import nothing that could be produced on the farm even if it was only a poor makeshift substitute. no part was ever replaced until it had gone hopelessly on strike, and necessity was his only motive power when it came to repairs. the general conditions were suggestive of the obsolete. in the midst of all this ruin and decay, however, there was sunshine, and the heart of hard times hance was warm and buoyant, cheerful and hopeful, and even if he did live upon the husks which the swine did eat, he derived from his life a great deal more pleasure than the world gave him credit for. he had his future to live for. he had his life all mapped out, and that was more than a great many could boast of. for breakfast he had mush, for dinner he had beans and bacon, and for supper he had bacon and beans and y.s. tea. and he was just as happy eating this fare with his knife as the lieutenant-governor of the province of british columbia could be with his cereal, consomme, lobster salad, charlotte russe, blanc mange, café noir, or any other dainty and delicate importation. bananas, oranges and artichokes had no place on his bill-of-fare. besides, after he had eaten a meal he had no space for such delicacies. and he could always wash his meal down with the famous y.s. tea stand-by; and, on top of this, a few long draws at his kin-i-kin-nick (sort of indian tobacco) pipe. and then there were no restrictions upon his mode of feeding his face. he could eat with his knife with impunity. there was no etiquette-mad society digging him in the ribs, and jerking on the reins in protestation at every one of his natural inclinations; and he could use his own knife to butter his sourdough bread. for a man who expected to emerge into the sunshine of society, he was giving himself very inadequate training. he was as near the aboriginal as it was possible for a white man to approach. he was a siwash (male indian) with one exception--his love of the coin. but then, he had an object in this ambition; and a fault, if it is a means to a worthy end, must be commended. he had this propensity developed to the most pronounced degree. it was a disease with him, for which there was no cure. in outward appearance he was a typical b.c. specimen of the obsolete "coureur de bois" of eastern canada during the seventeenth century. the interior of his "dug-out" was more like an indian kik-willy (ancient indian house) than the dwelling of a modern anglo-saxon. the walls were composed of the rough timbers, and the chinks were stuffed with rags and old newspapers. a few smoke-begrimed pictures were hanging on the walls, and a calendar of the year still glared forth in all its ancient uselessness, leading one back into a past decade. if he broke the rules of etiquette by eating with his knife, he also smashed those of modesty by utilizing his air-tight heater as a cuspidor, for it was streaked white with evaporated saliva. how this crude bud ever anticipated blooming out into a society blossom was a conundrum. perhaps he had some secret method buried in the same box with his hoarded coin. his long evenings were passed reading the _family herald and weekly star_ and the _ashcroft journal_ by candle-light; for those were the only papers he would subscribe for. his bed consisted of, first, boards, then straw, then sacking; and it had remained so long without being frayed out that it had become packed as hard as terra firma. his blankets had not seen the light of day, nor enjoyed the fresh cool breezes for many long years. his one window was opaque with the smoke of many years' accumulation. although his chickens had a coop of their own where they roosted at night, they ran about the floor of his "dug-out" in the daytime looking for crumbs that fell from the poor man's table; and his cat, through years of criminal impunity, would sit on the table at mealtime and help himself to the victuals just as the spirit moved him. a stump had been left standing when the cabin was built; it had been hewn at the appropriate elevation of a chair. this was near his air-tight heater, and his favorite position was to sit there with his feet propped against the stove and smoke by candle-light; and sometimes he would sit in the dark to save candles. his other furniture consisted of "reindeer" brand condensed milk and blue-mottled soap boxes, which he had acquired at times from f.w. foster's general store at clinton. hard times hance was living on first principles; but then, if a man wishes to save any coin in this world he must make great personal sacrifices; and so he was perfectly happy in his temporary aboriginal condition. there were no restrictions upon him. he was even outside the circumference of any ministerial jurisdiction, and had never been cautioned about the hereafter. like an indian, he moved just as the impulse seized him. how this man expected to submit to the personal restrictions and embargoes imposed by modern fashions and society was known only to himself. the song of the forest had been his only concert; the whisper of the creek his sole heart companion. when occasion permitted he would wander the entire day on the high mountains, at the end of his trail, hunting for game, and little caring whether he found it or not, so long as he had the wild and congenial environs to admire and embrace. what was city life in comparison with this? at last the day arrived when he realized that he must develop wings, so he wrapped himself up in a cocoon; and while the metamorphosis was in process of development he had ample time to study hamlet's soliloquy. it would mean a divorce from everything he held dear; a parting with his very soul. it would mean the most sorrowful widowhood that could be imposed on man. it would be equivalent to leaving this earth and taking up his abode in mars. he must sacrifice his love for the creek and the trail. he must renounce his freedom and go into social slavery. it was the emerging from the woods into the prairie; the coming from darkness into the light; a resurrection from the dead. in future he must tread the smooth cement walk between cultivated lawns and plants, instead of climbing the rude, uneven trail obstructed by fallen trees and surrounded with vegetation in its wildest and most primeval forms. he would walk the polished mahogany floor with patent boots, instead of the terrestrial one of his dug-out with obsolete overshoes. but it must be. for years he had been preparing and planning. the object of his past had been a preparation for a better future; and why not? others enjoyed the good things of this life, and why not he? had he not paid the price. others reaped where they had not sown; he had sown, yes, sown in persecution, now he would reap in envious joy. he had lived the first half of his life in squalor and darkness, that the latter half might be clean and cheerful. when he had set out in his young days to live his pre-arranged history it was with an ambition to be wealthy, no matter by what means it should be acquired, so long as it was honest. now he was wealthy. he had been poor; now he was rich, and money would put the world at his feet, which henceforth had been over his head. he had been an animal; from now on he would be human. but in his enthusiasm of development he forgot that he had grown attached to the wild, aboriginal life; that the parting might snap thongs and inflict wounds which even time would not mend or cure. at times the creek would sing, and the trail would speak, but he banished the tempters from his mind to make room for his illuminating prospects, and his wings continued to grow towards maturity. he struggled and freed himself from the cocoon. he went to vancouver a caterpillar and returned a butterfly, and the earthquake which accompanied his debut was equal to that which destroyed san francisco. he had sold his farm, which included the creek, and the trail, and the dug-out, and his salt pork barrel, for a song, and with his coin and icties about him, and in his lately acquired form, he invaded clinton with an accentuated front. the street was lined with people as though a procession had been going by--all the sweet and familiar sounds and sights had been sacrificed criminally, and he was on his way to sip honey from flower to flower. he sounded about clinton for some time for a suitable anchorage on which to materialize the plans and specifications of his mansion, but he did not drive a stake, because clinton was very much inferior to his "class" ideal; it had no electric light, and no water system. so he migrated south to ashcroft, and there he pre-empted a large lot and made arrangements for the foundation of his castle. out of the ground in a short period arose one of the most up-to-date bungalows. while the building was in course of construction hard times hance, who had repudiated this headline, moved about in his dress suit, stiff hat, silk gloves, and a cane, and gave such orders to the contractor as he saw fit. he was looked upon as the most remarkable freak that had ever invaded the dry belt. and he sprang into society spontaneously. the people clamored for him. progressive socials were arranged in his honor at all the leading social centres in their eagerness to cultivate his society. some had faint recollections of having seen him at times, others claimed to have heard of him at his hermitage, but they all pretended to have known him personally and thoroughly, and many even suspected that he possessed more, intrinsically, than he had revealed superficially. he was the lion of the hour, and he did not forget to hand around the coin in his efforts to retain the position which he had secured. when his mansion was turned over by the contractor, and had been accepted by the architect, he issued invitations to one of the most magnificent social functions which had ever erupted at ashcroft. those who were invited were flattered, and those who were not called were grossly insulted and wondered what disqualified them. they danced the "tango," and the "bango," and the "flango," and all the "light fantastics" until their feet went on strike, and their ear drums had become phonographic and reproduced the music with a perpetual motion which could not be stopped. every lady was eager to reveal the dancing secrets to mine host, and before the evening was over he could waltz, tango, and do many of the up-to-date ridiculous "stunts." and then they dined on a french dinner. it was cooked in french style, and they ate it in french; and then they drank french toasts to the king of england, the governor-general of canada, sir wilfrid laurier, and the gentlemen drank to the ladies in general all over the world. then the ladies proposed a french toast to "mine host." not one of them could speak french, although a few of them could repeat, parrot-like, the words "parlez-vous francais?" but they only knew it as a "foreign phrase" which sounded extremely cultured. and the menu was as follows: "canape of anchovies," "celery en branch," "potage a la reine," "consomme au celeri," "calves' sweetbreads a la rothschilds," "french lamb chops a la nelson," "café noir," etc., etc. in the midst of all this foreign celestialism mine host forgot the creek, the trail, the dug-out, the beans and bacon, and the kin-i-kin-nick pipe; and he prided himself on his rapid and agreeable transition into swift channels of life. he was taking to society as a duck takes to water. in mode of living, as well as in personal appearance, it was the greatest metamorphosis that had ever taken place in a human being in the memory of man. it was a miniature "log cabin to white house" episode. he furnished his castle with the most elaborate fittings and ornaments that the world could produce. he had steam heated rooms and electric lighting from cellar to attic. every floor was carpeted with the most expensive of imported brussels. the walls were most elaborately painted and decorated. to secure a final footing in society he had acquired a collection of obsolete paintings, which were very unattractive and vulgar, and could only have been of value as heirlooms to some private family. these were conspicuously displayed on the panelled walls, in partnership with other more or less modest busts and imaginary landscapes. his ceilings were frescoed and figured in most extravagant, but unappealing designs. it was plainly seen that the building had been erected more to satisfy the taste and please the eye of the architect, who had received an unrestricted contract, than for acceptance by the purchaser. the furnishings were very much in keeping with the fixtures and fittings, and his musical instruments were all electrically-automatic machines; and his "canned" music filled the halls and stairways from morning till night. there was no modern convenience or indulgence that he did not lasso and drag home to his castle. before, he had wallowed in the one extreme of society, but now he lolled at the other. while before he had been neglected and despised by his fellow rivals, he was now courted, and admired, and feasted almost to death: so much does the possession of the coin-asset change people's opinions with regard to others. his auto was the envy of all the chauffeurs and private car owners in the interior, and there was great rivalry among the licensed drivers as to who should secure the position as his private chauffeur. one engineer offered his services gratis to have the privilege of sitting behind such wind-shields. hard times hance persuaded himself that he had reached his "utopia," and that his past forty years of loneliness and savagery was the price he had paid for the present heaven-rivalling blessings. a man of his standing in society could not long remain in single dormancy; he was therefore besieged by many of the fair sex. this was very pleasing and flattering to him, although he concealed his appreciation. of course a palace such as his, without a wife, was like a garden of eden without an eve. he had no one to use the electric vacuum cleaner on his linoleums and tapestries. he had no one to meet him when he reached home to take his hat, and gloves, and cane, and place them on the hall rack. he had no one to kiss and afford companionship throughout the long evenings, no one to arrange for social entertainments and meet and welcome the guests; no one to direct and manage the culinary department, and place the furniture in appetizing arrangement. of course he had the chinese cook, but he was stale and without spice. there were millions of qualified candidates in the world, looking for partners, who would be more than pleased to have the opportunity to manipulate his vacuum cleaner. no sooner had he made up his mind to organize a family partnership concern than he set out to have the necessary forms of contract drafted and prepared. a great many fair ones nominated themselves as candidates for election, but as he was living under christian methods he could only accept one--which was annoying--no matter how eager he may have been to mormonize himself. they fluttered around him like moths about an electric arc, and they even deserted their former pre-emptions for the new float prospects. in due course the successful candidate was introduced to the legislature as a new member. the nuptials over, they migrated in the fall with the swallows to california, on their honeymoon, and, after escaping the earthquake, returned to their happy and beautiful home. there was a great eruption among the marriageable prospects of ashcroft, because many of them had dropped a real bone into the water in snapping at the illusory shadow. an indignation meeting was arranged at which it was resolved that the least prepossessing and most unlikely of the nominees had secured the winning majority. but love is a very contrary commodity, and a defect may be a virtue in the eyes of a hero-worshipper; and "my lady" was serenely happy in spite of her unpopularity with her rivals. hard times hance had sprouted from pauperdom and had bloomed into princedom, and his newly acquired partner placed the final mouldings and decorations to his life. they gave frequent balls and banquets, and the most select society in the environs clamored for admittance. to his wife the prince was a modern aladdin. she had but to wish and the wish was granted. "eaton's" catalogue was her bible, and it was her only food between meals; packages arrived daily with the regularity of the _vancouver province_. she had a standing order there for hats, dresses and kimonas, to be rushed out the moment the fashions changed. while before hance had taken a pleasure in saving, he now had a mania for spending money; and their merry marriage bells continued to ring for a few sweet years without ceasing. but gradually the spell wore off the self-made prince. the little creek, the long trail, the deep woods, the dug-out, and the salt pork barrel loomed up occasionally before his mind's eye. in absent-minded dreams he would find himself wandering among the stock on the range at his old ranch; or he would be drinking water from the creek in the old-fashioned, natural way; or chasing a deer at the other end of the long trail. his wife's sweet voice would recall him to the immediate, and in her presence he would regret his meditations. but it would be but temporary. what profits a man to gain the world, if he lose his peace of mind? "what! i unhappy among all this kingly paraphernalia, and with a queen wife?" he would ask himself, going down into the basement to replenish the furnace. with every shovelful of coal he would curse himself for his feebleness of mind. the charm was beginning to wear off. the sound of the singing creek and the wild wood noises were beginning to knock at his door. he was beginning to long for the old, wild life--the life of the wild man of the woods. he was like a coyote in confinement, walking backward and forward at the bars seeking release. he was a fish out of water gasping for its natural element, and his soul was languishing within him. he made desperate but vain efforts to enjoy his beautiful environs, and for a long time he sustained the "bluff." the piano became a bore to him; its music was not half so sweet as the creek song. the tapestry was not half so pleasing to the eye as the green foliage of the trees had been; his cement walk not so agreeable to his feet as had been the long, wild trail. the "icties" which had cost him thousands of dollars became to him like so much junk, and his beautiful home became a prison--so much does man become attached to mother earth. among all this junk one jewel still continued persistently to shine, however, and that gem was his wife; she was all he had left, next his heart, to balance against the thousands of dollars which he had squandered. a man's best comfort is his wife, and hance had fallen into the trap in the usual man-like way. his attraction for the modern in society had dwindled down to a single item--his love for his wife; and between this fire, and the fire of the old life, he remained poised. of course it would be madness to suggest that she return with him to the woods and adopt the adam and eve mode of society, so he kept his skeleton securely locked up. he had sold his farm for a song, but now he found it could not be re-bought for real money. the situation was hopeless. there was no retracing of steps. but still the old sounds could not be divorced from his ears; and the old salt-pork barrel was an unpardonable culprit. if he could only sit once again on the old stump which had not been hewn away in the centre of his dug-out, it would be a source of joy to him. if he could only smoke the old kin-i-kin-nick pipe, his appetite would be satisfied. one day he climbed into his auto and made a bee-line for the old ranch. he would have a rock on that old stump if it should cause a scandal in society. but the spot where the dug-out once stood was now bare. the cabin had been burned to the ground by the new proprietors. he went home like a whipped cur. a link in his beautiful past had vanished. an impassable chasm, of his own making, yawned between him and his desire, and he cursed the day which lured him away from his natural, green pastures. one day he disappeared entirely, and when he did not return for several days, and his wife was insane with grief, a search party was sent out in quest of him. they found him camping on the old trail, dressed in his aboriginal attire, eating beans and bacon with his knife, and chewing venison indian fashion. "this is the only square meal i have had since i left the woods," he said, when they captured him; and he filled his pipe with kin-i-kin-nick and puffed the sweet, mild fumes. he had returned to his natural element. "i have been rounding up stock," he said, "and i shot this buck just over the hill there. here, dig in, it is jake." he had to live among the steers, and the coyotes, and the wild trails in accordance with his early training; original things were his food. society, and his wife, demanded that he remain on the surface, but his aboriginal inclinations lured him to the woods; so, during six months of every year he was an indian to all intents and purposes. early in may he would load a cayuse with beans, bacon, canned milk, frying pan and blankets, and with this treasure he would take to the hills and bask the livelong summer among the junipers, the firs, and the spruces; and he would eat huckleberries, choke-cherries and soap-o-lalies, and smoke kin-i-kin-nick until his complexion assumed the tan of the chilcoten indian. the lure of the limelight had been great, but it had worn off just as soon as he had a surfeit of its false glories. he found that beans and bacon eaten with a knife were sweeter and more wholesome than "blanc mange," "consomme," or "café noir" cooked in french style, and served by a french chef. of the too sure man once upon a time, in the town of lillooet, county of lillooet, province of british columbia, there lived a man who was so sure of his footing that he closed his eyes and floundered along in the dark. when people told him there were chasms in front of him, or that there was ice on the trail ahead, he would not believe them, but put his fingers in his ears so that he could not hear, and thus became deaf and blind to his own interests. the people pestered him so much about his folly, and he learned to hate them so much for their interference in his personal matters, that he crossed the names of all his friends from his list of social possibilities, would recognize none of them, and refused to speak even when addressed; he thus became a blind, deaf and dumb mute. the result was that he ultimately slipped upon the ice on the trail, and fell into a chasm and has not been seen since. it was in the first days of the lillooet quartz discoveries. gold had been mined from cayuse creek, bridge river, and the fraser river, in uncountable ounces, in the free state, by the placer or hydraulic process of mining, for a great number of years, but the source of supply from which the free gold had originated had not yet been located. it was even doubted if there was any source of supply, although it was generally conceded that all gold was originally pilfered by the streams and rivers from the hard quartz-rocks of which the great mountains of cayuse creek and bridge river were formed. while some of the miners contented themselves with making wing-dams, turning streams from their natural courses, and scraping about the mud and gravel of the exposed beds for the pure, free gold, picking up nuggets at sight and capturing the "dust" with quicksilver, others, looking for bigger game, climbed the high mountains, tore the moss from their sides to expose the rock, and pounced upon every piece of "float" which would indicate the possible existence of a "mother lode" somewhere near at hand or higher up. the too sure man of this story was one of the latter. he had found a piece of "float rock" with a shining speck in it near where the nigger's cabin now stands on cayuse creek in the vicinity of lillooet, and he traced it to the very spot where it had dropped from the mountain above. there he discovered a ledge several feet wide full of shining specks, and he traced it with his eyes right to the bed of the creek. "all mine! all mine!" he shouted. now, he was a poor man, and he had a family--which made him poorer; but the sight of this precious piece of "float" with the gold sticking out of it, and the possession of this enormous ledge of gold-bearing quartz made him a millionaire in an instant. here was a whole mountain "lousy" with gold, all his! why, solomon or vanderbilt would be so small in the puddle that he would splash mud on them with his superior tread in the sweet "very soon." now, the b.c. law prevented him from staking off the entire lillooet district for himself, so he took in a friend (who luckily died before the crash came), and they appropriated as large a portion each of the district as the government at that time would allow. both of those men had good, steady, paying jobs at the time of the discovery, but the next day they threw down their tools--work was too cheap for them. the only thing that prevented them from buying an automobile right away on the instalment plan was the fact that the auto had not yet been invented. however, they had to do something to elevate themselves from the common, so they became extravagant in their domestic curriculum. having no money, the stores had to "carry them." and then they had their assessment work to do on the mine to enable them to hold the claim. they hired men to do this and gave them promissory notes payable by the claim at an indefinite period. when a man ceases work and begins to live on his "rainy day" money, or on the storekeeper, it does not take very long before he accumulates a burden greater than he can carry. when he begins to totter he tries to pass some of the load over to others, and it is usually the storekeepers who are willing to assist him to the limit if his assets are in good retrospect. and what could be a greater security than a whole mountain full of gold? so the storekeepers assumed a large portion of the too sure man's burden. and their loads became heavier and heavier. one day a company came along, attracted by the noise that had been made, and bonded the claims for a few hundred "plunks" down and the balance of one hundred thousand dollars in three months if they decided to take the claims over. the offer was gladly accepted, although they wondered why the company hesitated. this few hundred dollars enabled the too sure man to tide his family through the winter with warm and expensive clothing from the t. eaton co., of toronto, ontario, while the local grocery man's burden got heavier and heavier. it was during, all this time that the people had been cautioning him for his personal benefit. and it was during this time that the too sure man closed his ears, and his eyes, and his mouth, and became a blind, deaf and dumb mute. when the three months were up the company decamped, forfeiting their few hundred dollars, and then there was "something doing." the too sure man opened his eyes and his ears and his mouth all at the same time as far as ever he could. the claim had proved a failure, there was no gold, and only a slight trace on the surface. the local storekeepers, groaning under their load, asked him to relieve them, but he might just as well have tried to lift the mountain that held his worthless quartz ledge. it was just at this point of our story that he slipped on the ice and fell into the chasm. he disappeared, bag, baggage, and family; and in truth it was the only course open to him. to remain and work off his debt and sustain his family at the same time with the increasing pressure of the high cost of living holding him under, would have been an utter impossibility. the impending shock killed his partner, for he died before the crash came. the too sure man has a burden in lillooet supported by others which he can come and lift at any time, and welcome. of the unloved man once upon a time in ashcroft a bachelor fellow realized abruptly that he had never been loved by one of the opposite sex, although he had reached the age of two score and two, and had a great longing to have one included in his assessable personal property. now, as truth is stranger than fiction, the discovery staggered him. what was wrong? what machinery required adjusting? he had the sensation of a boycotted egg, and was in danger of spoiling before reaching the consuming market. so one day he perched himself on the sandhill and began to survey the environs for a solution to the problem. why should he be denied this one sweet dream? just think of it--no one had ever sympathized with him in his utter loneliness of bachelorhood. no girl had ever called him her "snooky ookums," and he had never had the opportunity of calling any fair vision his "tootsy wootsy." the horror of the situation was sufficient to stagger an empire. no girl had ever waited at the post-office corner for him. no girl had ever tapped on his office window on railway avenue and smiled back at him on her way home from the meat market. no girl had ever lingered outside for him that she might have the pleasure of his society home to lunch. he had to walk the bridge evenings and sundays alone, while others went in limited liability companies. once, when he was ill, no angel had volunteered to smooth his pillow, and a chinaman brought up delicacies left over from some other person's previous meal. he had no silent partner. none of the girls knew he had been ailing, and when he told them weeks after they feigned surprise. there seemed to be an unsurmountable stone wall between him and the sweet things of this world. so, day after day, in his leisure moments, he would pace the brow of the sandhill seeking in his mind for a solution to an issue that seemed unfathomable. was he ugly? no. was he repulsive? no. was he a woman hater? no. was he a criminal? no. had he offended the fair sex in any way? no. was he poor? no. did he belong to the human family? yes. with what disease then was he afflicted? was it heredity? could he cast the blame upon his ancestors? up and down the thompson valley he searched and searched but he could find no answer--even the echo would not speak. other fellows seemed to have no difficulty in getting themselves tangled up in the meshes of real beautiful love nets. even the young bucks who had no visible means of support for their own apparently useless avoirdupois, picked up the local gems before his eyes and had them hired out at interest to supply the new family with bread and butter. and all this in the face of the fact that _he_ was one of the most prodigious admirers of womankind that ever left his footprints on the sands of ashcroft. "the most flattering appointment a man can have is to be chosen the custodian of one woman," he said to himself. "life, to a man, is nothing if barred from an association of this kind." at last in despair he wrote to a correspondence paper, and put the whole case before them. "i am a young man, aged forty-two, unmarried. i want a solution to the problem why i am unmarried. i have tried and failed. i have had cupid working overtime for me, but he has failed to pierce any of the bosoms i have coveted. no woman has ever loved me, and although i am aware that it is better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all, i may say that this affords very poor manna for my hunger." he received this answer:-- "young man"--(emphasis was placed upon the young)--"you are too slow. you are asleep, stagnant, dormant, hibernating. the whole world is 'beating you to it.' get over your baby superstition about love, and 'get busy.'" the letter dropped from his fingers as though it had been his monthly grocery bill. "heavens!" he exclaimed, "here is the solution to the whole mystery.--forget love and 'get busy.'" instead of expecting to be loved, he would love. if he could not get one who would want _him_, he would get one he wanted himself. now, he had had such an admiration for the fair sex as a whole, that he could not concentrate his attention on the individual one. he had been trying to extract a cinder from the eye of the opposition when he could not see properly owing to having a large obstacle in his own eye. however, he proceeded to "get busy." but what vision would he "get busy" on? every woman had an attraction peculiar to herself, one of which could not be said to extinguish the other. and then, most of them were "staked off." one fellow or another had "strings" on every one he approached. but he kept on fishing with all his might. in the meantime it came to pass that the girls continued to cast their spells upon almost anyone but him; even the itinerant stranger who just chanced along "hitting the high spots," and "travelling on his face" came in for large portions of the "sweet stuff" that was being cast lavishly abroad. it seemed cruel that he who had such an admiration for those on the other side of the house, and who had such an ambition to own one as an asset, should be so unmercifully neglected. his efforts to catch a wife by the legitimate method, according to his idea, had ended like a fishing expedition in the off season in the thompson river. about this time he found that the nomads were catching all the fish. he made up his mind to become a nomad and be a wanderer on the face of the cariboo district. he could not love. he resigned his position in ashcroft and migrated up the cariboo road. he invaded lillooet, clinton, mile house, soda creek, quesnel, barkerville and fort george. to secure a wife he became an itinerant. within the space of a year he was back at his position at ashcroft more lonely than ever. it was of no avail--he was hoodooed. he could not love. at this juncture he made another and final discovery, and it was the most important one he had made at this period of his renaissance. he found out that "get busy" had two meanings. it meant "forget love of all kinds and go to it in a business-like way." this had been a chronic case of a man, in his ignorance, who was prospecting around the hills of this british columbia of ours for a metal that had no existence. he did not know that ninety out of every hundred marriages resulted merely from convenience, or a mere desire to be married on the part of the man, and the love of a private home on the part of the woman; that nine out of the remaining ten were marriages in which one of the parties only was the love-giver, and that the remaining one was the ideal, in which love was mutual and beautiful. this ashcroft bachelor fellow was a sentimental monstrosity. he was imbued with the superstition that one must love, and be loved, before one could marry. no aphorism could be further removed from the truth. the glaring realism dawned upon him that it was quite possible for a person to flounder through this world and be entirely immune from the love epidemic; that few people ever marry the one they do really love, that some are never sought after by one of the opposite sex during their whole life, only in a business-like way; that modern society was too busy to entertain such a silly superstition as love--that cupid was a dead issue. he had been waiting until he fell in love or till someone fell in love with him, and thus opportunity had been knocking at his door all those years in vain. when he had joined the iconoclast society, and had shattered this pet idol of his, he began to look around for a wife in the same manner as he would for a car of ashcroft potatoes--and he soon "landed" one branded with the "big a." and the amusing part of it is they lived happily--all of which goes to prove our contention that those who love before marriage are not always the happier after their nuptials; and sometimes it is a mere matter of making the best of a bad bargain, and you will be perfectly happy though married, even if your stock in trade of the love commodity is very much impoverished. of the chief who was bigger than he looked once upon a time in the thompson valley there lived a mighty warrior kookpi (chief) called netaskit. he was chief of all the shuswaps. his name had become a household word the entire length and breadth of the pacific coast, and the tribes along the fraser river and the pemberton meadows had knowledge, through many sad experiences, of his bravery and daring. among his own people his word was law, and to show the white feather in the face of an enemy meant certain court martial and death at his hands. although his subjects feared him, they respected him beyond belief; and to serve him was considered a great honor. it is not our purpose to convey the impression that this kookpi was cruel, treacherous, cold-blooded and selfish only, and a man who had no other ambition than war and the spoils of war. no, if he was a fiend on the battlefield, he was a lamb at home. he had a soft side that battled with the concrete in him at times. his weakness was his insane love for woman, and in his own kikwilly house (home) he was as timid as the smumtum (rabbit). his respect for cupid had as much avoirdupois as his respect for mars. his love for his wife was an insane love--it far outdid his love for his chiefdom. and he had a wife who was worthy of him and as faithful to him as he was to her--she adored the very skins he wore across his shoulders. being happily united himself, and having such a respect for cupid and the fair sex, he passed a law that no man or woman should take unto themselves a partner for life until thoroughly satisfied and convinced that the love flames between them would be of everlasting duration, and were genuine. "woman," he said, "was made to be loved, and not enslaved. my consideration for the welfare of our women exceeds that for our men, because man is so constituted as to be more able to take care of himself." so much was this old prehistoric chief away ahead of his dark, heathen times. but this masculine weakness of his was nearly his undoing with his warriors, as we shall see. one day a rumor went abroad that the statlemulth (lillooet indians) were making their way through the marble canyon, and down hat creek, to attack the shuswaps on the bonaparte, in revenge for some misdemeanor at some former time, on the part of the latter. it was just about the time of the year when the shuswaps were in the habit of invading the fraser river at pavilion for their winter supply of salmon; and, to be cut off from this source of revenue would mean a great deal to the bonaparte indians. the invading army must be met and the entire band put to death, or made prisoners. telephone messages in indian fashion were flashed from kikwilly house to kikwilly house, and in a couple of days the entire strength of the shuswaps was gathered in a great army with netaskit at its head. the march began at an early hour the following morning, and the enemy was met near the mouth of the canyon where they had called a halt for the purpose of hunting and putting up o-lil-ies (berries). in a moment the air was filled with war whoops, and the arrows flew thick and fast. the women took to their heels and ran the moment the fray began, and they did not stop until they reached squilachwah (pavilion) near the fraser river. the smumtum and the groundhog betook themselves to the high mountains, so great was the battle, and their fright--and it is only within recent years that they have ventured back to that spot. the battle raged loud and long. netaskit was in the thick of the fight and claimed that he had killed twenty of the enemy with his own bow. many were wounded and slain on both sides; but the shuswaps won the day, and they led home in triumph fifty prisoners. and now comes the most interesting part of our story. a counsel of war was held, and it was decided that the prisoners should be put to death the following day. when the time arrived, the unfortunate men were brought out, bound with thongs hand and foot and placed in line near the big chief's wigwam. fifty victors were lined up in front of them with their bows and arrows ready to shoot at the word of command from their chief, who was pacing up and down in his dignity and anger. suddenly the love demon took possession of him. he thought of his love for his wife--her love for him. he pictured to himself his possible death and the agony of his widow. he pictured her death and his own agony of mind at his loss. he shuddered as the messages flashed through his mind. he looked at the unfortunate victims--he thought of their women--sweethearts, wives. "halt!" he shouted to his men. and turning to the wretches before him he said: "statlemulth! listen. you have committed a great wrong in making this expedition against the shuswaps. the ko-cha kookpi (god) is very angry. you should be shot dead but you can save yourselves. listen. i will pardon every man of you who can produce a wife or a sweetheart who can prove to my satisfaction that her love for you is greater than the voice of the thompson, and fiercer than the roar of the fraser." "never!" shouted the tribesmen, and every bow and arrow was turned simultaneously upon the chief. "slaves! cowards!" thundered the enraged and fearless kookpi, like a mountain lion in pain. in a moment every bow and arrow fell by its warrior's side. as the consequence of this act on the part of his subjects is of no importance to this story, we will leave it to the reader's imagination just what sort of punishment was doled out to them. it is safe to say, however, that netaskit was too wise a kookpi to order the death of so many brave followers, as this means of gratifying his wounded pride would simply mean the weakening of the tribe, and would put his own life in jeopardy. a message was sent to the lillooet illihae (country) with the glad tidings, and at the close of two days a swarm of smootlatches (women), and keekas (girls), rushed into camp breathless, and began hysterically searching for their respective sweethearts or husbands among the prisoners. the scene was more than poetic; and it was pathetic in the extreme. it was a scene that had not occurred before on the broad surface of the earth--those fifty distracted squaws rushing into the jaws of death in their eagerness to rescue the ones without whom life would be empty, useless, aimless. it is said that it melted the heart of the very rocks about the place, so that to this day the surface of the earth at that spot betrays evidence of having at one time been running lava. the captives were lined up before the kookpi's kikwilly house, and the little army of love-mad squaws, awful in their primitiveness, rushed at the line, selected their respective skiuchs (men), and clung to them, hugged them, kissed them wildly in the awful heat of their passion, each in her eagerness to save one at all hazards for her own selfish, but natural self. and no power on earth could tear them asunder. it melted the hearts of the victors so that they called out with one voice: "go, you have won!" and as they moved away shouting, and laughing, and dancing, netaskit was seen to weep, so great was his respect for cupid. "o woman! woman!" he was heard to exclaim. and this is the reason there is so much harmony between the statlemulth and the shuswap to-day. of simple simon up to date once upon a time in ashcroft there lived a "simon" who had no knowledge of the purchasing value of his salary asset. he did not know that its buying powers were narrowed down to bread and butter and overalls; and as a consequence he was victimized down into a very precarious financial predicament, to say nothing about the valuable and most vigorous and productive years of his life, that were thrown into the scrap heap of time, and had to be cancelled from his list of revenue-producers. when you contemplate a steady wage asset of one hundred dollars per month coming in with the regularity of clockwork and as sure as the first day comes around (and the months go by very quickly), you think you are in a fair way to make some of the local financiers look very cheap in a few years to come. why, this means twelve hundred dollars every time the earth circumnavigates the sun, and is sixty thousand dollars in fifty years, which is not very long to a man if he can start just as soon as he passes the entrance and can build on no intervening lay-off by getting on the wrong side of the boss. but when we offset with our liabilities, such as tobacco money, moving picture money, car fare, gasoline, rent, taxes, repairs to the auto, and other trifling incidentals such as food and clothing, we find at the end of the lunar excursion that there is no balance to salt down on the right side of our ledger, and our little castle becomes submerged because it was built with its foundation on the shifting sands. but for all that, if a man and his money could be left alone--if money were not such an envy-producer--if a man with money had not so many friends and admirers and strangers who love him at first sight--all might yet be well; and though he might not outclass some of the most corpulent magnates, he might in time acquire considerable moss in his own private, insignificant, simple-simon sort of way. but the laws of nature have willed otherwise, and the strongest of us know that it is needless to go into litigation with the laws of gravitation, or spontaneous combustion. among the workings of nature (which some people say are all for the best), there is a class of men who have, rather truthfully, been called "sharks" on account of their fishlike habit of pouncing upon suckers unawares and without the legal three days' grace being given, and of loading them into their stomachs--finances and all--before the person has time to draw and throw his harpoon. it all happens while you are taking a mouthful of tea, or while you are reading the locals in the _ashcroft journal_, and when the spell leaves, you find that you have endorsed a proposition with a financial payment down, and the balance subject to call when you are very much financially embarrassed indeed. simple simon was one of those men who move about this world unprotected and without having their wits about them. he was not a sawfish, or a swordfish. so one day when he was walking up railway avenue--it was just the day after he had told someone that he had five hundred dollars of scrapings salted down, which was earning three per cent, at the local bank--a very pretentious gentleman, spotlessly attired, accosted him: "pardon me. are you mr. simon?" "i have that asset," said simple, wondering how the aristocratic stranger had known him. "i thought so. i knew at a glance. the fact is, i have just been speaking with mr. c. quick." (this was a lie. mr. c. quick was one of the money magnates of ashcroft, but had not hired out his name as an endorsement)--"and he recommended you to me as one of the leading men of the town." (this was a ruse, but it hit the bull's eye, and at the final count was one of the most telling shots.) "i am pleased to meet you," said simple. "and so am i," said the shark. "as a matter of fact, i only approach the better part of any community," he continued, pulling in on the line. "to tell you the truth, mr. c. quick said you were the only man in the town who had both foundation and substantial structure from your roots up," and he laughed a broad sort of "horse-laugh," and slapped simon on the shoulder. "you see, with a proposition such as i have there is little use going to any but men of the greatest intelligence--those are the ones who understand the magnitude and the security and the ultimate paying certainties of the proposition which i have to offer you. you may consider yourself fortunate. it is not everyone who has the opportunity to get in on the ground floor, as it were, on a sure thing money-accumulating business. by the way, where is your office?" simon led the shark to his private dug-out on brink street, and showed him into one of his cane-bottomed thrones, while he himself sat on the yet unlaundered bed. "of course you understand all about joint stock companies, trust fund companies, municipal bonds and debentures," said the magnate, unrolling a bundle of unintelligible papyrus showing assets which did not exist, and spreading them out on the bed in front of his victim. the whole system had been premeditated and had been systematically worked out. "now," said the shark, pointing at long and encouraging figures, "those are assets and these are our liabilities; and besides we have a million dollar government endorsement. now, the fact of the matter is this. you have a few dollars. i have a few dollars; tom, dick and harry have a few dollars, and so have jessie and josie. now, those little private funds which we all cherish and fondle, and hug to our bosoms, and jingle in our pockets, are of no use to us. they are dead. of course they are earning three per cent, at the b.n.a. or the northern crown--what bank do you deposit with?--of course, it does not matter; there is no competition among them; they pay you three per cent. and charge you ten per cent. now, we are very much different. we give you all your money will make--if it is ten, twenty, thirty, fifty, or one hundred per cent. see? "now, the fact of the matter is this: as i said before, those small individual fortunes are of no use to us individually; they have no earning power; they will not buy anything. but, put them all together--ah! the result is magical. you see, it is the aggregate that counts. now with this theory in view, our company gets to work and canvasses the country and it gathers together thousands of little, useless, insignificant, unproductive funds like yours and mine and joins them together into one vast, giant aggregate which we call a trust fund. i see it is appealing to you. it could not be otherwise. now, with this aggregate, you, and i, and everyone can own vast estates, buy forty-year debentures, lend money on approved security, buy real estate, the unearned increment of which will net in some cases two or three hundred per cent. interest, besides an increased valuation on the original sum invested." perhaps every living man in the dominion of canada and the united states who betrays the least pretensions to having any money in his possession has heard a harangue of this kind many times in his life, and it is just as certain that the first time he heard it he was stung. now, simon was no exception to the rule, which proves that we are not all swordfish. he felt himself being hypnotized, magnetized, charmed. he pictured himself as personal owner of lots, houses, acres--a joint owner of vast tracts of land along the g.t.p. or c.n.r.; and the shark showed him a facsimile of the certificates that would be issued to him when his shares were paid up in full. they were very neat and legal-like, and a man should be proud to own one of them. "you see," said the magnate, as he realized that he had the victim falling into his trap, "we do not require to sell any more shares; we are doing well enough now, and some say we should leave well enough alone. but, a corporation of the nature of ours cannot rest on its oars; we must reach out for greater and better things, and to accomplish this we must have more capital. the fact is, a proposition has just been put to us, the nature of which i am not just now at liberty to divulge, but it is a sure winner. but it takes capital, as i said before, and we are compelled to sell some more stock. and, after all, it will be you and i who will benefit, and a hundred or more favored ones who have small savings which are netting them nothing at present, and the principal of which is rusting in the bank at three per cent. "now, to come down to business. will you join us? now, i am not going to press you. there are hundreds too willing; but remember, you will regret it if you lose this chance of a lifetime. opportunity is knocking at your door; seize it by the fore-lock. "the proposition i have to put before you is this: we are selling shares at one hundred dollars each, but if you have not the cash now, we will allow you six, twelve and eighteen months on the balance with a payment of five hundred dollars down if you buy twenty shares. the reason we are able to make such liberal offers is that we receive the same terms in buying up debentures." simon was completely victimized. his tormentor might just as well have addressed him in latin, for he knew so little about debentures, joint stock funds and the intricacies of high finance that he could not follow the promoter and was completely dazzled with the obscurity and eloquence of the language. and then the magnate spoke so rapidly that only lightning could keep up with him. the result was that simon fell into the trap and was pinched. he not only gave away all his rainy day money, but he burdened himself with a debt, which, to a working man, was a mountain, and more than he could carry. he sold his house to meet the next two payments, and just as the third payment came due the company went into liquidation, and it consumed all their available assets to discover that there was nothing left for the shareholders. and simple simon began life over again. of the high class eskimo away up in the great northland, even further north than the northern boundary of british columbia, there lives a race of people who form, and have formed, no part of the great human civilization of the world which has been, and is going on in the more moderately climatic regions of the earth. for centuries they have lived apart, and have taken no notice of the big world which has been, and is living itself to death far from them down in the indolent south, where the sun could shine every day in the year--where it did shine every day that it was not cloudy, and where there was no long, dreary, dark midnight of at least four months' duration; where the sun did not dip beneath the horizon at about the beginning of october, and disappear, not to be seen again until the end of march; where, in some parts, there was no snow, while in others only for a few weeks during the year. no snow! no ice! can you imagine such a condition? and up there it is almost the eskimo's only commodity. he eats it, drinks it, lives in it, sleeps on it, and his castle is built of it. and he endures it year after year, from his babyhood to his gray days, and there appears no hope for him. bare ground is a curiosity to the eskimo; and there are no spring freshets. their bridges across their streams are formed of ice; the very salt sea is covered with it; and they venture out on those great floors of ice in search of the polar bear and the right whale which form almost their only food, and supply them with their only source of clothing, heat and light. in the midst of his narrow and cramped circumstances the eskimo can laugh at times as heartily as any other human, and he has grown extremely low in stature to accommodate himself to the small opening which gives access to his igloo (house). the average man or woman does not exceed much over four feet. no other explanation seems to have been offered by science for the extreme dwarfishness in stature of this curious race of people. like the polar bear--almost their only associate in those northern and frozen wilds--the idea never occurred to this people to migrate south where the earth is bare and warm, and is clothed in a green mantle; where the sun shines every day; where the land is flowing with milk and honey; where peaches and water melons grow, and where it is not necessary to go through a hole in the ice to take a bath. no, this strange people, whose food is ice, whose bed is ice, whose home is ice, and whose grave is ice, are part and parcel of the snowy north; and they live on, apparently happy and contented with their hard life and uncongenial environment. where the white man begins to be uncomfortable, the eskimo begins to be at home. where the white man leaves off the eskimo begins, and his haunts penetrate away into the far north--into the land of perpetual ice and snow. where we go only to explore he builds his permanent abode. but this is not a history of the geographical distribution of men; it is to be the story of an eskimo who went astray according to the moral ideals of his immediate tribesmen. once upon a time there lived in this northland of which we have been speaking a young native who had mysteriously arrived at the conclusion that the life of an eskimo was a very narrow and fruitless existence indeed, and that the conditions under which they lived were totally inadequate to supply the demands of a twentieth century human being. in the midst of the other members of the family he assumed an attitude of weariness and contempt for his associates and environs. "one may as well associate with a polar bear," he soliloquized. "man was made to accomplish things; the eskimo is no further advanced in the scale of living, organic beings, to all intent and purpose, than the polar bear, or the walrus. he is born, lives, eats, sleeps, hunts, kills, dies, and is buried in the cold frozen earth, if he does not fall through a hole in the ice into the bottomless sea. to the south of us is a great healthy world where men live; where they have discovered all that the world has to give, and where they enjoy those things to the utmost; where they read and write and take records of their doings. me for the south!" he shouted, and he made up his mind to migrate at the first opportunity and be in the swim with men. "i must learn to read and write and think, even if i have to forget my own language," he declared. now, it came to pass that as he was soliloquizing as above one morning, a girl appeared before him. she was so muffled up in furs that only an eskimo could distinguish whether the bundle was male or female. she sat down beside him and placed her short, stubby, muffled arm as far around his neck as it would go, and in this attitude she coaxed, and begged, and prayed, and argued with him, thinking that she might resurrect him to himself again. but when she found that his mania was for the south, she wept as only woman can weep the whole world over, even in the far north where the tears are in danger of freezing to her cheeks. but he, in his brutish, advanced-thought sort of way, pushed her from him. "if you love me you will help me to go," he said. "if you love me you will stay," she responded. he rose and moved towards his igloo; she followed. he crawled like a bear through the thirty feet or more of narrow tunnel which led into the hut proper. she did likewise. in the igloo he threw himself down on the ice floor among the squalor and quantities of bear meat in various stages of decomposition. the smell from the whale-oil lamp almost choked him. the girl sat down and continued to cling to him. "let me go to the south and i will make a lady of you," he said. "i will give you gold and silver and feather beds. these environs are not fit for a bear to hibernate in. just think of our branch of the human family existing and suffering up here among the ice and snow for thousands of years and not having advanced one step from the hovel in which we were first produced? is the eskimo destined to everlasting failure--perpetual degeneration? must you and i be satisfied and consent to endure this animal existence to the end of our days because it is our only heritage from our ancestors? no! i say, a thousand times no. i am ashamed of myself, my ancestors and my entire race," he shouted, and the girl almost trembled in fear of him. he must surely be demented. but she still clung to him, thinking that her enchanting presence might cure him. thus love can be a very warm thing even up among the cold ice and snow. their cold, half frozen cheeks came together and she kissed him. "stay," she murmured, coaxingly, as only a woman can. "i will take passage south," he continued unheedingly, "and will plunge myself into the midst of the big, busy, warm world, and will gain with one bound that social condition which it has taken the white man thousands of years to attain." now, after all, was this man not right, and is the eskimo not to be pitied? the girl, seeing that her whole world was about to vanish from her, left the igloo weeping, and again crawled like a bear through the narrow tunnel to the colder world outside. one day when the sun was just about to make its appearance above the horizon, and the long night was nearly at an end, two half starved and partially frozen white men burrowed their way into our hero's igloo and asked for food and shelter. the night had been long, dreary, dark and cold, and the approaching return of the sun was welcomed like a prodigal. is it a wonder then that the eskimo worships the sun? it seems his only hope, his only comfort; and it would seem to him, more than to any other, the source of all life, his only friend in his dire need. the eskimo offered the two strangers some meat, which they devoured greedily; and then they told a long, pitiful story. they were explorers. their ship had been crushed hopelessly between masses of ice. fifty had started on the long journey south. provisions gave out. men had dropped off daily. the trail was one long line of frozen corpses stretched out in the dark and silent night. they two alone had survived, so far as the strangers were able to tell. it was the usual tale of woe which befalls the arctic or antarctic explorers. beginning happily, hopefully, buoyantly; ending in misery, sorrow and death. the strangers wanted a guide to lead them to the south--to civilization and warmth. they had not known what it was to be comfortable for two years; and they had not seen one square inch of bare ground during that period. "oh, for a sight of mother earth!" they shouted. "we would gladly eat the soil, and chew the bark from the trees." thus one does not appreciate the most trivial and simple but indispensable things until one is deprived of them for a period of more or less duration. our hero agreed to guide them so far as his knowledge extended--even to the very gateway between the north and south lands--if they would guarantee to guide him from that point into their own big, beautiful world further on; they taking the helm when his usefulness as a guide would be exhausted; and he explained his ambition to them. so, one morning when summer was approaching, and the sun, for the first time in the year was sending her streamers above the horizon, and when his sweetheart lola stood with arms outstretched over the cold snow and ice towards him, pleading and sending forth her last appeal to his stony heart, he walked out across the white table-land towards the south, and was soon a small black speck in the far horizon. when the strange expedition reached dawson they discarded their hibernating costumes and substituted more modern ones, not so much because they were out of fashion, but because they rendered them somewhat uncomfortable. at this point the white men grasped the helm and the eskimo followed. at fort fraser our hero discarded more of his clothing, and at quesnel he became determined to strip himself. "i cannot stand this heat," he said; "why, it will kill me." "heat? kill you?" exclaimed his two companions. "why, the thermometer is scarcely above the freezing point. if this moderate climate makes you uncomfortable, what will be your condition in california? why, you will melt away like a candle beside a red-hot stove." and thus they joked with him, not taking him seriously. so they sailed along and in due time reached ashcroft. the eskimo perspired to such an extent that his condition threatened to become dangerous. the slightest covering of clothing became a burden to him, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that his companions could prevent him from stripping himself naked. they persuaded him that he should return before it was too late, but he would not hear of it. "i have made my nest; i will sit in it to the bitter end," he said. they boarded the midnight train, and in a few moments he was fleeing to the sunny south a great deal faster than ever dog team or sledge had taken him across the frozen plateau. and the farther south he went the more he suffered from the heat, until he was in great danger of melting away. and then the truth dawned upon him; it had never occurred to him before. he was a fish trying to live out of water. he discovered that what his mind had pictured, and his heart had longed for, his constitution could not endure. he was doomed to live and die in the frozen north. oh, those savage, unprogressive, half-animal ancestors! and for the first time he thought of his igloo, his dog teams, the polar bear, and the little woman who had pleaded with him to remain; and he saw her standing as he had left her with outstretched arms, while her very heart tissue was being torn asunder. "oh, for the ice and snow and the long, dark night," he exclaimed; "anything but this awful heat." when they reached san francisco he was almost insane, and his condition became critical; and, as if to punish him for his folly, the heat became intense for a few days. they rushed him to the sea shore and he plunged into the water, and refused to come out again. those were the most congenial surroundings he had found since he left the frozen north. he was in such misery that he did not have time to enjoy the wonders of civilization which he had risked so much to see. thus does distance lend enchantment to the view. this was an instance of how a man had grown up with his environment--had inherited qualities or weaknesses applicable to his surroundings, had breathed the air of one planet so long that the atmosphere of another was poison to him. he had envied others a lot which it was constitutionally impossible for him to emulate. and he wept for his hereditary infirmities and failings. could a man be blamed for regretting his ancestors and cursing the fate, or the necessity which drove them into those northern fastnesses at the early stages of their existence? here again the white man was to blame, for he, in his eagerness and greed, had seized upon the cream of the earth for himself and had driven all inferior or weaker peoples to all the four corners of the globe. and of all the unfortunate, subordinate races, the eskimo was the most unfortunate, and their condition savored of discrimination on the part of the powers that governed or ordained things. as our hero had only one ambition while in the north--an insane notion to go south--he had only one ambition while in california--an overpowering ambition to go north. "oh, for a mantle of snow, and a canopy of ice!" he shouted. "and, oh, for one touch on mine of my lola's cold, sweet cheek. oh, for the frozen, hopeless northland, even if its condition means the perpetual doom and obliteration of the whole eskimo race!" they shipped him north as fast as steam could carry him, and from dawson he went on foot, becoming day by day more and more his natural self. when he neared his igloo he found his lola standing with outstretched arms to welcome him even as she had mourned his departure, and he realized for the first time that the love and companionship of one woman is worth more than all the riches and wonders of the world put together. they embraced each other with the grip of a vice, in the awful power of their natures, and their affection was as genuine as the most civilized variety. and there he threw himself on the earth and hugged the snow of his dear northland. of the sweet young things once upon a time in ashcroft a very foolish young man married a very foolish young lady. they were foolish in so far as they had entered a matrimonial partnership without the preliminary requisite of love. he married because he wanted a wife, as all good men do; she married because she wanted a home, as all good women do. but, as we have said, they married too hastily in their eagerness for those mere mundane pleasures. each had been known to lie awake many nights before their marriage summing up the situation, and putting two and two together; but, as they were both liberal in their political views, and had no conservative opposition, the two and two always made four without a decimal remainder, and the house voted for marriage with an overwhelming majority. so they became legally united before they were morally mature for love, and before they had formal introduction to the great things of the world. after the solemnization of their marriage they adjourned to a beautiful little home which had been made to order; and it was guarded by a beautiful garden of eden. for a short time everything went merry as the ashcroft curlers' ball. her happiness was all he lived for, and his comfort was the only excuse she could find for living. nothing was too good for his maud; no man was like her manfred. they each congratulated themselves that they had hooked the best fish from the thompson. there was nothing in the world outside of their own sweet lives. how others could live outside of _their_ sphere was a mystery to them; and the hugs and kisses which they did not treat themselves to daily would be of no commercial value as a love asset. for the first few weeks they spent their evenings with their tentacles wound around each other so tightly that they would have passed for one animal; but they had not been welded by that permanent binding quality which is essential to perpetual happiness. their natures seemed to blend, but it was only a case of superfluous friendship between them. they had no reason to fall out, no excuse to quarrel. they had one mind, one ambition, and they had agreed, mutually, to salt down a few "plunks" each payday for their anticipated gray days. in fact, they seemed better "cut out" for each other than many who marry loving desperately and savagely. in a few sweet years they had a few sweet children, and life was one sweet dream. but they did not love each other, and without oxygen the lights ultimately became extinguished. but this was only because the ironies of fate had discovered that they were too happy, and that something must be done to damage their heavenliness. the honeymoon might, otherwise, have lasted all their long lives without interruption. but fate decreed that the clouds should gather from the north, south, east and west to obliterate their sun. it happened in the shape of two monsters in the form of flossy and freddy. flossy and freddy were float rocks. they had been picked up by maud and manfred on their face value and welcomed to the family circle. they had been assayed at the provincial assay office and found to contain a valuable percentage of real collateral; so our hero and heroine could not be reproached for taking them into their arms and allowing them the freedom of their home pastures. but, ah! this is where the evil one sneaked on to the happy hearth-rug--they took the strangers into their arms. they were all young; and, moreover, human. what could they do when the failings of their ancestors of a million years took them in an iron grip and led them in a hypnotic spell toward the brink of ruin? they were as helpless as the liberals in b.c. politics in the year . we have often quoted that every one must love one of the opposite sex at least once in a lifetime, and our hero and heroine were not immune from this stern gravitation law, because they were only human after all. what was the consequence? maud fell hopelessly in love with fred, and manfred lost his conscience, his manhood, his heart, his soul, his brains, his job and his salary over the flossy vision. they had fallen foul of a strong conservative party, and civil war broke out. the former happy couple looked upon each other as intruders, as disturbers of the peace. while before they could not get close enough, now they could not get far enough apart. manfred would enjoy his evenings at the ball or opera with flossy, while fred would entertain maud, much to her pleasure, at home. the wife hated to see her husband come home at all, but she went into hysterics when fred arrived. when fred and flossy were away, or absent, goodness knows where, the once happy home was like a lunatic asylum, in which the mania with the inmates was a total disregard of each other, and where language was unknown. the husband and wife drifted further and further apart. they ceased to smile, ceased to know each other, ceased to see each other. they were like a lion and a tiger in the same cage. as time went on the once happy home became a horrid prison. the children became detestable brats who were stumbling-blocks to their ambitions. manfred cooked his own meals, or ate at the "french" café. maud had to purchase food and clothing from the local emporium with money she had saved up before marriage while waiting table at the "best" hotel. finance became frenzied, for manfred spent both principal, interest and sinking fund on his affinity. starvation and the cold world were staring them in the face, for the wolf and the collection man were howling at the door. the city cut off their light and water supply for non-payment of dues, and were about to seize the property for arrears; so they were on the water wagon and in darkness, but still they would not regain consciousness. the usual course of events did not apply in this strange case. there was no jealousy floating on the surface on the part of the husband and wife. maud ignored manfred's insane attitude towards flossy because she had the same love-blind sickness and could see no one but fred. far from being jealous, manfred viewed his wife in the light of a white man's burden which he could not shake off. christian's burden was fiction beside it. flossy was the only star in his firmament--the only toad in his puddle. the children were neglected, and ran wild in the bush. it was as though some great belgian calamity had overtaken the household and had riven it asunder. the garden lost its lustre, irrigation was discontinued, the fruit trees lost their leaves prematurely; the very willows wept. the pickets fell from the fence unheeded; the stovepipe smoked, and the chickens laid away in the neighbor's yard. the house assumed the appearance of a deserted sty. divorce was suggested inwardly--that modern refuge to which the weak-minded flee in seeking a drastic cure for a temporary ailment; and all this disruption in two hearts which had tripped along together so smoothly and pleasantly. surely love, misapplied, is a curse. it is surely sometimes a severe form of insanity. if so, those two were insane, just waiting for the pressure to be removed from the brain. and, theirs was a pitiful and unfruitful case indeed. they were-- thirst crazed; fastened to a tree, by a sweet river running free. in the meantime fred and flossy were having "barrels" of amusement at the expense of the demented ones. fred and flossy were perhaps in the wrong in causing such an upheaval in a very model household. but they were young, and the mischief had taken root before they suspected that any such danger was in existence. when the awfulness of the situation dawned upon them they looked at each other one day in the interrogative and agreed that the poisonous weed should be uprooted. but since it had grown to such proportions it was difficult to arrive at a means by which the evil could be strangled. now fred and flossy loved each other, and the lady was just waiting for the gentleman to put the motion, so that she would have an opportunity to second it. the thirst-crazed husband and wife, however, were too blind to observe that anything unusual existed between their two friends, and they continued to float down that smooth but awful river to destruction. "why does she not die?" whispered the demon within the man. "why does he not fall into the thompson and get drowned for accommodation?" questioned the evil one in the heart of the woman. at last the eruption became "vesuvian," and the ashes from the crater threatened to re-bury pompeii--we mean ashcroft. thoughts of suicide as the only means of relief bubbled up at intervals. "give me love or give me death," they shouted when the fever was at its highest. it is impossible to say just how this war would have ended if an unforeseen neutral incident had not brought an influence to bear which made a continuation of the conflict an impossible and aimless task. one day the deaf, and dumb, and blind husband and wife were sitting by the neutral hearth as far apart as it was possible to be removed and yet be able to enjoy the friendly heat of the neutral air-tight heater. the neutral cat jumped up on the husband's knee, but in his belligerent mood he dashed it to the floor. the wife picked it up and stroked its sleek fur. the neutral children were out in the garden abusing the flowers and breaking pickets from the fence; and one had an old saw and was sawing at the trimmings of the cottage like a woodsman sawing down a cedar at the coast. there was rustling of a lady's skirt, and the tramp of hurried feet on the garden path outside. the next moment the door was pushed open and fred and flossy dashed in, laughing like to split their sides. "you tell them," said fred. "no, you," said flossy, blushing deeply. "no, you," said fred, and he seized flossy's hand. "well, you know, fred has--" she began. "to make a long story short," said fred, "we are to be married, and the date has been fixed for june." when vesuvius buried up pompeii the people could not have been more horrified than the belligerent husband and wife. they looked at each other for the first time in six months. the man pitied the woman, and cursed himself for crossing swords with her. the woman at once recognized her husband as a hero, and was ashamed of herself. they each waited for the other to make the first confession, but it was left to both. they sprang into each other's arms and became welded for life in one beautiful but awful squeeze. the fright had cured them. it had opened their eyes to the realization of the ridiculousness of the situation, and revealed the criminality of their past behavior. the volcano ceased to pour forth lava. the earth-tremblings became still. the sun peeped out from behind the clouds. manfred got back his job on the railway. the water and light arrears were paid up. the fence was repaired, and the garden irrigated. the children were called in from the woods and curried down. kisses and smiles took the place of scowls and curses. the sideboard was replenished, and the hens were persuaded to work for their own family. even the willows ceased to weep; and, oh, my! but it was a beautiful resurrection. and thus paradise was gained again. of the two ladies in contrast once upon a time in ashcroft two ladies were thrown into the same society; because in ashcroft there is only one class. when any function took place the glad hand was extended to one and all. for every dollar possessed by one of the ladies' husbands the other husband had five. mrs. fivedollars was very extravagant in her dress and domestic department, and mrs. onedollar was very envious and ambitious. the husband of the one dollar variety was more or less of a henpeck because he could not multiply his income by five and produce a concrete result. it was a very predominating mania with mrs. onedollar to shine in society with as great a number of amperes as her rival; and this ambition gave rise to one of the greatest domestic civil wars that ashcroft has even seen. mrs. fivedollars had no envy. there was no corner in the remote recesses of her heart rented by this mischievous goddess. she made no effort to "outfashion" fashion or to outshine her neighbors. what she displayed in dress did not extend beyond the natural female instincts for attire. of course she had no cause to be envious, being by far the best dressed lady in town without undue effort. mrs. onedollar viewed the situation from a social apex, and the more she studied the situation the more she realized that the world was discriminating against her. from being the best of friends, they developed into the most deadly of enemies. now, it came to pass that the husbands of those two ladies were the best of friends. they met frequently in the "best" and "next best" hotels and drank healths in the most harmless and jolly manner. they often met at their places of business and exchanged ideas. they had business relations with each other which terminated to the advantage of both. to quarrel with each other, to them, was much the same as to quarrel with their bread and butter. they had absolutely no ambitions with regard to their personal appearance. they had a suit of clothes each; when that was old or shabby they got another one. but, in this respect, man is very different from woman. all man wants is covering; a woman must have ornament, and she must equal, if not outshine, her neighbor. the tension between the two ladies became greater until it was almost at the breaking point. several attempts had been made by the distracted husbands to unscrew the strings which they knew were about to snap, but the result was nil. "the vixen," said the one. "the hussy," said the other; and when two ladies develop the habit of calling each other such queer pet names, a reconciliation seems very remote indeed. the climax came at the annual clinton ball. this was one of those historic functions to which everyone is extended a hearty invitation, and it is one of the great events of the season. the entire lillooet, yale and cariboo districts participate--it is a regular meeting of the clans. and that year was no exception. all our friends were there, including our heroes and heroines. the music was throwing its waves of delightful chords through the hall and over the heads of the throng of dancers. something happened! no one knew just what it was, but in the middle of the floor two ladies were seen tearing each other's hair and draperies. heavens! it was our two heroines. the tension had reached the limit--the strings were broken. in a moment our two heroes were on the scene, and each one seized his bundle of property and rushed with it to safety. the two ladies were bundled into their autos and hurried home to ashcroft in the middle of the night. the next day a council of war was held by the two husbands and it was unanimously agreed that something must be done. "i have it!" exclaimed mr. fivedollars. "now, listen. i will take you in as a partner in business. i will give you twenty years to pay your share, and we will dress our wives exactly alike." the plan was adopted, and the result was phenomenal. mr. onedollar had at last multiplied his insignificant unit by five and had a concrete accumulation. the two ladies dressed themselves alike extravagantly, and all rivalry ceased. they became great friends again and lived happily ever after. and all this disturbance and discord of human hearts was over a miserable bundle of inanimate drapery. of the ruse that failed once upon a time in ashcroft there lived a lady who had the wool pulled over her husband's eyes to such an extent that he had optical illusions favorable to the "darling" who deceived him. his most alluring illusion was a booby idea that his "pet" was an invalid, and she kept pouring oil on the joke to keep it burning, and pulled the wool down further and further so that hubby could not see the combustible fluid she was pouring into the flames. her illness was one of those "to be continued" story kinds--better to-day, worse to-morrow--and she "took" to the blankets at the most annoying and inopportune moments; and every time she "took" an indisposition she expected hubby to pull down the window curtains and go into mourning. but he, the hardhearted man, would continue to eat and smoke and sleep as though no volcanic lava were threatening to submerge the old homestead. his sympathy was not enough; he should stop eating, stop sleeping, and stop smoking--he should be in direct communication with the undertaker and negotiating about the price of caskets. his wife had the misleading conviction that when she was ill her case was more serious than that of anyone else. in fact, no one else had ever suffered as she suffered; their ailments were summer excursions to the antipodes compared with hers, and when hubby argued that all flesh was subject to ills and disorders, that almost every unit of the human species had toothaches and rheumatics, the argument was voted down unanimously by the suffragette majority as illegitimate argument. gradually hubby became convinced that his wife was an invalid, and he went into mourning as much as a man could mourn the loss of a joy that he had grasped for, and just missed in the grasping. he enjoyed the situation as much as a man could who had discovered that he had amalgamated himself with an hospital which was mortgaged for all it was worth to the family physician. out of his salary of seventy-five dollars per month sixty-five was devoted towards the financing of the doctor's time payments on his automobile; the balance paid for food, clothing, water, light, and fuel, and supplied the wolf with sufficient allowance to keep him from entering the parlor in the concrete. but the philosopher, as all men must ultimately become, concluded to make the best of his bad real estate investment. he resigned himself to a life of perpetual, unaffected martyrdom. after all, it was his personal diplomacy that was at fault--he should not have bought a pig in an ashcroft potato sack. during the first year of their matrimonial failure they had rooms at the "best" hotel, and the girls carried breakfast to the bride's room seven mornings of every week at about . , where the "invalid" devoured it with such greed and relish that they became suspicious and talked "up their sleeves" about her. three days each week she had all meals carried up to her, and the girls wondered how she could distribute so much proteid about her system with so little exercise. the extreme healthfulness of her constitution was the only thing that saved this woman from dying of surfeit. the only occasions on which she would rise from her lethargy was to attend a dance or social of some kind given at walhachin or savona--she did not avoid one of them, and on those occasions she would be the liveliest cricket on the hearth, the biggest toad in the puddle, while the husband was pre-negotiating with the physician for some more evaporated stock in the auto. how she ever got home was a mystery, for she would be more disabled than ever for weeks to come. of course she had just overdone her constitutional possibility--she said so herself, and she should know. whispers went abroad that she was lazy, and they became so loud that hubby heard them over the wireless telephone. he became exasperated. "my wife a hypocrite? never! the people have hearts of stone--brains of feathers--they do not understand." one day--it had never occurred to him before--he suggested that they consult a specialist in somnolence. but she would not hear of it; there was nothing wrong with her; all she wanted was to be left alone. in a short time hubby began to consider her in the light of a "white man's burden," and had distorted visions of himself laboring through life with an over-loaded back action. one day the hotel proprietor advised him of a contemplated raise in his assessment to re-imburse the business for extras in connection with elevating so much food upstairs, which was not part and parcel of the rules and regulations of the house in committee. besides, the accommodation was needless. "needless!" exclaimed hubby. "would you degenerate a lady and gentleman wilfully. i will leave your fire-trap at once and cast anchor at the 'next best.'" the proprietor argued that his competitor was welcome to such pickings, so he made no comment on the debate. the "next best" was "full up," as it always is, so they carried the living corpse out on a stretcher, and hubby went batching with his burden in a three-roomed house on bancroft street. when it became hubby's duty to cook the meals and carry half of them to bed for his better half every morning before breakfast he began to taste silly and smell sort of henpeck like. he persisted humbly, lovingly, self-sacrificingly, henpeckedly, however, until one morning his sun rose brighter than it had ever done before and he saw a faint glimmer of light through the wool that was hanging in front of him. "perhaps there is such a commodity as superfluous personal sacrifice to one's matrimonial obligations," he soliloquized. "perhaps this spouse of mine with the pre-historic constitution can be cured by an abstract treatment. is she ill, or is she playing a wild, deceitful part? is she sitting on me with all her weight?" he was willing to allow her the usual proportion of female indisposition, but a continued story of such nightmare proportions was beginning to unstring his physical telephone system. so, to we who have no wool over our eyes, this was one of the most pitiful and criminal cases of selfish indolence, perhaps coupled with a belief that a husband, through his sympathy, will love a woman the more because of her suffering. no supposition, of course, could be farther from the concrete--a husband wants, requires, admires, loves, a healthy, active working-partner. failing this the husband as a husband is down and out. when hubby began to realize this an individual reformation was at the dawning. the very next morning no breakfast arrived by private parcel post. "harry," she exclaimed, "bring me my porridge and hot cakes; i am starving." "if you are starving get up and eat in your stall at the table," said harry, sarcastically, although it pained him. "harry!" she shouted, "you selfish beast!" for diplomatic reasons harry was silent. harry made an abrupt exit without waiting for adjournment, and went up town. a new life seemed to be dawning upon him. it was the emancipation from slavery. he went into the drug store, into the hardware store, into the hotels and all the other stores--he talked and laughed as he had never done before. it was a.m. the following morning when he found himself searching for the door-knob in the vicinity of the front window. having gained an entrance, he was accosted by his wife, who exclaimed: "harry, you drunk?" "well, y'see, it was the pioneer shupper," said harry, and he tumbled into bed. this was harry's first ruse. his next move was an affinity. he would cease to pose as a piece of household furniture--a dumb waiter sort of thing. at that time there was a vision waiting table at the "best" who had most of the fellows on a string. harry threw his grappling irons around her and took her in tow. this went on for some time without suspicion being aroused on the part of the "invalid," but the wireless telegraphy of gossip whispered the truth to her one day when she was wondering what demon had taken possession of her protector. she dropped her artificial gown in an instant and rushed up railway avenue like a militant suffragette. just about the local emporium harry was sailing along under a fair and favorable wind, hand in hand with his new dream, when he saw his legal prerogative approaching near the "next best" hotel. he dislodged his grappling-hooks in an instant, stepped slightly in advance, and feigned that he had been running along on his own steam. but she saw him and defined his movements. they met like two express engines in collision, and what followed had better be left buried underneath the sidewalk of the local emporium. there were dead and dying left on the field, and they reached home later by two rival routes of railway. the stringency endured some days, which time she huffed and he read charles darwin. at the end of that period the ice broke, as it always does; the clouds rolled away, and the sun began to shine, and they began to negotiate for peace. they had a long sitting of parliament, and it was moved and seconded, and unanimously carried, that each give the other a reprieve. it meant the amalgamation of two hearts that became so intertwined with roots that nothing earthly could pull them asunder. it was the founding of one of the happiest homes in ashcroft. he left his affinity--she left her bed. they became active working partners. long years after he told her of his ruse. she laughed. "you saved me," she said. he endorsed the note, and they had one long, sweet embrace which still lingers in their memory. of the real santa claus i. christmas eve once upon a time it was christmas eve in vancouver, b.c., and the snow was falling in large, soft flakes. the electric light plants were beating their lives out in laborious heart-throbs, giving forth such power that the streets and shop windows had the appearance of the phantom scene of a fairy stage-play rather than a grim reality; they were lighter than day. there was magic illumination from the sidewalk to the very apex of the tallest sky-scraper. being christmas eve, the streets were thronged with pleasure seekers, and eager, procrastinating, christmas gift maniacs. they were all happy, but they were temporarily insane in the eagerness of their pursuit. they all had money, plenty of it; and this was the time of year when it was quite in order to squander it lavishly, carelessly, insanely--for, is it not more blessed to give than to receive? the habiliments of the hurrying throng were exuberant, extravagant and ostentatious in the extreme. everyone seemed to vie with every other, with an envy akin to insanity, for the laurels in the fashion world, and they were talking and laughing gaily, and some of them were singing christmas carols. they did not even seem to regret the soft wet snow that was falling on their costly apparel and soaking them--they seemed rather to enjoy it. besides, they could go home at any time and change and dry themselves--and, was it not christmas, the one time of the year when the whole world was happy and lavish? the persons of the ladies were bathed in perfume, and the clothing of the gentlemen was spotless, save where the large, white snowflakes clung for a moment before vanishing into fairyland. vancouver was certainly a city of luxury, a city of ease, a city of wealth, and it was all on exhibition at this time of approaching festival. everyone was rich, and money was no obstacle in the way of enjoyment. but we have seen one side of the picture only. we have been looking in the sunlight; let us peer into the shadows. there was a reverse side. a girl of about thirteen years of age was standing at the corner of hastings and granville offering matches for sale to the stony world. she was bareheaded, thinly clad, shivering. her clothing was tattered and torn. her shoes were several sizes too large, and were some person's cast-off ones. it was christmas, and no one was seeking for matches. they were all in search of gold and silverware, furs and fancies, to give away to people who did not require them. "matches, sir?" the solicitous question was addressed to a medium-sized, moderately dressed man who was gliding around the corner and whistling some impromptu christmas carol; and she touched the hem of his garment. this unit of the big world paused, took the matches, and began to explore his hemisphere for five cents. in the meantime he surveyed the little girl from head to foot, and then he glanced at the big world rushing by in two great streams. "give me them all!" he said with an impulse that surprised him, and he handed her one dollar. "now, go home and dry yourself and go to bed," he continued. he did not stop to consider that she might not have a home and a bed, but continued on his way with his superfluity of matches. his home was bright, and warm, and cheery when he arrived there, and his wife welcomed him. "i have brought you a christmas present," he said, and he handed her the matches. when she opened the package he found it necessary to explain. ii. christmas it was christmas, and the snow was still falling in large, soft flakes. it was about ten inches deep out on the hills, among the trees out along capilano and lynn creeks, but it had been churned into slush on the streets and pavements of vancouver. the church bells were ringing, and our gaily clad and happy acquaintances of the evening before were again thronging the streets; but to-day they were on their way to church to praise the one whose birthday they were observing. our friend of the large heart was also there, and so was his wife--two tiny drops in that great bucketful of humanity. the match vendor was also there--another very tiny drop in that great bucketful. "what! selling matches on christmas day?" remarked a passer-by. "you should be taken in charge by the inquisition." "matches, sir?" said the tiny voice, and she again touched the hem of our hero's garment. the big-hearted man looked at his tender-hearted wife, and the tender-hearted wife looked at her big-hearted man. "yes, give me them all," he said again, and he handed her another dollar. he was evidently trying to buy up all the available matches so that he could have a corner on the commodity. "here," he continued, "take this dollar also. buy yourself something good for christmas, and go home and enjoy yourself." "i have no home, and the shops are all closed," she said, brushing the wet snow from her hair. "no home!" exclaimed the lady, incredulously, "and the world is overflowing with wealth and has homes innumerable. is it possible that the world's goods are so unevenly divided?" the girl began to cry. "come and have your christmas dinner with us," said the lady. the girl, still weeping, followed in her utter innocence and helplessness. ding-dong, went the merry bells. tramp, tramp, went the feet of the big, voluptuous world. honk, honk, went the horns of the automobiles; for it was christmas, and all went merry as a marriage bell. the fire was burning brightly. the room was warm and cozy. the house was clean, tidy, and cheery. it was a dazzling scene to one who had been accustomed to the cold, bare, concrete pavements only. "my!" exclaimed the girl as they entered. it was a perfect fairyland to her. it was a story. it was a dream. "now, we are going to have the realest, cutest, christmas dinner you ever saw," said the lady, producing a steaming turkey from the warming oven. the girl danced in her glee and anticipation. "but first you must dress for dinner. we will go and see santa claus," smiled the foster-mother. she retired with a waif, and returned with a fairy, and they sat down to a fairy dinner. "what a spotless tablecloth! what clean cups and saucers, and plates and dishes! what shining knives and forks! what kind friends!" thought the orphan. "i had no idea such things existed outside of heaven," she exclaimed aloud in her rapture. "it is all very commonplace, i assure you," said the man, "but it takes money to buy them." "and yet," philosophized the lady, "if we are dissatisfied in our prosperity, what must a life be that contains nothing?" ding-dong, went the bells. tramp, tramp, went the feet of the big world outside. honk, honk, went the horn of the automobile; but the happiest heart of them all was the little waif who had been, until now, so lonely, so cold, so hungry, so neglected. they were the happiest moments in her whole life. her time began from that day. but that is many years ago. the orphan is a lady now in vancouver; and every christmas she gives a dinner to some poor people in honor of those who adopted her and saved her from the slums. of the retreat from moscow once upon a time four ashcroft napoleons, known locally as "father," "deacon," "cyclone," and "skookum," invaded vancouver to demonstrate at an inter-provincial curling bonspiel that was arranged to take place at that city. their object was to bring home as many prizes and trophies as they could conveniently carry without having to pay "excess baggage," and donate the balance to charity. it was decided later not to take any of the prizes, as it was more blessed to give than to receive, and they did not only give away all the trophies, but they gave away all the games as well--games they had a legitimate mortgage on--and they were glad to see the other fellows happy. as a man often gets into trouble trying to keep out of it, so the ashcroft chaps lost by trying to win; and here it is consoling to know that all a man does or says in this world sinks and lies motionless in the silent past, for in this case it will only be a matter of time when people will cease to remember. but to leave all joking aside, we beg to advise that the adventurers were dumped unceremoniously into moscow by the c.p.r. officials at about three good morning and had not where to lay their heads. you could not see the city for buildings; but even at that embryo hour of the morning the streets were not entirely deserted. some people seem to toil day and night, for there were dozens of forms moving hither and thither like phantoms in the powerful glare of the electric illuminations. being ashcroft people our heroes were accustomed to city life, and the embarrassment of the situation soon evaporated. they bundled themselves into a nocturnal automobile which was no sooner loaded than it "hit" the streets of vancouver like halley's comet. it went up and down, out and in, hither and thither. it tried to leap from under the invaders, but they kept up with it. it went north forty chains, east forty chains, south forty chains, and thence west forty chains to point of commencement. it went here, then there, and ultimately arranged to stop on richards street (named after our john), at the foot of the elevator of the hotel canadian. this was the end of steel for the auto, the rest of the journey had to be made on foot via the elevator. it is a very pleasant sensation to have the floor rise and carry you with it to the third landing, and it only takes three seconds to make a sixty second journey. at the third floor, after having been shown their stalls for the night, the bandits went out on an exploring expedition while the stable man let down some hay. they located the fire escape, as it is always better to come in by the front door like a millionaire and leave by the fire escape in the dead of the night when the stableman is asleep at his post. early next morning, at about ten o'clock, they invaded the dining-room as hungry as hyenas, and had a lovely breakfast of porridge and cream, ham and eggs, toast and butter, tea or coffee. to encourage the coffee somewhat the deacon "dug" his front foot into the lump-sugar bowl and extracted a couple of aces; and the other mimics followed suit with two, three, and four spots. the breaking of this fast cost forty-five cents for the meal, and fifty-five for the waiter just to make the "eat" come to even money, and they were too large socially to take away small change economically. every meal they put into their waste baskets necessarily extracted one day from the other end of their excursion via the fire escape, and that is one reason why they returned so soonly. cyclone, having drawn on his personal account at a vancouver branch of the ashcroft bank for enough to pay his next meal and car fare, and skookum having jotted down the usual morning poetic inspiration on the sublimity of the situation, the army, led by father, marched full breast upon the curling rink building. there were no knights at the gate to defend the castle, nor did the band meet them at the portal--neither did the vancouver curling club. their arrival, strange to say, created no commotion; they did not seem to have been anticipated. things went along as though nothing extraordinary had taken place. the appearances at the rink, however, were intoxicating, which largely made up for the invisibility of the receiving committee. the rink was somewhat larger than the town hall at ashcroft, and the great, high, arched, glass ceiling was studded with electric lights like stars in the heavens. extensive rows of seats for spectators encircled the entire room, and in the centre, the arena was one clear, smooth sheet of hard, white ice. several games were in progress, and they saw their old friend "tam" playing with his usual scotch luck and winning for all he was worth. ashcroft selected the ice upon which the first blood was to be sprinkled. the battle began on schedule time, and as they had anticipated, they won without a single casualty. as a result of this "clean up," a private conference was held that night by the vancouver and other clubs behind closed doors, at which it was moved, and seconded, and adopted, that ashcroft was a dangerous element in their midst, and that drastic measures must be set in motion at once to arrest such phenomenal accomplishments or the bonspiel would be lost. all unconscious of the conspiracy against them, ashcroft spent the afternoon riding up and down the moving stairs at spencer's, led by the "deak," who had had previous practice at this amusement. curling to them was as easy as this stairway, and as simple as eating a meal if you cut out the tipping of the waiter. that night they took in a show which was a "hum dinger," and should have endured a life-time. what a sweet life it was; nothing to do but live, and laugh, and curl, and win; if it would only continue indefinitely without having to worry about the financing of it! napoleon "had nothing" on father, and he felt that he could even "put it over" on the local star. but something happened the next day. whether it was the private conference, or the moving stairs, or the pantages, or whether it was that ashcroft became more careless with success, and vancouver more careful with defeat, will never be known. they pierced no more bull's eyes--and sometimes they missed the entire target. they had every qualification essential to the successful curler but talent. they had the rocks, the brooms, the ribbons, the sweaters--they even had the will. it is strange with all those requisites that they could not win. the retreat from moscow took place three days later, and they went straggling over the alps in one long string. as though the mortification of defeat was not enough, a huge joke was prepared for them by the reception committee of the local curling club, and lemons have been at a premium in ashcroft ever since. of sicamous the okanagan valley, in the province of british columbia, is bounded on the north by the mosquitoes at sicamous, and on the south by the forty-ninth parallel of north latitude, which is the united states; and to one who is accustomed to the sand and the sage, the general aspect throughout gives a most pleasing rest to the eye. a trip to the okanagan is like one sweet dream to the inhabitants of the dry belt--a dream that is broken only once by a dreadful nightmare--the mosquito conquest at sicamous; but you forgive and forget this the moment after you awake. the mosquitoes at sicamous are as great a menace to that town as the germans are to europe. the train for the valley, when on time, leaves sicamous, on the main line of the c.p.r., at about ten, good morning, but sometimes she waits for the delayed eastern train. this happens very frequently on sundays--for who or what was ever on time on a sunday? sunday is the lazy man's day--the lazy day of the world--the day on which we creep along out of tune with things. now, when you get side-tracked at a c.p.r. station in the rocky mountains waiting for a delayed eastern train, you may as well throw all your plans into the lake, because they will be out of fashion when you have an opportunity to use them again, and you will require new ones--the train may come to-day and she may not come till to-morrow. but, if that station chances to be sicamous, and it is sunday--and it must be raining heavily, for when it is raining there are no mosquitoes--you will not regret the delay, and you will be very much interested if you have an eye for the unique, or if you have the slightest inclination to be eccentric you will be reminded that-- there are friends we never meet; there is love we never know. here people--strangers and friends--meet and nod, smile, talk and depart ten or twelve times every day. you will wonder how people can talk so much, and what they get to talk about--people who meet accidentally here, only for a moment, and will never meet again, perhaps. almost hourly, night and day, cosmopolitan little throngs jump from trains, chat a few moments among themselves, or with others who have been waiting, and then allow themselves to be picked up by the next train and rushed off into eternity--that is, so far as you are concerned, for you will never see them again--and some of them were becoming so familiar. they are voices and faces flitting across your past; they are always new, always strange, always interesting; they are laughing, chatting, smiling, scowling, worrying. there are fair faces and dark faces, pleasant faces and angry faces, careless faces and anxious faces, and faces that are thin, fat, long and short. the voices are as varied as the faces. there is the sharp, clear voice and the dull voice, the angry one and the pleasant one. there are young and old, beautiful and ugly, scowls and smiles, the timid and the fearless--the black, the white, and the yellow; and there are faces that look so much like ones you know at home that you are just on the point of asking them how the boys and girls have been since you left. if they had known that they were the actors on a stage, and you were the audience, conditions might have been improved--artificially; they might have acted better, with more "class," but the interest would have been injured; you would have been robbed of a genuine entertainment. those people went north, south, east and west; they went to the four corners of the earth. the sound of their voices and laughs go up into the tree-tops, up into the hills and down into the lake, and they are echoed back to us; and that is the only record that is ever taken, of this interesting drama; and then the voices fade away east--fade away west. but you hear the elaborate puffing and snorting of a locomotive as though laboring under its great load of humanity; there is a loud whistle from somewhere, and then another; two engines are speaking to each other; then the bell rings, the engine sweeps by, and the whole earth trembles--it is the delayed eastern train. there is a great scramble for entrance. chance acquaintances are forgotten in the individual excitement. the steps to one car are blocked by one man who has enough baggage for ten, and one worried-looking young lady with a baby is afraid she will lose her train. the train pulls out with a "swish, swish" of escaping steam under great pressure from the engine, and the station is robbed of half its population. the familiar faces have disappeared, but a new throng has been cast into your midst--new faces, new smiles, new voices, new scowls; and the chatter is renewed with vigor when we have found ourselves, and are located in several little isolated bunches. but the okanagan local is here waiting for our scalps. there is another scramble of men, women, children, bag and baggage, for seats, and we are off. the little station platform is deserted and silent but for the clatter of the wheels of the baggage truck. the tree tops sigh, the lake murmurs, but they cannot hold us, we must hurry to the great beyond--the whole world depends upon our individual movements. of the ubiquitous cat once upon a time i had a very curious experience which had a very curious ending. i walked into a strange person's house, uninvited, for some mysterious reason perfectly unknown to myself. sitting promiscuously around an old-fashioned fire-place, in which blazed a cheery fire, were a man and woman and four small children; and on a lounge, partly hid under the eiderdown quilt, lay a pure white cat, half asleep and half awake, and at intervals casting sly glances at some of the children. the cat seemed to all intent and purpose one of that human family. now, although the cat can be abused like a toy doll by the children without losing his temper, yet he has the most curiously composed disposition of all the domestic animals. although extravagantly domesticated, and although he shares our beds and tables with impunity, yet he is, to the mouse, as cruel and treacherous as a man-eating tiger. however, we did not take up our pen to discuss cat psychology. upon entering the strange person's house so unceremoniously, i sat me down upon a vacant chair, also uninvited, and began to make myself at home. the strange persons did not seem to take any exception to my strange behavior, but, kept on talking as though nothing extraordinary had taken place in the human social regulations. i was more interested in the cat than i was in the people, and i could not keep my eye from him, he was so much like our "teddy" at home. at last i convinced myself that it _was_ teddy. "where did you get that cat?" i asked. "why, we have always had him. we raised him. he sleeps with the children every night, and gets up with them in the morning--when he is here," said the mother. our teddy had the same weakness, and i was so positive that this was he that i called him by name. in a moment he came to me and was on my knee--it was indeed teddy. now, here was one of the most unique situations on record. "this is my cat," i said demandingly. "it is ours," said the chorus of children's voices. it suddenly occurred to me that teddy was in the habit of leaving home and would be absent for several days at a time. could it be possible he had two homes? did this cat actually accept the affections and hospitality of two distinct families, at the same time, without once breathing the truth or giving himself away? i went home puzzled to my wife and said: "do you know, teddy is not all ours?" "what do you mean?" i was just about to tell my strange story when i awoke, and, behold, it was a dream. bits of history of the foolhardy expedition the people who inhabited this globe during the year undoubtedly obtained a different view of things terrestrial than we do who claim the world's real estate in , because they had no telegraph, no telephone, no electric light, no automobile, and no aeroplane. how they managed to live at all is a mystery to the twentieth century biped. fancy having to cross the street to your neighbor's house when you wanted to ask him if he was going to the pioneer supper, and just think of having no "hello girl" to flirt with. the condition seems appalling. but what they lacked in knowledge and in indolent conveniences we beg to announce that they made up in foolhardiness which they called bravery. well, if it can be called brave to make a needless target of oneself to a bunch of savage indians, why then they had the proper derivation of the term. from one of francis parkman's admirable works we have seized upon the scene of our story, which was acted out at the beginning of the eighteenth century, namely, . the indians seem to have been very hostile in those early days in the immediate vicinity of the early new england provinces; and we are convinced some of the white men were very hostile as well. of course we, in our day, cannot blame them--they had no telephones, autos, electricity, "hello girls"--they had to be something, so they were hostile towards the indians. dunstable was a town on the firing line of massachusetts, and was attacked by indians in the autumn of , and two men were carried off. ten others went in pursuit, but fell into an ambush, and nearly all were killed. but now we will follow the words of francis parkman, who has a delightful way of relating his stories. "a company of thirty was soon raised." they were to receive two shillings and sixpence per day each, "out of which he was to maintain himself";--very little to risk one's life for; but in those days it was no concern with a man whether he was killed or not. besides, it was worth something to get killed and have francis parkman write about you more than a century later. perhaps they anticipated this perpetuation of their names and deeds. however, "lovewell was chosen captain; farwell lieutenant, and robbins, ensign. they set out towards the end of november, and reappeared at dunstable early in january, bringing one prisoner and one scalp." it does not seem to us to have paid the interest on the investment of two shillings and sixpence per day, "out of which he was to maintain himself," and, for anything we know to the contrary, perhaps the captain was getting more than this--it has not been recorded. "towards the end of the month lovewell set out again, this time with eighty-seven men. they ascended the frozen merrimac, passed lake winnepesaukee, pushed nearly to the white mountains, and encamped on a branch of the upper saco. here they killed a moose--a timely piece of luck, for they were in danger of starvation, and lovewell had been compelled by want of food to send back a good number of his men. the rest held their way, filing on snowshoes through the deathlike solitude that gave no sign of life except the light track of some squirrel on the snow, and the brisk note of the hardy little chickadee, or black-capped titmouse, so familiar in the winter woods." now here is where the foolhardiness of the expedition begins to appeal to us. supposing just here they had met five hundred crazy indians with five hundred crazy bows and arrows? and they must have expected it. they were searching for indians. perhaps they were seeking martyrdom? but the new englander of the frontier was nothing if not foolhardy. they mistook it for bravery, and there must have been some bravery amalgamated with it, because a man must have a certain quantity of that rarity before he can lend himself out as a target at two shillings and sixpence a day, "out of which he was to maintain himself." now, if you have patience to follow you will learn that they ultimately met the very thing which you expect--which they must have expected. "thus far the scouts had seen no human footprints; but on the twentieth of february they found a lately abandoned wigwam, and following the snowshoe tracks that led from it--" right into the lion's jaw, as it were. perhaps they were anxious to be shot to get out of their misery--"at length saw smoke rising at a distance out of the gray forest." they saw their finish, and their hearts were filled with joy. "the party lay close till two o'clock in the morning; then, cautiously approaching, found one or more wigwams, surrounded them, and killed all the inmates, ten in number." they were to pay dear for this, as anyone could have told them. "they brought home the scalps in triumph, ... and lovewell began at once to gather men for another hunt.... at the middle of april he had raised a band of forty-six." one of the number was seth wyman, ... a youth of twenty-one, graduated at harvard college, in , and now a student of theology. chaplain though he was, he carried a gun, knife and hatchet like the others, and not one of the party was more prompt to use them.... they began their march on april th." after leaving several of their number by the way for various causes, we find thirty-seven of them on the night of may th near fryeburg lying in the woods near the northeast end of lovewell's pond. "at daybreak the next morning, as they stood bareheaded, listening to a prayer from the young chaplain, they heard the report of a gun, and soon after an indian.... lovewell ordered his men to lay down their packs and advance with extreme caution." why this caution? "they met an indian coming towards them through the dense trees and bushes. he no sooner saw them than he fired at the leading men." naturally. we should have said "leading targets." "his gun was charged with beaver shot and he severely wounded lovewell and young whiting; on which seth wyman shot him dead, and the chaplain and another man scalped him." as yet they had only entered the lion's den. "and now follows one of the most obstinate and deadly bush-fights in the annals of new england.... the indians howled like wolves, yelled like enraged cougars, and made the forest ring with their whoops.... the slaughter became terrible. men fell like wheat before the scythe. at one time the indians ceased firing; ... they seemed to be holding a 'pow-wow'; but the keen and fearless wyman crept up among the bushes, shot the chief conjurer, and broke up the meeting. about the middle of the afternoon young fry received a mortal wound. unable to fight longer, he lay in his blood, praying from time to time for his comrades in a faint but audible voice." one, keys, received two wounds, "but fought on till a third shot struck him." he declared the indians would not get his scalp. creeping along the sandy edge of the pond, he chanced to find a stranded canoe, pushed it afloat, rolled himself into it, and drifted away before the wind. soon after sunset the indians drew off.... the surviving white men explored the scene of the fight.... of the thirty-four men, nine had escaped without serious injury, eleven were badly wounded, and the rest were dead or dying.... robbins, as he lay helpless, asked one of them to load his gun, saying, 'the indians will come in the morning to scalp me, and i'll kill another of them if i can.' they loaded the gun and left him." the expected had occurred. most of them had been killed. anyone could have told them this before they set out--they could have made the same prophecy for themselves. and after all they had accomplished nothing but their own deaths. the story of their return rivals that of napoleon's retreat from moscow. of the whole number eleven ultimately reached home. we leave it to the reader to determine whether this was an exhibition of bravery or foolhardiness, or a mixture of both. we congratulate ourselves that we did not live on the frontier of new england in the year . of the laws of lycurgus lycurgus reigned over a place called lacedæmon, which is a part of greece, about the year b.c. now, this is a great many years ago, and is further back into the archives of history than most of us can remember. there is no doubt, however, that this great ruler, lycurgus, was crazy, or he was one of those persons whose brains cease to develop after they have left their teens. he certainly secures the first prize as a "whim" strategist. in spite of his insane eccentricities, he was allowed the full exercise of his freedom. had he flourished in a.d. instead of "b.c." (which does not mean british columbia), the asylum for the insane at new westminster would not have been strong enough to retain him. lycurgus did one redeeming thing--he founded a senate; "which, sharing,"--we are following plutarch--"as plato says, in the power of the kings, too imperious and unrestrained before, and having equal authority with them, was the means of keeping them within bounds of moderation, and highly contributed to the preservation of the state. the establishment of a senate, an intermediate body, like ballast, kept it in just equilibrium, and put it in a safe posture: the twenty-eight senators adhering to the kings whenever they saw the people too encroaching, and on the other hand, supporting the people, when the kings attempted to make themselves absolute." now, what in the world possessed this despotic imbecile to form a senate? his action in this can only be accounted for in the light that it was one of those unpremeditated whims of a narrow-minded faddist. one naturally wonders what the newly created senators were doing while the king was imposing his insane laws. this body was formed for the "preservation of the state." the wonder is that there was any state left, for the king paralyzed commerce, smothered ambition, choked art to death, and placed a ban on modesty. further than having been "formed," the "senate" never again appears on the pages of the "lycurgus" book. plutarch, who lived in greece about the year a.d., nine hundred years after the subject of his biography, relates the forming and imposing of those laws with the utmost faith, and the most implicit innocence; which goes to prove that the grecian idea of government, with all its knowledge, had not advanced much, at least up to the time of plutarch. and now for the laws. "a second and bolder political enterprise of lycurgus was a new division of the lands. for he found a prodigious inequality; the city overcharged with many indigent persons, who had no land; and the wealth centred in the hands of the few. determined, therefore, to root out the evils of insolence, envy, avarice, and luxury, and those distempers of a state still more inveterate than fatal--i mean poverty and riches--he persuaded them to cancel all former divisions of land and to make new ones, in such a manner as they might be perfectly equal in their possessions and way of living. his proposal was put in practice. "after this he attempted to divide also the movables, in order to take away all appearance of inequality; but he soon perceived that they could not bear to have their goods taken directly from them, and therefore took another method, counterworking their avarice by a stratagem." now, this seems to be the only law to which they made objection; and this proves that the love of personal "icties" has very deep roots. perhaps the influence of the "senate" sustained them in this, for qualifications for a senator, even in those days, must have called for men of some means, and they, when the shoe began to pinch their own feet, would not care to divide up their sugar and flour with the rank and file. it does not appear, however, that they had any say in the matter, and, beyond the statement that they were formed for a purpose, they seem to have taken no part in the affairs of state; if they had, lycurgus and his laws would never have been made part of history. "first he stopped the currency of the gold and silver coin"--thus he paralyzed industry--"and ordered that they should make use of iron money only; then to a great quantity and weight of this he assigned but a small value.... in the next place he excluded unprofitable and superfluous arts.... their iron coin would not pass in the rest of greece, but was ridiculed and despised, so that the spartans had no means of purchasing any foreign or curious wares, nor did any merchant ship unlade in their harbor." even plutarch sees nothing suicidal in all this voluntary isolating of themselves from the main arteries of commerce. "desirous to complete the conquest of luxury and exterminate the love of riches, he introduced a third institution, which was wisely enough and ingeniously contrived. this was the use of public tables, where all were to eat in common of the same meat, and such kinds of it as were appointed by law. at the same time they were forbidden to eat at home, or on expensive couches and tables.... another ordinance levelled against magnificence and expense, directed that the ceilings of houses should be wrought with no tool but the axe, and the doors with nothing but the saw. indeed, no man could be so absurd as to bring into a dwelling so homely and simple, bedsteads with silver feet, purple coverlets, or golden cups." thus he smothered art and personal ambition, two of the most requisite essentials to a people on their onward and upward trend to civilization and success. "a third ordinance of lycurgus was, that they should not often make war against the same enemy, lest, by being frequently put upon defending themselves, they too should become able warriors in their turn." and thus he made them defenceless against their enemies. "for the same reason he would not permit all that desired to go abroad and see other countries, lest they should contract foreign manners, gain traces of a life of little discipline, and of a different form of government. he forbade strangers, too, to resort to sparta who could not assign a good reason for their coming!" improvement with lycurgus means retrogression with us. he wished, perhaps ignorantly, to arrest the progress of civilization and substitute a slovenly ideal of his own. his purpose was to cancel the civilization which the race had gained during thousands of years of effort, and bring it back to a semi-savagery. but the world was too big for him. it had things in view which were too great for his small, hampered mind to have any suspicion of. no doubt he was sincere in his little, infinitesimal way; but it is a blessing for the world that his influence was confined to a very small corner of the then civilized world, and that others of broader views succeeded him to manage the affairs of states and nations. with all deference to old plutarch, the biographer of lycurgus, we wish to say that however grand the laws of this man may have been as ideals, they were utter failures when brought into practice. of joan of arc some people say the world is getting no better, but if we take a dip into history and consider the conditions which prevailed there from the earliest times up to only a few hundred years ago, we will find a race of human beings which in no wise resemble the present output except in form and stature. and our own forefathers--the people of the british isles, the anglo-saxons who are to-day leading in the social world--were not one iota better throughout those pages than many of the smallest and most unpretentious of obscure tribes living here and there in ignorant, local isolation. one of the strongest points in our argument is the fact that history, as we have it, is composed of the clang of battles and the private lives of kings and despots. the ordinary, everyday life of the peasant people--the working classes--the backbone of the nation, so to speak--was beneath the consideration of the historian throughout all times. the only virtue, in his estimation, was a strong arm--a large army to murder and destroy property. and the life of the historian must needs reflect that of the people. there is no doubt that in a great majority they were of a cruel, murderous nature. we get rare glimpses, however (at intervals of sometimes hundreds of years), of the doings, manners, and customs, likes and dislikes of the common people, that we can rely upon as authentic; the rest is poetry and legend, and, although typical, are relations of incidents that did not really occur. there is no doubt that, although it has been withheld, there was a great deal of virtue, which blushed and bloomed unseen, amid all this blood and war. as though by accident the historian who immortalized joan of arc has let slip a few words in connection with this heroine's early life that are more valuable to us than page upon page of some of our so-called history. "jeanne d'arc was the child of a laborer of domremy, a little village on the borders of lorraine and champagne. just without the cottage where she was born began the great woods of the vosges, where the children of domremy drank in poetry and legend from fairy ring and haunted well, hung their flower garlands on the sacred trees and sang songs to the good people who might not drink of the fountain because of their sins. jeanne loved the forest; its birds and beasts came lovingly to her at her childish call. but at home men saw nothing in her but 'a good girl,' simple and pleasant in her way, spinning and sewing by her mother's side while the other girls went to the fields--tender to the poor and sick." this is a little domestic scene of the year a.d. , and how homelike and real and familiar it all is. what a sweet peace spot, among all the bloodshed and horror that was going on throughout france at that time. joan of arc is undoubtedly one of the most remarkable characters in all history. she was born at domremy, france, in , and was executed in . before she had reached twenty this girl had practically freed france from the english, or at least put the country upon such a footing that a few years accomplished its freedom. the superstitions of the times are no doubt responsible to a great extent for the success which was attained by this maid of orleans. "the english believed in her supernatural mission as firmly as the french did, but they thought her a sorceress who had come to overthrow them by her enchantments," and so on. the fact remains that this innocent peasant girl of eighteen years of age freed france from the english and accomplished things which no man of france at that time was able to do. either the french generalship of the times was very incompetent or the army was very much demoralized--at all events they had been awaiting the advent of a leader who was both determined and fearless, for skill does not seem to have been a requisite--and this appeared in the person of joan of arc. it is difficult to believe that an entirely inexperienced person of this kind could take charge of an army of ten thousand men and lead them to victory when the best trained generals of the time could do nothing and suffered defeat at every turn. with the coronation of the king the maid felt that her errand was over. "oh, gentle king, the pleasure of god is done," she cried, as she flung herself at the feet of charles, and asked leave to go home. "would it were his good will," she pleaded with the archbishop, as he forced her to remain, "that i might go and keep sheep once more with my sisters and my brothers; they would be glad to see me again." but the policy of the french court detained her. france was depending on one of its peasant girls for its very national existence. the humiliation of the thing should make all good frenchmen blush with shame. so she fought on with the conviction that she was superfluous in the army, and a slave to the french court. it does not appear that she was even placed upon the payroll, or that she received reward of any kind for her services--and there were no "victoria crosses" in those days. she fought on without pay; rendered all her services for nothing--perhaps for the love of the thing. during the defence of compiegne in may, , she fell into the hands of one vendome, who sold her to the duke of burgundy. burgundy sold her to the english--her remuneration for her self-sacrificing, voluntarily-given services. and now comes the tragic part of a most pathetic story enacted out at a time when the name civilization, applied to the french and english, is a mockery. "in december she was carried to rouen, the headquarters of the english, heavily fettered, and flung into a gloomy prison, and at length, arraigned before the spiritual tribunal of the bishop of beauvais, a wretched creature of the english, as a sorceress and a heretic, while the dastard she had crowned king left her to die." she was not even granted a legal, judicial trial. some say that her sentence was at one time commuted to perpetual imprisonment, which proves that there was a glimmer of humanity hid away in some corner of the world, knocking hysterically in its imprisonment for admission. "but the english found a pretext to treat her as a criminal and condemned her to be burned." and at this juncture it may be well to say that we have good reason to be proud of ourselves to-day, and ashamed of our ancestors. "she was brought to the stake on may th, . the woman's tears dried upon her cheeks, and she faced her doom with the triumphant courage of the martyr." during her last awful moments, as she left this world with the torture of the flames slowly consuming her body, what were the last impressions of this girl of nineteen who left home and happiness to free a people who allowed her to be thus tormented to death? "a court was constituted by pope calixtus iii., in , which declared her innocent and pronounced her trial unjust. and through the whole civilized world her memory is fittingly commemorated in statuary and literature." but this is poor consolation and does not undo the mischief. so far as joan of arc is concerned, she is still burning, scorching, suffering at that stake, and the world and the english are her torturers, still tormenting her, while the man she made king stands looking on indifferently, heartlessly. all the honor and statuary that ever had creation on this green earth cannot atone for this crime of "civilization" on the innocent. but it is only one blot of many with which the world moves on, branded indelibly to its unknown end; and beneath a pleasant exterior we know, but try to hide, those blots, with apologies for our ancestors. and yet some say the world is getting no better. out of this chaos of blood, crime and heathendom we sprang with all our pride and greatness, and with such a record it behooves us to be rather humble than high-minded, for crime and disgrace are lying at our very door-step. "the story of joan has been a rich motive in the world of art, and painter and sculptor have spent their genius on the theme without as yet adequately realizing its simple grandeur." of voices long dead the following is not history, although we have placed it under this heading. it is the literal translation of a poem by theocritus, a light in the ancient literature of the greeks. although the actual incident never occurred, it is typical of what was going on among that long dead people, and it is of as much importance to us as the most valuable record of history, and is of vital interest when viewed in retrospect from the year , because it gives us a rare glimpse into the domestic manners of a people who lived when all the present civilized world was in the hands of savages--and how modern it all seems. the scene might have been enacted yesterday even to the smallest detail. imagine yourself in the city of alexandria about the year b.c. "some syracusan women staying at alexandria, agreed, on the occasion of a great religious solemnity--the feast of adonis--to go together to the palace of king ptolemy philadelphus, to see the image of adonis, which the queen arsinoe, ptolemy's wife, had had decorated with peculiar magnificence. a hymn, by a celebrated performer, was to be recited over the image. the names of the two women are gorgo and praxinoe; their maids, who are mentioned in the poem, are called eunoe and eutychis. gorgo comes by appointment to praxinoe's house to fetch her, and there the dialogue begins." we are following the translation of william cleaver wilkinson. gorgo. is praxinoe at home? praxinoe. my dear gorgo, at last! yes, here i am. eunoe, find a chair--get a cushion for it. g. it will do beautifully as it is. p. do sit down. g. oh, this gadabout spirit! i could hardly get to you, praxinoe, through all the crowd and all the carriages. nothing but heavy boots, nothing but men in uniform. and what a journey it is! my dear child, you really live too far off. p. it is all that insane husband of mine. he has chosen to come out here to the end of the world, and take a hole of a place--for a house it is not--on purpose that you and i might not be neighbors. he is always just the same--anything to quarrel with one! anything for spite! g. my dear, don't talk so of your husband before the little fellow. just see how astonished he looks at you. never mind, zopyrio, my pet, she is not talking about papa. p. good heavens! the child does really understand. g. pretty papa! p. that pretty papa of his the other day (though i told him beforehand to mind what he was about), when i sent him to shop to buy soap and rouge, he brought me home salt instead--stupid, great, big, interminable animal. g. mine is just the fellow to him.... but never mind; get on your things and let us be off to the palace to see the adonis. i hear the queen's decorations are something splendid. p. in grand people's houses everything is grand. what things you have seen in alexandria! what a deal you will have to tell anybody who has never been here! g. come, we ought to be going. p. every day is holiday to people who have nothing to do. eunoe, pick up your work; and take care, lazy girl, how you leave it lying about again; the cats find it just the bed they like. come, stir yourself; fetch me some water, quick! i wanted the water first, and the girl brings me the soap. never mind, give it me. not all that, extravagant! now pour out the water--stupid! why don't you take care of my dress? that will do. i have got my hands washed as it pleases god. where is the key of the large wardrobe? bring it here--quick! g. praxinoe, you can't think how well that dress, made full, as you've got it, suits you. tell me, how much did it cost?--the dress by itself, i mean. p. don't talk of it, gorgo; more than eight guineas of good hard money. and about the work on it i have almost worn my life out. g. well, you couldn't have done better. p. thank you. bring me my shawl, and put my hat properly on my head--properly. no, child (to her little boy), i am not going to take you; there is a bogey on horseback, who bites. cry as much as you like, i'm not going to have you lamed for life. now we'll start. nurse, take the little one and amuse him; call the dog in, and shut the street door. (they go out.) good heavens! what a crowd of people! how on earth are we ever to get through all this? they are like ants--you can't count them. my dearest gorgo, what will become of us? here are the royal horse guards. my good man, don't ride over me! look at that bay horse rearing bolt upright; what a vicious one! eunoe, you mad girl, do take care!--that horse will certainly be the death of the man on his back. how glad i am now that i left the child at home! g. all right, praxinoe, we are safe behind them, and they have gone on to where they are stationed. p. well, yes, i begin to revive again. from the time i was a little girl i have had more horror of horses and snakes than of anything in the world. let us get on; here's a great crowd coming this way upon us. g. (to an old woman). mother, are you from the palace? old woman. yes, my dears. g. has one a tolerable chance of getting there? o.w. my pretty young lady, the greeks got to troy by dint of trying hard; trying will do anything in this world. g. the old creature has delivered herself of an oracle and departed. p. women can tell you everything about everything. jupiter's marriage with juno not excepted. g. look, praxinoe, what a squeeze at the palace gates! p. tremendous! take hold of me, gorgo, and you, eunoe, take hold of eutychis!--tight hold, or you'll be lost. here we go in all together. hold tight to us, eunoe. oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! gorgo, there's my scarf torn right in two. for heaven's sake, my good man, as you hope to be saved, take care of my dress! stranger. i'll do what i can, but it doesn't depend upon me. p. what heaps of people! they push like a drove of pigs. str. don't be frightened, ma'am; we are all right. p. may you be all right, my dear sir, to the last day you live, for the care you have taken of us! what a kind, considerate man! there is eunoe jammed in a squeeze. push, you goose, push! capital! we are all of us the right side of the door, as the bridegroom said when he had locked himself in with the bride. g. praxinoe, come this way. do but look at that work, how delicate it is! how exquisite! why, they might wear it in heaven! p. heavenly patroness of needle-women, what hands we hired to do that work? who designed those beautiful patterns? they seem to stand up and move about, as if they were real--as if they were living things and not needlework. well, man is a wonderful creature! and look, look, how charming he lies there on his silver couch, with just a soft down on his cheeks, that beloved adonis--adonis, whom one loves, even though he is dead! another stranger. you wretched woman, do stop your incessant chatter. like turtles, you go on forever. they are enough to kill one with their broad lingo--nothing but a, a, a. g. lord, where does the man come from? what is it to you if we are chatterboxes? order about your own servants. do you give orders to syracusan women? if you want to know, we came originally from corinth, as bellerophon did; we speak peloponnesian. i suppose dorian women may be allowed to have a dorian accent. p. oh, honey-sweet proserpine, let us have no more masters than the one we've got! we don't the least care for you; pray don't trouble yourself for nothing. g. be quiet, praxinoe! that first-rate singer, the argive woman's daughter, is going to sing the adonis hymn. she is the same who was chosen to sing the dirge last year. we are sure to have something first rate from her. she is going through her airs and graces ready to begin. * * * * * and here the voices die away in the remote past. how difficult it is to believe that this dialogue took place more than two thousand years ago! as a last glimpse of such a beautiful, modernly remote gem of conversation, we will give a few more words to show what those ancient gossipy ladies thought of their husbands. the following are the last surviving words which gorgo gave to the world: gorgo. praxinoe, certainly women are wonderful things. that lucky woman, to know all that; and luckier still to have such a voice! and now we must see about getting home. my husband has not had his dinner. that man is all vinegar, and nothing else; and if you keep him waiting for his dinner he's dangerous to go near. adieu! precious adonis, and may you find us all well when you come next year! he might have been a husband of yesterday! for how many years have the husbands been coming home from work daily to partake of a meal which an attentive and tender wife has prepared for him? this was twenty-two hundred years ago. of the white woman who became an indian squaw the early history of the northwest frontier of massachusetts is fraught with blood-curdling tales of savage invasions against the home-builders and empire-makers of that once troubled boundary between the french of canada and the english of the new england states, but there is not a more pitiful story than that which has been recorded touching the williams family of deerfield, who were captured by the indians during one of their inroads in the year . john williams was a minister who had come to deerfield when it was still suffering from the ruinous effects of king philip's war. his parishioners built him a house, he married, and had eight children. the story of the indians' invasion, the destruction of the village, and the capture of over one hundred prisoners is admirably told by francis parkman in one of those excellent works of his dealing with the old régime of canada and new england. "a war party of about fifty canadians and two hundred indians left quebec about mid-winter, and arrived at deerfield on the th of february, . savage and hungry, they lay shivering under the pines till about two hours before dawn the following morning; then, leaving their packs and their snowshoes behind, they moved cautiously towards their prey. the hideous din startled the minister, williams, from his sleep. half naked, he sprang out of bed, and saw, dimly, a crowd of savages bursting through the shattered door. with more valor than discretion he snatched a pistol that hung at the head of the bed, cocked it and snapped it at the breast of the foremost indian. it missed fire. amid the screams of his terrified children, three of the party seized him and bound him fast, for they came well provided with cords, as prisoners had a great market value. nevertheless, in the first fury of their attack, they dragged to the door and murdered two of the children. they kept williams shivering in his shirt for an hour, while a frightful uproar of yells, shrieks, and gunshots sounded from within. at length they permitted him, his wife, and five remaining children to dress themselves. after the entire village had been destroyed and the inhabitants either murdered or made captive, williams and his wife and family were led from their burning house across the connecticut river to the foot of the mountain, and the following day the march north began with the hundred or more prisoners." the hardships of the prisoners, and the crimes of the victors during that long and arduous march north through snow and ice, forms a chapter of pathos in the early history of those eastern states. "at the mouth of the white river the party divided, and the williams family were separated and carried off in various directions. eunice, the youngest daughter, about eight years old, was handed over by the indians to the mission at st. louis on their arrival there, and although many efforts were made on the part of the governor, who had purchased and befriended williams, to ransom her, the jesuits flatly refused to give her up. on one occasion he went himself with the minister to st. louis. this time the jesuits, whose authority within their mission seemed almost to override that of the governor himself, yielded so far as to allow the father to see his daughter, on condition that he spoke to no other english prisoner. he spoke to her for an hour, exhorting her never to forget her catechism, which she had learned by rote. the governor and his wife afterwards did all in their power to procure her ransom, but of no avail. "'she is there still,' writes williams two years later, 'and has forgotten to speak english.' what grieved him still more, eunice had forgotten her catechism." but now we come to this strange transformation, unprecedented, we think, which made an indian squaw out of a white woman. "eunice, reared among indian children, learned their language and forgot her own; she lived in a wigwam of the caughnawagas, forgot her catechism, was baptized in the roman catholic faith, and in due time married an indian of the tribe, who henceforth called himself williams. thus her hybrid children bore her family name. "many years after, in , she came, with her husband, to visit her relatives at deerfield, dressed as a squaw and wrapped in an indian blanket. nothing would induce her to stay, though she was persuaded on one occasion to put on a civilized dress and go to church, after which she impatiently discarded her gown and resumed her blanket." could a sadder instance of degeneration be written in the annals of the human family? "she was kindly treated by her relatives, and no effort was made to detain her. she came again the following year, bringing two of her children, and twice afterwards she repeated the visit. she and her husband were offered land if they would remain, but she positively refused, saying it would endanger her soul. she lived to a great age, a squaw to the last. one of her grandsons became a missionary to the indians of green bay, wisconsin." this is one of the most drastic instances of a woman's devotion to husband, and mother love for children driving her back to the forest of her ancestors, and making her sacrifice all that her race had gained for her during thousands of years. thus the most natural and primitive instincts of the human race will prevail against all our arts, science and accomplishments. through the microscope through the microscope life is full of impossibilities. after all it is not money we want so much as something to do. every man should have an accomplishment of some kind. some music is like a jumble of misplaced notes. if you have reached forty and have done nothing, get busy. we sometimes lose dollars by being too careful with our cents. we should try to arrange ourselves so that we will appear as plausible as possible to posterity. we must have something to worry about or we will become stagnant. music should be rendered slowly and softly so that each note may have time to tell its story before the next one comes on the stage. when we are young our time is all present. when we are old there is no present, but our time becomes the aggregate days and years. we sometimes get into trouble trying to keep out of it. it is not what we would _like_ to do, but what we _can_ do. let us take our medicine philosophically. a dollar looks larger going out than it does coming in. what is that we see falling like grain before the reaper? it is the days, and the weeks, and the months, and the years. every dog wonders why the other dog was born. we are so constituted in temperament that one may love what the other hates. a face is like a song, it has to be learned to be thoroughly appreciated. you have to acquire a taste for it, and when it is once memorized it is never forgotten. most of our best words are derived from dead, heathen languages. if you have married the wrong man, or the wrong woman, cheer up and be a philosopher over it. philosophy is a good substitute for love if properly applied. if you do not go about sniffing the air you will not find so many obnoxious odors. if you have a mental wound of any kind, do not mind; time, the great healer, will cure it. we despise the ancient heathen, yet in some cases we have risen from his ashes. a woman dresses for appearance, not for comfort. an ounce of domestic harmony is worth a ton of gold. we should adjust ourselves as much as possible to circumstances. it is better to be a dummy than to be a gossip. every man thinks _his_ dog is an angel. it is not always the one who can afford it who keeps the hired servant. since we can grow a new finger nail, why cannot we grow a new finger? the mouse is destructive only from man's point of view. when a man reaches forty he usually settles down to make the best of things. sometimes we are called cranks because we will not be sat upon. the passing of time so quickly would not be so regrettable were life not so short. a good book has no ending. it is nothing to win a girl if you do not win her love also. the passing of time so quickly takes the pleasure out of everything. if you are popular, anything you say will rise into the air like a zeppelin. if you are unpopular anything you say or do will sink into the ocean of oblivion like a titanic. it is a pity we have to do so much to get so little. it sometimes pays to accept a few cents on the dollar and let it go at that. sometimes men become so parasitical to their occupation that, were they to lose it, they would drown. "help ye one another." it pays. our mistakes keep us perpetually on the convalescence. woman is equal to man--sometimes more than equal. while the years are with you freeze on to them as tightly as ever you can. the "give-in-to-nothing-or-nobody-for-anything" spirit nurses a great deal of evil. it takes forty years for a man to become a philosopher. some never graduate. our generation is to be pitied. it is living in the most extravagant age the world has ever known. when the church does not ameliorate the objectionable dispositions of its adherents, it has failed in its mission. it is diplomacy to be on friendly terms with all men. politics are sometimes dangerous things. be cheerful under all circumstances. the human race has mounted a treadmill which it must tread or perish. the strenuous industries of this world are man's unconscious efforts to preserve his increasing numbers from annihilation. courtesy in business is the best policy. it takes three men's wages to sustain one family in an up-to-date fashion. under the circumstances, it is almost necessary to be greedy and grasping. to be perfectly healthy we should adopt the exercises followed by our ancestors in climbing among the trees. it is not how much you can do or how quick you get through it, but the care that you take and how well you can do it. it is not the gift but the giving. it is quality, not quantity, that counts. do not measure a person's length by your personal prejudices. the man who never had an enemy is too good for this world. "you can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make him drink." you can send a boy to college, but you cannot make him think. the dog hates the cat, and the cat hates the dog, but when they are friends there are no truer ones. just take the world as it is; take things as to be had. your friends may not be quite so good, your foes not quite so bad. it is the aggregate that counts. the almighty dollar is getting smaller every day. it is fashionable to be lazy. money is man's passport through the world. the one who is most jealous is the one who is least in love. poetry is something that was written by someone who is dead. life is one thing after another--getting in between man and his money. some men are so small that they could easily go through the eye of a needle. often the man who is the most mean in buying is the most extortionate in selling. some husbands have to prove their love by sending their wives off for a month's holiday every six weeks. the cat is one of the most cleanly of animals, yet she has never been known to take a bath. "it is an ill wind," etc. the harder the times become to others, the better they become to the sheriff. germany wants to reap where she has not sown. misery likes company. it is consolation to know that everybody else is hard up during these hard times. in our life struggle we are obliged to sacrifice many of our pet ambitions. if a person is not naturally inclined he cannot be influenced by argument. when the war is over it will be an easy matter to estimate the german casualties. she had about sixty-five millions. the present seems to be a thing of the past. an honorable defeat is more commendable than an empty triumph. one half of the war in europe does not know what the other half is doing. sometimes finance gets men into positions for which they are not qualified. we must abandon that ancient superstition that a dollar has any financial value. where a cat and a canary are brought up together, the cat ultimately gets the canary. if a man does not support his country during the war, what can he expect after the war is over? there is not a misunderstanding but that can be adjusted amicably if it is gone about in the right spirit. _your_ business is not the only important one. it is a pity the cat would not always remain a kitten. with the bank man it is more a matter of figures than it is of dollars. to man, money is like a train going into a tunnel. it goes in at one end and out at the other, and leaves nothing. never judge a person's way by what the other people say. there are only two sides to business: what i.o.u. and what u.o.i. where there is abundance there is likely to be waste and lack of economy. a one dollar contra is often used to stave off a hundred dollar account. "every crow thinks that _its_ bird is a white one," and every man thinks that _his_ wife is the right one. the hieroglyphic signature is often taken as a sign of perfect commercial attainment. some people give and take; others are all take. blessed is the man who has no family, for he shall inherit wealth. unlucky is the man who has children, for verily i say unto you, they keep him broke. the good samaritan who lends his friend a dollar, sometimes loses both the friend and the dollar. the poorer a man the greater his misfortunes. a great many children go to school to learn to read novels. it takes as long to become a man as it does to become a philosopher. life is far too short judging by the time it takes to collect some of our accounts. first, steel made millionaires, then railways, then oil, then pork; and now it is the automobile. when two or three women are gathered together no man can tell when the end will be. the well-fed philosopher is likely to have a well-fed philosophy; the under-fed one an emaciated variety. habitual melancholy is not always a mental derangement; it is very often a constitutional weakness. live and--let your indorser--learn. the further you get into the world the less time you have for poetry, philosophy and sentiment. the doctor is a man whom we don't want to do any business with. you seldom meet an enthusiast who is not a crank also. individually, dimensions are determined by the proportions of the observer. the modern attitude is a contempt for economy. conservation is a bugbear. your neighbor is not a freak because he does not fall in line with your way of thinking. when you have gained your equilibrium, you usually find that it was not worth while getting mad after all. [transcriber's note: in "of the foolhardy expedition," there is extensive quoting of a text, and the quotes are not always matched. the punctuation was left as printed.] metlakahtla the north pacific mission of the church missionary society with a map "if i take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there shall thy hand lead me and thy right hand shall hold me"--ps. cxxxix , shores of the utmost west ye that have waited long unvisited noblest, break forth to swelling song high raise the note that jesus died yet lives and reigns the crucified note the third, fourth, and fifth chapters of this little book are substantially a reprint of parts of a pamphlet entitled, "metlakahtla, or ten years' work among the tsimshean indians," published by the church missionary society in . almost all the rest, or three-fourths of the whole, is new matter--new, that is, in a separate form, for the greater part has appeared at various times in the society's periodicals. one or two facts are taken from the rev. j. j. halcombe's excellent book, "stranger than fiction," which has done so much to make the metlakahtla mission known. for much valuable information i am indebted to admiral prevost. e. s. contents. chap i. the field of labour ii. the call, and the man iii. beginning work iv. first-fruits v. the new settlement vi. metlakahtla--spiritual results vii. " material progress and moral influence viii. " two christmas-seasons ix. outlying missions--kincolith. x. " queen charlotte's islands xi. " fort rupert xii. lord dufferin at metlakahtla xii. admiral prevost at metlakahtla xiv. the diocese of caledonia metlakahtla and the north pacific mission. i. the field of labour british columbia, now forming part of "the dominion of canada," includes within its limits several islands, of which vancouver's is the principal, and that part of the continent of north america, west of the rocky mountains and east of alaska, which is included between the deg. and the deg. parallels of north latitude. english connection with this part of the world may be said to date from an exploratory voyage made by captain cook in , when he landed at friendly cove and nootka sound, and took possession of them in the name of his sovereign. he supposed at the time that these places were on the mainland, and it was not until captain vancouver, an officer in the english navy, was despatched in to the pacific, that he discovered that nootka and friendly cove were on the west side of the island which now bears his name, and which is sometimes spoken of as the gem of the pacific. in , alexander mackenzie, one of the most enterprising pioneers in the employment of the north-west fur company, who had already discovered the mighty river since named after him, crossed the rocky mountains, and pushed his way westward, until he stood on the shores of the pacific. some years later, in , mr. simon frazer, another _employe_ of the same company, gave his name to the great river that drains british columbia, and established the first trading post in those parts. after the amalgamation of this company with the hudson's bay company, other posts were established, such as fort rupert, on vancouver's island, and fort simpson, on the borders of alaska, then belonging to russia, but subsequently sold by her to the united states. in , the discovery of gold in the basin of the fraser river, on the mainland, attracted a large number of gold-diggers from california, and among them a considerable body of chinese. to maintain order among a motley population of lawless habits, british columbia was formed into a colony, with its capital at victoria, on vancouver's island. official returns, made a few years ago, gave the number of indians in british columbia as , , distributed over the islands and mainland. they belong to several distinct families or nations, speaking distinct languages, subdivided into a multitude of tribes speaking different dialects of their own. thus the hydahs of queen charlotte's islands are altogether distinct from the indians of vancouver's island, where, indeed, those on the east coast are distinct from those on the west. again, on the mainland, the indians on the sea-board are distinct from the indians of the interior, from whom they are divided by the cascade range of mountains. these inland indians are of more robust and athletic frame, and are altogether a more vigorous race. among the coast tribes, however, there are great differences, those to the north being far superior to those in the south. those who know the indians well declare that it would be impossible to find anywhere finer looking men than the hydahs, tsimsheans, and some of the alaskan tribes. "they are," writes one, "a manly, tall, handsome people, and comparatively fair in their complexion." the indians on the sea-board of the mainland, and those on the east coast of vancouver's island who have affinity with one another, have been grouped into three principal families or nations. the first of these is met with at victoria and on the fraser river, and may be called the chinook indians, from the language which is principally in use. in the second division may be comprised the tribes between nanaimo on the east coast, and fort rupert at the extreme north of vancouver's island, and the indians on the mainland between the same points. the tsimsheans, a third family, cluster round fort simpson, and occupy a line of coast extending from the skeena river to the borders of alaska. on his arrival at fort simpson, on the st of october, , mr. duncan found located there, to quote his own words in a recent official report, "nine tribes, numbering (for i counted them) about , souls. these proved to be just one-third of the tribes speaking the tsimshean language. of the other eighteen tribes, five were scattered over miles of the coast south of fort simpson, other five occupied the naas river, and the remaining eight tribes lived on the skeena river--the whole of the twenty-seven tribes numbering then not over , souls, though i at first set them down at , . in addition to the tsimshean tribes which i have mentioned, i found that indians of other two distinct languages frequented the fort for trade. these were the alaska coast indians, whose nearest village was only some fifteen miles north of fort simpson, and the hydahs from queen charlotte's islands." the tribal arrangements among the tsimsheans are very much the same as among other indian clans. each tribe has from three to five chiefs, one of whom is the acknowledged head. among the head chiefs of the various tribes one again takes preeminence. at feasts and in council the chiefs are seated according to their rank. as an outward mark, to distinguish the rank of a chief, a pole is erected in front of his house. the greater the chief the higher the pole. the indians are very jealous in regard to this distinction. every indian family has a distinguishing crest, or "totem," as it is called in some places. this crest is usually some bird, or fish, or animal; particularly the eagle, the raven, the finback whale, the grisly bear, the wolf, and the frog. among the tsimsheans and their neighbours, the hydahs, great importance is attached to this heraldry, and their crests are often elaborately engraved on large copper plates from three to five feet in length, and about two in breadth. these plates are very highly valued, and are often heir-looms in families. no indian would think of killing the animal which had been taken for his crest. while two members of the same tribe are allowed to intermarry, those of the same crest are prohibited from doing so under any circumstances. the child always takes the mother's crest: if she belonged to a family whose crest was the eagle, thru all her children take the eagle for their crest. the most influential men in a tribe--not excluding the chiefs--are the medicine men. captain mayne, r.n., thus speaks of them:--[footnote: _four years in british columbia, and vancouver island_, p. (murray, ).] "their initiation into the mysteries of their calling is one of the most disgusting ceremonies imaginable. at a certain season, the indian who is selected for the office retires into the woods for several days, and fasts, holding intercourse, it is supposed, with the spirits who are to teach him the healing art. he then suddenly reappears in the village, and, in a sort of religious frenzy, attacks the first person he meets and bites a piece out of his arm or shoulder. he will then rush at a dog, and tear him limb from limb, running about with a leg or some part of the animal all bleeding in his hand, and tearing it with his teeth. this mad fit lasts some time, usually during the whole day of his reappearance. at its close he crawls into his tent, or falling down exhausted is carried there by those who are watching him. a series of ceremonials, observances, and long incantations follows, lasting for two or three days, and he then assumes the functions and privileges of his office. i have seen three or four medicine men made at a time among the indians near victoria, while twenty or thirty others stood, with loaded muskets, keeping guard all round the place to prevent them doing any mischief. although a clever medicine man becomes of great importance in his tribe, his post is no sinecure either before or after his initiation. if he should be seen by anyone while he is communing with the spirits in the woods, he is killed or commits suicide, while if he fails in the cure of any man he is liable to be put to death, on the assumption that he did not wish to cure his patient. this penalty is not always inflicted, but, if he fails in his first attempt, the life of a medicine man is not, as a rule, worth much. the people who are bitten by these maniacs when they come in from the woods consider themselves highly favoured." mr. duncan, in , gave the following painfully curious description of the medicine men-- "the superstitions connected with this fearful system are deeply rooted here, and it is the admitting and initiating of fresh pupils into these arts that employ numbers, and excite and interest all, during the winter months. this year i think there must have been eight or ten parties of them, but each party seldom has more than one pupil at once. in relating their proceedings i can give but a faint conception of the system as a whole, but still a little will show the dense darkness that rests on this place. "i may mention that each party has some characteristics peculiar to itself, but, in a more general sense, their divisions are but three, viz, those who eat human bodies, the dog eaters, and those who have no custom of the kind. early in the morning the pupils would be out on, the beach, or on the rocks, in a state of nudity. each had a place in front of his own tribe, nor did intense cold interfere in the slightest degree. after the poor creature had crept about, jerking his head and screaming for some time, a party of men would rush out, and, after surrounding him, would commence singing. the dog eating party occasionally carried a dead dog to their pupil, who forthwith commenced to tear it in the most dog like manner. the party of attendants kept up a low growling noise, or a whoop, which was seconded by a screeching noise made from an instrument which they believe to be the abode of a spirit. in a little time the naked youth would start up again, and proceed a few more yards in a crouching posture, with his arms pushed out behind him, and tossing his flowing black hair. all the while he is earnestly watched by the group about him, and when he pleases to sit down they again surround him and commence singing. this kind of thing goes on, with several different additions, for some time. before the prodigy finally retires, he takes a turn into every house belonging to his tribe, and is followed by his train. when this is done, in some cases he has a ramble on the tops of the same houses, during which he is anxiously watched by his attendants, as if they expected his flight. by-and-bye he condescends to come down, and they then follow him to his den, which is marked by a rope made of red bark being hung over the doorway, so as to prevent any person from ignorantly violating its precincts. none are allowed to enter that house but those connected with the art; all i know, therefore, of their further proceedings is, that they keep up a furious hammering, singing, and screeching for hours during the day. "of all these parties, none are so much dreaded as the cannibals. one morning i was called to witness a stir in the camp which had been caused by this set. when i reached the gallery i saw hundreds of tsimsheans sitting in their canoes, which they had just pushed away from the beach. i was told that the cannibal party were in search of a body to devour, and if they failed to find a dead one, it was probable they would seize the first living one that came in their way; so that all the people living near to the cannibals' house had taken to their canoes to escape being torn to pieces. it is the custom among these indians to burn their dead; but i suppose for these occasions they take care to deposit a corpse somewhere, in order to satisfy these inhuman wretches. "these, then, are some of the things and scenes which occur in the day during the winter months, while the nights are taken up with amusements --singing and dancing. occasionally the medicine parties invite people to their several houses, and exhibit tricks before them of various kinds. some of the actors appear as bears, while others wear masks, the parts of which are moved by strings. the great feature in their proceedings is to pretend to murder, and then to restore to life, and so forth. the cannibal, on such occasions, is generally supplied with two, three, or four human bodies, which he tears to pieces before his audience. several persons, either from bravado or as a charm, present their arms for him to bite. i have seen several whom he has thus bitten, and i hear two have died from the effects." one of the most curious and characteristic customs of the the indians of british columbia is the _giving away of property_ at feasts. mr. duncan gives the following account of it:-- "these feasts are generally connected with the giving away of property. as an instance, i will relate the last occurrence of the kind. the person who sent the aforementioned invitations is a chief who has just completed building a house. after feasting, i heard he was to give away property to the amount of four hundred and eighty blankets (worth as many pounds to him), of which one hundred and eighty were his own property and the three hundred were to be subscribed by his people. on the first day of the feast, as much as possible of the property to be given him was exhibited in the camp. hundreds of yards of cotton were flapping in the breeze, hung from house to house, or on lines put up for the occasion. furs, too, were nailed up on the fronts of houses. those who were going to give away blankets or elk-skins managed to get a bearer for every one, and exhibited them by making the persons walk in single file to the house of the chief. on the next day the cotton which had been hung out was now brought on the beach, at a good distance from the chief's house, and then run out at full length, and a number of bearers, about three yards apart, bore it triumphantly away from the giver to the receiver. i suppose that about six hundred to eight hundred yards were thus disposed of. "after all the property the chief is to receive has thus been openly handed to him, a day or two is taken up in apportioning it for fresh owners. when this is done, all the chiefs and their families are called together, and each receives according to his or her portion. thus do the chiefs and their people go on reducing themselves to poverty. in the case of the chiefs, however, this poverty lasts but a short time; they are soon replenished from the next giving away, but the people only grow rich again according to their industry. one cannot but pity them, while one laments their folly. "all the pleasure these poor indians seem to have in their property is in hoarding it up for such an occasion as i have described. they never think of appropriating what they gather to enhance their comforts, but are satisfied if they can make a display like this now and then; so that the man possessing but one blanket seems to be as well off as the one who possesses twenty; and thus it is that there is a vast amount of dead stock accumulated in the camp doomed never to be used, but only now and then to be transferred from hand to hand for the mere vanity of the thing. "there is another way, however, in which property is disposed of even more foolishly. if a person be insulted, or meet with an accident, or in any way suffer an injury, real or supposed, either of mind or body, property must at once be sacrificed to avoid disgrace. a number of blankets, shirts, or cotton, according to the rank of the person, are torn, into small pieces and carried off." the religion of the tsimsheans is thus described:-- "the tsimsheans, i find, believe in two states after death: the one good, and the other, bad; the morally good are translated to the one, and the morally bad are doomed to the other. the locality of the former they think to be above, and that of the latter is somewhere beneath. the enjoyment of heaven and the privations of hell they understand to be carnal. they do not suppose the wicked to be destitute of food any more than they were here, but they are treated as slaves and are badly clothed. "the idea they entertain of god is that he is a great chief. they call him by the same term as they do their chiefs, only adding the word for above--thus, 'shimanyet' is chief, and 'lakkah' above: and hence the name of god with them is shimanyet lakkah. they believe that the supreme being never dies: that he takes great notice of what is going on amongst men, and is frequently angry, and punishes offenders. they do not know who is the author of the universe, nor do they expect that god is the author of their own being. they have no fixed ideas about these things, i fully believe; still they frequently appeal to god in trouble; they ask for pity and deliverance. in great extremities of sickness they address god, saying it is not good for them to die. "sometimes, when calamities are prolonged or thicken, they get enraged against god, and vent their anger against him, raising their eyes and hands in savage anger to heaven, and stamping their feet on the ground. they will reiterate language which means 'you are a great slave!'" a very curious tradition respecting the first appearance of white men on the coast was related some years ago to mr. duncan by an old chief:-- "a large canoe of indians were busy catching halibut in one of these channels. a thick mist enveloped them. suddenly they heard a noise as if a large animal was striking through the water. immediately they concluded that a monster from the deep was in pursuit of them. with all speed they hauled up their fishing lines, seized the paddles, and strained every nerve to reach the shore. still the plunging noise came nearer. every minute they expected to be engulfed within the jaws of some huge creature. however, they reached the land, jumped on shore, and turned round in breathless anxiety to watch the approach of the monster. soon a boat, filled with strange-looking men, emerged from the mist the pulling of the oars had caused the strange noise. though somewhat relieved of fear, the indians stood spell bound with amazement. the strangers landed, and beckoned the indians to come to them and bring them some fish. one of them had over his shoulder what was supposed only to be a stick, presently he pointed it to a bird that was flying past, a violent poo went forth, down came the bird to the ground. the indians died. as they revived again they questioned each other as to their state, whether they were dead, and what each had felt. the whites then made signs for a fire to be lighted. the indians proceeded at once, according to their usual tedious fashion of rubbing two sticks together. the strangers laughed, and one of them, snatching up a handful of dry grass, struck a spark into a little powder placed under it. instantly flashed another poo and a blaze. the indians died. after this the new comers wanted some fish boiling. the indians therefore put the fish and water into one of their square wooden buckets, and set some stones in the fire, intending when they were hot, to cast them into the vessel, and thus boil the food the whites were not satisfied with this way. one of them fetched a tin kettle out of the boat, put the fish and the water into it, and then, strange to say, set it on the fire. the indians looked on with astonishment. however, the kettle did not consume, the water did not run into the fire then, again, the indians died. when the fish was eaten, the strangers put a kettle of rice on the fire. the indians looked at each other and whispered, 'akshahn, akshahn,' or 'maggots, maggots.' the rice being cooked, some molasses were produced and mixed with it. the indians stared, and said, 'coutzee um tsakah ahket,' or 'the grease of dead people.' the whites then tendered the rice and molasses to the indians, but they only shrank away in disgust. seeing this, to prove their integrity, they sat down and enjoyed it themselves. the sight stunned the indians, and again they all died. some other similar wonders were worked, and the profound stupor which the indians felt each time come over them they termed death. the indians' turn had now come to make the white strangers die. they dressed their heads and painted their faces a nok nok, or wonder working spirit possessed them. they came slowly, and solemnly seated themselves before the whites, then suddenly lifted up their heads and stared. their reddened eyes had the desired effect. the whites died." among the indians of british, columbia no protestant missionary had laboured prior to . some roman catholic priests, however, had been in the country, and of them captain mayne writes:--[footnote: "_four years in british columbia_," p. .] "if the opinion of the hudson's bay people of the interior is to be relied upon, the roman catholic priests effected no real change in the condition of the natives. the sole result of their residence among them was, that the indians who had been brought under their influence had imbibed some notions of the deity, almost as vague as their own traditions, and a superstitious respect for the priests themselves, which they showed by crossing themselves devoutly whenever they met one. occasionally, too, might be seen in their lodges, pictures purporting to represent the roads to heaven and to hell, in which there was no single suggestion of the danger of vice and crime, but a great deal of the peril of protestantism. these coloured prints were certainly curious in their way, and worth a passing notice. they were large, and gave a pictorial history of the human race, from the time when adam and eve wandered in the garden together, down to the reformation. here the one broad road was split into two, whose courses diverged more and more painfully. by one way the roman catholic portion of the world were seen trooping to bliss; the other ended in a steep bottomless precipice over which the protestants might be seen falling. [footnote: a fac-simile of a similar picture appeared in the _church missionary gleaner_, of march, .] upon the more sensible and advanced of the indians, teaching such as this had little effect. i remember the chief of the shuswap tribe, at kamloops, pointing out to me such an illustration hanging on his wall, and laughingly saying, in a tone that showed quite plainly how little credence he attached to it, 'there are you and your people,' putting his finger as he spoke on the figures tumbling into the pit." "of such kind was the only instruction that the indiana had received prior to . its influence was illustrated in that year at victoria, where a roman catholic bishop and several priests had been resident for some time, and were known to have exerted themselves among the songhie indians who reside there. a cross had been raised in their village, and some of them had been baptized; but when these were called before the bishop for confirmation, they refused to come unless a greater present of blankets was made to them than had been given at their baptism. the bishop was said to have been very angry with the priests when this came to his knowledge; he having very possibly been deceived by them as to the condition of the indians. i am informed that he had a large heart painted upon canvas, through which be drew a blanket, and represented it to the indians as symbolical of their condition." how the indians were brought to know the way of god more perfectly, and to choose it for themselves, it will be the purpose of the following chapters to show. ii. the call, and the man. the red indian is in a peculiar sense, the child of the church missionary society. more exclusively so, indeed, than even the negro. in those efforts for the evangelisation of africa with which the society's name has, from the first, been so indissolubly associated, it has but shared the field with other excellent societies. in the far north and far west of british america, it has laboured almost alone. nearly sixty years have passed away since its missionaries penetrated into the then remote regions of the red river, and since that time, nearly the whole of the vast territories, stretching northward to the arctic sea, eastward to the borders of labrador, and westward to the rocky mountains, have been trodden by their untiring feet. it was fitting, therefore, that when, in the providence of god, the day came for the gospel to reach beyond the rocky mountains to the tribes on the shores of the pacific, it should be carried thither by the church missionary society. but long before that time arrived, the eye of the committee, passing round the globe, had rested upon those distant shores. in their annual report for - , the following interesting passage is to be found:-- _from the c. m. s. report_, - . "it has been suggested to the committee that the western parts of british america, lying between the high ridge called the rocky mountains and the north pacific ocean, and extending from about the nd to the th degree of north latitude, offer a more extensive, promising, and practicable field for missionary labours than any other in that quarter of the globe. the climate is, in general, temperate, the soil reasonably productive, and the surface of the country level. [footnote: some of the information given to the committee at that early date was not very accurate. the surface of british columbia is anything but level and the soil is not too productive.] the people are not savage, ferocious, and wandering but settled in villages and in several respects somewhat civilized, though still in the hunter state, with few arts, no letters, no general knowledge, but a great desire to be taught by white men, whose superiority they clearly discern. numbers of them are scattered over this great range of country, and it has hitherto been very little known that so great a portion of the north american continent is covered with a stationary, aboriginal people, still, however, very much in a state of nature. the north west company trades through all the great space which lies between montreal and the north pacific, a longitudinal distance of not less than , miles, and keeps up a direct communication, by sea, between london and the mouth of the river columbia, on the north west coast of america. a member of that company, who is a highly respectable merchant in canada, informs your committee that he has been frequently among the indians in question, and thinks the prospect of the introduction of christianity very promising, while many of the principal persons in upper canada are anxious for the promotion of that object." the society's work, however, among the red indians, which was begun in the following year, was concentrated on red river, and thirty-six years passed away before the attention of the committee was again drawn to the more remote field on the pacific shore. in the spring of , the late rev. joseph ridgeway, editorial secretary of the society, attended, as a deputation, the anniversary meeting of the tunbridge wells church missionary association. there he met a naval officer, capt. j. c. prevost, r.n., who had just returned from vancouver's island. while in command of h.m.s. _virago_, he had been much impressed by the spiritual destitution of the indians of the pacific coast of british north america and the adjacent islands. they were "scattered abroad, as sheep having no shepherd," and he, like his divine master, was "moved with compassion on them." no protestant missionary had ever yet gone forth into the wilderness after these lost sheep; and in addition to their natural heathenism, with its degrading superstitions and revolting cruelties, a new danger was approaching the indians in the shape of the "civilisation" of white traders and miners, with its fire-water and its reckless immorality. capt. prevost earnestly inquired of mr. ridgeway what prospect there was of the church missionary society undertaking a mission on the coast. the reply was not encouraging. the committee had just determined to signalise the conclusion of the crimean war by planting a mission at constantinople, to extend their work in the punjab by the occupation of multan; and to accept sir robert montgomery's invitation to lucknow; and there was little hope of their having men or money to spare for the "few sheep in the wilderness" to be found scattered over british columbia. the editorial secretary's sympathies, however, were touched, and he, at least, did what he could. he invited captain prevost to write a memorandum on the subject for the _church missionary intelligencer_. the offer was thankfully accepted; and in the number of that periodical for july, , appeared an article entitled "vancouver's island," in which mr. ridgeway briefly stated the case, and introduced capt. prevost's contribution. after an interval of twenty-four years, and remembering what wonderful and blessed fruit has sprung from the seed thus quietly sown, it will be interesting to reproduce here the christian officer's own words:-- _captain prevost's memorandum, july, ._ "the country within which the proposed mission is designed to operate extends from about the deg. of north latitude to deg., and from the rocky mountains on the east to the pacific ocean on the west. it includes several beautiful and fertile islands adjoining the mainland, of which the largest, most important, and most populous, is vancouver's, being about miles in length and miles in its average breadth. "the government, impressed with a sense of its great commercial, and its growing political, importance, combining also great advantages as a naval station, erected it into a colony in , and gave to the hudson's bay company a charter, conferring on them certain privileges on condition of their carrying into effect the intentions of the government. the climate of this island is more genial than that of england, its soil is more productive, and its coasts abound with the finest fish. it contains, too, the only safe harbours between the deg. north latitude and san francisco, and there have been discovered lately fields of fine coal of immense extent, from which the entire coast of the pacific, and the steamers trading there, can be supplied. what has been stated with regard to these natural advantages of vancouver's island applies generally to the mainland." "the seat of the colonial government is at fort victoria, where there is a chaplain, the only protestant minister within the limits of the above mentioned territories. about three years since a roman catholic bishop, a british subject, arrived at the same place, accompanied by a staff of jesuit priests, and purchased a site for a cathedral there. hitherto their success has been very doubtful." "it is difficult to ascertain, with any degree of accuracy, the total amount of the native population, a mean, however, between the highest and lowest estimates gives , , [footnote: since many thousands have died of disease and from vicious habits (see p. ).] a result probably not far from the truth. it a fact well calculated to arrest the attention, and to enlist in behalf of the proposed mission the active sympathies of every sincere christian, that this vast number of our fellow subjects have remained in a state of heathen darkness and complete barbarism ever since the discovery and partial surveys of their coasts by vancouver in , and that no effort has yet been made for their moral or spiritual improvement, although, during the last forty years a most lucrative trade has been carried on with them by our fellow-countrymen. we would most earnestly call upon all who have themselves learned to value the blessings of the gospel, to assist 'in rolling away' this reproach. the field is a most promising one. some naval officers, who, in the discharge of their professional duties, have lately visited these regions, have been most favourably impressed with the highly intelligent character of the natives, and, struck by their manly bearing, and a physical appearance fully equal to that of the english, whom they also resemble in the fairness of their complexion, and having their compassion excited by their total destitution of christian and moral instruction, they feel it to be their duty to endeavour to introduce among them the knowledge of the gospel of christ, under the conviction that it would prove the surest and most fruitful source of social improvement and civilization, as well as of spiritual blessings infinitely more valuable, and would be found the only effectual antidote to the contaminating vices which a rapidly-increasing trade, especially with california and oregon, is bringing in its train. "there is much in the character of the natives to encourage missionary effort. they are not idolaters: they believe in the existence of two great spirits--the one benevolent, and the other malignant; and in two separate places of reward and punishment in another world. they are by no means bigoted. they manifest a great desire and aptitude to acquire the knowledge and arts of civilized life; and, although they are addicted to some of the vices generally prevalent amongst savages, they yet possess some virtues rarely displayed by them. some of the servants of the hudson's bay company, who have married native women, bear the highest testimony to their characters as wives and mothers, and to the manner in which they fulfil all their domestic relationships. drunkenness was almost wholly unknown, until lately introduced by increasing intercourse with europeans; but it is now spreading with rapid and destructive effect among the tribes. loss of chastity in females was considered an indelible disgrace to the family in which it occurred, and was consequently uncommon. but here, again, european influence has made itself felt, and this is now far from being the case. persons who are acquainted both with this people and with the new zealanders, are of opinion that the former are mentally and physically equal, if not superior, to the latter; and that, were like measures taken to convert and civilize them, they would be attended by similarly happy results. as to the medium of communication, although the number and variety of languages is very great, yet the necessities of trade have given rise to a _patois_ generally understood, and easily acquired, which might be made available for missionary purposes, at least as far as oral teaching is concerned. "the expense of establishing and supporting a mission would not, it is hoped, prove large. fish and game are extremely cheap. fuel, both coal and wood, is cheap and abundant. it is proposed that the first missionary station should be at fort simpson, on the mainland, as it offers many advantages for prosecuting the objects of the mission. there the missionaries would enjoy the protection, and, it is hoped, the cordial co-operation, of the hudson's bay company; and, in return, the company's servants would receive the benefit of the ministrations of the members of the mission. the position is central to all the most populous villages; and here, in the spring of each year, a kind of great national fair is held, where the tribes from the most distant parts of the coast and interior assemble, to the number of about , , and receive the commodities of the company in exchange for the skins collected during the preceding season. on these occasions valuable opportunities would be afforded to the missionaries of conversing with the natives, and giving them religions instruction. here, too, a school might be opened for the native children, where they would receive an industrial as well as religious and secular education, and be secluded from the prejudicial influence of their adult relatives." this earnest appeal was not long in eliciting a response. shortly afterwards, in the list of contributions published monthly by the society, appeared the following entry:-- two friends, for vancouver's island, l . still the committee hesitated; but two or three months afterwards, capt. prevost came to them again with the news that he was re-appointed to the same naval station, and was to proceed thither immediately in command of h.m.s. satellite; and, with the sanction of the admiralty, he offered a free passage by her to any missionary the society could send out. here was the opening, here were the means; but where was the man to go? there did not seem to be anyone available; but, at length, only ten days before the "satellite" was to sail, a student, then under training, was thought of. who was this? a few years before, one of the society's missionaries had addressed a village meeting in the midland counties. it was a very wet night, and but a handful of people attended. the vicar proposed to postpone the meeting; but the missionary urged that the few who had come were entitled to hear the information they were expecting, and proceeded to deliver a long and earnest speech. among the listeners were three young men, and the heart of one of these was deeply touched that night. he subsequently offered himself to the society, and was sent to the (then existing) highbury training college to be trained as a school master, under the rev. c. r. alford, afterwards bishop of victoria, hong kong. that young man's name was william duncan, and it was he to whom now came the call of the committee to start in ten days for british columbia. william duncan was ready. on december th, , he took leave of the committee, and on the rd, he sailed with capt. prevost from plymouth in the satellite. [footnote: an interesting notice of captain prevost's offer, and of the valedictory dismissal of mr. duncan, appears in the recently published "memoir of henry venn" p. .] the voyage to vancouver's island took nearly six months. it was on june th, , that the satellite cast anchor in esquimault harbour, victoria. but mr. duncan had still five hundred miles to go. his mission was to the tsimsheans, and for them fort simpson was the point to aim at. unable, however, to obtain a passage thither at once, he remained at victoria three months, patiently preparing for future work by studying the language. meanwhile the officers of the hudson's bay company raised some objections to his settling at fort simpson. the indians, they said, could not be allowed to come into the fort to him, and it would be quite unsafe for him to venture outside; and they recommended him to turn his attention to the tribes of vancouver's island, who, having been brought more into contact with white men, were presumed to be on that account more accessible to christian influence. mr. duncan, however, justly felt that the advantage was rather the other way; besides which to fort simpson he was appointed, and to fort simpson he would go. the governor of the colony warmly entered into his views, and gave him letters to the officer in charge, directing that accommodation was to be found for him, and all facilities given him for the prosecution of his work. iii. beginning work. on the night of october st mr. duncan landed at the fort. like other hudson's bay company trading posts, this "fort" consisted of a few houses, stores, and workshops, surrounded by a palisade twenty feet high, formed of trunks of trees. close by was the tsimshean village, comprising some two hundred and fifty wooden houses, well-built, and several of them of considerable size. a day or two after his arrival, mr. duncan had a significant glimpse of the kind of savages to whom he was presently to proclaim the gospel of peace:-- "the other day we were called upon to witness a terrible scene: an old chief, in cool blood, ordered a slave to be dragged to the beach, murdered, and thrown into the water. his orders were quickly obeyed. the victim was a poor woman. two or three reasons are assigned for this foul act: one is, that it is to take away the disgrace attached to his daughter, who has been suffering some time from a ball wound in the arm. another report is, that he does not expect his daughter to recover, so he has killed this slave in order that she may prepare for the coming of his daughter into the unseen world. i think the former reason is the most probable. i did not see the murder, but, immediately after, i saw crowds of people running out of those houses near to where the corpse was thrown, and forming themselves into groups at a good distance away. this, i learnt, was from fear of what was to follow. presently two bands of furious wretches appeared, each headed by a man in a state of nudity. they gave vent to the most unearthly sounds, and the two naked men made themselves look as unearthly as possible, proceeding in a creeping kind of stoop, and stepping like two proud horses, at the same time shooting forward each arm alternately, which they held out at full length for a little time in the most defiant manner. besides this, the continual jerking of their heads back, causing their long black hair to twist about, added much to their savage appearance. for some time they pretended to be seeking the body, and the instant they came where it lay they commenced screaming and rushing round it like so many angry wolves. finally they seized it, dragged it out of the water, and laid it on the beach, where i was told the naked men would commence tearing it to pieces with their teeth. the two bands of men immediately surrounded them, and so hid their horrid work. in a few minutes the crowd broke again in two, when each of the naked cannibals appeared with half of the body in his hands. separating a few yards, they commenced, amid horrid yells, their still more horrid feast. the sight was too terrible to behold." just at the same time another feature in the character of the indians was painfully illustrated. on october th he wrote:-- "immediately after dinner the second officer of the fort, who had not been absent more than a minute, came rushing back, to report that an indian had just been murdered close to the fort gates. on repairing to the gallery, i saw this shocking sight. several indians, with muskets in their bands, were hovering about the dying man, and one or two ventured to go near and assist him. he was shot in the right breast, and apparently dying, but seemingly conscious of what had happened. in a few minutes two indians, looking as fierce as tigers, carrying muskets, came bounding to the spot, and, after ordering all away, one of them immediately fired at the poor fellow as he lay on the ground, and shot him in the arm. they then as quickly bounded away. the head chief was the murderer. being irritated by some other chiefs while partly intoxicated, he vented his rage upon the first stranger that came in his way, and, after shooting him, ordered two of his men to finish the horrible deed." but the young missionary, though saddened, was not discouraged. the more barbarous and degraded he found the indians to be, the more vivid was his sense of their need of the gospel; and was anything too hard for the lord? so he continued vigorously his study of the language, assisted by an indian named clah. taking an english dictionary, he succeeded, by unwearied industry, in ascertaining the tsimshean equivalents for fifteen hundred of the most necessary words. at the same time he set about making friends with the people. during the winter, when the severe cold and the deep snow kept them much indoors, he visited every house in turn, and on jan. th he wrote:-- "to-day we have finished our calls. i have been inside houses, all large and strong buildings. the largest would measure, i imagine, about sixty by forty feet. one house i was not permitted to enter, as they had not finished their sorceries for the season. however they sent me out an account of their family. in all, i counted , souls, namely, men, women, and children; and, making an addition for those away procuring fuel, and those at the fort, i estimate the sum-total of residents to be , , which is rather over than under the true number. the total number rendered by themselves, which of course includes all that belongs to them, whether married into other tribes or living south, is , . these are divided into nine tribes, but all speak the same language, and have one general name--tsimshean, so far as i am at present able to make out, i calculate that there are seventeen other tribes, all living within fifty miles of this place, which either speak tsimshean or something very near to it. "it would be impossible for me to give a full description of this my first general visit, for the scenes were too exciting and too crowded to admit of it. i confess that cluster after cluster of these half-naked and painted savages round their fires was, to my unaccustomed eyes, very alarming. but the reception i met with was truly wonderful and encouraging. on entering a house i was saluted by one, two, or three of the principal persons with 'clah-how-yah,' which is the complimentary term used in the trading jargon. this would be repeated several times. then a general movement and a squatting ensued, followed by a breathless silence, during which every eye was fixed upon me. after a time several would begin nodding and smiling, at the same time reiterating, in a low tone, 'ahm, ahm ah ket, ahm shimauyet' ('good, kind person, good chief'). my interpreter would then ask them to let us know how many they had in their family, which was instantly followed by a deafening clamour. sometimes the vociferation was so general that it was really bewildering to hear it. everybody was talking and trying to outdo the rest, and nobody was listening. this storm, would be abruptly succeeded by a general hush, when i was again pleasantly but rigidly scrutinized. of course the attempt of everybody to count was a failure, and so the business at last was taken up by one of the leading persons, who generally succeeded to the satisfaction of all. while this was going on, i managed to count and class the inmates of the house, and look at the sick. in some houses they would not be content until i took the chief place near the fire, and they always placed a mat upon a box for me to sit upon. my enquiries after the sick were always followed by anxious looks and deep sighs. a kind of solemn awe would spread itself at once." at length, after eight months' patient preparation, mr. duncan was able to make his first attempt to convey to the indians, in their own tongue, the message of salvation through a crucified saviour, by means of a written address, which he had composed with infinite pains, and which he proceeded to deliver at the houses of the different chiefs:-- "_june_ , : _lord's day_.--bless the lord, o my soul, and let all creation join in chorus to bless his holy name. true to his word, 'he giveth power to the faint, and to them that have no might. he increaseth strength.' bless for ever his holy name! "last week i finished translating my first address for the indians. although it was not entirely to my satisfaction, i felt it would be wrong to withhold the message any longer. accordingly i sent word last night (not being ready before) to the chiefs, desiring to use their houses to-day to address their people in. this morning i set off, accompanied by the young indian (clah), whom i have had occasionally to assist me in the language. in a few minutes we arrived at the first chief's house, which i found all prepared, and we mustered about one hundred souls. this was the first assembly of indians i had met. my heart quailed greatly before the work--a people for the first time come to hear the gospel tidings, and i the poor instrument to address them in a tongue so new and difficult to me. oh, those moments! i began to think that, after all, i should be obliged to get clah to speak to them, while i read to them from a paper in my hand. blessed be god, this lame resolution was not carried. my indian was so unnerved at my proposal, that i quickly saw i must do the best i could by myself, or worse would come of it. i then told them to shut the door. the lord strengthened me. i knelt down to crave god's blessing, and afterwards i gave them the address. they were all remarkably attentive. at the conclusion i desired them to kneel down. they immediately complied, and i offered up prayer for them in english. they preserved great stillness. all being done, i bade them good-bye. they all responded with seeming thankfulness. on leaving, i asked my indian if they understood me, and one of the chief women very seriously replied, 'nee, nee' ('yes'); and he assured me that from their looks he knew that they understood and felt it to be good. "we then went to the next chief's house, where we found all, ready, a canoe-sail spread for me to stand on, and a mat placed on a box for me to sit upon. about souls assembled, and as there were a few of the fort people present, i first gave them a short address in english, and then the one in tsimshean. all knelt at prayer, and were very attentive, as at the other place. this is the head chief's house. he is a very wicked man, but he was present, and admonished the people to behave themselves during my stay. "after this i went in succession to the other seven tribes, and addressed them in the chiefs' houses. in each case i found the chief very kind and attentive in preparing his house and assembling his people. the smallest company i addressed was about fifty souls, and the largest about . their obedience to my request about kneeling was universal, but in the house where there were over some confusion took place, as they were sitting so close. however, when they heard me begin to pray, they were instantly silent. thus the lord helped me through. about or souls in all have heard me speak; and a great number of them, i feel certain, have understood the message. may the lord make it the beginning of great good for this pitiable and long-lost people." mr. duncan was now beginning to feel his way among the indians, and the head chief, legaic, having offered him the use of his house for a schoolroom, he opened school on june th. twenty-six children attended in the morning, and fourteen or fifteen adults in the afternoon. the head chief and his wife took great interest, and assisted in every way they could. their house was made clean, and a seat was placed upon a mat for mr. duncan. the children also came neat and clean; one boy only had nothing but a blanket to cover him, and in his case it was not poverty, but superstition, that prevented him from having a shirt on like the rest. this poor lad had been initiated into the mysteries of medicine in the previous winter, and so was forbidden by law to wear any thing over him except a blanket or a skin for one year. if he had put on a shirt, death would have been expected to ensue. on sunday, july th, god enabled him a second time to proclaim the gospel in another carefully-written address. he went, as on the first occasion, to each of the nine tribes separately, and began and concluded with prayer. at the concluding prayer almost all knelt, or the exceptions were rare. one man, however, sullenly refused. it was quthray, the chief of the cannibal gang, of whom we shall hear again. after a few weeks the school was suspended, in consequence of the absence of the chief in whose house it was held. it had been used sufficiently long, however, to show that it was appreciated by both parents and children, and thus encouraged, mr. duncan determined to commence to build a school-house. the wood had arrived in a raft, and a number of indians were engaged to assist in the building; but scarcely had they begun to carry the wood up the hill, when one of the indians dropped dead. the news ran through the camp, and great alarm spread on all sides. mr. duncan at first feared that owing to the superstition of the indians with regard to such events, the confidence which he had secured among the people would be greatly shaken, and his work amongst them retarded. but, through god's mercy, his fears were not realized. he deemed it prudent to suspend the work for a time, but, after repeated invitations from the indians, he resumed it on sept. th:-- "yesterday i spoke to a few on the subject, and all seemed heartily glad. one old chief said to me, 'cease being angry now,' thinking, i suppose, my delay was occasioned by anger. he assured me he would send his men to help. it was quite encouraging to see how earnestly they expressed their desire for me to proceed with the work, and i may safely say the feeling was universal. this morning i went to the raft at six a.m., but only one old man was there. in a little time came other two or three, then a few more, then two chiefs. by about half past six we mustered seven or eight workers on the raft, though several more came out and sat at their doors, indian like, as though they wished only to look on. this seemed greatly in contrast with their expressions to me yesterday; but such is the indian. i knew it was of no use to push, so i patiently waited. about half-past six one of the indians on the raft sprang to his feet, gave the word of starting, which is a peculiar kind of whoop, and he, with the few so inadequate to the work, determined to begin. at this i proceeded up the beach to the place for building upon, but what was my surprise when, on returning, i met upwards of forty indians carrying wood. they all seemed to have moved in an instant, and sprung to the work with one heart. the enthusiasm they manifested was truly gladdening, and almost alarming. amongst the number were several old men, who were doing more with their spirited looks and words than with their muscles. the whole camp seemed now excited. encouraging words and pleasant looks greeted me on every side. every one seemed in earnest, and the heavy blocks and beams began to move up the hill with amazing rapidity. when the fort bell rang for breakfast they proposed to keep on. one old man said he would not eat till the work was done. however, i did not think it good to sanction this enthusiasm thus far, but sent them off to their houses. by three o'clock p.m. all was over, for which i was very glad, for the constant whooping, groaning, and bawling of the indians, together with the difficulties of the work, from the great weight of the pieces and the bad road, kept me in constant fear." but no sooner had mr. duncan set up his school, and commenced work in it, than the opposition of the medicine men began. they saw that if the work progressed, "their craft was in danger of being set at nought." the chiefs of three tribes had already declared that they had made up their minds to abandon their sorceries. on november th the new school was opened, and it was soon attended by one hundred and forty children and fifty adults; but on december st mr. duncan was told by the manager of the fort that the head chief, legaic, was going to ask him to give up the school for about a month during the medicine season. shortly afterwards he was told that they would be content if he would stay school for a fortnight, and after that they would all come to be taught; but if he did not comply, they intended stopping him by force, and had determined to shoot at the pupils as they came to the school. mr. duncan had a long talk to two of the officers about the matter, giving them plainly to understand that he did not intend in the least degree to heed the threats of the indians. "go on with my work i would, in spite of all. i told them satan had reigned long enough here; it was high time his rule should be disturbed (as it is)." on december th he wrote:-- "this day has been a great day here. i have heartily to thank that all -seeing father who has covered me and supported me to-day. the devil and wicked men leagued to overthrow me this day, but the lord would not have it so. i am still alive. this morning the medicine party, who are carrying on their work near to the school, broke out with renewed fury. on going to school, i observed a crowd of these wretched men in a house that i was approaching. as soon as i got into the school, the wife of the head chief came to beg me to give up school for a little time. she was certainly very modest in her manner and request, but altogether unsuccessful. i spoke to her a little, and then she said (what i knew to be false) that neither she nor her husband desired to go on with the medicine-work, for, they often cried to see the state of things, but it was the tribe that urged them to do what they were doing. when she saw she could prevail nothing, not even so much as to prevent striking the steel (used as a bell), which they have a peculiar hatred for, she left me. i then went up the ladder and struck the steel myself, as i did not like to send a boy up. very soon about eighty pupils were in the school, and we went on as usual. "this afternoon a boy ran to strike the steel, and not many seconds elapsed before i saw the head chief (legaic) approaching, and a whole gang of medicine men after him, dressed up in their usual charms. the chief looked very angry, and bade the boy cease. i waited at the door until he came up. his first effort was to rid the school of the few pupils that had just come in. he shouted at the top of his voice, and bade them he off. i immediately accosted him, and demanded to know what he intended or expected to do. his gang stood about the door, and i think seven came in. i saw their point: it was to intimidate me by their strength and frightful appearance; and i perceived the chief, too, was somewhat under the influence of rum. but the lord enabled me to stand calm, and, without the slightest fear, to address them with far more fluency, in their tongue, than i could have imagined possible --to tell them of their sin faithfully--to vindicate my conduct--to exhort them to leave their bad ways, and also to tell them they must not think to make me afraid. i told them that god was my master, and i must obey him rather than them, and that the devil had taught their fathers what they were practising, and it was bad, but what i was teaching now was god's way, and it was good. our meeting lasted for more than an hour. i saw a great many people at a distance looking anxiously at our proceedings, the school door being open. the chief expressed himself very passionately, now and then breaking out into furious language, and showing off his savage nature by his gestures. towards the close of the scene, two of the confederates, vile-looking fellows, went and whispered something to him, upon which he got up from a seat he had just sat down upon, stamped his feet on the floor, raised his voice as high as he could, and exhibited all the rage and defiance and boldness that he could. this was all done, i knew, to intimidate me, but, blessed be god, he did not succeed. finding his efforts unavailing, he went off. "the leading topics of the chiefs angry conversation were as follows-- he requested four days' suspension of the school, he promised that, if i complied, he and his people would then come to school, but threatened if my pupils continued to come on the following days, he would shoot at them, lastly, he pleaded, that if the school went on during the time he specified, then some medicine men, whom he expected on a visit shortly from a distant tribe, would shame, and, perhaps, kill him. some of his sayings during his fits of rage were, that he understood how to kill people, occasionally drawing his hand across his throat to show me what he meant, that when he died he knew he should go down, he could not change, he could not be good, or, if i made him good, why, then, he supposed he should go to a different place from his forefathers, this he did not desire to do. on one occasion, whilst he was talking, he looked at two men, one of them a regular pupil of mine, and the other a medicine-man, and said, 'i am a murderer, and so are you, and you' (pointing to each of these men), 'and what good is it for us to come to school?' here i broke in, and blessed be god, it gave me an opportunity of telling the three murderers that pardon was now offered to them if they would repent, and amend, and go to jesus our saviour." it was afterwards found out that legaic, at the moment of his most violent fury, had caught sight of clah (who, unknown to mr. duncan, was watching over him with a revolver), and knew that, if he touched the missionary, it would be at the risk of his life. so it ever is: "in some way or other, the lord will provide!" this conduct on the part of legaic was the more discouraging, inasmuch as he had, in the first instance, as we have seen, given up his own house for the school. so persistent, however, was his hostility at this time, and so great were the difficulties in the way of attending school, that mr. duncan was at length obliged to close the new building, and another chief having offered him the use of his house for a school, where the children and others would not be afraid to come, he readily availed himself of his kindness, and was soon able to report the steady progress of the work. on christmas day he wrote:-- "yesterday i told my scholars to bring their friends and relatives to school to-day, as i wanted to tell them something new. we numbered over souls. i tried to make them understand why we distinguished this day from others. after this i questioned the children a little, and then we sang two hymns, which we also translated. while the hymns were being sung, i felt i must try to do something more, although the language seemed to defy me. i never experienced such an inward burning to speak before, and therefore i determined to try an extemporaneous address in tsimshean. the lord helped me: a great stillness prevailed, and, i think, a great deal was understood of what i said. i told them of our condition, the pity and love of god, the death of the son of god on our account, and the benefits arising to us therefrom; and exhorted them to leave their sins and pray to jesus. on my enumerating the sins of which they are guilty, i saw some look at each other with those significant looks which betokened their assent to what i said. i tried to impress upon them the certain ruin which awaits them if they proceed in their present vices. very remarkably, an illustration corroborating what i said was before their eyes. a poor woman was taken sick, not four yards from where i stood, and right before the eyes of my audience. she was groaning under a frightful affliction, the effect of her vices." iv. first fruits. from the extract last given we can gather that, notwithstanding the opposition of some, and the frightful depravity of all, mr. duncan seemed to be gaining the ear of the people just in proportion as he advanced in fluency of speech in their mother tongue. and during the following year, , not a few tokens for good were granted him. in some parts of the camp open drunkenness and profligacy were diminishing, and the comparative quiet and decorum consequent on this made a great impression on the rest. in march a meeting of chiefs was held at legaic's house, at which mr. duncan's arguments against many of their most degrading customs were discussed, and generally approved; and a message was sent to him that they wished him to "speak strong" against the "bad ways" of their people. on april th, legaic himself appeared at the school, not now to intimidate the missionary, but to sit at his feet as a learner. others followed his example; and when, in august, one notoriously bad character, named cushwaht, broke into the school with a hatchet, intending to shoot mr. duncan, and, not finding him there, smashed all the windows, the greatest indignation was expressed on every side, and mr. duncan had to implore the people not to shed the offender's blood. nor were only outward changes visible. it was soon manifest that the spirit of god was at work in the hearts of some. on october th a most encouraging incident occurred:-- "i was informed, on coming out of the school this afternoon, that a young man, who has been a long time suffering in consumption (brought on by a severe cold), and whom i have visited several times, was dying; so, after a little reflection, some misgiving, and prayer, i started off to see him. i found him, as his wife had said, dying. over twenty people were about him; some were crying, and two, i am sorry to say, were partly intoxicated. i looked on for some time in silent sorrow. when i wished to speak, silence immediately ensued. i rebuked the noise and tumult, and directed the dying man to fix his heart on the saviour jesus, to forget the things about him, and spend his little remaining time in praying in his heart to god to save him. his reply was, 'o yes, sir; o yes, sir;' and for some moments he would close his eyes, and seemed absorbed in prayer. he begged me, with much earnestness, to continue to teach his little girl. he wanted her to be good. this little girl is about seven years old: her name is cathi. she has been very regular at school since i commenced, and has made nice progress. much to my comfort, a young woman sat by his side, who has been one of my most regular pupils. she is in the first class, and can read portions of the bible. her intelligence is remarkable, and i have observed her to be always listening to religious instruction. thus, here was one sitting close to the dying man who could tell him, much more accurately than i, the few directions i desired to utter. what a remarkable providence it seemed to me! with tears in her eyes, she begged him to give his heart to god and to pray to him. i longed to pray with him, and watched anxiously a long time for the opportunity. the opportunity came, and the strength came with it. i knelt down by his side. all was hushed, and i prayed from a full heart to the lord our god to have mercy upon the poor soul about to come into his presence, for the sake of his dear son jesus. i felt sure that the lord heard my prayer, and i can indulge a hope for this poor man's salvation." there was much in the case of this young man which encouraged mr. duncan in the hope that he was a true believer in christ. he understood the main and leading truths of the gospel, and he frequently prayed much to god. daring his sickness, he never permitted the medicine folks to operate upon him; and this of itself showed a wonderful change in him. he died the following night, having reassured the people around him of his safety, and had a very solemn parting from his little girl. thus, just two years after the solitary missionary had landed on the coast as a stranger, the first fully ripened fruit of his labours was gathered into the heavenly garner. in january, , the first bishop of columbia, dr. hills, arrived at victoria. observing the deplorable condition into which the indians fell who flocked thither, and thus came into contact with the vices of an outlying colonial settlement, the bishop invited mr. duncan to come down and organise some christian work amongst them. he accordingly spent two or three months in the summer there, holding tsimshean services, and opening a school. a good work was thus set on foot, which has since been successfully carried on by others. at this time captain prevost returned to england, and as a specimen of the results so far of the mission which his own loving zeal had originated, brought home with him a little journal kept, during mr. duncan's absence at victoria, by one of the tsimshean boys at fort simpson. here are some fragments of it:-- "_tuesday, april_ _th_, .--if will die my father, then will very poor my heart my brother all die; only one shooquanahts save, and two my uncle save. i will try to make all things. i want to be good, and i want to much work hard. when we have done work, then will please, sir, mr. duncan, will you give me a little any thing when you come back." "_april_ : _school, fort simpson_.--shooquanahts not two hearts--always one my heart. some boys always two hearts. only one shooquanahts--not two heart, no. if i steal any thing then god will see. bad people no care about son of god: when will come troubled hearts, foolish people. then he will very much cry. what good cry? nothing. no care about our saviour; always forget. by and by will understand about the son of god." "_may_ .--i do not understand some prayers, only few prayers i understand; not all i understand, no. i wish to understand all prayers. when i understand all prayers, then i always prayer our saviour jesus christ. i want to learn to prayer to jesus christ our saviour: by and by i understand all about our saviour christ: when i understand all what about our saviour, then i will happy when i die. if i do not learn about our saviour jesus, then i will very troubled my heart when i die. it is good for us when we learn about our saviour jesus. when i understand about our saviour jesus, then i will very happy when i die." another encouraging case is that of an old man, of whom mr. duncan wrote:-- "one night, when i was encamping out, after a weary day, the supper and the little instruction being over, my crew of indians, excepting one old man, quickly spread their mats near the fire, and lay down to sleep in pairs, each sharing his fellow's blanket. the one old man sat near the fire smoking his pipe. i crept into my little tent, but, after some time, came out again to see that all was right. the old man was just making his bed (a thin bark mat on the ground, a little box of grease, and a few dry salmon for his pillow--a shirt on, and a blanket round him--another bark mat over all, his head too, formed his bed in the open air, during a cold, dark night in april). when everything was adjusted, he put his pipe down, and offered up, in his own tongue, this simple little prayer, 'be merciful to me, jesus.' then he drew up his feet, and was soon lost to view." mr. duncan had now the joy of welcoming a fellow-labourer. the rev. l. s. tugwell, who had been allotted by the society to a mission which looked so hopeful, arrived with mrs. tugwell in august, and at once threw himself with the utmost earnestness into the work of preparation for future usefulness. but to his keen disappointment the health of both entirely broke down in the damp climate, where sometimes the rain falls for ten months out of the twelve, and he was obliged to return to england after fourteen months' residence on the coast. before leaving, however, mr. tugwell had the high privilege of admitting into the visible church its first tsimshean members. on july th, , fourteen men, five women, and four children were baptized. others were deterred by heathen relatives. some candidates were not passed. but of these, mr. duncan wrote, "we truly hope they are indeed children of god." but other fruit, though not so ripe, was now plainly visible, and had begun to attract public attention. in january, , mr. duncan received a letter from the rev. e. cridge, the english chaplain at victoria, conveying a message from the governor, sir james douglas:-- "i am requested by his excellency the governor to express to you the great gratification he has received from conversing with several of the indians who have been under your instruction at fort simpson, and who are now at victoria; and his pleasure at witnessing the great improvement in manners, bearing, and religion which you have succeeded in effecting in their condition. his excellency trusts you will continue to show the same energy, perseverance, and zeal which he is sure you must already have applied to the work, and that your labour will be rewarded by a still larger measure of success. his excellency also wishes me to say that he would feel obliged by your reporting to him from time to time on the progress of your mission. any suggestions you may make with regard to measures which may occur to you as likely to prove beneficial to the indians under your care, such as settling them in any particular locality, or setting apart a reserve of land for their use, will receive his excellency's best attention; who will also, if necessary, represent any such measures, with his favourable recommendation to her majesty's government." commander mayne, r.n., mentions in his interesting book, _four years in british columbia_ (p. ), that captain g. y. h. richards, of h. m. s. _hecate_, who was in command on the coast at this time, was so much struck by mr. duncan's success, that he said to him, "why do not more men come out? or, if the missionary societies cannot afford them, why does not government send out fifty, and place them up the coast at once? surely it would not be difficult to find fifty good men in england willing to engage in such a work; and their expenses would be almost nothing compared with the cost which the country must sustain to subdue the indians by force of arms. and such," adds commander mayne, "are the sentiments of myself--in common, i believe, with all my brother officers--after nearly five years' constant and close intercourse with the natives of vancouver's island and the coast." v. the new settlement. as early as july, , mr. duncan had foreseen the necessity, if the mission were not only to save individual souls from sin, but to exercise a wholesome influence upon the indian tribes generally, of fixing its head-quarters at some place removed from the contamination of ungodly white men. "what," he wrote, "is to become of children and young people under instruction when temporal need compels them to leave school? if they are permitted to slip away from me into the gulf of vice and misery which everywhere surrounds them, then the fate of these tribes is sealed." what that fate would be may be gathered from one of bishop hills' first letters in . he found that of one tribe more than half had been cut off in a dozen years by drink and dissolute habits; and the traffic in indian females for immoral purposes was openly carried on, from l to l per head being paid for them. "victoria," wrote mr. duncan, "although it is miles from fort simpson, will always prove the place of attraction to these tribes, and to many even further away. there they become demoralised and filled with disease; and from thence they return, laden with rum, to spread scenes of horror too awful to describe." the tsimsheans who had come under mr. duncan's influence, themselves implored him to devise some way of escape from the ruin they saw impending on their nation. and he laid before the society a plan for establishing a colony, where well-disposed indians might be gathered together. his objects are thus succinctly stated in an official report presented by him to the canadian government some years afterwards:-- " st. to place all the indians, when they became wishful to be taught christianity, out of the miasma of heathen life, and away from the deadening and enthralling influence of heathen customs. " nd. to establish the mission where we could effectively shut out intoxicating liquors, and keep liquor vendors at bay. " rd. to enable us to raise a barrier against the indians visiting victoria, excepting on lawful business. " th. that we might be able to assist the people thus gathered out to develop into a model community, and raise a christian village, from which the native evangelist might go forth, and christian truth radiate to every tribe around. " th. that we might gather such a community around us, whose moral and religious training and bent of life might render it safe and proper to impart secular instruction. " th. that we might be able to break up all tribal distinctions and animosities, and cement all who came to us, from whatever tribe, into one common brotherhood. " th. that we might place ourselves in a position to set up and establish the supremacy of the law, teach loyalty to the queen, conserve the peace of the country around, and ultimately develope our settlement into a municipality with its native corporation." the indians themselves pointed out the locality for such a settlement, a place called metlakahtla, [footnote: metlakahtla = the inlet of kahtla, kahtla was the name of the tribe formerly settled there.] occupying a beautiful situation on the coast, seventeen miles from fort simpson. it had formerly been their own home; but they had removed their tents to fort simpson twenty years before for convenience of trade. here they would be free from the influences of the fort, which were decidedly adverse to the well-being of the mission; they would have more opportunity of social improvement; they would have plenty of beach room for their canoes; and they would have plenty of land suitable for gardens, which they did not possess at their present station, and a channel always smooth, and abounding with salmon and shell-fish, while its beauty formed a striking contrast to the dreary country around. the project met with the entire approval of the governor, and the winter was occupied in preparing wood for the buildings, in the expectation that the removal would be effected in the spring. but the departure of mr. tugwell delayed the accomplishment of the scheme, and it was not until the summer of that mr. duncan found himself able to carry it out. on may th, , he began taking down the large temporary school which had been put up at fort simpson, and three days later its materials were rafted, and were on their way to the new site. just then a message from god of a most solemn kind came to the coast tribes. only two days after the raft had gone away, canoes from victoria arrived with the news that the smallpox had broken out among the indians there; and, worse still, it immediately became evident that the canoes had brought the fell disease with them. "it was," wrote mr. duncan, "evidently my duty immediately to see and warn the indians. i had previously determined to do this in a farewell visit to each tribe before my departure from fort simpson, but i now felt doubly pressed to call upon all quickly to surrender themselves to god. i therefore spent the next few days in assembling and addressing each tribe (nine in all) separately. thus all in the camp again heard a warning voice; many, alas! for the last time, as it proved. sad to relate, hundreds of those who heard me were soon and suddenly swept into eternity." even at that moment of alarm very few of the indians could make up their minds, when the time for departure came, to throw in their lot with the new colony. nor can we be surprised at this, when we read the rules mr. duncan had framed for its guidance, admirable in themselves, and now abundantly justified by their signal success, but still involving a radical change in the habits of the indians, and the abandonment of some of their most cherished practices. they were fifteen in number:-- . to give up their "ahhed," or indian devilry; . to cease calling in conjurors when sick; . to cease gambling; . to cease giving away their property for display; . to cease painting their faces; . to cease drinking intoxicating drink; . to rest on the sabbath; . to attend religious instruction; . to send their children to school; . to be clean; . to be industrious; . to be peaceful; . to be liberal and honest in trade; . to build neat houses; . to pay the village tax. nevertheless, when the day of removal came, fifty indians accompanied mr. duncan to metlakahtla:-- "on the th may, in the afternoon, we started off. all that were ready to go with me occupied six canoes, and we numbered about fifty souls--men, women, and children. many indians were seated on the beach, watching our departure with solemn and anxious faces; and some promised to follow us in a few days. the party with me seemed filled with solemn joy as we pushed off, feeling that their long-looked-for flit had actually commenced. i felt we were beginning an eventful page in the history of this poor people, and earnestly sighed to god for his help and blessing. "the next day, the th may, we arrived at our new home about two p.m. the indians i had sent on before me with the raft i found hard at work, clearing ground and sawing plank. they had carried all the raft up from the beach, excepting a few heavy beams; erected two temporary houses; and had planted about four bushels of potatoes for me. "every night we assembled, a happy family, for singing and prayer. i gave an address on each occasion from one portion of scriptural truth suggested to me by the events of the day." and a much larger number were not long in following. on june th a fleet of thirty canoes arrived from fort simpson, bringing nearly three hundred souls; in fact nearly the whole of one tribe, the keetlahn, with two chiefs. not many days, however, elapsed before the dreaded cloud overshadowed the coast. small-pox broke out at fort simpson, and seized upon the indians; and although for awhile they were content to ward it off, as they thought, by incessant conjuring, yet when some of the leading medicine men themselves fell victims to the disease, a great fear fell upon all, and they fled in all directions, but only spread the fatal scourge more widely by so doing. many came to metlakahtla, and though mr. duncan refused to receive some, he could not refuse all. "for the temporal and spiritual welfare of my own people," he wrote, "who now clung to me like timid children, i was kept in constant labour and pressing anxiety. death stared us in the face on every hand. but god remembered us in the day of our calamity;" and of the original settlers only five were cut off. one of these was stephen ryan, one of the first group baptized by mr. tugwell in the preceding year. a touching account is given of his end: "he died in a most distressing condition, so far as the body is concerned. a way from everyone whom he loved, in a little bark hut on a rocky beach just beyond the reach of the tide, which no one of his relatives or friends dared to approach except the one who nursed him; in this damp, lowly, distressing state, suffering from the malignant disease of small-pox, how cheering to receive such words as the following from him: 'i am quite happy. i find my saviour very near to me. i am not afraid to die; heaven is open to receive me. give my thanks to mr. duncan: he told me of jesus. i have hold of the ladder that reaches to heaven. all mr. duncan taught me i now feel to be true.' then, saying that he wished to be carried to his relatives, his words were, 'do not weep for me. you are poor, being left; i am not poor: i am going to heaven. my saviour is very near to me: do all of you follow me to heaven. let not one of you be wanting. tell my mother more clearly the way of life: i am afraid she does not yet understand the way. tell her not to weep for me, but to get ready to die. be all of one heart and live in peace.'" notwithstanding this heavy trial, the infant settlement grew and prospered; and in the following march, , mr. duncan, in a letter to the society, summed up the results of the mission so far in these remarkable words:-- "the lord has sustained his work, and given marked evidence of his presence and blessing. above one-fourth of the tsimsheans from fort simpson, a few tongass, nishkah, keethrathla, and keetsahlass indians (which tribes occupy a circle of about seventy miles round fort simpson), have been gathered out from the heathen, and have gone through much labour, trial, and persecution, to come on the lord's side. about to souls attend divine service on sundays, and are being governed by christian and civilized laws. about seventy adults and twenty children are already baptized, or are only waiting for a minister to come and baptize them. about children are attending the day schools, and adults the evening school. about forty of the young men have formed themselves into two classes, and meet for prayer and exhorting each other. the instruments of the medicine-men, which have spell-bound their nation for ages, have found their way into my house, and are most willingly and cheerfully given up. the dark and cruel mantle of heathenism has been rent so that it cannot be healed. numbers are escaping from under its deadly embrace. customs, which form the very foundation of indian government, and lie nearest the indian's heart, have been given up, because they have an evil tendency. feasts are now characterized by order and good will, and begin and end with the offering of thanks to the giver of all good. thus the surrounding tribes have now a model village before them, acting as a powerful witness for the truth of the gospel, shaming and correcting, yet still captivating them; for in it they see those good things which they and their forefathers have sought and laboured for in vain, viz., peace, security, order, honesty, and progress. to god be all the praise and glory! amen and amen." to this may be added some extracts from a formal report which he sent to the governor at the same time, and which gives a most interesting account of the material prospects of the settlement:-- "_metlahkatlah, th march, ._, "sir,--the tsimshean indians, who have lately removed from fort simpson under my superintendence and settled here, are very anxious to tender your excellency their warmest thanks for the liberal and timely aid which you have rendered them in building their new village. the window-sashes and lbs. of nails, which came of your bounty of l , arrived quite safely in september last by the hudson bay company's steamer 'labouchere,' and have been duly distributed and appropriated as follows:--to thirty-five houses (averaging about feet by ) four window-sashes and lbs. of nails each; and to two smaller houses two window-sashes and lbs. of nails each. five window-sashes and about lbs. of nails remain. "in obedience to your excellency's kind wish, i will proceed to lay before you a few particulars respecting our new indian mission settlement. "your excellency is aware of the dreadful plague of the small-pox with which it pleased almighty god to visit the indians of this coast last year, and by which many thousands of them were swept away. though no fewer than , or one-fifth of the tsimsheans at fort simpson, have fallen, i have gratefully to acknowledge god's sparing mercy to us as a village. we had only five fatal cases amongst those who originally left fort simpson with me, and three of these deaths were caused by attending to sick relatives who came to us after taking the disease. yet so fearful was the amount of death and desolation on every side of us till about the end of september, that the indians had but little spirit left for building, or even for the gathering necessary food for the winter. thus it was that they found inclement weather upon them long before they were properly housed. in addition to the great amount of labour and trouble attendant upon moving and building new houses, we have had to encounter great opposition from many of the indians from fort simpson, who, in spite of the great warnings they have had, continue still to be steeped in drunkenness and heathenism. nor has the conflict been one wholly outward, if indeed mainly so. for to many who have joined me, the surrendering their national and heathen customs performed over the sick--ceasing to give away, tear up, or receive blankets, etc., for display, dropping precipitately their demoniacal rites, which have hitherto and for ages filled up their time and engrossed all their care during the months of winter--laying aside gambling, and ceasing to paint their faces--had been like cutting off the right hand and plucking out the right eye. yet i am thankful to tell you that these sacrifices have been made; and had your excellency heard the speeches made by the chiefs and some of the principal men at our christmas evening meeting, alluding to these and other matters, you would, i am sure, have rejoiced. "on new year's day the male adult settlers came cheerfully forward to pay the village tax, which i had previously proposed to levy yearly, viz., one blanket, or two and a half dollars of such as have attained manhood, and one shirt or one dollar of such as are approaching manhood. out of amenable we had only ten defaulters, and these were excused on account of poverty. our revenue for this year, thus gathered, amounts to green, blue, and white blankets, pair of white trousers, dressed elk skin, shirts, and dollars. the half of this property i propose to divide among the three chiefs who are with us, in recognition of stated services which they will he required to render to the settlement and the other half to spend on public works. "as to our government, all disputes and difficulties are settled by myself and ten constables, but i occasionally call in the chiefs, and intend to do so more and more, and when they become sufficiently instructed, trustworthy and influential, i shall leave civil matters in their hands. i find the indians very obedient, and comparatively easy to manage, since i allow no intoxicating drinks to come into our village. though we are continually hearing of the drunken festivals of the surrounding tribes, i am happy to tell you that metlahkatlah has not yet witnessed a case of drunkenness since we have settled here--a period of ten months. still, not all with me are true men. some few, on their visits to fort simpson, have fallen, and two, whose cases were clearly proved and admitted of no extenuation, i have banished from our midst. "on sabbath days labour is laid aside, a solemn quiet presides, and the best clothing is in use. scarcely a soul remains away from divine service, excepting the sick and their nurses. evening family devotions are common to almost every house, and, better than all, i have a hope that many have experienced a real change of heart. to god be all the praise and glory! "we have succeeded in erecting a strong and useful building, capable of containing at least people, which we use as church and school. we held our first meeting in this building on the night it was finished, the th december last. i have about children, who attend morning and afternoon, and about adults (often more) in the evening. i occupy the principal part of the time in the adult school, in giving simple lectures on geography, astronomy, natural history, and morals. these lectures the indians greatly prize. "on the th february we commenced our first works, viz., making a road round the village. this will take us some time to complete, as the ground is very uneven, and much of it wooded. i propose, after the road is conveniently finished, to set about building, out of our public fund, two good sized houses for the accommodation of strange indians when they come to trade with us, and thus prevent the interference to domestic comfort and improvement arising to the villagers from these visits under the old system. i have other public works in view, such as fixing proper rests for canoes when unemployed, laying slides for moving canoes on the beach and into the water at low tides, also sinking wells and procuring pumps for public use, etc., etc. "i feel, also, that it is of vast importance to seek out profitable employment for those with me, and thus keep them away from those labour markets which exhibit temptations too strong and vices too fascinating for the indian, in his present morally infantile condition, to withstand. hence, i have already measured out and registered over plots of ground for gardens, situated in various parts of the channel in which we are settled. these, the indians are anxious to cultivate. i have also desired them to prepare salt and smoked fish, fish grease and dried berries, which, with furs, will form our first articles of exportation. other branches of labour will arise in due course. but in order to set about thus much, we need seed (especially the potato), salt, direct means of communication with victoria, and an agent there. "i am anxious that even the trading vessel should be in our own hands, first, because the indians would, on that account, feel a deeper interest in her, and exert themselves the more to keep her well and profitably employed, secondly, the profits of the vessel would redound to the village, and, thirdly, it is necessary to avoid having intercourse with that barbarous class of men who are employed in running the small vessels up the coast, which, by trading in intoxicating drink, are all doing a work not easily described, and not readily believed by those who do not witness it. their visits to the indian camps are invariably marked by murder, and the very maddest riots. to purchase the vessel we need, i suppose from l to l will be required. i therefore propose that indians shall subscribe l or l s, or the equivalent in furs. the indians are willing to do their utmost, and i expect to have to render them little help, beyond seeking out the vessel, and i do not intend to give them any pecuniary aid, except to procure such things as, through ignorance or inexperience, they despise, but such as are, nevertheless, essential to their well-being and prosperity. "trusting, by god's blessing upon us, we shall go on improving, and continue to merit your excellency's favour and good-will, "i have the honour to remain, with warmest gratitude, "your excellency's humble and obedient servant, "w. duncan. _"to his excellency, james douglas, esq., c. b, "governor of vancouver's island and british columbia."_ vi. metlakahtla--spiritual results. while the work at metlakahtla was thus prospering materially, and increasing in general moral influence, under the blessing of him without whom nothing is strong, nothing is holy, higher spiritual blessings were not withheld. fresh classes of candidates for baptism had been formed during the last winter at fort simpson, and were continued diligently at the new settlement; and in april, , the bishop of columbia, at mr. duncan's request, took the journey to metlakahtla to baptize as many as might be found ready. but before this, one of the most interesting converts, a miracle of grace indeed, had been baptized, in the urgency of his special case, by mr. duncan himself. this was quthray, a cannibal chief, one of the two men whose horrible orgies had met the eye of the newly-arrived missionary, at fort simpson, four years and a half before, and who has also been already mentioned as the one man who sullenly refused to kneel at mr. duncan's second service. he had, however, become one of the most regular and earnest attendants at the services and classes, and gave unmistakable evidence that divine grace had indeed changed his heart. he joined the metlakahtla party, but had not been there long before he fell ill. in october he passed away, a ransomed soul, to be a jewel in his crown who came to seek and to save the lost:-- "_saturday, th october, _.--just as i was rising this morning i received intelligence that poor quthray, the young cannibal chief, was dying. i have frequently visited him during his illness, and was with him for a long time a few nights ago. as he has long and earnestly desired baptism, and expressed in such clear terms his repentance for his sins, and his faith in the saviour of sinners, i told him that i would myself baptize him before he died, unless a minister from victoria arrived in time to do it. he always appeared most thankful for my visits, and, with the greatest force he could command, thanked me for my promise. accordingly this morning i proceeded to the solemn work of admitting a brand plucked from the burning into the visible church of christ by baptism. though i was not sent here to baptize, but to preach the gospel, yet i had no fear but that i was doing what was pleasing to god in administering that sacred rite to the poor dying man, as an officially appointed person was not within several hundred miles of him. i found the sufferer apparently on the very verge of eternity, but quite sensible, supported by his wife on one side, and another woman on the other, in a sitting posture on his lowly couch spread upon the ground. i addressed him at once, reminding him of the promise i had made to him, and why i also spoke some words of advice to him, to which he paid most earnest attention, though his cough would scarcely permit him to have a moment's rest. a person near expressed a fear that he did not understand what i said, being so weak and near death, but he quickly, and with great emphasis, exclaimed, '_i hear, i understand_' while i was praying his expression of countenance was most lovely. with his face turned upward, he seemed to be deeply engaged in prayer. i baptized him, and gave him the name of philip atkinson. i earnestly besought the lord to ratify in heaven what he had permitted me to do in his name, and to receive the soul of the poor dying penitent before him. he had the same resignation and peace which he has evinced throughout his sickness, weeping for his sins, depending all upon the saviour, confident of pardon, and rejoicing in hope. "this is the man of whom i have had to write more than once to the society. oh the dreadful and revolting things i have witnessed him do! he was one of the two principal actors in the first horrid scene i saw at fort simpson about four and a half years ago, an account of which i sent home, namely, that of a poor slave woman being murdered in cold blood, thrown on the beach, and then torn to pieces and eaten by two naked savages, who were supported by a crew of singers and the noise of drums. this man was one of those naked cannibals. glorious change! see him clothed and in his right mind, weeping--weeping sore for his sins-- expressing to all around his firm belief in the saviour, and dying in peace. bless the lord for all his goodness." it was on april st, , that the bishop baptized at metlakahtla fifty-nine adults and some children. on the th, sunday, he landed from the "devastation;" and for two days he was incessantly occupied in examining the candidates. his account is deeply interesting:-- "we were met by the whole village, who stood on the bank, in a long line--as fine a set of men and as well-dressed as could anywhere be seen where men live by their daily toil--certainly no country village in england would turn out so well-clad an assemblage. "at three the bell was rung, and almost instantly the whole population were wending their way to church. there were hymns and prayers in tsimshean. they repeated the answers to a catechism in tsimshean. i addressed them, and offered prayers in english, which were interpreted by mr. duncan. there was much earnest response. the service lasted one hour and three quarters. there was an evidence of devotion. mr. duncan plays the accordion. "monday, april th.--got to the mission-house at eight to breakfast. afterwards engaged the whole day seeing catechumens till one o'clock next morning. one after another the poor indians pressed on to be examined. they had been under training for periods varying from eight months to three years. they had long been looking for a minister to admit them to baptism. it was a strange yet intensely interesting sight in that log cabin, by the dim glimmer of a small lamp, to see just the countenance of the indian, sometimes with uplifted eyes, as he spoke of the blessedness of prayer--at other times, with downcast melancholy, as he smote upon his breast in the recital of his penitence. the tawny face, the high cheek-bone, the glossy jet-black flowing hair, the dark, glassy eye, the manly brow, were a picture worthy the pencil of the artist. the night was cold--i had occasionally to rise and walk about for warmth--yet there were more. the indian usually retires as he rises, with the sun, but now he would turn night into day if he might only be allowed to 'have the sign,' and be fixed in the good ways of god. "tuesday, april st.--immediately after breakfast, having had prayer, the work again began. catechumens came in, and, one by one, were sifted; some, to their grief, were deferred. one man came and begged he might be passed, for he might not live till the next visit of a clergyman. another brought a friend, and said, if i would only admit his wife to baptism, they would promise for her she should persevere and live to god. another, a fine child of fourteen, i had thought too young to answer for herself--one who had always shown remarkable love for instruction, and had stood by the school when the many were its foes. she came with tears of entreaty which were irresistible and beautiful, and lovely was the sensitive intelligence which beamed upon her devotional features when afterwards she received the waters of baptism. till four o'clock was i thus engaged, an hour after the time appointed for the baptisms. "the peculiar suitableness of the questions in the baptismal service to the case of converts from heathenism was very remarkably illustrated throughout the examination. converts from heathenism can fully realize renunciation of the world, the flesh, and the devil. amongst these indians, pomp of display, the lying craft of malicious magic, as well as all sins of the flesh, are particularly glaring, and closely connected with heathenism. to them these things are part and parcel of heathenism. so are the truths of the creed in strongest contrast to the dark and miserable fables of their forefathers; and heartily can they pledge themselves to keep the holy will of god all the days of their life, seeing in him a loving and true father, of whom now so lately, but so gladly, they have learnt to know. "i first drew forth their views of the necessity of repentance, its details, and their own personal acquaintance with it. i then questioned them as to the three persons of the trinity, and the special work of each, with allusion to the judgment, and the state of the soul hereafter, inquiring into their private devotion, to learn their personal application of repentance and faith, i questioned their anxiety for baptism, and demanded proof of their resolution to keep the will of god for their guide, to speak for god, and to labour for god's way all their life long. i sought to find out the circumstances under which they first became seriously inclined, and to trace their steps of trial and grace. admitting them to the promise of baptism, i exhorted them to earnest prayer and devotion, as a special preparation, until the time came. "the examination concluded, the candidates, to the number of fifty-six, were assembled in the church, and ranged in a large circle, in the midst of which the ceremony was to take place. "the impressiveness of the occasion was manifest in the devout and reverent manner of all present. there were no external aids, sometimes thought necessary for the savage mind, to produce or increase the solemnity of the scene. the building is a bare and unfinished octagon of logs and spars--a mere barn--sixty feet by sixty, capable of containing persons. the roof was partly open at the top; and, though the weather was still cold, there was no fire, a simple table, covered with a white cloth, upon which stood three hand-basins of water, served for the font, and i officiated in a surplice. thus there was nothing to impress the senses, no colour, or ornament, or church decoration, or music. the solemnity of the scene--was produced by the earnest sincerity and serious purpose with which these children of the far west were prepared to offer themselves to god, and to renounce for eer the hateful sins and cruel deeds of their heathenism; and the solemn stillness was broken only by the breath of prayer. the responses were made with earnestness and decision. not an individual was there whose lips did not utter in their own expressive tongue their hearty readiness to believe and to serve god." the following are some of the bishop's notes of the examination:-- "legaic (principal chief), aged .--_answers_:--we must put away all our evil ways. i want to take hold of god. i believe in god the father, who made all things, and in jesus christ. i constantly cry for my sins when i remember them. i believe the good will sit near to god after death. am anxious to walk in god's ways all my life. if i turn back it will be more bitter for me than before. i pray god to wipe out my sins; strengthen me to do right; pity me. my prayers are from my heart. i think sometimes god does not hear me, because i do not give up all my sins. my sins are too heavy. i think we have not strength of ourselves. "neeash-lakah-noosh (called 'the lame chief'; he is blind also of an eye; fine old man), aged --_answers_:--when asked if he wished to become a christian, said--for that object i came here with my people. i have put away all lying ways, which i have long followed. i have trusted in god. we want the spirit of god. jesus came to save us. he compensated for our sins. our father made us, and loved us because we are his work. he wishes to see us with him because he loves as. when asked about the judgment, said, the blood of jesus will free those who believe from condemnation. _remarks_--under regular instruction for a year, and before that for some time by his daughter. is most consistent, trying to do simply what is right. the other day was benighted on saturday, on his way to spend the sunday at metlakahtla, seven miles off. would not come on, nor let his people gather herring spawn, close under their feet, he rested the lord's day, according to the commandment. "lappigh kumlee, aged --_answers_--i have given up the lucrative position of sorcerer. been offered bribes to practise my art secretly. i have left all my mistaken ways. my eyes have been bored (enlightened). i cry every night when i remember my sins. the great father almighty sees everything. if i go up to the mountains he sees me. jesus died for our sins upon the cross to carry our sins away. _remarks_--dates his change from seeing a convert reading a book, and he felt ashamed that he knew nothing, and he determined to learn, and soon he found his own system false. in one case, when his spirit said there would be recovery, death came; in another, when he foretold death, life remained. "thrak sha kawn (sorcerer), aged --_answers_--i wish to give up all wicked ways. have been a medicine-man, and know the lies of heathenism. i believe in the great father who made us, in jesus who died on the cross that god would pity us. i want the spirit of god to touch my heart. we must all stand before god. god will measure our ways. no one to be his master but god. i will not keep my eyes on the ground any more but will look up to heaven all my life. _remarks_ --he has had to bear much scorn, and to go through much struggle. "wahthl (wife of legaic), aged --_answers_--i wish to put away evil and have a clean heart. feel the pain of the remembrance of sin so bad i would sometimes like to die. i want to seek god's face, but feel little hope, still i determine to persevere, though miserable. loss of relatives, and finding no peace and rest, and feeling in darkness led me to look to god. i know that god sent his son jesus to die for our sins. _remarks_--about nine months under regular instruction. she is evidently anxious for her soul, knows the truth, but her sins are such a burden that she has not found peace. she has been anxious her husband should go forward in good. "loosl (widow of the cannibal chief who died penitent), aged -- _answers_--i know how blind i have been. was first turned to god by the news of the saviour. was struck that he came down amongst us. god is a spirit full of love. christ came to carry away our sins. we must pray for the spirit to help us. i confess my sins to god and cry for pity. i pray for my friends. after death the judgment. we must stand before god. jesus will answer for those who trust in him. _remarks_.--upheld her husband in his wickedness. was turned by his turning at his death. "nishah-kigh (chieftainess of the nishkahs), aged --_answers_:--i must leave all evil ways. i feel myself a sinner in god's sight. i believe in god the father almighty, and in jesus christ, who died for our sins. god sends down his spirit to make us good. jesus is in heaven, and is writing our names in god's book. i feel god's word is truth. have been for some time accustomed regularly to pray. _remarks_.--two years ago she was found giving christian instruction to a sick and dying person. her husband tells me she passed much time in devotion. when she first heard the word of god her sorrow was great, and her penitence more than she could bear. some five years she has been earnestly seeking god. "nayahk (wife of lappligheumlee, a sorcerer), aged .--_answers_: --answers well and clearly upon the separate work of each person of the trinity. prays for pardon--for the holy spirit. _remarks_.--suffered much from the mockery of her husband. at her earnest demand he gave up devilry. been consistent in the midst of opposition; adhered to the mission when many were against. has been a blessing to her family, all of whom have renounced heathenism. her husband, the sorcerer, laments his past life, and would be the first to put his foot upon the evil system. "ad-dah-kippi (wife of a christian indian), aged .--_answers_:--i must put away sin. i know i have been making god angry, but must put away all my old ways, lies, and the evil of my fathers. god gave us commandments. god would not hear us till we put away our sins, jesus would make peace for us and add his spirit. am resolved to endeavour to live to god all my life. was much moved last fishing at my sinfulness, and then repented strongly, and resolved to walk with god. i pray morning, noon, and night for pardon and god's spirit. _remarks_. --had opposed her husband, who is a christian." one of those baptized, it will be seen, was the famous head-chief himself, legaic, the same who had threatened mr. duncan's life four years before. he had been a ferocious savage, and had committed every kind of crime. after he first began to attend the school, he twice fell back; but the spirit of god was at work in his heart, and when the removal to metlakahtla took place, he deliberately gave up his position as head-chief of the tsimshean tribes in order to join the colony. constant inducements were held out to him to return; and on one occasion he actually gave way. he gathered the indians together, on the metlakahtla beach, told them he could hold out no longer, and was going back to his old life--that he could not help it, for he was being pulied away--that he knew it was wrong, and perhaps he should perish for ever, but still he must go. in tears he shook the hand of each in turn, and then stepping alone into his canoe, paddled rapidly away from his weeping friends. he went a few miles along the coast, and then, as darkness came on, put the canoe ashore. the night was one of such misery, he afterwards said, as no words could describe. "a hundred deaths would not equal the sufferings of that night." on his knees he wept and prayed for pardon, and for strength to return; and next day he again appeared at metlakahtla, to the joy of all. legaic, who before was "a blasphemer, a persecutor, and injurious," was baptized by the name of paul. in him indeed did "jesus christ show forth all long-suffering, for a pattern to them who shall hereafter believe on him to life everlasting." the rev. r. j. dundas, who visited metlakahtla six months later, and baptized thirty-nine more adults and thirteen children, thus wrote of paul legaic and his daughter sarah:-- "i paid a visit to the wife of the chief paul legaic. he it was who nearly took mr. duncan's life at the head of the medicine-band attacking the school. they were both baptized by the bishop last april. legaic was the wealthiest chief of the tsimsheans at fort simpson. he has lost everything--has had to give up everything by his conversion to christianity. it was with many of them literally a 'forsaking of all things to follow christ.'--his house is the nicest and best situated in the village. a very little labour and expense in way of internal fittings would make it quite comfortable. he and his wife have one child only, a young girl of fourteen. she was a modest-looking, pleasing child--very intelligent--one of the first class in the school. she did not look like one who had ever been 'possessed with a devil;' and yet this is the child whom, three years ago, her teacher saw naked in the midst of a howling band, tearing and devouring the bleeding dog. how changed! she who 'had the unclean spirit' sits now at the feet of jesus, clothed, and in her right mind." on the occasion of a visit paid soon after this by mr. duncan to fort simpson, legaic, again like his great namesake, boldly preached the faith which once he destroyed. mr. duncan wrote:-- "feb. , .--i have just returned from a visit to fort simpson. i went to proclaim the gospel once more to the poor unfeeling heathen there. i laid the gospel again distinctly before them, and they seemed much affected. the most pleasing circumstance of all, and which i was not prepared to expect, was, that paul legaic and clah (the one in times past a formidable enemy and opposer, and the other one among the first to hear and greet the gospel) sat by me, one on either side. after i had finished my address on each occasion they got up and spoke, and spoke well. "legaic completely shamed and confounded an old man, who, in replying to my address, had said that i had come too late to do him and other old people good; that, had i come when the first white traders came, the tsimsheans had long since been good; but they had been allowed to grow up in sin; they had seen nothing among the first whites who came amongst them to unsettle them in their old habits, but these had rather added to them fresh sins, and now their sins were deep laid, they (he and the other old people) could not change. legaic interrupted him, and said, 'i am a chief, a tsimshean chief. you know i have been bad, very bad, as bad as any one here. i have grown up and grown old in sin, but god has changed my heart, and he can change yours. think not to excuse yourselves in your sins by saying you are too old and too bad to mend. nothing is impossible with god. come to god; try his way; he can save you.' he then exhorted all to taste god's way, to give their hearts to him, and to leave all their sins; and then endeavoured to show them what they had to expect if they did so--_not_ temporal good, not health, long life, or ease or wealth, but god's favour here and happiness with god after death." legaic had been well known to the traders and others on the coast, and the change in him caused the greatest astonishment among them. "mr. duncan's grand vizier" they called him. one visitor wrote in the victoria paper:-- "take a walk near the church, and you may see the mighty chief of fort simpson (legaic) standing under the porch of his well-built house, ornamented with fancy casing around where the gutters should be, but are not, and also around the windows. legaic! why, i remember him myself, some ten years ago, the terrifying murderer of women as well as men, now lamb-led by the temperate hand of christianity--a church-going example--an able ally of the temperance society, though not having signed the pledge." for seven years this once dreaded savage led a quiet and consistent christian life at metlakahtla as a carpenter. in , he was taken ill at fort simpson, on his way home, after a journey to nass river. he at once sent this short note to mr. duncan:-- "dear sir,--i want to see you. i always remember you in my mind. i shall be very sorry if i shall not see you before i go away, because you showed me the ladder that reaches to heaven, and i am on that ladder now. i have nothing to trouble me, i only want to see you." but mr. duncan, to his great sorrow, was quite unable to get away from his incessant duties at metlakahtla. a second and third summons followed in quick succession, and presently came the news of his death, accompanied by a few unfinished lines:-- "my dear sir,--this is my last letter, to say i am very happy. i am going to rest from trouble, trial, and temptation. i do not feel afraid to meet my god. in my painful body i always remember the words of our lord jesus christ." well may we say, "is anything too hard for the lord?" reverting to the history of the mission, we find that in the bishop of columbia paid a second visit to metlakahtla, and after careful examination, baptized sixty-five adult converts on whit sunday in that year. "i truly believe," he wrote, "that most of these are sincere and intelligent believers in christ, as worthy converts from heathenism as have ever been known in the history of the church." and in the autumn of the following year mr. cridge, then dean of victoria, who had from the first manifested the deepest interest in the mission, stayed for some weeks at the settlement, and on september th baptized ninety-six adult indians and eighteen children. dean cridge was struck by the advanced age of the candidates presented to him. twenty-six were over fifty; and one man, who was sixty-five, said, "i feel like an infant, not able to say much; but i know that my heart is turned to god, and that he has given his son to wash away my sins in his blood." "when he entered the room to be examined, he knelt down and offered a silent prayer. while speaking of his sins he showed emotion, and covered his face. amongst other answers, these are some of his words: 'i repent very much of my past sins before jesus.' i asked why christians were not afraid to die; he said, 'faith in god will make us not afraid to die,' i baptized him jeremiah; he is about forty years of age. his wife was not less satisfactory in the testimony she gave of a true conversion to god, and was added by baptism at the same time with her husband to the fold of christ." what can we say to such tokens of true knowledge and faith as these, but that the words of our lord to peter are still applicable to many even of the most degraded heathen in our own day?--"blessed art thou, simon bar-jona, for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my father which is it heaven!" vii. metlakahtla--material progress and moral influence. metlakahtla is no hermit's cell in the wilderness, removed faraway from the haunts of men, and exerting no influence upon them. rather is it a harbour of refuge, whose lights radiate forth into the darkness, inviting the bark in distress to seek its friendly shelter, and guiding even the passing vessel in its course. very rapidly it acquired a recognized position of importance and influence as the centre--one might almost say the official centre--of all good work of every kind among the coast indians. the growth of the settlement naturally added greatly to the heavy burden of accumulated responsibilities which mr. duncan found himself compelled to undertake. he was lay pastor and missionary, treasurer, chief trader, clerk of the works, head schoolmaster, and the father and friend of the people. in addition to this the colonial government appointed him a magistrate, in order that he might have legal power to dispense justice, not only at the christian settlement, but along the whole coast, wherever his influence extended. thee village council and constables referred to in the report already quoted (p. ) were a great assistance at metlakahtla itself. but outside the settlement magisterial duties brought sometimes a heavy burden of anxiety and responsibility upon mr. duncan. in , for instance, the authorities desired him to arrest a smuggling vessel, from which some of the tribes on the coast were obtaining spirits contrary to the law. he sent five of his indians to arrest the smuggler, but they failed in the attempt; and not only so, but one of them was shot, and three others wounded. in the following year a shocking incident occurred. the indian camps at that time were "deluged with fire-water," and metlakahtla, because it stood alone against "the universal tide of disorder," was threatened with the vengeance of its heathen neighbours. a quantity of liquor was landed there by a party of kitahmaht indians for sale. it was at once seized. in revenge for this, they stole a little boy belonging to the village while he was on a fishing expedition with his parents. "horrible to write, the poor little fellow was literally worried to death, being torn to pieces by the mouths of a set of cannibals at a great feast." nevertheless, mr. duncan's influence grew continually. in this very case its power was, exhibited in his successfully interposing to allay the exasperation of his people, and to prevent a war of extermination. even the white traders in fire-water themselves were sometimes touched. the captain of one smuggling vessel, who was fined four hundred dollars by mr. duncan in virtue of his magisterial authority, "afterwards became one of his most active friends--a result partly due to the impression created by what he saw at metlakahtla, and partly to the fact of mr. duncan having obtained restitution for him from the indians at fort simpson for injuries done to his vessel." the moral influence exercised by the mission is most strikingly illustrated by an incident related by the bishop of columbia. in , h.m.s. "devastation" sailed up the coast seeking the three indian murderers of the two white men: the indians gave up two, but would not surrender the third. two lives for two lives was their notion of equal justice. but as soon as the ship was out of sight, the murderer left his tribe, went to metlakahtla, and gave himself up to mr. duncan. "whatever you tell me to do," he said, "i will do. if you say i am to go on board the gun-ship when she comes again, i will go." six months afterwards the "devastation" again came up to metlakahtla, and fired a gun to announce her arrival. the murderer heard it. had his resolution broken down after so long an interval? he went straight to mr. duncan, and said, "what am i to do?" "you must come with me a prisoner." he went on board with the missionary, and delivered himself to the captain. "thus," justly observed bishop hills, "what the ship of war with its guns and threats could not do for civilization, for protection of life, for justice, the simple character and influence of one missionary availed to accomplish." in due course this man was brought to trial for his crime, when it came out that he had been an unwilling participator, and he was pardoned. on his release he went back to metlakahtla, and was baptized by the bishop in . a similar and very interesting case occurred in . some years before, an indian from a tribe living thirty miles off had come to mr. duncan, and with great emotion confessed himself a murderer, saying that having frequently attended the services, the burden of sin had become "too heavy for him to carry," and some christian relatives had advised him to confess his crime and take the consequences. mr. duncan sent word to the government at victoria, but they thought it best not to prosecute the man for a crime which was not recent, and which had been done under the orders of a powerful chief who was still at large. no further steps, therefore, were taken. but at the beginning of , a magistrate who was visiting at fort simpson detected two men who had been concerned in another murder, and the excitement caused by this led to further inquiry about the metlakahtla man's crime, and to the arrest of both himself and his chief. the four indians thus in custody made severally a full confession of both crimes to mr. duncan and the other magistrate, and they were sent to victoria for trial. they were found guilty, and, on being called upon to reply, made most affecting speeches in court, acknowledging the sin, and their just liability to punishment. sentence of death was ordered to be recorded, but on the recommendation of the judges, it was commuted to five years' imprisonment (not confinement) at metlakahtla. "so," wrote mr. duncan six months afterwards, "they are now with us, and all behaving very well. the proud chief has become very docile and happy, and he and all declare it their intention to remain at metlakahtla till death. several of the foremost christians make it their duty occasionally to visit them, and instruct and encourage them. thus can god bring good out of evil." the charge of the chief justice, sir matthew begbie, at this trial is a most remarkable document, and must be printed here _in extenso_. had the white man always treated the red man in such a spirit, what results might we not have seen. [footnote: admiral prevost writes to us respecting another judge in the colony--'some time ago a right minded judge, beloved and respected, both by indians and white men, had to settle a dispute between two persons--as to the equal division of some land. in the presence of both he selected one to go and measure the land, so as to divide it into two equal portions, at the same time telling him (the one sent) the other would have the first choice when he had made the division of course, the division was made as fairly as it could be.'] _charge of the chief justice._ regina v sebassa and thracket regina v neeska and simon johnson "many years ago there were some poor white men on the sea. men on the sea are always in danger from the wind and the waves, but these men trusted in god, who rules the winds and waves, and they were not afraid. neither were they afraid of the men whom they might meet, for they did not intend to hurt anybody, and they were ready to do good. and, indeed, if the white men intended to do harm to the indians, the whites could destroy them off the face of the earth. the whites could send up one man-of-war, which could easily, and without landing a man, destroy all their houses and canoes and property, and drive them naked and helpless into the woods to starve. no canoe could venture to go fishing. in one year the white men could destroy all the indians on the coast without losing a man. one of our cannon could swallow up all the muskets of your tribe. "now these poor white men on the sea met with some indians. the indians said they were hungry, and the white men gave them bread. was that the act of a friend or an enemy? then, when the indians saw that the white men were good and confiding, and saw a little bread, and a saw and some tools, and a musket and a pistol, the devil came to them and said, 'kill these white men, do not stop because they gave you bread when you were hungry; kill them, and take the saw and the musket and the bread.' these things the devil put on his hook with which he was fishing for the souls of the indians, as men put a small fish on a hook to catch salmon and halibut. and the indians listened to the voice of the devil, and slew these men, who were not fighting, nor had either they or the indians declared war or anger at all. they slew these men while the bread of charity was still in their mouths. this is treachery and murder. all people hate murder, all people seek to have revenge for murder. this is the law among indians also. if a white man kill an indian, the indians desire that white man to be put to death. now my people come to me and ask for satisfaction. the law among the whites is that they cannot have revenge unless i permit it. now my people come and ask me for revenge. but many snows have fallen upon this blood, and they hide it from my sight. many snows have fallen also on my head; my head is very white, and i have seen many things. when the head is white, the heart ought to be prudent and moderate. i will not therefore take the lives of these indians now before me, though they are all in my hand, and if i close it, it will strangle them all. my head is white, but my hand is strong, and my heart is not weak. if i punish them less than by killing them, it is not because i am weak, nor because i am afraid. but i want to do good to these indians. what good would their lives do me! their lives are of no use to me to take at present. but i wish to preserve their lives, and to change their lives. i wish to change their hearts, and to let them see that our laws are good and our hearts are good, and that we do not kill, even when we have a right to kill, and when we have the power to kill. there is a rock at metlakatlah, and a rock at victoria, upon which their old canoe has split. now i offer them a new canoe. when men are sailing in an old broken canoe, and have with difficulty got to shore, and made a small camp, if anybody offer them a fine new canoe with which to continue the voyage of life, they should accept the offer gladly. now there is a much better canoe, as they may see, at metlakatlah. i wish them to sail in such a canoe for the future, and to adopt a better rule of life, and a better law of religion. they must at present go back to prison until i speak with the other great chiefs of my people, and see what is best for them to be done. i shall try and persuade the other chiefs to send them away to metlakatlah, to do what mr. duncan shall tell them, and to live as they shall direct. and so long as they live well and quietly, and learn and labour truly to get their own living, i shall not remember the blood which they have spilt. "the prisoners themselves may see that our law is a better law than theirs. for two whole days i have been sitting here listening to the voice of my people, complaining of murders and of violence, and of robbery and oppression. whoever has suffered, he comes freely and complains to me. now the prisoners have been in court all this time, and they have seen indians accused, and chinamen, but they have seen no white man accused. "yet there are some bad white men, who would, perhaps, steal or commit violence, if they were not afraid. they are afraid of our law, which fills me and gives me strength, so that if i fall on a man i break him to pieces. but even bad white men, through fear, are restrained. now, therefore, i think that it will much more restrain indians who are inclined to do evil, and support and guide those who are inclined to do well. "if the other chiefs listen to my voice, and the prisoners behave well at metlakatlah, it shall be well. but if they do that which is wrong, my anger will burn up again very fiercely, and it will melt the snows which cover the blood of the men whom they have killed, and i shall see the blood and be very angry, and will burn them all up in my anger. "let them cease to believe in sorcerers, who have now no strength since christianity is established. let them become christians, and so their hearts will be made really and permanently good." a touching illustration of the reputation of metlakahtla, as a refuge for the suffering and oppressed, occurs in a letter of mr. duncan's, dated march, :-- "a poor slave woman, still young in years, who had been stolen away when a child, and carried to distant tribes in alaska territory, where she had suffered many cruelties, fled from her oppressors last summer, and, though ill at the time, took to the sea in a canoe all alone, and determined to reached metlakahtla or perish in the attempt. on her way (and she had upwards of one hundred and fifty miles to travel), she was seen and taken by a party of port simpson indians, who would no doubt have been glad to hand her back to her pursuers for gain, but on hearing of her case, i demanded her freedom, and finally she was received into a christian family here, and tenderly cared for. both the man and his wife who received her into their home had themselves been slaves years ago. they understood her language, sympathised deeply with her, and laboured hard to impart to her the knowledge of the saviour of sinners. after about three months her cruel master with his party came here to recapture her, but they had to return home unsuccessful. in three months more her strength succumbed to the disease which had been brought on her by cruelty and hardship. she was a great sufferer during the last few weeks of her life, but she died expressing her faith in the saviour, and rejoicing that she had been led here to end her days." once during the twenty-three years which have passed away since the north pacific mission, as it is now called, was begun, has mr. duncan come back to his mother country; and this visit may most conveniently be noticed now. he was only absent a year. he left metlakahtla, took the long journey home, stayed six months, and went all the way back again to victoria, within the year . during his brief stay in england, he chiefly occupied his time in learning various trades, and purchasing machinery, etc., for the settlement. he went to yarmouth purposely to learn rope-making and twine-spinning; at another place he acquired the art of weaving: at a third, that of brush-making; at a fourth, "the gamut of each instrument in a band of twenty-one instruments." on his way back he stayed two or three months at victoria, arranging with the government for the allotment of reserve lands to the indians of the settlement, which they might clear, enclose, and cultivate for themselves. the governor entered warmly into his plans, and presented $ himself to the mission, to be laid out in village improvements. at length he set sail again, and on february th, , landed once more at metlakahtla. his reception must be related in his own words.-- "the steamer in which i was conveyed over the last miles of my journey had on board a crowd of miners, bound for the newly-discovered gold-fields of omineca, in the interior of british columbia. these had to be landed at the mouth of the skeena river, about ten miles before we came to metlakahtla. it was sunday afternoon when we arrived at the landing, and though the weather was very stormy--snowing and blowing hard--yet i could scarcely restrain myself from attempting to finish the remaining ten miles of my voyage in a canoe, and thus take my people by surprise, and be able to join them in their evening service. after due reflection, however, i decided to remain in the steamer, and go in her to metlakahtla on the morrow. in the meantime, the news of my arrival travelled to metlakahtla, and on the following morning a large canoe arrived from thence to fetch me home. the happy crew, whose hearts seemed brim full of joy at seeing me back, gave me a very warm welcome. i at once decided to leave my luggage and the steamer, and proceed at once to metlakahtla with my indian friends, who assured me that the village was in a great state of excitement at the prospect of my return. we were favoured with a strong, fair wind, and with two sails up we dashed along merrily through a boiling sea. i now felt i was indeed homeward bound. my happy friends, having nothing to do but to watch the sails and sit still, could give free vent to their long pent-up feelings, and so they poured out one piece of news after another in rapid succession, and without any regard to order, or the changes their reports produced upon my feelings: thus we had good and bad, solemn and frivolous news, all mixed indiscriminately. "on sighting the village, in accordance with a preconcerted arrangement, a flag was hoisted over our canoe, as a signal to the villagers that i was on board. very soon we could discern quite a number of flags flying over the village, and the indians hurrying towards the place of landing. before we reached the beach large crowds had assembled to greet me. on my stepping out of the canoe, bang went a cannon, and when fairly on my feet bang went another. then some of the principal people stepped away from the groups, and came forward, hats off, and saluted me very warmly. on my advancing, the corps of constables discharged their muskets, then all hats were doffed, and a general rush to seize my hand ensued. i was now hemmed in with the crowds of solemn faces, many exhibiting intense emotion, and eyes glistening with tears of joy. in struggling my way to the mission house, i had nearly overlooked the schoolchildren. the dear little ones had been posted in order on one side, and were all standing in mute expectation of a recognition. i patted a few on the head, and then with feelings almost overcome, i pressed my way to my house. how sweet it was to find myself again in my own little room, and sweeter still to thank god for all his preserving care over me. as numbers of the people were pressing into and crowding my house, i ordered the church bell to be rung. at once they hurried to the church, and when i entered it was full. such a sight! after a few minutes silence we joined in thanksgiving to god, after which i addressed the assembly for about twenty minutes. this concluded, i set off, accompanied by several leading christian men to visit the sick and the very aged, whom i was told were anxiously begging to see me. the scenes that followed were very affecting. many assured me that they had constantly prayed to god to be spared to see me once again, and god had answered their prayers and revived their hearts, after much weeping. on finishing my visit i made up doses of medicine for several of the sick, and then sat down for a little refreshment. again my house becoming crowded, i sat down with about fifty for a general talk. i gave them the special messages from christian friends which i had down in my note book, told them how much we were prayed for by many christians in england, and scanned over the principal events of my voyage and doings in england. we sat till midnight, but even then the village was lighted up, and the people all waiting to hear from the favoured fifty what i had communicated. many did not go to bed at all, but sat up all night talking over what they had heard. "such is a brief account of my reception at metlakahtla. i could not but reflect how different this to the reception i had among the same people in . then they were all superstitiously afraid of me, and regarded with dread suspicion my every act it was with feelings of fear or contempt they approached me to hear god's word, and when i prayed amongst them i prayed alone, none understood, none responded. now how things have changed! love has taken the place of fear, and light the place of darkness, and hundreds are intelligently able and devoutly willing to join me in prayer and praise to almighty god. to god be _all_ the praise and glory. amen" the troubles and difficulties on the coast, which so often added to mr. duncan's burdens, were not always the fault of the indians. as often as not they were due to the recklessness of unscrupulous and drunken white men. in , a party going up to the gold mines on the skeena river burned an indian village. this brought the governor of british columbia, j. w. trutch, esq., up the coast with two ships of war, the "scout" and the "boxer." a deputation of tsimsheans christians was sent to propitiate the injured tribe, and invite them to meet the governor at metlakahtla; and there, as on common ground which both parties could trust, peace was solemnly made, the government paying six hundred dollars as compensation. on this occasion the governor laid the first stone of a new church, upon which mr. duncan and the indians alike had set their hearts, as a visible crown of the work. the ceremony took place on august th, in the presence of the whole community and of the officers of the ships. but laying the stone was one thing; building the church was another. the governor and captain cator saw lying on the ground huge timbers to be used in its erection, but how these were to be reared up was not apparent. very kindly they gave mr. duncan a quantity of ropes, blocks, etc., but even then they sailed away in considerable scepticism as to the possibility of unskilled red men raising a large and lofty church. in january, , mr. duncan wrote:-- "the massive timbers for framing, which governor trutch and captain cator, of h. m. s. 'scout,' saw on the ground last year, and doubted of our ability to raise, are, i am happy to say, now fixed, and fixed well, in their places, and all by indian labour. especially am i thankful to report that, though the work is attended with no little danger, particularly to inexperienced hands, as we all are, yet have we hitherto been graciously preserved from all accidents. "the indians are delighted with the appearance the building has already assumed, and you may gather from the amount of their contributions (l ) how much they appreciate the work. they propose again subscribing during the coming spring, and i only wish our christian friends in england could witness the exciting scene of a contributing day, with how much joy the poor people come forward and cast down their blanket or blankets, gun, shirt, or elk skin, upon the general pile 'to help in building the house of god.'" by the end of that year the church was finished, and on christmas day it was opened for the service of god. "we had indeed," wrote mr. duncan, "a great struggle to finish it by that time--the tower and spire presenting very difficult and dangerous work for our unskilled hands--yet, by god's protecting care, we completed the work without a single accident. over seven hundred indians were present at our opening services. could it be that this concourse of well-dressed people, in their new and beautiful church, but a few years ago made up the fiendish assemblies at fort simpson! could it be that those voices, now engaged in solemn prayer and thrilling songs of praise to almighty god, are the very voices i once heard yelling and whooping at heathen orgies on dismal winter nights!" the progress in building operations and the secular affairs of the settlement generally at this time are succinctly described in an official report, prepared by mr. duncan, and presented to the minister of the interior of the dominion of canada, in may, . the occasion of this important document being drawn up was the occurrence of some conflict of opinion between the provincial government of british columbia at victoria and the dominion government of ottawa, respecting the indian land question. the same thorny problems that have so often given trouble in south africa and new zealand had presented themselves, and the local authorities at victoria were anxious that the liberal treatment of the indians on the coast, which had marked their own dealings with them while the colony was independent of canada, should be still pursued now that british columbia was incorporated in the dominion confederation. but even the liberal plans of the victoria government had, to a large extent, failed in their object of ameliorating the indians, and metlakahtla still remained almost the only example of success upon the coast. to us it is, of course, obvious that the cause of this success was simply its being based on the foundation of christian teaching and christian life; and mr. duncan made no secret of this in his report. he gave a description of the indians as he found them, and a full narrative of the mission from the first. that part of the report, however, it is needless to print here. it only recapitulates what we have already told in greater detail. the opening and closing paragraphs we subjoin:-- _report presented by mr. w. duncan to the government of canada._ "from a copy of statutes which i lately received from the indian commissioner, british columbia, i learn that changes in the management of indian affairs are about to be inaugurated in that province. it is in anticipation of these changes that i feel prompted to address to you this present letter, my object being to place before you the origin and growth of the indian settlement at metlakahtla, and from these facts thus brought out to deduce a policy, or at least certain principles of action, which i am anxious to commend to the government in the treatment of all the indian tribes in that part of the dominion." _[here follows a history of the mission.]_ "we number now about souls, and, according to the testimony of several medical men, who have had opportunities of judging, form the healthiest and strongest indian community on the coast. "next, as to our progress in law and order. it is in this aspect to the outward observer, perhaps more than in any other, that our advancement appears both real and striking. from a great number of lawless and hostile hordes has been gathered out and established one of the most law-abiding and peace-loving communities in the province. what to the most sanguine minds seemed at least a generation of time distant has been brought about in a few years. the isolated germ of a christian community gathered strength year by year, while every opposing force in the vicinity gradually weakened and at last succumbed. the law has triumphed. the liquor-selling vessels have long since ceased their traffic. the indians who took up the trade with their canoes have also been stopped. drunkenness, or even liquor-drinking, over a very large district are now things of the past. the rushing to victoria has subsided into rare and legitimate visits, and peace, order, and security reign in all the country round. "the local means which have been instrumental in bringing about these salutary changes were--first, we called out a corps of native constables, and afterwards selected, irrespective of rank, twelve older men of good character to act as native council, and with these we have deliberated upon every matter affecting the welfare of our settlement. the council has no pay, but only a badge of office, worn on stated occasions. the constables, in addition to a simple uniform, receive a small remuneration when on duty. "as our settlement increased, and our work in the interests of peace became more extended, i have increased the two native forces year by year until they now number over sixty men, and include several chiefs. and further, in order to utilize these forces, and have every settler under proper surveillance, i have divided all the male community into ten companies, each company having an equal number of constables and councilmen, who act as guides and monitors. "again, in order to enlist the energies of our younger men for the public weal, i have organized a fire brigade of six companies and ten to each company. these, i trust, will prove of real service to the new town which is about to be built. and here i would acknowledge with thankfulness the prompt help which has occasionally reached us from the provincial government, and without which, of course, our local machinery would have proved altogether inadequate for all emergencies. "lastly, as to our material and social progress. this, too, is already encouraging, but by no means so complete as we hope to see it. the slow progress of the indians in this cause cannot be matter for wonder when we consider--first, their ignorance and inaptitude to find out for themselves any fresh and permanent modes of industry; secondly, their want of capital, owing to which civilization may tend to the impoverishment of the indians by calling for an increased outlay in their expenses without augmenting their income. having these facts before me, i have endeavoured to help and guide the males under my influence to fresh modes of industry, and though our success has not been very great, it is at least encouraging. "our first work of a secular kind was to establish a village store; for, having left fort simpson, we soon felt the want of supplies. i may here explain the hudson's bay company refused to establish a shop in our midst, and i feared to encourage the trading schooners to come to us, as they invariably carried intoxicating liquor for sale, so we determined to keep the village trade in our own hands and appropriate the profits to the public works of our settlement. "to this end we first purchased a schooner, one-third of the money being given by the governor, sir james douglas. the schooner took down the products of our industry to victoria, and returned laden with goods for our store, proving a pecuniary success and a capital training for the indians who were employed. "after some years the hudson's bay company were willing to carry our freight on their steamer, so we sold the schooner, and i refunded to the government account a proportionate part of the sale money. "the managing of our village trade, principally by indians, has given me much anxiety, and exposed me to much slander and abuse from white traders; but seeing the good results from my efforts in this way to our settlement i have kept on, and feel loath to give it up till i can hand it over entirely into the hands of the natives. "the first profits of our trade i spent in building a large market-house and court-house. the market-house was to shelter and accommodate all those visiting us from other tribes, and for this purpose we found it to be of great advantage. we were thus enabled to keep strange indians from impeding our social progress, having them under better surveillance during their stay, and rendering them more accessible to christian instruction. the other works for public advantage to which we have severally applied the monies resulting from our village trade, along with the contributions of friends of the mission, are road-making, building a saw-mill, blacksmith's shop, soap-house, and large carpenters' shops and work-sheds. for the last two years we have been engaged erecting entirely by indian labour a new church capable of holding , people. this we completed so far as to be able to use it about five months ago. "the finishing we hope to do this summer, and when complete we expect we shall have spent altogether about , dollars. of this sum the indians of the settlement contributed over dollars. we have now going up a school-house, by , which will be paid for out of the trade profits, with the exception of dollars sent us by the indian commissioner. "our latest undertaking is the building of a massive sea-wall round the village. the indians contribute the material, and i pay for the labour of putting it up. "this brings me to mention a few particulars relative to the greatest of all our undertakings in building, viz., that of a new town of some houses. it was hardly to be expected that the plan of our village and the first houses erected at metlakahtla would prove satisfactory to us as we advanced in civilization. the people were then in a transition state, and i had to be content to see houses go up only a little improvement upon their old style of building; but about five years ago they began to be dissatisfied with their houses, and i then succeeded in persuading them to cease putting up fresh buildings until we should all agree upon the right model for a dwelling-house and a better plan of a town site. it has taken all this time to educate them up to a really substantial plan for both, but-i am happy to say that after much discussion we are now agreed. the old village is to be pulled down and a new town built up. i have already surveyed the land, and drawn out a map showing town lots, which the indians highly approve. the lots are by , and on each will be erected a double house. one hundred such lots are already taken, and builders have begun to work. as the new houses are to be substantial and commodious buildings, and beyond their means to build without aid, i have pledged myself to assist them to the amount of dollars each single house, which will, i anticipate, be sufficient to purchase nails, windows, and whatever else they must import, as well as pay the workmen at the saw-mill for sawing their lumber. thus the indians will only be required to bring their own logs to the mill and find the labour to erect their houses. "as our mill is small, and our means limited, we do not expect to complete all our buildings in less than three years, but when completed we trust to show to the natives around a real model town, and hope it will stimulate them to follow in our steps. "having thus very briefly sketched an outline of the history of metlakahtla, it remains for me to say that whatever of moral or material progress the indians there have made, they owe it all to the hold which religious truth has obtained over their hearts and consciences. it is only because they have felt the inspiring influence of the gospel that they have aspired to a higher degree of social life, and are exerting themselves to obtain it. "our church and schools (both sunday and day schools) are well and eagerly attended. the appearance of our large native congregation in their new church is a thrilling and heart-gladdening sight. "quite a number of intelligent natives are devoting themselves gratuitously to evangelistic work among their brethren, and with much success. we have two native teachers in the day-school and one native evangelist, also over twenty sunday-school teachers employed in the mission, and thus this little settlement, under god's blessing, bids fair to become at no very distant day a happy and thriving christian home." accompanying this report, there was a paper of practical suggestions for the provision and administration of reserve lands for the several tribes. these were embodied in an official memorandum, drawn up by the attorney general of the province, which concluded with these words:-- "the undersigned has the honour to recommend that the above suggestions be adopted, and that if this memorandum be approved, his honour the lieutenant-governor be respectfully requested to forward a copy thereof, and of the minute of council referring thereto, to the dominion government, for their consideration and assent; and he further recommends that another copy be sent to the dominion government, for transmission to the right honourable the secretary of state for the colonies. "geo. a. walkem, _"attorney-general. "victoria, th august, ."_ the lieutenant-governor in council adopted the following minute:-- "_copy of a report of a committee of the honourable the executive council, approved by his honour the lieutenant-governor, on the th day of august, ._ "the committee of council concur with the statements and recommendations contained in the memorandum of the honourable the attorney-general, on the subject of indian affairs, dated th august, , and advise that it be adopted as the expression of the views of this government as to the best method of bringing about a settlement of the indian land question. "(certified) w. j. armstrong, _clerk of the executive council._" the next thing was to secure the adoption of the scheme by the government of canada; and with this view mr. duncan undertook the long journey across the continent to ottawa. the hon. d. laird, minister of the interior, gave the most attentive hearing to his representations, and also made him a donation of , dollars towards the work at metlakahtla; and on may th, , mr. duncan wrote, "i am glad to inform you that the terms set forth in the report have been adopted (with a small modification or two) by the dominion government, and so the dead-lock about the land question seems in a fair way of being removed." mr. duncan's well-timed interposition in this matter was not the least of the many services god has enabled him to render to the indian population of british columbia. about the same time, the provincial government gave another proof of its confidence in the mission, by appointing one of the christian tsimsheans of metlakahtla head constable of the district, with a salary of dollars per annum. year by year the metlakahtla community has continued to increase, by the admission to its privileges of new settlers. new year's-day is especially the time for enrolling them. a general meeting of the adult males of the village is held, and before them all each applicant for leave to join their body has to stand up and declare his adhesion to the rules. he thus cuts himself off from all heathen customs, and "places himself under christian instruction" (to use the tinnevelly term [footnote: in tinnevelly, the progress of christianity has been mainly due to the adhesion of whole villages at a time to the christian community. these adherents cannot be called "converts," and the phrase used of them is that they "place themselves under christian instruction." subsequently they become candidates for baptism, and many of them ultimately prove to be true converts.]). he probably knows something of the gospel from christian indians he has met at the fisheries or elsewhere, and thus is already, to some extent, prepared for the teaching he will now regularly receive. in course of time--such is the frequent experience at metlakahtla--his conduct and demeanour give evidence of a work of grace in his heart; he becomes a catechumen, and, after a due period of probation, is admitted by baptism, not only into the community, but into the church. on the new year's-day of , no less than one hundred new comers were registered, and the number has frequently been not much short of that. viii. metlakahtla--two christmas seasons. christmas is a joyous time at metlakahtla, and the accounts we have of its services and festivities help not a little to bring the settlement before the eyes of our imagination. two such accounts are subjoined. the first is from mr. duncan's report for . christmas-day in that year is memorable for a visit paid to metlakahtla by the indians who still remained in the neighbourhood of fort simpson. these tribes had not been forgotten by their christian fellow-countrymen. bands of evangelists from the settlement frequently went up the coast in canoes to the fort on saturday to hold services on the sunday, and their efforts received a manifest blessing. this work has since then been interrupted by the establishment of a canadian methodist mission at the fort. the second account was sent home by bishop bompas, of athabasca, after his visit to the coast in - . christmas, . _from mr. duncan's report._ "this is the first season that the heathen customs at fort simpson have been generally disregarded, and hence we thought it well to encourage christian customs in their place. to this end we decided to invite all the congregation at fort simpson to spend the festival of christmas with us at metlakahtla, that they might receive the benefit of a series of special services, and he preserved from falling into those excesses which we had reason to fear would follow should they spend the christmas by themselves. about two hundred and fifty availed themselves of our invitation, and they arrived at metlakahtla the day before christmas in twenty-one canoes, which indeed presented a pleasing picture as they approached us with flags flying. "according to a previous arrangement they all clustered to the market -house, which we at present use for our church, and which had been very appropriately decorated. on our guests being seated i gave them a short address, and after prayer, in company with mr. and mrs. collison, shook hands with them all. they then were quartered round the village, and a very exciting scene ensued, all the villagers literally scrambling for the guests. after the scramble, several came running to me to complain that they had not succeeded in securing a single guest, while others had got more than their share. to settle matters amicably, i had to send two constables round the village to readjust the distribution of our new friends. "our christmas-eve was spent in practising, with a band of twenty young men, a new christmas hymn in tsimshean, which i managed to prepare for the occasion. about . on christmas morning we reassembled, when mr. collison and myself accompanied the twenty waits to sing round the village, carrying the harmonium and concertina with us. we sang in seven different places, and three hymns in each place. the village was illuminated, and the singing was hearty and solemn. this was the first attempt of the indians at part-singing in their own tongue. "christmas-day was a great day, houses decorated with evergreens, flags flying, constables and council passing from house to house in their uniforms, and greeting the inmates. now a string of young men, then another of young women, might be seen going into this house, then into that; friends meeting on the road, shaking hands everywhere; everybody greeting everybody; hours occupied with hand-shaking and interchanging good wishes; nobody thinking of anything else but scattering smiles and greetings, till the church bell rings, and all wend their way to meet and worship god. the crowd seemed so great that fears were entertained that our meeting-house could not accommodate them. i at once decided that the children should assemble in the school -house and have a separate service. samuel marsden kindly volunteered to conduct it. even with this arrangement our meeting-house was crowded to excess. there could not have been less than seven hundred present. what a sight! had any one accompanied me to the christmas-day services i held twelve or fourteen years ago at fort simpson, and again on this occasion, methinks, if an infidel, he would have been confused and puzzled to account for the change; but, if a christian, his heart must have leaped for joy. the tsimsheans might well sing on this day, 'glory to god in the highest, and on earth peace, good will towards men.' "after service all the indians collected near the mission-house to greet us. in order to take advantage of the occasion i had them let in by about fifties at a time, the fort simpson indians preceding. after giving each company a short address, we again shook hands with all. it was three p.m. before we had gone through with them all in this way. "the following day the young men engaged in the healthy game of football, and all the people turned out to witness the sport. mr. and mrs. collison and myself were present to encourage them. after football a marriage took place. a young woman, formerly trained in the mission -house, was married to a chief. a marriage feast was given, to which between four and five hundred people were invited. during the day a fort simpson young man came to see me and confess a crime of theft he committed about a year and a half ago, and for which, when the proper time arrives, he will have to go to gaol. in the evening the church bell was rung, and all assembled for divine service. some little time after service the bugle was sounded 'go to bed.' "i held special services every night while the fort simpson people were here with us. the subjects upon which i addressed them were as follows, viz.:--'thou shalt call his name jesus,' 'thy word is a lamp' etc.; 'understandst thou what thou readest?' 'ye must be born again,' 'can the ethiopian change his skin?' 'what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?' 'one thing is needful,' 'give me thy hand,' 'quit ye like men.' in addition we had a midnight service on new year's-eve. the people attended the services regularly, and seemed to drink in the word. may god give the increase. on one of the evenings before the service i exhibited the magic lantern to the fort simpson people, showing them some scriptural views and the sufferings of martyrs. "on new year's-day, as heretofore, we held a general meeting for the business of the village, at which all the males are expected to attend. only some three or four were absent. the male portion of our guests from fort simpson also attended to witness the proceedings. the ten companies, into which all males here are divided, were first examined, after which i gave an address bearing upon matters of the past year, and introduced the new settlers, who were already seated in the middle of the room. this finished, each of the latter came forward in the presence of the assembly, made his declaration to be a faithful member of our community, and was registered. speeches were then made by several of the council, followed by about twenty speeches from the fort simpson indians, which were very interesting, being expressive of the new feelings which animated them, and the line of conduct they meant to pursue in the future, god being their helper. i concluded the meeting with another address. we then adjourned to the open ground in front of the mission-house, stood in companies, two cannons were fired, then, with hats off (though it snowed very hard), we sang 'god save the queen,' and dismissed. "on friday, the nd of january, our guests departed home. when ready to start, the church bell rang, and they paddled their canoes to our meeting-house, which is built upon the beach. leaving their canoes, they reassembled for a short address and a concluding prayer. this over, again entering their canoes, they pushed a little from the beach, a cannon was fired, and amid the ringing cheers of hundreds of voices they dashed off paddling with all their might. in a few seconds they simultaneously halted, and returned as hearty cheers as they were receiving. the air now rang with the double cheering, caps, handkerchiefs, and flags waving, the whole forming a very animated scene. thus our guests departed." christmas, _by the bishop of athabasca_ "the festivities of the season commenced here on christmas eve, when a party of about twenty-five of the elder school girls were invited to meet us at tea. after tea we were all entertained by mr. duncan, with the exhibition of a galvanic battery and other amusements. this party having dispersed to their homes in good time, at a later hour came together the singers who were appointed to sing christmas carols during the night along the village street, led by mr. schutt, the schoolmaster. after their singing they returned to supper at the mission before retiring to rest. "on christmas morning the first sight which greeted us was that of the constables lengthening to its full height the flagstaff on the watchhouse, to hoist the flag for christmas, and all the village street was soon gaily dressed with flags. the constables then marched about the village to different houses to shake hands and make christmas peace with all whom they had been called to interfere with in the course of the year. at eleven o'clock the church bell rang, and the large church was thronged with a well-dressed and attentive congregation. "after service all the villagers, to the number of about , had to come and pass through the mission-house to shake hands with all the inmates. in doing this they so crowded the verandah that the boards actually gave way beneath them, but the ground being only about two feet below no injury resulted. after all the shaking of hands was over, the villagers returned home to their own private entertainments, and most of us at the mission enjoyed a quiet christmas evening together; but mr. duncan entertained at tea a party of the chiefs and principal persons of the village, whom we did not join, from inability to converse in the tsimshean tongue. "the day after christmas was again a gay one. the constables, twenty -five in number, paraded and exercised on the green with banners and music, and about fifty volunteers, in neat white uniforms, with drums and fifes and banners flying, went through creditable evolutions and exercises. all the strangers who had come from neighbouring villages to spend christmas at metlakahtla were collected by mr. duncan in the mission hall, and, after a suitable address received, all of them, presents of soap, apples, sugar, tobacco, etc. in the evening the usual week-day service was held in the schoolroom, always crowded. "the following day all the children of the schools were assembled by mr. duncan at his house, first the girls and then the boys, about in all; and, after being amused by him, were treated to sugarplums and apples, and each one received some article of clothing (cap or cape, etc.), so as to be sent away to their homes rejoicing. "next day all the men of the village, about , were assembled in the market-house to be addressed by mr. duncan. after he had given them the best advice he could, their christmas presents were distributed to them in the presence of all the mission party. these consisted of / lb. sugar and six apples to each one, with copy-book and pencil, or tobacco for the older men. "the day after this, mr. and mrs. schutt kindly entertained all the widows of the village, about sixty in number, to a substantial dinner. it was a pleasure to see even the old and decrepit able to sit at table and enjoy their meal, and it made us enter fully into the idea of the renovating influence of christmas blessings, to think in what dark and murderous heathenism these aged widows had been reared when young. after dinner mr. duncan brought them to his hall to listen to an address, so that they might not return home without words of gospel truth and comfort to cheer them for struggling days. "the morrow, being sunday, was marked by the usual services; these consist, first, of morning sunday school at half past nine, at which about are present, both children and adults, males and females being in separate buildings. all the elder scholars learn and repeat a text both in english and tsimshean, and have it explained to them, and they are able to use intelligently their english bibles for this purpose. at eleven is morning service in church, attended at christmas time by to . hymns are sung, both in english and tsimshean, and heartily joined in by the congregation. this being the last sunday in the year, the service was made a specially devotional one to seek mercy for the offences of the past twelve month. "after morning service the adults met again in sunday school to learn in english and tsimshean the text of the sermon, and have it again explained to them by the native sunday school teachers, who are prepared for this duty at a meeting with mr. duncan on saturday evening. it is very interesting to see about adults gathered together in the three schools at midday, entirely in the hands of native teachers, and with english bibles in their hands poring intelligently over the text, and following out again the subject of the morning discourse. i cannot but think it would be a great gain if this scheme of mr. duncan's could be largely followed in other missions. "afternoon service is held in the church at three o'clock, with a litany, and after this, when the daylight lasts long enough, there is a second sunday school. the church is as full in the afternoon as in the morning, and the punctuality of the attendance is surprising. in the evening, at seven o'clock, service is again held in the school room, which is crowded, and occasional meetings are held by the elder converts for the benefit of any aged people unable to come to church. "to return to the christmas doings: on the monday all the women of the village, about , assembled in the market-house, and, after suitable addresses, valuable presents were made to each, viz., lb. soap, lb. rice, and several apples, etc. so that they return home laden and rejoicing. altogether about l must have been spent upon the christmas presents. "on monday evening, being the last night of the old year, a suitable service was held in church, the subject being psalm xc., 'so teach us to number our days,' etc. on new year's-day the festivities were renewed. bugle-notes and drums and fifes, and the exercises of the volunteers, enlivened the scene. the youth of the village played football on the sands. all the men of the village were assembled in the market-house, and were permanently enrolled in ten companies, the members of each company receiving rosettes of a distinguishing colour. each company has in it, besides ordinary members, one chief, two constables, one elder, and three councillors, who are all expected to unite in preserving the peace and order of the village. the ten chiefs all spoke in the market-house on new year's-day, and in sensible language promised to follow the teaching they had received, and to unite in promoting what is good. after the meeting all adjourned to the green in front of the church, and joined in singing 'god save the queen,' in english, before dispersing to their homes. the rest of the day was spent in new year's greetings. "wednesday evening was occupied by the usual week-day service, and thursday and friday evenings were devoted to the exhibition in the school-room, first to the women and then to the men, of a large magic lantern, with oxygen light, and also a microscope, showing living insects and sea-water animalcules, as well as various slides. "the above is but an imperfect sketch of the efforts made by mr. duncan for the welfare and happiness of his village," ix. outlying stations--i. kincolith. a glance at the map will show that both metlakahtla and fort simpson are situated on a peninsula which juts forth from the coast between the estuaries of two rivers, the _skeena_ to the south, and the _nass_ to the north. the mouth of the nass river is one of the great fishing resorts of the indians. from long distances the tribes of both the mainland and the adjacent islands flock thither every year in march and april, the season when the oolikan, a small fish about the size of a smelt, is caught. as many as five thousand indians gather together on these occasions, and encamp for miles along both banks of the river. having put up their temporary bark huts, they dig pits to store the fish in, and then quietly await their arrival. meanwhile, hardly a sign of life is to be seen on land or water. the towering mountains, that rise almost from the banks, are covered deep with snow, and the river is fast bound in ice to the depth of six or eight feet. slowly the ice begins to break higher up, and the tides, rising and falling, bear away immense quantities. at length a few seagulls appear in the western sky, and the cry echoes from camp to camp that the fish are at hand. immense shoals of oolikan come in from the pacific, followed by larger fish such as the halibut, the cod, the porpoise, and the finned-back -whale. over the fish hover the sea-birds--"an immense cloud of innumerable gulls," wrote bishop hills after a visit to the place, "so many and so thick that as they moved to and fro, up and down, the sight resembled a heavy fall of snow." over the gulls, again, soar the eagles watching for their prey. the indians go forth to meet the fish with the cry, "you fish, you fish! you are all chiefs; you are, you are all chiefs." the nets haul in bushels at a time, and hundreds of tons are collected. "the indians dry some in the sun, and _press_ a much larger quantity for the sake of the oil or grease, which has a considerable market value as being superior to cod-liver oil, and which they use as butter with their dried salmon. the season is most important to the indians; the supply lasts them till the season for salmon, which is later, and which supplies their staple food, their bread." "what a beautiful provision for this people," writes one of the missionaries, "just at that season of the year when their winter stock has run out! god can indeed furnish a table in the wilderness." it was in the spring of , that mr. duncan first visited the nass river. he received a most encouraging welcome from the nishkah indians --one of the tsimshean tribes--dwelling on its banks. the account is a particularly interesting one:-- "_april th, _.--about p.m. we arrived in sight of the three lower villages of the nishkah indians, and these, with two upper villages, constitute the proper inhabitants of the river. on approaching the principal village we were met by a man who had been sent to invite us to the chief's house. numbers of indians stood on the bank. when we stopped, several rushed into the water: some seized my luggage, and one took me on his back. in a few minutes we were safely housed. smiling faces and kind words greeted me on every side. my friend kahdoonahah, the chief who had invited me to his house, was dancing for joy at my arrival. he had put his house in order, made up a large fire in the centre, placed two big iron kettles on it, and had invited a number of his friends to come and feast with me. about thirty of us, all males, sat round the fire. boiled fresh salmon was first served out. all the guests were furnished with large horn or wooden spoons: i preferred to use my own. my plate was first filled with choice bits, and afterwards large wooden dishesful were carried round, and one placed before every two persons. this done, boiled rice, mixed with molasses, was served us. fresh spoons and dishes were used. while the dishes were being filled, each person had a large spoonful handed him to be going on with. after the feast i had considerable conversation, and concluded by requesting that all the chiefs and chief men of the three tribes should meet me on the morrow, when i would endeavour to give them the good news from god's book. kahdoonahah, suggested that there might be some difficulty to get all the chiefs to assemble, unless something was provided for them to eat he therefore promised to send out and invite them all to his house, and give them a feast for the occasion. "it was now evening, and the guests went home. kahdoonahah then brought in an old man to sing to me. the old man very solemnly sat down before me, fixed his eyes upon the ground, and began beating time by striking his foot with his hand. he was assisted by kahdoonahah, who not only sang, but kept up a thumping noise with a large stick. a few boys also clapped their hands in proper time. after they had sung two or three songs i told them we would have a change. i drew my few boys around me. one of them immediately warned the chief and his company that we were going to sing songs to god, which were the same as prayers, and therefore they must be very reverent. we sang several little hymns, some of which i translated. the party soon increased, and sat very attentively. "_april _.--after breakfast two men entered the house, and stood just within the door. looking at me, one of them shouted out, 'woah shimauket, woah shimauket, woah shimauket, woah.' after repeating this twice, they went away. this was an invitation from a chief who wanted me and my crew to breakfast with him. i took two of my party, and set off. when i was entering the chief's house, he stood up, and, beckoning me to a seat, cried out loudly, 'yeah shimauket, yeah shimauket, yeah shimauket, yeah.' as soon as i was seated, he stopped, and sat down. these words, rendered into english, are, 'welcome chief, welcome chief, welcome chief, welcome!' we feasted on boiled salmon, and rice, and sugar, and molasses, after which the chief presented me with five marten skins and a large salmon. when i returned to kahdoonahah's house, he had got three large iron kettles on the fire for the feast; and i was informed that an old chief had given me a large black bear's skin. the drum began to beat, and a general bustle prevailed around me. i sat down to collect my thoughts, and to lift up my heart to god to prepare me for the important meeting about to take place, at which the blessed gospel was to be proclaimed to these poor tribes of indians for the first time. "about twelve o'clock they began to assemble. each took a place corresponding to his rank. we soon mustered about sixty chiefs and headmen. between one and two p.m. we began to feast, which consisted, as usual, of salmon and rice, and molasses. i had heard kahdoonahah say that they intended to perform before me their '_ahlied;_' but i requested him to have no playing, as i wanted to speak very solemnly to them. he promised me they would do nothing bad; but now that the feasting was over, much to my sorrow, he put on his dancing mask and robes. the leading singers stepped out, and soon all were engaged in a spirited chant. they kept excellent time by clapping their hands and beating a drum. (i found out afterwards that they had been singing my praises and asking me to pity them and to do them good.) the chief kahdoonahah danced with all his might during the singing. he wore a cap, which had a mask in front, set with mother-of-pearl, and trimmed with porcupine's quills. the quills enabled him to hold a quantity of white bird's down on the top of his head, which he ejected while dancing, by jerking his head forward: thus he soon appeared as if in a shower of snow. in the middle of the dance a man approached me with a handful of down, and blew it over my head, thus symbolically uniting me in friendship with all the chiefs present, and the tribes they severally represented. "after the dance and singing were over, i felt exceedingly anxious about addressing them; but circumstances seemed so unfavourable on account of the excitement, that my heart began to sink. what made the matter worse, too, was a chief, who had lately been shot in the arm for overstepping his rank, began talking very passionately. this aroused me. i saw at once that i must speak, or probably the meeting might conclude in confusion. i stood up, and requested them to cease talking, as i wished them to rest their hearts, and listen to the great message i had come to deliver. instantly the chief ceased talking, and every countenance became fixed attentively towards me. i began, and the lord helped me much. i was enabled to speak with more freedom and animation than i had ever done before in the indian tongue. much to my encouragement the indians unanimously responded at the finish of every clause. the most solemn occasion of this kind was when i introduced the name of the saviour. at once every tongue uttered jesus, and, for some time, kept repeating that blessed name, which i hope they will not forget.' "after i had finished my address i asked them to declare to me their thoughts upon what they had heard, and also if they desired to be further instructed in god's word. immediately a universal cry arose of, 'good is your speech. good, good, good news! we greatly desire to learn the book. we wish our children to learn.'" in the autumn of the same year, mr. duncan again visited the nass river, and ascended to the upper villages. everywhere he found a readiness, sometimes most touchingly expressed, to receive christian instruction. at one interesting gathering, a nishkah chief named agwilakkah. after hearing the gospel message for the first time, stood up before all, stretched forth his hands towards heaven, and lifting up his eyes, solemnly said:-- "_pity us, great father in heaven, pity us! give us thy good! book to do us good and clear away our sins. this chief_ [pointing to mr. duncan] _has come to tell us about thee. it is good, great father. we want to hear. who ever came to tell our fathers thy will? no, no. but this chief has pitied us and come. he has thy book. we will hear. we will receive thy word. we will obey._" four years, however, passed away before regular missionary operations could be extended to the nass river. in , a christian tsimshean, travelling up the river as a fur-trader, told the indians he met with of the saviour he had himself found, and on his return to the coast seven young men of the nishkah tribe accompanied him, that they might visit metlakahtla and hear the missionary for themselves. they stayed there for a few days, listening eagerly to mr. duncan's instructions. when they left, they begged for some fragment of god's word to take back to their tribe; and mr. duncan wrote out for each, on a piece of paper, the words in tsimshean, "this is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that christ jesus came into the world to save sinners." in this case the living voice was not long in following the written message. on july nd, , the rev. r. r. a. doolan arrived at metlakahtla from england, and, at mr. duncan's suggestion, he at once went on to the nass river to establish a permanent mission. with prayerful energy the young missionary, inexperienced and ignorant of the language, flung himself into the conflict with heathenism. a sore conflict it was. ardent spirits had come up the river; drunkenness was fast spreading among the indians; and quarrelling and murders were of frequent occurrence. on one occasion, after a whisky feast, the indians on opposite sides of the river set to work firing across the stream at one another, in pure wantonness. several were wounded, women as well as men; and next day mr. doolan was called upon to attend to their injuries. again and again was his own life in imminent danger. one day an indian rushed out of a hut he was passing, gun in hand, and fired at him twice. both times the gun missed fire! "i was so close to him," wrote mr. doolan, "that i saw the fire from the flint." if divine providence was thus exhibited in the preservation of the missionary's life, divine grace was soon to be not less signally manifested in a blessing on his labours. a boy named tacomash was the first fruits gathered in. he and another boy came from a village twenty -five miles off to live at the mission-house, and attend school. after a few weeks he went home to see his father, and was attacked with bronchitis. mr. doolan, hearing of this, hastened off to see him. "the journey," he says, "was a most painful one. i wore two pairs of mocassins, but the ice soon cut through both. i was ten hours walking the twenty-five miles. i found the poor lad very weak, and suffering much. he had steadfastly resisted the medicine-men from rattling over him, saying god would be angry with him if he allowed them." tacomash got better, and returned to the station; and shortly after mr. doolan writes, "to-day i was rejoiced to hear tacomash praying to god. he was among the trees, and did not know anyone heard him. he asked jesus to pity him, and make his heart strong." soon, however, the lad became ill again, and died trusting in the saviour. on his death-bed he was baptized at his own earnest desire, and named samuel walker. on mr. doolan's retirement from the mission in , the work on the nass river was taken up by the rev. r. tomlinson, who had just arrived. by mr. doolan's efforts some fifty indians had been influenced to abandon their heathen customs and to desire to live together as a christian community; and a settlement similar to metlakahtla was now planned. this settlement received the name of kincolith; and here mr. tomlinson earnestly laboured from to , when he left to go forward into the regions beyond. the work proved to be one requiring much patience and courage. for two or three years it was much retarded by hostilities between two tribes. but mr. tomlinson was encouraged by the zeal and intrepidity of his wife, who accompanied him on his visits to the combatants, and everywhere disarmed opposition by her presence. subsequently the trading store, which had been established on the metlakahtla plan, turned out a failure, and the indian settlers, about sixty in number, depressed by the losses they incurred, showed signs of wavering, and of returning to their heathen friends, who were manifesting the most bitter antagonism to the mission. but towards the close of , by the mercy of god, the tide seemed to turn, and when archdeacon woods visited the station at the bishop of columbia's request, in october, , he found a peaceful community, an attentive congregation, and several candidates for baptism, of whom he admitted twenty adults (with seven children) to the church, making, with nine previously baptized, thirty-six altogether. from that time the kincolith mission, though not exhibiting rapid success, has been steadily growing, and not a few of the nishkah indians who were accustomed to attend mr. doolan's services, but had fallen back, have joined the community, and some have been baptized. the store was re-opened in with improved prospects. a dispensary was established by mr. tomlinson, and has been highly appreciated by the indians. a saw mill has been erected, which not only supplies material for building new houses, but also gives employment to those of the settlers who are neither fur-hunters nor skilled workmen. the annual fishing seasons have been a time of distinct blessing, the christian indians holding services for their heathen fellow-countrymen in the various camps, and many of the heathen joining them in resting from the fishing operations on the lord's day. year by year the number of settlers has increased, and now exceeds two hundred, of whom three -fourths are baptized. one chief, who joined on new year's-day, , was well known as the fiercest savage on the river. he was baptized by bishop bompas in march, , taking, like legaic at metlakahtla, the name of paul. he was very penitent for his past life, and was earnestly trying to follow good ways, when illness and death overtook him. just before he died, he gave very clear testimony that he had found pardon and peace in jesus. at the funeral service the people sang sankey's hymn, "there will be no more parting there." his son, a young man of twenty, has since been baptized, also by the name of paul, and has been married to the christian daughter of another leading chief--a girl named rhoda. as already mentioned, mr. tomlinson has now moved forward into the interior to carry the gospel to the kitiksheans and other tribes up the nass and skeena rivers and among the cascade mountains, and has established a station near a place known as the skeena forks, where three branches of that river unite. at kittackdamix also, at the end of the navigation on the nass, a native christian teacher has been stationed, towards whose expenses the kincolith christians contributed l in money and kind. a site has been selected there for another christian village, and several indian families propose settling on the spot. the kincolith station is now under the charge of mr. h. schutt, a schoolmaster sent out in . mr. tomlinson, like mr. duncan, has lately been appointed a magistrate. he writes:--"the proposal was made to me quite unexpectedly by the head of the government, and i did not feel justified in declining the offer. already good begins to result from it. the hearts of the well-disposed are strengthened, while the ill-disposed whites are restrained from molesting the native settlers." x. outlying missions--ii. queen charlotte islands. on the group of islands named after george the third's queen, dwell the finest and the fiercest of the coast tribes. the hydahs are a manly, tall, handsome people, and comparatively fair in their complexion; but they are a cruel and vindictive race, and were long the terror of the north pacific coast. they even ventured to attack english ships, and in they plundered an american vessel, detaining the captain and crew in captivity until they were ransomed by the hudson's bay company. no tribe, moreover, has been more fearfully demoralised by the proximity of the white man's "civilization." drunkenness and the grossest vices have spread disease and death among them. but the hydahs have not failed to recognise the advantages that christianity has conferred upon their neighbours on the mainland. trading expeditions up the coast took them occasionally to metlakahtla, and the peace and prosperity they saw there deeply impressed their minds. a striking instance of the moral influence of the christian settlement occured in . many years before, a young tsimshean woman had been captured by a party of hydahs, and carried as a slave to queen charlotte islands, where, after a while, a son was born to her. five and twenty years passed away, and then she was restored by her owner, for a consideration, to her relatives at fort simpson. the hydahs seem to have thought this a good opportunity to make friends with their old enemies, and they sent a deputation to metlakahtla with her son, now a grown man, to give him up as a voluntary peace-offering. "we had," wrote mr. duncan, "a solemn peace-making at the mission-house. several excellent speeches were made, and a document was drawn up and signed by the relatives of the young man, expressive of their reconciliation with their ancient foes." the principal trading post, massett, is on the northern coast of the northern island, graham island. here mr. and mrs. collison, with their two little children, landed on november st, -- "on our arrival i had intended to have wintered in one of the indian houses, as the winter season was too far advanced for building, but mr. offut, the officer in charge of the h. b. co.'s post on the island, kindly offered us a small house, in which goods had been stored, and as it was within yards of the indian encampment, i gladly accepted the offer. this i immediately put under repair, covering it with barks outside, and putting up a stove inside. the house was very small, measuring eighteen feet by twelve, and, in order to secure a little privacy, i partitioned off eight feet, leaving for all purposes an apartment ten feet by twelve. this has usually been well filled with indians, sitting almost on each other, and as we were both to entertain such numbers at meals, we have often had to remain without food all day. of course this, with many other difficulties, will be overcome by a command of their language, but any attempt to carry out order without a fair knowledge of their tongue might only insult and estrange them." to the privations thus endured were soon added those attendant on sickness first, their eldest child was attacked by fever, and for some weeks his life was despaired of, and then mr. collison himself was struck down and brought nigh unto death both, we need not say, were tenderly nursed by the wife and mother, and both, by the mercy of god, were raised up again. in the same letter mr. collison describes a remarkable peculiarity of the hydah villages-- "in approaching a hydah village from a distance one is reminded of a harbour with a number of ships at anchor, owing to the great number of poles of all sizes erected in front of every house. these are carved very well, with all kinds of figures, many of them unintelligible to visitors or strangers, but fraught with meaning to the people themselves. in fact, they have a legend in connection with almost every figure. it is in the erection of these that so much property is given away. they value them very highly, as was instanced lately on the occasion of the governor-general's visit. he was most anxious to purchase one, but they would not consent to it at any price." patiently and prayerfully for the next two years and a half, with one or two intervals for visits to metlakahtla, did mr. collison labour among the hydahs, on the same lines as mr. duncan had done originally among the tsimsheans; first, diligently trying to pick up their language, and making himself known as their friend; then opening a school; then seeking to win them from some of their most degrading customs. very quickly he gained a remarkable influence over them, and though the medicine-men were, of course, bitterly hostile, greater was he who was with the missionary than those that were with his opponents; and the tokens of the working of the holy ghost were manifested sooner than even an ardent faith might have anticipated. during the winter of - , school was conducted daily, women and children attending in the morning, and men in the evening, and the sunday services were generally attended by three hundred and fifty indians. gambling, heathen dances, and the manufacture of "fire-water" from molasses, began gradually to diminish; and mr. collison's growing influence was well tested on the occasion of the death of a principal chief:-- "i visited him during his illness, and held service in his house weekly for the five weeks preceding his death. on the morning of the day on which be died i visited him, and found him surrounded by the men of his tribe and the principal medicine-man, who kept up his incantations and charms to the last. he was sitting up, and appeared glad to see me, and, in answer to my inquiries, he informed me that he was very low indeed and his heart weak. i directed him to withdraw his mind from everything, and look only to jesus, who alone could help him. he thanked me again and again whilst i instructed him, and when i asked him if he would like me to pray with him he replied that he would very much. i then called upon all to kneel, and, with bowed head, he followed my petitions earnestly. he informed me that, had he been spared, he would have been one of the first in the way of god, but i endeavoured to show him that even then he might be so by faith in the lord jesus christ. afterwards i sent mrs. collison to prepare some food for him, and make him comfortable, and about mid day he sent for me again, but why he sent for me, or what he wanted to say to me, i never learned, as before i reached his house he expired. "his death was announced by the firing of several cannon which they have in the village. on my entering the house, the scene which presented itself was indescribable--shrieking, dancing, tearing and burning their hair in the fire, whilst the father of the deceased, who had just been pulled out of the fire, rushed to it again and threw himself upon it. he was with difficulty removed, and i directed two men to hold him whilst i endeavoured to calm the tumult. "i was very much shocked to find that a young man--a slave--had been accused by the medicine-men as having bewitched the chief and induced his sickness. in consequence of this he had been stripped, and bound hands and feet in an old outhouse, and thus kept for some days without food. i only learned this about one hour before the death of the chief, and it was well i heard it even then, as i learned that they had determined to shoot him, and a man had been told off who had his gun ready for the purpose. i lost no time in calling the chiefs and the friends of the deceased together, and showed them the wickedness and sinfulness of such proceedings, and how, by their thus acting, they had probably kept up a feeling of revenge in the mind of their friend who had just expired. they accepted my advice, and had him unbound, and he came to the mission house to have his wounds dressed. his wrists were swollen to an immense size, and his back, from hip to shoulder, lacerated and burned to the bone by torches of pitch pine. he was deeply grateful to me for having saved him. "the dead chief was laid out, and all those of his crest came from the opposite village, bringing a large quantity of swan's down, which they scattered over and around the corpse. at my suggestion, they departed from the usual custom of dressing and painting the dead, and, instead of placing the corpse in a sitting posture, they consented to place it on the back. the remains were decently interred, and i gave an address and prayed; thus their custom of placing the dead in hollowed poles, carved and erected near the houses, has been broken through, and since this occurred many of the remains which were thus placed have been buried." the first hydah to come out distinctly as a christian was a chief named cowhoe, concerning whom an interesting incident is related. one day he brought a book to mr. collison, saying it had been given him many years before by the captain of an english man-of-war, and asking what it was. it proved to be a testament, with this inscription on the fly-leaf--"_from capt. prevost, h. m. s. 'satellite,' trusting that the bread thus cast upon the waters may be found after many days._" more than twenty years had passed away, and now that prayer was answered, though not by the instrumentality of the gift that bore the record of it. cowhoe became a regular attendant at mr. collison's services and school, and we are told that at a meeting held on the day of intercession for missions, nov. th, , he "prayed very earnestly for the spread of the truth amongst his brethren." when admiral prevost visited the coast in the summer of , cowhoe and his father went to metlakahtla in a canoe on purpose to see the benefactor of their race. of this visit the admiral gives the following account:-- "edensaw, the chief of the hydah nation, arrived with his son, cowhoe, and mr. collison. they had heard of my visit, and were anxious, to see me "face to face." i knew him in , when i first visited the queen charlotte islands in command of h.m.s. _virago_. an american schooner had been plundered and destroyed by the islanders; my object was to punish the offenders, but, after a searching enquiry, i was not able to fix the guilt upon any particular tribe. some portion of the property was restored, and no lives being lost, i was obliged to be satisfied by assembling together all the chiefs, and reminding them of the power i held to punish the guilty. in my own mind, i believe edensaw was the guilty person. from that time up to this hour, he has "been halting between two opinions"--a proud man--he could not give up his power, his wealth and standing over the heathens, to follow the lord god; still he knew the missionary had brought something better than he had ever possessed in all his glory, and it was expedient for him to be friends with the white men. when duncan first arrived at fort simpson, in , he frequently entreated him to come over and teach the hydahs, and when i met him again on board the _satellite_ in , he made a similar request to me. i may here remark that anxious as we were to establish a mission amongst that fine race of indians, it was not until october, , the committee of the c. m. s., were able to comply with their request. during that time hundreds, principally females, had passed into eternity through vice and disease contracted at victoria. "i may add, when i visited massett last october ( ) with bishop ridley, he left cowhoe with sneath to assist him during the winter, the first native teacher from the hydahs. i trust the good seed has taken root in many hearts. "god moves in a mysterious way, his wonders to perform!" it was to show me this book, and to shake me by the hand, that the father and son came this long journey." in the autumn of , some touching evidences of the spirit's work gladdened the missionary's heart. on october th he wrote:-- "not a few are enquiring earnestly for the way of life. at a little social meeting which i had a few days past, the principal chief said: 'i was careless and unconcerned about the message which the white chief brought us, but i can be so no longer. even at night, when i lie awake on my bed, i cry to god to pardon my many sins and save me. i know now it is true--all true, and i want to be safe in the ark, even in jesus the saviour'; and he continued at some length exhorting the others to receive the word. "another chief also spoke with intense earnestness and feeling. he said, 'a short time since i was blind, and knew nothing of these great things. but jesus has opened my eyes, and now i see. jesus is the way, and i am in that way now. i am happy, very happy; but one thing keeps me back, and when that is over, i will seek to be baptized, and live only for god.' "this one thing referred to is a giving away of property on account of a deceased brother whose effects he took charge of, and promised to give away property, and put up a carved pole to his memory. as he has already promised, and given notice to the tribe, he does not wish to draw back. "another--a young man--is already obeying the injunction, 'let him that heareth say, come'; and at the salmon fishing and elsewhere has endeavoured to gather his friends together for prayer and praise." and on march th, , reviewing the winter's work, mr. collison again wrote:-- "in october last, having mastered the difficulties of the language, i was induced to commence a weekly prayer-meeting. at this meeting we opened with a hymn, after which i prayed, and then delivered a short gospel address, at the close of which i invited those of them who understood the solemnity and responsibility of prayer, and to whom god had given hearts to pray, to lead briefly and successively in audible prayer. "this mode of conducting the prayer-meeting was attended with good results, as it united those who were in earnest, and who had received the truth into their hearts, more closely together, and led several of those who were halting between heathenism and the truth to decide for the latter. "thus a band was formed (amongst whom were several of the chiefs and principal men) which confronted the heathen customs on the one hand, and drunkenness and gambling on the other, and, having come out boldly on the side of the truth, their influence was soon perceptible. "i dare not attempt to convey to you in words the intense earnestness and fervour of the petitions which they offered up on behalf of themselves, their families, and the surrounding villages; whilst, at the same time, there was nothing like excitement, but rather a calm solemnity and quiet earnestness prevailed amongst all. "and surely our united petitions were graciously answered, and a great change was soon apparent. "the lord's day was observed by the majority, and the services of the day attended by almost all encamped, as well as by a number from the opposite village, which is about three miles off. "the flag which i received from the missionary leaves association, to hoist on sundays, in order to acquaint them of the weekly return of the day of rest, now no longer hangs alone; but nine of the principal men now follow the example shown by the mission, and have set up their banners also." "dancing has been abandoned and the medicine work is almost overthrown, and, in passing along the village after dark, my ear is now often greeted with the christian hymn or the song of praise where formerly the noise of the heathen dance, or the frantic orgies of the medicine man drowned all other sounds. thus a change has been effected during the past three years, in the contemplation of which i can only exclaim, 'what hath god wrought!'" even the chief medicine man himself abandoned his sorceries, and came forward as an inquirer-- "the charms and rattles of the leading medicine man are now in our possession, he having given them up, and he is now an earnest inquirer after the truth and is always present at the services. he was first brought into contact with the truth shortly before christmas last in the following manner. "a young man was brought home very sick, and i went to see him and found him suffering from a severe attack of 'brain fever', brought on by his swimming for some time in the cold salt water, in order to cure a severe headache which he had. "i did all i could to alleviate his sufferings, and instructed his relatives as to how they should nurse him. this resulted in his resting more easily and in his obtaining some sleep, to which he had been a stranger for several nights. "not satisfied, however, with this, they sent off for the medicine-man, who was encamped up the inlet. he arrived at midnight, and at once commenced his whooping and rattling. this he continued at intervals, until the following day, when i paid him a visit. "the house was full, and the patient evidently much worse. the medicine man, or 'scahaga,' as he is called in their own tongue, had just finished another performance, and sat down exhausted as i entered. "all appeared surprised at my intrusion, but i knelt down beside the sick man, and took his hand to feel his pulse. i shook my head, and then informed them that he was much worse. the medicine-man then answered in his own defence, and commenced by informing me that he had found out the cause of his sickness. a man from the other village had caused it by snatching the cap from the head of the sick man when up the inlet together, which had led to his being smitten or bewitched by a land otter. to this statement several agreed, as they stated the nervous twitches and convulsive movements of the sick man were exactly similar to the movements of the above-mentioned animal. "i then addressed them all on the power of god and his dealings with man, and how that he alone bringeth down and raiseth up. i then called upon all to join with me in prayer for themselves and also on behalf of the sick man. the medicine-man was evidently humbled and discomfited, though ashamed to acknowledge it before so many. shortly afterwards the young man died, and i attended his funeral, and gave an address and prayed, according to portions of the burial service. the medicine-man was present, and most attentive. "from that time he appears to have lost faith in his profession, though he informed me that the 'scahnawah,' or spirit, appeared to him, and advised him to continue his medicine work, which would be a source of great gain to him; but that he had replied, saying god's word had come, and he was determined to give up his practice, and seek the salvation of his own soul. his long hair, which has never been cut, and which folded up serves him for a pillow at night, he speaks of having cut off as soon as he can do so with safety to his health. when i see him sitting at our services, clothed and in his right mind, i am reminded that the gospel is now as ever 'the power of god unto salvation.'" at christmas ( ), when the indians from other villages came in canoes to massett, the usual festive custom of "dancing with painted faces, and naked slaves with their bodies blackened," was dispensed with, and in lieu of it the visitors were received by a choir of a hundred hydahs, children and adults, chanting the anthem, "how beautiful upon the mountains." "the unanimous opinion of all was that the new and christian welcome was far superior to the old heathen one." in the same letter mr. collison mentions his translations, in which he had succeeded beyond his expectations. portions of scripture, a simple catechism, the commandments, the lord's prayer, the general confession and thanksgiving, several collects, ten hymns, and a series of "short addresses on great subjects," had been produced by him in the hydah language. mr. collison had visited several tribes at a distance, both on the islands more to the south, and on the coast of alaska to the north. at skidegate inlet, which divides the two principal of the queen charlotte islands, he had a particularly warm reception. in a letter, dated march st, , he wrote that he had thirty names on the list of catechumens, most of them heads of families. mr. collison has since removed to metlakahtla, to undertake the pastoral and school-work there. his place at massett has been taken by mr. g. sneath, a zealous young missionary artizan, who twice went to east africa to join the victoria nyanza mission, and twice was ordered home by the consular surgeon at zanzibar, and who has now essayed missionary service in a colder climate. xi. outlying missions. iii.--fort rupert. fort rupert is a trading post at the northern end of vancouver's island, some three hundred miles south of metlakahtla. in that neighbourhood are found the quoquolt indians, and among them a mission has lately been begun. this is, however, but a tardy response to their repeated entreaties for a teacher. it has always been a problem beyond their power to solve, why, when mr. duncan first arrived on the coast, he actually sailed past them on his voyage from victoria, and went first to the tsimsheans, who were so much further off; and on one occasion they stoutly remonstrated with the captain of a man-of-war, sent to punish them for marauding on the territory of another tribe, that they were left without a teacher, and were only visited when they had done wrong. in due time teachers did appear, in the shape of a party of roman catholic priests; and mr. duncan, stopping at the fort when on a voyage to victoria in , found that two of them had been there and had taught some of the indians "a hymn to the virgin mary in the trading jargon." "i told them," he adds, "of jesus the true and only saviour, which the priests had neglected to do." these romish missionaries held their ground for eleven years, and then abandoned the quoquolts as hopeless. as will be seen however, their hopes revived when at length a protestant missionary was found to be gaining an influence over the tribe. in october, , the head chief at fort rupert took the three hundred miles journey to visit metlakahtla, and once more preferred his request. he addressed the christians of the settlement, and said that "a rope had been thrown out from metlakahtla, which was encircling and drawing together all the indian tribes into one common brotherhood." mr. duncan planned to go and begin a quoquolt mission himself; but it proved quite impossible for him to leave his multifarious work at the settlement, and ultimately the rev. a. j. hall, who was sent out in , volunteered to go. it was on march th, , that mr. hall landed at fort rupert, and was kindly received by the hudson's bay company's officer in charge. a large indian house was purchased for the price of sixty blankets, and a school at once opened. on june th, mr. hall wrote:-- "i have taught them one english hymn, 'jesus loves me, this i know,' and three simple chants in their own language; also three prayers--one the lord's prayer, four texts which they read from the black board, and a catechism, arranged and taught by mr. duncan at fort simpson. all this instruction has been given in their own tongue, translated to me by mr. hunt's son, who acts also as my interpreter at the sunday services. "i have been able to hold two services every sunday since i first came, and sometimes i have had perhaps eighty attend. many are away from the village now, trading and visiting other tribes, so that my congregation is reduced. i have felt it a great privilege to stand up before this dusky assembly and open up to them the word of life. they are all clothed in blankets, some of them highly ornamented with needle -work and pearl buttons. when they enter the building, the men take off the bandannah handkerchiefs which are tied round their heads, and squat all around me. the men sit on one side, and the women on the other, as a rule. this fact is in consequence of the inferior position of the women, and because they are not allowed to attend the meetings which the men constantly hold to talk over the affairs of the camp. at first my congregations came with painted faces, and were little inclined to stand when we sang. they are now, however, more clean in their appearance, and, with few exceptions, rise when i play the tune on my english concertina. "i have almost exclusively spoken to them from the book of genesis, and have brought in the work of our lord from these lessons, e.g., when speaking on sacrifices, the offering of isaac, and the life of joseph. these narratives in genesis have attracted them very much, and they listened very attentively to my interpreter. all my addresses are written before i enter my church, and read to the interpreter, and therefore, i believe, they are already acquainted with many truths from god's word, which do strike against the immorality in which they are living. sometimes, when i speak in the church, they talk among themselves, either approving what is said, but more often because the truth spoken is a rebuke to some of them." in a later letter, dated march st, , mr. hall further describes his interesting congregation;-- "the indians did not rush to my services at first, and then drop off. no! a few came at first, and they have gradually increased, and on the sunday before they all went to alert bay there were probably eighty at my first service, the majority being men--men who have frequently committed murder, and who have bitten each other from their youth upwards in the winter dances. medicine-men were present who have often eaten the bodies of dead men, exhumed from their graves, and who to this day are dreaded by all the people, because there is not an indian in the camp but that superstitiously believes these doctors can kill them by their sorcery. i cannot tell you yet that these wicked men who come to my services are earnestly seeking a better way. i cannot tell you yet that i can see any change in them. i know that some of them hate me and my message, and speak against it; but they come and hear the truth; and who can say but that god will give them his holy spirit, and that they may be turned from darkness to serve the living and true god? "my congregation will not sit upon the forms i have had made; they prefer to draw their dirty blankets tightly round them, and to squat on the floor. when i am speaking, they generally rest their heads upon their bent knees, and fix their eyes upon the floor. not a muscle seems to move, and they appear to drink in every word that is spoken to them, as if they thirsted for the truth. in teaching these people i treat them as children, but i know they have nothing of the gentleness and simplicity of children; they are cunning, 'deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.'" the roman catholics having left a memorial of their abandoned mission in the shape of a good school-house, which was standing idle, mr. hall wrote to them at victoria for leave to use it. the request was refused, "because," they wrote, "our missionaries may require it again." and a few months afterwards, when mr. hall was beginning to feel his way among the people, a priest appeared at nu-wit-ty, the northern point of vancouver's island, thirty miles from fort rupert, just when mr. hall was visiting the tribe residing there. he (the priest) called a meeting of the indians, concerning which mr. hall writes, on march th, :-- "the indians went to the meeting, and i went as well; probably one hundred were present. he told them to kneel down; they did so, and then he told them to look at him, and cross themselves as be did, and the poor indians followed him. he then told them about the fall, and it was very good what he said; but soon he spoke of a way that went to heaven, and one that went to hell, and he told them that if they followed him he would lead them to heaven, and that if they followed me they all would go to hell, and i should go with them. he said he wanted to baptize them, and then they would be as white as snow. when he spoke against me, many indians interrupted him, and one went up to where he was standing and blew a lamp out. they then called out my name, and wished me to address them. i did so, and told them all to kneel down, and put my hands together, telling them to do the same. we repeated the lord's prayer, which is very beautiful in the indian language; they call it 'good words.' when the priest spoke i took my hat off and listened, but when i spoke the priest kept his hat on, and smoked all the time. "my address had been written some time before; it was about 'lying, stealing, pride, and drunkenness.' perhaps i did wrong, but i did not refer to what the priest had said against me. george hunt, who was present, was indignant at the way the priest spoke, and, directly the priest finished, he made an earnest speech in my favour. in coming away from hu-wit-ty, the head chief begged me to come and live among them, and i promised i would do something for them." the work at fort rupert is much interfered with by the migratory habits of the indians there. from june to november, , for instance, they were almost all away on a visit to nu-wit-ty river; and at our last date, march, , they were gone for a month to alert bay. mr. hall, however, has not been content to be left behind sitting still. he has made canoe voyages to other parts of vancouver's island, and sought to gain access to other tribes; but he describes the vice and degradation as most painful, especially amongst the women. in september, , in company with admiral prevost, who was paying him a visit, he walked across the island to the west coast, where the koshema (or quatseno, or quatsinough) indians are found, a tribe hitherto quite untouched. the admiral addressed a large number who gathered together, and said, "thirty years ago i came among you with my man-of-war, but to-day i come with a message of peace from the king of heaven." "it was," writes mr. hall, "an act worthy of an admiral to struggle, for ten hours, across the most difficult trail i have ever met." it is possible that the mission may be moved from fort rupert to some other place more convenient for reaching a large number of indians. that god has a people among the quoquolts and quatsenos, as well as among the tsimsheans and hydahs, we cannot doubt, and in his own time, and by his own grace, they too shall be gathered out. xii. lord dufferin at metlakahtla four great events have signalised the last four years at metlakahtla. these events were the visits of four important personages. first, lord dufferin, then governor-general of the dominion of canada, in august, . secondly, bishop bompas, of athabasca, in the winter of - . thirdly, admiral prevost, the founder of the mission, in june, . fourthly, the new bishop of caledonia, dr. ridley, in october, . the following very interesting account of lord dufferin's visit is all the more valuable as coming from an independent source:-- (from the _toronto mail_, september , ) "on board steamer 'sir james douglas,' _august th, _ "about half-past six in the evening the 'douglas' and the 'amethyst' dropped anchor in a bay at a place called metlakahtla. this is an indian village started here about fourteen years ago by mr. william duncan, under the auspices of the church missionary society in england. it has now a resident population of about eight hundred souls belonging to what is called the tsimshean nation. mr. duncan, who seems to be possessed of an immense amount of activity, combined with deep interest in the work in which he is engaged, still remains in charge of the station, but has during the past two years had the assistance of an english clergyman and his wife, named collison, [footnote: mr. collison was not ordained at the time] who came out from england for the purpose of working in the mission field among the indians. mr. collison is studying the language of the tsimshean natives, when proficient in it, which he soon will be, judging from the progress he has already made, he will labour among the indians of queen charlotte's islands. "under mr. duncan's instructions the indians of metlakahtla have already made great strides in the direction of civilization and christianity. he has laid the village out regularly, and given to each head of a family a large-sized lot of land. the houses, which have been erected under his direction, are much more comfortable and convenient than indian domiciles generally, though somewhat accommodated in their plans to the peculiar habits and mode of living of the race. the houses which indians build for themselves are without floors. those of metlakahtla are floored with plank, and in the centre of the principal room there is a level stone fireplace, from which the smoke, instead of being left to find its way out of the house through a hole in the roof, as in the dwellings built in the primitive indian fashion, rises into a sort of square inverted hopper which hangs over the fire, and from it passes out of the house by way of a chimney. under mr. duncan's supervision the indians have built a church in the village large enough to accommodate the whole population. it is clapboarded on the outside, and with its steeple, buttresses, and broad flight of steps ascending to the front entrance, presents an imposing appearance. the wood (of the interior at least) is cedar, the odour from which greets one's nostrils on entering the building. "mr. duncan is a member of the church of england, and conducts his services in accordance with the anglican form of worship, but it is understood declines ordination, although qualified for it. he is an autocrat among his people, but his rule, though despotic, is benign, and leaves them as full freedom as the members of any white community enjoy, except that the use of intoxicants is prohibited, as is also their introduction into the place, and the villagers are consequently teetotalers "willy nilly." he is a justice of the peace under commission from the provincial government, with a jurisdiction including within it queen charlotte's islands. he has a number of indian policemen to assist him in preserving order, and a gaol in metlakahtla, in which he incarcerates malefactors. there is at present undergoing a two months' imprisonment in this bastile a white man who was caught distilling in queen charlotte's island. in extenuation of his offence the prisoner asserts that it was from the indians he acquired a knowledge of the art, which resulted in himself being jugged instead of the spirits he was making. in a very neat building, specially erected for the purpose, mr. duncan conducts a school, in which he gives instruction in reading, writing and arithmetic, as well as in the doctrines of christianity, to a large number of the young of the village. both boys and girls attend this school, but when the former arrive at about the age of fourteen they are taken from it and sent to an industrial school, which is also carried on at the place; girls are allowed to remain at the other school beyond that age. to his already multifarious occupations mr. duncan has just added that of running a saw-mill--he was cutting up the first log in it this evening when the 'amethyst' signalled her arrival by firing a gun. mr. duncan is a bachelor, a circumstance which, to many, will make the energy he throws into his work and the success of it all the more remarkable. "the indians of metlakahtla gain their livelihood by fishing and hunting. away up here, above the fifty-fourth parallel of latitude, the climate is such as would not admit of agriculture being extensively engaged in. wheat cannot be brought to maturity. potatoes and other root crops seem to grow pretty well. "formerly the indians of the tsimshean nation offered human sacrifices, and it is said that they also indulged cannibalistic proclivities. it would seem, however, that they confined their eating of human flesh to their 'medicine' festivals, and even then no one, as far as i can ascertain, ever saw them do more than, while engaged in the demoniacal rites which were customary on these occasions, merely bite it. the victims at these celebrations were members of other tribes whom they had enslaved. not only are the teaching and influence of mr. duncan having the effect of making the indians fall away from such inhuman and heathenish practices, but they are also removing much of the deadly hostility which formerly existed among different tribes. more indians are gradually coming in from the country round about and making metlakahtla their home. "in the administration of the affairs of the village the indian institution of the council is retained, and mr. duncan consults with them in regard to all matters appertaining to the general weal. some of the indians when baptized are given english names, while others prefer to keep their indian appellation, and are permitted to do so." "_august th._ "the governor-general and party proceeded on shore at metlakahtla this morning at half past nine o'clock. the day was a beautiful sunshiny clear one, the first without fog and rain that we have had since leaving nanaimo. although mr. duncan had learned that his excellency was in british columbia, his visit to metlakahtla was quite unexpected. a large proportion of the inhabitants of the village were consequently away working at fisheries some miles off, who, had they known of the governor general's visit, would have been present to join in receiving him. it was understood that their absence from the village on so auspicious an occasion would be a bitter regret to them. however, there was about a couple of hundred of the villagers at home, including several members of the council--the rest were chiefly young lads, young women, and children, with a few old people. they assisted their energetic white chief in getting up a demonstration which, under the circumstances, was quite creditable to them. several union jacks were hoisted throughout the village, and a red cloth, with 'god save the queen' worked on it, was stretched across between two houses near the landing. as the vice regal party went ashore a small cannon was fired off several times from the gaol, a small hexagonal structure with a balcony round the top. the next thing was the singing of the national anthem to an accompaniment supplied by some of the members of a brass band which exists among the young men of the community. the latter were gorgeous in cast-off uniforms of united states soldiers, purchased at a sale of condemned military clothing recently held in alaska. half-a-dozen indian maidens then came forward and presented lady dufferin with a bouquet, after which the distinguished visitors were taken to see the church, the school house, and one of the indian residences. subsequently all the people were assembled in the open air, and the younger portion of them sang, under the direction of mr. duncan and mr. collison, a number of songs and hymns, both in their native tongue and in english. they pronounced the words of the pieces that were in the latter language with a remarkably good accent, although every effort to induce any of them to converse in it was futile. lord dufferin endeavoured to get some of them to talk with him about their studies, but was not successful in extracting from any of them, including a young indian woman whom mr. duncan has placed in the position of an assistant teacher in the school, any more definitely english expression than a simper. mr. duncan stated that many of his pupils understood english very well, but were somehow averse to speaking it. the voices of the singers sounded very well, when allowance is made for their bashfulness. some of their pieces were of a fugue character and the time which was kept in singing them was remarkably good, considering that there was no accompaniment to them. "after some time had been spent in singing, a young man advanced and read the following address in excellent style:-- _"to his excellency the earl of dufferin, governor-general of the dominion of canada_. "may it please your excellency,--we, the inhabitants of metlakahtla, of the tsimshean nation of indians desire to express our joy in welcoming your excellency and lady dufferin to our village. under the teaching of the gospel we have learned the divine command, 'fear god, honour the king, and thus as loyal subjects of her majesty queen victoria we rejoice in seeing you visit our shores. "we have learned to respect and obey the laws of the queen, and we will continue to uphold and defend the same in our community and nation. "we are still a weak and poor people, only lately emancipated from the thraldom of heathenism and savage customs, but we are struggling to rise and advance to a christian life and civilization. "trusting that we may enjoy a share of your excellency's kind and fostering care, and under your administration continue to advance in peace and prosperity. "we have the honour to subscribe ourselves your excellency's humble and obedient servants. "for the indians of metlakahtla, "david leask, "secretary to the native council." "the members of the council all came forward in turn and signed the document by making their marks." the governor-general replied as follows-- "i have come a long distance in order to assure you, in the name of your great mother, the queen of england, with what pleasure she has learnt of your well being, and of the progress you have made in the arts of peace and the knowledge of the christian religion, under the auspices of your kind friend, mr. duncan. you must understand that i have not come for my own pleasure, but that the journey has been long and laborious and that i am here from a sense of duty, in order to make you feel by my actual presence with what solicitude the queen and her majesty's government in canada watch over your welfare, and how anxious they are that you should persevere in that virtuous and industrious mode of life in which i find you engaged. i have viewed with astonishment the church which you have built entirely by your own industry and intelligence. that church is in itself a monument of the way in which you have profited by the teachings you have received. it does you the greatest credit, and we have every right to hope, that, while in its outward aspect it bears testimony to your conformity to the laws of the gospel, beneath its sacred roof your sincere and faithful prayers will be rewarded by those blessings which are promised to all those who approach the throne of god in humility and faith. i hope you will understand that your white mother and the government of canada are fully prepared to protect you in the exercise of your religion, and to extend to you those laws which know no difference of race, or of colour, but under which justice is impartially administered between the humblest and the greatest of the land. the government of canada is proud to think that there are upwards of , indians in the territory of british columbia alone. she recognizes them as the ancient inhabitants of the country. the white men have not come amongst you as conquerors, but as friends. we regard you as our fellow -subjects, and as equal to us in the eye of the law as you are in the eye of god, and equally entitled with the rest of the community to the benefits of good government, and the opportunity of earning an honest livelihood. i have had very great pleasure in inspecting your school, and i am quite certain that there are many among the younger portion of those i am now addressing who have already begun to feel how much they are indebted to that institution for the expansion of their mental faculties, for the knowledge of what is passing in the outer world, as well as for the insight it affords them into the laws of nature and into the arts of civilized life, and we have the further satisfaction of remembering that as year after year flows by, and your population increases, all those beneficial influences will acquire additional strength and momentum. i hope you are duly grateful to him to whom, under providence, you are indebted for all these benefits, and that when you contrast your own condition, the peace in which you live, the comforts that surround you, the decency of your habitation, when you see your wives, your sisters, and your daughters contributing so materially by the brightness of their appearance, the softness, of their manners, their housewifely qualities, to the pleasantness and cheerfulness of your domestic lives, contrasting as all these do so strikingly with your former surroundings, you will remember that it is to mr. duncan you owe this blessed initiation into your new life. by a faithful adherence to his principles and example you will become useful citizens and faithful subjects, an honour to those under whose auspices you will thus have shown to what the indian race can attain, at the same time that you will leave to your children an ever-widening prospect of increasing happiness and progressive improvement. before i conclude i cannot help expressing to mr. duncan, and those associated with him in his good work, not only in my own name, not only in the name of the government of canada, but also in the name of her majesty the queen, and in the name of the people of england, who take so deep an interest in the well-being of all the native races throughout the queen's dominions, our deep gratitude to him for thus having devoted the flower of his life, in spite of innumerable difficulties, dangers, and discouragements, of which we, who only see the result of his labours, can form only a very inadequate idea, to a work which has resulted in the beautiful scene we have witnessed this morning. i only wish to add that i am very much obliged to you for the satisfactory and loyal address with which you have greeted me. the very fact of your being in a position to express yourselves with so much propriety is in itself extremely creditable to you, and although it has been my good fortune to receive many addresses during my stay in canada from various communities of your fellow subjects, not one of them will be surrounded by so many hopeful and pleasant reminiscences, as those which i shall carry away with me from this spot." before he left british columbia lord dufferin delivered an address at government house, victoria, in which, referring to this visit, he said:-- "i have traversed the entire coast of british columbia, from its southern extremity to alaska. i have penetrated to the head of bute inlet, i have examined the seymour narrows, and the other channels which intervene between the head of bute inlet and vancouver island. i have looked into the mouth of dean's canal, and passed across the entrance to gardener's channel. i have visited mr. duncan's wonderful settlement at metlakahtla, and the interesting methodist mission at fort simpson, and have thus been enabled to realise what scenes of primitive peace and innocence, of idyllic beauty and material comfort, can be presented by the stalwart men and comely maidens of an indian community, under the wise administration of a judicious and devoted christian missionary. i have seen the indians in all phases of their existence, from the half-naked savage, perched, like a bird of prey, in a red blanket upon a rock, trying to catch his miserable dinner of fish, to the neat maiden in mr. duncan's school at metlakhatla, as modest and as well dressed as any clergyman's daughter in an english parish. "what you want are not resources, but human beings to develope them and consume them. raise your , indians to the level mr. duncan has taught us they can be brought, and consider what an enormous amount of vital power you will have added to your present strength." xiii. admiral prevost at metlakahtla. of the four visits mentioned at the beginning of the last chapter, with which the last four years must ever be associated at metlakahtla, a very peculiar interest attaches to the third in order of time. to the christian indians it was naturally the most joyous and memorable event in the history of the settlement. it was not a small thing to receive a governor-general, a missionary bishop, or the chief pastor of their own newly-formed diocese. but since the foundation of the settlement, there has been no day like the th of june, , when metlakahtla had the joy of welcoming, for the first time, the beloved and revered originator of the mission, admiral prevost. he had never been in that part of the world since the migration from fort simpson in , and had never seen the wonderful issue of his own plan. that he should see it now was a privilege rarely enjoyed. to few men is it given in the providence of god to initiate such an agency of blessing, and to still fewer is it granted to behold such far reaching results. of this happy visit, the admiral himself has kindly supplied for these pages the following deeply interesting account:-- _admiral prevost's narrative._ three a.m., tuesday, th june, . arrived at fort simpson in the u. s. mail steamer _california_, from sitka. was met by william duncan, with sixteen indians, nearly all elders. our greeting was most hearty, and the meeting with duncan was a cause of real thankfulness to god, in sight, too, of the very spot (nay, on it) where god had put into my heart the first desire of sending the gospel to the poor heathens around me. twenty-five years previously h.m.s. "virago" had been repaired on that very beach. what a change had been effected during those passing years! of the crew before me nine of the sixteen were, to my knowledge, formerly medicine men, or cannibals. in humble faith, we could only exclaim, "what hath god wrought!" it is all his doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes. it did not take long to transfer ourselves and our baggage to the canoe, and at . a.m. we started against wind and tide, rain, too, at intervals; but having much to talk about of past events and future plans, the twenty miles of distance soon disappeared, and about noon we crossed the bar and entered the "inlet of kahtla." on the north side of the inlet stands, on an eminence, "the church of god;" on either side of it, spreads out the village of metlakahtla, skirting two bays whose beaches are at once a landing-place for its inhabitants and shelter for the canoes. as we approached the landing-place two guns were fired and flags displayed from house to house--conspicuous by a string of them reaching the mission house verandah, inscribed, "a real welcome to metlakahtla." near to this were assembled all the village--men, women, and children--gaily dressed. the choice of this harbour of refuge is one of god's many providential dealings with this mission. it is defended from the storms and heavy rolling swell of the pacific ocean by large and lofty islands, forming a breakwater across its entrance, extending as far out to sea as twenty miles, inside of which smaller islands, numbering nearly a hundred, form channels leading up to the foot of the snow-capped mountains, or miles distant, on many of which are the village gardens where potatoes and other vegetables are grown. the rise and fall of the tide is very great, often ft. it was low water when we arrived, and difficult to land, but this had been anticipated. we found a small canoe covered over with pretty mats (indian manufacture from the cedar bark). into this we were transferred, and when comfortably seated, we were lifted quietly on the shoulders of the young men, and carried up to a platform close to the entrance of the mission house. we were surrounded by kind hearts who had been long expecting us, and the flowers and garlands had withered; but joy was depicted in their countenances. the body of constables, dressed in a uniform given by the government, presented arms; the small band played; and then all the voices, about in number (the larger portion of the population being at the fisheries), joined in that beautiful hymn-- "what a friend we have in jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear, what a privilege to carry everything to god in prayer." then came the shaking of hands, and let me remind you a metlakahtla indian can give a hearty shake of the hand! rain obliged us to seek shelter indoors. we all met again in the church in the evening, changing the weekly service to tuesday. it was my privilege to address more than two hundred from romans viii. --"if god be for us, who can be against us?" it was an evening never to be forgotten. after years' absence, god had brought me back again, amidst all the sundry and manifold changes of the world, face to face with those tribes amongst whom i had witnessed only bloodshed, cannibalism, and heathen devilry in its grossest form. now they were sitting at the feet of jesus, clothed, and in their right mind. the very churchwarden, dear old peter simpson, who opened the church-door for me, was the chief of one of the cannibal tribes. words cannot describe the happy month i spent in this happy christian circle. i can only copy from my rough notes, written on the spot, some of the events which occurred to me. in the mission house, i found the rev. w. h. collison, and his wife and two children (whom i had known previous to their leaving england), and mr. and mrs. schutt and children. there was plenty of room for all, and in addition to our party there were five girls, boarders in the house, living in a dormitory upstairs with a cheerful look-out. these are industrial pupils training for their future position as wives and mothers. each girl has her own recess. as many as fourteen boarders have been in the house at one time, and god has greatly blessed the instruction they have received, the christian young men preferring a wife who has passed through the mission training to all others. it rained so incessantly the first three days, that nothing could be done outside. the meetings for morning and evening prayers, in which the boarders joined, were very precious. sankey's hymns, a portion of god's word, explained by duncan in tsimshean, and united prayer, began and closed the day. on st june, i met by appointment in duncan's room eight of the twelve elders of the village (four absent at the fisheries) to consult about the programme during my stay. it was no formal assembly, but a council of wise heads met together, all taking a deep interest in the affairs of the village, and all speaking out boldly. _june nd._--still rain, but all the men and some of the women assembled in the school-room, to hear an address from me and to give me their welcome in reply. we met at p.m., and did not separate until o'clock. let me give one or two of the speeches addressed to me:-- george usher (indian name, comtsool) said--"i also want to speak, though i occupy not the seat of a chief, but only that of a common man who sits at the door. your seat is the seat of honour at the upper end of the house. yet i will address you. "it is wonderful to us to see what changes have come amongst us since your last visit, and it is wonderful to us to see how much good some people are capable of doing for others. we think of your good work and are amazed. if it shall so be that you leave this world before us to see god, remember we are trying to follow you, to be with you before long. we shall see you again in heaven." james leequneesh (chief) said--"shimoigit, what we once were is known to you, for you saw our state. i was a young man when you first saw us. we profited by your visit, but you suffered by us. which of us is not now ashamed when we see your face again, and remember the injuries we did to you? but we were then in darkness. we were like the wild animals. we were living in mud and darkness. you got a hoe. you got seed. you designed a garden, though on a very unfavourable site. it was god who touched your heart. then the workmen came. your work was among thorns, and you suffered, but so did jesus the son of god work among thorns and suffer. so you then got a spade and turned over the ground and put in the seed. god was with you, and now you have come back to see what god has done. you are pleased to see that the plants have come up a little. yes, the good seed has grown, and this, sir, is the result of your work. god put all this into your heart, and our own hearts are deeply affected and aroused within us by your coming again to see us." adam gordon (kshimkeaiks) said--"sir, though i have not prepared a speech, i cannot help saying my heart is thankful to tell you how happy we all are. it is while we are still in the fight you have come to see us. like as children rejoice to see a father, so we rejoice to see you. we are fighting every day with sin, but we shall cease fighting; by-and -by, and be happy when we get to the other shore. then when we reach over there we shall be truly happy." peter simpson (thrakshakaun).--"i remember when you put your ship on shore at fort simpson. i remember how nearly we were fighting, and the guns were prepared. you had a rope put out to keep us off, and we heard it said that you would fire at us from your ship when you got afloat. we knew not what you had rather planned to do. you planned to bring us the gospel, and that has opened our eyes to heavenly things, and oh! how beautiful, very beautiful indeed! metlakahtla is like a ship just launched. you are here to give us advice where to put the mast in, and how to steer. i address you thus, though you are great and i am poor. but jesus despises not the poor. the tsimsheans were very low, yet jesus raised us, and we are now anxious for all our brethren, the tribes around us, to be made alive. we see them now willing to hear, and we are trying to help them. we know god put it into your heart to come here, and brought you here; god bless you for coming." _sunday, rd_.--to me, all days at metlakahtla are solemnly sacred, but sunday, of all others, especially so. canoes are all drawn up on the beach above high water mark. not a sound is heard. the children are assembled before morning service to receive special instruction from mr. duncan. the church bell rings, and the whole population pour out from their houses--men, women, and children--to worship god in his own house, built by their own hands. as it has been remarked, "no need to lock doors, for no one is there to enter the empty houses." two policemen are on duty in uniform, to keep order during service time. the service begins with a chant in tsimshean, "i wilt arise and go to my father," etc., mr. schutt leading with the harmonium; the litany prayers in tsimshean follow, closing with the lord's prayer. the address lasts nearly an hour. such is the deep attention of many present, that having once known their former lives, i know that the love of god shed abroad in their hearts by the holy ghost can alone have produced so marvellous a change. first, there was a very old woman, staff in hand, stepping with such solemn earnestness; after her came one who had been a very notorious gambler; though now almost crippled with disease, yet he seemed to be forgetting infirmity, and literally to be leaping along. next followed a dissipated youth, now reclaimed; and after him a chief, who had dared a few years ago proudly to lift up his hand to stop the work of god, now with humble mien, wending his way to worship. then came a once still more haughty man of rank; and after him a mother carrying her infant child, and a father leading his infant son; a grandmother, with more than a mother's care, watching the steps of her little grandson. then followed a widow; then a young woman, who had been snatched from the jaws of infamy; after them came a once roving spirit, now meek and settled; then, a once notorious chief; and the last i reflected upon was a man walking with solemn gait, yet hope fixed in his look. when a heathen he was a murderer: he had murdered his own wife and burnt her to ashes. what are all these now, i thought, and the crowds that accompany them! whither are they going? and what to do? blessed sight for angels! oh, the preciousness of a saviour's blood! if there is joy in heaven ever one sinner that repenteth, with what delight must angels gaze on such a sight as this! i felt such a glow of gratitude to god come over me, my heart was stirred within me, for who could have joined such a congregation as this in worship and have been cold, and who could have preached the gospel to such a people and not have felt he was standing where god was working? after morning service, a class of female adults remain in the church, and receive further instruction from the native teachers. at the same time the male adults meet mr. duncan in his own room. at three, the church bell again assembles all the village to worship; and again at seven, when they generally meet in the schoolroom, the address being given by one of the native teachers. _june th._--evening service in schoolroom, about in attendance, most of the village absent at the fisheries. some strange indians arrived today from a distance. a large building has been erected on the shore, close to the general landing-place, for the accommodation of such visitors; here they deposit their property (brought for trade), and take up their abode, finding firewood ready for use. as soon as they are comfortably housed and mashed (the latter a positive injunction), they come to duncan's room, where he receives them, generally having something new and amusing to show them. to-day i was present at their interview, when duncan showed them a mechanical picture, in which a "ship at sea," a "wind-mill," and a "water-mill," worked by machinery, are moved at the same time. a galvanic battery is also a source of wonder and astonishment. after some time he explains to his audience the cause and effects, exposing, too, the tricks formerly played upon their ignorant minds by their own medicine men. the visit is returned, and in that market-house the good seed of the word of god has been frequently sown by this faithful man of god to casual visitors, and through them to the surrounding tribes. a deputation also arrived from the fort simpson indians to consult with the metlakahtla indians how to meet the pending difficulties with the white men as regards the indian rights as to the salmon-fisheries. the bugle sounded to call together the council. both parties assembled together in the school-house, and consulted together for several hours; and when they had finished, they sent for duncan to tell him the result. i mention this circumstance as one of the blessed results of their new life in christ jesus. in their heathen days this difficulty with white men would have been met with murder and destruction. in , i was present at an assemblage of chiefs, when gold was first discovered in british columbia, and when more than twenty thousand white men rushed into that country, bringing with them vice and disease. the question was asked by the head chief, "how shall we treat these strangers? shall we cut their throats?"--going through the motion of doing so in an unmistakable manner. in god's providence, the man in authority had great influence over the indian mind and action. a proper answer was returned, and the lives of hundreds, nay, thousands were saved. th.--visited the village saw-mill, conveniently situated at the head of a sheltered inlet about a mile and a quarter from the village. it is managed entirely by natives, the head indian receiving dols., or l s., the second, dols., or l s., the third, dols., or l per week. lumber of all sizes is supplied to the village for building purposes at moderate prices. thus the indians are kept independent of the white man's help. duncan told me a curious story of an old indian who came to him, when the mill was being erected, and asked him, "are you going to make water saw wood?" he got his answer, and exclaimed, "when i see it i die, to go and tell it to my chief." i visited the widow of samuel marsden (shooquanahts), the first fruits of this mission. he was baptized, st july, , and died may th, , a native elder, a ripe christian, a faithful follower of the lord jesus; and the clear testimony he bore on his death-bed to the blessedness of the christian hope and the presence of the saviour was very cheering. duncan adds, "his parting words to myself and the elders were very affecting; his end indeed was peace, and such a funeral the indians never saw." catherine, his widow, is left with two children, and lives in the same house with catherine ryan, whose husband died about the same time as samuel, leaving her with four children. i did indeed wish for some of the friends of the mission to have witnessed the touching simple faith of these two brands plucked out of the fire, as i read to them a few words from john xi., "jesus wept." after which we joined in prayer. shortly after my return to the mission house, samuel marsden's father called to see me. he was present at my first visit to fort simpson in . poor fellow! he looked quite cast down; he said his heart was sad, he wanted to speak to me. "i have felt," he said, "that i must see you. it has been on my heart to see you. i saw your ship long ago when you first came to fort simpson. i saw you then also. i was a young man then. i had a son, an only son, he was then very young. you did not forget us. when mr. duncan came, i sent my son to learn. i was anxious to walk in god's way myself; but i was very wicked. but i was anxious that my son should learn; he learned quickly and had but one heart. when mr. duncan came to metlakahtla, samuel was one of the first to accompany him, and afterwards, when mr. duncan had to punish any of the indians of the villages around who were guilty of crime, samuel was always ready to go and assist in bringing them to justice. i was not afraid, because i knew he was doing right, and god would defend him and save him. well, he continued to grow stronger in god's way, and was anxious to work for him, wherever he went telling the people about the son of god, the saviour; but he became sick and was very weak for some time. however, he almost recovered, and when the news came last autumn that you were coming, no one was so glad as samuel. he was rejoiced to think that he would see you again; but it was not to be so now. god was pleased to call him to himself before you came. he is in heaven now. chief! this is why i was not present at the meeting to welcome you. my strength was gone, my only son, i thought he would strengthen my heart now that i am an old man; but god knows it is best. i felt that i could not speak with the rest, as my heart was so weak. but there was a burden on my heart. i felt so much that if samuel were alive, he would have much to tell you, and i felt that i could not rest until i told you all this, as samuel would have me do were he alive. i thank you much for your sympathy and encouragement to us. my heart is very full. i am very grateful to you, chief. when you pray, will you ask god to make my heart strong? i want to be faithful too, i want to meet my son and all of you above. i ask your prayers to help me. my heart is strong and glad now, because i have seen you and told you my heart." one afternoon the girls in the mission house, five in number, were given a half-holiday, to pick berries on the opposite islands. we availed ourselves of the fine weather and this picnic to see the village gardens. we started in a large canoe (every indian from his earliest childhood can handle a paddle), towards the head of the estuary, which leads through a labyrinth of islands, to the pine-clad shores of the snowy mountains, nearly twenty miles distance. we landed at some of the islands, most of which have some cultivated land. every man and woman had a certain portion of ground measured out by duncan, when the village was first settled, and set apart by him for their sole use. as the children advance in years, an addition is made. at present only potatoes are planted, and these are not properly attended to, for just at the time when labour is required for weeding, hoeing, etc., all hands are absent at the fishing stations. duncan hopes, in course of time, to make better arrangements. how we all enjoyed ourselves in that holiday trip!--all of us like children escaped from school. berries were plentiful, and we returned by moonlight, paddling and singing hymns alternately, till the sparkling wood fire in the mission-room welcomed us to our home. one evening i was invited by matthews (one of the elders, and a good carpenter), to hear him perform on a parlour organ, which he had bought at victoria for dollars (l ). it was a wondrous sight--the indian and his wife at his side playing and singing many of the well-known sankey's hymns! had i accepted an invitation to visit an indian hut in years gone by, i should have seen all kinds of devilry, witchcraft, and cannibalism, often followed by murder. how strikingly were the words of holy scripture brought before me, "is anything too hard for the lord?" much of the missionaries' time is taken up in visiting and recovering the sick. collison and i went together one morning to visit a young woman, a kitsalass (the people of the rapids on skeena river), dying of consumption; her husband, an affectionate nurse for four months, and most patient, seldom leaving her. i read ps. xxv. , "look upon my affliction and my pain, and forgive me all my sins;" then a short prayer, all around her kneeling. from my note-book i copy the conversation which followed, noted down at the time. "do you remember what i said to you from god's word?" she felt she was going to leave the world; she was always thinking of jesus and crying unto him. "have you any fear of death?" "no! because i love jesus." we replied, "he first loved us!" the husband then spoke. he had been praying three times a day. they did not know anything of their sinfulness before this affliction. "i was greatly troubled at the thought of my wife leaving me, but my heart is satisfied now, my heart is strong now, because the saviour has had mercy on us. he has shown us the way, and though it is very hard, yet i know it will be for her gain." previous to this interview, her great desire had been to return to her own people, but now she asked to be buried with the christians at metlakahtla. she hesitated before this to ask to be baptized; she had it on her heart to ask, but now she felt her time was short, and she wished to be numbered amongst the people of god. baptism was then administered to her, in the simple words of our lord, "go ye, therefore, and make christians of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy ghost." as a proof of her humility, she asked to be baptized in her heathen name ("lukaloosh"), not being worthy of a white woman's name, which is always given. after two days i visited her again, and found her much weaker, breathing with difficulty. during a sleepless night she exclaimed, "i know where i am going, it is no longer darkness; jesus is with me." these last words were frequently repeated. in the morning her husband came to say, "she was fast departing, her heart beating faintly." he was comforted by repeating his wife's last words, "jesus is with me." fine weather having now set in, i invited all the village to a feast. two guns were fixed to recall the absentees, who were at their daily work. tables were soon spread on the green in front of the church, each guest bringing cups and spoons. coffee and biscuit was provided in abundance. before they were seated, all assembled on the steps of the church, and were photographed by duncan, [footnote: a picture drawn from this photograph appeared in the church gleaner of july, .] to the amusement of all present. a blessing was then asked, and the feast commenced. games followed, singing, and cheering, the latter very hearty. at nine o'clock all separated to go to their homes. _ st july_.--in the early morning paddled over to the island set apart as the burial ground of metlakahtla. all the graves are surrounded with a neat wooden fence, and several marble headstones are erected. i copied the three nearest to the landing-place:-- in memory of mark sheldon, _who was drowned in the skeena. river, aug. th, ,_ aged years. "be ye therefore ready also."--luke xii. . * * * * * in memory of louisa stavely, _who died may nd, ,_ aged years. * * * * * in memory op paul legaic, (head chief of the tsimshean indians), _who died may th, ,_ aged years. "is not this a brand plucked out of the fire?" * * * * * on nd july i left metlakahtla in a large canoe, paddled by five kincolith indians, to visit the c. m. s. mission at kincolith, "place of the scalps," naas river, established by the rev. r. doolan, in july, . since then the mission has been removed lower down the river, at the entrance of the portland canal, beautifully situated, hedged in by high mountain peaks, , and , feet in height. inland there is good farming land, and many native villages, with souls thirsting for the gospel news. the following day we sighted the church; soon the houses were visible. flags were run up, and as we approached the landing-place, a gun was fired, and we could see the inhabitants hastening to welcome us, dressed in their best, some in very bright colours. being high water we landed easily. many were the kind words of welcome floating in the bright sunshine. "welcome to kincolith," in large letters of the fern leaves; "come to naas river"; "tis day (_sic_), we are all very happy to see you, sir"--their own composition and spelling. as we landed guns were fired. we were welcomed at the mission house by mrs. tomlinson and her five children. soon after, we all met again in the schoolroom, where i gave a short address. _july th_.--visited the sawmill, which is romantically situated near the river, from whence there is a fine view of the valley. its high cliffs, and their snow-capped tops, betoken a severe winter residence, though on our return we crossed a meadow where cows and calves were grazing. in the meanwhile my invitation to a feast had been accepted, all were busily employed, and soon all were seated enjoying the coffee and biscuits as at metlakahtla. during the feast, a canoe was seen passing down the river, and the universal wish was expressed by all the leading men that the strangers should be invited to join them. oh, how the blessedness of the gospel is daily brought before one among these christian indians--"peace, good-will towards all men"! in former years a watchman would have told of the approach of an enemy, and all would have taken to arms to defend their lives. "oh that men would therefore praise the lord for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men!" _july th_.--this was our last day at kincolith. at p.m., we embarked in our canoe to return to metlakahtla, taking leave of the mission greatly encouraged, and thankful for the bright prospects before them, acknowledging with deep gratitude the lord's hand in the work, and earnestly praying that the young converts may be preserved from the many trials and temptations which are brought nearer and nearer to them year by year. _july th_.--before my departure from metlakahtla, i assembled the few who were left at the village, to tell them i was anxious to leave behind some token both of my visit to them after so long an absence, and also that i still bore them on my heart. what should it be? after hours of consultation, they decided they would leave the choice to me, and when i told them (what i had beforehand determined upon) that my present would be a set of street lamps to light up their village by night, their joy was unbounded. their first thought had a spiritual meaning. by day, god's house was a memorable object, visible both by vessels passing and repassing, and by all canoes as strange indians travelled about; but by night all was darkness--now no longer so--as the bright light of the glorious gospel, had through god's mercy and love shined in their dark hearts, so would all be reminded, by night as well as by day, of the marvellous light shining in the hearts of many at metlakahtla. when duncan first settled at metlakahtla, even the indians who came with him were in such fear from the neighbouring tribes, that they begged him not to have a fire burning at night or show a light in his house. the system of murder was then so general, that whenever an enemy saw a light he sneaked up to it, and the death of the unsuspecting indian was generally the result. thus my selection was a happy one, and i thanked god for it. i fear the story of my visit to this interesting mission will try the patience of many of the readers. i would, therefore, affectionately ask them to consider it from my point of view, viz., god's providential dealings with me from my first acquaintance with the indians in to the present time. i claim no honour to myself nor to the c. m. s., but for christ--"not unto us, o lord, not unto us, but unto thy name give glory." words cannot express my gratitude to god for permitting me to see what i have see of the power of the gospel of the grace of god. he who healed the deaf and dumb when upon earth still lives. when brought to christ, the same power still heals the spiritually deaf and dumb; witness the great chief legaic--he made him to delight in listening to the same gospel which once he so opposed, ridiculed, and despised, to love the man whose life he so often attempted, and to join with him in prayer and praise; and finally, at the time of his departure, to hear a glorious testimony, that the sting of death had been removed, and he was safe in the arms of jesus. xiv. the diocese of caledonia. as we have already mentioned, when mr. duncan went out in there was but one clergyman of the church of england on the whole western coast of british america, viz., the rev. e. cridge, chaplain at victoria. the colony of british columbia, however, grew apace; and in it was formed into a diocese, dr. hills being appointed the first bishop. the visits of bishop hills and of more than one of his colonial clergy to metlakahtla have been noticed in the foregoing pages. by them a large number of the christian indians were baptized. the c. m. s. committee have always desired to provide an ordained missionary for the settlement; but for some years their effort seemed fruitless. it has been before mentioned that the rev. l. tugwell, who went out in , and was privileged to baptize the first group of converts, was compelled by failure of health to return home in the following year. in , the rev. r. r. a. doolan, b.a., of caius college, cambridge, offered himself for the work. he laboured zealously for three years, and began the mission on nass river, as already related; and then in he, too, had to return to england. both he and mr. tugwell found important spheres of missionary labour in connection with the spanish church mission. in , the rev. f. gribbell was sent out; but the climate of metlakahtla seriously affected his wife's health, and he accepted colonial work offered him at victoria by the bishop of columbia. in the rev. r. tomlinson, b.a., was appointed to the mission, and he has providentially been permitted to continue in its service ever since. he, however, took over the work on nass river, begun by mr. doolan, so that metlakahtla still remained without an ordained missionary. but the grace of god is not tied to a regular ministry, and the settlement grew and prospered, spiritually as well as materially, under the loving care of its lay founder. in , mr. w. h. collison joined the mission as a schoolmaster, and in mr. h. schutt went out in the same capacity, to leave mr. collison free to begin new work in queen charlotte's islands. in the rev. a. j. hall, a young clergyman in full orders, was appointed to metlakahtla; but he, too, under the advice of his brethren, removed soon after his arrival to fort rupert, to break up fresh ground. at length mr. collison, having been ordained deacon and priest by bishop bompas, of athabasca, during the latter's visit to the coast in the winter of - , and having been released from the work at queen charlotte's islands by the arrival of mr. g. sneath in , again took up his abode at metlakahtla as pastor of the settlement. in the meanwhile, certain unhappy disputes in victoria, arising from the extreme doctrinal views which found an entrance into the church in the colony, as they have into the church at home, had resulted in a secession to the american "reformed church" under the leadership of the rev. e. cridge. mr. cridge was greatly beloved by the christians of metlakahtla, having given much godly counsel and help to the mission; and they not unnaturally felt much sympathy for him in the painful step he had felt it his duty to take. in this state of things, the bishop of columbia, anxious not to rouse feelings which it might be hard to allay, with much wisdom and generosity refrained from visiting metlakahtla, and wrote to bishop bompas, of athabasca, who is a devoted missionary of the c. m. s., asking him to come over and visit the coast, and to perform episcopal functions in the c. m. s. mission. accordingly, in november, , bishop bompas, reached metlakahtla after a long and difficult journey across the rocky and cascade mountains, and the wilderness of lakes and rivers stretching between those chains. he remained three months on the coast, visited the outlying stations, confirmed of the christian indians, ordained mr. collison deacon and priest, and assisted mr. duncan and the other missionaries in maturing plans for the extension of the mission. [footnote: bishop bompas' account of the christmas he spent in metlakahtla is given at page . a narrative of his journey across the rocky mountains appeared in the _c. m. intelligencer_ of august, .] in , bishop hills, being on a visit to england, arranged with the church missionary society a plan for providing its missions with episcopal oversight. he had come, charged by his diocesan synod to take steps for dividing his vast diocese into three--columbia, new westminster, and caledonia--which would form an ecclesiastical province on the west side of the rocky mountains, just as, on the east side, the four dioceses of rupert's land, moosonee, athabasca, and saskatchewan, form the province of rupert's land. the northernmost of these three divisions, caledonia, would comprise the field of the c. m. s. missions; and the society therefore undertook to guarantee the income of the bishop for this division, provided that the committee were satisfied with the appointment made. the scheme was happily consummated by the choice of the rev. wm. ridley, vicar of st. paul's, huddersfield, who had been a c. m. s. missionary in india, but whose health had been unequal to the trying climate of the peshawar valley. mr. ridley was consecrated on st. james's day, july th, , at st. paul's cathedral, at the same time as dr. walsham how to the suffragan -bishopric of bedford (for east london), dr. barclay to the anglican see of jerusalem, and dr. speechly to the new diocese of travancore and cochin. the diocese of caledonia comprises the territory lying between the rocky mountains and the pacific ocean, with the adjacent islands, and is bounded on the south by a line drawn westward from cape st. james, at the south end of queen charlotte's islands, and on the north by the th parallel of latitude. it comprises, therefore, the mining districts on the upper waters of the fraser and skeena and stachine rivers, with their rough white population, and many thousands of indians of the tsimshean and hydah nations on the coast, as well as others in the interior. bishop ridley sailed from liverpool on september th for new york, crossed the states by the pacific railway, took a steamer again at san francisco, and reached victoria on october th. there he met mr. duncan, and also admiral prevost, who had again gone out a few months before, partly to prepare the way for the new bishop; and a few days after they sailed together for metlakahtla. on november st he wrote as follows:-- "metlakahtla has not disappointed me. the situation is excellent. there is no spot to compare with it this side of victoria. during this week the weather has been charming. frosty nights, but the days mild, as in cornwall at this season. numbers of the worn-out old folk have been basking in the sun for hours daily. squatting in the long grass, they looked the very pictures of contentment. they all gazed on the sea. no wonder if they loved it. besides being the store-house from which they took their food, it is the chief feature in one of the most beautiful views i have ever seen. we are at the entrance of an estuary that winds about, labyrinth-like, until it leads up to a stream more than twenty miles distant inland. outside are large islands, their lofty heads pine-clad, and the same garment reaching to the very waves on all sides. these are god's breakwaters. inside, wherever the channel widens, there are smaller islands, so disposed as to make it impossible to say what is island and what continent. these are gems in a setting that perfectly reflects the grass and pines fringing the sea's glossy surface, as well as the background of snow-patched mountain. "yesterday the stillness was reverential, and quite in keeping with sunday rest. scores of graceful canoes were drawn above the tide. not a paddle broke the silence. as admiral prevost and i stood in the mission garden we heard, in the distance, the howls of a pack of wolves. a flight of crows or rooks claimed a moment's attention. besides this, nothing disturbed the calm sea, or the stillness, but the wing of some wild fowl splashing the sea as it rose. before we returned to the house we were ravished with the splendour of the sunset. the giant that had run its day's course transformed the scene. he touched everything, till sea and sky vied with each other in glorious effects. the snowy peaks to eastward blushed. "but, after all, the sun of righteousness has produced a far more beautiful transformation in the character of the indian, and this change is not fleeting. the church bell rings, and, from both wings of the village, well-dressed men, their wives and children, pour out from the cottages, and the two currents meet at the steps of the noble sanctuary their own hands have made, to the honour of god our saviour. on saturday i had made a sketch of the village. mr. duncan remarked, as the people streamed along, 'put that stream into your picture.' 'that would never do,' i said, 'nobody would believe it.' inwardly i exclaimed, 'what hath god wrought!' it would be wrong to suppose that the love of god alone impelled them all. all, without reasonable cause to the contrary, are expected to attend the public services. a couple of policemen, as a matter of routine, are in uniform, and this is an indication that loitering during service hours is against proper civil order. this wholesome restraint is possible during these early stages of the corporate life of the community. at present one strong will is supreme. to resist it, every indian feels would be as impossible as to stop the tides. this righteous autocracy is as much feared by the ungodly around as it is respected and admired by the faithful. thus are law and gospel combined with good results." before leaving england, dr. ridley had earnestly appealed for funds to provide him with a small steamer--an absolute necessity if his episcopal duties were to be performed safely and regularly. without it the long voyages up and down the coast, and among the islands, would have to be made in native canoes. the perilous nature of such travelling had been sadly illustrated only two years before, by the loss of a boat which was conveying an excellent hudson's bay officer from queen charlotte's islands to the mainland. he and his crew of tsimshean christians were all drowned except one indian, who was in the water four days and nights, lashed to a piece of the canoe, and was drifted on to the alaska coast. this indian related how, when they were all clinging to the capsized boat, mr. williams, the officer, seeing death imminent, called on them to pray, and as their strength failed they sank praying and singing hymns. the bishop himself, in one of his first voyages, within a fortnight of his arrival, was overtaken by a gale in a canoe which two men could lift, and in which ten were huddled together, and "as nearly lost as a saved man could be." "how i longed for my steamer!" he wrote; "unless i get one, a new bishop will soon be wanted, for the risk in these frail crafts is tremendous, and a short career the probable consequence." the money required, we are glad to say, has been raised, and, the steamer will (d.v.) soon be speeding up and down the coast on its errands of love--preserved and prospered, we doubt not, by his goodness who rules the winds and the waves. * * * * * it only remains to add the latest news from metlakahtla, as communicated in the annual letters of mr. duncan and mr. collison for . mr. duncan writes, on march th. :-- "in regard to secular matters, the year past has been one of marked progress--the greatest year for building the indians have ever known. we have now eighty-eight new houses up, or in course of erection; and when all the houses are erected, roads completed, and gardens, drains, and fences finished, we shall have certainly a very attractive home. but there remains a good deal to do yet. our american neighbours are being aroused to their duty for the poor indians of alaska,-- encouraged, they tell us, by what has been accomplished at metlakahtla. during the past year i have had several letters from, and interviews with, american gentlemen (among whom were three generals of the army in active service), who were anxious to learn from me my plans and modes of dealing with the indians. i am afraid they are attributing our success too much to secular matters, and too little to the preaching of the gospel. i have strongly warned them not to commence at the wrong end. "i have already opened up and discussed with the indians the desirability of their endeavouring to take into their own hands all the secular work i have begun. if my hopes are realised, it will be a grand termination of all my secular work. the indians are delighted with the idea, and will struggle hard to reach the goal. "our church, sunday school, and day school are all prospering. "the surrounding heathen tribes are not being neglected. i paid a visit to the kithratlas, in company with the admiral, last autumn, and a native teacher--edward mather--is now being employed amongst them. other native teachers are about taking up work around, as the seasons allow, and as the indians are accessible. "in the month of july dr. powell, superintendent of indian affairs, and mr. anderson, commissioner for fisheries, paid us their long -promised visit in h.m.s. rocket. though only a portion of our population were at home, our visitors expressed themselves as greatly astonished and delighted at all they saw. dr. powell has since written me an official letter, and read me his official report to the minister at ottawa, both which were highly commendatory, and mr. anderson has published a long letter in the _colonist_ newspaper about metlakahtla. the testimony of the latter gentleman was very telling upon the community here, as he has lived in this country upwards of fifty years, and is considered a great authority on indian affairs." mr. collison mentions that during the winter he conducted a class of catechumens, and that, after due examination by bishop ridley, seventy -two persons, men and women, were baptized on sundays, jan. th and feb. st, of the present year, . during the year under review sixty-three children also were baptized. "thus," writes mr. collison, "the visible church increases; but our greatest care and concern is that they may be united to christ by a living faith, and grow up in him into a spiritual temple, of which jesus christ himself is the chief corner-stone." * * * * * such is the story of metlakahtla and the north pacific mission. an unfinished story, indeed, the plot of which is still unfolding itself, and the issues of which, in this world, are known only to him who sees the end from the beginning. and yet a story which, embracing as it does, the separate life-stories of many individuals, again and again comes to a true "end," to an "end" for which we may well render unceasing praise. what the destiny of metlakahtla may be, none can say; but what the destiny is of soul after soul that has passed away in peace and hope, and that owed that peace and hope, under god, to the influence of metlakahtla, we do know. the day is coming--it may be very soon--when metlakahtla will, share the universal fate of the things that are seen and temporal, and will have become a mere memory of the past, while the men and women, and children, whom it brought to the god and father of all to be washed, and sanctified, and justified in the name of the lord jesus, and by the spirit of our god, live on and on in the power of an endless life. no tall church spire, rising from the inlet of kahtla will then be needed to guide the mariner through the archipelago of the north pacific coast, "for there shall be no more sea." but the great temple of living souls will stand forth in all its glory and beauty, and among the stones of that spiritual house will be many hewn from the quarry in the far west. tsimshean and hydah, and many another red indian tribe, shall find a place in the building which, fitly framed together, shall then have grown into a holy temple unto the lord. happy indeed will those then be who have had a share, however humble, in the work of raising it, stone by stone, to his praise who will make it his dwelling for ever! chronological table . discovery of vancouver's island by captain cook. . further discoveries by captain vancouver. . attention of the c. m. s. committee drawn to the indian tribes on the north pacific coast. . july. captain prevost's appeal for british columbia appeared in the _c. m. intelligencer._ " contribution of l received to begin a north pacific mission. " dec. . william duncan sailed with captain prevost in the _satellite_. . june . the _satellite_ reached vancouver's island. " oct. . duncan reached fort simpson. june . duncan preached his first sermon in tsimshean. " nov. . duncan opened a school for indian children. " dec. . legaic's attack on duncan. . bishopric of columbia founded. . april. duncan's first visit to nass river. " aug. . arrival of rev. l. s tugwell. . july . first baptism of indians--nineteen adults. " oct. . return home of mr. tugwell. . may . foundation of the new settlement at metlakahtla. . april. visit of the bishop of columbia to metlakahtla--baptism of fifty-seven adults. . july . arrival of rev. r. a. doolan. " nass river mission begun. . may. second visit of bishop of columbia. . may . arrival of rev. r. tomlinson. " aug. return home of mr. doolan. " kincolith station established on nass river. . may . death of legaic. . jan. . duncan left metlakahtla for england. " mar. to sept. . duncan in england . feb. . duncan returned to metlakahtla. " oct. first baptisms at kincolith by archdeacon woods. . aug. . first stone of metlakahtla church laid by the governor of british columbia. " nov. . arrival of mr. w. h. collison. . dec. . opening of metlakahtla church. . aug. . duncan's plans for the indians of british columbia adopted by the provincial government. . duncan's journey to ottawa to confer with the canadian government. " aug. . lord dufferin's visit to metlakahtla. " oct. . arrival of mr. h. schutt. " nov. . mr. collison began queen charlotte islands mission. . aug. . arrival of rev. a. j. hall. " nov. to mar. ' bishop bompas's visit to the mission. . mar. . mr. hall began fort rupert mission. " mar. . ordination of mr. collison. " june . admiral prevost's visit to metlakahtla. . may . arrival of mr. g. sneath. " july . consecration of rev. w. ridley to bishopric of caledonia. " oct. . arrival of bishop ridley at victoria. to the west, by george manville fenn. ________________________________________________________________________ at fifteen hours this is a fairly long book for this author. it starts with two young men working as clerks in the offices of a tyrannical auctioneer. fed up with his unpleasant behaviour they give up their jobs and determine to set out for british columbia. to get there they must take passage in a ship going round the horn, and up to san francisco. then they have to make their way further up the coast to their destination. on the way they encounter various characters, some good and honourable, and others very much the reverse. finally they arrive and set to work seeking for gold. of course there are more adventures and tense situations, as you would expect from this author. fenn is very good at describing places, even ones to which he has never been. personally i prefer the books set in england, but that is not to say that this book is anything but most enjoyable, and i commend it to you. ________________________________________________________________________ to the west, by george manville fenn. chapter one. mr. john dempster. "what would i do, sir? why, if i were as poor as you say you are, and couldn't get on here, i'd go abroad." "but where, sir? where to?" "anywhere. don't ask me. the world's big enough and round enough for you, isn't it?" "but without means, mr dempster?" "yes, sir, without means. work, sir--work. the same as i have done. i pay my poor rate, and i can't afford to help other people. good morning." i heard every word uttered as i sat on my stool in the outer office, and i felt as if i could see my employer, short, stout, fierce-looking and grey, frowning at the thin, pale, middle-aged man whom i had ushered in--mr john dempster he told me his name was--and who had come to ask for the loan of a little money, as he was in sore distress. every word of his appeal hurt me, and i felt, when the words came through the open door, as if i should have liked to take my hat and go away. but i dared not, for i had been set to copy some letters, and i knew from old experience that if mr dempster--mr isaac dempster that is--came out or called for me, and i was not there, i should have a repetition of many a painful scene. i tried not to listen, but every word came, and i heard how unfortunate mr john dempster had been; that his wife had been seriously ill, and now needed nourishing food and wine; and as all that was said became mixed up with what i was writing, and the tears would come into my eyes and make them dim, i found myself making mistakes, and left off in despair. i looked cautiously over the double desk, peeping between some books to see if esau dean, my fellow boy-clerk, was watching me; but as usual he was asleep with his head hanging down over his blotting-paper, and the sun shining through his pale-coloured knotty curls, which gave his head the appearance of a black man's bleached to a whitey brown; and as i looked through the loop-hole between the books, my fellow-clerk's head faded away, and i was looking back at my pleasant old school-days at wiltboro', from which place i was suddenly summoned home two years before to bid good-bye to my mother before we had to part for ever. and then all the old home-life floated before me like a bright sunny picture, and the holidays at the rambling red-brick house with its great walled garden, where fruit was so abundant that it seemed of no value at all. there was my pony, and don and skurry, the dogs, and the river and my boat, and the fellows who used to come and spend weeks with me-- school-fellows who always told me what a lucky chap i was; and perhaps it was as well, for i did not understand it then, not till the news came of my father's death, and my second summons home. i did not seem to understand it then--that i was alone in the world, and that almost the last words my mother said to me would have to be thought out and put to the test. i had a dim recollection of her holding my hand, and telling me that whatever came i was to be a man, and patient, and never to give up; but it was not till months after that i fully realised that in place of going back to school i was to go at once out into the world and fight for myself, for i was quite alone. i can't go into all this now--how i used to sit in my bed-room at night with my head aching from thinking and trying to see impossibilities. let it be sufficient if i tell you that after several trials at various things, for all of which i was soon told i was inefficient, i found myself, a big, sturdy, country-looking lad, seated on an old leather-covered stool at a double desk, facing esau dean, writing and copying letters, while my fellow-clerk wrote out catalogues for the printer to put in type, both of us in the service of mr isaac dempster, an auctioneer in baring lane, in the city of london, and also both of us, according to mr dempster, the most stupid idiots that ever dipped pen in ink. i supposed then that mr dempster was right--that i was stupid and not worth my salt, and that he had only to hold up his little finger and he could get a thousand better lads than we were; but at the same time i felt puzzled that he should keep us on, and that saturday after saturday he should pay our wages and never say a word about discharging us--esau for going to sleep over his work, and me for making so many mistakes. i had had scores of opportunities for judging that mr dempster was a hard unfeeling man, who was never harder than when he had been out to his lunch, and came back nibbling a toothpick, and smelling very strongly of sherry; but it had never come so thoroughly home to me as on that bright day, just at the time when for nearly an hour the sun shone down into the narrow court-like lane, and bathed our desk, and made me think of the country, the garden, the bright river, and above all, of those who were dead and gone. as i told you, my eyes were very dim when i saw mr john dempster come out of the office slowly and close the door, to stand on the mat shaking his head sadly. "he who goes a-borrowing goes a-sorrowing," he said to himself, softly. "i might have known--i might have known." he turned then and glanced at esau, smiling faintly to see him asleep, and then his eyes met mine gazing at him fixedly, for somehow he seemed just then to have a something in his face that recalled my father, as he looked one day when he had had some very bad news--something about money. and as i gazed at our visitor that day the likeness seemed to grow wonderful, not in features, but in his aspect, and the lines about his eyes and the corner of his mouth. "ah, my lad," he said, with a pleasant smile full of sadness, "you ought to pray that you might be always young and free from care. good-day." he nodded and passed out of the office, and i heard his steps in the narrow lane. i glanced at esau, who was asleep still, then at the door of the inner office, and started as i heard a cough and the rustling of a newspaper. then, gliding off my stool, i caught my cap from the peg where it hung, slipped out at the swing-door, and saw our late visitor just turning the corner at the bottom of the lane into thames street. the next minute i had overtaken him, and he turned sharply with a joyful look in his eyes. "ah!" he said, "my cousin has sent you to call me back?" "no, sir," i stammered, with my cheeks burning; and there i stopped, for the words would not come. how well i remember it! we were close to the open door of a warehouse, with the scent of oranges coming out strongly, and great muscular men with knots on their shoulders, bare-armed, and with drab breeches and white stockings, were coming up a narrow court leading to a wharf, bearing boxes of fruit from a schooner, and going back wiping their foreheads with their bare arms. "you came after me?" said our visitor, with the old pained look in his eyes, as he half turned from me, and i stood turning over something in my hand. "you came after me?" he said again; and as he once more looked in my eyes, they seemed to make me speak. "yes, sir." "well, what is it? speak out." "i--i couldn't help hearing all you said to mr dempster, sir," i faltered. "eh!" he cried, with a start. then with a smile full of bitterness, "let it be a lesson to you, boy. work--strive--do anything sooner than humble yourself as i have done this day. but--but," he said, as if to himself, "heaven knows i was driven." "mr dempster never will lend any one money, sir," i said hastily; "but if you wouldn't mind--i don't want this for a bit. i've been saving it up--for a long time--and--by and by--you can pay me again, and--" i had stammered out all this and then stopped short, drawing my breath hard, for he had seized my hand, and was gripping it so hard that the coin i held was pressed into my fingers, as i gazed up into his face, while he slowly relaxed his hold and looked down into my palm. "a sovereign!" he said slowly; and then fiercely, "did your employer send you with that? and," he cried hastily, "you heard?" "yes, sir. i was not listening." "how--how long has it taken you to save up this?" "i don't know, sir--months." "ah!" then as he held my hand tightly, he said in a half-mocking way, "do you know when i came into the office i envied you, my boy, for i said, here is one who has begun on the stool, and he'll grow up to be a rich city man." "i don't think i shall, sir," i said, with a laugh. "no," he said, "you are of the wrong stuff, boy. do you know that you are a weak young idiot to come and offer me, a perfect stranger, all that money--a man you have never seen before, and may never see again? how do you know i am not an impostor?" "i don't know how, sir," i said, "but i can see you are not." he pressed my hand more firmly, and i saw his lips move for a few moments, but no sound came. then softly-- "thank you, my lad," he said. "you have given me a lesson. i was saying that it was a hard and a bitter and cruel world, when you came up to show me that it is full of hope and sunshine and joy after all if we only seek it. i don't know who you are, but your father, boy, must have been a gentleman at heart, and your mother as true a lady as ever breathed. ah!" he bent towards me as he still held my hand, for he must have read the change in my face, for his words sent a curious pang through me. "your mother is--?" he finished his question with a look. i nodded, and set my teeth hard. "now, sir, _please_!" cried a rough voice, as a heavily-laden man came up, and my companion drew me into the road. "tell me your name." "gordon, sir," i said. "mayne gordon." "come and see me--and my wife," he said, taking a card from a shabby pocket-book. "come on sunday evening and have tea with us--kentish town. will you come?" "yes," i said, eagerly. "that's right. there, i can't talk now. shake hands. good-bye." he wrung my hand hard, and turned hurriedly away, but i was by his side again. "stop," i said. "you have not taken the--the--" "no," he said, clapping me on the shoulder, "i can't do that. you've given me something worth a thousand such coins as that, boy as you are-- renewed faith in my fellow-man--better still, patience and hope. good-bye, my lad," he said, brightly. "on sunday, mind. don't lose that card." before i could speak again he had hurried away, and just then a cold chill ran through me, and i set off at a run. suppose mr isaac dempster should have come out into the office and found i had gone out! chapter two. mr. isaac dempster. i was in the act of opening the swing-door stealthily, and was half through when i saw that mr dempster was acting precisely in the same way, stealing through the inner doorway, and making me a sign to stop. i obeyed, shivering a little at what was to come, and wishing that i had the courage to utter a word of warning. for there was esau with his head hanging down over the catalogue he was copying out, fast asleep, the sun playing amongst his fair curls, and a curious guttural noise coming from his nose. it was that sound, i felt, which had brought mr dempster out with his lips drawn back in an ugly grin, and a malicious look in his eyes as he stepped forward on tiptoe, placed both his hands together on my fellow-clerk's curly head, and pressed it down with a sudden heavy bang on the desk. something sounded very hollow. perhaps it was the desk. then there was a sudden bound, and esau was standing on the floor, gazing wildly at our employer. "you lazy idiotic lump of opium," roared the latter. "that's the way my work's done, is it?" as our employer uttered these words he made at esau, following up and cuffing him first on one side of the head and then on the other, while the lad, who seemed utterly confused with sleep, and the stunning contact of his brow against the desk, backed away round the office, beginning then to put up his arms to defend himself. "here," he cried, "don't you hit me--don't you hit me." "hit you!--you stupid, thick-headed, drowsy oaf! i'll knock some sense into you. nice pair, upon my word! and you--you scoundrel," he cried, turning on me, "where have you been?" "only--only just outside, sir," i stammered, as i felt my cheeks flush. "i'll only just outside you," he roared, catching me by the collar and shaking me. "this is the way my work is done, is it? you're always late of a morning--" "no, sir," i cried, indignantly. "silence!--and always the first to rush off before your work's done; and as soon as my back's turned, you're off to play with the boys in the street. where have you been?" i was silent, i felt that i could not tell him. "sulky, eh? here, you," he roared, turning upon esau, "where has he been? how long has he been gone?" "don't you hit me! don't you hit me!" cried the boy, sulkily; "i shan't stand this." "i say, how long has he been gone?" "i was only gone a few minutes, sir," i said. "gone a few minutes, you scoundrel! how dare you be gone a few minutes, leaving my office open? you're no more use than a boy out of the streets, and if i did my duty by you, i should thrash you till you could not stand. back to your desk, you dog, and the next time i catch you at any of these tricks off you go, and no character." as i climbed back to my place at the desk, hot, flushed, and indignant, feeling more and more unable to explain the reason for my absence, and guilty at the same time--knowing as i did that i had no business to steal off--mr dempster turned once more upon esau, who backed away from him round the office, sparring away with his arms to ward off the blows aimed at him, though i don't think they were intended to strike, but only as a malicious kind of torture. "here, don't you hit me! don't you hit me!" esau kept on saying, as if this was the only form of words he could call up in his excitement. "i'll half break your neck for you, you scoundrel! is that catalogue done?" "how can i get it done when you keep on chivvying me about the place?" cried esau. "how can you get it done if you go to sleep, you scoundrel, you mean. now then, up on to that stool, and if it isn't done you stop after hours till it is done. here, what are you staring at? get on with those letters." mr dempster had turned upon me furiously as i sat looking, and with a sigh i went on with my writing, while red-faced and wet-eyed, for he could not keep the tears back, esau climbed slowly on to his stool, and gave a tremendous sniff. "i shall tell mother as soon as i get home," he cried. "tell your mother, you great calf! you had better not," roared mr dempster. "she has troubles enough. it was only out of charity to her that i took you on. for you are useless--perfectly useless. i lose pounds through your blunders. there, that will do. get on with your work." he went back into the inner office, and banged the door so heavily that all the auction bills which papered the walls of our office began to flap and swing about. then for a few minutes there was only the scratching of our pens to be heard. then esau gave a tremendous sniff, began wiping his eyes on the cuffs of his jacket, and held the blotting-paper against each in turn as he looked across at me. "'tain't crying," he said. "only water. ketch him making me cry!" "you were crying," i said, quietly. "no, i wasn't. don't you get turning again' me too. take a better man than him to make me cry." i laughed. "ah, you may grin," grumbled my companion; "but just you have your head knocked again' the desk, and just you see if it wouldn't make your eyes water." at that moment the door was opened with a snatch. "silence there! you, gordon, will you go on with your work?" the door was banged before i could have answered. not that i should have said anything. but as soon as the door clicked esau went on again without subduing his voice-- "i ain't afraid of him--cheating old knocktioneer! thinks he's a right to knock everybody down 'cause he's got a licence." "go on with your work," i whispered, "or he'll come back." "let him; i don't care. i ain't afraid. it was all your fault for going out." "and yours for being asleep." "i can't help my head being heavy. mother says it's because i've got so much brains. but i'll serve him out. i'll make all the mistakes i can, and he'll have to pay for them being corrected." "what good will that do?" "i dunno; but i'll serve him out. he shan't hit me. i say, what did you go out to buy?" "nothing. i went out to speak to that gentleman who came." "what gentleman who came?" "while you were asleep." "there you go! you're as bad as old knock-'em-down. fellow's only got to shut his eyes, and you say he's asleep. but i don't care. everybody's again' me, but i'll serve 'em out." "you'd better go on with your writing." "shan't. go on with yours. i know. i'll 'list--that's what i'll do. like to see old going-going touch me then!" there was a busy interval of writing, during which something seemed to ask me why i let mr dempster behave so brutally to me, and i began wondering whether i was a coward. i felt that i could not be as brave as esau, or i should have resisted. "not half a chap, you ain't!" said my companion, suddenly. "why?" "you'd say you'd come with me. deal better to be soldiers than always scrawling down lot on paper." "i don't want to be a soldier," i said. "no; you're not half a chap. only wait a bit. i'd ha' gone long ago if it hadn't been for mother." "yes; she wouldn't like you to go." "how do you know?" "mrs dean told me so. she said you were mad about red-coats." "that's just like mother," said esau, with a grin, "allus wrong. i don't want to wear a red coat. blue's my colour." "what--a sailor?" i said quickly. "get out! sailor! all tar and taller. i'm not going to pull ropes. i mean blue uniform--'tillery--horse artillery. they do look fine. i've seen 'em lots o' times." "here, you two, i'm going out. i shall be back in five minutes," said mr dempster, so suddenly that he made us both start. "look sharp and get that work done." he stood drawing a yellow silk handkerchief round and round his hat, which was already as bright as it could be made, and then setting it on very much on one side, he gave his silk umbrella a flourish, touched his diamond pin with the tip of his well-gloved finger, and strutted out. "back in five minutes! yah!" cried esau. "it's all gammon about being honest and getting on." "no, it isn't," i said, as i carefully dotted a few i's. "yes, it is. look at him--makes lots o' money, and he cheats people and tells more lies in a day than i've told in all my life." "nonsense!" "tain't. he's a regular bad 'un. back in five minutes! why he won't come till it's time to go, and then he'll keep us waiting so as to get all the work he can out of us." but that time esau was wrong, for in about five minutes the outer door was opened, and our employer thrust in his head. "there's a letter on my table to post, gordon," he said. "be sure it goes." "yes, sir," i said, and as the door closed again i looked at esau and laughed. "oh, i don't mind," he said. "that wasn't coming back. he only looked in to see if we were at work. i shan't stop here; i shall 'list." "no, you will not," i said, as i went on writing quietly. "oh, yes, i shall. you can go on lodging with the old woman, for you won't be the chap to come with me." "you won't go," i said. "ah, you'll see. you don't mean to stop here, do you, and be bullied and knocked about?" i went on writing and thinking of how dearly i should have liked to go somewhere else, for my life was very miserable with mr dempster; but i always felt as if it would be cowardly to give up, and i had stayed on, though that day's experience was very like those which had gone before. we had both finished our tasks an hour before mr dempster returned, nearly an hour after closing time, and even then he spent a long time in criticising the writing and finding fault, concluding by ordering esau to go round with the catalogue he had made out to the printer's. "there's a master for you!" cried my fellow-clerk, as we went up into the main street. "i shan't stand it. i'm going for a soldier." i laughed. "ah, you may grin at what i say, but wait a bit. going home?" "no," i said, "i shall walk round with you to the printer's." he gave me a quick bright look, and his manner changed as if, once free of the office, he felt boy-like and happy. he whistled, hummed over bits of songs, and chatted about the various things we passed, till we had been at the printer's, and then had to retrace our steps so as to cross blackfriars bridge, and reach camberwell, where in a narrow street off the albany road esau's mother rented a little house, working hard with her needle to produce not many shillings a week, which were supplemented by her boy's earnings, and the amount i paid for my bed, breakfast, and tea. it was my fellow-clerk's proposal that i should join them, and i had good cause to be grateful, the place being delightfully clean, and little, quaint, homely mrs dean looking upon me as a lodger who was to be treated with the greatest of respect. "shan't go for a soldier to-night!" said esau, throwing himself back in his chair, after we had finished our tea. "i should think not indeed," cried his mother. "esau, i'm ashamed of you for talking like that. has he been saying anything about it to you, master gordon?" "oh, yes, but he don't mean it," i replied. "it's only when he's cross." "has master been scolding him then again?" "scolding?" cried esau scornfully, "why he never does nothing else." "then you must have given him cause, esau dear. master gordon, what had he done?" "mr dempster caught him asleep." "well, i couldn't help it. my head was so heavy." "yes," sighed mrs dean, "his head always was very heavy, poor boy. he goes to sleep at such strange times too, sir." "well, don't tell him that, mother," cried esau. "you tell everybody." "well, dear, there's no harm in it. i never said it was your fault. lots of times, master gordon, i've known him go to sleep when at play, and once i found him quite fast with his mouth full of bread and butter." "such stuff!" grumbled esau, angrily. "it is quite true, master gordon. he always was a drowsy boy." "make anybody drowsy to keep on writing lots and figures," grumbled esau. "heigho--ha--hum!" he yawned. "i shan't be very long before i go to bed." he kept his word, and i took a book and sat down by the little fire to read; but though i kept on turning over the pages, i did not follow the text; for i was either thinking about mrs dean's needle as it darted in and out of the stuff she was sewing, or else about mr john dempster and our meeting that day--of how i had promised to go up and see him on sunday, and how different he was to his cousin. the time must have gone fast, for when the clock began to strike, it went on up to ten; and i was thinking it was impossible that it could be so late, when i happened to glance across at little mrs dean, whose work had dropped into her lap, and she was as fast asleep then as her son had been at the office hours before. chapter three. my new friends. poor esau and i had had a hard time at the office, for it seemed that my patient forbearing way of receiving all the fault-finding made mr dempster go home at night to invent unpleasant things to say, till, as i had listened, it had seemed as if my blood boiled, and a hot sensation came into my throat. all this had greatly increased by the saturday afternoon, and had set me thinking that there was something in what esau said, and that i should be better anywhere than where i was. but on the sunday afternoon, as i walked up the sunny road to kentish town, and turned down a side street of small old-looking houses, each with its bit of garden and flowers, everything looked so bright and pleasant, even there, that my spirits began to rise; and all the more from the fact that at one of the cottage-like places with its porch and flowers, there were three cages outside, two of whose inmates, a lark and a canary, were singing loudly and making the place ring. it is curious how a musical sound takes one back to the past. in an instant as i walked on, i was seeing the bright river down at home, with the boat gliding along, the roach and dace flashing away to right and left, the chub scurrying from under the willows, the water-weeds and white buttercups brushing against the sides, and the lark singing high overhead in the blue sky. london and its smoke were gone, and the houses to right and left had no existence for me then, till i was suddenly brought back to the present by a hand being laid on my shoulder, and a familiar voice saying-- "mr gordon! had you forgotten the address? you have passed the house!" as these words were uttered a hand grasped mine very warmly, and i was looking in the thin, worn, pleasant features of mr john dempster, which seemed far brighter than when i saw him at the office. "very, very glad to see you, my dear young friend," he cried, taking my arm. "my wife and i have been looking forward to this day; she is very eager to make your acquaintance." to my surprise he led me back to the little house where the birds were singing, and i could not help glancing at him wonderingly, for i had fully expected to find him living in a state of poverty, whereas everything looked neat and good and plain. "give me your hat," he said, as we stood in the passage. "that's right. now in here. alexes, my dear, this is my young friend, mr gordon." "i am very glad you have come," said a sweet, musical voice; and my hand was taken by a graceful-looking lady, who must once have been very beautiful. "you are hot and tired. come and sit down here." i felt hot and uncomfortable, everything was so different from what i had expected; for the room was not in the least shabby, and the tea-things placed ready added to the pleasant home-like aspect of the place. "you have not walked?" said mr john dempster. "oh, yes," i replied. "from--where?" i told him. "camberwell? and i was so unreasonable as to ask you to come all this way." i did not know how it was, but i somehow felt as if i had come to visit some very old friends, and in quite a short time we were chatting confidentially about our affairs. they soon knew all about my own home, and my life since i left school so suddenly; and on my side i learned that mrs john dempster had had a very serious illness, but was recovering slowly, and that they were contemplating going abroad, the doctors having said that she must not stay in our damp climate for another winter. i learned, too, that, as mr john dempster said, when things came to the worst they improved. it had been so here, for the night after his visit to his cousin in the city, a letter had come from mrs john dempster's brother, who was in the north-west--wherever that might be--and their temporary troubles were at an end. that would have been a delightfully pleasant meal but for one thing. no allusion was made to the visit to the city, and though i sat trembling, for fear they should both begin to thank me for my offer, not a word was said. the tea was simple. the flowers on the table and in the window smelled sweetly, and the birds sang, while there was something about mrs john that fascinated me, and set me thinking about the happy old days at home. the one unpleasantly was the conduct of the little maid they kept. she was a round rosy-faced girl of about fifteen, i suppose, but dressed in every respect, cap and apron and all, like a woman of five-and-twenty. in fact she looked like a small-sized woman with very hard-looking shiny dark eyes. upon her first entrance into the room bearing a bright tin kettle, for the moment i thought that as she looked so fierce, it was she who uttered little snorts, hisses, and sputtering noises. but of course it was only the kettle, for she merely looked at me angrily and gave a defiant sniff. as the evening went on, i found that this was maria, and it soon became evident that maria did not like me, but looked upon me as a kind of intruder, of whom she was as jealous as a girl of her class could be. pleasant evenings always pass too rapidly, and it was so here; i could not believe it when the hands of the little clock on the chimney-piece pointed to nine, and i rose to go. "how soon it seems!" sighed mrs john. "well, mayne,"--it had soon come to that--"you must call and see us again very soon--while we are here," she added, slowly. "ah, and who knows but what he may come when we are far away!" said mr john. "the world is only a small place after all." "where should you go?" i said, earnestly. "i would come if i could." "possibly to canada," said mr john. "but there, we are not gone yet. you will not feel lonely, dear, if i walk a little way with our visitor?" she gave him a very gentle smile, and as i held out my hand, she drew me to her and kissed me. i could not say "good-bye" then, for there was a strange choking feeling in my throat which made me hurry away, and the last thing i heard as i went out was the sharp banging and locking of the little gate, followed by another defiant sniff. "come and see us as often as you can, mayne," said my new friend at parting. "we never had any children, and it is a pleasure to us to have young people about us, for since my misfortunes we have lived very much to ourselves. in fact, my dear wife's health has made it necessary that she should be much alone." "but she is getting better, sir?" "oh, rapidly now; and if i can get her abroad--ah, we must talk about this another time. goodnight." "good-night." it was like the opening out of a new life to me, and i walked back to camberwell as if the distance was nothing, thinking as i was all the time about the conversation, of mrs john's sweet, patient face, and the constantly attentive manner of mr john, every action of his being repaid by a grateful smile. "i wonder," i thought, "how it is possible that mr dempster and mr john could be cousins;" and then i went on thinking about the interview at the office when mr dempster was so harsh. this kept my attention till i reached the deans', and then i walked straight in to find mrs dean making believe to read, while esau was bending his head slowly in a swaying motion nearer and nearer to the candle every moment. in fact i believe if i had not arrived as i did, esau's hair would have been singed so as to need no cutting for some time. as it was, he leaped up at a touch. "oh, here you are!" he said. "if you hadn't come i believe i should soon have dropped asleep." chapter four. how mr. dempster used his cane. my life at the office grew more miserable every day, and mr isaac dempster more tyrannical. that's a big word to use, and seems more appropriate to a roman emperor than to a london auctioneer; but, on quietly thinking it over, it is quite correct, for i honestly believe that that man took delight in abusing esau and me. let me see; what did some one say about the employment of boys? "a boy is a boy; two boys are half a boy; and three boys are no boy at all." of course, as to the amount of work they do. but it is not true, for i know--one of the auction-room porters told me--that mr dempster used to keep two men-clerks in his office, till they both discharged themselves because they would not put up with what the porter called "his nastiness." then we were both engaged. that was one day when dingle came down in his green baize apron and carpet-cap, and had to wait till our employer returned from his lunch. "ah!" he said, "the guv'nor used to lead them two a pretty life, and keep 'em ever so late sometimes." "but he had more business then, i suppose?" i said. "not he. busier now, and makes more money. nobody won't stop with him." "yes, they will," said esau. "you said you'd been with him fourteen years." "yes," said dingle, showing his yellow teeth, "but i'm an auctioneer's fixtur', and going ain't in my way." "why not?" asked esau. "got a wife and twelve children, squire, and they nails a man down." just then mr dempster came in, ordered dingle to go into his room, and we could hear him being well bullied about something, while as he came out he laughed at us both, and gave his head a peculiar shake. "off!" he whispered. "flea in each ear." i mention this because it set me thinking that if we two lads of sixteen or seventeen did all the work for which two men were formerly kept, we could not be quite so useless and stupid as mr dempster said. i know that my handwriting was not so very good, and i was not quite so quick with my pen as esau, but his writing was almost like copper-plate, and i used to feel envious; though i had one consolation--i never made esau's mistakes in spelling. but nothing we ever did was right, and as the weeks went on, made bright to me now by my visits up in north london, esau would throw down his pen three or four times a day, rub his hands all over his curly head, and look over the top of the desk at me. "now then," he used to say; "ready?" "ready for what?" "to go and 'list. we're big enough now." "nonsense!" "'tain't nonsense," he said one morning, after mr dempster had been a little more disagreeable than usual about some copying not being finished, and then gone out, leaving me thinking what i could do to give him a little more satisfaction, so as to induce him to raise the very paltry salary he paid me. "'tain't nonsense. mother says that if i stop i shall some day rise and get to be lord mayor, but i don't think demp would like it, so when you're ready we'll go.--ready?" "no." "you are a fellow!" said esau, taking up his pen again. "i say, though, i wish we could get places somewhere else." "why not try?" "because it would only be to do writing again, and it's what makes me so sleepy. i'm getting worse--keep making figures and writing out catalogues till my head gets full of 'em." "it is tiring," i said, with a sigh. "but do go on; he'll be so cross if that list isn't finished." "can't help it. i'm ever so much more sleepy this morning, and the words get running one atop of another. look here," he cried, holding up a sheet of ruled paper. "this ought to have been `chest of drawers,' and it's run into one word, `chawers'; and up higher there's another blunder, `loo-table,'--it's gone wrong too--do you see?--`lable.' my head's all a buzz." "tear it up quickly and write it again." "shan't; i shall correct it. no, i know. i shall cut the paper up, and stick it on another sheet, and write these lines in again. pass the gum. oh!" "what's the matter?" "here's `mogany' lower down, and `tarpet' for `turkey carpet.'" "write it again, do," i said, for i dreaded the scene that i knew there would be. "ah, well, all right, but i know i shall muddle it again, and--" "as usual," cried mr dempster, and we both started back on to our stools, for we had been standing up on the rails leaning towards each other over the double desk, so intent on the errors that we had not heard him open the door softly--i believe, on purpose to surprise us. we began writing hard, and i felt my heart beating fast, as our employer banged the door heavily and strode up to the desk. i gave one quick glance at him as he turned to esau's side, and snatched up the sheet of paper the boy tried to hide under the blotting-pad; and as i looked i saw that his face was flushed and fierce-looking as i had never seen it before. "hah!" he ejaculated, as he took off his glossy hat and stood it on a chair, with his ivory-handled malacca cane across it. "pretty stuff this, upon my word. here, let me look at that letter." he reached over and snatched the missive i was writing from the desk, and held it up before him. "do you call that writing?" he roared. "disgraceful! abominable! the first boy i met in the street would do better. there--and there--and there!" he tore the letter to fragments and threw the paper in my face. "now then; write another directly," he cried; "and if you dare to--here, what are you going to do?" he roared, as esau took hold of the sheet of paper containing the errors. "going to write it over again, sir." "write it over again, you miserable impostor!" he cried, as he snatched the paper back and laid a leaden weight upon it. "i'll teach you to waste my time and paper gossiping--that's what it means." "here, what are you going to do?" cried esau, as mr dempster seized him by the collar. "i'll show you what i'm going to do, you idle young scoundrel," cried mr dempster, and he reached out his hand to take his stout cane from where it lay across his hat. "here, don't you hit me," cried esau; and he tried to get away, as i sat breathless, watching all that was going on, and thinking that mr dempster dared not use the walking-cane in the way he seemed to threaten. esau evidently thought he would, for he struggled hard now, but in vain, and he was dragged towards the chair. then, as pulling seemed no use, the lad changed his tactics, and he darted forward to make for the door, just as mr dempster's hand was touching the stick, which he did not secure, for the jerk he received sent cane and hat off the chair on to the floor. "you dog!" roared dempster, as the hat went on to the oilcloth with a hollow bang. "don't you hit me!" cried esau, struggling wildly to escape; and the next moment, as they swayed to and fro, i heard a strange crushing sound, and on looking to see the cause, there lay mr dempster's beautiful guinea-and-a-half hat crushed into a shapeless, battered mass. "ah!" roared mr dempster, "you dog; you did that on purpose." "i didn't," cried esau; "it was your foot did it." "was it? was it?" snarled mr dempster, and the struggle recommenced, until i, with the perspiration standing on my forehead, caught tightly hold of the desk. esau was pretty strong, but he was almost helpless in the bands of the angry man who held him, and the struggle ended, after the high stool and the chair had both been knocked over with a crash, by mr dempster's getting esau down and holding him there with one knee upon his chest. "hah!" he ejaculated, panting. "here you, gordon, get down and pick up my cane," and he gave his head a jerk in the direction of where the stick lay, just as it had been knocked close to the door. months of rigid obedience to the tyrant had their effect, and i got down from my stool trembling with excitement. "oh, don't, don't, gordon!" cried esau; "don't give it him." but my employer's eyes were fixed upon me with such a look that i was fascinated, and as if moved against my own will, i crossed the office and picked up the thick cane. "give it here, quick!" for i stood there hesitating, but the imperative voice mastered me, and i moved towards the speaker. "don't--don't give it him," cried esau. "quick--this instant!" roared mr dempster, and i handed the cane. "you sneak!" cried esau angrily; "i'd ha' died first." his words sent a sting through me, and i would have given anything to have been able to say, "i couldn't help it, esau." but i was speechless, and felt the next instant as if a blow had fallen upon me, as i saw with starting eyes mr dempster shift his position, keeping a tight hold of esau by the collar as he rose into a stooping position, and then, _whizz! thud_! he brought the cane down with all his force across the lad's shoulders. esau uttered a yell as he tried to spring up, but he was held fast, and the blows were falling thick and fast upon the struggling lad, when i could bear it no longer, and with one bound i was at the auctioneer, and had fast hold of the cane. "stop!" i shouted, half hysterically; "you shan't beat him. you have no right to do it, sir. esau, get up. run!" "let go!" cried mr dempster, turning a face black with passion at me. "do you hear, beggar? let go!" "i will not," i cried, for my blood was up now, and i did not feel in the least afraid. "you have no right to beat him." "let go!" "don't, don't, gordon! yah! you great coward!" "once more, will you let go?" cried mr dempster, as he stood with one hand in esau's collar, bent down, and tugging at the cane, to which i clung. "no," i cried. "you shall not strike him again." i had hardly spoken when mr dempster rose up, loosening his hold of esau, and dashing his free hand full in my face, while, as i fell back, he jerked the cane away and struck at me a cruel stinging blow from the left shoulder, as a cavalry-man would use a sabre, the cane striking me full across the right ear, while the pain was as acute as if the blow had been delivered by a keen-edged sword. for a few moments i staggered back, half stunned and confused, while blow succeeded blow, now delivered on my back and arms with all his might. as i said, the first cruel, cowardly blow half stunned me; those which followed stung me back into a wild state of rage and pain which made me reckless and blind, as, regardless of pain and the fact that he was a well-knit, strong man, i made a dash at the cane, got hold of it with both hands, and in spite of his efforts kept my grip of the stout elastic stick. i knew that i was swung here and there, and the cane was tugged at till the ivory handle fell on the floor, and then he changed his attack, letting go of the cane with one hand and catching me by the throat. "now then," he cried, and i felt that i was mastered. then i knew i was wrong, for at that moment mr dempster was driven forward, his forehead striking mine, and as i fell back my assailant fell on his knees, and i stood panting, the master of the cane. the explanation was simple. esau had watched his opportunity, and leaped upon our tyrant's back, pinning his arms to his sides, and making him in his surprise loosen his hold of the cane. it is hard work to recall it now, so wild and confused it all seems; but i remember well that i must have struck mr dempster, and that as he came at me esau seized and overturned the great desk right in his way, sending him down again, while the next moment my fellow-clerk was holding open the door, shouting to me to come. i caught down my hat and esau's, and made for the door, which esau dragged to in our employer's face, and the next minute we were tearing up the lane. "stop them! stop thief!" was shouted hoarsely, and in our excitement we looked back to see our enemy in pursuit, while, as we turned again to run, we found ourselves face to face with a burly city policeman, who caught each of us by an arm. chapter five. a miserable night. "hah! the scoundrels!" panted dempster, as he came up, flushed, bareheaded, his glossy coat covered with dust, and a great dark weal growing darker moment by moment on his forehead, while for the first time i became aware of the fact that my right ear was cut and bleeding freely. "what is it, sir?" said the policeman; and i shivered slightly as i felt his grip tighten on my arm. "take them. i give them in charge," panted mr dempster, hoarse with rage--"robbery and assault." "what?" shouted esau, furiously. "it is not true!" i cried wildly. "take them," shouted mr dempster. "i'll follow in a cab. take them." "you'll have to charge them, sir," said the constable. "yes. i know. i must make myself decent first." "you can do that afterwards, sir. better all get in a cab at once before there's a crowd." the cool matter-of-fact policeman was master of the situation, and, summoning a cab, he seemed to pack us all in, and followed to unpack us again a few minutes later, both esau and i with the spirit evaporating fast, and feeling soft and limp, full of pain too, as we were ushered into the presence of a big, stern-looking inspector, who prepared to fill up a form. all that passed is very misty now; but i remember mr dempster, as he glared at us, telling the inspector that he had had cause to complain about our conduct, and that we had, evidently after planning it, made a sudden attack upon him, and beaten him savagely with a stick. "but you said robbery, sir," the policeman suggested. "ah!--i will not press that," cried mr dempster. "i don't want to quite ruin the boys. i proceed against them for assault." i looked wildly at esau for him to speak out, and he was looking at me as if half stupefied. the next i recollect is that the big policeman signed to us to follow him, and we were marched away. then we were in a whitewashed cell, a door was banged to, and we heard the bolts shot. for a few minutes i stood there as if stunned, but was brought back to myself by esau. "well," he said loudly, "this is a nice game." "oh, esau!" i said weakly. "yes, it is `oh!'" he cried. "what will my mother say?" i could not answer--only look at him in the dim light hopelessly, and feeling in my mental and bodily pain as if everything was over for me in this world. to my horror esau burst into a heavy fit of laughter, and sitting down he rocked himself to and fro. "what a game!" he cried; "but, i say, you didn't half give it to him." "oh, esau!" i cried, "it's horrible." "for him," he replied. "i say, i'm precious stiff and sore though; did he hurt you very much?" "yes; my arms ache, and my ear bleeds. esau, we shall never be able to go back." "hooray!" cried my companion defiantly. "who wants to? but that isn't the worst of it; he will not pay us our wages." "no," i said; "and we shall be punished." "then it's a jolly shame; for he ought to be punished for hitting us. i say, can't we have a summons against him for assaulting us?" "i don't know," i said, wondering. "how my head does ache!" "some one coming," whispered esau. for there were heavy footsteps, and the bolts were drawn. then the door opened, to show the inspector and the big policeman. "here, boy," said the former roughly, "let me look at your ear." i was holding my handkerchief to the place, which was bleeding a good deal. "better have the doctor," he said. "what, for that! only wants bathing and some sticking-plaster." he smiled. "well, we shall see," he said, looking at me curiously. "what did you do with the money?" "what money?" "that mr dempster said you took." "he didn't take any!" cried esau indignantly. "he knocked us about, and we hit him again, and he got the worst of it." "oh, that's it, is it? come, my lad, that's not true." "it is, sir, indeed," i said earnestly. "but look at your handkerchief. seems to me you got the worst of it." "oh, that's nothing," i said. "you had a regular scrimmage, then?" "yes, sir," i said; and i told him exactly how it happened. "humph!" ejaculated the inspector, when i had finished, "i dare say you will not get more than seven years." "seven years, sir!" cried esau. "what for? old demp ought to get it, not us." "you must tell the lord mayor that, or the alderman, to-morrow." "but are we going to be kept in prison, sir?" i asked, with my courage sinking. "you are going to be locked up here till tomorrow, of course. like to have a good wash?" of course we said "yes," and before long we looked fairly respectable again, with the exception of scratches, bruises, and the ugly cut i had on my ear. the thing that encouraged me most was the way in which i saw the inspector and constable exchange a smile, while later on they and the other constables about gave us a good tea with bread and butter and meat, and we had to tell all our adventures again before we were locked up for the night, after refusing an offer that was made. "think we ought to have sent?" said esau, as we sat together alone. "i have no one i could send to but mr john, and i shouldn't like to do that," i said, as i wondered the while whether he would be very angry. "and i've got nobody but mother," said esau, "and that's what made it so queer." "what do you mean? queer?" "yes, if i sent to her and she knew i was locked up at the station, she'd come running down here in a dreadful fright and be having fits or something." "but she'll be horribly frightened now!" "not so much frightened. she'll think we've gone to see something, or been asked out to supper." "but she'll sit up." "that won't matter, because she's sure to go to sleep." so no message was sent--no opportunity afforded of our having bail; but after a time this did not trouble us much. in fact, as we were discussing our future in a low tone, wondering what punishment would be meted out to us, and what we could do afterwards, esau burst into a fit of laughter. "it was fine," he said, as he sat afterwards wiping his eyes. "and you such a quiet, patient fellow!" "what was fine?" "to see you go on as you did. i say, i wonder what he'll say to the judge?" "we shall not go before a judge," i told him. "well, madjistrit then. he'll say anything, and you'll see if we don't get sent to prison." i said i hoped not, but i felt pretty sure that we should be punished very severely, and the outlook seemed so bad that i began to think my only chance would be to follow esau's fortune, and go for a soldier. all at once, just after he had been wondering how long "mother" would be before she dropped off to sleep, and what she would say when she found that we had not been home, i became aware of a low dull guttural sound, which told me that esau had dropped off, and was sleeping soundly. but i could not follow his example for thinking. what would mr john say? what would mrs john think? they would set me down as a reckless lad with a savage temper, and if we were punished they would never know the truth. then another idea, one which made me shiver, occurred to me; the whole account would be in the newspapers, given as police intelligence, and that completely baffled all my attempts to sleep. it was a very quiet night at the station. i heard doors opened and closed twice over, with a good deal of talking; and once while i was thinking most deeply, i started and stared curiously at a bright blaze of light, beyond which i could not see; but i felt that a constable had that light in his hand, and that he had come to see if we were asleep. i had not heard the door open, i suppose i was thinking too deeply; but i heard it shut again, and heavy steps in the long stone passage outside. then i began thinking again intently, full of remorse for what i had done, and how soon it would be morning; and then i began to envy esau, who could sleep so soundly in spite of our position. i remember it all--the trampling of feet outside, the dull muttering of voices, and the curious guttural sound esau made as he slept, one that i was often to hear in years to come; and i sat there with my head resting in a corner, envying him, and wishing that i too could forget. and over and over again came the events of the past day--the struggle in the office, and the savage, malicious look of mr dempster as he struck me. weary, aching, and with my head throbbing, i sat and wondered now at my daring; and then came all kinds of mental questions as to the amount of punishment i, a poor boy, would receive. all at once, as these miserable thoughts kept on repeating themselves in a strange, feverish way, that was somehow connected with a throbbing, smarting sensation in one ear, mr dempster seemed to have raised me by the arm once more, and to begin shaking me roughly--so vigorously that i made a desperate effort to escape, when he cried-- "steady, steady! you're all right. come, rouse up and have a wash, my lad. it's nearly eight. ready for some coffee and bread and butter?" i looked up in the dim light to see the big, burly policeman leaning over me, while esau was giving vent to a noisy yawn. it was morning, indeed, and though not aware of the fact, i must have slept about seven hours. chapter six. an escape, and a suggestion. i don't know whether i was any more cowardly than most boys of my age; but i certainly felt a curiously nervous sensation that morning, and i was not alone in it; for esau had a strange scared look, and his fair hair did not curl nearly so tightly as usual. "eh?" he said, "feel frightened?" in answer to a question. "no, i don't think i do; but i wish they'd leave the door open so that a fellow could run." but there were no doors open for us to escape, and at last, after a weary time of waiting, the big policeman who had us in his charge bent down to us in the place where we were waiting, and said-- "your case comes on next. there, hold up, my lads. speak out, both of you, like men, and tell the whole truth. it's sir thomas browning to-day." i listened to him, but i felt as if i was growing hopelessly confused, and that i should never be able to say a word in my defence, while when i looked at esau, i found that he was looking at me with his forehead full of wrinkles. "it's all very well for him to say `hold up.' he haven't got to be tried," he whispered. "i'm 'fraid it's all up with us, gordon. wish we could be together when they sends us off." "now then!" said the policeman, clapping me on the shoulder; "it's us. don't you be scared. sir thomas is a good 'un." the next minute esau and i were standing somewhere with our constable close by, and somewhere before us, in places that looked like pews, sat a number of gentlemen, some of whom wore wigs. some were writing, and, seen as it were through a mist, a number of people looking on. next, in a confused way, i saw a red-faced, white-headed gentleman, who took off his spectacles to have a good look at us, and put them on again to read a paper before him. it was all dim and strange, and there was quite a singing in my ears, as i looked vacantly about while some talking went on, ending by a voice saying-- "kiss the book." then the white-headed old gentleman said-- "well, mr dempster, what have you to say?" at the name dempster, i started and looked sharply about me, to see that my employer was a little way off, very carefully dressed, and with a glossy hat in his hand. "that can't be _the_ hat," i remember thinking, as i stared at him wildly. the mist had cleared away now, and i stood listening to him as he went on speaking, in a very quiet subdued way, about the troubles he had had with the two defendants--boys whom he had taken into his service out of kindness. "yes, yes, yes, mr dempster," said the old gentleman testily; "but this isn't a sale of house property. there's a very long charge-sheet. you have given these two lads into custody on a charge of assault. now, shortly, please, how did it happen?" "the fact is, your worship," said mr dempster, "i have had much trouble with both of them. the boy dean is idle in the extreme, while gordon is a lad of vile and passionate temper." "well, sir--well, sir?" "i had occasion to speak to them yesterday about idling in my absence, the consequence being that a great many mistakes were made." "allus careful as i could be," said esau, in an ill-used tone. "silence, sir! how dare you?" cried the old gentleman. "you shall be heard presently. now, mr dempster, please go on." "i was angry, sir thomas, and i scolded them both severely, when to my utter surprise--stop, i will be perfectly accurate--things had come to such a pass that i had threatened them with dismissal--when in a fit of passion dean struck my new hat from a chair on which it was laid, jumped upon it, and crushed it." "oh, what a whopper!" cried esau, excitedly. "will you be silent, sir?" cried the old gentleman, tapping the desk in front of him with his knuckles. "here is the hat, sir thomas," said mr dempster, and stooping down he held up his crushed and beaten head-covering in corroboration of his words, when a perfect roar of laughter ran round the court, and i saw the old gentleman lift his glasses and smile. "well, mr dempster, well?" he said. "then, sir thomas, then, to my utter astonishment, evidently by collusion, gordon seized my malacca cane, and the boy dean shouted to him to come on now, and they made a combined attack upon me, breaking off the handle of my cane, inflicting the injuries you see, and but for my energetic defence i believe they would have robbed me and gone off. fortunately i was able to call for the police, and give them into custody." "well, of all--" began esau; but the old alderman turned upon him sharply. "i shall commit you, sir, for contempt of court," he cried. "but he is telling such--" "silence, sir!" "quiet, you young donkey," whispered the policeman. "hsh!" "hm! mr dempster, mr dempster," said the old gentleman, "this is a police court, not an auctioneer's rostrum." "i beg your pardon, sir thomas," said mr dempster, with dignity. "you are sworn, sir, and i wished to remind you that this is not a rostrum. you auctioneers are licenced gentlemen, and you do exaggerate a little sometimes. are you not doing so now?" "look at my face, sir thomas. my arm is terribly strained." "um--yes, but it does not sound reasonable to me, as an old man of the world who has had much to do with boys." "i have stated my case, sir thomas," said mr dempster in an ill-used tone. "are you sure that you did not use the cane first yourself?" "i--i will not swear i did not, sir thomas. i was very angry." "hah! yes," said the old gentleman, nodding his head. "now, boy, speak the truth. this is a very serious business; what have you to say?" "got hold of me, sir, and was going to hit me, and we wrestled, and the hat was knocked over, and the stick, and he trod on his 'at, sir, and i sings out to mayne gordon--this is him, sir--to take the stick away, but he got it, sir, and i calls out to gordon not to let him thrash me." "gently, gently," cried the old gentleman, holding up his hands, for esau's words came pouring out in a breathless way, and every one was laughing. "no, sir, not a bit gently; 'ard, sir, awful! and i can show the marks, and gordon--that's him, sir--says he'd no business to 'it his mate, and he 'it him, and then gordon got hold of the cane and held on, and mr dempster, he got it away again, and cut him across the ear, sir, and it bled pints, and 'it him again, and then i went at him and held him, and gordon got the cane away and 'it 'im, sir, and then we ran away, and the police took us and locked us up, and that's all." "and enough too," said sir thomas good-humouredly. "there, hold your tongue.--now, you, sir, what have you to say?--the same as your companion?" "i'm very sorry, sir," i said huskily; and then a feeling of indignation seemed to give me strength, and i continued, "what esau dean says is all true. mr dempster has behaved cruelly to us, and i could not stand still and see him beat esau. i only tried to hold the stick so that he should not strike him, and then he hit me here, and here, and then i think i got hold of it, and--i don't remember any more, sir. i'm very sorry now." "i ain't," said esau defiantly. "do you want me to send you to prison, sir?" cried the old gentleman. "no, sir." "then hold your tongue. any witnesses, constable?" "no, sir thomas." "humph! well, really, mr dempster, from what i know of human nature, it seems to me that these lads have both spoken the truth." "incorrigible young scoundrels, sir thomas." "no, no, no! excuse me, i think not. a boy is only a very young man, and there is a great responsibility in properly managing them. the marks upon these lads show that they have had a very cruel attack made upon them by somebody. you confessed that you struck one of them. well, i am not surprised, sir, that one took the other's part. i say this, not as a magistrate, but as a man. you have to my mind, sir, certainly been in the wrong--so have they, for they had their remedy if they were ill-used by applying to a magistrate. so understand this, boys--i do not consider you have done right, though i must own that you had great provocation." "then am i to understand, sir," began mr dempster, in a very different tone of voice to that which he had before used, "that you are not going to punish these young scoundrels?" "have the goodness to recollect where you are, sir," said the old alderman sternly. "yes, sir, i dismiss the case." "then a more contemptible mockery of justice," roared mr dempster, "i never saw." "exactly," said the old alderman, quietly; "your words, mr dempster, quite endorse my opinion. you are a man of ungovernable temper, and not fit to have charge of boys." "then--" "that will do, sir.--the next case." "i should like to shake hands with that old chap," whispered esau; and then aloud, as he tossed his cap in the air, "hooray!" there was a roar of laughter in the court, and the old alderman turned very fiercely upon esau, and shook his head at him, but i half fancy i saw him smile, as he turned to a gentleman at his side. then in the midst of a good deal of bustle in the court, and the calling of people's names, the policeman hurried us both away, and soon after stood shaking hands with us both. "you've both come off splendid, my lads," he said, "and i'm glad of it. old sir thomas saw through master dempster at once. i know him; he's a bad 'un--regular bully. one of his men--dingle, isn't his name?--has often told me about him." "ah, you don't know half," said esau. "quite enough, anyhow," said the constable, clapping esau on the shoulder; "and you take my advice, don't you go back to him." "no," said esau; "he wouldn't have us if we wanted." "what are you going to do, then?" "join the royal artillery," said esau, importantly. "join the royal nonsense, boy!" said the big, bluff constable. "better be a p.c. than that. plenty of gents in the city want clerks." "then," said esau, "they shan't have me." but he did not say it loud enough for the constable to hear, the words being meant for me, and after once more shaking hands with us the man said, "good-bye," and we were out in the busy streets once more--as it seemed to me, the only two lads in london with nothing to do. i was walking along by esau's side, low-spirited in spite of our acquittal, for everything seemed so novel and strange, when esau, who had been whistling, looked round at me. "now then," he said, "will you come with me?" "where?" "woolwich. 'tillery." "no. and you are not going." "oh, ain't i?" "no," i said. "you are going home. your mother must be very anxious about us." "i'd forgotten all about her," cried esau. "i say, look: here's old demp." if i had obeyed my first inclination i should have turned down the first street to avoid our late employer; but i kept on boldly, as he came towards us, and i expected that he would go by, but he stopped short, and looked from one to the other. "oh, here you are," he said; "look out, my lads, i have not done yet. if you think i am going to be beaten like this, you are--" "come on, esau," i whispered, and we did not hear the end of his threat. "there!" cried esau. "now what do you say? he'll be giving us into custody again. 'tillery's our only chance. he daren't touch us there. but i say, he isn't going back to the office. let's run and get what's in our desks. there's my old flute." "i thought you did not want to be given into custody again?" i cried. "why, if we go and try to touch anything there, and he catches us, he is sure to call in the police." "never thought o' that," said esau, rubbing one ear. "i say, don't be a coward. come on down to woolwich." "you go on directly to your mother and tell her all about it." "i say, don't order a fellow about like that. you ain't master." "you do as i tell you," i said, firmly. "oh, very well," he replied, in an ill-used tone. "if you say i am to, i suppose i must. won't you come too?" "no; i'm going up to see mr john dempster to tell him all about it, and ask him to give me his advice." "ah, it's all very fine," grumbled esau; "it's always mr john dempster now. you used to make me a friend and ask my advice: now i'm nobody at all. you always was such a gentleman, and too fine for me." "don't talk like that, esau," i said; "you hurt me." he turned and caught hold of my hand directly. "i didn't mean it," he said, huskily. "on'y don't chuck me over. i won't go for a soldier if you don't want, but let's stick together." "i should like to, esau," i said, "for i've no friends but you and mr john." "oh, i don't know 'bout friends," he said. "i don't want to be friends, 'cause i'm not like you, but let's keep together. i'll do anything you want, and i'll always stick up for you, same as you did for me." "i should be an ungrateful brute if i did part from you, esau, for i shall never forget how kind you and your mother have always--" "don't! don't! don't!" he cried, putting his fingers in his ears. "now you're beginning to preach at me, and you know i hate that. i say, let's call at the auction-rooms and say good-bye to old dingle. dempster won't be there." i hesitated, and then hurried down the next street with esau, for i thought i should like to say a friendly word to the porter, who had always been pleasant and kind, little thinking how it would influence my future career. he was just inside the long sale-room, and he came out to us directly to shake hands gleefully. "all right, lads," he cried. "i know all about it. i was there, and heard every word. serve him precious well right! ah, you're lucky ones. wish i was out of his service. what are you both going to do?" "i don't know," i said sadly. "esau here wants to be a soldier." "yes, he always was mad that way. don't you listen to him." "better be a soldier than old demp's clerk." "don't you be too sure, my lad," said dingle. "there are such things as drill-sergeants in the army, and they tell me they're a kind of double dempsters. it's awkward for you, master gordon. you see, you'll have to send to the guv'nor for a reference when you try for another place, and he won't give you one, see if he does." "no," i said sadly, "there is no chance there. what would you do?" "well," he said, taking off his carpet cap, and stroking his thin grey hair, "it's easy to advise anybody, but it ain't easy to advise right." "never mind," i said, "try." "well, sir, speaking as a poor man, if i was like you, out of a 'gagement, and no character 'cept for being able to thrash your own master--" "oh, dingle!" i cried. "well, sir, it's true enough," he said; and he bent down to indulge in a long silent fit of laughter. "don't do that," i said uneasily, "it's nothing to laugh at." "well, 'tis, and it 'tisn't, sir," said dingle, wiping his eyes on the corner of his apron. "what would you do if you were out of an engagement?" "me? i should do what my brother did--hemigrate." "your brother did, ding? to a nice place?" cried esau. "yes, my lad, and he's getting on fine." "then why didn't you go too, and get on fine?" "'cause i've got a houseful o' children, and nearly all gals. that's why, clevershakes." "but what does your brother do?" i said eagerly. "is he an auctioneer's porter?" "love and bless your heart, mr gordon, sir, no," he cried. "i don't believe there's such a thing over there. he went out in the woods, and got a bit o' land give him, and built hisself a log-house, and made a garden, and got cows, and shoots in the woods." "here, hold hard, ding," cried esau, excitedly; "that'll do. goes shooting in the woods?" "yes, and gets a deer sometimes, and one winter he killed a bear and two wolves, my lad." "that's the place," cried esau. "hooroar! come on, master gordon, let's go there." dingle laughed. "hark at him, sir. what a one he is! why, you don't know even where it is." "i don't care where it is," cried esau. "you say you can go there, and get some land, and live in the woods, and make your own house, and shoot bears and wolves--that's just the thing i should like to do." "why, you said you wanted to jyne the ryle artilleree." "yes, but i didn't know of this place then. where is it? how do you go? you'll come too, won't you?" "i don't know," i said, slowly, for my imagination was also fired by the idea of living in such a land of liberty as that. in fact, as i spoke, bright pictures of green forests and foaming rivers and boats began to form in my mind. "yes," i cried, "i think i should like to go." "hooroar! where is it, ding?" "oh, my brother's in bri'ish columbia, but it's a long, long way." "oh, we don't mind that," cried esau. "how do you get there?" "him and his wife and their boy went eight or nine year ago. sailed in a ship from the docks, and it took 'em five months." "oh!" said esau, in a disappointed tone. "five months! why, i didn't think there was anywhere so far off as that." "ah! but there is, and in one letter he told me that a man he knew was once a year going, but he went in a waggon instead of a ship." "get out! he's gammoning us," cried esau. "you can't drive a waggon over the sea." "who said you could, clevershakes?" said dingle--then turning to me, "he went over to canady by ship, and then all acrost the prayerees in a waggon--lots o' waggons all together, because o' the injins." "fire-injins?" said esau, eagerly. "no. dunno though," said dingle, grinning; "they did fire at 'em a deal." "red injins!" cried esau. "oh, i say, i think i'd rather go that way, because there'd be some fighting." "what, ain't you had fightin' enough, boy? want to get at it again? what yer thinking about, mr gordon?" i started, for my thoughts were far away. "i was thinking about your brother," i said, hastily. "ah! but such a life wouldn't do for you, my lad. there's no clean hands out there--leastwise i dessay they're clean sometimes. what i mean is, it's always hard, rough work, and no setting on a stuffed seat and writing on bloo paper. why, what do you think my brother had for chairs in his house?" "boxes," i said. "no, boxes made tables. stumps of wood--logs cut off a fir tree--no castors on them, my lad." "british columbia?" i said, thoughtfully, as i tried to remember where that country was on the map, and i am afraid getting a very hazy notion as to its position. "yes, my lad, bri'ish columbia; and if you go out there and mention my name, my brother will be glad enough to see you, i know. there--i must get to work 'fore the guv'nor catches me, or p'r'aps there'll be another fight, and me wanting a fresh place too." so we shook hands, promising to go and see him again, and directly after esau and i parted, he going south for home, i going north, and feeling a curious sensation of shrinking as i neared mr john dempster's home. chapter seven. my friends' plans. they were both in the little sitting-room, when maria, who had given me a very indignant look for dragging her down to the gate, announced the visitor and went away, closing the door more loudly than was necessary, and the reception i had was very warm as they both rose from where they had been turning over some letters together. "why, mayne," cried mr john, "this is an unexpected pleasure," and he made way for mrs john, who took my hand, smiling in her gentle way, and then turning serious and eager as she exclaimed-- "there is something the matter?" i nodded, for i could not speak. "some trouble with--my cousin?" "yes, sir," i said, hoarsely; and for a few minutes the words would not come, the incidents of the past twenty-four hours having upset me more than i was aware. "don't hurry, my boy, don't hurry; and don't question him, alexes. did you walk up?" "yes, sir." "ah, a nice day for walking. we two ought to have had ours, but some letters--a little business--kept us in. we have had a very long communication from my wife's brother, and it necessitates a great deal of thinking at our time of life." "i--i have left mr dempster, sir," i said. "indeed! i am not surprised, mayne, and--bless me! what is the matter with your ear?" the words came now, and i told him everything, while before i had half got through my narrative, mr john was upon his legs tramping excitedly up and down the little room, and uttering angry ejaculations from time to time. "you--you are not very angry with me?" "angry?" he cried. "i am more than angry that such a thing could have happened, and the principal actor in it have been one who bears the same name as myself. it is cruel--scandalous--disgraceful; and above all, to have exposed you to such an indignity--in custody like a common thief! but there, you shall not continue in his office." i could not help giving him rather a droll look. "of course, sir," i said, "i am discharged." "yes, yes, i had forgotten that," he said, hurriedly. "you must have a better post--one more suited to your abilities. now, let me see--let me see--what steps ought i to take first? something in the city, perhaps, or i would rather see you in one of the government offices." i looked at him wonderingly, as he sat down at the table now, and taking up a letter, used it to tap on the polished wood. "yes, i think in one of the government offices," he continued, while i glanced now at mrs john, whose face was full of the lines caused by her thoughts. as she met my eyes, she gave me a piteous look, and shook her head sadly, as if saying something by way of warning. "yes, i think decidedly one of the government offices, my dear, but which?" as he spoke he raised his eyes and looked at mrs john, who met his gaze with one so full of loving tenderness that it impressed me, and the more that i saw what a change took place directly in mr john's countenance, ending by his looking down at the letter he held in his hand. "ah," he exclaimed, "what a miserable dreamer i am! always the same! mayne, my boy," he added, piteously, "you must not listen to me. i cannot even help myself, and here am i talking to you in this vain, foolish way." he let his head drop into his hands, and sat bent down till mrs john went to his side. "don't give way," i heard her whisper; "it was your good heart that spoke." "my good heart," he said piteously--"no, my weak, foolish, dreaming brain. it was always so, and i have brought you down to poverty like this." she bent lower, and whispered a few words which seemed quite to transform him. "yes," he cried, with his face flushing, "i am always ungrateful, and letting present troubles set benefits aside. mayne, my boy, i wanted you to come and see us. i told you that we were going abroad--for my wife's health--i might say for my own," he added, with a smile, "for i am no use here in england." "and you are going, sir?" i said, glad to find that the conversation was changing. "yes; to join my dear wife's brother. he has sent us an invitation. he thinks i might like the life out there, and he is sure that it will give renewed health to his sister." "i am very glad, sir," i said, holding out my hands to both, "and--very sorry." "to lose _us_," said mr john. "yes; now we are getting to know each other so well, it will be painful." "are you going to canada, sir?" i said, hastily, for the idea of losing almost my only friends chilled me. "to canada first, then on by slow degrees to the great north-west. my brother-in-law--did i not tell you?" i shook my head. "he is in the service of the hudson's bay company, chief at one of their stations in british columbia." "british columbia!" i exclaimed. "yes. what do you know of the country?" "nothing, sir, only that one of mr dempster's men has a brother there. but it is a rough place, wild, and there are forests. mrs john could not go there." "no place could be rough or wild to me, mayne," she said, smiling, "if i could find health and strength." "and you will there, dear," cried mr john excitedly. "your brother says the country is lovely, and that the slow waggon journey across, though rough, will be invigorating. it will take many months, mayne," he continued, speaking as eagerly and joyfully as a boy preparing for a holiday, "but my brother-in-law has sent us ample for our expenses, and he tells us to take our time, and once there i shall easily be able to repay him, either by assisting him, or by means of a farm. alexes, my darling, i feel now that nature meant me for a farmer, and at last i am going to succeed." "nature meant you, john," she replied, with a look of pride at him, "for what you are, what you always have been, and will be." "a poor dreamer?" "no, my dear husband--a gentleman." "i thought i was sorry as well as glad," i said, after a pause. "i am now very glad. when do you go?" "as soon as we can make all the arrangements," said mr john. "but you cannot journey in a waggon by yourselves." "we cannot?" "no, sir; you must join a party--quite a caravan." "that is what dan said in the letter, dear," said mrs john. "of course. my head is in such a whirl. i had forgotten--but you, mayne, you talk as if you understand all this." "i have beard, sir," i said, colouring a little; "that is all." "but you, my boy?--we can't go and leave you in distress, and without an engagement." he whispered something to her. "i had thought the same," she said, gently; "but i did not think it right to propose it." "not if he could do better here," cried mr john, excitedly. "mayne, my boy, we have only known each other a few months, but it has been enough to make me understand you. my wife will vouch for me. it seems to me that you are alone, an orphan without a chance of raising yourself here: will you come with us to try your fortune in the new land?" "would you take me with you?" i cried, excitedly. "take you, my boy?" he cried, "gladly; but, alexes, speak for me, dear. i am so prone to let heart master judgment. should i be doing right? should i be doing right?" there was a silence in the little room which lasted for some minutes, and during that time the shouts of a party of lads engaged in some sport came ringing through the window. "yes," cried mr john, "you hear that--boys at play! it seems to me that our young friend here should be engaged as they are, and not be called upon to enter into the struggle for life away in some wild country." "but i have been at work now for years, mr john," i said. "yes, my lad, i know, and i want to help you; but misfortune has so marked me for her own that i seem now to have lost all faith in myself." "have you no relatives, mayne?" said mrs john, gravely. "there are people who could help you to some engagement?" i shook my head. "none that i know of," i said. "and when we are gone what will you do?" "obtain some situation, i hope." "you hope, my boy. it is a poor prospect, that. i do not like to say, come with us to this new land, though i believe any enterprising lad would be sure to make his way." "then why shouldn't i come?" "because prosperity will have to be fought for, and obtained at so great a cost. civilisation has to be left behind. it will be a rough life." "but if a delicate lady could bear it, why should not i?" "i have told you why i could bear it," she said, smiling. "you must not judge hastily, mayne. i am afraid to say come." "would you both like me to come?" i said, looking from one to the other. "for our own sakes, yes. for yours we are afraid to speak," said mrs john, and her husband nodded his acquiescence in her words. "then i shall come," i said, firmly. "not with you. i shall go by sea." "you will go?" cried mr john, looking at me wonderingly. "yes, sir; and perhaps i shall get there first." "but, my dear boy, how?" "i don't know, sir," i said, laughing; "i am going to talk to a man i know, and--oh, i had forgotten!" "forgotten what?" "esau," i said, "the lad who worked with me in the office." mr john looked at his wife in a perplexed way. "let us think about it all," said mrs john. "this companion of yours-- esau--do you like him?" "oh, yes," i cried; "he has always been most kind, and he wants to go with me--for us to be together." i did not grasp it so well then as i did afterwards, though i had an undefined feeling that my fellow clerk's company would not be agreeable to them; and when i left them that night, it was with the feeling that it was quite certain that my new friends would start, possibly before the month was out; while as far as i was concerned, my prospects were very much as they were. chapter eight. a startling announcement. that night when i got back to camberwell, i found that not only had supper been ready above an hour, but mrs dean and esau were both waiting for me to join them. "i thought we'd make a sort of a party of it," said esau, "only not ask anybody, so that we could enjoy ourselves, though if that policeman was anywhere near, and old dingle wasn't so far off, i should like to have had them in." "oh, i am glad you've come," cried mrs dean, "for esau has been going on so." "only," continued esau, ignoring his mother's words, "you couldn't ask old dingle without asking his wife and twelve children, and that would take such a lot of plates, without counting the pie mother's made, and that's only just enough for three." "but why have you got such a grand hot supper?" i said. "because of its being a holiday, and because we're going to make a fresh start in life over there in the woods." "esau, my dear, don't, pray don't," whimpered his mother. "it was bad enough sitting up for you all night, and you not coming, but it's far worse when you will go on like that." "come, sit down, mr gordon. i'm as hungry as can be. why you know you went to sleep, mother." "i didn't, my dear. i never had a wink all night for expecting you." "well, how could i help it, mother? we should have been home safe enough if we hadn't been locked up in a dun john." "yes, and my boy in custody--in prison. oh dear me! oh dear me!" "ah!" shouted esau, striking the table hard with a spoon. "you dare to cry again, and i won't eat a bit of supper." "but i can't help it, esau," sobbed the poor little woman; "i declare i've been seeing nothing but policemen and prison vans ever since you told me where you had been." "all comes o' getting into bad company, mother," said esau, cutting the steaming steak pie. "there; that's an extra spoonful o' gravy for you if you promise not to cry." he passed a plate to where his mother sat, and began to help me. "bad company's the ruin of all boys," continued esau, laughing at me. "look at mr gordon's ear, and that mark on his face." "oh, my dear," cried mrs dean, "my eyes were so dim, i didn't see. is it very bad?" "'course you couldn't see," cried esau, "if you keep on crying. why you ought to laugh for joy to think mr gordon and me's got out of bad company, and left old dempster for good." "i am glad, my dear, if it's for your good, i'm sure. let me give you a hot baked potato, mr gordon, my dear. but esau has been going on in the wildest way--says he shall start across the sea to some dreadful place." "that i didn't, mother; i said it was a lovely place. there you are, master. mr esau dean, may i have the pleasure of helping you to some poy?" "he says he shall be an emigrant, my dear, and shall go and build himself a house in the woods." "well," said esau, helping himself quickly, "there's no room here in london to build one, and if there was the people wouldn't let me have the ground." "and it's all madness, and wild as wild." "well, you might give your poor son, who has just escaped outer prison, a hot potato," said esau, grinning at me again. "oh, my dear, i beg your pardon. there, let me help you. that's a beauty." "then why didn't you give it to mr gordon?" "do be quiet, my dear. how you do talk. i really think you're half crazy." "i was, mother, to stop with old `going, going, gone' so long. never mind; i'm going to have land of my own, and a house in the woods, where i can go and shoot bears and wolves." "there, mr gordon, my dear, that's how he has been going on ever since he came home." "hold your plate for some more gravy," said esau to me. "that's the worst part of it. i shan't have mother to make hot steak pies and lovely crusts." "it isn't half so good as i should like to make it, esau," said the poor little woman sadly; "but do be a good boy, and leave off all that dreadful talk. mr gordon don't go on like that." "no, but he thinks all the more, mother." "he don't, i'm sure. now do you, mr gordon?" "i'm afraid i've quite made up my mind to go, mrs dean," i said sadly. "oh, my dear, don't," she cried. "it's too dreadful. right on the other side of the world, where there's bears and wolves, and for all we know perhaps savage red indians." "oh, there are, mother, lots of 'em; and they scallop people and roast 'em." "esau!" half shrieked the poor little woman wildly. "don't eat 'em afterwards, do they, mr gordon?" "don't listen to him, mrs dean," i cried. "he is saying all this to tease you." "i thought so," she cried triumphantly. "then he doesn't mean to go?" i was silent, and mrs dean's knife and fork dropped on the table. "tell me--the truth," she cried, rising and laying her hand on my shoulder. "the truth is, mrs dean, that we have both lost our situations, and that i'm afraid mr dempster will be so malicious that he will keep us from getting others." "yes, i'm afraid of that," she said sadly. "so as we have heard that any one who likes to try can get on out there, we did think of going." "and we do think of going, mother dear," said esau gently. "come, try and look at it sensibly. i know you will not like me to go, and when it comes to the time, i shan't like to leave you; but i'm such a sleepy-headed chap, i shall never get on here, and if i go over there it will wake me up." "but i couldn't part with you, my boy," cried mrs dean. "i should be all alone. what would become of me?" "why you'd go on just as you are, and i should send you home some money sometimes; and when i've made my fortune i shall come back and make a lady of you." "no, no, no," she said, with the tears running down her cheeks; "i'd rather stop as we are, esau." "yes, but we can't." "yes, we can, dear. i've saved a few pounds now, and it only means working a little harder. i can keep you, and i'm sure--" "stop!" roared esau huskily. "i'm ashamed of you, mother. do you think i'm going to be such a sop of a fellow as to sit down here and let you keep me? i suppose you'll want to keep mr gordon next." "then you've got nothing to be ashamed of, i'm sure, sir," said the little woman tartly. "what's enough for two's enough for three, and i was going to say, when you went on like that, that if mr gordon wouldn't mind, and not be too proud at things not being quite so plentiful, which everything should be clean as clean, it's very, very welcome you'd be, my dear, for you never could have been nicer if you had been my own boy." "mrs dean," i cried, with a curious feeling in my throat, while esau looked at me searchingly, as if he thought i was going to accept the offer, "that is quite impossible. neither esau nor i could do that. why, i should be ashamed even to think of it." "oh no," said esau, sarcastically, "it's all right. let mother do the work, and we two will play at tops and marbles all day." "be quiet, esau. i know you're only teasing. but why not, my dear? i know i'm a very little woman, but i'm very strong." "it's be quiet, mother, i think," cried esau angrily. "what do you mean by talking like that to mr gordon? i often calls him gordon, 'cause he's always been such a good chap to me; but i don't forget he's a gentleman's son, and his mother was a born lady. i'm ashamed of you, mother, that i am." "but it's so dreadful, my boy--worse than your being a soldier. i could come down to woolwich to see you sometimes." "no, no, mrs dean," i said; "don't say that. it really would be wise for us to go. people do get on out there, and those friends of mine, mr john dempster and mrs john, are going." "that's it then," cried the little lady angrily. "it's their doing, and it's a shame." "here, hold hard, mother!" cried esau. "i say, is that true?" "quite." "and now you're trying to blind me, esau," cried mrs dean; "but you can't cheat me." "who's trying to blind you?" "you, sir. just as if you didn't know all the time." "he did not know, neither did i know till i went up there to-day," i said. "ah, i never liked those people. they're only dempsters, and not content with weaning you away from me, they've done the same now with my boy." "did you ever hear such an unbelieving old creature," cried esau excitedly. "mr and mrs john d. going! why you've coaxed 'em into it." "you don't deceive me; you don't deceive me," said mrs dean, sobbing. "be quiet, mother!--but how is it they're going?" "for mrs john's health. i told you before they said they might go to canada." "so you did." "of course you did," said mrs dean, scornfully. "they are going to join mrs john's brother, who is manager out at a hudson's bay company's station." "hudson's bay," said esau, making a grimace; "that's up at the north pole. i don't want to go there." "nonsense!" i said; "it's somewhere in british columbia." "hudson's bay, baffin's bay, davis' straits--all up at the north pole. think nobody never learnt jography but you?" "ah, well, never mind where it is," i said impatiently; "they're going out there." "and they've coaxed you two boys away from a poor lone widow woman to go with them," cried mrs dean; "and it's a sin and a shame." "i assure you, mrs dean--" "no, sir, you can't." "will you be quiet, mother!" cried esau angrily, "and go on with your supper, and let us. you're crying right into the salt." "i'm not, sir! and i will not be put down by a boy like you. i say you shan't go." "and i say i shall," replied esau surlily. "if you don't know what's for the best, i do." "it isn't for the best, and it's cruel of you, esau." "well," said esau, turning to me, "i've made up my mind, gordon; she won't care when it's all over, and then she'll see it's for the best for all of us. so once for all, will you stick to it?" "yes," i said, "i am quite determined now." "hear that, mother?" "oh yes, i hear, sir." "then don't say sir; and let's finish supper comfortably, for i haven't had half enough. but let's have it all over, and then settle down to it. so once for all, i'm going out to british columbia to make my fortune." mrs dean had been sitting down for some little time now, and as esau said these last words she started up, gave the table a sharp slap with her hand, looked defiantly at us both, and exclaimed-- "then i shall come too." we two lads sank back in our chairs astonished. then we looked at each other, and we ended by bursting out laughing. "oh, all right," said esau at last. "that's right, mother.--she's coming to do the shooting for us while we build up the house." "ah, you may laugh, sir. but if that's a place that is good for two lads like you to get on in, it's a good place for a respectable hard-working woman who can wash, and cook, and bake bread, whether it's loaves or cakes." "well, mother can make cakes," said esau, "and good ones." "of course i can, sir; and very glad you'll be of 'em too when you're thousands of miles from a baker's shop." "yes; but the idee of your coming!" cried esau. "haw, haw, haw!" somehow it did not seem to me such a very preposterous "idee," as esau called it, for just then i too had an idea. mrs john was going that long waggon journey; what could be better for her than to have a clever little managing, hard-working woman like mrs dean with her? but i did not say anything about it then, for i had to think the matter over. only a few hours ago it had seemed as if my connection with esau was likely to be in the way of my accompanying the dempsters; now matters were taking a form that looked as if my friendliness with him was to be the reason, not only for my being their companion, but of helping them admirably as well. but matters were not quite in shape yet, and we all went to bed that night feeling as if esau's opinion was correct--that the little supper had not been a success. chapter nine. difficulties. mrs dean was in waiting for me next morning, and attacked me directly. "do, do, pray try and help me, my dear," she whispered, so that her voice might not rise to the little bed-room where we could hear esau stamping about, knocking the jug against the basin, and snorting like a hippopotamus over his ablutions. "you have such a way with you, and esau looks up to you so as being a gentleman, and i know he'll do what you tell him." "nonsense, mrs dean!" i said; "surely he'll mind his mother more than he does me." "no, my dear, no," she said sadly. "he has always been the dearest and best of boys, and i used to make him think just as i liked; but of late, since he has been grown big and strong, he generally ends by making me think as he likes, and he is so obstinate." "oh no; he's a very good fellow." "yes, my dear. hush! don't talk so loud. you see he has got it into his head that it is the best thing for us, and i want you to get it out." "but how can i, when i think the same?" "now, mr gordon, my dear, you don't--you can't think it's best for you two boys to go trapesing hundreds of thousands of miles, and going living among wild beasts in forests." "i'm afraid i do, without the wild beasts," i said. "but suppose you were both taken ill, my dear, there's no hospitals, or dispensaries, or doctors out there." "but you said you would come with us, and if we were taken ill, where could we get a better nurse?" "it's very kind of you to say so, my dear, and of course i shouldn't think of going without some camomiles, and poppy-heads, and a little castor-oil, and salts and senny, and jollop. yes, and a roll of sticking-plaster. and that reminds me, how is your poor ear?" "oh, not very bad," i said laughing. "but there, i'm afraid i cannot do what you wish, mrs dean, for if esau does not come, i shall certainly go myself." "and he'd be sure to, then, my dear. he'd have been a soldier by this time, only you kind of held him back. he does think such a deal of--" "hallo, you two! ketched you, have i, making plots and plans?" "no, no, my dear." "why, you've been coaxing him to get me not to go." "well, my dear, it was something of that sort." "yes, i know, mother. that's just like you, trying to stop me when i'm going to make a big fortune." "but you don't know that you are, my dear. such lots of people go abroad to make fortunes, and i never knew one yet who brought a fortune back." "then you're going to know two now--him and me. breakfast ready?" "yes, my dears; and i thought you'd like some hot rolls, so i went and got 'em." "i say, mother, you're going it. hot rolls! are they buttered?" "yes, my dear, and in the oven." "did you cut 'em in three?" "yes, dear, and put plenty of butter in, as you like them." "hooray! come on then, and let's begin." "but, esau dear, if you'll only promise to stop, you shall have hot rolls for breakfast every morning. you shall, if i work night and day." "then esau and i would rather have hard biscuit and dry bread out yonder, mrs dean," i said warmly; and esau shouted-- "hear, hear!" two days passed, then a third, and we had been out, and, to please esau's mother, tried in several places to get engagements. but we soon found that it was hopeless, and after tramping about for hours went back to the cottage. "such waste of time, and such a lot of trouble," grumbled esau. "why, we might have done a lot of good work hunting, or shooting, or gardening, out in merriky yonder." but mrs dean only shook her head, and told us to try again; and we tried. i think it was on the fourth evening that we were sitting in the little kitchen, tired, discontented, and miserable, with mrs dean stitching away more quickly than ever, when we all started, for there was a double knock at the door, "hullo!" cried esau. "hush! my dear," said his mother, mysteriously; "i know. it's either mr dempster to beg you to go back, or news about a new place." she smoothed her apron and went to the door, picking off threads and ravelings from her dress so as to look neat, though that she always looked; and the next moment i ran to the door too, for i heard a familiar voice, and to my surprise found both mr and mrs john. "ah, my dear boy," he cried eagerly, "we were getting uneasy about you, and thought you must be ill. my wife could not rest till we came." i led them into the little parlour, and placed chairs; while mrs dean, after a humble courtesy, went away into the kitchen. "is that your landlady?" continued mrs john, as she glanced quickly round; and, before i could answer, "how beautifully neat and clean." "yes, beautifully," assented mr john, hurriedly. "have you heard of an engagement, mayne?" "no, sir," i said sadly. "then you have not tried?" "indeed, sir, both esau and i have tried very hard, as his mother is so averse to his going abroad." "then you have given up all thought of going abroad, my dear boy?" i shook my head. "but you should, mayne," said mrs john, in rather a low voice. "we are forced to go for my health's sake, but you are young and strong, and with energy you ought to succeed here." "i should like to do what you think right, ma'am," i said sadly. "and we both think it right, my boy," said mr john. "we should dearly like to have you with us; but it would be unjust to you to encourage you to take a step which you might afterwards bitterly repent, and we should feel ourselves to blame." i looked at mrs john, and she took my hand, and said sadly-- "yes, we have had many talks about it, mayne, and we can only come to that conclusion." "then you are both going away, and i shall never see you again?" i said bitterly. "who can say?" said mrs john, smiling. "you know why i am going. i may come back in a few years strong and well, to find you a prosperous and--ah!" "alexes! my child!" cried mr john in agony, for mrs john, who had been speaking in a low voice, suddenly changed colour, raised her hands to her throat, as she uttered a low sigh, and would have fallen from her chair if i had not caught and supported her. we were lifting her to the little horse-hair couch, when there was a tap at the door, and mrs dean appeared. "is anything the--" "matter," she would have said, but as she caught sight of mrs john's white face, she came forward quickly, and with all the clever management of a practised nurse, assisted in laying the fainting woman back on the couch. "she's weak, and been trying to do too much, sir." "yes, yes, i was afraid," cried mr john. "but she would come--to see you, mayne. tell me where--i'll run for a doctor." "oh no, sir," said mrs dean, quietly; "i'll bathe her temples a bit. she'll soon come round." mrs dean hurried out of the room, and was back directly with basin, sponge, towels, and a tiny little silver box. "you hold that to her nose, mr gordon, while i sponge her face. mind-- it's very strong." "but a doctor," panted mr john in agony. "she has been so terribly ill. this was too much for her." "if you fetched a doctor, sir, he'd tell us to do just what we're a-doing. bathe her face and keep her head low. there, poor dear! she's coming round. oh, how thin and white she is!" mrs dean was quite right, for under her ministrations the patient soon opened her eyes, to look vacantly about for a few moments, and murmur-- "so weak--so weak." "are you better, dearest?" whispered her husband. she smiled feebly, and closed her eyes for a time. then with a deep sigh she looked up again, and made an effort to rise. "ah, that's right," said mr john; "you feel better." "no, no," said mrs dean, firmly, "not yet. she must lie still till the faintness has gone off, or she'll bring it back," and, with a sigh, mrs john resigned herself to the stronger will, mr john nodding at me, and saying in a whisper-- "yes, mayne; she knows best." a few minutes later mrs dean went towards the door. "i'll be back again directly," she whispered. "i want to speak to esau." she was back directly, and mrs john held out her hand to her. "thank you, thank you so very much," she whispered. "i am so sorry to have given you all this trouble." mrs dean laughed. "trouble!" she said, merrily; "as if it was trouble for one woman to help another. i mean a lady," she said, colouring. there was silence for a few moments, and then mrs john said-- "i thought i must come down to see mayne. has he told you of his wish to go with us to the west?" "told me?" cried mrs dean, excitedly. "ah, now you are talking about trouble indeed." "we came down to tell him that it is impossible--foolish of him to think of such a thing." "oh, thank you kindly, ma'am," cried mrs dean; "and me thinking all kinds of evil of you, and that you had been persuading him to go." "no, no, my good woman, no," said mr john. "and thank you too, sir. and i hope mr gordon will take it to heart, for if he had gone my esau would have been sure to go too, and i should have seemed to be quite alone in the world." "yes, it would be hard for you," said mrs john, looking at her searchingly. "mayne, my dear, you will not try and influence her son?" i shook my head. "oh, but he don't, ma'am, never," said mrs dean, eagerly; "he crosses him; but my esau always sets mr gordon here up for a hidle, and thinks whatever he does must be right." "why, mayne," said mr john, smiling, "i did not know you were such a model boy." "oh, but he is, sir," cried mrs dean; "and my esau is ever so much better since--" "i'm going for a walk," i said, with my face scarlet. but just then there was a tap at the door, to which mrs dean responded, and came back directly with a little tray, on which was her favourite black teapot and its companions. "i'm afraid, ma'am, it isn't such tea as you're used to, but i thought a cup--and my boy esau got it ready." mrs john gave her a grateful look, and soon after, very much refreshed, she quite sat up, mrs dean helping her to a chair. "but oh, my dear," she said, "you're so weak and thin; you're not fit to take a long voyage and a journey such as mr gordon talked about." "if i stay in england i shall die," said mrs john, sadly. "oh, don't say that, my--ma'am. but are you going alone?" "no; with my husband." "and soon?" "the vessel sails in a fortnight." "a fortnight? there, mr gordon, you see you could not go. it is too soon." "and you will give up all thought of going, mayne?" said mrs john, "for our sake." i was silent for a few moments, and then my voice was very husky as i said-- "for some years now i have had no friends except mrs dean and her son. then i met mr john dempster, and since then it has been like having old times. now you are going away, and you say don't go too." "yes, yes," said mrs john; "i am speaking for your good." "i know you think you are, mrs john; but if mr john here had at my age been placed in my position, i'm sure he would not have done as you advise." "i'm afraid i should, my boy," he faltered. "i never did have your energy." "then i can't help it," i cried. "i shall not say good-bye to you, for go i must." "oh, mr gordon," cried mrs dean, "if you go esau is sure to go too." "then we will try the harder either to make you a home out there, or to come back here prosperous men." "then i say it again," cried mrs dean, just as if she were putting my hopes into shape, "you two couldn't make a home comfortable; so if it is to be, why there's an end of it. and look here, sir and ma'am, this poor dear is not fit to go all that long journey alone, and as i'm going too, i shall come along with you and tend to her, and do the best i can." "oh no, no," cried mrs john. "it is impossible," said mr john. "do you want to wake up some day, sir," cried the little woman firmly, "and find this poor, weak, suffering thing dying for want of help? of course you don't. here, esau," she cried, throwing open the door. "yes, mother; more hot water?" came from the kitchen. "no; you may begin to pack up. we're going across the sea." before mr and mrs john left us that night it was all settled; and when i returned from going part of the way with them, i found esau and his mother hard at work, planning as to what was to be taken and what sold, mrs dean rousing her son's anger as i entered the kitchen, and making him stamp. "why, what is the matter?" "mother is so obstinate," he cried. "why, what about? does she say now she will not go?" "no, mr gordon, i only told him i must take my four flat-irons with me. they don't take up much room, and take 'em i will. why, bless the boys! do you think you won't want clean shirts?" chapter ten. off to the west. that was really the prime difficulty in our leaving england--to keep mrs dean's ideas of necessaries within bounds. poor little woman! she could not, try how her son and i would to make her, understand what was the meaning of simple necessaries. "now it's of no use for you to fly in a passion with your poor mother, esau," she used to say. "i've consented to go with you to this wild savage land, but i must have a few things to make the house comfortable when we get there." "but don't i tell you you can't take 'em, because they won't have 'em aboard ship; and you can't stuff 'em in a waggon and carry 'em millions of miles when you get across." "if you wouldn't be so unreasonable, esau. there, i appeal to mr gordon." "so do i," roared esau. "does mother want a great ironing-board?" "no," i said; "we can make you hundreds out there." "oh dear me. you'll say next i mustn't take my blankets and sheets." "you must only take what you can pack in one big chest," i said. "but no chest would hold what i want to take," whimpered the poor little woman. "i declare if i'd known that i was to give up everything i have scraped together all these years i wouldn't have consented to go. here, esau, what are you going to do with those ornaments?" "set 'em aside for the broker." "esau, i must take them." "all right, mother. we'll have a ship on purpose for you, and you shall take the kitchen fender, the coal-scuttle, the big door-mat, and the old four-post bedstead." "oh, thank you, my dear; that is good of--esau! you're laughing at me, and you too, mr gordon. i declare it's too bad." "so it is, mother--of you. once for all, i tell you that you must pack things that will be useful in one big chest, and you can take a few things that you'll want on the voyage and in the waggon in a carpet bag." "but it's ruinous, my dear--all my beautiful things i've taken such pride in to be sacrificed." "oh, do hark at her!" cried esau, sticking two fingers in his ears, and stamping about. "i wish to goodness i'd never had no mother." "then you're a cruel, ungrateful boy, and you'll break my heart before you've done. mr gordon, what am i to do?" "to try and think that we are going to start a new life, and that when esau makes a new home for you, all these household things can be got together by degrees." "but it's ruin, my dear. all these things will go for nothing." "they won't, i tell you," roared esau. "how many more times am i to tell you that dingle will give us fifty pounds for 'em? him and another man's joining, and they're going to put 'em in sales; and if they don't make so much, we've got to pay them, and if they make more, dingle's going to pay us. what more do you want?" "nothing, my dear; i've done," said mrs dean in a resigned tone, such as would have made a bystander think that the whole business was settled. it was not, however, for the next day most likely the whole argument would be gone through again about some trifle. meanwhile i had been helping mr john, and here mr dingle's knowledge came in very helpful, and he devoted every spare minute he had, working so well, that he arranged with one of our well-known auctioneers to take the furniture of the cottage, and triumphantly brought mr john a cheque for far more than he expected to receive. one way and another, mr john was well provided with funds, laughingly telling me he had never been so rich before, as i went with him to his landlord's to give up the key of the pleasant little house. for during the rapidly passing days of that fortnight everything had been settled, a passage had been secured for mrs dean in the same vessel by which mr and mrs john were going, and it had been finally decided that esau and i were to go by quite a different route. for while they were to go by swift steamer across to quebec, and from there through canada with one or other of the waggon-trains right to fort elk, on the upper waters of the fraser, we lads were, after seeing the little party off to liverpool, to go on board the _albatross_, a clipper ship bound from london to the river plate, and round by cape horn to san francisco, from which port we were to find our way north the best way we could. there would be no difficulty, we were told, for vessels often sailed from the golden gate to the mouth of the fraser, but our voyage would be slow. it would be rapid though compared to the land journey across the prairies. our trip would probably last five months, more if our stay at san francisco were long; but allowing for halts at the settlements, and the deliberate way in which, for mrs john's benefit, the journey was to be made, their trip would extend to a year--probably more. mr john had gone through it all with me again and again, reading long extracts from his brother-in-law's letter written expressly for their guidance, till i knew them pretty well by heart. in these he was told to hasten on to the high and mountainous lands, for it was there the advantage to mrs john would be. they would find it cold as the autumn passed into winter during their journey, intensely cold, perhaps; but it would be bright and sunshiny as a rule, and the clear pure air of the elevated regions gave health and strength. i thought a great deal about it, and felt puzzled sometimes, wondering whether it could be wise to take a delicate woman all that tremendous distance. but i was too young, i thought, to have opinions worth consideration, and i always came to the conclusion that my elders must know best. then came the day for parting, so quickly that i could hardly believe it. the luggage had gone on some days before to liverpool, and there were esau and i seeing after the few things that were to accompany the travellers in their cabins, as we stood on the platform at euston. mrs john looked terribly thin and worn, more suited, i thought, for going at once to her bed than to venture on such a terrible journey; but there was a bright, hopeful look in her eyes as i helped her to her seat, and she spoke quite cheerily as she held my hand, mr john holding the other, and we occupied ourselves with our final good-byes, so as not to notice mrs dean and her son. but i could not help hearing esau's words-- "oh, i say, mother, don't--don't! you must get to your seat now. there, good-bye, dear. it isn't so very far after all, and we'll be there waiting for you, and ready to welcome you when you come." "but is it right, dear?" she said; "is it right?" "'course it is. don't turn coward. you must go now all the things are sold." there was a final embrace; mrs dean was hurried into her seat, the door closed; mr john pressed my hand hard without a word, and mrs john put her arms about my neck and kissed me. "god bless you! _au revoir_!" she said. "stand back, sir, please," some one shouted; the engine gave a piercing shriek, and esau and i stood on the stone platform watching the train glide away with many a head out of the window, and hand and kerchief waving growing more and more confused, while a sense of desolation and loneliness oppressed me till i quite started at my companion's words. "oh, won't poor mother have a big cry up in a corner all the way down. it's very rum, but i suppose she is fond of me." "fond of you?" i said; "of course." "well," he said, "here we are, passages paid, and all that money in our pockets, and nothing to do for two days. what shall us do--go and have a bit of fun, or get on board at the docks?" "get on board the _albatross_," i said. "there don't seem to me as if there is any more fun in the world." "well now, that is a strange thing," said esau; "that's just how i feel. look here." "what at?" "i feel just in the humour for it--as cross and nasty as can be. let's go and say good-bye to old demp." but we did not; we went sadly to the docks, where our boxes already were, and that night took possession of our berths. chapter eleven. seventeen weeks at sea. "much better have let me had it my way, sir," said esau, who, ever since he had seen the john dempsters and their treatment of me, had grown to behave as if i was his superior. he spoke those words one day when we had been at sea about a week, the weather having been terribly rough, and the passengers suffering severely. "oh, i don't know, esau," i said, rather dolefully. "i do, sir. if you'd done as i wanted you we should ha' been walking about woolwich now in uniform, with swords under our arms; and i don't know how you get on, but i can't walk at all." "you should catch hold of something." "catch hold o' something? what's the good when the ship chucks you about just as if you were a ball. see that chap over there?" "what, that one-eyed man?" "yes; he was going to hit me just now." "what for?" "'cause i run my head into his chest. i couldn't help it. i'd got my legs precious wide apart, and was going steadily, when the ship gave a regular jump and then seemed to wag her tail, and sent me flying, and when i pollergized to him he said i was always doing it, and ought to sit down." "well, it is safest, esau," i said; "i've got several nasty bruises." "bruises! why, i'm bruised all over, and haven't got a place left clear for another, so i've begun again making fresh bruises top of the old 'uns." i laughed. "ah, i don't see nothing to grin at. if you was as sore as i am you wouldn't laugh. wouldn't have ketched me coming to sea if i'd known how bad it was. why, it's like being knocked about by old demp, only worse, for you've got no one to hit back at." "it's only a storm, esau, and you'll like it when the weather's fine again." "not me. like it! look here; i've read books about your yo-ho sailors and jolly tars, and your bright blue seas, but them as wrote 'em ought to be flogged. why, it's horrid. oh, how ill i have been. i wouldn't ha' cared if mother had been here. she would ha' been sorry for me; 'stead o' everybody laughing, as if it was good fun." "well, you can laugh at them." "yes, and i just will too. oh, hark at that. here, hold tight, sir! we're going." for a tremendous wave struck the ship, making it quiver as tons of water washed over her, seeming to beat her down; but she rose as if shaking herself, and then made a pitch. "i say," cried esau, "i didn't know ships went like fishes sometimes." "what do you mean?" i said, as i listened to the rush and roar, and noticed that it seemed to be getting dark. "why, swim right under water. shall we ever come up again. hah! that's better," for the light streamed in again through the thick round glass at the side by our heads. "i've had about enough of this, sir. what do you say to getting out at the next pier and walking back?" "oh, esau," i cried, "don't be such a cockney. what pier? this is not a river steamer." "i only wish it was. but i say, i can't eat, and i can't sleep, and i'm sore outside and in. let's go back and follow mother and them two in a waggon." "but don't you know that we should have a rough voyage across first?" "couldn't be so rough as this. oh, there it goes again. i know we're going to dive down right to the bottom. wish we could, and then we might get out and walk. here, let's go on deck." "we can't," i said. "no," said the one-eyed man, a big, broad, saxon-looking fellow, "we're battened down." "oh, are we?" said esau. "yes; you can't go up till this weather's better. want to be washed overboard?" "i should like to be washed somewhere," said esau, "for i feel very dirty and miserable." "sit down and wait patiently, my lad," said the man; "and don't you come butting that curly head of yours into me again, like an old southdown ram coming at a man. i don't want my ribs broke." "have you been at sea before?" i said to him, as he sat back smoking a short pipe. "often. been to 'stralia, and new zealand, and the cape." "was it ever as rough as this?" "worse," he said, laconically. "but not so dangerous?" said esau, in a questioning tone. "worse," said the man gruffly. "but we keep seeming as if we should go to the bottom," said esau, fretfully. "well, if we do, we do, boy. we're in for it, so what's the good o' making a fuss?" "i don't see no good in being drowned without saying a word," grumbled esau. "we two paid ever so much for the passage, and a pretty passage it is." "oh, it'll be all right if you keep quiet; but if you get wandering about as you do, we shall have you going right through the bulk-head, and have to get the carpenter to cut you out with a saw." "wish he was as ill as i am," whispered esau. "thank ye," said the man, nodding at him. "my eyes are a bit queer, but my ears are sharp." "where do you suppose we are?" i said. "off spain somewhere, and i dare say we shall be in smooth water before long. shan't be sorry for a little fresh air myself." i was longing for it, our experience being not very pleasant down in the crowded steerage; and i must confess to feeling sorry a good many times that i had come. but after a couple more days of misery, i woke one morning to find that the ship was gliding along easily, and in the sweet, fresh air and warm sunshine we soon forgot the troubles of the storm. the weather grew from pleasantly warm to terribly hot, with calms and faint breezes; and then as we sailed slowly on we began to find the weather cooler again, till by slow degrees we began to pass into wintry weather, with high winds and showers of snow. and this all puzzled esau, whose knowledge of the shape of the earth and a ship's course were rather hazy. "yes; it puzzles me," he said. "we got from coolish weather into hotter; then into hot, and then it grew cooler again, and now it's cold; and that mr gunson says as soon as we're round the horn we shall get into wet weather, and then it will be warmer every day once more." and so it of course proved, for as we rounded the cape, and got into the pacific, we gradually left behind mountains with snow in the hollows and dark-looking pine trees, to go sailing on slowly day after day through dreary, foggy wet days. then once more into sunshine, with distant peaks of mountain points on our right, as we sailed on within sight of the andes; and then on for weeks till we entered the golden gates, and were soon after at anchor off san francisco. seventeen weeks after we had come out of the west india docks, and every one said we had had a capital passage, and i suppose it was; but we passed through a very dreary time, and it is impossible to describe the feeling of delight that took possession of us as we looked from the deck at the bright, busy-looking city, with its forest of masts, tall houses, and dry, bare country round. esau and i were leaning against the bulwarks, gazing at the shore, upon which we were longing to set foot, when gunson, who had all through the voyage been distant and rather surly, came up behind us. "well, youngsters," he said, "going ashore?" "yes," i said, "as soon as we can get our chests." "well, good-bye, and good luck to you. got any money?" "a little," i replied, rather distantly, for i did not like the man's manner. he saw it, and laughed. "oh, i'm not going to beg or borrow," he said roughly. "i was only going to say put it away safe, and only keep a little out for use." "oh, we're not fools," said esau, shortly. "don't tell lies, boy," said the man, giving him an angry look. "don't you be too clever, because you'll always find some one cleverer. look here," he continued, turning to me, "perhaps you're not quite so clever as he is. i thought i'd just say a word before i go about the people here. there's plenty of a good sort, but there's a set hanging about the wharfs and places that will be on the look-out to treat you two lads like oranges--suck you dry, and then throw away the skins. going to stop here?" "no," i said; "we are going up country to join some friends." "then you get up country and join your friends as soon as you can. that's all. good-bye." he nodded shortly at me, but did not offer to shake hands. "good-bye, sharp 'un," he growled at esau. "good-bye," said esau, defiantly, and then the man turned away. "never did like chaps with one eye," said esau. "strikes me that he's pretending to be so innocent, and all the while he's just the sort of fellow to try and cheat you." "oh no," i said; "he's not a pleasant fellow, but i think he's honest." "i don't," cried esau. "he took a fancy to that four-bladed knife of mine on the voyage, and he has been waiting till he was going to leave the ship. i'm not going to make a row about it, 'cause i might be wrong; but i had that knife last night, and this morning it's gone." "and you think he stole it?" "i shan't say one thing nor i shan't say another. all i know is, that my knife's gone." "but hadn't you better have him stopped and searched?" "what, and if the knife ain't found, have him glaring at me with that eye of his as if he would eat me? not i. we're in a strange country, with 'mericans, and indians, and chinese all about, and we've got to be careful. all i say is, my knife's gone." "there, put it in your pocket," i said, handing him the knife, "and don't be so prejudiced against a man who wanted to give us a bit of friendly advice." "why! eh? how? you took the knife then." "nonsense; you lent it to me last night when i was packing up our things." esau doubled his fist, and gave himself a good punch on the head. "of course i did," he cried. "well of all! why how! i say, my head must be thick after all." chapter twelve. we get into hot water. we were on shore next day, and, by the captain's advice, went to a kind of hotel, where they undertook, not very willingly, to accommodate us, the captain having promised to help us in getting a ship for the fraser river. but though day after day passed, and we went to him again and again, he was always too busy about his cargo being discharged, or seeing other people, to attend to us, and at last we sat one day on some timber on a wharf, talking about our affairs rather despondently. "we seem to be regularly stuck fast, esau," i said; "and one feels so helpless out in a strange place like this." "yes," he said; "and the money goes so fast." "yes," i said, "the money goes so fast. we must get away from here soon." "couldn't walk up to what-its-name, could we?" "walk? nonsense! many, many hundreds of miles through a wild country, and over mountains and rivers." "well, i shouldn't mind that, lad. it would all be new." "we shall have plenty of that when we get to british columbia." "what's all this then?" he said. "part of the united states--california." "oh, ah! of course. seems to me i spent so much time learning to write a good hand, that i don't know half so much of other things as i should." "plenty of time for learning more, esau." "yes, plenty of time. seem to have more time than we want, and i don't enjoy going about much, though there's plenty to see. one's so unsettled like." "yes; we want to get to our journey's end." "so this is california, is it? that's where they got so much gold. i say, let's stop here." "nonsense! we must get to fort elk, and see what is to be done there till mr john comes." "all right, i'm ready for anything. here's one of the chaps coming who wanted us to let him get us a ship yesterday." for just then a yellow-looking fellow, one of the many idlers who hung about the docks, came slouching along towards us; and as soon as i saw him i whispered a word or two to esau, and we got up and walked away, with the man still following us at a little distance. "those chaps smell money is my belief," said esau. "yes, and mr gunson was right. we mustn't trust any one, but wait till the captain tells us of some respectable skipper who's going up north and will take us." "that's it. i say, what rum-looking chaps these chinees are," continued esau, as a man in blue, with a long pig-tail, passed us and smiled. "why, he don't know us, does he?" "we don't know him," i replied. we went on past the crowded wharves, where ships were loading and unloading, and then by the grey-tinted wooden buildings, all bright and fresh-looking in the sunshine. everybody nearly seemed busy and in a hurry except us, and the idle-looking scoundrels who hung about the drinking and gambling saloons, into one or two of which esau peered curiously as we went by; and then, as if attracted by the shipping, we made our way again down by the wharves in hopes of hearing of a vessel that would take us on. i have known well enough since, that had we been better instructed, all this would have been simple enough; but to us ignorant lads, fresh come from england, it was a terrible problem to solve, one which grew more difficult every day. in those days, when settlers were few, and vancouver island just coming into notice, there was no regular steamer, only a speculative trading-vessel now and then. still there was communication, if we had only known where to apply. we were watching one vessel just setting out on her voyage, and thinking that in an hour or two she would be outside the great opening to the harbour, and abreast of the bare, whitish-looking cliffs which form that part of the californian coast, when esau said-- "i wonder whether she's going up to fraser river. i say, why didn't we find out she was going to sail, and ask?" "you want to go up the fraser river?" said a voice close behind us. "guess i never see such chaps as you. why didn't you say so sooner?" we both faced round at once, and found that the man who had been haunting us for days was close behind us, and had heard every word. "look here," said esau, shortly. "there, don't you got rusty, stranger. that's the worst of you englishers, you think everybody wants tew hurt you." "come along," i whispered. "yew just let him alone. he's all right. now here's yew tew have landed here days, yew may say, outer the _albytross_, and yew goes to spensife hotel, wasting yew're money, when we've got quite a home for strangers like yew for half what yew pay, and we'll get yew a ship to fraser, skimalt, or wheer yew like." as he was speaking three more men sauntered slowly up and stood looking on--men whom i felt sure i had seen with him before, and it made me uneasy, especially as a couple more came out of a low-looking saloon close by, and we were some distance from the better part of the city. "look here," i said sharply, "do you know of a ship going to sail to the fraser river, or to esquimalt?" "why, of course i do. here, where's your money? it's twenty-five dollars a-piece. splendid berths, best of living. like gentlemen aboard. hand over, and i'll take you to where they give out the tickets." "thank you," i said. "i should like to see the ship, and an agent." "but don't i tell yew everything's first chip, and i'll do it for yew as yew're strangers." "yes, it's very kind of you," i said; "but i won't trouble you." "trouble? oh, come, we're not like that here to strangers. nonsense, lad. hand over." "we're not going to give twenty-five dollars a piece, i can tell you," put in esau. "why, it's next to nothing for a voyage like that. but there, never mind, you two are new-comers, and the skipper's a friend of mine. i'll put you right with him for twenty dollars each. here, hi! any of you know the _pauliner_?" "know her? yes," said one of the men hard by; and they all came up and surrounded us. "what about her?" "sails for the fraser, don't she, to-morrow?" "yes, of course." "splendid clipper, ain't she, with cabins and all chip chop?" "yes," came in chorus. "there, what more do you want? come along, lads; lucky i met you. come and have a drink." "no, thank you," i said. "come, esau." "get," said the man with a forced laugh. "what's the good of being strangers. come and have a drink. i'll pay." "pay? ah," said the second man; "and we'll all share in turn. come on in here." this fellow clapped his hand on my shoulder with a boisterous display of friendliness, while the firstcomer thrust his hand through esau's arm, and began to lead him toward the saloon. "that will do," i said, trying to be cool, for i began to fear that we were being dragged into some disturbance, and felt that the time had come to be firm. "we are much obliged to you for your friendliness, but we neither of us drink. be good enough to tell me where the agent of the ship lives, and i'll give you half-a-dollar." "nonsense! come and have a drink, my lad." "no, thank you," i said. "come, esau." "why, what a fellow you are. very well, then, hand over the twenty dollars each, if you can't take a friendly drop. i'll get the tickets for you all the same." "no, no," said the other man. "let's do no business without a drink first; they think we want to make them pay, but i'll stand liquors for the lot." "no, let 'em have their own way," said the first man; "they're not used to our customs. you let 'em alone. i'm going to get 'em passages in the _paulina_, for twenty dollars each. come, lads, where's your money?" i glanced quickly to right and left, but we seemed to be away from help, and, strangers as we were, in the lower part of the port, quite at the mercy of these men. then, having made up my mind what to do, i pressed up to esau, pushing rather roughly by our first friend. "now, esau," i said, "back to the hotel. straight on," i whispered. "run!" "i bet you don't," said our first friend; "that trick won't do here, stranger;" and his smooth looks and tones gave place to a scowl and the air of a bully. "come along, esau," i said sharply. "no, nor you don't come along neither," said the man, as the others closed round us as if out of curiosity, but so as to effectually bar our retreat. "what's matter?" said one who had not yet spoken. "matter?" cried our friend. "why jest this. these here tew have been holding me off and on for three days, wanting me to get 'em a ship to take 'em to esquimalt. first they wanted to go for ten, then they'd give fifteen." "fifteen dollars to skimalt?" cried the new man. "gammon." "that's so," said our friend. "last they said they'd give twenty dollars a-piece, and after a deal o' trouble we got 'em berths, and paid half the money down; now they want to back out of it." "oh, yes," cried the second man; "that won't do here, mates." "it's not true," i said, indignantly. "and now wants to bounce me out of it. here, yew wouldn't hev that, mates, would yew?" there was a regular excited chorus here, and the men closed in upon us, so that we were quite helpless, and for a moment i felt that we must buy ourselves out of our awkward position. but a glance at esau showed that he was stubborn and angry as i, and that if called upon he would be ready to fight for it, and make a dash for liberty. those were only momentary thoughts, for we were two lads of sixteen or seventeen against a gang of strong men who were holding us now, and our position was hopeless. just then our first friend said in a carneying tone-- "there, don't be hard on 'em, mates. they're going to be reasonable. now then, are you going to pay those twenty dollars each for your passages?" "no," i said, choking with rage. "yew don't mean to go in the _pauliner_?" "no, we don't," cried esau. "very well, then, yew must each on yew pay the smart. i paid for yew-- ten dollars each, and tew fur my trouble. that's fair, ain't it, mates?" "ay, ay. make 'em pay three dollars," was chorussed. "there, yew hear 'em, so out with the spots, and no more nonsents." "you won't get no money out o' me," cried esau, fiercely. "nor from me," i cried. "we'll soon see that. now quick!" it was broad daylight, but we seemed to be quite alone, and i was being forced back over a man's knee, when i was jerked up again, and the man who was holding me went backwards, while a familiar voice said-- "hullo, boys; seem to be enjoying yourselves." "mr gunson, help!" i cried, as i recognised our shipboard companion; "these men--" "i see, my lad, steady. ah, would you!" for a quick look had passed among the men, and they were about to make a rush, when gimson stepped back and whipped out a revolver. "don't come too near, boys," he said. "i'm rather a good shot." the men stopped short at the sight of the revolver barrel covering first one and then another. but the first man said "come on!" with quite a snarl, drew a knife, and flung himself at gunson. i felt a horrible sensation run through me as i listened for the report; but instead of firing, gunson struck up with his revolver, and the man went over sidewise, while our friend now fired over the heads of the others of the gang. this stopped them for the moment, but as they saw that no one fell, they came on again, and one of them seized gunson before he could fire, or before he attempted to fire, for, as he told me afterwards, he did not want to feel that he had killed a man. in the struggle which followed i saw the pistol drop from our defender's hand, and one of the men stooped to pick it up, but esau was too quick for him. making quite a leap, as if playing leap-frog, he pitched with his hands right on the man's shoulders, sending him over and over, but falling himself, while i picked up the pistol and drew the trigger. the sharp report made my ears ring, and i stood back now with the weapon presented, expecting some of the others to rush at me. but the two reports had spread the alarm, and a couple of the officials came running up, whilst our assailants took to flight, giving gunson an opportunity to rise and shake himself. "hurt, my lads?" he said, as he took his pistol. "they were too many for me; i got the worst of it." "i'm not hurt, sir; are you?" i said. "only a bit bruised." "i am," grumbled esau. "feel as if my wrist's out of joint." by this time a crowd had assembled, and we were very glad to get away with our protector, after a few words of explanation to the two policemen, who told us we had better mind what company we got into, nodded to one another and laughed, as if it was all a good joke, and then went their way. "here, come to my diggings," said gunson, rather gruffly. "i thought i told you two to mind what you were about, and what sort of customers you would meet with out here." "yes," i said; "but--" "wait till we get to my place, and we'll sit down and talk there. some one has been pretty foolish to let two boys like you come wandering round the world by yourselves." in about ten minutes he stopped at so shabby looking a hotel that i half shrank from entering. gunson noticed it. "needn't be scared," he said. "decent people. germans;" and throwing off my hesitation, i followed him with esau to his room, where he pointed to a chair and a stool, and seated himself upon a very homely-looking bed, taking out his revolver, and putting in two fresh cartridges. "nasty thing to carry," he said, "but it's as good as a big dog. it can bark loudly as well as bite. barking did this time. now then," he continued, as he replaced the pistol in his hip pocket, "i suppose you two know that those fellows were regular blackguards, who would have stripped you of every shilling you possessed--by fair means or foul. how was it you were with them?" i told him all that esau would let me say, for he was very anxious to relate the story himself. "oh, that was it, was it?" said gunson. "glad you were so sensible, but you see what this place is. it will be all right by and by, but at present it's a regular sink for all the ruffians in the states to drain into. why don't you get out of it?" "that's what we are trying to do--hard," i said eagerly. "why you can't have tried much. there are plenty of ways out. where do you want to go?" "to the fraser river," i said, "and then away north to fort elk." "ah," he said, looking at us both curiously. "fraser river, eh? that's where i'm going." i looked at him distrustfully, and he saw it. "quite true, my lad," he said, smiling good-humouredly; "and i sail by a vessel which starts the day after to-morrow. what did those rascals want twenty-five and then twenty dollars a-piece for your passage money? humph! well, i think i can do better for you than that." "if you would give us the name of the agent," i said. "i'll do better--i'll take you to him, and say you are friends of mine, if you are not ashamed of such a disreputable-looking character." "i was not ashamed to take your help just now," i said. "no," he replied drily; "but you had no time then to examine my appearance. where are you staying, my lads?" i told him, and he uttered a long low whistle. "of course i don't know what your friends are, but doesn't the money run away very fast?" "fast?" cried esau; "why, i could live ten times as long on the same money in london." "i dare say you could live twenty times as long, boy; i could. look here; these people are decent, clean, and honest,--do as you like,-- hadn't you better come here? they'll board you for half the money i'm paying--that is, they would you. i don't know about him--he's such a wolfish-looking fellow." "why, i don't eat any more than he does!" cried esau. "don't think you do, boy, you should say. well, what do you think of it?" "dunno," said esau, rather surlily. "seems to me as if everybody here wants to rob you. how do i know you don't?" "ah, to be sure, boy, how do you know? perhaps i do. going to plan to get you somewhere all by yourselves, and then shoot you both. i am pretty good with a revolver." "didn't seem like it just now." "no, it didn't," said gunson, coolly. "ah, how like a boy that sounds. do you know what shooting a man means?" "killing him if you fire straight," said esau. "right; and hurting him, eh?" "of course." "well, look here, my lad; the man who shoots another hurts himself far more than he hurts his victim. you don't understand that. wait till you are as old as i am, and you will. i did not want to kill either of those ruffians. it was not a question of aiming, i had only to hold the pistol down, and it would have hit one of them. well," he continued, "shall i take you to the captain? and will you bring your things here? or will you go your own way?" i looked at him fixedly, for everything in the man's appearance seemed to say, "don't trust him," till his one eye lit up, and a smile began to curl his lip. then my hand went out to him. "yes," i said, "you are an englishman, and i'll trust you." he gripped my hand hard, and then turned to esau. "well," he said, "what do you say? think i shall do you a mischief?" "yah! not you," said esau. "i'm not afraid of you. here, let's get our things from that other place." "let's have the landlady in first," said gunson, smiling; and he went to the door and called. a pleasant-looking german woman came, and in the most broken up english i ever heard, said we could come at once, but got into a muddle over terms till gunson joined in, and spoke to her in german, when the difficulty was at an end. "nice bright-looking place, and plenty of sunshine," said gunson, as he led us down to a wharf where a schooner was being laden with barrels, while a red-nosed, copper-complexioned man looked on smoking a cigar. "here, skipper, two more passengers for you--friends of mine; will you have them?" the captain looked us both over, and then nodded. "how much?" the captain looked at us again, and then said a certain number of dollars for the two--a price which astonished us. "i'll say right for them," said gunson. "they'll send their chests on board." "there!" said our new friend, as we walked back. "that matter was soon settled. now go and pay your bills, get your traps, and come on to me." chapter thirteen. in new quarters. gunson nodded, and we parted, esau keeping very quiet for a few minutes before speaking. "i suppose it's all right," he said; "but if ever a chap looked like bad company, he do." "but he seems as friendly to us as can be." "yes," said esau. "but what does he want here with a pistol? some of the people board ship was coming to keep shop, some to farm, and some to be servants. i want to know what he wants here?" "perhaps the same as he would in new zealand, and at the cape of good hope. i should say he's a traveller." "what in? yah! he don't look the sort of man people would trust with goods to sell. traveller? why, you see dozens of 'em in the streets off cheapside--big, good-looking fellows, with great curly whiskers and beards. he isn't a traveller. nobody would buy of him." "i mean a man who goes through foreign countries." "what for?" "to see them." esau shook his head. "i don't think he's a traveller of that sort. i say, look out." "what is it?" i said, expecting to see a dray come along. "that chap." sure enough, there was the dark, yellow-looking scoundrel watching us, and he followed at a distance till he had seen us enter the hotel where we had been staying. we stated that we were going away, and went and packed up our few things at once, while from the corner of the window we had the satisfaction of seeing two more of our assailants come up, and remain in conversation with the first for a few minutes, after which they walked away. "now, if we could get off at once, esau," i said, "they would not see us go, and when they return they might come and watch here as long as they liked." esau jumped at the idea, and went out to see if he could find a man to help us carry our boxes, while i paid our bill. before i had done he was back with gunson, whom he had met, and told what he was after, with the result that they had returned together. "i'm only a poor man," said our friend, with a laugh, "so i thought i might as well come and earn half a dollar. i thought too," he added, seriously, "that it would be better not to employ a stranger, who would be able to point out where you are staying, in case your acquaintances want to hunt you out to do you an ill turn." we were only too glad of his offer, and in less than an hour we were safely in the shelter of our new resting-place; while upon esau's going out to reconnoitre, taking a good round so as not to be seen, he returned shortly in high glee, to tell us that the three men were seated on a stack of timber, watching the hotel we had left. "and ready for some mischief, i'll be bound," said gunson. "these fellows work in clans, and i shall be very glad if we can get away without a crack on the head." as we sat chatting with gunson the rest of that day and evening, he seemed to puzzle me, for sometimes he talked quite like a steerage passenger, just as the rough-looking man he seemed should talk, while at others, words and ideas kept slipping out which made me think he must be one who had had a good education. he had travelled a great deal, as we knew, but he seemed singularly reserved about his intentions. that he was going to the fraser river he made no secret; but though he kept us in the dark, he somehow or another, now that he was more with us, contrived to possess himself of all our projects. he seemed at times quite changed, and his manner set me wondering why it was that, though we had passed nearly five months together on board the _albatross_, seeing us every day, he had rarely spoken to us then, and we parted almost as much strangers as on the first day when we encountered each other in the dark cabin of the ship. first one and then the other would think he had found a clue to our companion's intentions; but when we parted for the night we felt far from sure, but more curious than ever. "so you are going hunting, are you?" he said, in the course of our conversation. "no," i said. "what do you call it then, a chase--wild-goose chase?" "i don't see that it's a wild-goose chase for two lads to come to a new country to try and get on," i said. "not a bit, my lad, but a very worthy thing to do. i meant it was rather a wild-goose chase for this friend of yours to send you in the hope of his brother-in-law helping you. isn't he rather an inconsistent sort of a gentleman?" "mr john dempster is one of the best of men," i said warmly. "perhaps so; but the best of men make mistakes sometimes, and it looks like one to me for him to be taking a sick wife right across the country to this new home. tried it before, perhaps?" "no," i said; "mr john was never out of england. he told me so." "then he will have rather a startling experience, and i wish him well through with it." "i say, don't talk like that," said esau, suddenly, "because my mother's there." "then i wish her well out of it too." "have you ever made the journey?" i said eagerly. "yes, once," said gunson, quietly. "once was enough." "but mrs john's brother told them he thought it would do his sister good." "well, it may. i'm not a doctor; but after what i went through i should hesitate about taking a delicate woman such a route. and you too. when you get to the fraser, how do you mean to journey hundreds of miles up to fort elk?" i was silent, for it seemed to me as if we were for the first time coming face to face with the difficulties of our task. "dunno," said esau, thoughtfully. "s'pose there ain't no 'buses." "no, nor yet cabs," said gunson, laughing. "might be a stage-coach running now and then, p'r'aps." "my good lad, there isn't even a road. perhaps there is a trail. there is sure to be that, of course, for the indians would go to the fort with their pelting." "with their what?" said esau. "pelts--skins, to sell to the company's agent." "oh," said esau. "but the river," i said suddenly. "we could go up that by a boat, couldn't we?" gunson laughed. "yes, there is a river," he said; "but, like all mountain streams, boats cannot go up very far for the torrents and falls and rocks. have you any arms?" "of course," said esau. "i mean weapons." "no," i said. "humph! perhaps better without them--at your age." "you have," i said, as i glanced toward his hip-pocket. gunson nodded. "got a gun too?" said esau. "a rifle or two," replied our companion, rather reluctantly; and he rose then and left the room, as if to avoid being questioned. "hunting and shooting, that's what he's after," said esau triumphantly, as soon as we were alone. and at that moment i could not help thinking that he was right, and that we had hit upon a very satisfactory companion, for part of our journey at least, if it did not turn out that gunson had some designs of his own. chapter fourteen. a serious trouble. esau took it all coolly enough. i believe he thought hard sometimes, but it was soon over; and to him the most serious things in life seemed to be making a big meal and having a good sleep. now for my part i could not help thinking a great deal, and worrying so much about the future that my thoughts would not let me sleep. my thoughts generally took this form--"suppose--" and then i used to be supposing: suppose mrs john were taken much worse and died; suppose the party were attacked by indians; suppose they never got across all that great stretch of country; suppose esau and i were lost in the woods, to starve to death, or drowned in the river, and so on, and so on; till toward morning sleep would come, and i began dreaming about that long-haired dark yankee loafer, who had got hold of me, and was banging my head against the ground, and trying to kill me, till i opened my eyes the next morning and found that it was esau. "i say," he cried, grinning, "don't you ever call me a sleepy-headed chap again. why, i've been shaking you, and doing everything i could to rouse you up." "oh," i exclaimed, "i am so glad! i was dreaming." "as if i didn't know. why, you were on your back snorting, and puffing, and talking all sorts of nonsense. that's eating 'merican pie for supper." "i couldn't go to sleep for hours." "yah! that's what mother always said when she was late of a morning, and i had to light the fire. i say, wonder how they are getting on?" "so do i. i lay thinking about them last night, hoping they wouldn't be attacked by indians." "i don't think an indian would like to attack my mother again. she ain't a big woman, but she has got a temper when it's roused. make haste; i want my breakfast." i was not long in dressing, and on going down we found mr gunson waiting for us, and looking more sour, fierce, and forbidding than ever. "come, young sirs," he said, "you must learn to see the sun rise regularly out here in the west. sit down, and let's have breakfast. i've a lot to do ready for starting to-morrow." "i'm sorry i am so late," i said. "i could not sleep last night." "why? let's look at you. not ill?" "oh, no," i said, beginning on my breakfast to try and overtake esau. "no," he said, "you're not ill, or you couldn't eat like that. why couldn't you sleep?" "i was thinking so much of what you said about the difficulties before us. i never thought of them before." "oh!" he said, looking at me curiously. "well, i'm glad of it. but don't worry yourself. the troubles will not come all at once. you can fight them one at a time, and get over them, i dare say." "then you think we shall be able to get up to fort elk somehow?" "if you make up your minds to it, and say you will do it. that's the way. there, make a good breakfast, and then perhaps you can help me a bit. i want to finish buying a few things that one can't get up the country. by the way, you will have to leave those chests of yours up at one of the settlements." "leave our chests?" said esau, staring. "why, you don't expect to be able to carry a great box each on your head, do you, through such a country as you'll have to travel. never thought of that, i suppose?" "i'm afraid i did not," i said. "of course you did not. look here, while i think of it. have you both got blankets?" "no," i said. "i thought we need not buy them till we built a house." "and don't you want to go to sleep till you've built a house? my good lads, a thoroughly well made thick blanket--a dark-coloured one--is a man's best friend out here. it's bed, greatcoat, seat, cushion, carpet-bag, everything. it's even food sometimes." "go on," cried esau, laughing. "you can't eat your blanket." "there was a snake at the zoo once thought differently," said gunson, laughing. "no, you can't eat your blanket, but you can roll yourself up warm in it sometimes when there's no food, and have a good sleep. _qui dort dine_, the french folk say." "but do you mean to say that up there we shan't get anything to eat sometimes?" cried esau, who looked aghast. "yes, often. a man who wants to get on in a new country must not think of eating and drinking. why, i went three days once with nothing but a drop of water now and then, and a bit of stick to chew, so as to keep my mouth moist." i burst out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, and gunson looked annoyed. "it's no joke, young fellow," he said; "and i'm not romancing." "no, no, no," i panted out; "not--laughing--at you. look--look!" i pointed at esau, and mr gunson's face relaxed into a smile, and then he too laughed heartily at the comical, horror-stricken countenance before us. "what are you laughing at?" cried esau. "i say, though, do you mean it? shall we have to go without sometimes like that?" "of course you will." "i say, mr gordon," said esau, in despondent tones, "hadn't we better go back?" "go back?--no!" i cried. "it will not be very pleasant, but we can eat all the more afterwards." esau brightened up. "yes," he said. "i didn't think of that." "you neither of you seem to have thought anything about what's before you, my lads." "then you think we have done very foolishly in coming?" i said. "not i. you have done wisely; and if you make up your minds to take everything as it comes, i have no doubt that you will grow up into well-to-do hearty men. there, now, let's talk business. i'll go with you and see that you are not cheated while you buy yourselves a blanket apiece. have you knives?" "yes," i said; and we each produced one. "ah, well, you can keep those in your pockets to pick your teeth with when you do get anything to eat. you must buy yourselves each a good strong case-knife, big enough to chop wood or skin an animal, and to use for your food." "anything else, sir?" "there are other things you'll want, but you can wait till you join your friend up at fort elk. i dare say he will be able to supply you out of his store." "but he does not keep a store," i ventured to observe. "he is the head man over one of the hudson's bay company's depots." "exactly. then he keeps a store. you don't suppose he gives the indians dollars for the skins they bring in, do you? he keeps a store of blankets and cutlery, and all kinds of useful things for barter with the people. blankets up yonder are like bank-notes. well, what are you looking at?" "i was wishing i knew as much about the place as you do." "have patience," he said, laughing, "and i dare say you'll know a good deal more." we went out soon after breakfast, and i had my first lesson in frontier life in watching gunson make his purchases after he had helped us make ours; and the rest of the day was occupied in overhauling our chests, and repacking them with things our new friend assured us that we should not want, while he pointed out to us those we did, and showed us how to make a light package of them that we could easily carry. twice over that day i caught sight of the man i wanted to avoid, but fortunately he did not see us, and at last night came, and we sat down to our supper with our chests on board the schooner, and nothing to do the next morning but walk on board. i slept well that night, and we were down in good time, mr gunson nodding his approval, and after breakfast he said-- "look here, my lads, i've seen those roughs hanging about as if they meant mischief. of course we could get the protection of the law, but that might mean detaining us, and as the schooner sails at noon, we don't want any complications of that sort." "of course not," i said. "so my advice is, that you stop here quietly till nearly the time, and then we'll go on board, though i dare say it will be evening before we really start." i agreed at once, but esau looked disappointed. "well, what is it?" said gunson. "i did want to go back to that store and buy something else before we started." "money burning your pocket?" "no, it aren't that," said esau, turning a little red. "well, you are your own master, my lad. go and buy what you want, and make haste back." esau brightened up, and i rose to go with him. "no, no; i don't want you to come," said esau. "you stop with mr gunson. i shan't be long." it struck me that this was rather curious on my companion's part, but i said nothing, only sat and looked out at the lovely bay, while gunson busied himself with writing a letter. "there," he said, when he had done; "want to write too?" i shook my head. "better," he said. "mayn't have another chance to write home for mouths." "i have no home," i said sadly, "and no one to whom i could write." he clapped me on the shoulder, and looked down at me searchingly as i thought. "never mind, lad; you are going to make a home and friends too. some day you may have more friends to write to than you want." i walked away to the window, to stand looking out at the shipping, wondering how long esau would be, and what the article was that had taken his fancy, till all of a sudden the idea came to me that it must be a revolver. "do you know what your young mate has gone to buy?" said mr gunson just then, but i avowed my ignorance. "i hope he will not be very long, because we may as well be getting on board and settling down. our chests are all right. the captain told me that they were right down in the hold, and well above the chance of getting any bilge water upon them." he went to the window i had just left. "looks like fine weather," he said, "with perhaps a little wind. you must try and be a better sailor this time." the last look round was given, the bill paid, and as we waited, i congratulated myself upon the fact that we were going to escape without another encounter with the loafers, for i felt sure they had been watching for us, so as to pick a quarrel. but the time glided on, and esau did not return. gunson got up and went to the door twice, coming back each time with a very severe look on his countenance, as i saw at a glance, for i avoided his eyes, feeling, as i did, unwilling to meet some angry outburst, and hoping every moment to have an end put to a very unpleasant state of affairs. over and over again i started at some impatient movement on the part of gunson; but he did not speak, contenting himself with walking impatiently up and down like some animal in a cage. "have you no idea what dean has gone to buy?" he said at last. "not the least, unless he has fancied that he would like a revolver." "absurd!" cried gunson; and there was another pause, during which i listened to every passing step, hoping against hope that it might be esau. my position was growing more and more painful, and at last i could bear it no longer. "what is it? what are you going to do?" said gunson, as i suddenly jumped up. "look for esau," i said. "sit still, boy. what do you know about the place, and which way will you go?" i was obliged to say that i didn't know, but i would hunt for him well. "it is now close upon twelve o'clock," said gunson, angrily, "and he has been gone nearly three hours. if he is coming back it must be directly, and then, with you gone, we shall miss the boat, and all our belongings will go on up north without us. hang him, he must be mad!" "but i would not go far without coming back," i said. "i think, my lad, you may save yourself the trouble." "what do you mean? he will be back here directly?" "no. i'm afraid," said gunson, bitterly, "that we have been talking too much for him lately." "mr gunson?" "we have scared him with our account of the troubles, and he has backed out." "backed out?" i faltered, quite horrified at the idea of being left alone. "yes, and gone into hiding until we have sailed." "oh, impossible!" "no, my lad, quite possible. you saw how startled he was at the idea of a journey through a wild country." "no, no, i think not," i said. "i feel nearly sure of it. he had no real reason for going out this morning, and his excuses to get away were as slippery as could be. depend upon it we shall not see him again--at least, i shall not, for of course you will wait for him." "if i thought he could play such a mean, deceitful trick i should go without him," i said hotly. "indeed? well then, my lad, you had better come, for it is high time we were off." i stared at him wildly, for what he had said seemed terribly likely. esau had been startled on hearing the real difficulties and dangers that we had to go through, and much as he seemed to like me, he might have been overcome by his thoughts, and at the last moment felt that he must turn tail. "well?" said gunson, "what do you say? will you come? i must be off almost directly." "yes," i said, "you must go, but i'm sure esau is in some trouble. he could not be such a coward as that." "then you will not go with me?" "i would if i could think as you do," i said; "but i'm sure he would not forsake me." "human nature, boy." "it isn't his human nature," i said boldly. "if he had wanted to back out he would have confided in me, and wanted me to go with him till you had sailed." "i have no time to argue," said gunson sternly. "what are you going to do?" "i must try and find my companion." "but your chests?--they will be taken on to esquimalt." "we should have to go up and claim them afterwards." "you believe, then, that he is staunch?" "i am sure of it, sir." "well, then, good-bye, my lad. i'll speak to the captain about your chests, and have them left with the agents of the ship, but you will have to give up your passage-money. there will be no getting that back." "i'm afraid not," i said gloomily. "yes, they may sail at any time," said gunson, impatiently. "better go with me, boy." "no," i said. "you are giving up your passage and your chances for the sake of a fellow not worth his salt." "you don't know him as i do," i replied. "i will not believe it of him." "well, if he is not staunch you are, at all events, my lad. good-bye. if he does come back run down to the wharf at once, the schooner may not have sailed." "he has got into some trouble, i'm sure," i cried. "good-bye." "good-bye," i said, holding out my hand; but my lips quivered, for i was horribly disappointed. "once more," cried mr gunson, as he gripped my hand hard, "i tell you he is playing you false. you had better come." "no." "you are not afraid, are you?" i flung his hand away. "no," he said, smiling, "not a bit. there, mayne, my lad, he has thrown you over, but i can't. if you stay, i'll stay too." "mr gunson!" i cried. "yes, my lad, and we'll see if he comes back." "he will if he can, i'm sure," i cried. "well, we shall see." "i am sure he has got into some trouble; i am certain of it. ah, here he is!" for the door opened at that moment, but it was not esau, only the landlady, who in broken german-english, told us that a message had arrived from the captain to say we were to go on board. "thank you. _gut_!" said gunson, laconically. and then, as the woman left the room, he continued, "well, i'll take your view of it, my lad. we'll say he has got into some trouble and cannot get back." "yes; i'm sure of it," i cried. "very well, then, we must get him out of it. of course it is no use for us to waste time by going from house to house. i'll go and see the chief man in the police, and see if they can find him for us." "yes," i said, eagerly; "come on." "no, no, you stay. he may, as you say, return, and you must be here to meet him, or he may go off again, and matters be worse." "he'd go to the schooner then." "if the schooner had not sailed. you stop, and i hope he will turn up hero." anxious as i was to go in search of esau, i was obliged to obey, and i was directly after left to myself to pass quite a couple of hours before gunson came back. "no news yet," he said; "the police are trying what they can do, but if he is in hiding they are not likely to succeed." "then he is not in prison?" "oh, no; as far as i can hear, nothing has been seen of him." "i thought he might have got in some trouble, and been arrested. then those men must be at the bottom of it, mr gunson." "yes, i thought so, but what could i do? i told one of the chiefs of the police that i was afraid he had been attacked, and the man looked serious, and said `very likely.' then he asked me to describe the men, and i did." "well?" i said eagerly. "he told me that my description was like that of hundreds of scoundrels about the place." "let's go and see if we can meet them anywhere about," i said. "they were watching our hotel yesterday where we stayed." "yes, i know," said gunson, thoughtfully. "it hardly seems likely. i don't know, though, there are always men hanging about ports ready to do anything for the sake of a few shillings, all the world over." i felt a shiver run through me at his words, as my busy brain began to suggest endless horrors that might have befallen poor esau; and as i followed gunson out into the road, these thoughts grew and grew till i found myself telling poor little mrs dean about the loss of her son, and hearing her reproaches as she told me that it was all my fault, and that if it had not been for me esau would have stayed at home. we went along the road, and down to the wharves, and to and fro about the hotel where we had been staying, and there was no sign of either of the men who had assailed us. there were, as the police had said, plenty of a similar class, many of whom resembled them somewhat in appearance; but our search was entirely in vain, while towards evening, as we came out once more where we had a full view of the beautiful bay, i saw something which made me start, and, full of misery and self-reproach, i stopped and looked up at gunson. "yes," he said, frowning heavily, "i see. there she goes, and with a good wind too. nice clean-sailing little vessel. we ought to have been on board." for there, a mile now from the shore, with her sails set, and looking half-transparent in the light of the setting sun, was the graceful-looking schooner, which i felt must be ours, heeling over gently, and taking with her our few belongings. "pretty good waste of time as well as money, gordon, my lad," said my strange-looking companion, harshly. "but there, it is of no use to cry over spilt milk. you could not go off and leave your mate in this way, and i, as an englishman, could not leave a fellow-countryman--i mean boy--in trouble." i tried to thank him, but suitable words would not come, and he clapped me on the shoulder in a friendly way. "there," he said, "come back to our friend the frau. you are faint and hungry, and so am i. she shall give us a good square meal, as they call it out here, and then we shall be rested, and better able to think." i was faint, certainly, but the idea of eating anything seemed to make me feel heart-sick; but i said nothing, only followed my companion back to the little hotel, feeling as if this was after all only some bad, confused dream. chapter fifteen. where esau had been. "we are forgetting one thing," said gunson, as we drew near our resting-place; and i believe now he said it to try and cheer me on. "perhaps while we have been away the truant may have returned." his words had the required effect, for i hurried on by gunson's side, and was the first to enter and ask the landlady if esau had been back. "nein! nein! nein!" she cried. "bood der herr captain send doo dimes for you bode, and say he go doo sea mit dout you, and die schip ist gone. ya." "yes, gone," said gunson; "and we have come back. give us some tea and dinner together." "_zo_," cried the landlady. "ach you are sehr hungrig." she hurried away nodding her head, and we heard her shrill voice giving orders directly, while gunson began to try and cheer me up. "it's very kind of you," i said; "but what shall we do?" "wait patiently, my lad. there, don't mind about me, perhaps it's all for the best; the schooner may get into a bad storm, and we shall be better ashore, perhaps save our lives, who knows. there, lie down on that bench, and try and have a nap." but i couldn't close my eyes for thinking of poor esau. perhaps he was dead; perhaps even then he was shut up somewhere by a gang of scoundrels who might be meaning to keep him till they could secure a ransom. ah, what a host of thoughts of that kind came rushing through my weary head, which now began to ache terribly. in due time the landlady came in, bringing us our meal; and, signing me to take my place, gunson seated himself and began to eat, not like a man who partakes of food for the pleasure of the meal, but as if it was a necessity to supply himself with the support required for doing a great deal of work. and i suppose it was in something like that spirit that, after he had first requested me to eat, and then ordered me sharply, i managed to force a little down. it was getting quite dark, when gunson said suddenly-- "now is there anything else we could do--anything we have not thought of?" "the hospital," i said suddenly, as the idea came like a flash of light. "i did not say anything to you, my lad," replied gunson, "but that was the first place i went to, thinking he might have been knocked down. no: try again." but no, i could think of nothing else, and my despondency was rapidly increasing, when all at once gunson jumped up and said sharply-- "it's too bad to destroy your belief, my lad, but i feel sure that mate of yours is playing you a dirty trick. he is a miserable coward, and hiding away. the lad has turned tail and--i'm a fool." for at that moment, panting and exhausted with running, esau rushed into the room, with nothing on but his shirt and trousers, and the former torn halfway across his back. "esau!" i shouted, joyfully. "then--you're--not gone," he panted hoarsely; and turning from me, he threw himself into a chair at the table and began to eat ravenously. "you young scoundrel! where have you been?" cried gunson, angrily. "tell you presently," said esau, with his mouth full. "go and fetch the police." "police! no," cried gunson, excitedly. "here, do as i do," he continued; and taking out his handkerchief, he hastily made a bundle of the meat, butter, and bread we had left. "no, no," cried esau, "i'm so hungry." "eat as we go." "where?" i cried. "boat. we may catch the schooner after all." "no, no," cried esau; "fetch the police. they've got my clothes, money, everything. i'll show you where." "and i'll show you where," cried gunson, "if you don't come along." "but i can't go like this," cried esau. "can't you," said gunson, fiercely. "here, hi! frau!" the landlady came running in, and began to exclaim on seeing esau's state; but she was silenced directly by gunson, who thrust a couple of dollars into her hands, and between us we hurried esau out into the road. "but i can't--my--" "come along!" cried gunson, fiercely. "and they'll be after me directly," panted esau. "said i shouldn't go till i'd paid a hundred dollars." "they had better come for them," muttered gunson between his teeth; and after that esau suffered himself to be hurried along, consoling himself with a few bites at the piece of bread he held, as we ran on to where in the soft moonlight we could see several good-sized fishing-boats lying, with men idling near them on the shore. "now then," cried gunson, quickly; "we want to be put aboard the schooner that sailed this evening. three dollars. there she is, two miles out." no one answered. "four dollars!" shouted gunson. "there's a good light wind, and you can soon reach her." still no one stirred, the men staring at us in a dull, apathetic way. "five dollars," cried gunson, angrily. "say, stranger," said one of the men, "what's your hurry? stole suthin'?" "no," i shouted; "but it's as if they have. our chests are aboard, and we've paid our passage." "come on then," said one of the men, rousing himself. "i'll take you for five dollars. jump in." he led the way to a little skiff, two more of his companions following him, and they rowed us out to one of the fishing-boats, made fast the one we had come in with the painter, cast off the buoy-rope, and began to hoist a sail, with the result that a soft pattering sound began under the boat's bows, and she careened over and began to glide softly away, the man who had gone to the rudder guiding her safely through the vessels lying by the buoy near the shore. "there," cried gunson, taking off the pea-jacket he wore, and throwing it to esau. "put that on, my lad; and here, eat away if you're hungry. you shall tell us afterwards where you've been." "but they've got my money," said esau, in an ill-used tone. "then we must share with you, and set you up. think we shall catch the schooner, skipper?" "guess we shall if this wind holds. if it changes she'll be off out to sea, and we shall lose her. guess you'll pay your five dollars all the same?" "look here," said gunson, roughly. "you've got an englishman to deal with." "oh, yes; guess i see that; but you send some ugly customers out here sometimes, stranger. not good enough for yew to keep at home." gunson made no answer, but sat watching the vessel, which, as it lay far out in the soft moonlight, looked faint, shadowy, and unreal. every now and then a good puff of wind filled our sail, so that the boat rushed through the water, and our hopes rose high, far we felt that in less than an hour we should be alongside our goal; but soon after gunson would utter an impatient ejaculation, for the wind that sent us surging through the beautiful waters of the bay, sent the schooner along rapidly too, so that she grew more faint. once or twice i glanced back at the shore, to see how beautiful the town looked with its lights rising above lights, and all softened and subdued in the clear moonlight; but i was soon looking ahead again, for our chase was too exciting for me to take much interest in a view. every now and then the boat tacked, and we went skimming along with her gunwale close down to the water, when we were all called upon to shift our position, the boatman evidently doing his best to overtake the schooner, which kept seeming nearer and then farther off in the most tantalising way. "guess i didn't ask you enough, skipper," said the boatman. "this is going to be a long job, and i don't think we shall dew it now." "do your best, man," said gunson quietly. "i must overtake the schooner if it is possible." all at once the wind dropped, the sail shivered and flapped, and we lay almost without motion, but to our annoyance we could just make out the schooner with her sails well filled, gliding steadily away. the master of the boat laughed. "wait a bit," he said. "she won't go on like that long. p'r'aps we shall have the wind next and she be nowhere." gunson glanced at the oars, but feeling that if we were to overtake the vessel it must be by means of the sails, he said nothing, but sat watching by me till we saw the schooner's sails die away. "gone?" i whispered. "no; she has changed her course a little and is stern on to us. there, you can see her again." to my great delight i saw that it was so, the schooner having now turned, and she grew plainer and plainer in our sight as the moon shone full now on the other side of her sails, and we saw that she too was becalmed. then in a few minutes our own sails filled, and we went gliding on over the glistening sea, which flashed like silver as we looked back. i uttered a sigh full of relief, for the schooner still lay becalmed, while we were now rushing through the water. "well, my lad," said gunson suddenly, "we thought we had lost you. how was it? one of us thought you had turned tail, and slipped away." "that wasn't mr gordon, i know," said esau. "i ain't the slipping away sort. those chaps got hold of me again, and i don't like going away like this without setting the police at them." "you are best away, my lad," said gunson. "i don't know so much about that," cried esau. "they've got all my money, and my knife and coat, and that new pipe." "what new pipe?" i said sharply. "you don't smoke." "nobody said i did," replied esau, gruffly. "fellow isn't obliged to smoke because he's got a pipe in his pocket, is he?" "no, but you had no pipe in your pockets this morning, because you turned them all out before me." "well, then, i'd got one since if you must know." "why, you did not go away to buy a pipe, did you?" i said. "why, there wouldn't ha' been any harm in it if i had, would there?" he said surlily, as he held one hand over the side to let the water foam through his fingers. "then you gave us all this trouble and anxiety," i cried angrily, "and have made us perhaps ruin our passage, because you wanted to learn to smoke." "i didn't know it was going to give all this trouble," he said, in a grumbling tone. "but you see it has." "well, i've got it worse than you have, haven't i? lost everything i've got except what's in my chest." "and it begins to look as if you've lost that too, my lad," said gunson bitterly. "you'd better have waited a bit before you began to learn to smoke. there goes your chest and your passage money." "yes, and ours," i said, as gunson pointed to where the schooner's sails were once more full, and she was gliding away. "is it any use to shout and hail them?" "stretch your breathing tackle a bit, my lad," said the master. "do you good p'r'aps." "but wouldn't they hear us?" "no; and if they did they wouldn't stop," said the master; and we all sat silent and gloomy, till the injury esau had inflicted upon us through that pipe came uppermost again. "serves you well right, esau," i said to him in a low voice. "you deserve to lose your things for sneaking off like that to buy a pipe. you--pish--want to learn to smoke!" i said this with so much contempt in my tones that my words seemed to sting him. "didn't want to learn to smoke," he grumbled. "yes, you did. don't make worse of it by telling a lie." "who's telling a lie?" he cried aloud. "tell you i wasn't going to smoke it myself." "then why did you go for it?" "never you mind," he said sulkily, "pipe's gone--half-dollar pipe in a case--nobody won't smoke it now, p'r'aps. wish i hadn't come." "so do i now," i said hotly. "you did buy it to learn to smoke, and we've lost our passage through you." esau was silent for a few moments, and then he came towards me and whispered-- "don't say that, sir. i saw what a shabby old clay pipe mr gunson had got, and i thought a good noo clean briar-root one would be a nice present for him, and i ran off to get it, and bought a big strong one as wouldn't break. and then, as i was out, i thought i'd look in at some of the stores, and see if there wasn't something that would do for you." "and you went off to buy me a pipe, my lad?" said gunson, who had heard every word. "didn't know you was listening," said esau, awkwardly. "i could not help hearing. you were excited and spoke louder than you thought. thank you, my lad, though i haven't got the pipe. well, how did you get on then?" "that's what i hardly know, sir. i s'pose those chaps we had the tussle with had seen me, and i was going stoopidly along after i'd bought your pipe--and it was such a good one--staring in at the windows thinking of what i could buy for him, for there don't seem to be anything you can buy for a boy or a young fellow but a knife, and he'd got two already, when in one of the narrow streets, shove! bang!" "what?" i said. "shove! bang! some one seemed to jump right on me, and drove me up against a door--bang, and i was knocked into a passage. 'course i turned sharply to hit out, but five or six fellows had rushed in after me, and they shoved me along that passage and out into a yard, and then through another door, and before i knew where i was they'd got me down and were sitting on me." "but didn't you holler out, or cry for help?" "he says didn't i holler out, or shout for help! i should just think i did; but before i'd opened my mouth more than twice they'd stuffed some dirty old rag in,--i believe it was some one's pocket-hankychy,--and then they tied another over it and behind my head to keep it in, right over my nose too, and there i was." "but you saw the men," said gunson, who was deeply interested. "oh yes, i saw 'em. one of 'em was that long-haired chap; and it was him whose hands run so easy into my pockets, and who got off my coat and weskit, and slit up my shirt like this so as to get at the belt i had on with my money in it. he had that in a moment, the beggar! and then if he didn't say my braces were good 'uns and he'd change. they were good 'uns too, real leather, as a saddler--" "well?" said gunson. "what took place then?" "nothing; only that long-haired chap grinned at me and kicked me twice. 'member that policeman as took us up, mr gordon?" "yes." "i only wish i could hand that long-haired chap over to him. strikes me they'd cut his hair very short for him before they let him go." "but what happened next?" "nothing, sir; only they tied my hands behind me, and then put a rope round my ankles, and then one took hold of my head and another of my feet, and they give me a swing, and pitched me on to a heap of them dry leaves like we used to see put round the oranges down in thames street." "indian corn," said gunson, shortly. "yes; and then they went out, and i heard 'em lock the door, leaving me in the half dark place nearly choked with that hankychy in my mouth." "yes; go on, esau," i said eagerly. and just then the master of the boat spoke-- "say, youngster, you was in for it. they meant to hit you over the head to-night, and chuck you into the harbour after dark." "yes," said gunson. "well, i saved 'em the trouble," said esau. "oh, i just was mad about that pipe; and i seemed to think more about them braces than i did about the money, because, you see, being sewed up like in a belt i never saw the money, and i used to see the braces, and think what good ones they was, every day." "go on, esau," i said. "how did you get away?" "well, i lay there a bit frightened at first and listened, and all was still; and then i began to wonder what you and mr gunson would think about me, and last of all, as i couldn't hardly breathe, and that great rag thing in my mouth half choked me, i turned over on my face, and began pushing and pushing like a pig, running my nose along till i got the hankychy that was tight round my face down over my nose, and then lower and lower over my mouth and chin, till it was loose round my neck." i glanced round and saw that the man who was forward had crept back, and that the other who held the sheet of the sail, and the master who was steering, were all listening attentively, while the boat rushed swiftly through the water. "next job," said esau, "was to get that choking rag out of my mouth; and hard work it was, for they'd rammed it in tight, and all the time i was trying i was listening too, so as to hear if they were coming. i say, ought one to feel so frightened as i did then?" "most people do," said gunson quietly. "and 'nuff to make 'em," said the master. "well, i kept on working away at it for what seemed to be hours," continued esau, "but all i could do was to get one end of the rag out between my teeth, and i couldn't work it any further, but lay there with my jaws aching, and feeling as if i hadn't got any hands or feet, because they'd tied 'em so tight. "it was very horrid, for all the time as i lay there i was expecting them to come back, and i thought that if they did, and found me trying to get the things off, they'd half kill me. and didn't i wish you'd been there to help me, and then was sorry i wished it, for i shouldn't have liked anybody to have been in such a fix. "i got so faint and dizzy at last that things began to go up and down, and round and round, and for ever so long i lay there thinking i was aboard ship again in the storm, just like when i was off my head at home with the fever i had when i was a little chap. but at last i came to again, and lay on my side wondering how i could get that horrible choking thing out of my mouth, for i couldn't move it even now when i tried again, only hold a great piece between my teeth. "the place was very dark, only light came in here and there through cracks and holes where the knots had been knocked out of some of the boards; and as i thought i said to myself, if i could get that thing out i might call for help; but directly after i felt that i dared not, for it would p'r'aps bring some of those chaps back. "all at once, where the light came through a hole, i saw something that made my heart jump, and i wondered i had not seen it before. it was a hook fastened up against one of the joists, with some bits of rope hanging upon it. it was a sharp kind of thing, like the meat-hooks you see nailed up against the sides of a butcher's shop; and i began rolling myself over the rustling leaves, over and over, till i was up against the side, and then it was a long time before i could get up on my knees and look up at the hook. "but i couldn't reach it, and i had to try and get on to my feet. it took a long time, and i went down twice before i was standing, and even then i went down again; for though i did stand up, i didn't know i had any feet, for all the feeling was gone. then all at once down i went sidewise, and lay there as miserable as could be, for i couldn't hardly move. but at last i had another try, getting on to my knees, and taking tight hold of the edge of one of the side pieces of wood with my teeth; and somehow or other i got on my feet again and worked myself along, nearly falling over and over again, before i could touch the hook with my chin, and there i stood for fear i should fall, and the hook run into me and hold me." "what did you want the hook for, boy?" said the master, shifting his rudder a little, and leaning forward with his face full in the moonlight, and looking deeply interested. "what did i want the hook for?" said esau, with a little laugh. "i'll tell you directly." the master nodded, and the others drew a little nearer. "what i wanted was to hold that end of the great rag in my teeth, and see if i couldn't fix it on the hook; and after a lot of tries i did, and then began to hang back from it gently, to see if i couldn't draw the stuff out of my mouth." "and could you?" i said eagerly. "yes; it began to come slowly more and more, till it was about half out, and then the sick feeling that had come over me again got worse and worse, and the hook and the great dark warehouse place swam round, and i didn't know any more till i opened my eyes as i lay on the leaves, staring at a great wet dirty rag hanging on that hook, and i was able to breathe freely now. "i felt so much better that i could think more easily; but i was very miserable, for i got thinking about you two, and i knew i must have been there a very long time, and that the schooner was to sail at twelve o'clock, so i felt sure that you would go without me, and think i'd been frightened and wouldn't come." "that's what i did think," said gunson; "but mayne gordon here stuck up for you all through." "thankye, mr gordon," said esau, who was gently chafing his wrists. "that's being a good mate. no, i wouldn't back out. i meant coming when i'd said i would. well, next thing was to get my hands clear, and that done, of course i could easily do my legs. so i began to get up again, with my feet feeling nowhere; and as i tried, to wonder what i was going to do next, for i couldn't see no way of getting out of a place with no windows in, not even a skylight at the top. but anyhow i meant to have that rope off my hands, and i was thinking then that if the hook could help me get rid of the rag, it might help me to get rid of the tie round my wrists." "o' course," said the master. "see, lads," he said, turning round to his two companions; "he gets the hook in threw the last knot and hitches the end out. that's easy enough;" and the two men uttered a low growl. "oh, is it?" said esau. "just you be tied up with your hands behind you for hours, and all pins-and-needles, and numb, and you try behind you to get that hook through the knot in the right place. you wouldn't say it was easy." "but anyways that was hard, i reckon," said the master. "yes, that was hard," said esau; "but i kep on seeming to tighten it, and the more i tried the worse it was; till all at once, as i strained and reached up behind me, i slipped a little, and the hook was fast somehow, and nearly jerked my arms out of my shoulders as i hung forward now, with my feet giving way, and i couldn't get up again." "if a fellow had on'y ha' been there with a knife," said the master, shaking his head. "yes; but he wasn't," cried esau; "and there i hung for ever so long, giving myself a bit of a wriggle now and then, but afraid to do much, it hurt so, dragging at my arms, while they were twisted up. i s'pose i must have been 'bout an hour like that, but it seemed a week, and i was beginning to get sick again, when all at once, after a good struggle, i fell forward on to my face in amongst the dry leaves. my wrists and hands were tingling dreadfully, but they did not feel so numb now; and after a bit, as i moved them gently up and down, one over the other, so as to get rid of the pain, i began to find i could move them a little more and a little more, till at last, as i worked away at them in a regular state of 'citement, i pulled one of 'em right out, and sat up comfortable with my hands in my lap." "well done, well done," cried the master; and i could not help joining in the murmur of satisfaction uttered by the men. "and then yew began to look at the rope round your legs," said one of the latter. "that i just did," said esau; "but my fingers were so bad it took me hours, as it seemed, before i had those knots undone." "but yew got 'em off?" said the master. "oh yes, i got 'em off at last, every knot undone; but when i'd unwound the rope, there i sat, feeling as if it was not a bit of use, for i could not move my feet, nor yet stand. they felt as if they were made of wood." "yew should have chafed 'em, stranger," said one of the men. "well, of course that's what he did do, mate," said the master, reprovingly; "and yew got 'em to work easy at last, didn't you?" "yes, that's what i did do, when they would work. i had to set to and see if i couldn't get away out of that place." "'fore them scallywags come back," said the master, drawing a long breath. "that's right." "there was the door locked fast," continued esau, "and i knew i couldn't get out that way; so as there was no windows, and the boards were all nailed down tight, the only way seemed to be through the roof." "i know," said the master, changing the course of the boat. "yew meant to get up, knock off some shingles, and then let yewrself down with the two ropes tied together." "look here," said esau, ill-humouredly, "you'd better tell the story." "no, no, stranger; go on, go on," said the master, apologetically. "go on, go on." "well, that's just what i was going to do," said esau, condescendingly, "only there wasn't any shingles that i saw, but the place was covered over with wooden slates." "those are what they call shingles, my lad," said gunson. "oh, very well, i don't care," said esau, acidly. "all i know is, i joined those two pieces of rope together, tied one end round my waist, and i was just going to climb up the side to the rafters, when i thought to myself i might meet somebody outside, who'd try to stop me; and though i felt that you two would be gone, i didn't want to have taken all my trouble for nothing, and be locked up there again. so i had a bit of a look round, and picked out from some wood in a corner a pretty tidy bit, with a good headache at the end." the master chuckled. "and i'd no sooner done that than i heard some one coming." "did yew get behind the door?" said the master hoarsely. "yew said it was dark." "i do wish you'd let me go on my own way," said esau, in an ill-used tone. "yes, yes, yes; go on, my lad, go on," said the master. "why can't you let him bide!" growled the others; and i saw gunson looking on in an amused way, as he turned from watching the distant schooner, far enough away now. "my wrists and my ankles ache so i can't hardly bear it," continued esau; "and when you keep on putting in your spoon it worries me." "yes, yes, my lad; i won't do so no more." "'tain't as if i was a reg'lar story-teller," grumbled esau. "i ain't used to this sort o' thing." "go on telling us, esau," i said. "they were only eager to know." "well," he continued, "that's what i did do, as it was dark. i got behind the door with that there stick in my hand, just as i heard the key rattling in the lock, and then the door was opened, and the leaves rustled, and i saw just dimly that there long-haired chap's head come in slowly; and he seemed to me to look puzzled, as he stared at the heap of leaves as if he thought i'd crept under 'em and gone to sleep." at this moment i looked round, to see in the bright moonlight the faces of the master and the two fishermen watching esau excitedly, as they waited for the end of the scene he described. gunson's face was in shadow now, but he too was leaning forward, while, in the interest of the recollection of what he had passed through, esau began to act as well as speak. he raised one hand as if it was still grasping the head-aching stick, and leaned toward the listeners, looking from one to the other as he spoke, and as if the narrative was intended expressly for them and not for us. "all at once," continued esau, "he took a step forward toward the heap of leaves, and then another, and then he turned sharply round as if he had heard me move or felt i was close behind him. but when a man tries to jump out of the way, he don't move so quickly as a big stick. i'd got that well up with both hands, and down it came right on his head, and there he was lying just about where him and the rest of 'em had pitched me." "ah!" ejaculated the master, and his two companions gave a shout and jumped up. "sit down, will yew!" he shouted. "want to swamp the boat. he arn't done yet." "not quite," said esau. "i felt horrid frightened as soon as i'd done it, for fear i'd given it him too hard, and i turned to run out of the place, but i could hear a lot of men talking, so i took out the key, put it inside, and shut and locked the door. then i clambered up the side and soon had some of those wooden slates off, to find as i crawled on to the roof that it was quite evening, and whereabouts i was to get down i couldn't tell. i dare not stop though, for fear the others should come to look after their mate, so unfastening the rope from my waist i tied it to a rafter, slid down as far as it would reach, and hung swinging at the end, thinking that it was all no good, for you two would be gone; and then i dropped, and found myself in a yard. "some one saw me and shouted," continued esau, "but i didn't stop to hear what he had to say, for i went over first one fence and then another till i got out into a lane, at the bottom of which was a street; and then i went into one after the other, looking like a fellow begging, till i knew where i was, and got down at last to the hotel." "and well done too!" cried gunson, clapping him on the shoulder. "all to get me a new pipe, eh?" "yes; and i'll get you another too some day." "i knew you wouldn't leave me in the lurch, esau," i whispered; and then i started, for the master brought down his hand with a heavy slap on his knee. "that was a good 'un," he cried. "there's too many o' them sort in 'frisco, and it gives the place a bad name. i don't wish that loafer any harm, but i hope you've killed him." "i hope not," i said, fervently. "best thing as could happen to him, my lad," said the man. "you see he's a regular bad 'un now, and he'd go on getting worse and worse, so the kindest thing your mate could do was to finish him off. but he arn't done it. them sort's as hard as lobsters. take a deal o' licking to get through the rind." "hah!" ejaculated gunson just then. "what's matter?" "she is leaving us behind," said gunson, as he looked sadly out to sea. "now she arn't," said the master; "and i arn't going to let her. her skipper and me's had many a argyment together 'bout his craft, and he's precious fond o' jeering and fleering at me about my bit of a cutter, and thinks he can sail twiced as fast. i'm going tew show him he can't." "do you think you can overtake him then?" i cried eagerly. "dunno about overtake, my lad, but i'm going to overhaul him. here, zeke, come and lay hold of this here tiller. you keep her full. elim, you and me's going to get up that forsle. i'm going tew put yew chaps aboard o' that schooner if i sail on for a week." "without provisions?" said gunson, sadly. "who says 'thout provisions," retorted the man. "there's a locker forrard and there's a locker aft, for we never know how long we may be getting back when we're out fishing. i say i'm going to put you aboard that there schooner for the dollars as we 'greed on first, and if i don't, why i'm more of a dutchman than lots o' them as comes from the east to set up business in 'frisco. there!" chapter sixteen. emulating the cornishmen. unwittingly we had made friends with the master of the little fishing craft and his men; and as we sat watching them in the moonlight, and looking away at the schooner, which always stood out in the distance faint and misty, as if some thing of shadow instead of real, a spar was got out from where it was lashed below the thwarts, and run out over the bows, a bolt or two holding it in its place, while the stays were made fast to the masthead and the sides of the boat. then a large red sail was drawn out of the locker forward, bent on, run up, and the boat heeled over more and more. "don't capsize us," said gunson. "can she bear all that sail?" "ay, and more too. if we capsized yew we should capsize ourselves too, and what's more, our missuses at home, and that wouldn't do. we won't capsize yew. only sit well up to the side, and don't mind a sprinkle of water now and then. i'm going to make the old girl fly." he chuckled as he saw the difference the fresh spread of canvas had made in the boat's progress, and, taking the tiller now himself, he seemed to send the light craft skimming over the sea, and leaving an ever-widening path of foam glittering in the moonlight behind. "that's different, my lads, eh?" the master said, with a fresh chuckle. "yew see yew were only kind o' passengers before--so many dollar passengers; now yew're kind o' friends as we wants to oblige, while we're cutting yonder skipper's comb for him. say, do yew know what they do in cornwall in england? i'll tell yew. when they want to make a skipper wild who's precious proud of his craft, they hystes up a bit more sail, runs by him, and then goes aft and holds out a rope's end, and asks him if they shall give him a tow. that's what i'm going to do to the schooner's skipper, so don't you fret no more. you hold tight, and you shall be aboard some time." "i hope we shall," said gunson quietly; but i could feel that there was doubt in his tones, and as i looked at the shadowy image away there in the offing, the case seemed very hopeless indeed. we had been sailing for some time now, but the distance from the city was not very great, the wind not having been favourable. consequently our course had been a series of tacks to and fro, like the zigzags of a mountain road. still we had this on our side--the schooner had to shape her course in the same way, and suffer from the constant little succession of calms as we did. the confident tone of our skipper was encouraging, but we could not feel very sure when we saw from time to time that the schooner was evidently leaving us behind. but we had not calculated on our man's nautical knowledge, for as we got further out he began to manoeuvre so as to make shorter tacks, and at last, when the moon was rising high in the heavens, and we were getting well out from under the influence of the land, the easy way in which the course of the boat could be changed gave us a great advantage, and towards midnight our hopes rose high. "there," said our skipper, "what do yew say now? that's a little craft to move, ain't she?" "move? she flies," said gunson; "but with this wind, arn't you carrying too much sail?" "not enough," said the skipper gruffly. "you let me alone. only thing that can hurt us is a spar going, and they won't do that. that there mast and bowsprit both came from up where you're going--vancouver island. there's some fine sticks of timber up there." we eased off the way of the boat a little, for water was lapping over the bows, and even he had tacitly agreed that we were heeling over more than was quite safe. "swab that drop o' juice up," he growled; and one of the men quietly mopped up the water, of which there was not enough to bale. "she must see us now," said gunson, after another long interval, during which we all sat holding on by the gunwale. "see us? oh, she sees us plain enough." "then why doesn't she heave to?" "skipper's too obstint. perhaps he don't think there's any one aboard, for it's misty to make anything out in the moonlight, even with a glass. p'r'aps he knows the boat again, and won't take no heed because it's me. but you wait a bit; we're going through the water free now, eh, squire?" "you'll sink her directly," said esau, who had already grasped the fact that a vessel was always "she." "not i. i say, you didn't expect a ride like this t'night, did yew?" "no," said esau, whose attention was all taken up with holding on to the side. "no, not yew. steady, my lass, steady," he said softly, as the boat made a plunge or two. "don't kick. say, youngster, any message for that there chap as you hit?" "yes; tell him i'll set the police to work if ever i come back here." "right. i'll tell him. i know where to find him." "where will that be?" i said, wondering whether he meant the very worst; and i breathed more freely as i heard his answer. "in the hospital, lad, in the hospital. they'll have to mend the crack in his head, for i dessay your mate here hit as hard as he could." "i did," said esau. and now we sat in silence gazing at the moonlit water, with its wonderful flecks of silvery ripple, then at the misty schooner, and then across at the lights of the city; while i wondered at the fact that one could go on sailing so long, and that the distance looked so small, for a mile at sea seemed to be a mere sham. "what do yew say now?" said the master an hour later. "shall we overhaul her?" "yes, we must catch her now," said gunson, excitedly. "don't overdo it when we are so near success." "yew let me alone; yew let me be," he grumbled. "i'm going to putt yew aboard that craft, first, because i think yew all ought to be helped; and second, because i want to show the schooner's skipper that he arn't everybody on these shores." on we went through the silver water, with the path behind us looking like molten metal, and the wind seeming to hiss by us and rattle in the boat's sails, we went so fast. every now and then from where i sat i could look down and see that the lee bulwark almost dipped under water, but always when it was within apparently half an inch of the surface the master eased the boat and it rose a little. the schooner was going on the opposite tack to ours, so that when at last we crossed her we seemed so near that one might have hailed; but in obedience to the master's wish we passed on in silence, so as to let him enjoy the triumph of over-sailing the bigger vessel, and then hailing her after the cornwall fashion of which he had boasted. "now," he said, "we're ahead." and almost at that moment there was a loud crack, the mast went by the thwarts, and the sails lay like the wings of a wounded bird upon the silvery sea. chapter seventeen. "it's them." "wal," said the master, "reckon that arn't quite such a good stick as i thout it war." i sat looking despondently at the wreck, for the accident had happened just as i felt sure of our overtaking the schooner, which was rapidly gliding away from us again, when esau caught hold of my arm. "i say, arn't going to the bottom, are we?" "all our trouble for nothing, i'm afraid, my lads," said gunson. "what are yew two looking at?" roared the master. "going to let them two sails drag down under the boat? haul 'em in, will yew!" these words startled the two men into action, and they began to loosen the ropes and haul in the sails rapidly, prior to getting the broken mast on board. "wal, might ha' been worse," said the master, giving his head a scratch; "but there goes your dollars, mister, for a new stick." "i'll pay for it," said gunson, quickly. "could you rig up the broken spar afresh?" "guess i'm going to try." "do you think they could hear us on the schooner if we all shouted together?" "no, i don't, my lad. if i had, i would have opened my mouth to onced. here, let me come by; them two's going to sleep. i want to fix that stick up again. i won't be able to give the schooner a tow this time. he's beat me, but i'll do it yet." he set to work getting out the broken stump, which was standing jagged above the thwart, and looked at it thoughtfully. "make a nice bit o' firewood for the old woman," he said, as he laid it down forward before beginning to examine the broken end of the mast. "guess yew arn't got such a thing as a saw in your pocket, hev you, either on yew?" he continued, with a grim smile. "not yew! one never has got what one wants in one's pocket. lend a hand here, elim, never mind about them stays. don't shove: them sharp ends 'll go through the bottom. if they do, one of you youngsters 'll hev to putt your leg through the hole to keep the water out. now, zeke, never mind the sail. hyste away." between them they raised the broken mast, which was now about three feet shorter, tightened the ropes, and, just as the schooner was coming back on the next tack, to pass us about half a mile away, the master said-- "they ought to see as we're in trouble, but i 'spect they're nearly all asleep. here, all on yew be ready, and when i cry, _hail_! open your shoulders, and all together give 'em a good _ahoy_! not yet, mind--not till i speak. lot o' little footy squeaks arn't no good; we must have a big shout. guess we shan't haul up the sail till we've tried whether they'll lay to." the schooner came nearer and nearer, with her sails growing so plain that even the ropes that held them glistened white in the moonlight, and looking so beautiful as she glided smoothly onward, that for the moment i forgot our predicament; but i was roused up at last by the master's voice. "all together!" he said, quietly. "hail!" our voices rose high in a discordant shout. "now again," cried the master. our voices rose once more, and then another shout broke the stillness of the soft night air; but the schooner glided on, her sails hiding everything, so that we did not see a soul on board save the man at the wheel, whose white face gleamed for a few moments as it emerged from the black shadow cast by the great mainsail. "they're all asleep," cried the master, fiercely. "here, lay holt, zeke. i say, squire, take holt o' the tiller, and keep her straight. hyste away, elim, we'll show 'em the rope's end yet." "look!" cried gunson, quickly. "eh? why, they did hear us," cried the master, in a disappointed tone. "why didn't they hail back? shan't show him the rope's end arter all." for the schooner glided slowly round till she was head to wind; and instead of her sails curving out in the moonlight, they were now dark, save where they shivered and flapped to and fro, so that a part of the canvas glistened now and then in the light. "ahoy!" came faintly from her decks, for she was a quarter of a mile away; and in a few minutes a boat dropped over the side with a splash, and four men began to row toward us. "there you are," said the master, grimly; "they'll take you aboard now. going up the fraser, arn't you?" "yes, i hope so," said gunson, as he thrust his hand into his pocket, and then handed some money to the old man, who took it with a dissatisfied grunt, and turned it over in his rough hand. "what's this?" he said roughly; "ten dollars. there, we said five. take them back." he held out half the money. "no, no: bargain's a bargain. lay holt." "but the broken spar?" "don't you fret yewrself about that. i'm going to show it to him as sold it to me, and make him take it again. there, good luck to you all. good-bye, youngsters; and if you find any gold up yonder, bring me back a little bit to make a brooch for my old missus." gunson pressed him to keep the money, but he refused angrily. "shake hands, all on yew, and good-bye. i meant to put you all aboard, and i've done it, arn't i?" "indeed you have," i said; "and we are very grateful." "that's right, lad," he said, shaking hands warmly; after which the others held out their hands, and to my great satisfaction gunson said-- "will you let me give these two a dollar each?" "oh, very well," grunted the master. "if yew've got so much money to throw away, yew can dew it." "hillo!" came from the fast-nearing boat, "what's the matter?--sinking?" "no," roared the master. "sinking indeed! what yer going off and leaving all your passengers behind for?" "oh," said a gruff voice, "it's them." it was the skipper of the schooner who spoke, and a quarter of an hour later we were on board his vessel, waving our caps to the master and his two sturdy fisher-lads, as, with their shortened sails now filling, the boat began to glide rapidly back, while the schooner's head was turned once more for the open sea. "thought you warn't coming," said the skipper, gruffly, after seeing that the little boat was swinging safely from the davits. "yes, it was a close shave," replied gunson, who hardly spoke again to us, but went below; and soon after we two were fast asleep, forgetful of all the past troubles of the day. chapter eighteen. british columbia. when i awoke next morning it was blowing hard, and the timbers of the schooner were groaning and creaking so dismally, that when every now and then a wave struck the bows, esau turned to me and shook his head, "next big one as comes 'll knock her all to pieces." we did not care much for our breakfast, for more than one reason, and were glad to get on deck, where we found gunson talking with the skipper, or i should say gunson talking, and the old captain rolling an eye, or giving a short nod now and then. away to our right lay the coast of california, with its pale-coloured bare-looking cliffs appearing anything but attractive; and as we tossed about in the little schooner, i could not help thinking how different it was to the great clipper-ship in which we had sailed round the horn. we were soon glad to go below again, and there, as esau could not get at his chest, which was down in the hold, he was glad to accept the loan of a blue jersey from one of the sailors, so as to set gunson's jacket at liberty. it was almost a repetition of our experience in the _albatross_ for some days, only in this case we could have gone on deck at any time; but there was no temptation to do so, for it meant holding on by the side, and being soaked by the spray which kept on flying aboard. during those days esau passed the greater part of his time lying down, and about once an hour he got into the habit of lifting his head, and looking at me fixedly. "i say," he would begin. "yes?" "don't think i shall take to sailoring;" and i agreed with him that other lines would be pleasanter. it was not that we were so very cowardly, for the sailors we spoke to all agreed that it was one of the worst trips they had ever had along the coast; and we afterwards heard that the skipper had been very anxious more than once. but there is always an end to bad weather; and the morning came when i went on deck to find sky and sea of a lovely blue, and away to my right a glorious green land, with swelling hills, forests of pines, and beyond them, dazzlingly white in the bright sunshine, the tops of two snow-capped mountains. as i leaned aft, gazing at the beautiful land, my spirits began to grow brighter, and i was turning round to go down and fetch esau to come and see the place, when i found that gunson had come on deck too, and was looking at me in his peculiar manner which always repelled me. "is that british columbia?" i said, to break an awkward silence, for he stood perfectly silent, fixing me with that one piercing eye. "no, not yet--that's yankee-land still. we've got to get into the straits yet before we can see our country." "straits--gibraltar?" i said thoughtlessly; and then i felt red in the face at my stupidity. "not exactly, my lad," he said, laughing. "why, my geography is better than yours. the straits we go through are those of juan de fuca, the old sailor who discovered them. but from what i know of it, the country is very much the same as this. think it will do for you?" "it is lovely," i cried, enthusiastically. "yes," he said, thoughtfully, and speaking in a quiet soft way that seemed to be very different from his appearance; "a lovely land--a land of promise. i hope your people will all get up yonder safe and sound. it is a long, weary task they have before them." "can't be worse than ours has been," i said. "well, no, i suppose not; but very trying to those poor women. look here, my lad," he said, after a pause, "how are you going to manage when you get ashore at victoria?" "start at once for fort elk." "how?" "get somebody who knows the way to tell us, and then walk on a few miles every day. it can't be very difficult to find if we keep along the river bank." "along the towing-path, eh?" "yes, if there is one," i said, eagerly. "towing-path! why, you young innocent," he cried, angrily, "don't you know that it's a fierce wild mountain-torrent, running through canons, and in deep mountain valleys, with vast forests wherever trees can grow, all packed closely together--sometimes so close that you can hardly force your way through?" "i did not know it was like that," i said; "but we must make the best of it, i suppose. if we can't go twenty miles a day we must go fifteen." "or ten, or five, or one," he cried, with a contemptuous laugh. "why, mayne, my lad, that last will often be the extent of your journey." i looked at him in dismay. "you have no friends then at victoria--no introductions?" i shook my head. "and you do not even seem to know that victoria is on an island, from which you will have to cross to the mouth of the fraser." "i'm afraid i am very ignorant," i said, bitterly; "but i am going to try to learn. i suppose there are villages here and there up the country?" "perhaps a few, not many yet; but you will find some settler's place now and then." "well, they will be english people," i said, "and they will help us." "of course." "where are you going?" i asked suddenly. he gave a little start, and his face relaxed. "i?" he said quickly, and he looked as if he were going to take me into his confidence; but just then esau came on deck to stand looking shoreward, and gunson turned cold and stern directly. "don't know for certain," he replied. "morning, my lad," to esau, and then walked forward to speak to the skipper. "there, esau," i said eagerly; "that's something like a country to come to," for the fresh beauties which were unfolding in the morning sun made me forget all gunson's suggestions of difficulties. "yes, that's something like," said esau. "what makes those big hills look so blue as that?" "they are mountains, and i suppose it's the morning mist." "mountains!" said esau, contemptuously, "not much o' mountains. why, that one over yonder don't look much bigger than primrose hill." "not much," said gunson, who was walking back with the skipper. "very much like it too, especially the snow on the top. how far is that mountain off?" he added, turning to the skipper. "hunard miles," grunted the person addressed. "look here," whispered esau, as soon as we were alone, for the skipper and gunson went below, "i don't say that he hasn't been very civil to us, and he helped us nicely about getting on here, but i don't like that chap. do you?" "i really don't know," i said with a laugh. "well, i do know. he looks at one with that eye of his, as if he was thinking about the money in your belt all the time." "he can't be thinking about yours," i said drily. "oh dear! i forgot that," said esau. "but all the same, i don't like a man with one eye." "but it isn't his fault, esau." "no, not exactly his fault; but it sets you against him, and he's got so much pump in him." "pump?" "yes; always getting out of you everything you are going to do, and who you are, and where you come from." "yes, he does question pretty well." "he just does. very well, then; i want to know who he is, and where he comes from, and what he's going to be up to. do you know?" "no, not in the least." "same here. well, i don't like a man who's so close, and the sooner we both shake hands with him, and say good-bye, the better i shall like it." "well, esau, i'm beginning to feel like that," i said, "myself." "that's right, then, and we shan't quarrel over that bit o' business. soon be there now, i think, shan't we?" "to-morrow about this time," said a familiar voice; and we both started, for gunson was standing close behind us. "didn't you hear me come up?" "no," i said hurriedly; and he laughed a little, rather unpleasantly, i thought, and walked forward to stand with his elbows on the bulwark watching the distant shore. "there!" whispered esau. "now would a fellow who was all right and square come and listen to all we said like that? seems to be always creeping up behind you." "i don't think he did that purposely." "well then, i do. you always take his part, no matter what i say; and it sometimes seems to me as if you were pitching me over, so as to take up with him." "that's right, esau," i replied. "that is why we sailed off together, and left you in the lurch." esau pressed his lips together, gave his foot a stamp, and then pushed close up to me. "here," he said, "punch my head, please. do. i wish you would. my tongue's always saying something i don't mean." i did not punch esau's head, and the little incident was soon forgotten in the interest of the rest of our journey. for we sailed on now in bright sunshine, the uneasy motion of the schooner was at an end, and there was always something fresh to see. now it was a whale, then a shoal of fish of some kind, and sea-birds floating here and there. then some mountain peak came into view, with lovely valleys and vast forests of pines--scene after scene of beauty that kept us on deck till it was too dark to see anything, and tempted us on deck again the moment it was light. by midday we were in the port of victoria, where the skipper began at once to discharge his cargo, and hence we were not long before our chests were on the rough timber wharf, side by side with those of gunson, who left us in charge of them while he went away. "wish he wouldn't order us about like that," cried esau, angrily; "let's go away, and let some one else look after his traps." "we can't now," i said. "but we don't want him with us any more. i say, i don't think much of this place." "it's very beautiful," i said, looking away over the sea at beautiful islands, and up at the wooded hills in view. "but it looks just like being at home in england. i expected all kinds of wonderful things in a foreign country, and not to be sitting down on one's box, with sheds and stacks of timber and wooden houses all about you. we can get that at home." i was obliged to own that everything did look rather home-like, even to some names we could see over the stores. "and do you know where the skipper's going as soon as he has unloaded?" "no," i said. "up to some place with a rum name here in this island, to get a load of coals to take back. they only had to call it newcastle to make it right. what are you looking at over yonder?" "those beautiful mountains across the sea, rising up and up in the sunshine. that's british columbia, i suppose, and it must be up among those mountains that our river runs, and where fort elk lies." "all right, i'm ready. how are we to go?" "we shall have to find out when some boat sails across i suppose. let's go and find the captain, and ask him where we ought to go to get a night's lodging." "here he comes back," said esau. "the skipper?" "no, gunson. now let's say good-bye to him, and part friends." "there's a little steamer goes across to the settlement at the mouth of the river this afternoon," said gunson; "so we'll have your chests carried down. here, you two can get some kind of dinner in that place, where you see the red board up. you go on and get something ready; i'll join you as soon as i've seen your chests on board. the boat starts from close by here." "no, no," whispered esau; "we mustn't trust him, because--" esau stopped, for he had glanced at gunson, and found his eye fixed upon him searchingly. "i said i would see your chests safely on board, my lad," he said sternly. "i suppose you'll trust me, gordon?" "of course i will," i cried, eagerly; for i was ashamed of esau's suspicions. "go on then and order some dinner," he said; and esau accompanied me unwillingly to the rough kind of tavern. "it's like madness," esau kept on saying. "you see if he don't go off with our chests, and then where shall we be?" "grumbling because i was so weak as to trust him. never mind; i'm hungry. let's have something to eat." we ordered it, and partook of a thoroughly hearty, english-looking meal; but gunson did not come, and as soon as esau had finished, he suggested that we should go and look after him. "but he said we were to wait for him here." "yes, but i'm going to look for my chest," cried esau. "i don't see any fun in losing that." "nonsense! don't be so suspicious," i said; and we waited on a full hour, with esau growing more and more fidgety, and by degrees infecting me with his doubts. all at once we heard from the distance the ringing of a bell, and the englishman who, as he called it, "ran the place," came up to us. "didn't i hear you two say that you were going by the steamer 's afternoon?" "yes," i said. "well then, look sharp, or you'll lose the boat. she's just off." i glanced at esau, and as soon as he had paid we set off at a run, reaching the little steamer just as she was being cast off from the wharf. "he ain't here," cried esau, excitedly. "what shall we do--stop?" "no," i said; "let's go on. we may find our chests on board." "yes," he said, sarcastically; "may. well, we can come back again. oh, what a set of thieves there are abroad." we were by this time on deck, and after a quick glance round, i pitched upon a man who seemed to be either skipper or mate. "were two chests sent on board here belonging to us?" "one-eyed man with 'em?" he said, looking at us curiously. "yes," i cried eagerly. "all right. down below." "there, esau," i cried, gripping him by the arm. "what do you deserve now?" "punch o' the head, i suppose. well, hooroar! and i'm glad we've got rid of him at last." "i don't know," i said. "i should have liked to shake hands first." "come, lads, what a while you've been," said gunson, coming up out of the cabin. "i told that boy to say you were to make haste." "what boy?" i said. "the one i sent. didn't he tell you?" i shook my head. "went to the wrong place, perhaps. boxes are all right below yonder." "but how are you going to get ashore?" i said, wonderingly. "same as you do." "but--" "oh, didn't i tell you? i thought i'd come across with you, and see you well on your way. esau there wouldn't be comfortable without me. i don't know when i became such friends with any one before as i have with him. well, did you get a good dinner?" he fixed esau with his eye, and i saw the perspiration begin to stand in little drops on my companion's forehead, as he stammered out something about "good-dinner." "but what about yours?" i said. "oh, i was afraid of some muddle being made with our luggage, so i stopped and got something to eat here." "our luggage?" i said. "oh yes," he replied with a curious laugh. "mine is below too." chapter nineteen. gunson fights my battle. gunson left us then, as if on purpose to give us an opportunity to talk about him; and as soon as he was out of hearing, esau began by wiping the perspiration from his forehead with the back of first one hand, then with the other. "it's o' no use," he said in a low, hoarse voice; "we shan't get rid o' that chap till he has had his wicked way of us." i was puzzled by gunson's acts, but all the same, i could not help laughing at esau's comically dismal manner. "why, what idea have you got in your head now?" i cried. "him!" whispered esau, in a tragic way. "i don't quite see through it all, but i do through some of it. look here, mr gordon, sir, you mark my words, he's one of that gang we met at 'frisco, only he plays the respectable game. he'd got me into their hands, and had me robbed, and then he was going to rob you, only i turned up just in time to save you." "look here, esau," i said angrily; "if you talk any more nonsense like that i'll kick you." "all right: kick away," he said--"i won't mind; but i'm not going to see you served as i was without saying a word." "what you said was ridiculous." "it was ridiklus for me to be served as i was, p'r'aps, but never mind; you'll see." "i tell you what you say is absurd." "very well, then, you have a say, and tell me what he means by hanging on to us as he does." "i cannot explain it, of course. how can i tell what gunson means? all i know is, that it's better to have a man with us who seems to know something about the country." "ah, but does he?" said esau, with a cunning look. "i don't believe he knows anything about it. he's been cramming us full of stories about dangers and stuff to frighten us. you'll see it won't be half so bad as you say. hullo! what's the matter?" for at that moment there arose a curious yelling sound which sent a chill through me. "we've run down a boat," i said excitedly, "and the people are drowning." i ran toward the bows of the little panting and snorting steamer, where those on board were gathered in a knot, and just then the skipper shouted an order, the clank of the engine ceased, and i caught sight of a curious-looking canoe that had come out from one of the islands which dotted the channel, and had been paddled across our course. "is any one drowned?" i said to gunson excitedly. "drowned? no. only going to take a passenger on board." by this time i was looking over the side at the occupants of the canoe, which was formed of skins stretched over a framework, and was now being paddled up close alongside. then one of the men in her caught the rope thrown to him, and held on while a little yellow-complexioned boy, as he seemed to me, dressed in a blue cotton pinafore and trousers, and wearing a flat, black skull-cap, made of rolls of some material joined together, suddenly stood up and threw a small bundle on board, after which he scrambled over the side himself, nodding and smiling to all around. the rope was loosened by the man in the boat, the paddle-wheels began to beat the water again, and i watched the canoe as it rapidly fell astern. "well, what do you think of the indians?" said gunson, coming to where i stood. "were those indians?" "yes; three siwashes and a klootchman, as they call themselves--three men and a woman." i began to regret that i had not taken more notice of them, and seeing how i leaned over to get another glimpse, gunson continued-- "oh, you'll meet plenty more. but you see how civilised they are getting, carrying passengers aboard. i did not expect to find him here." "do you know that boy then in the blue blouse?" i said wonderingly. "oh yes, i know him. i used to see a good deal of him right away yonder in the south; and now i see that he is getting naturalised here. come up from 'frisco, i suppose." "but you don't mean that you know that particular boy?" "oh no. i was speaking of him as a class. he must have an object in coming across here." gunson said this in a thoughtful way that i did not understand then; and as he saw that i was watching him curiously, he drew my attention to the mainland, towards which we were gliding. "there," he said, "you'll soon be able to say goodbye to the sea. it will be canoes and legs for the rest of your journey." "legs," i said laughing; "i don't think we could manage a canoe." "no; but it would be wise to get your boxes as far up the country as you can, and that can only be by means of the indians and one of their canoes." "but you would have to pay them." "of course." "and would it be safe to trust them?" "we shall see, my lad. but patience. they ought to have called this place new england. what a country and a climate for a man who could be content to settle down to a ranch and farm. there," he continued, "i dare say you two want to have a chat. i shall be aft there if you wish to say anything to me." he was quite right. esau was waiting to come up and talk, pointing out distant mountains, the islands we were passing, and the appearance of the land we were approaching, a place all mystery and interest to us now. "i say," he cried, "i've been talking to one of the men aboard here, and he says it will be easy enough to find fort elk; that we've only got to keep to the side of the river, and we shall be sure to get there some time." "some time?" i said rather dismally. "when is that?" "oh, there's no hurry," cried esau, enthusiastically. "it will be rare good fun going along by the river, and through the woods, with no one to interfere with you, and order you to copy this or write out that. but let's get away from old gunson as soon as we can." "you want boy?" said a mild, insinuating voice, and the little fellow in blue stood by us with his head on one side, and his black, currant-like eyes twinkling in his yellow face. the black close cap which he had seemed to wear had disappeared, for it had only been his curled-up pigtail, which now hung down his back nearly to his heels. "you want boy?" he said again. he was so close to us now that i could see, in spite of his being only about the stature of a lad of thirteen, that he must be a man of thirty at least, and in spite of his quaint aspect, there was something pleasant and good-humoured about his countenance that was attractive. "want a boy?" said esau, rather roughly. "he's got one. can't you see him? me!" the chinaman nodded and smiled at esau, as if he admired his fresh-coloured smooth face and curly fair hair. then showing his teeth a little, he went on-- "me speak ploper inglis allee same melican man. velly stlong. washee. cally big pack allee over countly. cookee. velly good cookee. make nicee blead. hot fire, plenty tea." "no," i said, smiling at his earnestness. "we don't want a servant." "yes; want boy. quong. me quong, talk ploper inglis. no talkee pidgin." "get out!" cried esau. "who ever heard of talking pigeon! you mean a parrot." "hey? pallot. yes, talkee pallot--pletty polly what o'clock?" "yes, that's right!" cried esau. "quong talk ploper inglis. allee same melican man. no talkee pidgin, no talkee pallot. quong come along cally big pack. cookee. washee clean do." "but we don't want you," i said. "no wantee quong? hey?" "no." "ah." he nodded as good-humouredly as if we had engaged him to cook and wash for us, and as we stood there leaning over the side of the puffing little steamer, we saw him go from one to another, and amongst them to gunson. but he was everywhere received with a shake of the head, and at last, apparently in no wise discouraged, he sat down forward on the deck, took his little bundle on his knees, and curled up his tail again. they were a curious lot of people on board, and i was dividing my time between watching the panorama of hills and mountains that seemed to rise up out of the sea, and trying to make out what the people might be by whom i was surrounded, thinking that one or two must be englishmen, others americans, and some people who had settled down in the country to which we were going, when a big, roughly-bearded fellow, who was very loud and noisy in his conversation, suddenly burst into a roar of laughter, and gave his leg a slap, while some of the men about him joined in his mirth. for some minutes i could not make out what was the object which attracted them, but esau was quicker, and gave me a nudge with his elbow. "they're going to play some games," he said; and i grasped directly what it meant, for the big fellow went quietly up behind the little chinaman, and with a clever twitch unfastened the pin, or whatever it was which held up the coil, and the long tail untwisted and rolled down on the deck amidst a roar of laughter--one which increased as the chinaman turned to see who had played the trick, but only to find the man standing near with his back toward him, apparently talking thoughtfully. "you pullee?" said the chinaman good-humouredly. "what?" came back in a voice of thunder. "you pullee tail?" the man gave him a furious scowl, and uttered a low growl like that of some savage beast, while the little chinaman slunk toward the bulwark, and began to coil up his _queue_ once more, after which he bent forward over his bundle, his eyes half closed, and evidently thinking so deeply, that he was quite ignorant of what was passing around. perhaps he was wondering where he would be able to sleep that night, perhaps of how he was to obtain work. at any rate he was too much occupied with his thoughts to notice that the big fellow was slowly edging his way toward him. "they are going to play some trick, esau," i said softly. "what a shame it seems." "yes; look. that other chap's going to help him." "but it's too bad." "yes; lots of things are too bad; but it ain't our business, and if we interfere we shall get into trouble." i heard my companion's words, but they did not make any impression on me, for i was too deeply intent upon what was taking place before me. there was the little chinaman bent forward, blinking and apparently half asleep, and there on either side were the men, evidently about to disturb him in some way or another. all at once, after exchanging glances with the others, i saw the big fellow place his foot just under the chinaman, and give him a lift which sent him up against the other man, who roared out angrily. "where are you coming to, you yellow-eyed, waggle-headed mandarin?" he cried; and he gave the poor fellow two or three cuffs and a rude push, which sent him staggering against his first disturber, who turned upon him furiously in turn, and cuffed him back to the other. "why, it's like playing shuttlecock and battledore," said esau grimly. "if they served me so i should kick." but the little chinaman did not resist in the slightest degree; he only bore the buffeting patiently till such time as he could rescue his bundle, and escape to the other side of the deck, where, as if he were accustomed to such treatment, he shook himself, pulled down his blouse, and, amidst the roars of laughter that had arisen, he placed his bundle on the bulwark, and folding his arms upon it, leaned there gazing out to sea. "i do hate to see big chaps bullying little ones," said esau in a whisper, as i stood hoping that the horse-play was at an end, for i shared esau's dislike to that kind of tyranny; and though the little celestial was nothing to me whatever, i felt hot and angry at what had been going on, and wondered why gunson, a strong, a powerful man, had stood there smoking without interfering in the least. but my hope of the horse-play being at an end was not gratified, for a few minutes after i saw the two men whisper together, and the big fellow took out his knife and tried the edge. "hullo!" whispered esau, "he ain't going to cut his head off, is he?" i did not answer, though i seemed to divine what was about to take place, and the blood flushed into my cheeks with the annoyance i felt. my ideas were quite correct, for directly after the second of the two men lounged up quietly behind the chinaman, and before he was aware of it, he too cleverly undid the tail, but kept hold of it and drew it away tight. "hallo!" he shouted, so as to be heard above the roars of laughter which arose, "why what's all this ere?" the little fellow put up his hands to his head, and bent down, calling out piteously, while the big passenger took a step or two forward with the open knife hidden in his hand. then clapping his left on the chinaman's head, he thrust it forward, so that the tail was held out tightly, and in another moment it would have been cut off close to the head, if in my excitement i had not suddenly made a leap forward, planting my hands on the man's chest, and with such good effect consequent upon my weight being entirely unexpected, that he staggered back some yards, and then came down heavily in a sitting position on the deck. i was as much astonished at the result as he was, and as there was a roar of laughter from all on deck, he sat there staring at me and i at him, till i could find words to say indignantly-- "let the poor fellow be. it's a shame!" the next minute the man sprang up, and quong, as he called himself, cowered behind me, the other having in his astonishment loosened the poor fellow's tail and set him free. "why, you young cockerel," roared the big fellow, striding up to me, and bringing his left hand down heavily upon my shoulder. "not to cut off that yallow scoundrel's tail, arn't i?" "no," i cried stoutly, though i felt anything but brave; "let him alone." "will i? look here, i'm going to have off that tail; and just to give you a lesson, i'm going to try the edge o' my knife first on one of your ears." i wrested myself away, but he was as quick as i was, and had me again directly, holding the knife in a threatening way as if he really intended to fulfil his threat. "get hold of the knife, esau," i shouted; but it was not his hand and arm which interposed, for gunson forced himself between us, thrusting me right away, as he said quietly-- "let the boy alone." "let the boy alone!" cried the big fellow, fiercely. "no, i shan't let the boy alone. what do you mean by interfering? who are you?" "like yourself, man--an englishman." "and a precious ugly one too. here, i don't want to hurt you, so be off and lie down." he strode on one side, and then made at me, driving me to bay against the bulwark. "now then," he cried, with an ugly laugh, which did not conceal his rage, "i've got you again, have i?" "no," said gunson quietly, as he took him by the collar and swung him round, so that he staggered away; but he recovered himself and made at my protector. "keep back! the boy is a friend of mine, and i will not have him touched." "friend of yours, is he? oh, then you want to fight, do you?" "no," said gunson, standing firmly before him, "i don't want to fight, neither do you, so go your way, and we'll go ours." "after a bit, my lad," cried the man, fiercely. "this isn't england, but a country where a man can fight if he likes, so clear the course, some of you, and let's see who's best shot." he thrust his hand behind him, and pulled a revolver from his hip-pocket, cocking it as he spoke. "now then, out with your own," he cried. but gunson seized the man's wrist instead, gave it a wrench round, there was a sharp report, and the pistol fell heavily on the deck, and was secured by one of the sailors. "give him a hug, mate," cried the man who had joined in the attack upon the chinaman. "that's what i'm just going to do, my lad," said the big fellow in hoarse, angry tones. "he's got hold of the wrong pig by the ear this time;" and to my horror he drew back a little, and then suddenly darted his body forward and locked gunson in his arms. i had often heard tell of and read accounts about wrestling, but this was the first time i had ever witnessed an encounter in the old english sport, if sport it could be called, where two strong men, one far bigger and heavier than the other, swayed to and fro, heaving, straining, and doing all they could to throw one another. there was a dead silence on the deck, and passengers, skipper, and sailors all bent forward, eagerly watching the encounter, but not one with such earnestness as i, who fully expected to see gunson flung heavily. but no: he was raised again and again from the deck, but he always recovered his feet, and twined and swayed here and there in a way that completely baffled his powerful adversary. all this took a very short time, but as i watched i was able to see that gunson seemed to grow cooler as the struggle went on, while his opponent became more enraged. the excitement was now intense, and i felt my heart beat heavily as i momentarily expected to see my defender dashed down insensible, while a feeling of rage at my own helplessness made my position more painful. for it was this: i could do nothing, and no man present made the slightest movement either to help or separate the combatants. then, too, i felt that it was my fault for behaving as i did, yet i could hardly feel regret for my interference. and while thoughts like these coursed rapidly through my mind, i too was watching the struggling pair, who swayed here and there, and once struck so violently against the bulwark that i gave a sudden gasp as i expected that they would both go overboard together. but no; they struggled back again to the middle of the deck, gunson seeming quite helpless, and offering scarcely any resistance, save when his opponent lifted or tried to throw him, when he suddenly became quick as light almost in his effort to recover himself. and all the while an excited murmur went on among those crowded together to see the weaker fall. there was no doubt as to which it would be, and one of my great dreads was lest gunson should not only be beaten but seriously hurt. at last the struggle seemed to be coming to an end. the big fellow swung my champion round and round, and lifted him again and again, just as he seemed to please, but could never unloosen the tight grip of gunson's hands. "now, gully lad," cried the second man, "down with him." these words seemed to act as a spur to the wrestler, and i saw his face of a deep angry red as he put all his force now into a final effort to crush the active man who clung so tenaciously to him. they had struggled now so far aft that another step would have brought them in contact with the man at the wheel; but gunson gave himself a wrench, swung round, and as he reversed his position the big englishman forced him a little backward, bearing right over him as it seemed to me; while the next moment, to my intense astonishment, i saw gunson now lift the great fellow from the deck and literally throw him over his shoulder, to come down on the planks with quite a crash. there was a curious cry of astonishment from the group of spectators, in the midst of which the second man stepped to his companion's side. "get up, my lad," he cried. "did he play foul?" but there was no reply. the great fellow lay on the deck as if dead, and when his companion raised his head it went heavily down again. "here, i can't stand this," roared the fallen man's companion. "you played foul--you played foul;" and he rushed at gunson and seized him, the latter only just having time to secure a good grip of the attacking party. there was a fresh murmur of excitement, followed by a roar, as, apparently without effort, gunson threw his new opponent upon his back. "was that foul?" cried gunson, as he stood over him; but the man made no answer. he only got up slowly. "here, i want to help my mate," he said surlily; and there was a burst of laughter, for the first fall had taken all desire out of him to try another. by this time the big fellow--gully--gave signs of returning consciousness, and sat up slowly to look about him, gently stroking his head, and accepting the offer of a couple of hands as he rose to his legs, and suffered himself to be led forward, while i turned my eyes now to where gunson was putting on his jacket. "are you hurt?" i said. "no; only a bit strained, my lad. it was like wrestling with an elephant. i was obliged to let him have his own way till he grew tired, and then that old cornish fall was too much for him." "i'm very sorry," i said humbly. "it was all my fault." "yes," he said, laughing. "we ought to go different ways now. i can't spend my time and strength in fighting your battles. there, i am going to see for a bucket of water and a wash." he went forward with one of the sailors, while as i turned, it was to see the chinaman looking at me in a curious way. but just then esau came between us. "what did he say?" he whispered; "that we were going different ways now?" "yes," i replied; "but i don't think he meant it. i hope not. why, esau, what should we have done twice without him?" "well, he can fight and wrastle," said esau. "it was quite wonderful to see how he upset those two. and that's what i don't like, because if he's so strong with those two big fellows, and can do just what he likes with them, what chance should we have?" chapter twenty. a strange hotel. we landed at a rough wharf at the mouth of the wide river, where a few shanties and a plank warehouse stood just in front of a forest of pine-trees, the stumps, five or six feet high, of many that had been cut down to make room for the tiny settlement, still standing up and forming a graceful curve all round from the ground to the place where the marks of the axe still looked white and yellowish red. our chests were carried out on to the shaky platform in front of the shanties, one of which was dignified by the title of hotel, and to esau's great disgust, gunson's two chests and a long wooden case were set down close to them. then three men who had been passengers landed, and lastly the little chinaman, who had hung back for some time, till the steamer was about to start again, sprang quickly on to the wharf, with his luggage hanging to one crooked finger. his movements were quickened by the big fellow gully, who, as soon as he caught sight of him, made a rush and then leaned over the gangway, uttering a roar like that of some huge beast of prey. this done he shouted to us. "wait a bit," he said. "we shall run again one another some day. then we'll all have another grip--" "with all my heart," said gunson, in a loud voice; "but i should have thought you had had enough of my manners and custom's." we stood waiting till the boat had gone some distance, and then, as the three men who had landed had disappeared, and the chinaman was seated on a log at a short distance from where we stood, i turned to gunson. "where does the town lie?" i asked. "what town?" he said, smiling. "the one at the mouth of the river." "oh, there is one over yonder," he said, "but it is not much better than this, and as this was the handiest for you, i thought you had better stop here." i had often felt low-spirited since leaving england, but that evening, with the last glow of the sun fast dying out over the ocean, the huge wall of enormous trees behind, and the gliding river in front, and nothing but a few roughly-built boarded houses in sight, my spirits seemed to sink far lower than they had ever been before. i glanced at esau, and he looked gloomy in the extreme. but i tried to put a good face on the matter, as i said to him-- "one of us had better go and see if these people will give us a night's lodging." "you may take that for granted," said gunson. "take hold of one end of my chest here, and let's get it under cover." i saw esau frown, and i knew that as soon as we were alone he would protest against our being ordered about. but i did not hesitate, helping gunson to get his two chests and packing-case into the house, when he frankly enough came and helped in with ours. the people did not seem disposed to be very friendly; but rough as the shed-like house was, everything seemed clean, and they were ready to supply us with some cake-like, heavy bread, and a glowing fire composed of pine-roots and great wedge-like chips, evidently the result of cutting down trees. "rather rough, squire gordon," said gunson, with a laugh, as he saw me sitting disconsolate and tired on the end of my chest; "but you'll have it worse than this. what do you say to camping out in the forest with no cover but a blanket, and the rain coming down in sheets? you'd think this a palace then." "i was not complaining," i said, trying to be brisk. "not with your lips, my lad, but you looked as if you'd give anything to be back in london." "oh, we ain't such cowards as that," said esau shortly. at that moment the wife of the settler, who called himself in red letters a hotel-keeper, came toward us with a large tin pot like a saucepan with a loose wire cross handle. "here's a kettle," she said, in rather an ill-used tone; "and there's a tub o' water for drinking outside. got any tea?" "yes, thank you," said gunson, good-humouredly. "we shall do now." the woman left us, and gunson turned to me. "well, squire," he said, "what have you got in the commissariat department?" "some bread and cold ham," i replied. "oh, but we must have some hot. i've done better than you," he said, laughing, and taking out of a wallet a piece of raw bacon, which he laid upon the rough board table, and then a tin canister. "now then, esau, my lad, let's see you cut that in slices, while i make some tea ready. gordon, will you go and fill the kettle half full?" he spoke so briskly and cheerily that i hardly knew the man again, and his words had so good an effect upon me, that i soon had the kettle filled and seated in the midst of the cheery blaze; while esau was cutting up the bacon, and gunson was heating and cleaning a bent gridiron, that had been made by binding some pieces of thick wire a little distance apart. "now then, dean," he said, "can you cook that bacon?" esau laughed scornfully. "do you hear that?" he said, turning to me. "why, i've cooked bacon and bloaters at home hundreds of times." "good!" cried gunson. "then you shall cook a bit here. there will not be any bloaters, but as much salmon as you like to grill." "salmon?" said esau, pausing in the act of paring off some bacon rind. "yes; salmon. the rivers are so full of them here sometimes, that they crowd one another out on to the shore." esau gave him a look, and then went on preparing the bacon, afterwards setting it to frizzle over the clear fire. "i must rout up some basins," said gunson, rising. "i don't suppose we shall get any tea-cups and saucers here." he went out of the rough room, and left us together just as the kettle began to sing, and the bacon to send out an appetising odour. "well," said esau, "that don't smell bad. seems to make one feel not quite so mizzable to hear a kettle singing again. i did feel bad a bit back." "didn't you?" "yes: wretched," i replied. "and all the more," continued esau, "because old gunson seems to have taken us into custody like, and orders us to do this and do that." "but--" "now do let _me_ finish," grumbled esau. "i know what you're going to say, and i'll say it for you. you're allus getting into scrapes, and he's getting you out of 'em." "and you?" i said, laughing. "hah! that's better," cried esau, pouncing on a piece of bacon and turning it over. "i do like to see you laugh a bit; seems to make things cheery. but i say, when is he going his way and going to let us go ours?" "how's the bacon getting on?" said gunson, entering, and the rough board door swung to. "ah, nice and brown, and the kettle close upon the boil. know how to make tea, gordon? not our way in camp i know. look here." he turned out nearly a handful out of the common tin canister, waited till the water in the open kettle was bubbling all over, and then threw in the tea, lifted the kettle off, and stood it down. "there," he said, "that's camp fashion. the old lady's going to bring us something to drink it out of;" and as he spoke the settler's wife brought in two tin pint mugs and a cracked and chipped basin, which she banged roughly on the table. gunson gave me a peculiar look as the sour woman turned away. "i say, mrs--i don't know your name." "well, what is it now?" said the woman, in a vinegary tone. "i can't spend all my time waiting on you." "my dear madam, no," said gunson, in the most gentlemanly way; "i only wanted to say that a cup of good tea in this wilderness is a thing that one may offer a lady, and as that is thoroughly prime china tea that i have brought up from 'frisco, will you do us the honour of trying a cup?" the change in the woman's countenance was wonderful. it softened; then there was a smile, and her face looked quite pleasant. "well, really, that's very good of you," she said. "i'll go and get myself a cup. a drop of good tea is such a treat out here." she hurried out of the room, and gunson laughed. "here, gordon," he said, "get out that sugar you'll find in my bag. we must do it well with company." i brought forth a tin of sugar and placed it on the table, and gunson having tidied it a little by throwing the bacon rind away, and spreading the mugs about, we sat listening to the sputtering of the bacon and watching the flickering of the flames, which in the increasing darkness began to gild and tinge the rough boarded walls with red. just then the woman came back, with two cups, a saucer, and another tin. "i thought i'd bring you a cup to dip with," she said, "and a drop of milk. a neighbour of ours ten miles up the river has got two cows, and he brings me a little milk when he comes down to buy stores. he was here this morning, so it's quite fresh." a few minutes later, and our landlady had finished her cup of tea, which she declared to be "lovely," while upon a second one being dipped she took it up and carried it off, saying she was too busy to stay. left alone, we proceeded to discuss our own meal, slices of the cake-like bread forming our plates, and our pocket-knives doing double duty. great draughts of hot tea washed down the bacon, and scarcely a word was spoken till esau sighed, and began to wipe and polish his big new knife. "feel better, my lad?" said gunson, smiling. "yes," said esau, speaking rather reluctantly. "i am a bit better now." "a bit? why, you are like a new lad. nothing like a good tea meal out in the wilds, my lad, to put life into one. why i've known days when we've been ready to break down, or give up, or go back; then we've formed camp, got a bit of fire on the way, boiled the kettle with a pinch of tea in it, and eaten our cold bacon and damper, and been fit to do anything after. so are you two. to-morrow morning you'll be ready to make your start up the river, and this will be like your first lesson in camping out." "which way are you going, sir?" said esau, after a long silence, during which we had been sitting gazing at the fire, but not until there had been a general tidy up of our table. "nor'-east," said gunson, laconically. then in a very abrupt way, "now then, you've a hard day's work before you to-morrow, so roll yourselves up in your blankets and go to sleep." "where?" i said. "she has not showed us our bedroom." "no, because this is, as the old song says, `parlour and kitchen and hall,' with sleeping accommodation included. there are plenty of fine spreading spruces outside, though, if you prefer a bed there." "oh no," i said, as i began to realise that our journey now was going to be very rough indeed; and thoroughly appreciating the value of the blanket i had brought, i rolled myself in it, and lay down to think wonderingly of where we should be to-morrow. i knew that i could not go to sleep, but thought it better to obey gunson in every way while he was with us; and as i lay there, i saw him rise and stand thoughtfully before the fire, while almost directly a sound arose from close by me as if esau was practising ventriloquism, and wanted to give a good imitation of wood-sawing. this grew so exasperating at last, that i should have kicked him to wake him up if i had not been prevented by my blanket, which was twisted so tightly round my legs that they would not move. "i suppose he must be lying on his back," i remember thinking; and directly after, as it seemed to me, when i looked at gunson, whose figure just before stood out big and black before the glowing fire, he was not there. i think i considered it rather strange, but i was under the impression directly after that he had lain down too. then there was a low, dull, humming sound, which i knew came from the river, and then i was looking up at gunson, who was standing over me, with the fire lighting him on one side, and the broad, warm glow of the rising sun on the other. chapter twenty one. our morning bath. "well, have you had a good night's rest?" cried gunson, smiling at me. "have--have i been asleep?" i said, sitting up. "asleep? yes, for a good eight hours. there, tumble up. your washhand-basin is waiting for you. now, dean," he continued, touching him with his foot, "are you going to lie there all day?" "don't--i say, be quiet. i've only just closed my eyes. why! eh? if it ain't to-morrow morning!" he got up and shook himself, and then followed my example of folding up my blanket. "can you lads swim?" "i can," i said; and the words recalled our river at home, and the green bank off which i used to plunge. "i learned in lambeth baths," said esau. "then if i were you i'd go and have a dip; freshen you both up for the day. there's a place under the trees about a hundred yards from the wharf. i've had a swim there this morning." "already?" i said. "yes, and done some business beside. but look here; keep to the shallows there, and don't venture into the stream, for the current is exceedingly swift." a swim in the bright morning sunshine sounded so delightful that i made for the door at once. "remember about the current, my lads," said gunson; "and you, dean, if you keep your eyes open you'll see plenty of salmon." "that's his way of making fun of me," said esau, as soon as we were outside. "somehow he don't like me." "and you don't like him, esau?" "that's about true, mr gordon," cried esau. "but oh my!--only look!" i needed no telling, for as we stood on the banks of that swift river, with the forest rising behind us, and the sun glorifying everything around, all thoughts of the last night's low spirits, and the trouble we had gone through, were forgotten, and i felt ready to shout for joy. the axe of the woodman had been at work, but so little that it was hardly noticeable, and, look which way we would, all was lovely, glorious, more beautiful than words can paint. "here, i want to shout. i want to lie down and roll. here, lay hold of my ankles and hold me," cried esau, "why? what are you going to do?" "i feel as if i must stand on my head, or i shall go mad. i do indeed." "don't be so stupid." "but it ain't stupid. it's all so--so--oh! i can't tell you how beautiful it is." "never mind now. we are here, and can go on liking it." "yes, i know; but--i say, lookye here. what a tree to climb, with all its branches standing out like steps, and--why, it must be a hundred feet high." "it's more than two," i said as i gazed up at the grand green spire of a douglas pine, tapering gradually up, as if it intended to pierce the bright blue sky. "can't be so high as that," said esau. "but i don't know," he cried. "look at this stump; why, it must be twenty or thirty feet round. and look at 'em, hundreds and thousands of 'em, all standing as close together as they can. oh, look! look! look! can't help it, i must shout. i don't care about the trouble or the work, or the long voyage. i'd go through it all again to come to such a place as this. oh, i do wish mother was here to see." i did not give vent to my feelings in the same way, but i felt as much; and all the time, as my heart seemed to swell with joy, there were tears rising to my eyes, and dimming the glorious view of river, mountain, and forest, while i kept on saying to myself, "thank god for making such a lovely world." the first excitement over, and the feeling of wonder that we had not seen all this last night passed away, we went on along the clearing to the bank of the river, overlooking the shallows where we were to have our bathe. the sun was shining down through the opening formed by the stream, and its waters were sparkling and flashing in the light, as we reached the spot gunson evidently meant, and just then i caught hold of esau's arm, and stood pointing away toward the middle. "i see 'em," cried esau, "just over those shallows. just like shoals of roach in the lea or the new river. they must be gudgeon." "gudgeon!--nonsense! you forget how big everything is here. they're salmon." "go along with you," he cried. "think i don't know better than that? well, i am--" this last was on seeing a bar of silver about three feet long shoot out of the water, describe a curve, and fall with a tremendous splash not half a stone's throw from where we stood. "why, it is!" cried esau, excitedly. "that was a salmon, and i can see 'em now--they are big--hundreds of 'em, and oh! not a bit o' fishing-tackle of any sort, not so much as a line." "are you coming to bathe?" i cried, laughing. "who's to bathe when there's everything to look at like this? here, don't let's go any further; let's write to mother and the others to come over here." "there, i shan't wait for you, esau," i cried, slipping off my clothes; while he began more slowly, gazing about him all the while. "can't help it," he said. "i never thought there could be such places as this. i say, ain't it too beautiful a'most?" _splash_! that was my answer as i plunged in, only to shout as i rose to the top again, for the water was so cold it sent quite a thrill through me, and the next minute i was swimming about in the full enjoyment of the dip, after having to be content for months with a miserable allowance of water for washing purposes. "here i come: look out!" cried esau; and the next moment he too sprang in, sending the water up sparkling in the morning sunshine. "oh!" he cried; "oh! ice! isn't it cold?" "you'll soon feel warm," i shouted; and a minute later he was up close beside me, swimming easily, and every now and then dipping his head under water like a duck. "i shan't go away from here," panted esau. "it's too lovely to leave. i shall build a cottage down by the river side and live there, and then we can fish for salmon. what more does a fellow want?" "let's wait a bit, and see what the rest of the country is like. we may find a better place." "couldn't," cried esau. "i say, one don't feel the water so cold now. i don't want a place to be any better than this. it's just right." "well, let's swim back now, and dress. i want my breakfast, and i dare say gunson's ready." "bother old gunson!" puffed esau. "he's a regular nuisance. is he going to-day?" "i can't talk in--the water." "what?" "come on back now." i had turned, and begun swimming steadily back, for the water hardly flowed here close to the shore; and as i swam i kept on glancing up at the huge trees, which were four or five times the size of any i had ever seen before. "don't you want your breakfast, esau?" i said, after a few minutes' swim, but he did not answer. "esau, come along." but still there was no answer; and i turned round and looked back, to see that he was still swimming in the other direction, and a long way from me. "esau," i roared, "come back!" and i had the satisfaction of seeing him turn, and begin to swim in my direction. striking out strongly, i was making for the place where i had left my clothes, when i suddenly heard him hail me. "hallo!" i shouted. "can't seem to get along here." i stopped to watch him, and then a cold shudder ran through me, for i could see that though he was swimming with his face toward me, he was slowly gliding away by the trees on the opposite bank. "he has got into the current," i thought; and i was going to shout a warning, but i had the good sense not to do so, for i felt that it would alarm him, and beginning to swim back, i cried-- "turn in for the shore." "eh?" "make for the shore." "can't, lad," came back; and the cold chill i had before felt thrilled me; while feeling as if i dared not speak, i swam towards him, in agony all the time, for fear i should get into the current with which he was struggling. "don't get much nearer," he shouted, coolly enough, for he had not yet realised his clanger; and making an effort to speak as calmly, i raised my voice and shouted-- "of course you don't. turn round and swim the other way, sloping for the bank." he did not answer, but he had evidently heard my words, for he rose in the water, turned with a bit of a splash, and began to swim in the other direction; while i followed, keeping close in where there was hardly any current. then i stopped and uttered a hoarse cry, for i saw him suddenly shoot right out toward the centre of the stream, and begin going down at a rate that was terrible. for i could see that any attempt to fight against the stream would be folly; all he could do was to keep himself afloat, and trust to being swept into some other cross current which might take him shoreward. i felt willing enough to go to his help, but i could do nothing, and the feeling of impotence began to rob me of such little power as i possessed. and now i saw that he realised his peril, for he raised one arm above the water and waved it to me, lowering it again directly, and swimming with the side-stroke, so that it seemed to me that he was drowning, for his head was nearly hidden by the water. "now, my lads, breakfast," came from the bank, and i saw gunson appear from among the pines. "out with you. where is dean?" i rose in the water, and pointed to where the poor fellow was rapidly passing out of eye-shot, being now quite three hundred yards away, and rapidly increasing the distance. "what madness! he'll be--" i didn't hear him finish the sentence, but i know what he meant to say; and in despair i swam to the shallows, waded out, and stood shading my eyes and watching esau, who was still afloat, but rapidly being carried away. as i reached the bank, i just caught a glimpse of gunson running along the clearing beyond the little settlement, and my feeling of despair increased, for i knew that at the end of the opening the forest went down to the water's edge, and that any one would have to struggle through the tangle of branches and fallen trees. "no," i thought; "he will get a boat." but i could not remember that there was a boat about the place. i had not seen one. as i thought all this in a wild, excitable way, i snatched up some of my clothes, slipped them on partly as i ran; and even then, incongruous as it may sound, i could not help thinking how the wet hindered me. then running on, i came upon gunson, with his face cut and bleeding, struggling back from among the trees. "boat! boat!" he shouted, hoarsely. "is there no boat?" his words brought out the settler's wife, and a couple of men from one of the shanties. "no boat here," said one of the men. "anything the matter?" gunson tried to speak, but no words came, and in a despairing way he pointed down the river in the direction poor esau had been swept. the man looked as he pointed, but nothing was visible, and just then the woman cried out-- "why, where's your mate?" neither could i say more than one word--"bathing," and i too pointed down the river. "bathing, and swep' away," said one of the men. "ah, she runs stronger nor a man can swim. none on us here don't bathe." "no," said the other man quietly; and they stood looking at us heavily. "but is there no boat to be had?" cried gunson, hoarsely. "the indians. a canoe!" "went down the river last night, after bringing the fish," said the woman wildly, and then--"oh, the poor boy--the poor boy!" and she covered her face with her apron and began to sob. "and we stand here like this," groaned gunson, "shut in here by these interminable trees. is there no way through--no path?" "no," said the man who had spoken first, "no path. only the river. we came by the water and landed here." "gordon," said my companion bitterly, "i'd have plunged in and tried to save him, but i knew it was impossible. poor lad! poor lad! i'd have given five years of my life to have saved him." "but will he not swim ashore somewhere lower down?" i cried, unwilling to give up all hope. "where the stream isn't so strong. let's try and find a way through the trees." "yes; let's try a way along by the river if we can," he said, wearily. "poor lad! i meant differently to this." he led the way back to the end of the clearing, and then hesitated. "if we could contrive something in the shape of a raft, we might float down the river. hark! what's that?" for there was a faint hail from somewhere down the river--in the part hidden from us by the trees. "ahoy!" came quite distinctly this time. "he has swum to one of the overhanging branches, and is holding on," i cried, excitedly. "can't we make a raft so as to get to him?" gunson turned, and was in the act of running toward our stopping-place, with some idea, as he afterwards told me, of tearing down two or three doors, when more plainly still came the hail. "ahoy! gordon. ahoy!" "why, he is swimming back," i cried. "ah!" shouted gunson, running back. "the indians! it was about their time." almost as he spoke, the end of a canoe propelled by four indians came into sight slowly from behind the trees, and as it drew a little further into view, i could see esau's head just above the side right back in the stern, and this was followed by one bare arm, which was waved in the air, and he shouted--"gordon. ahoy! got my clothes?" gunson gave his foot an angry stamp, and walked back to the settler's house. chapter twenty two. we start up the river. "esau!" i cried, half hysterically, as the canoe was paddled up to the wharf; "you frightened us horribly." "you?" he said, coolly, "frightened you? why, you should have been me." i said nothing then, but made signs to the indians, who, partly from my motions, and partly from their understanding a few words of english, paddled the boat up to where we had undressed; and as esau leaped ashore, and hurried on his clothes, he went on talking readily enough, though i could hardly say a word. "yes, i did begin to get a bit scared when i found i couldn't do anything to paddle ashore," said esau quietly. "it does run fast. and as soon as i was in the full stream, away i went. didn't have no trouble about swimming, only a stroke now and then to keep one's head right; river did all the rest. i could have gone on for an hour, i dare say, if i could have kept from being frightened, but--don't tell old gunson--i was scared, and no mistake." "till you saw the indians with the canoe," i said huskily. "what?" cried esau, staring at me in astonishment. "why that made me ever so much more frightened. how did i know but what they wanted to pull all the hair off my head? why, i tried to swim away from them, and dived down when they were getting close, so as to let them paddle right by. i stopped under too as long as i could, and when i came up, if they hadn't managed their boat just so as one of 'em could duck his hand down and catch hold of my curly hair." "esau!" "i shouted and struggled, but he held tight, and another came to help him, and they dragged me over the side into the boat, where i durstn't kick for fear of poking my feet through the bottom, for it's only skin stretched over a frame, just as you might make a boat as one would an umbrella, only i don't think they could shut it up." "but they didn't attempt to hurt you." "no; they were civil enough their way, and kept on jabbering at me, and saying something about si wash, si wash. i'd had si wash enough, but they never offered to lend me a towel, and i had to get dry in the sun." "esau," i said, as he was finishing dressing, "you ought to be thankful that you have had such an escape." "ought i? well, i suppose i ought, lad; and i am thankful, though i take it so easy, for my poor mother would have broke her heart if i'd been drowned. she thinks a deal of me." "of course," i said. "i say, what did old gunson say?" "don't ask me; don't talk about it," i said, for i felt half choking, i was so overset by the whole scene. "why, mayne gordon," said esau softly, as he laid his hand on my shoulder, "don't go on like that. i ain't nothing to you, and--" "esau," i cried angrily, "will you hold your tongue? hush! don't say another word. here's mr gunson." "yes," said esau, in rather an ill-used tone, "it always is `here's mr gunson!'" "breakfast's waiting, my lads," he said. "make haste; i don't want to keep the indians long." "keep the indians?" i said. "ah, you mean we ought to pay them something for saving him." "yes, for one thing; but that is not all. they will easily be satisfied." "i sha'n't give them anything," said esau sourly. "one of 'em tried to pull the hair off my head." "nonsense! it must have been to get you into the boat. here we are." he signed to us to go into our room in the shanty, and i felt puzzled at his quiet calm way of speaking now, just as if there had been nothing the matter that morning. but it was not so with esau. the shock and its accompanying fright had had a peculiar effect upon his temper. as we entered the room there was the bright fire with the boiling water; and the landlady had been busy for us, and broiled some bacon, the smell of which was very welcome at that time in the morning; but as esau was about to take his place he looked sharply round. "where's my box?" he said. and as he spoke i saw that mine and the others were gone. "in the canoe," said gunson, quietly. "what's it in the canoe for?" cried esau. "those indian chaps will run away with it." "if they do," said gunson, who was busy making the tea, "they'll take your companion's and mine too." "what's the good o' that to me?" cried esau angrily. "that won't bring mine back. here, i want my box." "sit down, and don't be stupid, my lad. you've given us quite enough trouble this morning." "but i want my box," cried esau. "there's lots o' things in that i wouldn't lose on no account." he moved toward the door, but gunson set down the kettle and stepped before him. "go and sit down," he said sternly. "but i want--" "sit down!" roared gunson. "your companion here does not make an idiot of himself because his box is in the canoe. do you think i want to run away with it?" "no; but those indians--" "are more honest than you are, my lad, or as honest." "but who told them to take the boxes?" "i did. for if you go and nearly drown yourself there is no opportunity for consulting you about matters. you want to go up the river, do you not?" "well, i don't know," cried esau, whose anger was now comical. "then we know for you. as it happens, my first halting-place is at a settlement twelve miles up the river. i wanted my chests taken up there, and i ventured to think it would be doing you lads a good turn to take you and your boxes as well. so i engaged these indians with their canoe. they will paddle us up there and land us." "oh," said esau discontentedly. and i burst out laughing. "i'm sorry you do not like it, mr dean; but if you wish it, i will apologise for the liberties my indians have taken in saving your life as they came, as well as in taking your chest." "well, i--that is--if i'd--" "will you hold your mug this way for some tea, mr dean?" said gunson, with mock politeness. "oh!" exclaimed esau. "there, help yourself to sugar and milk. gordon, my lad, help the bacon, and give our much-injured friend the best piece." "look here," cried esau fiercely, "you may hit me, or you may kick me, but i can't stand being made fun of. say another word like that, and i won't eat a bit." "i have said my say," cried gunson, with a look at me. and after gulping down his tin mug of tea, esau seemed to get better, and the meal was hastily finished in peace. "now, gordon," said gunson, "our landlady has been very civil to us, what shall we give her beside the pay for what we have had?" "if i did what i liked, i should give her a little paper of tea." "well done, solomon of wisdom," said gunson, taking something from his pocket; "here it is, done up all ready. now then, the sooner we start the better." our arrangements with the settler's wife were soon concluded, and it was still early morning when we took our places in the big skin canoe with all our personal belongings under our eyes now; and the indians having been well fed, pushed off rather sluggishly. but they kept time with their paddles, and soon set up a low, sad, crooning kind of chorus as they carefully avoided the powerful stream by keeping well inshore, where i gazed up in wonder at the magnificent trees which appeared in masses and clumps at every turn. it was a wonderful experience that first ride on the fierce river, whose snow-charged waters gave quite a sting to the fingers whenever they were immersed. and there was always something fresh to see. now it was a vast shoal of salmon gliding up over the shallows, or collecting about the edges of one of the many falls we passed, where some stream or another came down from the high grounds to swell the already full bed of the river. then some bird flew up within tempting distance for one who handled a gun, and then there would be a little bit of excitement as we neared some fierce part of the river where the bed was dotted with rocks, a touch upon any of which must mean a hole through the bottom of our canoe, and her freight sent whirling helplessly down the stream. it was at one of these rapids that esau, who had been very quiet and rather ashamed of himself, suddenly half rose in his place, exclaiming-- "don't let them go there; it isn't safe." "they know best how to manage the canoe," said gunson quietly. "but you won't let them go up that bit of water? it's like a mill-race." "yes; only fiercer," said gunson coolly. "feel startled, gordon?" "i do feel a bit nervous," i said. "and not ashamed to say so," he replied, laughing. "well, you are a strange lad. of course you are not frightened, dean?" "why it's enough to scare any one," cried esau. "we shall all have to swim for it directly, and nice chance we shall have. get stunned with stones before we know where we are. here, look! what are they going to do?" "sit still, and you'll see," said gunson; and he joined me in looking eagerly at the men, who ran the boat as far as they could go toward the shallow rapids by energetic use of their paddles, and then, at a grunt from the one who seemed to take the lead, they dropped their paddles in the canoe, and, as if by one movement, swung themselves over into the rapids, and began to wade and drag the vessel against the surging stream. "look here," said gunson, with his lips close to my ear, for the noise of the rushing water was deafening, "if we do go over, make for that big piece of rock below there, and try to climb up." "yes," i said rather breathlessly; "but tell esau too." "oh no; there is no need," he said sarcastically. "your companion is too clever to want help." meanwhile we were being dragged slowly up and up against the fierce current, and in and out among rocks, any one of which would have overset the canoe; and as i looked forward and to right and left, where the sides of the river were formed by precipices which ran up so high that the trees growing here and there on the ledges looked quite small, i felt a kind of shrinking sensation at my own insignificance, and turned at last to see what effect all this had upon esau. he was seated holding on to the bottom of the canoe with all his might, and staring at the threatening rocks with eyes and mouth wide open. "afraid?" i shouted in his ear. "not a bit," he replied; "but be ready for a swim if some of those rocks up above don't tumble down and sink us." and all the time the indians dragged hard at the canoe, and with so much success that they proceeded over some three hundred yards of rapid, and then stopped where the water looked deep and glassy, and where it was evident that they could wade no further. here, as they held the canoe fast to keep it from being swept back down the rapids, one of the foremost swung himself in, took his paddle, and began to use it with all his might. then another sprang in on the other side, and paddled hard to keep the canoe stationary, two still holding tightly. then the third leaped in, and the one still holding uttered a hoarse cry, which made the others ply their paddles with all their might, for it seemed as if the stream would be too strong for them. finally the fourth gave another cry, and his muscles stood out in the sunshine on his forehead and neck, as he gave the boat a tremendous thrust, swung himself in, and began to paddle rapidly. the thrust he gave the boat sent it on a couple of yards, and then it became stationary, with the water, which looked white and glassy, now rushing by us, and threatening to drive the canoe on to the rocks just behind, or else to capsize us, and sweep the party headlong down the long water slope up which we had been so toilsomely drawn. and i believe we should have been mastered, for what with three passengers and the chests, the canoe was heavily laden; but gunson suddenly pressed himself close to the last indian, reached out one strong arm, and grasped his paddle, swaying with him, and bringing the full force of his powerful muscles to bear. the hint was sufficient. i gave esau a look, and crawled right forward to the first paddler, and did precisely the same, and esau acted likewise, so that there was the addition of our arms on the port side of the boat to balance gunson's on the starboard. for the moment my indian, the first, seemed ready to start up, leap overboard, and swim for his life, evidently thinking i was attacking him; but he saw what it meant directly, and as soon as we boys were in regular swing with them, the chief man gave a shout, and the paddles were plied with such effect that the canoe began to move from where it had been stationary, as if one end were fixed on a rock, which allowed the hows to sway a little. then we gained a foot or two, the feet became yards, and the indians set up a triumphant chorus, as we glided on and on, more into smoother water, and at last right in, under the lowering precipice on our left, where we got along more rapidly, till the vessel was steered in behind a huge projecting mass of rock, where one paddle was sufficient to hold her in the eddy that was caused by the stone, and here all paused to rest. "well done, bri'ish muscles!" said esau, looking round, and smiling as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "i say, i thought it was all over once." "yes," said gunson, "they had all they could do to hold their own, and of course they would soon have given way." "is there much more like this?" i asked. "you know the river as well as i do, my lad," said gunson. "as far as i can make out, it is nearly all like this, and runs through canons and wild places, where at times the sides are so high that it is quite gloomy below." "well, i like it," said esau. "there's something in it. i've been on the river at home in the steamers, but there's nothing to see." "you'll see enough here," said gunson, dryly. "what do you think of your journey up the river now? didn't i hear one of you speak about walking on the bank?" i looked to right and left, and felt my forehead pucker up as i saw the difficulties we should have to contend with. "but will the banks be always like this?" i said. "of course not. i should say that we shall find everything, from piled-up masses of rock to pleasant patches of meadow, and no two miles alike." "but no steamers could ever come up here," said esau. "oh yes, out there in the broad channel in the middle, but they will need very powerful engines and careful pilots. ah, they are getting ready for a fresh start." "but it will take us a long time to get up to where we are to stop for to-night," i said. "twelve miles at the outside," replied gunson. "yes, i am beginning to be in doubt as to whether we shall get there to-night." the leader of the indians shouted, they plunged in their paddles, and the next minute we were again struggling with a rapid bit of the river between two rocks; but they soon got into smooth water again, and, evidently quite at home in the intricacies of the navigation, they took advantage of every sheltering clump of rocks, and cut across swift rapids to get into eddies here, there, and everywhere. now we were right in the middle of the stream, now crossing under the left bank, now making for the right, but always advancing slowly, with the sides of the river growing grander every hour, and gunson smiling at our ecstasies, as we kept getting glimpses of ravines down which tumbled silvery streams, whose spray moistened the gigantic pines which shot up like spires. "wouldn't have ketched me sitting on the stool in old dempster's office all that mizzable time," cried esau, "if i'd known there were places like this to come and live at." "it is a grand valley," said gunson thoughtfully, and looking at me as he spoke; "but as it is, what is it? only something beautiful to be admired. you couldn't live on waterfalls and pine-trees here. suppose i landed you two lads in that lovely gorge, where the water comes down like a veil of silver, and--yes, look, there's a rainbow floating in that mist just above the big fall. look at the ferns, and perfect shape of that great fir-tree, with its branches drooping right to the ground. you could sleep under its spreading boughs, and find a soft bed of pine-needles; but i don't think it would be possible to climb up the sides of the gorge, and in a short time you would starve." "oh would we?" cried esau. "we'd soon build a hut, and we could catch the salmon." "yes, you might catch some salmon in the season; but there is nothing else you could eat. it is very beautiful too, and those pine-trees that stand there are as they stand worth nothing, but if you had them cut into square timbers, and lying in one of the london docks, they would be worth from ten to forty pounds each." "but it is glorious to see all this," i said eagerly. "yes; glorious. in all my travels i have seen nothing more beautiful," said gunson; and he added laughing, "i never went up a river that was so rugged and so swift." it was just in such a nook as that which we had admired so much that the indians ran the boat ashore about midday, and after making her fast in a glassy little pool, they signed to us to get out, after which they all sat down among the ferns, and under the shelter of the spreading boughs of a pine, and brought out some food. we imitated their example, and made a hearty meal, washing it down with a tin of water from a little fountain which gushed from a moss-covered rock. by this time the indians were lying down apparently asleep, and it set me thinking about what our position would be if we followed their example and they decamped with our boxes and stores. suppose there was no way out of this neck, for the sides looked as if it would be impossible to climb them, and it was evidently a rare thing for any boat to go up or down. however, these were only fancies, for after about an hour's rest the indians suddenly jumped up and pointed to the boat. we got in, and the struggle with the river began again, to be kept up till the sun had descended behind the mountains, and it was beginning to look gloomy where the river ran. places that would have been glorious to the eye in the bright sunshine now seemed weird and terrible, impressing even our hard, stern friend, so that he suddenly said-- "we had better land at the first suitable place, and make camp for the night. we can easily get a good fire." i was glad to hear him say this, for with the advancing evening the waters looked cold, and the echoing roar of torrent and fall had an awful sound that began to affect my spirits, and esau's as well, for he suddenly said to me-- "i say, this part ain't half so beautiful as some of the others." gunson set himself the task of explaining to the indians that we wanted to land, a want that they grasped directly; the leader nodding and pointing forward beyond a sudden bend of the river, where it made a sweep to our right round a towering buttress of rock, which projected so far that it seemed to block up the channel, and turn the place into a lake. then bending once more to their paddles, they set up their monotonous chant, and in about an hour we were round the great rocky buttress, and making for a meadow-like patch surrounded by magnificent trees, and upon which dotted here and there were rough shanties. "why this is the settlement!" cried gunson. "they have done as they promised after all. now, my lads," he said, "what do you say?--shall we try and get shelter at one of those places, or camp out for the first time, and you can try what it's like?" "camp out," i said eagerly, for there was an attraction about the idea. "what do you say, esau?" "same as you do, sir, same as you." "then we will camp out," said gunson; and directing the indians to a nook away from the tents, they landed us there by a spring of cold water, and then began to take out the chests. "no, no. to-morrow," said gunson. "now then; first thing is a fire when we have chosen our tent." just then esau cried sharply--"i say, lookye there!" and burst into a fit of laughter. chapter twenty three. esau has a dream. i laughed too as i saw the little yellow-faced figure of our chinese companion of the boat, as he came up with his small bundle swinging from one finger. "why how did you get up here?" i said. "indian--chinook come along, walkee, walkee," he said; and he pointed toward the west. "wantee fire--make blead?" he said laconically; and then without losing a moment, he selected a sheltered spot, collected a quantity of pine-needles and fir-cones, produced a box of matches from somewhere,--i think it was from up his sleeve,--started the fire, nursed it carefully, and as soon as it began to burn freely, ran here and there to collect dry wood, and after building this up round, dragged up bigger pieces, and then added these, making a famous fire in a very short time. gunson laughed at the chinaman's busy, officious way, and with us to help him, brought our stores ashore, while the indians prepared their own camping-place some little distance off. "we may as well make ourselves comfortable for the night," he said. "we shall work all the better to-morrow." "where floul--make blead?" said the chinaman, looking up suddenly. "don't want any. got plenty of bread." "don'tee want any. plenty blead?" said the chinaman. "want pot makum boil tea; want bacon--good fi' cook bacon." i was just unpacking the latter, which had been tucked in the kettle safe receptacle, and our new acquaintance's fingers were soon busy. he seized the kettle, went to the spring, rinsed it out, and brought it full to the fire. then, before i could interfere, he had seized upon the bacon, taken out a long ugly knife, whetted it upon his boot, and began to cut off thin slices, which he laid upon a thin square of iron, whose purpose i had not divined when gunson unpacked it, bore them to the fire, and stood there ready for a clear place where one side was all aglow with embers. this done, the chinaman placed one or two branches in more favourable positions for burning, and turned to gunson again. "kettle nealy leady. want tea?" gunson handed the tin to him, and the little yellow face lightened up as the cover was taken off. "melican tea? no. good tea. ah!" there was a long, eager sniff taken, and then a look was given round. "one, two, thlee," said the little fellow, raising finger after finger as he counted. "one, two, thlee," and he gave the tea a shake in the canister. "not enough," said gunson; "we like a good cup." "hey? like good cup? yes, plenty tea fo' good cup," and he took off the lid of the tin, and went and squatted down by the kettle, set the tea aside, ready for the boiling of the water, and so brought the bacon over the glowing embers slowly and carefully, using the point of his knife in place of a fork. that tea proved to be excellent, and the bacon so delicious that we felt kindly disposed toward the chinaman as we ate it; and the more so that as soon as he saw us well started, in place of hanging about to be asked to join, he whetted his knife again, trotted off, and began to collect pine-needles, and cut down boughs of fir and spruce to pack together under the biggest tree for our bed. "here, what are you doing?" said gunson. "hey?" cried the little fellow, trotting up. "doing! want mo' bacon--make blead. blead gone high." "no, no. sit down and have some tea." "by and by!" said the little fellow. "cut much bed. velly black dleckly; no see." he went off, and we heard his knife hacking away again, and the rustling of the boughs, as he laid them neatly together in the big, pine natural tent that was to be our home that night. "well," said gunson, "what do you think of real camping out?" "lovely," said esau. "oh! i say!" "what's the matter?" i said. "gnat sort of thing bit me on the side of the neck. why, if there ain't another." he gave his face a sharp smack, and i was engaged too, and directly after gunson was smacking his hands and legs, for a cloud of mosquitoes had found us out, and were increasing in number every moment. "this is intolerable," cried gunson. "old friends. haven't been bitten for years. we shall have to shift our quarters." just then the chinaman came up, and took in the situation at a glance. "skittum," he said, sharply. "i mudjums." running to the fire, he took hold of the end of a branch, drew it out, gave it a wave to put out the flame, and then held it smoking low down by us on the side where the wind blew, with the result that a thick cloud of aromatic vapour was wafted by us, stinging our eyes a little, but making the vicious little insects turn their attention to the indians, who started a burning branch as well, after which we could hear our enemies making their sharp, threatening hum all about us, but they rarely ventured to attack us through the smoke. "i say," cried esau, "i hope there ain't many of these things about. my! how the bites itch." as he spoke he moved out from under the protecting smoke, but a sharp trumpeting hum sent him back directly with his head in the cloud. "wants a good sharp wind to blow 'em away," he muttered, as he began to rub at the bites viciously, while gunson turned to the chinaman and nodded toward the remains of our food. "have some tea," he said, "and something to eat?" the little fellow nodded and smiled. "all a done?" he said. "tea velly good?" and filling himself a tin mug from the supply in the kettle, he sat sipping it with his eyes closed. then helping himself moderately to the remains of the bread and bacon, he rinsed out the kettle and mugs, and set all aside under a big fern. "all leady fo' bleakfass," he said, nodding. "keep a fi'. quong mind. leady fo' bleakfass, mollow. you want?" he looked at gunson, who shook his head. "you want?" he said again, looking at esau. "no, i don't want you," replied esau; and the same question was addressed to me, of course with the same result. "velly ti'e. go sleep," said the little fellow; and, selecting a tree about half way between us and the indians' camp, i saw him, in the fast-fading light, put his bundle down for a pillow, and curl up directly. "good example," said gunson. "let's follow it, and be off in good time." we took his advice; but this time i lay awake for long enough, listening to the murmur of the wind in the pines, and the low, deep bass roar of the river. it had rapidly grown dark, and the fire flickered and flashed, and sent up curls of golden smoke; while on one side there was a bough of a pine-tree with every needle standing out clear and bright against the intense blackness beyond. and as i lay there listening to the heavy breathing of my two companions, i began to think how easy it would be for the little chinaman to crawl silently up and rob us of our money and valuables; then that there was nothing to prevent the indians from making their way round among the trees and killing us all. i had read of indian massacres, and a curious, hot sensation of dread came over me as i looked nervously round, half expecting that my fancies might not be without cause, and that my wakefulness was due to a sense of coming danger. but the various objects dimly seen by the firelight by degrees took their proper form; and i saw that one which i had believed to be an indian's head was only a tuft of some low growth; that it was a fern and not a crouching enemy just beyond the fire; and the group to my left, a curious shadowy group, consisted of young pines which the falling in and following blaze of the fire made quite plain. i told myself that it was foolish to feel so nervous, and that i was as safe out there in the forest as in some room at home; but myself would not believe it, and kept on conjuring up dangers surrounding us till i felt irritable with my two companions for sleeping so peaceably. the time went on, and i began wondering how mr john dempster and those with him were getting on; how long it would be before we should meet--if we ever did meet; and then the end of my journey here became a great trouble to me, as the question rose in a very portentous fashion--what would uncle dan, as they familiarly called him, say when i presented myself and said i had come? those hours--perhaps they only seemed to be hours--passed on very wearily, and i turned and turned again, troubled as i was by a painful, burning itching where i had been bitten, and never once thinking of attributing my wakefulness to the real cause--the mosquitoes. at last, just when i was most miserable, nervous, and low-spirited, i suddenly saw a bright, flashing eye appear over the edge of the black ridge on the other side of the river, and begin peering at me through the pine boughs, so full of peace and beauty that i lay gazing at it, feeling more and more calm as i recalled the times when i had seen that same planet shining so brightly in the dear old home; till at last my leaden eyelids closed, and i slept profoundly, but only to start into wakefulness as some one trampled upon me heavily; and as i leaped up, there close to me came the sounds of heavy blows, of the pine twigs being broken, and loud gaspings and pantings, mingled with heavy trampling, a low hoarse cry, and a heavy fall. my heart stood still, and i was paralysed for a few moments as i stood there in the dark; then the instinct of self-preservation rose strong in me, and i took out and drew the great knife i had bought, and stood there ready to sell my life as dearly as i could, but unwilling to move lest i should indicate to the indians where they might make their next attack. for i felt convinced that my imaginations had been realised; that the indians had stolen upon us, and murdered my two companions in their sleep, while i alone was left helpless in that wild place, and not daring to call for help. i suppose all this could not have taken a minute, long as in my agony it seemed to me before a voice close by me said-- "dean--gordon! wake up, lads. a light--a light!" a thrill of joy shot through me as i recognised gunson's voice, although it was changed by excitement, and panting, just as it sounded to me after his encounter with the big settler; while before i could speak there came an answer to his appeal in the shrill tones of the chinaman. "wantee lightee? yes." then there was a blaze, and directly after i saw the little fellow bearing a great pine branch which he had dragged out of the fire. "what is it?" i said, eagerly. "i don't know yet, boy. one of the indians, i think. he struck me with a club, but fortunately it was only on the shoulder, and when i leaped up and struck out he went down. i've got him here. don't come till we can see. he may sting." the light flashed in under the pine boughs then, and i could see gunson's back as he knelt down, evidently holding his enemy there by the throat. "why, hang it!" he cried, drawing back sharply; "it's dean." "dean!" i cried. "there must be some one else." "no; only him. he was striking about with--yes, here it is," he continued, picking up a stout piece of pine, one of the branches that had been in the fire till the small twigs were burned off, leaving it as a strong cudgel about two feet long. "he struck me with this, and he was dashing it about among the branches." "he trampled on me too. i thought it was the indians," i said. "then it's a false alarm, and i'm afraid i've hurt the poor lad a good deal." but just then esau sat up, and began rubbing the side of his head. "where's my stick?" he said. "oh, you've got it. have you driven 'em away?" "driven whom away?" i said. "injuns. i thought they would. they came at us, and i'd got that stick ready." "injun allee seepee," said the chinaman, waving the pine branch to make it blaze. "no; they came and attacked us, and i fought 'em till one of 'em knocked me down and held me on the ground." "did you see them come?" said gunson. "couldn't see 'em because it was so dark; but i sprang up at them, and did the best i could." "quong fuss wake. no injun came all 'long. quong been make fire all light fo' bleakfass." "i tell you they came," cried esau, angrily. "look here at my cheek. it's cut, and bleeds. that was one of their knives." "that was my knuckles, my lad," said gunson, "after you had hit me with this cudgel." "what?" cried esau. "why, esau, you were dreaming of indians, and got up. you stamped on me." "oh, come, if you won't believe it's of no use for me to talk," cried esau, angrily. "not a bit, so lie down again and go to sleep." "yes; allee go seep," said the little chinaman. "no injun. allee seep." "take away that branch, or you'll set this tree on fire," said gunson. "then it's a false alarm. too much supper, i suppose." "i wasn't asleep," said esau, surlily. "don't be stubborn," i cried, angrily. "lie down." "here, i ain't your dog, mr gordon," said esau, sourly. "i did all i could to fight for you both." "yes, and jumped on your companion, and nearly broke my collar-bone." "well, you've cut my cheek. why, i shall have a black eye to-morrow." "i think you and i may as well shake hands about that," said gunson. "there, good-night." as he lay down once more, and the fire flashed up consequent upon the little chinaman throwing back the branch, esau turned to me. "i say," he whispered, "was i really dreaming?" "no doubt about it." "and walked in my sleep?" "yes, and fought in your sleep." "but it was so real. i could see their grinning teeth and rolling eyes, and every one had got a knife in one hand and a chopper in the other as they sprang at me." "that proves it, esau," i said. "how could you see their knives, and eyes, and teeth here in this darkness! why, you can't see my face, not even your own hands, and yet the fire's brighter than it was before." "well, that is rum," cried esau, as if to himself. "i saw 'em all as plain as could be, and they shouted their war-cry." "war!--gammon!" said gunson, crossly. "lie down, you two fellows, and go to sleep. he was dreaming, gordon. don't listen to his cock-and-bull nonsense." "all right," i said. "good-night." "good-night." "good-night, esau." "good-night. but dreaming! well, of all! and they were as plain as could be, and had got feathers in their heads." "yes, blue ones," i said, grumpily. "and look here, esau, if you're going to dance a war-dance on my chest again, please to take off your boots." esau chuckled, and the last thing i heard as i dropped asleep again was esau muttering to himself-- "asleep!--dreaming! well, of all!" chapter twenty four. i see footprints. esau was quite right; he had a terribly discoloured eye next morning, and it was the first thing i saw as we both sat up together in the soft light under the great pine, though i was half asleep still. but i had started up on hearing a shrill voice close to me say-- "bleakfass all ready." "come and bathe your face, esau," i said; and i led the way down to the water's edge to have a good wash, gunson and esau following my example, while when we got back to the fire it was to find that quong had been making himself quite at home with our stores. for not only had he cut up and cooked some bacon, and made the tea, but he had found the flour-bag; and there, upon a piece of sheet-iron, was a large bread-cake freshly baked in the embers. gunson laughed as he saw these preparations, but he said no more till we had partaken of a hearty meal. then the four indians came up to be paid, readily taking the dollars promised for the trip, and going back directly to the boat to land the boxes; but gunson followed them, and they agreed to take them to the front of the biggest shanty about half a mile higher up, waiting till we were ready. quong was busy now making his breakfast, and gunson turned to him. "now, my celestial friend," he said; "we're going to say good-bye to you. where are you bound for?" "up libber, washee gole." gunson started. "what?" he cried. "up libber, washee gole." "who told you that there was gold there?" "melican man come down, show bit gold to melican man. big man you chuckee chuckee down in boat." gunson looked disturbed, but he made no remark then, and at last i said to him-- "i suppose we shall part company to-day, mr gunson?" "what for? like your friend there, esau--tired of me?" "no," i said; "but we are going on tramp now up to fort elk." "yes," said esau, "that's what we're going to do; but i don't quite see what we're to do with our boxes." "leave them in charge, as i shall mine, at this settlement," said gunson. "you'll have just to make a bundle in your blanket that you can carry easily. i shall do the same, and we may as well go on together, and protect one another as we did last night." he laughed and looked at esau, who coloured up. "but we are going to fort elk," i said. "so am _i_," said gunson, coolly; and i saw esau give quite a start, and look at me with a countenance full of dismay. gunson saw it, and went on quietly-- "i did not mean to go on there, only up this river for some distance, and then off here or there toward the sources of one or other of the streams that run into it from the mountains; but as i have run up against you two, why we may as well go on together; it will give me a chance to knock you both on the head, and then come back here, and get your chests, as well as the money you have in your belts under your clothes." i stared at him in a horrified way for a moment, and then, as i seemed to understand him, i burst out laughing. "nonsense!" i said. "oh no. that's the idea of me your companion here has taken." "never said nothing of the sort," cried esau, defiantly, and with his face scarlet. "your face says you thought so, my lad." "well, a chap can think what he likes, can't he?" "no, boy," said gunson, and his one eye seemed to blaze; "not of a man who has done nothing but kindness for you ever since we met, even if it was in a rough way." "how was i to know you didn't mean artful, and it was all a trick?" said esau sourly. "ah, how indeed?" "everybody out here's been trying to get the better of us, and rob us. i couldn't tell you wasn't one of 'em." "why, you ill-conditioned cub!" cried gunson, angrily, "you make me feel as if i should like to thrash you till you could not stand." "better not try it," grumbled esau; "you go your way, and let us go ours. we told you all about ourselves, and where we were going; but you've done nothing but shut yourself up, and look as if you were after no good." "esau!" i cried angrily; "it isn't fair. mr gunson has always been the best of friends to us, and given us good advice." "ah, you always did take his part. i ain't going to make friends with strangers." "mr gunson isn't a stranger. we've known him nearly six months. if you don't trust him, i do." i held out my hand to him as i spoke, and he brought his down in it heavily, giving me such a grip that i had hard work not to wince. "thank you, my lad," he said, cheerily. "then you're going to pitch me over?" said esau, surlily. "i'm going to kick you if you go on in this stupid, suspicious way. don't take any notice of him, mr gunson." "i do not intend to." "oh, come, we can't go on like that," cried esau quickly. "i don't want to be bad friends. i don't want to think you mean to rob us. i don't think--i don't--" esau stopped short, shuffled about from one leg to the other, faltered again in his speech as he tried to say something which would not come, and then in a sharp, short, decisive manner, cried-- "beg your pardon, mr gunson. couldn't help thinking what i did." "that will do," said gunson, holding out his hand, which was eagerly seized by esau. "i know you couldn't help it, my lad. mine is not a face to invite confidence. i'm an ill-looking dog, and i bite hard sometimes; but i never bite my friends, and they are very few. look here, mayne gordon," he continued, after glancing in quong's direction to see if he was within hearing, "i am going up this river on such a mission as needs silence, and you have to keep silence too. first of all, what do you suppose i am?" i shook my head. "emigrant," said esau. "no; i am a prospector." "i know," cried esau, eagerly. "i've copied lots of 'em for prospectors--prospectuses. you get up companies?" "no," said gunson, smiling. "the companies follow sometimes. i am a prospector--a searcher for mineral veins and deposits in the mountains. i was convinced that there was gold up here, and we have just had proof that i am right. that chinaman you see is bound on a similar mission, for those fellows have a wonderful scent for gold. and you see that those big roughs that he calls melican men, but who were undoubtedly english, have been up here, and found gold. that is a surprise and an encouragement, and a damping, all in one, for it may mean a regular rush of people up the river. now do you see why i have kept my counsel so long?" "yes," i cried. "of course," said esau; "but why didn't you say so before? you might have trusted us." "why didn't you become friendly before, my lad? you might have trusted me." esau looked at him comically, and gave one ear a rub. "now then," said gunson, "shall we travel on together in company?" "of course," i cried. "then the sooner the better. your way will suit me as well as any, so let's make up our packs, leave the boxes in some one's charge here, and then the word is forward." two hours later, under gunson's directions, we had made a pack each, consisting principally of provisions, and gunson in addition had brought out of his case a rifle and ammunition. "there, dean," he said, "you may as well shoulder that, and you may as well carry this, gordon," he continued, taking a small revolver with holster, strap, and cartridge-box. "you are not to use it except in a case of the most extreme urgency. strap it on, my lad. it looks formidable, and the possession of such a weapon will often keep off danger." "what quong cally?" said that gentleman when we were ready. "nothing," said gunson, shortly; "you don't go our way." "yes, go allee same way 'long libber. no other way. quong cally pack." "humph!" ejaculated gunson; "if we don't employ him, he'll follow us, so one may as well make him useful. we can easily pay him; it will not mean much. here, make yourself up a pack." quong smiled with pleasure, and taking the blanket gunson threw him out of his chest, he had it soon full of stores and necessaries, a bag of flour being added to his load. "want um fizzlum?" said quong, suddenly. "want what?" i said. "fizzlum. bakum powdum make blead." "ah, i had forgotten," said gunson; and he took a small tin from his box. an hour later the indians were paddling slowly back along the river, and after a friendly good-bye from the settler who had taken charge of our boxes, we shouldered our packs, and began to trudge up the river-side, finding it easy going, for we were in quite an open part here, with a grassy margin for a short distance at the foot of the mountains on one side. but higher up the rocks began to close in the prospect, there was the faint roar of tumbling water, and dense black pine forests clothed the sides of the valley as far as we could see. before we had gone very far along the forest track, the perspiration was oozing out fast on my forehead; and lightly as i was loaded, i began to think regretfully of the boat, and of how much easier it was to sit or kneel there, and watch the indians paddle, while over and over again i had come to the conclusion that it was a very fortunate thing that we were not alone, but backed up by such a tower of strength as gunson, whose counsels were called in question every few minutes to decide which way we were to go next. the direction was undoubted, for, so long as we kept to the valley in which the river ran, we could not be wrong, but the task was to keep along it by a way that was passable to people carrying loads. for a mile or so beyond the tiny settlement we had left behind, we found, as we had been told, some traces of a track; but it was wanting more often than present, and several times over we thought we had come to the end of it, only for it to begin again some fifty yards further on. at last though we had passed the final vestige of a trail, and there was the valley before us with the mountains rising up steeply on either side, and our way to make along the steep slope crowded with trees or covered with the _debris_ of great masses of rock which had broken from their hold hundreds upon hundreds of yards above us to come thundering down scattering smaller fragments, and forming a chaos of moss-covered pieces, over and in and out among which we had to make our way. "rather rough," gunson said, "but keep up your spirits: it will soon be much better, or much worse." "it's always like that--worse," esau grumbled to me at last, as our companion went forward, while the patient little chinaman plodded on with his load as steadily as if he had been a machine. "never mind, esau," i said. "i don't," he replied, sturdily; and he drew himself up, and tramped on with the rifle over his shoulder, evidently very proud of being trusted with it; but he had an unpleasant way of turning sharply round every now and then to look at something, with the result that, after being struck smartly by the barrel of the piece, i had to jump out of his way. "beg your pardon," he would say, and a few minutes after forget all about it, and turn the barrel upon me again. "i say, esau," i cried, at last, "do be careful with that gun." "'tain't a gun--it's a rifle." "call it what you like, but don't shoot me." "ain't going to," he said, drily. "what's the good? we ain't cannibals. but i say, i wish something nice would come along. i know i could hit it. what would you like--a deer? deer's very good to eat, isn't it?" "i suppose so." "wonder which is the best place to aim at. his head, i suppose. i should like to bring one down." "i don't think you'll have a chance, esau. besides, we couldn't carry it. we've got as much as we can manage now." "ah, but there's another way of carrying meat," said esau, with a curious cock of the eye. "i mean after it's roasted." "but we are not hungry yet." "not hungry!" cried esau. "not hungry! why, what a fellow you are!" and we trudged on in silence. after a time gunson turned round and let us overtake him, laughing the while at our tired and weary looks. "loads feel heavy, eh?" he said. "you are not used to them yet. i've been talking to mr quong, and he tells me that he is going to hunt about till he finds gold. then i suppose he'll leave us to ourselves." we were both too hot and tired to trouble about the chinaman, and were very glad when, about midday, gunson called a halt under the shade of a great tree, that grew beside a little brawling stream which came hurrying down from above. here we dropped our burdens with a sigh of relief, and partook of some cold bacon and bread, which seemed about the most delicious thing i had ever tasted. quong was given a lunch for himself, and he took it aside, ate it quickly, and then, in place of lying down as we did for a good two hours' rest during the heat of the day, he produced a little tin plate and picked his way down to the stream's edge, and then amongst the rocks, till he came upon a patch of gravelly sand over which a few inches of water danced merrily. gunson watched him curiously; i did the same, esau having dropped off to sleep as soon as he had eaten his midday meal. for it was interesting to see the busy little fellow. his first step was to roll up his sleeves to the elbow, stoop down, and scoop up as much gravel and sand as the tin plate would hold. this he shook about a little under water, brought it all up again, and picked out the stones. then he held it down low again and worked it about, and picked out a second batch of much smaller stones. again he placed the tin beneath the water, where it ran pretty swiftly, and kept up a regular circular motion, which caused the fine dirt and sand to be washed out and pass over the side, till only a small patch of sand of a coarse grain remained on the tin; and at last, as if satisfied with his task, he stepped out on to the dry bank, and held the plate sidewise for the water to drain off. this took some few minutes, the hot sun drying the sand as he turned it about with one finger. every movement was performed with the most patient deliberation, and in utter unconsciousness of the fact that we were watching him, both eager to learn the result of his search. it was a long time before we knew, for quong turned the sand about over and over again, and then inspected it with a peculiarly magpieish air, before he shook his head, tossed the sand away, and selected another spot in the stream, where he went through the same process, while we lay and watched him till the final examination. this time, just as i fully expected to see him toss out the sand, he rose up with a triumphant look on his yellow face, and caught sight of us. his jaw dropped, and he appeared frightened, but the dread seemed to pass away, and he came towards us with his tin. "me washee gole," he said, excitedly. "fine gole." "where?" said gunson, abruptly. "let's look." he stretched out his hand for the tin, which was placed in it hesitatingly, quong's face betokening that he did not expect to see it again. gunson gave the half-dry sand a shake which spread part of it over the bottom of the tin, then another and another, while i looked on eagerly, and at last he uttered a contemptuous "pish!" "i thought you said you had found gold." "yes. quong fine gole. washee gole." "washee gole! where is it then?" the chinaman took back the tin, shook it, peered in among the grains of sand; shook it again and again; then shook his head instead, and looked up at gunson. "yes; washee gole," he said, in a tone of voice which seemed to mean, "but it's gone away now." "fancy, my lad, fancy. there, lie down and rest. i'll have a try when we come to a likely place. we must work in the river." "no; too muchee water," said quong. "yes; here. we must go up higher." "quong washee gole," said the little fellow again. "well then, where is it?" quong shook his head despondently once more. "washee gole," he whined, and again his tone of voice seemed to say to me, "and there was some in that plate, but where it's gone to now i haven't the least idea." "come along and have a rest." "ah! ah! ah!" cried quong, excitedly, after giving the pinch of sand a final shake. "gole--gole!" he held out the tin once more to gunson, pointing now with one thin yellow finger, and looking triumphantly at both in turn. "where?" said gunson, laughing, as he followed the direction of the pointing finger, and took the plate in his hand to hold it in different directions in the sun. "ah, i see it. here, gordon, come and have a look. he has found the contents of aladdin's cave all at once." "i don't see any gold," i said. "not see it? oh, there it is plain enough. my word, what patience these chinese have! there it is, lad, just in the very centre of the plate. see it?" "no." "now try," he cried, as he tilted the plate sidewise, and this time i saw a tiny glittering speck, about the twentieth part of a pin's-head in size, but, small as it was, giving a suggestion of the peculiar yellow colour of gold. "is that all?" i cried, contemptuously. "yes; that's all. there you are, heathen. take it, and--no, you can't make much of it. that's no use, my man. we must find better places than this, or you'll never go back to china a rich man and become a mandarin." "no good place?" "no; not worth washing." "not good to washum," said quong. "wait till we get higher up." quong nodded, took a little phial bottle from somewhere under his garments, and after a great deal of trying, contrived to get the tiny scale on the end of the cork, which he carefully inserted in the bottle once more. after this he settled himself down to rest till gunson rose for us to continue our journey, which for the rest of that day was through pine forest, with the trees so closely packed that our progress was exceedingly slow; and evening was coming on fast as we reached a part where the trees opened out more like those in an english park, and there was soft grass beneath our feet. i was in advance with my eyes fixed upon the ground, which had suddenly become soft and marshy, the reason being plain, for on my left i could hear the hum of falling water, when i suddenly stopped short, and drew back so quickly that i came in contact with esau. "what's the matter?" he cried, sharply. "hush! indians," i whispered. "indians? where?" cried gunson, eagerly. "they have gone along here," i whispered. "footmarks." "well, don't look so tragic, lad. they will be friendly ones no doubt; and perhaps there is a settlement near, and we can get some fish. oh, those are their footprints, are they?" he said; and he turned and caught the rifle from esau. "that fellow had a fine broad foot of his own." "yes, he must have been a big man," i said, as i gazed down at the plainly-marked sole and toes in the soft earth. "bigger than the one made by robinson crusoe's savage," whispered gunson. "there, get out the revolvers, and mind how you handle them. be ready to hand me one if i ask after i have fired." "but you said the indians were friendly." "this tribe never is," replied gunson, cocking the rifle and looking sharply round. "they run away generally, but sometimes they show fight, and we must be ready." he looked carefully in every direction, and then signed to us to follow. "he's gone straight on, just in the track we want to follow." "is there only one?" i whispered. "only one, and it's very awkward, for i was just thinking of making camp for the night." "but we needn't be afraid of one indian," said esau, boldly. "no," replied gunson; "but we need be of one bear." "bear?" i said. "those are a man's footsteps." "those are the prints of a very large bear, my lad," said gunson; "and judging from their appearance, i should say it's not very long since he passed. now then, what had we better do?" i did not feel myself capable of advising, and i suppose esau was no more of an expert in bear, for he too was silent. "don't speak. follow me; and as we go, hold your packs loosely so that you can drop them in a moment and take to a tree." "but bears climb trees," i whispered. "not they," said gunson. "come along." and with the shades of evening closing in fast in that wild valley, we followed our companion as he went cautiously on, scanning every bush and rock, not knowing how soon the savage beast, whose prints continued right in the direction we seemed compelled to take, might rush out and dispute the way. chapter twenty five. quong takes refuge. our way was the same as the bear's, for the simple reason that it was the only open level part we could find on that side of the valley. to our left, the rocks went up in huge, precipitous steps, and then went down to the right to where the river foamed along a couple of hundred feet below. and there, with the greatest regularity, were the great footprints which had deceived me, pretty close beside a little stream which trickled on along the level, till suddenly it turned to the right, and plunged down towards the river. "look!" said gunson, pointing, and there were the footprints again, but turning off now to our right, while our way lay straight on. "then he's gone!" cried esau, eagerly. _crash! rush_! there was the sound of breaking twigs, as if some monstrous creature was forcing its way through the undergrowth to the right, and i heard another rush behind me as i stood there behind gunson, too much paralysed to run, as i saw him drop on one knee and raise the rifle to his shoulder. the rushing noise continued, but it grew more faint, and gunson rose to his feet. "we've frightened him as much as he has frightened us. here, hi! hallo! where are you?" he cried, as he caught sight of two bundles lying on the ground where they had been dropped. there was no answer. "here, dean, come along," shouted gunson again; and i shouted too. "ahoy!" came back from some distance away, and a good ten minutes elapsed before esau reappeared, looking hot and white. "did you shoot him?" he said. "how could i, when you ran away with the ammunition. seen the bear?" "no." "well, have you seen quong?" "no," said esau, rather dolefully, and looking as if extremely dissatisfied with the part he had played. "the bear can't have seized him?" i said, looking at gunson. "impossible," he said. "it went the other way." just then i caught sight of something blue, and burst out laughing. "what is it?" cried gunson. i pointed upward to where, about fifty feet from the ground, the little chinaman was perched in a great spruce fir, clinging tightly to one of the horizontal boughs, with his feet on another, and as he peered anxiously down, looking like a human squirrel on the watch for foes. "here, come down," i cried. "it's all right now. come down." "yes, come down, you little coward," shouted esau, who brightened up directly he found that some one had cut a worse figure than he. "i say," he continued, with a forced laugh, "doesn't he look comic up there?" "yes," said gunson, grimly, as he gazed fixedly at esau, who turned uncomfortable directly, and made no remarks about quong, as he walked to the foot of the tree, which was about a hundred yards away, and losing sight of its occupant now he was hidden by the intervening boughs. "come, quong," i said, "get down, or we shall leave you behind." "gone?" he said in a weak voice. "yes; come along." he descended slowly, and stood before us shaking the grey moss and dead fir-needles from his blue cotton garment. "big blown beace," he said. "quong see him. velly frighten." he followed us to where the pack lay, slung it over his shoulder, and we once more tramped on, till a suitable spot was found for our camp--a regular niche in the side of the valley, with a small pine spreading its boughs overhead for shelter. here, in spite of the risk of bears, we decided to halt for the night, and a good fire was soon blazing; and as if regularly engaged as our servant, quong set to work at once, and soon prepared our tea-supper, which was discussed as enjoyably as if we were in good quarters; and that night passed away as i lay rolled up in my blanket, just as if i closed my eyes in the darkness and opened them directly to see the warm glow of the sun lighting up the east, and quong busy baking cakes in the embers, the tea-kettle steaming away close at hand. the weariness and low spirits had passed away with the darkness, and after a splash in the stream close by, i felt ready for any amount of journeying. as i came back from the stream i met gunson coming towards me. "did you see anything?" he said, quietly. "see anything? only a squirrel." "look down there." he gave his head a nod a little to the left, and i followed the direction of his eyes. "don't start; don't run," he said, quietly. "if the chinaman knows of it he will make a stampede into the forest, and we shall lose him." "but perhaps there is one close by," i said, nervously. "very likely; for there have been two promenading backwards and forwards about us all night. look at their marks. these prints are a little smaller than those." i had not noticed it till he pointed to the fact, and then i saw the foot-marks of two bears plainly enough. "i'm beginning to think," continued gunson, "that we have selected their lair for our camp; but as they have not interfered with us, i don't think they will if we leave them alone." "but i can't eat my breakfast with those things about," i said. "you have never tried yet, my lad. try now. i will have the rifle and revolver ready to hand; but take not the slightest notice, and behave as if nothing was wrong." "but--" "come, gordon, i thought better of you," he said, smiling. "where is your courage?" "come along," i said, making an effort to master the feeling of dread which had come over me; and i saw him smile as esau came up with his arms full of dead wood for the fire, and directly after we were seated at our meal. if i had been alone i should have left that spot, beautiful as it was, directly, and i have no hesitation in confessing that it was the most uncomfortable meal i ever ate. but i kept my fears to myself, and only once was caught by gunson looking anxiously around at the slope clotted with tree, bush, and clump of mossy rock, when his smile made me turn to my tin mug of tea directly. "i thought you would be the first ready," said gunson, about half an hour later, when the sun was shining over the shoulder of one of the eastern mountains. "but look at dean, how slow he is about shouldering the pack, and--what's the matter with quong?" for that little individual suddenly came up smiling, with his hand under his blouse. as he came close up, he drew his tin plate from where it had been tucked up his breast. "stop velly little while. quong washee--see gole." "yes," said gunson, giving me a meaning look, and then taking a step or two nearer the stream; "it looks a likely place; but hallo, arn't these bears' footprints?" he pointed to the moist earth close to the water's edge, and both esau and the little fellow ran to look. directly after quong came trotting back in a quick, comical manner, tucking his plate up under his blouse, and seizing and shouldering his pack, an example followed by esau, who was the quicker of the two, and he kept a sharp look out all the time. "now if you went behind that rock and roared, gordon, or i was to fire my piece, there would be a stampede." i looked so ready to do what he first proposed, that gunson said seriously-- "no, no; we have no time to waste;" and we went on up the valley, both esau and quong stepping out famously, while i was not at all sorry to leave our baiting-place behind, my liking for bears being decidedly in association with pits, and a pole up which they can climb for buns. it was a wonderfully beautiful walk that morning, and we determined to try and arrange our halts better, for at the end of about half an hour we found that had we known we could have rested under a roof; two men, who gave us a very friendly welcome, having started a rough kind of ranch, in a level nook close down by the river. in fact they were disposed to be so hospitable that they were half offended because we went almost directly. we learned from them though that we should find for days to come shanties here and there. "where we can rest for the night?" i said to one of the men. "of course," he said, with a smile. "we see anybody so seldom, that we're glad of a visitor who can speak of the old country." "you've got a beautiful place here." "yes; tidy, tidy," he said; "only we don't feel quite sure about the river." "what do you mean?" asked gunson. "why, you see, mate, it's a lively sort of a stream. quiet enough in winter, unless there's been a power of rain; but in the hot weather, when the snow's melting, it gets so full, that like as not some day t'll wash all this place away." "but it's fifty feet down there to the water," i said, smiling. "what's fifty feet to a river like that, boy? why, after what i've seen i shouldn't jump out of my skin if i saw it rise up a hundred." "see many bears about?" said esau, rather anxiously. "tidy few, my lad; tidy few; and pretty big uns sometimes," said the man, with a twinkle of the eye. "but berries has been rather plentiful these last two years, and they haven't eat us yet. i wouldn't interfere with 'em, though, if you met any." "dangerous?" said gunson, giving me a merry look. "well, it's just as it happens," said the man, watching esau's mouth, which had slowly opened; "if they takes a fancy to you, they opens their arms, and just gives you a friendly hug; if they don't, they are a bit given to scratching and clawing. where may you be going, squire?" he added, turning to me. "fort elk," i said. "oh! fort elk, where they collects the skins. i know. well, you won't get there to-morrow, nor yet next week. pleasant journey to you. don't want to buy a bit o' bacon, i suppose?" but gunson said he did, and the transfer was made for a handful of tobacco, quong grinning with delight at the sight of the red streaks of lean amongst the pinky-white fat, and apparently pleased with the prospect of carrying a few more pounds. that night we slept at a shanty, and for the next two nights we had no need to camp out; while, what was of great import to us, we found that we need be under no apprehension about provisions, the people, who had settled down where they found open patches of grazing land, being willing enough to sell or barter away flour enough for our wants. chapter twenty six. a difficult path. one day seemed so much like another that we soon lost count of time, as we followed the windings and turns of the river, the beauty of the deep ravines that struck into the valley, each with its little fall or torrent, and the glimpses we kept getting of snow-tipped mountains, keeping off the weariness we might have felt in some open monotonous land. every now and then quong settled down to wash the sands and gravel of the little streams that came tumbling down from the heights; and i saw that gunson took a good deal of interest in his proceedings; but in spite of quong's patient endeavours his efforts were always barren, or resulted in the discovery of some tiny speck, which was added to the others in the phial so slowly that, as gunson laughingly said, it seemed likely to take a year to build up enough gold to make a sovereign. "the gold is nearer the mountains if there is any, gordon," he said to me, "and it is impossible to search down here. we must go higher up before i begin after quong has left us, for i expect that as soon as we get to a spot where he can wash out a scale or two with every pan of sand, he will bid us good-bye." but as the days went on that time did not arrive. the chinaman did not seem to think anything about pay for his services, but was delighted to perform them for the sake of the protection of travelling with us, and a share of the food we provided. so far our journey had been glorious. there had been plenty of hard work, forcing our way through bushes, climbing fallen trees, some so rotten that they crumbled to dust with our weight, and threading our way among rocks; but at every turn there was the grand river foaming and rushing down toward the sea, and masses of black-green forest with pines spiring up toward the sky. one morning as we toiled slowly on, it was very evident that the river was narrowing, and the sides growing steeper. we had often been at some height above it, but always on a slope, where, with a little scheming, we could have got down to the water; but now a sheer wall of rock rose up forty or fifty feet on either side, and below it, looking black and deep, the river swirled and eddied along. there was hardly a vestige of a trail here, the ground being too stony to leave any traces; but the great stream was our guide, and we climbed and stumbled on, quong in front bending down under his load, and always patient, calm, and smiling, as if it was quite natural to him to be doubled up under a big bundle which went along in front of us like some curious blanket-clothed creature with thin blue legs. all at once the rough stony slope of the valley dived down, and quong, who had just given his load a hitch up on his shoulders, disappeared. i was next, for gunson had stepped back to take off one of his boots, with esau holding his pack; and i had reached the spot where i had seen quong last, prepared for a jump down on to a lower part or ledge of the valley slope, when i found myself face to face with the little fellow, and saw that he had dropped his bundle, and was hurrying back. as soon as we met, he made a sign for me to be silent, and turned and pointed toward a clump of young firs. i could see no danger, and i whispered to him the one word "bear?" he shook his head, and pointed again, when, to my utter astonishment, the green boughs were parted, as there was a flash of silver, and a great salmon fell about a couple of yards away, to begin beating heavily with its tail, and flapping from side to side. i knew that these fish leaped, and i had heard that some of their bounds up cascades were tremendous, but i had never known that a salmon could spring fifty feet up out of the water over the top of the rocky wall which formed the river-bank, and away through a screen of young firs. there, however, was the fact before me, and with delightful visions of broiled salmon before my eyes, i dropped my pack and ran forward to secure the prize before it should take it into its head to make another gymnastic leap into the water. it was a splendid fellow, a full yard long, its scales silvery blue and pearly in the morning sunshine, and regardless of wet and slime, i dropped on my knees. "oh, you beauty!" i exclaimed, and i raised it by the gills, and-- dropped it directly, and remained as if turned to stone, gazing in a hideous, painted red face, which had been thrust out between the boughs of the firs, and stared as wildly at me as i at its owner. for a few moments i forgot that i had friends behind, and rested there quite still with what seemed to me a terrible silence all around, till it was broken by the salmon throwing itself over, and giving the stones upon which it lay a resounding flap. i fully expected to see the arm belonging to the head thrust out with a knife in the fist; and when it was darted out from among the bushes, my own hand went involuntarily to the pistol i carried, but i dropped it again as i saw that it was only an open palm extended toward me, and i placed mine therein for a friendly shake, my heart beating less heavily. then the hand was withdrawn, the salmon pushed toward me, and the hand held out again. "hallo!" cried a voice, which made me glow with satisfaction. "been fishing, gordon?" gunson strode up to us, and seeing the situation at a glance, he took out his tobacco-pouch, opened it, pinched out a piece, and pointing to the salmon, offered the cut-up herb to the indian, who now stood out in front of the young pines. i thought it ridiculous to offer what i considered a pinch of rubbish for the salmon; but the indian laughed, darted back, and returned holding another quivering fish by the tail, threw it down, and held out his hand for the tobacco, evidently well pleased with his bargain. "fish is cheap out here," said gunson, laughing. "here, quong, one to cook and one to dry." our celestial friend literally pounced upon the two salmon as prizes as soon as he saw that there was no danger, and set to work cleaning and splitting the fish, lightening them by getting rid of head and tail, and then cutting some splints of wood to keep one well open for drying in the sun and for easy carriage. "there is nothing to mind," said gunson. "it is only a fishing party;" and leading the way through the line of young firs, which acted as a screen, we came upon a group of indians, two men and four women, all busy cleaning and splitting the fish which another man kept hauling up from the river in a rough net. it seemed a very primitive way of fishing, and we stood looking on and examining some of the salmon hung to dry upon several roughly rigged up poles, before we went to the edge of the shelf upon which all this was going on, to find straight below us the other indian standing upon a rough platform, made by driving a couple of stout poles into the wall of rock at a fissure, and throwing a few branches across. this man had a coarse net on a ring at the end of a long, stout pole, and watching his opportunity as the fish came rapidly up the rushing water, he plunged the net down, and brought it up with a gasping, struggling salmon. this was transferred to a hanging basket, and hauled up by the indian at the edge, and carried to the party who were preparing and drying them in the sun for their winter store. it was all ridiculously easy. the indian had only to keep on dipping out fish as fast as they could be prepared, and what i saw quite removed any ideas of our taking advantage of the man who had let the fish he carried slip out of his basket, so that it came with a dart to my side of the screen of firs. "that's an easy way of getting a living," said esau, as we parted in a friendly way from the indians, who stared at us in a very heavy, stolid way. "i think i should like to try that." "for how long?" cried gunson, with a laugh. "why, my good fellow, you'd be tired of catching the fish in a week, and more tired of eating them in a fortnight." "tired?--of eating salmon?" said esau, laughing. "oh, you don't know me. i had some once, and it was lovely." "well, we'll try one of ours when we stop for dinner," said gunson; "but we must do a good morning's tramp first." that good morning's tramp did not seem to progress much, for the way grew more and more difficult, and it was once taken into consideration whether we had not better strike in away from the river; and we should have adopted this course but for the fear of losing ourselves in the labyrinth of mountains to the north and east, and not being able to strike the stream again. "you see, hard as the way is, it is sure," said gunson; "and as your goal and mine too are on the upper waters of the river, we had better keep to it." it was getting toward midday, and the sun shone forth with such power that we felt the little air there was come down the valley like the breath of an oven, and we should have decided to stop at once, cook our dinner, and rest, but for the fact that there was neither wood nor shade. for we had quite left the patches of forest behind at this point, and were tramping slowly over a bare sterile region of the most forbidding character, low down by the river. higher up where we could not climb the tall trees again appeared, and every ledge and slope was crowned with dwarf pine, fern, and moss. "we had better keep on past that bare slope," said gunson. "i can see trees on beyond it. it looks green, too, as if there was water." of course we agreed, for there was not a sign of water where we stood, and thirst was beginning to trouble us all. so we tramped on, gunson now leading, and the rushing sound of the river below the wall of rock sounding very tantalising as we grew hotter still, and the heat began to be reflected from the stones in a most unpleasant way. it would have been bad enough for the unladen, but for people burdened as we were it was hard work indeed. at the end of half an hour the river, which had been hidden from us save when we went close to the edge and looked down, came into view again, for the character of the valley had suddenly changed. we found now that there was the steep slope from high up the mountain to the level of the water, which roared and surged along, and swept away the thin pieces of slaty stone which formed the slope--a clatter-slide, as west-country people would call it. these pieces were all loose and extremely unpleasant to walk upon, being shaley fragments of all sizes, from that of a child's hand up to thin fragments a foot or two across. the heat here was tremendous, and as we walked the stones gave way beneath our feet, and began setting in motion little stony avalanches, which kept on gliding down till the whole of the slope seemed to be running into the river. no one talked, but strode on, not planting his feet in the footsteps of him who had gone before, but avoiding them, for they formed the centres of so much loose stuff ready to give way at a touch. we got along over about half a mile of this, and then paused on a bit of a shelf to rest, for about a quarter of a mile farther we saw our resting-place; the clatter ceasing, to give way to verdure with plenty of trees, and in their midst, temptingly beckoning us to fresh exertions, there was the water we needed--a beautiful filmy veil, floating down from hundreds of feet up, arched by a hopeful rainbow, and anon gliding softly like a shower of silver rockets down behind the tall green firs. we knew that there would be a beautiful pool of water at the foot of that cascade, with green, mossy grass, and plenty of pine-boughs for our fire and to shade us from the scorching sun; and toward this enviable spot we pressed on, with the slope growing steeper and steeper, till at last we paused again for gunson to investigate. it was time. for the past five minutes the slide had kept running so much toward the perpendicular, that at every step we loosened stones which began to tear down toward the river, and necessitated leaps and quick plunges to keep us from being carried with them, while a slip would have meant a headlong fall, increasing in speed till the unfortunate was plunged into the foaming torrent which poured down, and would have swept him instantly away. "watch how i go," said gunson. "keep cool, and don't think of falling. i know it is a hard bit to get over, but it is not above a couple of hundred yards where it is so bad; after that it grows better and better, till you reach the trees. now then, all stand still while i go first." he tightened his pack over his shoulder, took a good grip of the rifle, stood for a moment, and then strode forward, going diagonally, as if to reach the top of the slope. this seemed for the moment unnecessary, and likely to make the journey longer, but i soon saw that it was properly calculated, for as the stones kept on sliding beneath his feet as he struggled upward, he was constantly being brought down to the level of where we stood, perspiring profusely, and fascinated by the peril of the task. it was only now that i fully realised how steep the side of the valley was, and that a fall must end in the river among the black craggy rocks which stood up so threateningly amongst the white foam. he went steadily on, and as i stood there i felt, to use the common saying, as if my heart was in my mouth. a dozen terrible thoughts flashed through my mind:--what should we do if he fell and was swept away? it would be impossible to save him; and as to his own powers, i did not believe that any man could battle with that terrible torrent-like river, which would sweep him down, dashing him from rock to rock, till he was carried from our sight, leaving us alone in our despair to try some other way. the thoughts were paralysing as they came with lightning-like rapidity, for now it was dawning upon me, that shocking as it would be to see my fellow-creature hurled to death like that, somehow gunson, that rough, stern, disfigured man, had made a kind of impression upon me--that there existed a tie between us. i don't think i liked him, but i felt at that moment as if i would have given anything to have been by his side, as i saw him totter, slip, recover himself, slip again, and begin gliding down fast, but always preserving his perpendicular. "he's gone," i said aloud; but as the words left my lips he made two or three bounds, sending the stones rushing down heavily, as he regained his old level and went on rapidly. onward still, but what a length that seemed!--and now i was learning from his progress that the only chance of getting across was to keep right on, exercising all the strength of nerve and muscle one possessed to go forward, for to have stood still meant to begin gliding rapidly downward, sinking more and more in a gathering avalanche of stones as others were loosened from above to fill up the vacancy that was made. two-thirds--three-quarters of the way across--and once more he began to slide, but with desperate energy he went on by leaps and bounds now, and we set up a hoarse cheer as we saw him reach firm ground--a cheer which did not reach him, for the whole side of the slide seemed to be in motion, and as i saw him throw himself down, there was a curious rushing, rattling roar, as if fragments of ice were formed on the surface of a torrent and were rushing down into the river. it was very evident that gunson was exhausted by his tremendous efforts, for he lay on the rocks, motioning to us with his hand not to come, and we stood looking from one to the other, mutely inquiring what was to be done next. at last he rose, unfastened his pack, threw it down behind him, and came close to the edge of the slide, to look up and about with his eyes sheltered, as if seeking for a better place for us to cross. i did the same, gazing high up to where the stones grew smaller, and then right down to where the flat, thin fragments plunged into the running river, to be swept away; but, like gunson, i could see no better place. by degrees, though, the fluttering, rattling glide ceased, and the slope looked level once more, and then gunson put his hands to his mouth and shouted-- "can you hear what i say?" "yes." "take your packs on your heads, and when you start keep right on; never hesitate; i'll be ready to help." we heard every word distinctly, and it sounded curiously like a whisper that ran along the surface of the stones; and when he had ended, quong looked at me sharply with his little black eyes. "me go long nex'," he said; and as i nodded, he balanced his great pack deftly on his head, paused for a few moments to get it quite satisfactory, and then stretching out his arms like one who walks along a pole, he started off, while so steep was the slope that his extended fingers nearly touched the stones as he went along. the little fellow was so light, so steady and clever, that he tripped forward without dislodging anything like the amount of stones that gunson had set running. but i could see that the effort needed was terrible as he went on and on, increasing his speed now, slowing then, and getting more and more over with far less effort, and giving us no end of encouragement, as he at length reached the rocks, tumbled the load off his head--the load which had never seemed once to lose its poise--and finally we could see him seated facing us wiping his hot face with the front of his blouse. "he's got over," said esau, hoarsely. "yes," i said, in the same husky tones. "one of us has got to go next." "yes," i said. "who shall go?" "wish i'd got a good pole with a spike at the end," said esau. "so do i." "or i wouldn't mind if it was only a clothes-prop." "but we have neither, esau." "well, don't i know we haven't? what's the good o' being so aggravating, and keeping on saying we ain't--we ain't? lots o' beautiful trees behind us to cut clothes-props to last all camberwell for life, and there's lots over there in front, but they don't bring us one. it's always the way. there's lots o' money in the bank o' england, but we couldn't get it to come out here." "don't be unreasonable," i said, and i gave quite a start as a stone from above came rattling down. "who's unreasonable?" grumbled esau; "i ain't: only a bit wild at having to go across that precious bit o' solid slide. what do you think my mother would say if she saw me coming here and going to start over that place? why, it would kill her." "it does look dangerous," i said, sadly. "look! why, it is. it's horrid." "but they've got over safely." "that don't mean i shall. oh dear, oh dear! this comes o' picking up strange friends, and letting 'em lead us into difficulties. and not so much as a walking-stick to help us." i was in no humour to argue, with the perilous crossing before me, so i remained silent. "i said--and not so much as a walking-stick to help us." "yes, esau, i heard you." "then why don't you say something?" "what can i say? only be plucky and go." "there you go again! oh, it does aggravate me. now you want me to go off first." "no; i'll go first if you like; but i should like to see you safe over." "that's just what i feel about you. i say--if i fall i shall go head over heels down, like a ball." "no, no; you must drop into a sitting position, and slide down." "if you can," grumbled esau. "oh dear, i wish i hadn't come. i'd give all i've got to be sitting down in old dempster's office, with him bullying me about a mistake in the copying." "come along!" came like an echo over the stones, and even that sound sent a few stones sliding down as i looked across and saw gunson with his hands to his mouth, while just then i saw something which quite cheered me. for there was a faint curl of smoke rising up from among the trees, and i knew that it was quong making a fire to get us some tea. "there, esau," i said, "quong's getting ready to cook something. come, you go, and let's have a rest and a good meal." "ready to cook indeed! why the sun's cooking one side of me now. there, look at that." "yes," i said, as i looked in the direction indicated; "some kind of eagle." "yes; flying away as easily as he likes. don't it seem a shame that a stupid bird should be able to go along like that, and we have to climb and fall down?" "oh, i can't argue about that," i said, desperately, as, somewhat in doubt whether i could balance my pack on my head, i raised it there and stood perfectly still. "i'm going to take a long breath and then start." "here, what yer going to do?" he cried. "i ain't going to be left all alone here." "well, then, go first." "but i can't go first and leave you. s'pose you can't get over after, or tumble down, what am i to say to that mr john?" "what an unreasonable fellow you are, esau!" i cried angrily. "there, you're getting nasty with me. that's right. now i ask you, ain't a fix like this enough to make any fellow unreasonable?" "but if we've got it to do, why not do it?" "come on!" gunson shouted, and i took two steps forward, when, bringing up his pack, esau made a desperate plunge and got before me, sending quite an avalanche of stones down as he shouted-- "me first!--you wait." i had no alternative but to step back to the easier slope, and regain my position, while esau went on tramp, tramp, balancing himself steadily, but instead of striking up the slope he kept straight on for a time, and gradually sinking lower and lower as he went farther away. "work upward!" i shouted. "well, ain't i?" came back, faintly heard amidst the rattling of the stones; and once more i stood there waiting, suffering agonies as i saw him struggle on, now going down, now fighting his way up, so that his course was like that of a snake across a dusty road, such as i had many a time seen down in the country. every now and then he tottered, and i thought he was going to fall, but he recovered himself, and went on with his feet sinking in the loose stones, and every now and then descending so far that i thought he would never recover his lost ground. i did not feel the heat so much now, the perspiration that stood upon my face was cold, and i gave a start now and then, as i shivered in my dread, making sure that he was gone. when at last i saw him get right across, i closed my eyes, feeling so giddy that i was glad to sit down on my pack for the sensation to pass off, being quite unequal to the task of going in my turn. "i wish i were not such a coward," i said to myself, as i looked forward and saw esau lying down and resting. then i wished i had persevered and gone on, for i should have been out of my misery by that time. lastly, as i saw gunson wave his hand, i rose, balanced my pack, and changed the side till i made it fit well over my head. i was quite encouraged to find that it seemed to add to my steadiness, and after taking a last look round, and ending by fixing my eyes upon a point high above where gunson stood, i took two steps and then stopped, saying to myself, "i shall never do it." i started again, and from that moment the nervous sensation of dread left me. i felt firm and strong, and that all i had to do was to step boldly, and think of nothing but my pack, taking care that it did not escape from its resting-place upon my head. and oddly enough, my anxiety lest i should let it fall to go bounding down the slope, kept me from thinking about myself as i tramped on, with stones rattling, my feet going down with them, and my breath coming shorter and shorter with the exertion. but i kept my load well balanced, and went on till i was about half way across, when the stones seemed to be much smaller and began to flow like sand. it appeared as if all the larger ones had been set in motion by my companions, and that they had gone down, sweeping the surface clear for me to grow more involved at every step, till i found that no matter how i struggled to get higher so as to keep near the horizontal line of the crossing, i kept sinking lower and lower till i felt that i should glide right into the river before i was across. with a desperate feeling of determination i kept on bearing up toward the top, but it was always quite labour in vain, through my want of skill, as the smaller stones being more fluent, i found myself still sinking down more and more with every step, till, mingled with the peculiar rattle of the gliding stones, came the roar of the river foaming and dashing amongst the rocks, and into which i expected to be plunged. forward still, with a feeling of anger growing within me--a contempt for my own weakness that still kept back the feeling of dread. i had lost sight of gunson and esau, and thinking now of nothing but keeping on my legs, i dragged foot after foot out of the stones, and tried to plant one on firmer ground, but tried in vain, till at last i had been carried down so low that though my head was averted, and my eyes were directed toward the spot i ought to have reached, i knew, as i made my last desperate effort, that i was only a few yards above the water. then, crash!--crash!--crash!--crash!--my feet striking heavily and sending the stones flying, i fought blindly on. there was a singing in my ears, a sense of strangling in my throat, and above all, a dull, half-stunned sensation, mingled with which were thoughts of the others; and then as darkness came over me, and i fell forward, there was a sharp jerk, a few encouraging words were said by some one, and i found myself lying amongst stones and moss, too much exhausted to speak. "better?" said a well-known voice. "better?" i said, faintly; "have i been ill?" "ill? no, my lad; but you've had a narrow escape. you were nearly down to the edge of the river when i got hold of your hand." "and the pack?" i said, in a husky whisper. "it lies out yonder on the slope, waiting till the next slide of stones sweeps it away." "then i dropped it?" i said, wonderingly. "yes. never mind the pack; you are safe. why, you did not manage so well as we did, gordon." "no," i said, feeling very much exhausted and faint; "and yet i thought i could do it better. the stones gave way so." gunson laughed. "yes; we ought to have tried another plan. the whole slope is quite rotten, and nothing holds the stones together." i looked round now, and found that we were at the very bottom of a steep bit of precipice, down which something blue was coming cautiously, which we recognised as quong. "what is it, my man?" said gunson. "come 'long down get pack," said quong. "you velly bad?" he continued to me. "no, no, we must leave it," said gunson; and i looked at where my pack lay, tightly done up in its blanket, about a score yards away. "leave pack?" cried quong, looking at gunson as if he thought him mad. "leave fo' indian man come find? no. quong set him." and going quickly and delicately over the stones with a step that was almost cat-like in its lightness, he had reached my bundle almost before gunson could protest. swinging it up on his head as he turned, he began to come back as quickly as he went, but now he began to get lower and lower. "he'll be swept away!" cried gunson, excitedly; and, placing one foot at the extreme verge of the firm ground, he reached out towards the chinaman. "give me your hand, my lad," he cried, hoarsely; and as i lay there, i stretched out my hand to have it seized, while i watched quong coming nearer, splashing up the water now and sending the spray flying as he strained forward to get hold of gunson. for a few moments we both thought he was gone, for he had glided down till the water was over his ankles, and still, as he reached out, he was a few inches from gunson's grasp, while for him to have moved would have been fatal; but he made one more effort, hooking his fingers over gunson's, and then there was another jerk, the bundle came over on to me, and as our friend made a violent muscular effort to throw himself back, the little chinaman was dragged right over on to firm ground. chapter twenty seven. how we found out a puzzle. "ah!" said quong, getting up and shaking his legs; "got velly wet." "you stupid fellow! you nearly lost your life," said gunson, angrily. "lose life?" said quong, looking puzzled; "who lose life? don't know." "there, go on up and take the pack. can you climb up, my lad?" i replied that i could, and followed gunson, who showed me the way he had descended by the help of the rocks, and projecting roots of the dwarf firs which began to grow freely as soon as the slaty shale ceased. esau was waiting at the top, ready to lend me a hand, smiling triumphantly as soon as we were alone. "you should have tried to go up all of a slope as i did," he said, "not down of a slope as you did." "i tried my best, esau," i said, sadly. "of course you would. well, i hope there isn't going to be much more like that for us to do. once is enough." by this time quong was back at his fire, and we soon after partook of our mid-day meal, with copious draughts of tea for washing it down, and after an hour's good nap started off again to find no further difficulties that afternoon, for our journey was through pine forest once more, where the grey moss hung like strands from the older branches, and in the more open places the dark, bronze-leaved barberry grew plentifully, with its purple-bloomed fruit which hung in clusters, and had won for themselves the name of "oregon grapes." they did not prove to be grapes, though, that we cared to eat, for esau's testing of their flavour was quite enough for both. the report he gave me was "horrid"; so i contented myself with the little bilberries and cranberries we came upon from time to time. it was on the second day after our struggle across the slope, that we came to a complete change in the scenery. the valley had been contracting and opening out again and again; but now we seemed to come at once upon a portion of the river where the sides rose up almost perpendicularly, forming a wild, jagged, picturesque, but terrible gorge, down which the river came thundering, reduced to narrow limits, and roaring through at a terrible speed. the noise, multiplied as it was by echoes, was deafening, and as we stood gazing at the vast forbidding chasm, our journey in this direction seemed to have come suddenly to an end. i looked up at gunson, and found he was looking at me, while esau had got his hat off scratching his head, and quong had placed his bundle on the ground, seated himself, and was calmly resting as if there were no difficulties before him--nothing troublous in the least. "well," said gunson, looking at esau, "what do you think of the canon?" "don't see that it'll bear thinking about," replied esau. "going back now, ain't we?" "going back? i thought you were making for fort elk." "yes, but that ain't the way," said esau. "nobody couldn't go along a place like that." "we shall have to climb up the side, and go round somehow, shall we not?" i said to gunson. "that seems to be the most sensible way, my lad," he replied; "but how are we to get up the side? we might perhaps manage if we were across the river, but this wall of rock is so nearly perpendicular that it would puzzle an engineer. we could not scale that without ladders, ropes, and spikes." both esau and i stared up at the precipice which towered above our heads, and my companion took off his cap and rubbed his curly hair again. "we couldn't get up there?" he said, looking at me. "i'll try if you do." "oh, impossible," i cried. "we shall have to go on along the side just above the river." "what? in there!" cried esau. "yes." "why, you must be mad," he said. "isn't he? no man couldn't get along there. it would want a cat." "i don't know," said gunson, thoughtfully. "here, let's camp for a bit." at these words, quong, who had been rocking himself quietly to and fro, jumped off his bundle, looked sharply about him, and then made a run for a niche in the side of the gorge right up in the entrance, where the sides literally overhung. here he placed his pack, and began to collect wood, descending toward the river to where a large tree, which had been swept down the gorge when the river was much higher, now lay beached and stripped, and thoroughly dry. he attacked it at once with the axe, and had soon lopped off enough of the bare branches to make a fire, and these he piled up in the niche he had selected, and started with a match, the inflammable wood catching at once; while i took the axe and went on cutting, as quong unfastened the kettle and looked around for water. there was plenty rushing along thirty or forty feet below us, but it was milky-looking with the stone ground by the glaciers far up somewhere in the mountain. that, of course, had to be rejected. "make mouth bad," quong said, and he climbed up to where a tiny spring trickled down over a moss-grown rock so slowly that it took ten minutes to fill our kettle. "this is a bit of a puzzle," said gunson, as he sat calmly smoking his pipe and gazing up the terrible gorge; and i was returning from the fire, where i had been with a fresh armful of wood, leaving esau patiently chopping in my place. "puzzles can be made out," i said. "yes, and we are going to make this one out, gordon, somehow or another. what an echo!" he held up his hand, and we listened as at every stroke of esau's axe the sound flow across the river, struck the rock there and was thrown back to our side, and then over again, so that we counted five distinct echoes growing fainter as they ran up the terribly dark, jugged rift, till they died away. "can't we find some other way?" i said, for i felt awe-stricken by the rushing water, the forbidding nature of the rocks as they towered up, and the gloom of the place, in which quite a mist arose, but there was no sun to penetrate the fearful rift, and tint the thin cloud with rainbow hues. "i'm afraid not, gordon," he replied. "i fancy that there is a track along there that has been used, and that we might use in turn. if i can convince myself that it is so, we english folk must not turn our backs upon it. such a ravine as that cannot be very long. will you try?" i wanted to say _no_, but something within me made me say _yes_, and i saw gunson smile. "why are you laughing?" i said, with my cheeks feeling warm. "because i was pleased. i like to see a lad like you master himself." "ahoy! wood ho!" shouted esau from below; and i gladly seized the opportunity to end a conversation which troubled me. half an hour later, we were seated together enjoying a hearty meal, which had the peculiarity of making the canon seem less terrible to us, while as to quong, everything was the same to him, and he was ready to go anywhere that gunson indicated as the way. "now," said the latter, as we finished, and quong took our place as a matter of course, "what do you say? it must be midday, when we always have a nap till it grows cooler. shall we have one now or start at once?" "it will be cool enough in there," i said. "have a nap," said esau; "we're all tired." "but it may take us a long time to get through, and we don't want to be caught in a place like that at night." "right, gordon," said gunson. "dean, you are in the minority. we must either start as soon as we can or wait till morning." "that is the best," said esau, uneasily. "i don't want to show no white feathers, but i ask any one--is that a nice place to tackle after being walking all the morning with a load?" "no; i grant that," said gunson. "but come along, gordon, and lot's explore it a little way." he led off and i willingly followed him, to descend close to the rushing waters, and then climb up again, looking in every direction for something in the way of a track, but without avail. on every hand were piled-up rocks, and though we climbed on one after another and stood looking into the gorge, there was nothing to be seen. as far as we could make out the place had never been trodden by the foot of man. we had penetrated about a hundred yards, and stood upon a flat-topped rock, looking down at the roaring, swishing water, while before us everything appeared of a dark forbidding grey, in strange contrast to the bright slit of mossy green we could see when we looked back, in the midst of which rose up a column of smoke, and beside it the dark figure of esau with his hand over his eyes, evidently peering in after us. "the puzzle is difficult to make out, my lad," said gunson. "it's hard work making your way through a country that has not been thoroughly mapped. can't get along here, eh?" "no," i said, rather despondently, and then i started, for esau hailed us to come back, and we could see him shouting with his hands to his mouth, evidently in a great state of excitement. we waited till the echoes of his voice had died away, and then i shouted back, and a curious creeping sensation ran through me at the sound of my voice. it was impossible to hurry back, for there were too many impediments in the way, but we made all the haste we could, for there was evidently something wrong, though what that might be was invisible to us, as we descended and climbed, and wound our way in and out in places that gunson confessed were "ticklish," as he called it, and where he always paused in his firm, quiet way to offer me his help. at last we were close to esau, who was waiting anxiously with the rifle in his hand, ready to thrust it into gunson's. "indians, eh?" said the latter, as we now saw what had been hidden from us by the shape of the valley--a group of half a dozen spear-armed indians, who drew back a little and stood watching us on seeing the accession made by our crossing to the group by the fire. gunson did not hesitate. he took the rifle, and felt whether his revolver was ready to his hand before walking straight up to the group, making signs intended to be friendly. they had their effect, for the men came forward, one of them holding out a freshly-opened salmon as a token of good-will. that was enough for quong, who ran forward smiling, whilst gunson tried the men with such indian words as he could remember. but it was all in vain. they gave up the great fish to the chinaman quietly enough, and stood staring at us in a stolid way, till our leader took out his tobacco-pouch and gave each a good pinch. they were friends directly; and now by signs gunson tried to make them understand that he wanted to go through the canon, and that he would give them a present if they would guide us. "i can't make them understand, my lad," he said at last. "but i think they do understand," i said. "let's shoulder our packs, and see if they will lead the way." "must be going our way," said esau, "because they overtook us." "well, let's try," said gunson; and in a couple of minutes we were standing loaded, gunson pointing up the gorge. one of the indians showed his teeth, said a few words to his companions, and they all faced round, and began to lead the way back. "no, no," i shouted, and i pointed up the gorge, when the leading indian smiled and went on again. "this will not do," i said to gunson. "stop a few minutes," he said, thoughtfully.--"let's see. i think they understand us." so we followed them back for a couple of hundred yards or so, when they stopped short, pointed upwards, and began to ascend the side of the valley at a spot where it was too stony for any trace of a track to be seen, but where it was possible to climb up and up, with the way growing more giddy moment by moment, and the exertion so great that we were soon glad to shift our packs. this brought the indians to a stand, and their leader said something which was responded to by four of the men taking our packs and bearing them for us, the chief going first, and the other man taking the spears of those who carried the loads, and walking last. in a few minutes we were where the smoke of our fire rose up in faint blue wreaths right above our heads, and all doubts of there being a way was at an end, for without the slightest hesitation the indians went on, their leader evidently quite at home, though as i looked down i could only see rugged stones, without a trace of their having been worn by feet, while above us was the vast wall of rock along whose side we crept like so many ants, and below there was the river foaming and roaring along toward the mouth. chapter twenty eight. esau in difficulties. "oh dear! oh dear!" whispered esau, as he came up close behind me. "what's the matter?" "'spose they pitch us head over-heels down here and go off with our loads, what then?" "we shouldn't be tired to-night, esau." "oh, i say, don't laugh," he whispered; "it's too dreadful. what a place to come along! feel giddy?" "no; don't talk about it," i replied quickly, for the idea was too horrible. but i took heart as i glanced at the loaded men, who walked on as calmly as if there were no danger whatever, while quong came behind esau, quite as coolly. i am afraid to say at what angle the rocky wall went up above us. esau declared it was quite straight, which was absurd; but i believe i am right in saying that the part along which the principal indian led us was as steep as it was possible for a man to make his way along, while over and over again the rock curved right above our heads. it was evident that we were going along a regular track, for the indian never hesitated. sometimes he led the way down and down till we were nearly close to the water, then up and up till it looked as if we were to be led right to the top of the mighty rock wall, and out among the mountains. but the track always led down again; and at last in the dim twilight we found that we were close to a sheer precipice which rose out of the water, and along which, not six feet above the torrent, the leader began to make his way sidewise, his face to the rock, his arms extended, and his feet supported by a ledge formed by the bottom part of the vast rock projecting a little beyond the upper. the ledge at its widest was not five inches across, and as i saw first one indian and then another hang our packs away from them and begin creeping along that ledge, clinging by their outstretched hands, i fully expected to see them fall headlong into the boiling torrent and be swept away. my palms grew moist, my eyes dilated, so that there was a painful aching sensation as if they were strained, and i felt as though i should like to run away, and at the same time so fascinated that i was obliged to watch them. at last i turned shudderingly away, and then caught sight of my companions, to see that gunson was holding on to a piece of rock with one hand, while he reached forward to watch the men, every feature intent, and his shaggy brows knit, and his upper teeth displayed as he pressed them on his lower lip. esau had his eyes close shut and his face wrinkled up into a grin, as if he were in pain. and there just behind him was quong, seated on a projecting stone, looking straight away before him, as if he were gazing at his home in china, blinking, dreamy, and paying not the least heed to the danger of the men or to that which was to come for us all. there was another present--the last indian, who stood like a bronze statue, resting upon the sheaf of spears he held, and watching us all curiously, as if noting our manner, and trying to read our thoughts. not a slip, not a moment's hesitation. the indians went on, with our packs threatening to drag them off the ledge into the river; but these were only threats, and we watched till they had nearly reached the end of the ledge, where i saw the leader pass round a projection and disappear. "i say," whispered esau, "tell me when they are all safe." i did not answer, and he opened his eyes and looked round at me. "i say--look, look! there are only two there," he cried excitedly. "have the others gone in?" "no, no. they are safe. look!" for the last two gradually passed on out of our sight, and gunson drew a long breath full of relief. "hah!" he ejaculated. "all right. well, lads, if those fellows can do it with the loads hanging from them, it ought to be easy for us. who goes first?" there was no reply, and gunson said quickly-- "now, quong, on with you." "me go 'long nex? all light." he stepped down on the ledge, carefully catching hold of the rock, and edged his way along without a moment's hesitation. "there, gordon," said gunson, "that's the advantage of having a very small brain. on with you next, dean. i want to see you lads over safe." "but i ain't got a small brain," said esau. "won't you go first?" "no. i went over the clatter slide first, and regretted it directly i had started. i felt as if i ought to have been last. now then, don't hesitate." "but--" "shall i go over, esau?" i said. "yes, please. one of my legs is a bit stiff, and i think i'll take off my boots first." by this time quong had nearly reached the part where there was the projection to go round, and i stepped down with something else to think about, for i saw gunson laughing rather contemptuously at esau, who sat down at once to remove his boots, his face scarlet with shame and annoyance, for gunson said mockingly-- "don't take off the stiff leg too, my lad; you'll want it." i glanced back, and caught esau's eye, and fancied that i heard his teeth click together as he gave a kind of snap, looking as if he would like now to take my place for very shame. but it was too late. i was already on the ledge, feeling for places to get a hold, and finding that the rock was so full of cracks that i could insert my fingers easily enough, and steady myself as i shifted my leg along. gunson had followed down close behind me. "well done!" he shouted, so as to be heard above the roar of the water. "don't look down at the river, my lad, but keep your eyes on the rock, and you'll soon be over." i made no attempt to reply, but kept sidling my way along slowly and cautiously, and finding the task much easier than i thought it would prove; in fact, if it had been solid ground below me instead of that awful torrent, i felt that the task would have been nothing. it was the thought that a slip would be fatal which made all the difference, and i had hard work to resist the magnetic attraction of that writhing water, which seemed to be trying to make me look at it, so that i might turn giddy and fall. step by step, with a careful hold taken, and making myself determined as i mastered my feelings of cowardice, i kept on in a fixed stolid way, till i thought that i must be half-way along the ledge, and that now every step would bring me nearer to safety, when, to my utter astonishment, i found myself within a yard of quong, who was again seated on a block of stone, blinking thoughtfully, and ready to look up at me and nod and smile. a curious feeling of satisfaction came over me--that glow of pleasure one feels at having conquered a difficulty, and instead of going on i edged back a little, till i could stand and watch for the others coming. to my surprise i found that gunson was half-way across, and he hastened his pace as he saw me there. "here, what is it?" he shouted, so as to make his voice heard. "afraid to go any further?" "no, no; i stepped back to see esau come along." "oh! he had not got both his boots off when i started." there stood esau plainly enough beside the indian. his boots were tied together by the strings, and hung about his neck, and he was watching us. i should have shouted at him, but my words would not have been heard, and even if i had felt disposed to wave my hand, leaving part of my hold, esau could not have seen me, as gunson was between. and still the lad did not move. we saw the indian look at him and walk down toward the ledge, and it seemed to us as if he tried to make him go by saying something, which of course esau could not understand in words, but he comprehended his movements, and we saw him turn upon him angrily. "oh," shouted gunson, "i wish that savage would spur him on with one of his spears, the miserable coward!" "he'll come directly," i shouted back. "he isn't a coward, only it takes him a long time to make up his mind." "he and i will have a desperate quarrel one of these days, i know. hah! at last," cried gunson, for, as if desperate, esau now stepped on to the ledge and began to sidle along, the indian coming close behind him. but he made very slow progress, stopping every now and then to look down at the water; and at such times we saw him clinging fast to the rock, as if afraid to move afterwards. then on again for two or three steps, with the indian calmly following him up and waiting his pleasure. this went on till esau was about half-way, when we saw him look down again, and then make quite a convulsive clutch at the rock, against which he now rested motionless, and without making an effort to move. "is he resting?" i shouted. "no; lost his nerve entirely," said gunson. "stop where you are and hold my rifle." he thrust it into my hand, and then went quickly along the ledge back to where esau stood motionless, and i saw him go to the poor fellow and speak to him. esau raised his head and looked at him as i thought piteously, and then once more he began to edge his way along, step by step, with gunson close by him, and, as it seemed to me, through the mist which rose from the water, holding one arm behind him to help him along. very soon, though, i saw what had been done. the indian had stretched out one of the spears he carried behind esau, and gunson had hold of the other end, so that as they held it the shaft formed a rail behind esau's back, giving him more moral than real support, but sufficient to encourage him to try, with the result that they soon came so near that i had to creep back along round the corner; and a few minutes later we were on better ground, where the indians raised the packs once more, and again led the way onward, with esau and me last. we trudged on in silence for nearly an hour before esau spoke. i had tried to draw him into conversation several times, but he had preserved a sulky silence, which annoyed me, and i went on just in front, for of course we were in single line. all at once he said loudly-- "'tain't my fault." "what is not?" "that. i was born and brought up to walk on flag-stones. i was never meant to do this sort of thing; if i had been, mother would have paid for me to learn to walk on tight-ropes." "there," i said, "you got over it. never mind now." "but i ain't got over it, and i do mind now," he cried angrily. "how would you like to be laughed at because you were thought to be a coward? and i ain't one, i'm sure." "of course you are not." "but of course i am, and you know i am. i never expected british columbia was made like this. here's a pretty place! why, it's just as if the world had been split open ever so far, and we was obliged to walk along the bottom of the crack." "yes," i said, as i looked up the side of the canon to where the sky seemed to be a mere strip above our heads; "but then see how awfully grand it is." "oh, yes, i know it's awfully enough, but i don't see no grand. i wish i hadn't come." "what, because we've had a bit of difficulty?" "bit? why it's all difficulty. i couldn't help it. i wanted to come along pluckily like you did, but something inside wouldn't let me. it was just as if it kept whispering, `don't go; you'll be sure to fall, and then what'll your mother say?'" "but it was a horrible bit to go along." "you didn't seem to think so," he said, in an ill-used tone. "but i did feel so, and i was frightened." "couldn't ha' been, or you'd have stuck fast same as i did." "but i was frightened, i tell you, and so was gunson." "then he needn't have been so nasty with me." "what did he say?" "nothing. that was the worst of it. only wish he had, 'stead o' looking at me as he did. for i couldn't help it a bit." "well, never mind; it's all past now." "it ain't, i tell you, and never will be past. everybody will know that i am a horrible coward, and it will stick to me as long as i live." i tried to laugh, at him and pass it off, but it was of no use. he took it regularly to heart, harping constantly upon gunson's manner to him. "but you are making mountains of mole-hills," i cried at last, angrily. "well, that's what they are made out of, isn't it, only plenty of it." "but you say he looked at you." "yes; he looked at me." "well, what of that? there's no harm in his looking at you." "oh, ain't there? you don't know. he just can look. it was just as if he was calling me a miserable cowardly cur, and it cut me horrid. s'pose i did stick fast in the middle of that path--bah! it isn't a path at all--wasn't it likely? if i hadn't stopped and held on tight, i should ha' been half-way back to the sea by this time, with my nose knocked off at the least, and the salmon making a meal of what was left of me. 'course i held on as tight as i could, and enough to make me." "well, never mind," i said. "there: i won't hear a word more about it. perhaps i shall be a horrible coward next time, and then gunson will look at me." "if he does, i shall hit him, so there." esau looked ill-used at me because i laughed, and kept on muttering all the time we were in that terrible gorge, just as if the gloom of the place oppressed him. as for me, i seemed to have enough to do to watch where i placed my feet as we slowly climbed on for hour after hour, thinking all the time of the valley i had read of years before in the _pilgrim's progress_, and feeling half ready to see some horrible giant or monster rise up to stop our way. it was rapidly growing so dark down between those terrible jagged walls that i began to think we should have to make camp soon and sleep there in some one or other of the black hollows, and without fire, for there was nothing visible but scraps of moss, when, all at once, on turning a corner which had appeared to block the way, it began to grow lighter, for the sides of the gorge were not so perpendicular. then another corner was turned, and it was lighter still with the warm soft light of evening, and there in the distance was a glowing spot which i took at first for the sun, but which i knew directly after to be the ice-capped top of a mountain glowing in the sun. below it was the pine forest again, looking almost black, while away on high a cascade came gliding down like golden spray, touched as it was by the setting sun. half an hour's more weary tramp, and the chief of the indian party stopped short, and we found that we had suddenly come upon an opening by the river where about a couple of dozen indians were standing by the rows of salmon they had hung up to dry in the sun. they all stood gazing at us in a stolid way, till the man who had guided us went up to them, and then one of the party turned back to their cluster of teepees and came up to us directly after with a friendly offering in the shape of a couple of freshly-caught still living salmon, which quong bore off eagerly to a spot above the camp. "but the indians," i said to gunson. "shall we be safe?" "safe or in danger, my lad," he replied, "i want food and rest. this is the worst day's work we have had. ah, i am beginning to believe in quong. here, let's help the little fellow. you get some water while i cut some wood." as we separated i had to go by esau, who looked at me suspiciously. "i say," he whispered, "what has old gunson been saying about me?" chapter twenty nine. "look!" i can't describe my feelings towards gunson. one hour he seemed to me coarse, brutal, and common; at another he was the very reverse, and spoke in conversation as we tramped along together about books and languages in a way which made me think that at one time he must have been a gentleman. at these moments his voice sounded soft and pleasant, and he quite won me to him. on the morning after our perilous passage through the gorge, he quite took me into his confidence, talking to me and consulting with me as if i were a man of his own age, while esau hung aloof looking jealous and answering in a surly way whenever he was addressed. "you see," gunson said, "the matter stands like this: along by the river, which is getting more and more to assume the character of a mountain torrent, the way must be difficult. it winds, too, terribly, so that we have to travel perhaps twice as far as we should if we made a straight cut for the fort." "that sounds the easiest way," i said. "yes; but we do not know the country; we have not the least idea where fort elk lies; we shall be met now and then by other rivers, which may be very hard to cross, perhaps impossible without making long journeys to right or left; lastly, we shall get into a wild country where probably there will be no indians, or if there are, they may be a fierce hunting race, who will object to our going through their district. so you see that though we may save a good deal of walking if we can get an idea from some settler where the fort lies, we may meet with a great many difficulties such as i have named. on the other hand, if we keep tramping on here, we are certain to hit the fort if we can master the troubles of the way, while we are among a people who seem to live by fishing, and are as friendly as can be." "yes," i said, thoughtfully, as i glanced at where the indians were peaceably catching and drying the fish they speared. "well, what do you say? i am ready to do either--perhaps to break away from the river would suit me best, for i should be coming across smaller streams such as i could examine for metals. you must not forget that i'm a prospector," he added, laughingly. "i do not," i said, "and i should like for you to go the way best suited for yourself. but surely you could find that way, and reach fort elk." "i am disposed to risk it, and yet we should be turning away from our supplies." "yes," i said, for he looked at me questioningly; "i feel quite in despair sometimes about getting along this terrible way, but i think we ought to keep to it, for those people said we should find little settlements all the way along." "yes; and we might find ourselves in a queer position without food unless we could get a guide, so forward's the word." he nodded to me and went off to the indian camp to make the people a present before we started, and as soon as i was alone, esau hurried up. "has he been saying anything against me?" "no, of course not, you suspicious fellow," i cried. "there, come along and pack up. we start directly. i say, esau, you don't want to go back now?" he turned sharply, and glanced at the beginning of the dark canon, and then said angrily-- "needn't jump on a fellow because he didn't get along so well as you did. here you, quong, we're going on." "velly nea leady," came back cheerily. "don't seem to mind a bit," grumbled esau. "i believe he'd go anywhere. he don't understand what danger is." "ready?" said gunson, coming back. "i can't make anything out of the indians, but i suppose there is a way all along here." "those settlers said there was." "then let's try it if we can find our way. we can't come upon a worse bit to go along than that yesterday, and if we can't get along we must come back." we were on our way again directly after, quong's load made more heavy by the addition of two goodly fish, an addition which did not trouble him in the least, for he showed them to me smiling and patting their rounded silvery sides as if he had an affection for them. our way was very difficult, the traces of a trail being very few, and faintly marked. but in spite of the difficulties, we kept on steadily all through that day, and with no worse adventures than a few falls, with the accompaniments of bruises and scratches, we reached the patch of wood we selected for our resting-place that night. it was quong, when in advance, who suggested it, by stopping suddenly, lowering his patiently borne load, and pointing out its advantages of shelter, fire-wood and water, and here we stayed for the night. the next day passed in a similar way, and the effect on me of our journey seemed precisely the same as on esau and the others--for we reached our resting-place fagged, hungry, faint and low-spirited, with esau grumbling horribly and wishing he was back on "old dempster's" stool. then quong would prepare his fire, make cakes, boil the kettle, cook bacon or salmon, make a good cup of tea, and we all ate a tremendous meal, after which the beds were made in shelter, probably under the tree which produced what esau called the feathers, that is the soft boughs. then our blankets were spread ready, and we lay about watching the last rays of the sunlight on the snowy peaks of the mountains, or the bright stars, and listened to gunson while he smoked his pipe and told us tales about his adventures in the malay archipelago, where he went up the country in search of gold, or in australia; and as we sat listening, the weary low-spirited feeling passed away, we grew deeply interested, and soon after lay down to sleep, to wake at sunrise full of high spirits, life, and vigour, eager to continue our journey up the river. then came days when we halted at settlers' huts, where we were made very welcome for the sake of the news we brought; then at indian camps to be regaled with fish, and finding these people so friendly that we soon forgot to feel any fear of them. then again we went up a side stream here and there for a few miles, to enable gunson to try and discover metals, and though he was always disappointed, quong was in ecstasies. "why, he must have got enough gold in that bottle of his to make a wedding-ring as big as mother's old thin one," said esau, with a chuckle. "i say, don't take much to make him happy." and all this time the weather had been lovely. we had had a few showers, after which the sun shone out more brightly than ever, and one night we had a tremendous thunderstorm, when, from our shelter under a ledge of rock, we could see the flashes of lightning darting in every direction, while the thunder rolled echoing along the valley. but that soon passed away, the stars came out as the clouds rolled off the sky, and the next day all was as beautiful as ever. three nights after we came to a halt at the mouth of a shallow cave, and the day having been very hot and wearying we soon dropped off to sleep, from which i was aroused in the darkness by feeling a touch, and as i opened my eyes, i heard a curious shuffling noise, and felt hot breath fan my cheek. this was so momentary that i thought i must have been dreaming, and turned softly over to go to sleep again, for the rest after the heavy day's work was delicious. i suppose i must have dropped off once more, and must have been dreaming as i was touched again; then the touch was repeated, and in a drowsy way i sighed with satisfaction at not having to move myself, but having some one to move me, for a great hand readied over me, and drew me along a little way, and i dreamed that i was tumbling out of bed and esau drew me back in my place. i lay perfectly still for a time, and then i was moved a little more, the big hand drawing me along very gently as if i was not quite in the right position; finally, after getting me straight, giving me a gentle thrust before leaving me quite at peace. all at once i was thoroughly aroused by a terrific yell, and i started up, but only to be knocked over. there was a rush of feet, followed by a rustling, and crackling of bushes, and this sound grew fainter and fainter till it died away. "what is it? who shouted?" cried gunson, jumping up. "it was me," cried esau. "what for? who was it ran away? here; where is gordon?" "i'm here," i said. "what's the matter?" "that's what i want to know," said gunson. "was it an indian, dean?" "no; it was a great pig as big as a bullock; he'd got one hoof on my chest, and was smelling me with his wet snout touching my face when i woke up and shouted, and he ran off." "pig, eh?" said gunson. "it must have been a bear." "a bear! what, touching me like that?" cried esau, excitedly. "no doubt about it. but it does not matter. you frightened it more than it frightened you, and it has gone." "ugh!" cried esau, with a shudder. "was it going to eat me?" "probably," replied gunson. "what!" "well, it might have been. you are not bitten?" "i dunno," cried esau, excitedly. "p'r'aps i am." "are you scratched or clawed?" "can't say, sir; very likely. oh dear, oh dear, what a place to come to! i can't go to sleep again after this. but do you really think it was a pig, sir--i mean a bear?" "it must have been. the only other creature possible would be a bison or a deer, and it is not likely to have been one of them." gunson took his rifle, and i heard the click of the lock as he cocked it, to step out of the shelter, and look round, but he stopped directly. "where is quong?" he cried. "me velly safe up here," came in a high-pitched voice from somewhere over our heads in the darkness. "did you see anything?" cried gunson. "was it a bear?" "too dalk see anything," he replied. "only hear velly much wood bleaking." all was quite still now, save gunson's footsteps as he walked about our camp, and the roar of the falling waters down toward the river where the stream near us dropped in a cascade; and he was soon back. "i shall break my neck in the darkness," he said, as he joined us. "i can hear nothing, and i have nearly gone headlong twice." "do you think it will come back?" i said, feeling no little trepidation. "no; dean's yell was enough to scare a whole zoological garden. but lie down, lads, and finish your night's rest. i'll light my pipe and play sentry for the remainder of the night." "and i'll sit up with you," i said. "no; go to sleep," he replied, firmly. "i am used to this sort of thing." "but i want to get used to it," i said. "afraid?" this came with a slightly sarcastic tone, which made me turn away from him, and go back into the shelter without a word. "come, esau," i said; and i wrapped my blanket round me, and lay down at once. "it's all very well to say `come, esau,'" grumbled that gentleman. "you ain't been half torn to pieces by a bear." "but you are not hurt, are you?" "how do i know when it's so dark?" he said, petulantly. "but you could feel." "no, i couldn't. i've heard that people who have been half killed don't feel any pain at first; and there ain't a doctor nowhere." "but, esau," i whispered, seriously, "has the brute hurt you?" "i keep on telling you i don't know. he pawed me about and turned me over, and smelt me and stood on me once. i say: how dark it is!" "lie down," i said, "and try and go to sleep. i don't think you can be hurt, or you would feel some pain. i felt the bear touch me too, but i am not scratched." "must i lie down?" "yes; you would be better." "but suppose he came again?" "gunson is watching. there is no fear." "but i'm sure i can't sleep. it's too horrid to be woke up and find wild beasts swarming all over you." "yes, it was startling," i said, as i listened to the noise he made rolling himself in his blanket, and making the fir-boughs crackle as he turned about. "i was horribly scared at first, but i don't think i mind now." "i do," said esau, with a groan, "and i never pretended to be as brave as you. it's of no use, i can't go to sleep." "why, you haven't tried yet," i said, as i began to feel satisfied that his injuries were all fancy. "no use to try," he said, gloomily. "fellow can't go to sleep expecting every moment to be seized by some savage thing and torn to bits." "nonsense!" i said. "don't make so much fuss." "that's right; jump on me. you don't behave half so well to me as i do to you, mayne gordon." i made no reply to this reproach, but lay gazing out into the gloom, where after a few minutes i heard a faint scratch, saw a line of light, and then the blaze of a match sheltered in gunson's hands, and a flash made as he lit his pipe and threw the match away, after which at regular intervals i saw the dull glow of the tobacco in the bowl as our sentry kept patient watch over us. "esau," i said at last, "do you feel any pain?" there was no reply. "esau, can you feel anything now?" i said. still no reply, and i began to be startled there in that intense darkness where it took so little to excite one's imagination. had he after all been seriously hurt by the bear, and now sunk into a state of insensibility? "esau!" i whispered again, but still there was no reply; so half rising i reached over to touch his face, which was comfortably warm, and i heard now his regular hard breathing. for a few minutes i could not feel satisfied, but by degrees i grew convinced esau was sleeping heavily, and at last i lay down too, and dropped off soundly asleep as he. how long i had been in the land of dreams i did not know till next day, when i found from gunson that it must have been about a couple of hours, and then i awoke with a start, and the idea that the bear had come back and seized me, till the voice of our companion bidding me get up relieved me of that dread. "what is the matter?" "look," he cried. i was already looking at a blaze of light, and listening to a fierce crackling noise. there before me was one of the great pine-trees with the lower part burning, and clouds of smoke rolling up. "but how--what was it set it on fire?" "ask quong," said gunson gruffly, as he stood by me with the glow from the fire lighting him up from top to toe, and bringing the trees and rocks about us into view. "me only put fire light when bear go, leady for make water velly hot," said the little chinaman, dolefully; "fire lun along and set alight." "yes, you couldn't help it," said gunson. "the dry fir-needles must have caught, and gone on smouldering till they reached a branch which touched the ground, and then the fire ran along it like a flash." "but can't we put it out?" i cried, excitedly, as the boughs of the huge green pyramid began to catch one after the other. "put it out!" he said, with a half laugh. "yes; send dean there for the nearest fire-engine. there's plenty of water. i did try at first while you were asleep, and burned myself." "but--" "oh, let it burn," he said, carelessly. "it stands alone, and a tree more or less does not signify in these regions. a hundred more will spring up from the ashes." i stood silently gazing at the wondrous sight, as the huge fire began more and more to resemble a cone of flame. high up above the smoke which rolled like clouds of gold, and the tongues of fire which kept leaping up and up to the high branches, there was still a green spire dark and dimly seen as it rose to some two hundred and fifty feet above where we stood. but that upper portion was catching alight fast now, and the hissing crackle of the burning was accompanied by sharp reports and flashes, the heat growing so intense that one had to back away, while quite a sharp current of cold air began to rush past our ears to sweep out and fan the flames. "what a pity!" i said at last, as i turned to esau, who stood there with his eyes glowing in the light, quong being seated on a stone holding his knees, as he crouched together, his yellow forehead wrinkled, and little black eyes sparkling the while. "yes, i s'pose it's a pity," said esau, thoughtfully. "my! how it burns. i s'pose there's tar and turpentine and rosin in that big tree?" "why, esau," i said suddenly, as a thought struck me, "how about the bear?" "bear? where?" he cried, grasping my arm. "not here," i said with a laugh. "no wild beast would come near that fire. i mean how about your hurts?" "my hurts?" he said, beginning to feel his arms. "oh, i'd forgotten all about them." "no fear of its catching any other tree," said gunson, returning to where we stood after being away, though i had not missed him. "i've been all round it, and there isn't another for twenty yards." "but it will set light to them when it falls," i said. "no, my lad. that tree's enormous at the bottom, but the boughs grow smaller and smaller till the top is like a point. look, the fire is reaching it now, and it will go on burning till the trunk stands up half burned down, and then gradually go out, leaving a great pointed stick of charred wood. no fear of its falling either upon us. i should have been sorry for us to have started a forest fire, that might have burned for weeks." he ceased speaking, and we all stood gazing in awe at the magnificent spectacle as the flames rushed higher and higher, till from top to bottom there before us was a magnificent cone of roaring fire, which fluttered and scintillated, and sent up golden clouds of tiny sparks far away into the air, while a thin canopy of smoke spread over us, and reflected back the glow till the valley far around looked almost as light as day, and the green pines stood out gilded, though sombre in their shades, and the water flashed and sparkled where it rushed along. it was a wonderful sight, impressing even quong, and for a long time no one spoke. it was gunson who broke the silence. "well, quong," he cried, "what do you think of your work?" "velly solly," said the little fellow, dolefully. "ah," said gunson, "it is a bad job. all the king of china's horses and men could not build that up again--eh, gordon?" "no," i said, sadly; for there seemed to me to be something pitiful in that grand forest monarch, at whose feet we had supped the past night, being destroyed. "but one of the seeds out of a cone hidden under the ground will produce another," he said, "in a hundred or two years. and we shan't wait to see it, gordon." i looked at him wonderingly. "and that's how the world goes on, boy; fresh growth makes up for the destruction, and perhaps, after all, we have done some future settler a good turn by helping to clear the ground for him, ready for his home. now then, will you lie down and have another nap?" "what, with that tree burning?" i cried; and esau uttered a grumbling sound expressing dissent, in which i fancied i detected words which sounded like fire and bears. "well, it is hardly worth while," said gunson. "look sharp, quong--tea. we'll get breakfast over, and make a fresh start." "what, so soon?" i cried. "soon? yes--look!" he pointed upward, and to my astonishment i saw what seemed to be another huge pine-tree on fire far away in the distance; but realised directly after that it was the icy point of a mountain touched by the first rays of the rising sun, long before it illumined the lower earth. for morning was close at hand, and quong began piling up sticks on our little fire, from which soon after we could trace the black path of burnt needles away to where, as gunson said, some branch must have touched the ground, as was the case in many directions near. chapter thirty. we meet a stranger. the pine-tree was still burning as we set off just after sunrise that morning, but a turn in the valley soon hid it from our sight. the weather was glorious again, and we made good progress, stopping that night at the snuggest settler's house we had yet come upon; but we could hear very little about fort elk. the man, who was living with his wife and son in that solitary place, had heard of the fort that it was "somewheres up to the norrard." that was all he knew, but he gave us a good supper of roast deer flesh, and told us that if we looked out we could easily get more on our way, and when we were higher up we might perhaps get a mountain sheep. he was curious to know our object in making so long a journey, but saved gunson from any difficulty in explanations by supposing that we meant to do something in skins, saying that he had heard that the company up there did a big trade with the indians in furs. we left him and his son the next morning many miles from his ranch, for he had insisted upon shouldering a rusty piece and showing us part of our way by a short cut which saved us from a journey through a canon, where the path, he said, was "powerful bad," and it did seem a change when he left us with instructions to keep due north till we struck the river again, where we should find another ranch. for in place of being low down in a gorge, made gloomy by the mighty rock-sides and the everlasting pines, we were out on open mountain sides, where the wind blew, and the sun beat down pretty fiercely. we reached the ranch in due time, obtained shelter for the night, and went on the next day, finding the country more open. i was trudging along side by side with esau, quong was behind us, and gunson out of sight among the rocks in front, when we were startled by a sharp crash, followed by an echoing roar. "what's that?" said esau, turning pale. "here, stop!" he cried. but i was already running forward, to come up to gunson, reloading his rifle, and in answer to my inquiry-- "don't know yet," he said; "i fired at a sheep up on that rocky slope. there was one standing alone, and half a dozen behind him, but i only caught sight of their tails as they disappeared up that little valley. the smoke kept me from seeing whether i hit one. let's leave the packs here, and go up and see." it was a hot and difficult climb, for the valley was again steep and contracted here, and when we reached the shelf where gunson said the sheep had stood, there was nothing to be seen but a wild chaos of rocks and the narrow rift down which a stream bounded, and up by whose bed the sheep had rushed. "bad job," said gunson, after a full half-hour's weary search. "that meat would have tided us on for days, and made us independent when we reached the next ranch, where the people would have been glad of the skin." "shall we climb up higher?" i said, in a disappointed tone. "no; let's get back, and go on. those two are having a comfortable rest," he added, as he pointed to where, far below, esau and quong were lying down by the packs. "hurrah!" i shouted just then, for right away down in a pool of the rushing stream i had caught sight of something sticking out just above the water. "what is it?" cried gunson, eagerly. "the sheep under water. that's a leg sticking out." "a piece of wood," he said, contemptuously. "no: you are right. it is the sheep." we had a difficult climb down to the place, but did not heed that, for in a few minutes we had dragged out the prize, which gunson soon lightened in a very business-like way, while i signalled to the others to come up. half an hour after we toiled down again, each bearing a quarter of the sheep, the beautiful head and skin being left as too heavy. our load was lightened at mid-day, and again at night, when we camped, and the rapid disappearance of that sheep during the next days was startling, for the fresh pure air and exercise created a tremendous appetite which it was not always easy to satisfy. but somehow in our most hungry times we generally managed to get hold of provisions, either from the indians or some settler. twice over gunson shot a deer, but the scarcity of bird and quadruped was very striking. there were plenty of berries, but they were not very satisfying food to hungry lads. esau proved a great help, though, twice during the many toilsome days which followed, by his discoveries in two streams, and i helped him to drive some delicious little trout into shallow water, where they were captured, to quong's great delight. how many days and weeks had passed before we were busy by one of the small streams which ran down into the river i cannot now remember, for i have lost count. it seemed that we had been tramping on for a great while, and that it might have been last year when we left the sea. it was long past midday, and the appearance of this little stream had attracted gunson so that he determined to camp by it for the night; and leaving quong and esau to get a fire and make cakes with the last of our flour, he took the gun, and i a light pine pole, to see if we could not get something in the way of fish or game. i did not say anything, but i knew that gunson meant to try the sands of the stream as well for gold. after about an hour's walking, and stopping from time to time to wash a little of the gravel, and pause in likely places, i suddenly drew my companion's attention to something moving in an open glade dotted with small pines and bushes, where the stream ran slowly by through quite a lawn-like stretch. he threw himself down and i followed his example, watching him as he crawled forward, taking advantage of every bush and rock, till he suddenly stopped, aimed, there was a puff of white smoke, and we both sprang up. "no miss this time, mayne," he said, as i reached him. "look!" not above eighty yards away lay a beautiful little deer, quite motionless, and i forgot the destruction of the graceful little animal in the longing for a good supper that night. "too much to carry back, eh?" he said, as he finished reloading. "oh, no," i cried; "we must carry it somehow." and after the meat was dressed, we divided the load, making two packs of it in the halved skin, and then began to return, when a part of the stream tempted gunson to make a fresh trial. "disappointing work," he said, as he waded in. "sit down and rest, my lad, for a few minutes. i'll soon see." but he found nothing, and i sat down in the little gully watching him, and thinking that the prize he sought to find ought to be very big to recompense him for the tremendous labour he went through. it was very still and peaceful; and, hot and tired as i was with walking, i was turning drowsy, when i heard a voice say loudly-- "i saw the smoke rise quite plainly somewhere here;" and, as i started up, a tall, grey-haired, severe-looking, elderly man, in leather hunting-shirt and leggings, and wearing a fur cap, stood before me, rifle in hand, while another man was coming up not a dozen yards away. "hallo!" the first exclaimed, as he glanced from me to my companion, saw the cut-up deer, and took in gunson's occupation as it seemed to me in a sharp glance of his clear grey eyes. "i thought i was right. you fired half an hour ago?" "yes," said gunson, quietly, "and hit." "who are you, stranger, and where are you for?" said the grey-haired man, in a firm, stern tone of voice, while his companion stood back leaning on a rifle too, as if waiting to be told to come up. "english. travelling and shooting," said gunson, a little distantly. "and prospecting," said the new-comer sharply. "well, have you struck gold?" "no," said gunson. "have you?" "no; nor deer either. not your luck to-day." "sorry for you, brother sportsman," said gunson, rather sneeringly, i thought. "well, where's your shanty? we shall be glad to share our game." "where are you making for?" said the stranger, looking at me. "fort elk," i said; and i saw him raise his eyebrows. "is it very much farther?" "not five english miles," he said, looking at me fixedly. "do you hear that, gunson?" i cried. "here, let's get back and tell esau." "not alone then?" said the stranger. "no, sir. i have a companion down by the river, and there is a chinaman with us." "any more questions?" said gunson, rather gruffly; "because if not, perhaps you'll put us on the trail for the nearest cut to the fort." "you can't do better than go back to the river," said the stranger. "i'll set you on your way. mike, help him carry the deer-meat." the man took one of the packages, thrust the barrel of his rifle through the deerskin thongs, and placed it on his shoulder, while the new-comer asked me for my pole, thrust it through the other, and gunson and i took an end each, for i would not let our guide carry it. "where are you from last?" said the stranger. i waited for gunson to speak, but as he did not, i said that we had tramped up by the river. "all the way from the sea, eh?" said the stranger, looking me over as i examined him and thought what a strong, keen, clever-looking man he seemed. "yes; all the way from the sea." "and what are you going to do at fort elk, eh?" gunson looked round at him sharply. "well?" said the stranger, meeting gunson's look firmly. "only going to ask you if you were an american from down coast." "no, i am an englishman like yourself. why?" "because you ask questions like a yankee commercial traveller--drummers don't they call them?" "yes, i think so," said the stranger, quietly. "i always do ask questions when i want to know anything." "good way," said gunson, gruffly; and it was very plain that they two would not be very good friends. "do you know mr daniel raydon at the fort?" i asked, to change the conversation, which was growing ticklish. "oh yes, i know him." "he is the chief officer there, isn't he?" i continued eagerly, as i seemed now to see the end of my journey. "yes; he's head man, my lad." "what sort of a person is he?" "humph! well, how am i to describe him? what do you mean? his looks?" "yes; and altogether what sort of a man is he?" "as far as appearance goes, about such a man as i am. stern, determined sort of fellow, my lad; accustomed to deal with the indians. bit of a hunter--naturally from living in these parts; bit of a gardener, and botanist, and naturalist; done a little in minerals and metals too," he continued, turning to gunson. "sort of man to talk to you, sir, as i see you are prospecting--for gold, i suppose?" "you can suppose what you like," said gunson, drily. "this is a free country, i believe. i never heard that government interfered with people for looking up the place." "oh no; it's free to a certain extent, but we settlers who are fixed here like to know what perfect strangers are about." "look here," said gunson, "i always make a point of keeping my business to myself. do you want to quarrel with me?" "by no means," said the stranger, smiling. "i think the disposition to be quarrelsome is more on your side. i merely asked you a few plain questions, such as you would have asked me if our positions had been reversed. suppose you had marked down a deer, being a resident here, and came out for it and found a stranger--" "poaching," said gunson, mockingly. "no; we have no game laws here, sir--had bagged your deer, and when you came up to him, wishing to be civil, and offer him the hospitality one englishman should offer to another in this out-of-the-way corner of the world, he cut up rough with you, as i think, on consideration, you must own you have done with me. what then?" i glanced from one to the other, ready to appeal to gunson, for he seemed to me to be horribly in the wrong. there was a great difference in them, and it seemed to me to be very marked just then; the stranger so tall, commanding, and dignified, in spite of his rough hunting-dress, his eyes keen and flashing, and his well-cut features seeming noble by comparison with gunson's, whose care-lined and disfigured face, joined with his harsh, abrupt way, made him quite repellent. but just as i was anticipating quite an explosion of anger, i saw his face change, and grow less lurid. he looked frankly in the stranger's face, took off his hat, and i felt that it was a gentleman speaking, as, in quite an altered tone, he said simply-- "i beg your pardon. i was quite in the wrong." "hah!" ejaculated the stranger, "that is enough;" and he held out his hand. "there's a ring of dear old england and good society in that, sir. welcome to these wilds. it is a treat to have a visitor who can talk about the old country. it's many years since i have seen it. and you?" "oh, we were there seven or eight months ago," said gunson, quietly; and as we walked on, and our new friend plied him with questions about london, the government, and the changes that had taken place, always carefully avoiding any allusions to the object of our visit to the north-west land, it seemed to me that i was listening to quite a different man to the rough prospector, and i fancied that the stranger was noticing that gunson was not the sort of man he seemed. it was so pleasant to listen to the converse of these two gentlemanly, well-informed speakers, that the distance seemed quite short back to where esau was lying down idly throwing stones in the river, while quong had the kettle boiling, and, as soon as he caught sight of us, came running up to seize upon one of the packs of deer-meat, and trot off with it. "useful sort of fellow, that," said the stranger, nodding at quong as he ran on before us. "good cook, i suppose?" "excellent," replied gunson. "you had better stop and have a bit of dinner with us. he'll have a steak ready in a few minutes." "with all my heart. mike, you have some cake in your wallet." "yes, sir," said the man respectfully; and i saw gunson's one eye turn to him sharply. "we can easily walk to the fort in an hour afterwards," said the stranger. "and do you live near?" i said, eagerly. "yes, very near," he replied, smiling. "it's very lucky we met you," i said, "for we had no idea how far we were off. here, hi! esau!" i shouted, as soon as we were within earshot, for he was coming towards us now in a slow, hesitating way. "this is my companion who has come with me." "friend or brother?" "friend," i said; and i was going to say more, but i caught gunson's eye, and it seemed to suggest that i was talking too fast. in less than half an hour we were partaking of the hot juicy steaks which quong brought round to us on the point of his knife, and washing it down with hot tea, while the stranger and gunson chatted away about the sport to be had in that part of the country, filling my head with eager hopes of partaking therein, as i heard of the different kinds of game and deer, some of which were of huge size--elk and moose as high as horses, which were shot in the winter. it soon became evident that our new acquaintance was a keen sportsman, but he talked in quite an easy modest way of what he had done, and at last i felt obliged to join in, telling of our adventures with the bears, and asking if he had seen or shot any. "several," he said. "many, i may say, but of course spread over a long stay here. i can show you their heads and skins. i generally save them. that man michael grey is a clever hunter, and an admirable skin-dresser." "are the bears very dangerous?" "only under certain circumstances, my lad. there are several kinds here, varying very little. i mean beginning with the smallest; he strongly resembles the next larger, and he again the one larger still, and so on, till we get up to the cinnamon, and from him to the great grizzly, who is a fierce beast best avoided. as for the others, they are stupid, inoffensive creatures, whose great aim in life is to get out of man's way, and who will not interfere with him or fight if they are left alone. now then, what do you say to going on?" "by all means," said gunson; and we rose, to my regret, for i had enjoyed the meal and rest, and the hunting narratives were delightful. we were all ready for starting, and i shouldered one pack, quong loading himself up with the deer-meat, and our new friend and his follower insisting upon helping to share our burden, while i noticed that mike, as he was called, kicked the burning embers about in all directions so as to extinguish the fire. "what is that for?" said our new companion, interpreting my looks; "that is what every hunter or traveller should do. never leave a fire. there is abundance of wood--huge forests all about, but none that ought to be destroyed. the pine-trees burn fiercely." i nodded, for i knew. "and, once a forest is set on fire, we never know where it may end." we walked on, chatting about the beauty of the country, which every minute grew more open; and i was listening full of interest, when esau gave my jacket a tug. "i say, who is he?" came in a whisper. "don't know. going to show us the way to the fort." "is it much further?" "oh no," i whispered back; "only a mile or two." "thank goodness," murmured esau; "i am getting so tired." it proved to be only about a mile and a half, or, as i ought to call it in that country of no roads and many climbs and descents, about three-quarters of an hour's walk, before we came upon a wide, open spot, dotted with trees like a park, through which the river ran, making a sharp elbow, at the corner of which there was what seemed to be a high fence, with square wooden buildings at two of the corners. these took my attention directly, for they looked like strong, square, wooden towers, trying to be like the sides of a man-of-war, inasmuch as they were fitted with portholes, out of which projected the muzzles of small cannon. i could see that there was a rough trail leading up to a grim gateway in the square fence, and that the nearer we got to the place, the bigger and stronger that fence looked, and that inside was quite a large square with huts and other buildings, and what seemed to be a garden, beside which there were cultivated fields with corn growing and potatoes, outside. "so that's fort elk, is it?" said gunson, thoughtfully. "why, i suppose you could stand quite a siege there from the indians." "we could, and have done so before now." "but what about fire?" continued gunson. "that is our worst enemy," said the stranger, as he struck the rough beaten path. "but where is your garrison?" said gunson. "oh, busy about in the stores and garden. we are not at war with any of the people about, so there is no occasion to play at soldiers now." "but where is your ranch?" i said, as we approached the gate. "oh, inside the fence, of course." "then you live in the fort?" i said, looking at him curiously, for a suspicion was beginning to rise in my breast, as we came right up to the great palisade, and i realised how much bigger it all was than it had seemed. "yes," he replied, smiling, "i live in the fort--the hudson's bay company's trading store and station; and i bid you all a hearty welcome." "may i know whom we have to thank before you show my young friend gordon here to the chief's place. you ought to go to him first, gordon, my lad." "yes, that is quite right," said our friend, smiling; "but you can do that without trouble, for my name is raydon. i am the chief officer here." i stopped short and stared, and esau's jaw seemed to drop so as to show the whole interior of his mouth. chapter thirty one. an awakening. after the first fit of startling i don't think i was much surprised, for something seemed to have suggested that this might be mrs john's brother. he smiled at us, as if amused, and led the way to one of the wooden buildings, where wood was burning in a stone fire-place. "this is our travellers' hotel," he said, as we entered the bare-looking room, which was beautifully clean. "don't trouble about cooking or preparing anything, for you are my guests. there is a sleeping-place here." he walked across to a door at one corner, and showed me another fair-sized place, bare as the first, but beautifully white and clean, and with some of the boards looking quite ornamental from the fine grain. there was a row of sleeping-bunks and plenty of water ready, and plain and rough as everything was, it seemed princely to the style of sleeping accommodation we had been accustomed to for so long. he nodded and left us, and we had to explain to quong that he was not to cook and prepare our evening meal, an explanation which for the first time made the little yellow-faced fellow look discontented. "you all velly angly? what quong been do?" "nothing at all. mr raydon's people are going to send us our supper." "don't like--don't like," he said, shaking his head. "all angly. quong no make good blead?" "yes; everything has been capital," i said. "don't you understand?" "no; can't undlestan. quong velly solly. go now?" "no, no. stop." he shook his head and went and sat doleful-looking and unhappy in one corner; out of which he had to be almost dragged at last to partake of the evening meal mr raydon sent in for us, absolutely refusing to join us, and waiting patiently till we had done. there was capital bread, plenty of tea with milk and sugar, cold ham, and hot slices of the deer-meat we had brought with us, and when we had finished and set quong to his supper, gunson went to the door to smoke his pipe, while esau came to me smiling. "rather lonely sort of place," he said, "but it will do, eh?" "oh yes, if mr raydon is willing for us to stay." "eh? why, of course he will be, won't he? i say, though, what lovely ham!" "what's the matter with quong?" i said, for the little fellow was muttering and grumbling as he sat on the wooden bench at the well-scrubbed table. i went to him, and asked what was wrong. "allee dleadful," he said. "no cookee meat plopelly. no makee tea plopelly. blead bad." "why, i'm sure it isn't," i said, crumbling off a piece to taste. "yes; allee bad. no bake blead to-day. blead high." "high?" i said; "you mean stale?" "yes; stale high. keep blead too long. not good to eat." "why, quong," i cried; "you're grumbling because somebody else cooked and baked," and i burst out laughing. the little fellow jumped up with his yellow forehead all wrinkles and his eyes flashing and twinkling comically with resentment. but as i still laughed at him, the creases began to disappear from his face, and the angry look to depart, till he too smiled up at me. "you velly funny," he said. "laugh at me." "well, you made me by grumbling for nothing." "quong cook well--better allee this? cookee ploply." "yes; everything you have done has been delicious. here, go on with your supper." "quong cook bleakfast?" "yes; i'll ask mr raydon to let you. here, go on." this pacified the little fellow, and he finished his meal quickly. he was busy clearing up when mr raydon came in, and i saw him glance sharply at the busy little fellow, whose tail was whisking about in all directions as he bobbed here and there, just as if he not been walking all day. "had a good supper?" said mr raydon. "that's right. now then come to my office, and let us have a talk." i followed him with some trepidation, esau coming on nervously behind; and as we went outside, and then along to another building, catching sight of men and women at different places about the enclosure, our host went on to where i now saw that gunson was waiting for us by a wooden house that had some show of comfort. "come in," said our host, and he pointed to roughly-made, strong chairs, while he seated himself behind a deal desk. the walls were covered with weapons, and heads and horns of the various animals that i presumed had fallen to his rifle were nailed up here and there, the white deal floor being nearly covered with skin rugs. these various objects of interest kept my eyes busy for a few moments, and then i was called back to my position by mr raydon's voice, as he addressed gunson. "you are quite welcome," he was saying, "and i dare say i could give you a little shooting if you were disposed to stay." "no," said gunson, "i thank you; but i have finished one part of my task here. i am not going of course to make any secret of my mission. i am a prospector." "yes." "it was my fortune to come out with these lads, and when i heard that they were journeying up the river, i determined to get up to the higher waters by the same route as they did for the sake of helping them." "then you would not have come this way, mr gunson?" i said. "no, my lad," he replied, smiling. "i should have struck up one of the side rivers sooner." "oh!" i ejaculated. "for it seemed to me that it was utter madness for two boys like these to attempt the journey alone in perfect ignorance of what they had undertaken." "and you made up your mind to see them through?" "i did, for they would never have done it alone." "indeed we should," i said, quickly. gunson laughed, leaned forward, and patted me on the shoulder. "no, no, mayne, my lad," he said kindly. "there's all the pluck--the english spirit in you; but there was more than you could have done by yourselves. you would have struggled on, but master dean here would have broken down long enough ago, and wanted to go back home to his mother." "how could i have wanted to go back home to mother when she ain't at home?" cried esau, angrily. "well, to have gone back," said gunson. "there, i am in real earnest, my lads. it was more than you could have done." "but we should have persevered," i said, warmly. "and failed, as better men have done. besides, there were the indians, my lad. they always seemed very peaceable towards us, but you had a well-armed man with you; and it may have made some difference. there, i don't want to rob you of any credit you deserve, and i tell mr raydon here before you that i have derived no little assistance from you both, and enjoyed my journey all the better for your company. what do you say, mr raydon--would they have found their way up here alone?" "in time, perhaps," he replied; "if they had met with other people making the trip they might have got here. certainly not alone, and it would have been madness to have attempted it. it has been a mad project altogether." gunson looked at me and smiled. "but there, you have reached your goal safe and sound, and to-morrow morning we'll shake hands and say good-bye." "please understand, mr gunson," said our host, quietly, "that you have no occasion to hurry." "i beg your pardon," replied gunson; "you are wrong. time is gliding on, sir. i have spent years already in my quest and have no time to spare." "the quest of wealth?" said mr raydon, rather sarcastically. "yes, sir; the quest of wealth to redeem the past. you do not know my early life, and i'm not going to tell of it." "i only know enough to prove to me that mr gunson was educated as an english gentleman." "and is now the rough prospector you see," replied gunson. "there, sir, one lives for the future, not the past. to-morrow morning, thanking you warmly for your hospitality, i start; and i ask you to give my young friends here what you have offered so generously to me." "your chinese servant going with you, of course. you said `i start.'" "my chinese servant!" said gunson, laughing. "i keep no servants. the poor fellow attached himself to us, and has worked for us patiently ever since. he is one of the poor patient celestials, hunting for gold, and if ever he scrapes together fifty pounds' worth he will account himself rich." "and you?" "ah, my desires are far higher," said gunson, laughing. "now, if you will excuse me, i'll go outside and enjoy a pipe in this delicious evening air." "let me offer you a cigar, mr gunson," said our host. "i have a few good ones for my visitors." "thanks, no. i'll keep to my pipe till better times come. now, my lads, it is your turn to have your chat with our host." he rose. "one moment, mr gunson," said mr raydon. "there is a powder magazine in the enclosure." "yes; i caught sight of it," was the reply. "i shall not drop any matches near." i saw our host watch him very thoughtfully as he went out of the office. then turning to us sharply he looked from one to the other, his clear eyes seeming to search us in a way that was far from encouraging. "now, young fellows," he said, "i need not ask your names: mayne gordon and esau dean. i have been expecting you." "expecting us, sir?" i said. "of course. because you have been six months coming; a letter would not be all this while. i have known of your proposed visit for some time, though i tell you frankly that when i read my thoughtless, inconsistent brother-in-law's letter, i never expected to see you here. you have been very lucky, that's all." "if you mean mr john dempster is thoughtless and inconsistent, sir," i said warmly, "i must speak. he is all that is kind, thoughtful, and gentlemanly, and he is the best--almost the only--friend i have in the world." "what, sir? isn't it thoughtless and inconsistent of a man to send two raw boys nearly all round the world on such a mad journey as this? a thoughtful man would say the person who planned it was a fool." "no thoughtful man who knew mr john dempster would speak of him like that, sir," i said, angrily. "why you might just as well say so of some one who set him and poor mrs john to travel thousands of miles the other way here," cried esau, coming to my help. "means that i am a fool!" said our host, sharply, as he turned on esau. "here, you hold your tongue, sir, till your turn comes." i saw esau shrink, and mr raydon went on-- "i sent for my sister to come, because i believed the journey would be her salvation, as to her health, and because i wanted to end her sad life of penury. your best friend, mr gordon, has not behaved well to her." "why they are as happy and affectionate as can be," i said. "you don't know." "i knew that for twenty years he has been a dreamer, growing poorer, and wearing out her life with anxiety, my lad, and i wanted to get them here, where i can start them in a new life. he is a good fellow in his way, but weak and helpless as to getting on in the world. if i lead him, i believe it will be different. but enough of that. here is my complaint. as soon as, after long and careful thought, i decided to bring them here, and send them the funds for the purpose, my thoughtful brother-in-law writes me word that they are coming, and that he has sent me two lads, friends of his, to take under my charge, and do the best i can for them. why, sir, it came upon me like a thunderclap." all the high spirits and hopefulness at our journey being successfully ended, oozed away, and a despairing sensation came over me that was horrible. then my pride came to my help, and i spoke out. "i am very sorry, sir," i cried, "and i will not impose on your kindness. to-morrow morning esau dean and i will make a fresh start." "what start?" he said, harshly. "perhaps go with mr gunson, prospecting." "out of the question, sir. more madness." "then we'll go to work." "what at?" "for some settler. we are both young, and willing." "i should just think we are," cried esau, sharply. "silence! hold your tongue, please." esau subsided. "where are you going to find your settler? those here have only enough work for themselves." "but other people have got on." "where you two could not, sir. you two boys think it all easy enough, but you are not beasts of the field, to be able to pick up a living in this wild solitary land. do you think you can join some tribe, and become young indian chiefs? rubbish. find gold? what's the use of it hundreds of miles away from places where it can be sold. play robinson crusoe in the woods? bah! where is your ship to go to for stores? why, you pair of silly ignorant young donkeys, do you know what your projects would end in?" "success, sir; fighting our own way in life," i cried, proudly. "for the carrion birds," he said, grimly; "good meals for them, and later on some hunter finding a couple of whitened skeletons, lying beneath a great sheltering pine." "oh, i say!" cried esau; "don't, don't talk like that." "i am compelled to, my lads, so as to get some common manly sense in your heads." "here, i say, mayne gordon," cried esau, rising; "let's go back at once." i rose too, slowly and thoughtfully, waiting to speak, but unable to find suitable words. i was cruelly hurt and surprised at the rough reception i had met with, for i had at least expected to be made welcome for mrs john's sake. at the same time though, much as it pained me to hear mr john spoken of so harshly, i began to see dimly that what mr raydon said was right, and that it had been a wild idea for us two lads to make such a journey in so speculative a manner. but before i had made up my mind what to say, and while i was standing there hesitating, mr raydon began again, in a sharp authoritative tone. "what have you lads been?" he said. "writers--clerks in an office," said esau, glumly. "hah! yes: about the most unsuitable avocation for any one coming out here. you did not expect to find a post at a desk, i suppose?" "no," said esau, gloomily, "i meant to build myself a house, and start a farm." "how?" said mr raydon, with a contemptuous laugh. "dunno," said esau. "do you understand farming?" "no, sir, but i'm going to learn." "where? at what farm? what do you know about crops? why, i don't suppose you could grow a potato. did you ever do any gardening?" "only grown mustard and cress, sir, in a box." mr raydon laughed aloud. "and you, mayne gordon," he said; "do you understand stock-raising and sheep?" i shook my head sally. "can you ride?" "oh yes," i cried, as i recalled the days when i had about as wild a little welsh pony as ever boy sat. "come, that's something; but you can't ride without a horse." "no, sir." "and have you any capital to buy land, and stock it?" "only a few pounds left, sir." "oh, you have a few pounds. well, yours seems a lively position, and i suppose you both see that you have very little chance of getting on." "oh, i don't know, sir," said esau. "we've seen lots of places where we could build a hut to begin with, and get on by degrees." "your eyes want opening a little wider, my lad. suppose you took up one of the beautiful patches of land you saw near the river." "yes, sir, quite close, where we could catch salmon same as the indians do, and dry them. i don't see if the indians can live why we couldn't." "for the simple reason that you are not indians--savages, my lad. do you know that if you did as you propose, some night you would have to climb for your life, and cling in the branches of a huge pine, while the flooded river swept away your hut." "don't sweep away your huts," said esau, sulkily. "because they are two hundred feet above the river. well, what are you going to do?" "start back again, sir, at once," i replied. "and then?" "try to get work somewhere." "and what am i to say to my sister and her husband when they come?" "that we found out we had made a mistake, sir, and had set to work at once to try and remedy it." "you will sleep here to-night though, of course?" i looked at esau, and his eyes flashed back my opinion. "no sir," i said. "we thank you for what you have done, but we shall start back directly, and sleep where we made our camp in the middle of the day." "don't be hasty, my lad," said our host. "it's wise sometimes to sleep on a determination." "it can't be here, sir," i said bitterly, "so goodbye, and thank you. come, esau, we can get on for a couple of hours before it is quite dark." "all right," said esau, sturdily; "and we can find our way back if we didn't know it coming." "well, perhaps you are right," said mr raydon; "but of course you understand that you are going back alone. mr gunson will be on his way into the mountains, and i dare say that china boy will follow him." "i suppose he will, sir," i said. "better sleep on it, my lad." "no, sir," i said, firmly. "i would rather not." "too proud to accept the hospitality of the man who has told you such home-truths?" "yes, sir; but more so to stay where i feel that we are not welcome." "but you are welcome, my lads, as visitors. is not your friend and leader very unreasonable, young man?" he continued, turning suddenly to esau; and i listened eagerly in dread, lest he should be won over to ask for shelter for the night. "not a bit," said esau, with a scowl. "he's all right, and knows what's best, and always did. if it hadn't been for him i should have been stupid enough to have gone for a soldier." "indeed!" "yes, indeed!" cried esau; "and i tried all i could to get him to go too, only he knew better. now then, mr gordon, i'm 'bout tired of talking. when you're ready, i am." he moved toward the door and i followed him, having no words to say for the moment; but as i reached the door they came, and i faced around to see mr raydon's clear eyes fixed upon me. "good-bye, sir," i said, "and thank you. when mr john and dear mrs john come, don't scold them and talk to them as you have to me. it would only upset her, and she is sure to be still very delicate. tell them i have gone to make a start for myself, and as soon as i am doing well i shall try and write to her. good-bye." "good-bye," said esau, defiantly; and he put his hands in his pockets, began to whistle, and turned to me, to point to the head of a mountain sheep with enormous curled horns. "pretty good load for a thing to carry," he said, as we reached the door. "stop!" that word seemed to cut its way into our brains, it sounded so fierce and sharp, and its effect was to make us both face round wonderingly, and look inquiringly at the speaker. "i should have thought, sir, that it would have been more decent if you had offered to shake hands with your host before you went." "i beg your pardon, sir," i said, holding out my hand. "good-night-- good-bye!" his large firm long fingers closed tightly on mine, and held my hand prisoned so hardly that he gave me a good deal of pain. "one minute, my lad," he said. "your father and mother were both english, were they not?" the mention of them made me wince. "both dead, i think my sister said?" "yes," i said huskily, and i tried to drag my hand away, but he held it fast. "so you are true english?" he said; "and a pretty opinion you have of your fellow-countryman." "i--i don't understand you, sir." "to think after you have struggled up here so pluckily, and in so manly a way, he would be such an inhuman brute as to let you go." "mr raydon!" i cried, huskily. "and your friend, my lad, i hope, for my sister's sake and your own too, if you justify the impression you have made. there, you came to me quite a stranger, and i wanted to see whether you had the manliness and courage to refuse to stay, and i know that you have both, and would have gone back. come," he said, pressing my hand warmly, "let what has passed during the past few minutes go. sit here for a bit, both of you. to-morrow we'll have a chat over what is to be done." he smiled at me, gave esau a nod, and went out. we neither of us spoke, but looked across at each other in the softening light, till suddenly esau turned sharply round, and went and stood looking out of the window, while i sank down on a stool, turned my back to my companion, folded my arms on a desk, and laid my head thereon. chapter thirty two. was i dreaming? quite an hour must have passed, and it had grown dark in that room, where the heads of moose, elk, bear, and mountain sheep looked down upon us from the walls, and the old clock had it all its own way, _tick-tack_. for neither of us spoke; i confess that i dared not. perhaps it was childish to feel so upset; perhaps it was natural, for i had been over-wrought, and the pain i had suffered was more than i could bear. esau, too, was overcome, i was sure; but it always after remained a point of honour with us never to allude to the proceedings of that night when we remained there back to back without uttering a word, and, till we heard steps, without moving. then we both started round as if guilty of something of which we were ashamed. but the steps passed the door, and they did not sound like those of mr raydon; and once more we waited for his return. it grew darker and darker, and as i slowly let my eyes wander about the walls, there on one side was the long, melancholy-looking head of a moose, with its broad, far-spreading horns, seeming to gaze at me dolefully, and on the other i could see the open jaws and grinning white fangs of a grizzly bear, apparently coming out of the gloom to attack me, while the deer's heads about were looking on to see what would be the result. the place was all very strange, and the silence began to be painful, for only at intervals was there some distant step. at last, though, there came a loud, fierce barking, and it was quite inspiriting to hear so familiar a sound. this made esau take a long breath as if he felt relieved, and it unlocked his tongue at once. "hah!" he said; "seems quite natural-like to hear a dog bark. wonder what he is? bet sixpence he's a collie. yes, hark at him. that's a collie's bark, i know." we sat listening to the barking till it ceased, and then esau said-- "did seem too hard, didn't it? but somehow i couldn't help feeling all the time that he wouldn't serve us so bad as that. so different like to mrs john, eh?" "hush! here he comes back." for there was a firm heavy step that was like a march, and the door was thrown open. "ah, my lads, all in the dark? i had forgotten the light." he struck a match, and lit a large oil-lamp, and sent a bright pleasant glow through the place, which, from looking weird and strange, now had a warm and home-like aspect. "you'll like to get to bed soon. pretty tired, i expect. i am too. we are early people here. early to bed and early to rise; you know the rest of the proverb. you'll sleep in the strangers' place tonight; to-morrow we'll see what we can do. mine is a bachelor home, but we have women here. some of my men have wives, but they are indian. rather a wild place to bring my sister to--eh, mayne?" then without giving me time to speak-- "come along," he said. "i told mr gunson that i would fetch you." we followed him out, and i wanted to thank him; but i could not then, and he seemed to know it, for he kept on chatting to us as we went along one side of the enclosed square, pointing out how clear the sky was, and how full of promise for the next day. then, as we reached the long low building where we had had our meal, he threw open the door, and stood back for us to enter. "good-night, mayne," he said. "good-night, sir," i replied, rather huskily, and i clung to his hand a little as he held it out. "good-night, dean," he continued, and turning sharply off he sauntered away back towards his quarters. "might ha' shook hands with me too," said esau, sullenly. "didn't offend him too much, did i?" "no, no, don't say any more about it," i whispered. then we entered, to find gunson seated on a rough stool by the fire smoking his pipe, or pretending to, for i saw no smoke, and the red glow from the embers lit up his face strangely. "ah, boys," he said, starting up from his musings; "there you are. well, you have dropped into snug quarters. bed-time, isn't it?" "i suppose so," i said sadly. "hallo! not cheery that!" "are you still thinking of going, mr gunson?" i said. "yes; at sunrise to-morrow morning, so if you want to see me off, you must take down your shutters early." "i am sorry." "i am glad," he cried--"that you are sorry. been a pleasant trip up, my lad, and i dare say we shall meet again some day. we will, if i can manage it." "i say, where's old quong?" said esau, suddenly. "asleep this hour, in the corner there." "you want quong--flesh tea--make blead--now?" "no, no; go to sleep," said gunson, laughing. "allee light. i get up and makee fi' keep bun; no let fi' go out." he coiled up again under his blanket, and we sat some little time in silence before gunson rose. "good-night, boys," he said; and he went to the rough sleeping-place he had chosen. "s'pose we had better go too," said esau, after we had sat looking at the fire a few minutes in silence. "i'm ready," i said quickly, and we went to our places, where i lay listening to the hard breathing of my companions, for sleep would not come. all was so new and strange. the fire had sunk down into a faint glow which brightened now and then as a light breeze swept by the house, and then sank down again, making the fireplace look ruddy, while all the rest of the place was intensely dark. then all grew blacker still, and i was listening to mr john dempster's hopeful words about meeting me at his brother-in-law's home, and-- i was staring hard at the fire again, awake and fully aware that i had been fast asleep, and that something was wrong. the door was wide open. i was sure of it, for i could see the square opening lit up with brilliant stars, and to add to my certainty, the embers of the wood fire, which had sunk lower and lower, were glowing again, as the soft air from the door swept over them, in a curious phosphorescent way. i listened, and heard that the others were sleeping heavily, and as i gazed at the door i saw some of the stars blotted out by something moving, while almost at the same instant a faint sound made me glance toward the fire, where for a moment i saw against the faint glow the shape of some animal. a panting sound; it was a wolf i was sure, and i lay there paralysed with dread, as i heard the soft pit-pat of the animal's feet, and directly after a movement that did not seem to be that of an animal. i was right in that; for the fire glowed up, and i could see that it was a man standing close by now, whose dress indicated that he must be an indian, for i just made out the edge of a hunting shirt, and i saw that he wore leggings. what ought i to do? i thought if i shouted to spread the alarm it might mean a sudden quick attack, perhaps death at once for me, while the others would be unable to defend themselves in the dark. the cold perspiration oozed from my face, and i felt a sensation as if something was moving the roots of my hair. at last when the agony grew so intense that i felt i must shout for help, the soft pit-pat of the animal's feet passed by me again, and was followed by the sound of the man moving his moccasined feet, hardly heard upon the boarded floor, and the stars were completely blotted out by the closing door. i started again, for there was a quick rustling sound now from my left, and something passed me and made for the fire. then came relief, for there was no doubt this time--it was quong softly laying fresh pieces of wood on the embers to keep the fire going till morning. i lay back thankfully, determined to speak to him as he came back, and ask him if he had heard a noise. but i did not; he was so long in coming; and when i did speak it was to gunson, who was getting up, and the grey light of morning was now filling the room, battling with the glowing fire. for i had been asleep after all, and i began to ask myself whether i had dreamed about the indian and the wolf. chapter thirty three. leave-taking. a few minutes after i saw how darkness and fancy can combine to startle one who wakes suddenly from sleep, for the man who had been mr raydon's companion on the previous day suddenly made his appearance silently at the door and walked in, his deerskin moccasins making no sound as he came towards us. he was followed by a great fierce-looking dog, about whose neck was a formidable ruff of loose hair, and as he trotted towards me i saw in them the indian and the wolf of my scare. "morning," said the man, quietly; "needn't ask you how you slept. i came in late to see if the fire was all right, and you were all fast. here, rough--quiet! better make friends with him at once," he continued, turning to me. for, after sniffing at gunson, and esau, who got out of his way as soon as possible, the dog turned his attentions to me, smelling me all round, as if to try whether i was good to eat, and then uttering a low deep growl, to indicate, i suppose, that he was satisfied that i was a stranger. "well," i said, laying my hand upon his head, feeling nervous though not showing it, "are we to be friends?" there was a deeper growl, and two fierce eyes glared up at me, while i fully expected that my hand would be seized. then there was a slight agitation of the great fluffy tail, which began to swing slowly from side to side, and before i knew what was about to happen the great beast rose up, planted its paws upon my shoulders, threw up its muzzle, and uttered a deep-toned bay. "that's all right," said the man; "you and he will be good friends now. can i do anything for you? start this morning, don't you?" "yes," said gunson, "i'm off directly." "right; my wife will bring you some breakfast.--come along." he went to the door, and the great dog followed him with his muzzle down; but as soon as he was outside he ran back to me, thrust his great head against my side, uttered a loud bark, and then trotted off. a few minutes after an indian woman, dressed partly in english fashion, came in with a kettle of tea and some cake and bacon, which she smilingly placed ready for us, while quong stood over by the fire looking very serious and troubled. gunson smiled and gave me a cheery look, and we sat down to the early meal; but i did not feel hungry, and was playing with my breakfast when mr raydon came in, looking quiet and firm as he wished us good morning. "quite ready for your start then?" he said; "quite decided to go to-day?" "quite," replied gunson, shortly. "if you come back this way i shall be glad to see you," continued our host. "thank you. i hope to come back safely some day, and," he said, turning to me, "to see how you are getting on." "i shall be very glad to see you again," i said warmly; for though i did not feel that i exactly liked the prospector, there was something beside gratitude which attracted me to him. "the chinaman goes with you, i suppose?" said mr raydon, glancing to where quong stood, looking troubled and uneasy at being superseded. "i don't know. he is free, and not tied to me in any way." "what are you going to do?" said mr raydon, turning sharply on the little fellow. "light n'--make blead--plenty tea hot--stlong. cookee, velly much cookee. speak ploper english, allee same melican man." "yes; but are you going on with mr gunson here?" quong looked at the prospector and then at me and at esau, his little black eyes twinkling, and his face as full of lines as a walnut-shell; but gunson made no sign, only went on with his breakfast. "no wantee me," said quong, shaking his head. "go washee washee gole, no wantee quong." "then if i offered you work, would you like to stay here for a while?" "make blead, flesh blead? yes, quong going stop." he looked at us and laughed. then gunson spoke. "yes," he said, "he had better stay. i can carry my own pack and cook all i require. there," he said, rising, "i'm ready for my start now. will you lads walk a little way with me?" "yes," i cried; and two minutes later we were outside, with esau shouldering the pack, while its owner stood for a few minutes talking earnestly to mr raydon. i could not hear his words, but from his glancing two or three times in my direction, i guessed the subject of their conversation. gunson would not let us go far, but stopped short at the rise of a steep slope, at the foot of which the river ran. "good-bye, mayne," he said. "i shall come and look you up by and by if the indians do not kill me, or i am starved to death somewhere up yonder. no, no: my nonsense," he continued, as he saw my horrified look. "no fear; i shall come back safely. good-bye." he shook hands with us both hurriedly, shouldered his pack, and we stood there watching him till he disappeared round a curve in the valley. "he don't like me," said esau, in a grumbling tone, as we began to walk back. "and you never liked him," i said. "no. perhaps it's because he had only got one eye. never mind, he's gone now, and we're going to stay. will the old man set us to work?" there seemed to be no sign of it at first, for when we returned to the fort mr raydon was away, and when he returned we spent our time in what esau called sight-seeing, for mr raydon took us round the place, and showed us the armoury with its array of loaded rifles; took us into the two corner block-houses, with their carefully-kept cannon, and showed us how thoroughly he was prepared for danger if the indians should ever take it into their heads to attack him. then there were the stores, with the gay-coloured blankets and other goods which were dear to the indian and his squaw, and for which a portion of a tribe came from time to time to barter the skins they had collected by trapping and shooting. there they were, bales of them--seal, sea-otter, beaver, skunk, marten, and a few bear, the sight of all raising up in our hearts endless ideas of sport and adventure possibly never to be fulfilled. "there," said mr raydon, when we had seen all the stores, including that where an ample supply of provisions was laid up, and we had visited the homes of his men, all of whom had married indian wives, "i have not settled anything about you two lads yet. i may set you to work perhaps, but at all events not for a few days, so you can wander about the place. don't go away from the streams. why?" he added, as he saw my inquiring look; "because if you wander into the forest there is nothing to guide you back. one tree is so like another that you might never find your way out again. easy enough to talk about, but very terrible if you think of the consequences. if you ascend one of the streams, you have only to follow it back to the river. it is always there as a guide." nothing could have gratified us more, and for some days we spent our time exploring, always finding enough to attract, watching the inhabitants of the woods, fishing, bathing, climbing the trees, and going some distance up into the solitudes of one of the mountains. it was a pleasant time, and neither of us was in a hurry to commence work, the attractions were so many. "it's so different to being in streets in london," esau was always saying. "there it's all people, and you can hardly cross the roads for the 'busses and cabs. here it's all so still, and i suppose you might go on wandering in the woods for ever and never see a soul." it almost seemed as if that might be the case, and a curious feeling of awe used to come over me when we wandered up one of the little valleys, and were seated in the bright sunshine upon some moss-cushioned rock, listening to the murmur of the wind high up in the tall pines--a sound that was like the gentle rushing of the sea upon the shore. mr raydon generally asked us where we had been, and laughed at our appetites. "there, don't be ashamed, mayne," he said, as he saw me look abashed; "it is quite natural at your age. eat away, my lad, and grow muscular and strong. i shall want your help some day, for we are not always so quiet and sleepy as you see us now." i had good reason to remember his words, though i little thought then what a strange adventure was waiting to fall to my lot. chapter thirty four. we make a discovery. we two lads wandered away one day along a valley down which a stream came gliding here, roaring in a torrent there, or tumbling over a mass of rock in a beautiful fall, whose spray formed quite a dew on the leaves of the ferns which clustered amongst the stones and masses of rock. to left and right the latter rose up higher and higher crowned with fir-trees, some of which were rooted wherever there was sufficient earth, while others seemed to have started as seeds in a crevice at the top of a block of rock, and not finding enough food had sent down their roots over the sides lower and lower to where they could plunge into the earth, where they had grown and strengthened till the mass of rock was shut in tightly in what looked like a huge basket, whose bars held the stone fast, while the great fir-tree ran straight up from the top. these wild places had a constant attraction for us, the greater that we were always in expectation of hearing a deer rush away, or catching sight of some fresh bird, while there was always a shivering anticipation of our coming face to face with a bear. the sun came down glowing and hot into the ravine, where the strong aromatic scent of the pines floated to us laden with health as we toiled on higher and higher, leaping from rock to rock, wading or climbing, and often making use of a great pine-trunk for a bridge. "it's so different to the city," esau used to say. "the roaring of the water puts you a bit in mind of cheapside sometimes; but you can't lie down there, and listen and think as you can here." "what do you generally think about, esau?" i said. "dunno; mostly about getting higher up. let's get higher up now. i say, look at the trout. shall we try and get a few for dinner; the old man likes them?" "as we come back," i said. "let's go up higher now." "how far would it be up to where this stream begins?" "not very far," i said. "it cannot come from the ice up yonder." "why not?" he said sharply. "i think it must." "it cannot, because it is so clear. we couldn't see the trout if it was a glacier stream." "humph, no, i s'pose not. where does it come from then?" "oh, from scores of rills away perhaps in the mountains. how beautifully clear the water is!--you can see every stone at the bottom-- and, look, it's like a network of gold on the sand." "what makes that?" said esau. "the ripple of the water as it runs. how beautiful it all is!" "yes; i should like to build mother a cottage up there when she comes." "that's what you always say. why don't you set to work and build one ready when she does come?" "if you talk like that i will," said esau, irritably. "of course i always say so--shame if i didn't." "well then, select your place and let's begin." "shan't! not for you to make fun of me," cried esau, throwing himself down. "now then, if you want to quarrel again, go it. i shan't grumble." we went on by the side of the little stream for quite half-an-hour almost in silence, not from esau being out of temper, but from the intense satisfaction we felt in being in so beautiful a place, and at last sat down close by a gravelly-looking shallow, where the beautiful clear water tempted us to lie flat down, lean over till we could touch it, and drink. "that's good water," said esau, as he wiped his mouth. "i wish plenty of fruit grew here too. what are you doing? why, you're not going to hunt for gold, are you?" i did not answer, but went on with what i was doing; scooping up the gravel and sand, and agitating my hand till the light sand was washed away and only the stones remained. it was in imitation of what i had seen gunson and quong do scores of times, and in the idlest of moods that i did this, partly, i think, because the water felt cool and pleasant to my hands, and the sensation of the sand trickling between my fingers was agreeable. "i wonder whether gunson has found a good place for gold yet?" "dunno," replied esau, with a yawn. "i wish those people would come here, so that we could set to work in real earnest, and be making a house. shall you come and live with us, or with mr and mrs john?" "can't say at present. all that sort of thing must be left till they come, and--oh!" "what's the matter?" "nearly slipped in; that's all," i said, selecting a fresh stone for my seat, the one i had been using at the edge of the stream having turned slowly over and pitched me forward. "only got wet; you would soon get dry again in the sunshine." "yes," i said, taking a fresh handful of gravel and beginning to shake it to and fro in the stream, pausing every now and then to pick out the big stones and throw them away, and the gravel after them, before taking another handful. "makes your hands nice and clean, doesn't it?" said esau. "nothing like sand for that. found any gold yet?" "not yet," i said. "no, nor you won't. there's no gold here, only a few little specks like quong got." "oh, there might be," i said carelessly, as i thrust in my hand a little deeper, and brought out a good handful of sand from lower down. "gunson said he was sure there was plenty if you could--" "well, could what?" said esau, as he lay back with his hands beneath his head, his cap over his eyes, and his voice sounding hollow and strange from having to run round inside his hat. i did not answer, for i was washing the contents of my hand with a sudden feeling of eagerness. "well?" he said again, "could what?" "esau, come and look down here," i whispered very huskily. "can't," he said, lazily. "too comfortable to move." "come here!" i cried again. "shan't. i'm tired. i don't want to be roused up to look at a fly, or some stupid bird in a tree. you can look at it all to yourself." "come here, will you?" i said so fiercely that he sprang up. "what's the matter?" "come and look here!" he rose and came to me, looking wonderingly at my hands, which i held closely clasped together. "what's the matter?" he said; "cut yourself? wait till i tear up my hank'chief." "no, no," i panted, and the excitement i felt made me giddy. "well, i thought you hadn't," he cried. "don't bleed. here, what is it? what's the matter with you? you look as silly as a goose." i stared at him wildly, and no answer came. "he's going to be ill," i heard esau mutter, as he shook me angrily. "i say, don't, don't have no fevers nor nothink out here in this wild place where there's no doctors nor chemists' shops, to get so much as an ounce o' salts. oh, don't, don't!" "i'm not ill," i said at last. "there's nothing the matter." "then what do you mean by frightening a fellow like that? i say, i like a game sometimes, but that's too bad." "i--i didn't want to startle you, esau," i said, hurriedly, as the giddy sensation passed away. "look--look here." i held my hands open before him, raising one from the other slowly, as i felt half afraid that it was partly fancy, and that when my hand was quite open, that which i believed i held would be gone. "well?" said esau, "what of it? wet stones? think you'd caught a little trout?" "no, no," i cried impatiently. "look--look!" i raised one finger of my right hand, and began to separate the little water-worn stones with my palm raised in the sunshine, and for a few moments neither spoke. then as esau suddenly caught sight of some half-dozen smoothly-ground scales, and a tiny flattened bead with quite a tail to it, he uttered a shout. "hooray!" he cried. "gold! that beats old quong; he never got as much as that in his tin plate. yah! 'tain't gold. don't believe it! it's what old gunson called pyrrymids." "pyrites? no," i said. "it's gold; i'm sure of it. look what a beautiful yellow colour it is." "so's lots of things a beautiful yellow colour," said esau, sneeringly, as he curled up his lip and looked contemptuously at the contents of my hand. "tell you what it is--it's brass." "how can it be brass?" i said, examining the scales, which looked dead and frosted, but of a beautiful yellow. "very easy." "don't be absurd," i cried, bringing my school knowledge to bear; "brass is an artificial product." "that it ain't," cried esau, triumphantly; "why, it's strong as strong, and they use it for all sorts of things." "i mean, it's made by melting copper and tin or zinc together. it's an alloy, not a natural metal." "don't tell me," said esau, excitedly; "think i don't know? it's brass, and it's got melted up together somehow." "nonsense," i cried; "it's gold; i'm sure of it." "'tain't. yah! that isn't gold." "it is; i'm sure." "it's brass, i tell you." "impossible." "then it's copper." "copper isn't this colour at all, esau. it's gold." "not it; may be gold outside perhaps. it's gilt, that's what it is." "you stupid, obstinate donkey!" i cried in a pet. "oh, i am, am i? look here, mister, donkeys kick, so look out." "you kick me if you dare!" i cried. "don't want to kick you, but don't you be so handy calling people donkeys." "then don't you be so absurd. how can a piece of metal out here be gilt?" "by rubbing up against other pieces, of course, just the same as your boots get brazed by rubbing 'em on the fender." "i believe you think it's gold all the time, only you will not own to it," i cried. "'fraid to believe it, lad; too good to be true. why, if you can find bits like that by just wiggling your hand about in the sand, there must be lots more." "yes; enough to make us both rich." "i say, think it really is gold?" whispered esau, hoarsely. "yes, i feel sure of it." "look! there's another bit," he cried, dashing his hand down and sending the water flying, as he caught sight of a scrap, about as big as a flattened turnip-seed, in the sand, into which it sank, or was driven down by esau's energetic action. "gone!" he said, dismally. "never mind; we'll come on here with a shovel, and wash for more." "but, i say, how do you know it's gold? how can you tell?" "one way is because it's so soft, you can cut it almost like lead." "who says so?" "gunson told me." "then we'll soon see about that," cried esau, pulling out and opening his knife. "sit down here on this stone and give me that round bit." "what are you going to do?" i said. "try if it'll cut. split it like you do a shot when you go a-fishing." he picked the little pear-shaped piece from the sand, laid it on the stone beside us, and placing the edge of the knife upon it, pressed down hard, with the result that he cut a nick in the metal, which held on fast to the blade of the big knife. "there!" i cried, triumphantly. "i don't believe it yet," said esau, hoarsely. "are you sure it ain't that pyrry stuff?" "certain!--that all splinters into dust if you try and cut it. i am sure that's gold." "ain't much of it," said esau. "take four times as much as that to make a half-sovereign." "well, if we only got four times as much as that a day, it would mean three pounds a week. it is gold, and we've made a discovery that gunson would have given anything to see." "and he's gone nobody knows where, and it's all our own," said esau, looking cautiously round. "i say, think anybody has seen us?" "what, up here?" i said, laughing. "ah, you don't know. i say, slip it into your pocket." "let's pick out the stones first." "never mind the stones," cried esau; "slip it in. we may be watched all the time, and our finding it may turn out no good. i'll look round." he looked up and ran back a little way, peering in amongst the tree-trunks and clumps of berries and fern. then returning he went higher up the stream and searched about there before coming back. "don't see no one," he said, looking quite pale and excited at me. "i say, you're not playing any games are you?" he whispered, looking up. "games?" "yes; you didn't bring that and put it down there, and then pretend to find it?" "esau! as if i should!" "no, of course you wouldn't. it is all real, ain't it?" "yes; all real." "then we shall have made our fortune just before they come out to us. oh, i say! but--" "what is it?" "shall we find this place again?" "yes; we only have to follow up the stream here, and it doesn't matter about this one place: there must be gold all the way up this little river right away into the mountains." "but it will be ours, won't it?" "i don't know," i said. "but we found it--leastwise you did. all this land ought to be yours, or ours. i say, how is it going to be?" "i don't understand you," i said. "i mean about that. i s'pose you consider you found it?" "well, there isn't much doubt about that," i said. "oh, i don't see nothing to laugh at in it. all right, then. i don't grumble, only you can't say as all the country up here is to be yours." "of course not. what do you mean?" "oh, only that i don't see no fun in your making a fortune and me being left nowhere. i want a fortune too. i'm going to hunt now for myself." "nonsense!" i cried; "what is the use of your going away? isn't there enough here for both of us?" "dunno," said esau, scratching his head. "that is what i want to know; you ain't got much yet." "why, esau," i said, struck by his surly way, "we were the best of friends when we came out." "yes; but we hadn't found gold then--leastwise you hadn't." "but what difference does that make?" "ever so much. you're going to be rich, and i ain't. every one ain't so lucky as you." "but, esau," i cried, "of course you will share with me. we found it together." "say that again." "i say that we will share together." "what, go halves?" "of course." "you mean it?" "why, of course i mean it. you've as good a right to the gold we find as i have." "here, shake hands on it." i laughingly held out my hand, which he seized and pumped up and down. "i always thought your father was a gentleman," he cried. "now i feel sure as sure of it. halves it is, and we won't tell a soul." "but we must," i cried. "what, and let some one come and get it all?" "i should only tell some one who has a right to know: mr raydon." "what right's he got to know?" cried esau. "i say, don't go and throw it all away." "i consider that mr raydon, who has welcomed us here and treated us as friends, has a perfect right to know." "but it's like giving him a share in it." "well, why not?" "but, don't you see, it will be thirds instead of halves, and he'll want to bring some one else in, and it 'll make it fourths." "well, and if he did? sometimes a fourth is better than a half. i mean with the help of a clever man we should get more for our fourth than we should if we had half apiece." "oh, all right. i s'pose you know," he cried; "but i wouldn't tell any one else." "of course i'm right," i said, sharply. "and we couldn't go on getting the gold here without his knowing it. so you'd better tell him." "that's a nice selfish way of looking at it, master esau," i said. "dessay it is," he replied; "but gold makes you feel selfish. i dunno that i feel so glad now that we've found it." and i don't think i felt quite so excited and pleased as i had a short time before. "it ain't my fault," said dean; "it's your thinking i didn't want to play fair." "don't talk like that," i cried, angrily. "who thinks you don't want to play fair? no, no; don't say any more about it. now then: can we recollect this spot exactly?" "why, you said that there must be gold all along." "yes, i know," i cried; "but mr raydon may want to see the place, and we must bring him where we can find some and show him directly." "well," said esau, "there's a clump of fir-trees on this side, and a clump of fir-trees on that side." "oh, you old stupid," i cried, "when there are clumps of fir-trees everywhere. that won't do." "well then, let's make a cross with our knives on those twisting ones." "what, to tell people this is the very place? that wouldn't do." "well then," he cried, peevishly, "you find out a better way." i stood thinking a few minutes, but no better way came. then i thought i had hit out the plan. "look here," i said, "we'll make the two crosses on the other side of the trees. no one would notice them then." esau burst into a hoarse laugh. "of course they will not," he said, "nor us neither. why, you keep on coming to trees like these over and over all day long. we shan't find 'em again." i felt that he was right, and thought of plan after plan--putting stones in a heap, cutting off a branch, sticking up a post, and the like, but they all seemed as if they would attract people to the spot, and then induce them to search about and at last try the sand as quong did, and i said so. "yes," said esau, "that's right enough. there ain't many people likely to see 'em but indians, and i s'pose they won't go gold-washing, nor any other washing, for fear of taking off their paint." "well, what shall we do?" i cried. "we mustn't lose the place again now we have found it, and we shall be sure to if we don't mark it. i've seen hundreds of places just like this." "well then, why not make a mark?" said esau. "because whoever sees it will be sure that it means something particular, for some one to stop and search." "make a mark then on that big tree which will tell 'em to go on," said esau, grinning. "but how?" "i'll show you," he said; and he took out his big knife from its sheath. "let's look round again first." we looked round, but the silence was almost awful, not even a bird's note fell upon our ears. once a faint, whistling sound came from the far distance, that was all; and esau went up to the biggest fir-tree whose trunk was clear of boughs, and he was about to use his knife, when we both jumped away from the tree. for from close at hand came a sharp, clear tap, as if somebody had touched the ground with a light cane. "what's that?" whispered esau, with his eyes staring, and his mouth partly opened. i shook my head. "some one a-watching us," he whispered. "here, let's dive right in among the trees and see." but i held his arm, and we stood in that beautiful wild ravine, listening to the rippling of the water, and peering in among the tall pines, expecting to see the man who had made the sound. "i say," whispered esau, "i can't see or hear anything. ain't it rather rum?" he said "rum," but he looked at me as if he thought it very terrible, with the consequence that his fear was contagious, and i began to feel uncomfortable as we kept looking at each other. "shall we run?" whispered esau. at another time such an idea would not have occurred to him. the forest and the streams that run up the valleys were always solitary, but we felt no particular dread when going about, unless we saw the footmarks of bears. but now that we were in possession of the secret of the gold, the same idea of our being watched impressed us both, and we turned cold with fear, and all because we had heard that faint blow on the ground. i don't know whether i looked pale as i stood by esau, when he asked me if we should run, but i do know that the next moment i felt utterly ashamed of myself, and in the reaction--i suppose to conceal my shame for my cowardice--i struck esau heavily on the shoulder and made a false start. "run--run--the fort!" i cried. esau bounded off, and i hung back watching him till he turned to see me standing there laughing, when he stopped short, looking at me curiously, and then came slowly to where i was. "what did you say run for?" he cried, angrily. "you asked me if you should," i replied. "then there ain't no one coming?" "no." "what a shame!" he cried. "it's too bad." "yes, for us to be frightened at nothing. do you know what that noise was?" "no, i don't know." "it was a squirrel dropped a nut or a fir-cone. why, it's just the same noise as you hear in the country at home when they drop an acorn." "then why didn't you say so? i've never been in no countries where squirrels shies nuts and acorns at people. i've always seen 'em in cages spinning round and round." "that's what it was, esau. there's nobody watching. now then, how are you going to mark the tree?" he looked at me rather sulkily, but began to smile directly, as he drew his keen-edged knife across the trunk of the great tree upon which he was going to operate before. then, making a parallel incision close to the first, he produced a white streak where he removed the bark. "well," i said, "that's as bad as anything." "no, it ain't: wait a bit," he said; and carving away at the thick bark, he made four deep incisions at one end so as to form an arrow-head, and eight at the other end for the feathering of the arrow, so that when he had ended there was a rough white arrow on the red bark pointing down the river, and of course in the direction of the fort. "there!" he said, triumphantly. "no brave will think that means gold in the stream, will he?" i confessed that it was most unlikely, and we started off home. "wouldn't old quong like to know of that?" i said. "yes; he'd give something--half of what he found i dare say," cried esau; "but he isn't going to know, nor anybody else, from me." chapter thirty five. "on my word of honour." i felt rather startled when we left the valley, for we came suddenly upon a large party of indians who seemed very different to the quiet, stolid-looking beings we had been accustomed to see with their skin canoes, or busy fishing along the side of the river. these were swarthy, fierce-looking fellows, mounted on sturdy, wiry-looking ponies--steeds which they sat admirably. it might be thought that they would be as much surprised and startled as we were, but they did not make a sign to indicate that they even saw us, but rode slowly along, well armed, and with their long hair, feathers, and gaily-coloured blankets, giving them a brightly picturesque look. "they don't mean mischief, do they?" whispered esau. "no, they must be friendly indians," i said; "and look, they've got packs on those other horses. i know: they are taking skins up to the fort." this proved to be the case, for the party kept right on in the same track as we were taking, halting a short distance from the gate of the fort; but, though we were pretty close to them all the time, they never made the slightest sign of being aware of our presence; and when we entered, and i glanced back, i could see that they were already beginning to make their little camp, while others were seeing to the laden horses. "what!" said mr raydon, when i told him of my discovery. "gold?" "yes; and i think in large quantities." "are you sure it is gold?" he said. i took out what i had found, and placed the little scales before him. he seized them, and examined them carefully, closing his hand over them afterward, and sitting gazing straight before him for some moments, while a chill of dread ran through me. "it is not gold," i thought; and as i gazed at him intently, he looked up. "well?" he said. "you think it is not gold, sir?" i said. "i am sure it is," he replied, sadly. "tell me whereabouts you found it;" and i described the place. "yes," he said; "one of our most lovely valleys. here, are you tired?" "no." "are you?" he said, turning to esau, who replied that he was not the least so. "stop a moment--to whom have you spoken?" "spoken, sir?" "how many people about the place have you told about the gold?" "no one, sir." "neither of you?" he said, with a sharp look at esau. "we came straight to you," i said, "because i felt that you ought to know about it, and i thought you would give us your advice." he laid his hand on my shoulder, and gripped it fast, speaking very firmly, but in a kindlier tone than i had heard from him before. "that's right," he said, "quite right. we'll go up there at once, and see if this is an important discovery, or only one of the little patches that are found at times." "then no one saw you there?" he said, after a few minutes' thought. "we did not see a soul, sir, till we came out of the little valley, and found that party of indians coming here." he stood with his brows knit, thinking deeply, and then he nodded his head sharply. "yes," he said, "we'll go at once. come along." he led us to his garden, and out of the shed took a shovel and a shallow wooden basket. "you lads can carry these," he said, "and i'll take my rifle. it will look as if we are going on some pleasure trip. one minute, though, while i give orders about those indians." he spoke to his second in command, giving him some instructions, whose import i did not understand then; and afterwards we strolled out through the gate slowly enough, and wandered away along the track and down by the lake, mr raydon stopping every now and then to pick up some flower or stone to which he drew my attention. this went on till we were out of sight of the fort, when his whole manner changed. "now, boys," he said, sharply, "on as fast as you can. how far is it from here?" "about two hours' walk," i said. "then we shall not be back much before dusk; so best leg foremost." it was quite the two hours before we got to the spot where the tree was blazed, and mr raydon's keen eyes detected the sign long before we were abreast of it. "your mark to show the spot, eh?" he said. "very ingenious. it would have deceived me. now wait a few minutes." he walked forward for a few hundred yards, and then returned. "no one has been along here," he said. "there is not a footmark. now then; to work." he stood his rifle against a tree, stripped off his boots and stockings, and signed to me to do the same. "you, my lad," he said to esau, "keep watch by my rifle, and at the slightest sign or sound give me warning. now then, gordon, in with you and use the shovel." i stepped into the stream, where it was shallow, and in obedience to his instructions plied the tool, and threw three or four spadefuls into the shallow wooden basket, which he held down then in the running water, and rapidly agitated, giving it a curious circular motion, and letting the light sand run with the water over the side. then he stopped from time to time to pick out stones. "another shovelful," he said, "from that place. yes," he continued, as i obeyed him; "now another from as deep as you can. in with it." thus in the late afternoon, with the sun getting low, and throwing our shadows far over the stream, he worked the basket about in the water somewhat after the manner adopted by quong, but of course on a large scale, for the basket was heavy with what i had thrown in, and it made the muscles stand out in knots upon his arms where he had rolled his sleeves up to his shoulders; and i remember thinking, as i gazed at his sun-browned face and grey hair, what a fine thing it must be to feel so big and strong and manly. esau stood resting on the rifle, for he could not resist the temptation of taking hold of it to stand like a sentry, while i, nearly up to my knees in water, raised one foot and rested it on the blade of the shovel, as intent as my companion, and, i am afraid, indulging in all kinds of golden dreams of wealth and position, and of how happy we should all be. it did not take long to arrange what i should do for mrs john dempster. i know i had determined upon a carriage and pair, with a very careful coachman, expressly for her use; though how it was to be got out to that wilderness, or used there, i did not stop to think. i only meant her to grow well and strong, and have every luxury, while mr john could be a perfect country gentleman, and study, and be my friend. that gold was to be regular arabian nights wealth, and i felt already quite a prince. these ideas floated rapidly through my brain, while mr raydon made a low washing noise with the tiny basket, and discoloured the flowing water as he let the fine sand pass away. all at once he stopped, held the dripping basket--every drop which ran from it turned to ruddy gold by the sinking sun--tightly between his knees, and again rapidly picked out the larger stones, sending them flying about, to fall with a splash in the water. "can i help you, sir?" "no, my boy, no," he said. "i have done this thing before. one can manage it best." just then i heard a sigh from esau, who could not refrain in his anxiety from coming nearer the river. this made mr raydon look up sharply, and he smiled. "hullo, sentry," he said, "you're not keeping a good look out. mind what you are about with that rifle." "yes, sir, i'll be very careful," said esau, "and i am looking out well." "for the gold," said mr raydon, in an undertone, which words i caught, as he went on picking and throwing out smaller stones, then washing the basket round again and again, and the more he worked, the more his countenance seemed to change, till it looked older and more careworn than i had ever seen it before. i knew that there were a few scales and beads of gold, for i had seen them glisten in the sunshine as he rapidly moved the basket but directly after i felt horribly disappointed, for he set it right down in the water, the weight of stones within it keeping it at the bottom, and splashed toward me. "here," he said roughly, "give me the shovel." i gave it into his hand, and he waded half across to where there was an eddy behind a huge mass of rock, and bending down here, he scraped away the stones and sand, as if trying to make a hole, discolouring the water right along the stream. then, forcing the shovel down as far as he could drive it, he brought up a dripping quantity of sand and small gravel, placed it in the basket, returned for another shovelful, and placed it with the other before handing the shovel to me. "if there is much gold," he said, "it would lie at the bottom of that eddy, where it would be swept when the stream is in flood. now, then, we shall see." for another ten minutes he went on washing again, while i could see esau, as he crept nearer and nearer, perspiring with impatience, and glancing up and down what in the setting sun now seemed to be a golden valley, for water, rocks, and the ferns seemed to be tinted of a ruddy yellow, and the tall fir-trees stood up like spires of gold. at last i caught a glimpse of something bright again, but i could not be sure that there was more gold in the basket; it might only be the stones glistening in the wonderful ruddy light that filled the ravine. "hah!" ejaculated mr raydon, and he once more set down the basket beneath the water. "hard work. what trouble men take to get gold!" "there is some in the basket, isn't there, sir?" i said anxiously, and in no wise prepared for the result. "we'll see directly," he said. "let's get out of this. the water is bitterly cold." he waded out now with the basket, from which the golden water dripped as if the contents were melting. "why, there is some," cried dean, excitedly. "some?" cried mr raydon, bitterly. "unfortunately, yes. look!" and he held the basket sidewise in the full blaze of the glowing sun, giving it a shake, so that we could see scales, beads, and tiny nuggets dotted about among the flashing stones, and all looking of that beautiful pure yellow colour which is possessed alone by native gold. "why, there must be pounds," cried esau, excitedly. "pish!" ejaculated mr raydon, contemptuously. "how you boys let your imagination go wild! there must be, however, a full ounce--a wonderful washing for the trial." "then you are not disappointed, sir?" i said, eagerly. "yes," he cried, turning upon me fiercely; "horribly." "but there must be quantities more, sir." "yes. i was in hopes that it was a mere patch, but everything points to the fact that the stream is rich, and it may be far better higher up." "but you said you were disappointed, sir?" i said, as he sat down, and began to replace his stockings and boots. "i am boy, horribly." "with all that wealth before us?" "yes. do you know what it means?" "riches for us all, sir," i said, proudly. "hah! look here, boy. i have been out in these glorious valleys many years now. the place is a perfect eden, where nature smiles upon us, and wealth showers her golden gifts. you know my home, and that no troubles come, save some trifle with the indians now and then. do you know what would happen if it were known that this ravine teems with gold?" "we should set to work and make fortunes of it, sir, and not let it be known." "bah! impossible, gordon. in one month from now the news would have spread; and as long as the gold lasted, this place would be turned from a paradise into a horror. the scum of the american population would float here, with all the lawlessness that was in california in its early days. drinking-bars and gambling-saloons would rise like mushrooms; and where now all is beauty and peace, there would be robbery, violence, murder, drunkenness, and misery too horrible to contemplate." "what!" i cried, incredulously, "because a rich supply of gold is found?" "yes. i have seen it all, and i know," he cried; "and i have often hoped and prayed that no gold might be found near here. gold can be made a blessing, but too often it has proved a curse." i looked at esau, and in spite of my trouble and disappointment as i saw my fortune fading away, and with it mrs john's carriage and my life of ease and plenty, i could not help smiling, for my companion's face was comic in the extreme. "there, let's get back," said mr raydon, stamping his feet in his heavy boots. "but what--" "am i going to do with the gold?" he said, quickly. "oh, we'll take it home with us. dig up a root or two of those ferns to put in the basket, and hide what we have found." "then you will not work for the gold with us, sir?" i said, as esau stood holding the rifle, listening eagerly. "no," said mr raydon, sternly. "and now listen. i am chief officer of this fort and station. i am, so to speak, almost a king here among these people; and amongst the tribes who come to trade i am their father and chief of chiefs, and my word is law." "yes, sir, i know," i said. "you two lads were sent out to me by my thoughtless brother-in-law, who is always meaning well and doing ill. you were delighted by the prospect, and did not see what a mad scheme it was. as it happens, all has turned out well, though it is almost a miracle to me that you have both reached me in safety." i thought of gunson, and how we could not have done it without his help; and as i thought of him, i recalled the object of his visit to this region--prospecting for gold and other metals--and of what he would say to our discovery. "well," said mr raydon, "you reached me safe and sound, and though i was annoyed at your coming and being thrown on my hands as you were, i think i may say i have not treated you unkindly." "indeed you have not," i cried earnestly, as i held out my hand to him. "you have been very generous to us both, sir, and i am most grateful." "then prove it," he cried, gripping my hand. "how, sir? what shall i do?" "hold your tongue. do not say a word of your discovery to a soul. above all, that friend of yours, gunson, the prospector, must never know." "not tell any one, sir? not make use of our discovery?" "no," he said, firmly. "promise." "oh, i say!" cried esau. "and you too, sir!" said mr raydon. i stood looking at him for a few minutes, thinking as he fixed his eyes on mine, and then i pressed his hand firmly. "yes, sir; i promise." "on your word of honour as a gentleman's son?" "on my word of honour as a gentleman's son, sir," i said, proudly. "that will do," he said, releasing my hand, and smiling at me warmly. "i like that, mayne, better than any oaths. now, esau dean, what have you to say?" "oh, i don't like it at all, sir," said esau, bluntly; "but him and me's been mates all through, and i won't go back from anything he says. but it is disappointing, now ain't it?" "it seems so to you, my lad," said mr raydon, kindly; "but give me your promise, and it may prove of more value to you than your share of the gold. you see i give up my claim, and mine would be a big one if i liked to exercise it, i dare say." "am i to promise, mr gordon, sir?" said esau. "yes, just as i have." "all right, i promise too." "i look to you both to keep your words." "i shan't tell nobody unless he does," said esau, gruffly, as he stood the rifle against a stone. "and he will not," said mr raydon. "there, let's get back. i never leave the place as a rule when indians are about." "are they dangerous?" i asked. "no; and yet not to be trusted. what savages really are, gordon? thanks, my lad," he said, as i dug up and placed a couple of fern-roots with their spreading fronds in the basket, so as to completely cover the fine gravel at the bottom, and the gold. "we must wash it again when we get back," he continued, "and then divide it in two equal portions, for you lads to keep as a memento of to-day's work. now, dean, give me my rifle." esau ran back to where he had stood the rifle, and was coming back, when he tripped and fell. at the same moment it seemed to me that some one struck me a violent blow beneath my left shoulder which drove me partly round, and made me drop the basket just as there was a sharp report, followed by a peculiar ringing in my ears, and then all was blank. chapter thirty six. my doctor and nurse. when i opened my eyes again it was with a horrible sensation of sickness at my heart, and my eyes swam, but i could dimly make out mr raydon's face, as he leaned over me, and i heard him say, as if he was speaking a very long way from me in a very small voice-- "that's right; go on. keep bathing his face." then i heard esau speak in a faint choking voice. "oh, sir! oh, sir! he won't die, will he? tell me he won't die." "i tell you to keep on bathing his face. there, take that basket and throw the wretched gold back into the stream. the basket will hold a little water at the bottom. no, no! squeeze what you have in your handkerchief first over his face." there was a cool refreshing sensation on my face directly after, and all the time i could hear that esau was in great trouble, for he kept on softer with a curious moaning voice-- "oh--oh--oh--oh!" it seemed very strange, and sounded to me as if it was all occurring some distance off, and i wanted to shout to him, and ask what was the matter. but mr raydon was still leaning over me, pulling me about it seemed, and a sharp pain suddenly shot through me, and made me wince. "don't--don't," i said, faintly; but he kept on burning me, so it seemed to me, with a red-hot iron in the chest; and after doing this for some time, while esau kept on after a bit making his low moaning sound and splashing water over my face, mr raydon turned me over, and began burning me on the back. i wanted to struggle, and tell him to leave off, but no words would come; and he kept on hurting me dreadfully, and pushing me about, for what seemed to be a terribly long time, before he turned me again upon my back. "oh, do tell me, sir, please do tell me, whether he'll die," i heard esau say again, and i fancied that i caught sight of him through a thick cloud. "i cannot tell you, my lad," i heard mr raydon say. "please god! no." "but i shot him, sir; i shot him. it was me, and i declare to goodness i'd sooner have shot myself." "yes, my lad, i believe you," said mr raydon, very faintly, from further away now. "is it--is it right through the heart?" "no, no, no, not, so bad as that. the bullet has passed right through just below the shoulder." "there--then he'll bleed to death," groaned esau. "no; i've stopped that. quick! more water; he's going off again." "he's dying! he's dying!" cried esau, very close to me now, as it seemed to me; but his voice died out quickly, beginning as a shrill cry and ending in a faint whisper, and it all grew dark and silent for a time. then once more i seemed to wake up with a shrill-toned bell ringing loudly in my ears; and i lay with a terrible sensation of deathly faintness till i heard esau say, close to me--"i'll carry him, sir." "no, no, my lad." "but you don't know how strong i am, sir." "we must not shake him more than we can help, and he must be in an easy position. have you your knife? i left mine." "yes, sir, here," cried esau; and then in a low voice, "oh, poor chap! poor chap!--what have i done!" i lay very still then, listening to a hacking noise as if some one were chopping with a knife, and i listened again for what seemed a long time to a good deal of rustling and panting, and what sounded like the tearing up of handkerchiefs. "there," said mr raydon, "if we are careful that will bear him. now then--no, wait a moment. i must tie the rifle to this pole. i want something else." "here's my other boot-string, sir," i heard esau say. "yes, capital. that will do. now, are you ready? get hold of his legs quietly; don't hesitate, and when i say _now_, both lift together." i had some faint, wondering thought as to whom they were talking about, when a terrible pang shot through me, and i felt myself lifted up and laid down again on what felt like a bed of fir-branches. the sickness did not increase, and i lay there listening to some one moaning as if in pain, while i became conscious of a curious, swinging motion as i was being gently borne up and down and carried through the air. then i seemed to fall into an uneasy sleep, and to lie and dream about mr raydon burning my chest with red-hot irons, and these changed to little nuggets of gold which burnt me every time they touched my chest or back. at times the pain ceased, and then it began again, always with the swaying motion, while now and then, when the movement ceased, i began to dream of cool fresh water moistening my brow, and being trickled between my burning lips. that was a long, wearisome, painful dream, which lasted for what felt like an indefinite time, to be succeeded by other dreams in which the terrible bear's head from mr raydon's office was always pursuing me, and the great moose's head looking on in a melancholy, pitiful way. and it did not appear strange to me that as i tried to escape and started on up and up a ravine where the sun scorched my brains, that the heads should be following without, any bodies. there they always were, the bear's head with the huge teeth waiting to seize me if i only halted for a minute, and the moose's head hurrying on to be there and pity me when i was caught. how i seemed to toil in terrible agony to get away, the sun burning, and the way up which i climbed growing more and more stony with precipices, down which i was always about to fall! then great rows of the heads of the mountain sheep came in my way with their large curled horns threatening to drive me back into the jaws of the grizzly bear, which was always close behind. it seemed hidden sometimes behind heaps of skins, but i always knew it was there, and its great muzzle came out again. i tried to run--to climb further, but something held me back, and the burning on my head grew terrible. i was thirsty too, and i thought that the moose pitied me, and would show me the way to water; but it only looked at me mournfully till i awoke in the darkness, and lay wondering for a few minutes before i stretched out my hand and felt that i was in my bed, and as i lay there, i suddenly saw in the darkness the shape of my door formed by four faint streaks of light which grew brighter, and directly after there was the sharp point of light where the keyhole was, near one side. it seemed very strange, and more so that the door should open directly after, and mr raydon be standing there in his shirt and trousers carrying a candle. "what does he want?" i thought to myself in a confused way, as i saw him come into our room, and the light fell on esau, who was not undressed, but lying on his bed with his mouth wide open. suddenly he started up, and mr raydon raised his hand, and i heard him say, "_sh_!" the next minute he was holding the candle over my bed, looking in on my face. "what's the matter?" i said; "i'm not asleep;" but it did not sound like my voice speaking. it was mr raydon's turn now, and he whispered to me-- "lie quite still, mayne. are you in much pain?" "no," i said. "i don't know. my shoulder aches." "don't talk; try and go to sleep again." i looked up at him in a confused, puzzled way, and as i looked his face began to grow misty, and the candle to burn more dimly, till both faded slowly away, and all was dark once more. i opened my eyes once more, and there was mr raydon standing by me with a candle, and it was so faint that i could not be sure; and so it was again and again as it seemed to me, and when i opened my eyes at last, the bedroom window was wide, the sun shining in, and bringing with it the sweet lemon-scented odour of the pines, and esau was seated there watching me. "hush!" he said, as i was opening my lips to speak. "mustn't talk." "nonsense," i said; "i want to know." i stopped there, for my voice puzzled me, and i lay wondering for a few moments, till, like a flash of the sunshine coming into my darkened brain, i recollected the blow, the report of the rifle, and esau's cry, and knew that the rifle had gone off when he fell, and i was lying there badly wounded. "mr raydon said you wasn't to speak a word," said esau, softly; and he stole out of the room so quietly that i knew he must be without his boots. a few minutes passed, and the door opened again, with mr raydon coming in on tiptoe to advance and take my right hand within his left, and place a couple of fingers on my wrist. i smiled as he played the part of doctor like this, and he smiled back. "don't talk," he said; "i'll do that, my lad. come, this is better. not so feverish as i expected. just whisper when i ask a question. feel in much pain?" "my shoulder aches and burns," i said. "yes; it will for a time; but that will soon go off. you remember now about the accident? yes? that's right. you were a little delirious last night, and made me anxious, for we have no doctor hereabouts." "don't want one," said esau, softly. mr raydon asked me a few more questions, cautioned me not to speak much, and to lie quite still, and then left us together. esau sat looking at me for a few minutes with his arms rested upon his extended knees. "i say, you're not to talk, you know, but i may. i say, i am so sorry. hush!--no! you mustn't say you know that, or anything else. i only want to tell you it was an accident. you do know, don't you?" i nodded, and then lay back with my eyes closed; the pain caused even by that slight movement being agonising. dean saw it, and rose to moisten a sponge with cool water, and apply it to my temples, with the effect that the faint sensation coming on died away. "don't--please don't try to move again," he whispered, piteously. "you don't know how it hurts." the idea of its hurting esau sounded so comical to me in my weak state that i could not help smiling. "that's right," he said; "laugh again, and then i shall know i needn't go and fetch him. i say, do make haste and get better. shall i tell you all about it? don't speak; only say `yes' and `no' with your eyes. keep 'em open if you mean _yes_, and shut 'em for _no_. now then, shall i tell you?" i kept looking at him fixedly. "that means yes. well, i was bringing the gun, when i tripped and fell and it went off, and i wished it had shot me instead." esau gave a gulp here, and got up and began to walk up and down the room, pressing first one hand and then the other under his arms as if in pain from a cut at school with the cane; and for some moments the poor fellow was suffering so from emotion that he could not continue. at last he went on in obedience to an eager look from my eyes. "i run up just as he caught you, and tore off your things. oh, it was horrid. i felt when i saw what i'd done, and him bandaging you up, as if i'd killed you. but you don't feel so bad now. you ain't going to die, are you? say you ain't." i kept my eyes fixed on his, forgetting in my excitement what i ought to have done, when a cry brought me to myself, and i closed my eyes sharply. "ah, that's better," cried esau, and kneeling down by my bed he went on telling me how, as soon as i was bandaged, mr raydon cut two light poles and bound short pieces across them. then on these he laid pine-boughs, and i was lifted up, for them to convey me slowly down the ravine, and back to the fort. "i say," whispered esau, "i thought last night he meant to cheat us, and get all the gold for himself; but i don't think so now. wish he liked me as much as he likes you. what? do i think he does like you? yes; i'm sure of it. he was in a taking last night. and i say--ain't he quite a doctor too? he could do anything, i believe. there, i mustn't talk to you any more, because you were to be kept quiet." it must not be imagined that esau had kept on saying all the above to me rapidly, for one of these sentences was whispered very slowly now and then as i lay back feeling not much pain, but hot and feverish, and this change was noticed soon after by mr raydon when he came into the room. "you have been letting him talk," he said, angrily, as soon as he had taken my hand. "that i ain't, sir," cried esau, indignantly. "never let him speak a word." "that's right. he must be kept very still," said our friend, and he hurriedly left the room. "rather hard on a chap when he has been so particular," grumbled esau. "well, it was my doing, so i mustn't mind." he was still grumbling when our host re-entered with something in a cup which he gave me a little at a time, so that i should not have to move, and soon after he had left me my eyelids grew heavy, and i fell into a deep sleep, which lasted till it was growing dark, and i could only just make out esau's head as he sat watching by my bed. chapter thirty seven. in the spring. ask anybody what is the most delicious thing in life, and see what he or she will say. i do not believe any one will tell you what i do now. it is to have been dangerously ill, to be brought down very weak, to be getting better, and then to be carried or led out to sit in the sunshine of some bright genial morning. ah! that long breath of sweet life-inspiring air--those trees--those flowers--the blue sky--the bark of that dog--those kindly words of inquiry--that all-round feeling of joy and delight at being out there once more; the sensation which will bring the weak tears in your eyes for the simple reason that you are so happy. yes, it is a pleasant thing to have been very ill, if only for the sake of the thankful sensation that comes the first time you go out once more in the bright sunshine. how delightful it was, and what a long weary dream of misery i had passed through! i hardly knew even then how bad i had been. when i spoke to esau he used to screw his face up full of wrinkles, and shake his head, while mr raydon was as reticent. "never mind that," he would say; "you are better now." i learned later though, that for several months he had been in great doubt of my recovery. my wound would not heal, consequent upon a ragged fragment of the rifle-bullet remaining beneath a bone, and when at last it did come away, i was weak in the extreme, and, as esau said, "you couldn't get a doctor when you liked out there." so there i lay all through the long dark days of the winter, listening sometimes to the howling of the winds from the mountains, then to the beat and rush of the rain, and then at my worst time wondering why everything was so quiet, and learning from esau that we were snowed up deeply. i remember that he used to talk rapturously about the beauty of the scene around, with the great pine-trees loaded down with snow, and the sun in the clear blue sky, making the crystals of ice glitter till his eyes ached. "and you won't get up and come and have a look," he said. "you are a fellow." "yes, i am a fellow," i replied. "don't bother me, esau. i want to go to sleep." "but you're always going to sleep," he cried; "and so much sleep can't be good for you." all the same i passed through that long winter, and it seemed as if i never should be strong again. but, as the old country folk say, "never's a long day"; and as the earth began to waken from its lone sleep, so did i, and at last i was dressed to sit by the bonny log fire esau kept up as if he meant to roast me. there came a day when i sat with my window open, listening to the roar of the river, thinking and ready to ask myself whether it had all been a dream. then another day, when the sun was shining, and the scent of the pines came to where i sat; and at last in the spring-time i was to go out for the first time. i had to lean on patient, constant esau, and use a stick to get to where a chair had been set for me at the foot of a great douglas pine, where the moss was golden green, and the barberry leaves bright with a purply bronze. the river ran foaming and splashing before me at the bottom of a slope, looking milky and dirty, but down the rocks close by tumbled and sparkled one of the many tiny streams, and this was clear as crystal, and the brook flashed like diamonds in the bright sunshine. there was a great scarlet blanket thrown over the chair, ready to be drawn round me as soon as i had taken my seat; and as soon as esau had safely piloted me there, looking serious as a judge all the time, he suddenly seemed to go mad, for he cut a curious caper, threw his cap high up in the air, and shouted "hurrah." "there," he cried, as i lay back smiling and content, "you just say you ain't getting well, and i'll pitch into you." "i'm not going to say it," i said. "oh, esau, i do feel so weak, but so happy and well. i say though, don't shoot me again." esau's countenance changed. all the pleasure faded out, and he turned his back, and began walking slowly away. "esau," i said, "don't go." "i must," he said, stopping short, but without trying to face me. "got to fetch your stoo. he said it was the best physic you could take." "but, esau, i don't want it now; i'm sorry i said that." "so am i; sooner ha' shot myself hundreds o' times. wish i had shot myself dead instead, and then you wouldn't be able to jump on me." "it was very unkind," i said; "please forgive me." "all right, i'm going to fetch your stoo." he did not turn round, but walked away toward the gate of the palisade just as there was a fierce deep-toned barking, and rough came bounding down toward my chair. "he'll knock me over," i thought, as i saw his gleaming teeth, and the thick pile of hair about his neck, a natural armour which had protected him in many an encounter with wolf or bear. and for the moment it seemed as if the great animal would send me clean over as he charged wildly; but just as he was close to me he turned off, dashed away, came back, up and down, barking furiously, and ended by making a sudden stop, to stand there with his great muzzle laid in my lap, and his eyes looking earnestly up in mine. i placed my hand upon his head, and as i did so i could not help thinking how thin and white it was; and this made me lie back recalling how bad i must have been, and how clever mr raydon had been to save my life, tending me as he had just like a doctor. that made me think too of every one else--the men's wives, who had waited on me and brought me flowers; grey, who shot game; and above all of quong and esau, who had seemed to spend all their time in attending upon one who had been irritable, and as helpless as a baby. as i thought, my fingers played about the great head in my lap, pulling the long ears, stroking the muzzle, and all the time the eyes blinked up at me, and once there was a long-drawn sigh as of satisfaction, which made me ready to fancy that even the dog was glad to see me out again after my long, weary illness. all at once rough raised his head and uttered a low, muttering growl, followed by a couple of short barks; and on looking round there were esau and quong coming, the latter bearing a basin and a plate of bread. "velly good soup," said quong, eagerly. "velly stlong. quite leady." he placed the basin on my knees, rough drawing back a little, and looking as if it was hard work not to make a snatch at that cake and bear it off. but he had been well trained, and sat watching me patiently, content to catch the pieces thrown to him with a loud snap, while i partook of what esau called my "stoo." it was very good, and "so stlong," as quong called it, that i felt as if i ought to feel the strength coming back into my weak arms and legs. "dlink um allee up," said quong; and i persevered and finished the contents of the basin, which he then took, nodded at me, and then turned to the dog, who stood now on all fours and barked at him fiercely. "hey?" cried quong. "you say wantee allee bone left?" there was a peal of furious barks here. "allee light. you come 'long. velly good dog." rough uttered another hoarse bay, and went off after the little chinaman, looking so big by his side that i could not help thinking of what the consequences might have been if they had proved enemies instead of friends. "well, esau," i said, "i'm a long time growing well." "oh, i don't know. you're getting on now fast. i say, do you ever think about that gold now?" "oh, yes," i replied, with a shudder; "often." "well," he said, in an ill-used tone, "you needn't think of the accident too. for it was an accident, you know." "yes, we've talked about that times enough, all those weary months." "yes, it was tiring, and it put a stop to all the hunting and shooting we might have had. but it's been good as well as bad. you missed lots of bad weather, and cold, and snow." "what's the day of the month?" i said. "day of the month? i dunno. end of march, they say, and it's going to be fine weather now." "has mr raydon ever said anything to you about the gold?" "no, never a word. but i say, it do seem a pity not to get more of it, don't it?" "i don't know," i replied. "i want strength, not gold. how long will it be before mr and mrs john get here?" "ah, that's what i want to know," cried esau. "i was thinking about that this morning; leastwise i wasn't thinking about them, but about mother. wonder what she'll say to me when she knows?" "knows what?" "'bout me shooting you. she will be wild, for she was a deal fonder of you than she was of me." "nonsense, esau!" i cried. "why, she used to talk to me about you for hours." "dessay she did. but, i say, do make haste and get well before the indians come again. grey says they'll be here soon with loads of skins that they've shot and trapped in the winter." our conversation was interrupted by the coming of mr raydon. "ah, mayne," he said; "that's better. you must keep that up every day when it's fine. fresh air and the scent of our pines form the finest strengthening medicine a sick man can have." he stopped chatting to me for some time, and at last i ventured upon the topic which interested both esau and myself. "how long do i think it will be before the travellers get across to us? hah! that's a poser, my lad. so much depends upon my sister's health, and her ability to travel. of course they have been resting during the worst time. however, i hope they will not be here till you are thoroughly on your legs again." chapter thirty eight. "do i look fortunate?" as the time glided on i used to be quite in despair. "i don't get any stronger, esau," i used to say, pettishly. "what? why, look at you!" he'd cry. "on'y t'other day you was walking with a stick and a crutch." "i was not," i said, indignantly. "i never had a crutch." "that you did, sir," he said, with a chuckle; "and now you've chucked 'em both away and goes alone." "but my legs feel so weak, and ache so directly." "tchah! what o' that! why, only t'other day they used to double up like an old two-foot rule, or a knife with the spring broke. you're coming all right enough. i say, i want to talk to you." he gave a sharp look round as we stood beside the stream where it entered the river--the stream up which we had found the gold, and to whose bank we had come to catch trout with rods and lines of our own manufacture, and grasshoppers for bait. i had been fishing, but after taking three decent trout, i had lain down wearied out, and now esau squatted down by me, with his rod across his knees. "i say," he whispered, "what about that gold up yonder?" "well, what about it?" "don't you never think about it a deal?" "sometimes. do you?" "always. i can't get away from it. seems as if something's always tempting me to go and get it." "but you cannot," i said, sharply. "we gave our word to mr raydon." "yes, that's the worst of it. i can't think how a fellow can be so stupid." "let it go, and don't think about it." "that's what i want to do, but i can't help myself, and i'm always wanting to get lots of it, and be rich." "rubbish!" i cried, testily. "gold ain't rubbish," said esau, gruffly. "of course i should give you half." "we promised mr raydon not to touch that gold any more," i said; "so don't talk or think about it. promise me." "i'll promise not to talk about it," he replied; "but it's no use to promise not to think about it, because it will come. why, i dream about it every night." "then you must not," i said. "i was talking to mr raydon last night about what is to be done when mr john comes." "well, what does he say? anything about the gold?" "no," i cried, fiercely. "of course you think about it if you are always talking of it. he says that he thinks the best thing will be for mr john to have some land lower down the river at a place we passed; that there are twenty or thirty acres of good rich soil, and that as he will have us with him, we must learn to use axes and help him to clear the land, and plant it with fruit-trees, and build a house on the clearing." "yes; that's all right enough, only the trees take so long to bear." "that he will help us with different things till we can manage alone; and that before many years are gone we can make ourselves quite a good home." "oh!" ejaculated esau. "but then that will take a long time, and you won't be able to work much, and i don't think mr john dempster will, not being strong, and all the time there's enough gold up--" "will you hold your tongue?" i cried, angrily. "do you want me to hit you?" "if you like," he said, grinning. "don't think you could hurt me much." "you coward!" i cried. "wait till i get strong again." "i shall be precious glad," said esau, "for i'd a deal rather you gave me one or two cracks than kept on saying the things you do sometimes. my! how you have given it me ever since you have been ill! it has made you raspy." i winced a little at this, for i felt that i had been horribly irritable. "i can't help thinking about the gold, but i won't say gold no more as long as i live." i could not help laughing at this earnest delivery, and esau showed his teeth. "there, i don't care," he said. "i'm happy enough here if you'll get well. but i do wish old gunson knew about it." i looked sharply at esau, for these words of his impressed me. i had often wished that gunson knew of what we had found, for i thought that perhaps he was struggling on without a bit of good fortune. the thoughts passed from my mind directly, as esau began to make casts with his line here and there, as if fishing in the grass. "well, i don't mind," he said. "turn farmer, eh?--and plant trees, and cut trees down, and build a house. all right. it will be good enough, and you and me will go and shoot and fish. i shall like it. shall we have old quong?" "i suppose so, if he'll stay. there, let's go on fishing, and take back some trout for mr raydon's tea. i do feel so idle and helpless. do you think he ever feels that we are staying too long?" "dunno," said esau. "i should if i was him." these words made me feel very low-spirited, and that night i broached the subject to mr raydon, apologising for being there so helpless and weak, and ending by asking him if i had not better go down to the mouth of the river again. he looked at me searchingly. "tired of this place?" he said. "oh no," i replied. "i have been very happy here." "then why do you talk of going?" "because i feel as if i must be a burden to you." "indeed! well, suppose i say go, and you make your way back along the river very slowly, for you are in a miserably weak state?" "yes, sir; but i am getting better now." "yes, i know; but suppose, as soon as you are gone, my sister and her husband appear, what am i to say to them?" "i had not thought of that," i replied. "but you see i had. but come, mayne, be frank with me. you have some other reason for wanting to go." he looked at me so searchingly that i coloured, for i could feel my cheeks burning. "no, sir," i said; "no other reason." "not gold-hunting?" "no; indeed, no." "but you and dean have been talking about your discovery a good deal." "i--i think not, sir," i said, hesitatingly. "we have talked about it." "and what a pity it is for a fortune to be lying there untouched?" "dean thought something of the kind, sir. i did not." "ha!" he said, as he again fixed me with his eyes. "no, mayne, you must not think of going away. you have not exhausted my stock of hospitality yet." perhaps it was fancy, i said to myself, but it certainly seemed to me during the next few days, whenever i went out for a good long stroll with esau, some one seemed to be watching us. one day it was grey who encountered us somewhere on the mountain-side; another day it was one of the men; and again, on another, mr raydon himself, whose presence was announced by the great dog, who came bounding up, to be followed in a few minutes by his master. he did not stay long, but as soon as he was gone i found that my feelings were shared by esau himself. "i say," he growled, "are they afraid we are going to lose ourselves?" "why?" i asked. "because whenever we come right away into the woods, they send that dog to scent us out." "yes; they generally send somebody," i said, thoughtfully. "do you know why?" whispered esau. i glanced at him, but did not answer. "it's because the chief's afraid we shall go up yonder trying for gold." "and he does not trust us," i said to myself, as i felt that esau must be right; and the uncomfortable feeling of being suspected seemed to increase. i was thinking about this a good deal, and had made up my mind to ask mr raydon if he thought i could be so dishonourable, when we neared the fort, and i was startled back from my musings which were carrying me on through the interior, when esau uttered a cheery hail. "what's the matter?" i said. "can't you see? look!" he cried. "gunson!" i exclaimed; and sure enough there he was, coming slowly towards us, looking very old and careworn, and as if he had gone through a great deal of trouble since we parted in the autumn. "why, my lad," he cried, shaking hands with me warmly, "you look quite thin and white. been ill?" "yes," i said, as i grasped his hand warmly. "fever?" "no," i said, hesitatingly; "an accident." "why don't you tell him?" said esau, sturdily. "i shot him." "you shot him?" "yes," i said, quickly; "he let the rifle slip out of his hand somehow, and the ball hit me." "i'm not surprised," cried gunson, in a tone full of anger and contempt. "don't say any more about it," i cried. "it was an accident, and i'm getting better fast. tell me about what you have been doing." gunson laughed. "walking, wading in rivers, washing sand, climbing mountains, exposed to all sorts of weather, half-starved, half-frozen, and all to get the tempting gold." "no luck then?" said esau, eagerly. "not a bit, my lad." "what, ain't you found gold at all?" "oh, yes, in scores of places, but always where it would cost thirty shillings to earn a pound's worth. not profitable work, eh?" esau glanced at me, and i at esau, the same thought in both our minds-- that we could, in a couple of hours' walk from where we were, show him-- the wearied-out prospector--an ample supply. "if i only could tell him," i thought, as i recalled how generous and kind he had always been to us. but it was impossible, and i darted a look at esau which he understood, for he nodded at me in a curious way, setting me thinking that i must speak to him seriously again about our duty to mr raydon. i had hardly thought this when i saw the latter coming towards us. "ah, mr gunson," he said, with a sharp, keen glance, "you have kept your word, then, and come back." "yes, i've come back, and shall be glad of a day or two's rest." "you are welcome," replied mr raydon. "well, have you been very fortunate?" "what a question to ask me!" said gunson; "the most unlucky man that ever lived! do i look fortunate?" "no," said mr raydon, smiling; "far from it. there, come up to my place, and let me hear what you have been doing." as we approached the strangers' quarters, quong made his appearance with his eyes twinkling. "plenty flesh tea," he cried. "plenty new blead." "hullo, my celestial friend," said gunson, smiling at the eager-looking little fellow. "did you see me coming?" "no. not see. gley tell me mr gunson come, and make tea dilectly, and cook bacon." "ready to come on with me now, quong?" said gunson. "i'm going up the western part." quong stared. "what! go away? no. stop allee long here." "that's right, my lad. don't leave good quarters. been washing for gold lately?" "eh? washee washee gole? too much piecy make work. cook along big meat. no go out at all. you likee likee flesh blead, not blead high." "indeed, it will be a treat," said gunson, going into the place with mr raydon, while we kept back until he had finished his meal. "i say," said esau, as we walked about the enclosure, "can't little quong tell fibseys." "that's what i was thinking," i replied. "why, i've met him twice up the river trying for gold." "oh. i've seen him lots of times. he gets away when he has done his work, looking as innocent as you please, and all the time he's hunting for gold. i say, you see if mr raydon don't keep an eye on us for fear we should tell old gunson. my! wouldn't he like to know of our find. i can't understand how it is that he who knows all about it should be so unlucky, and you--" "we," i said. "well, we, then--should be so lucky, and find so much. dunno, though; it hasn't brought us much luck as yet." chapter thirty nine. quong is missing. it was all done in a quiet, unobtrusive way, but it seemed plain to me that mr raydon did try to keep us apart, or under his eye, during gunson's stay. this was not for long. the man seemed a good deal changed, and as if dissatisfied at being so very unsuccessful; and during his visit the temptation was very strong upon me to give him a hint as to where he might go and find all that he desired. and about this time i found that esau looked strange, and avoided me a good deal, going about as if he had something on his mind, and i was afraid to ask him what. "going to-morrow morning?" said mr raydon, as gunson made the announcement. "that is rather soon." "well, yes, it is soon," replied gunson; "but i may be coming back." "yes, of course," said mr raydon, giving him a quick look. "you may be coming back." these seem trifling words, but they made an impression upon me at the time, and i thought about them a good deal afterwards. in fact, i thought of them that night. it came on very dark, and i was standing just outside our place, when i heard a step, and directly after gunson came up slowly and thoughtfully. "who's that?" he cried sharply. i spoke, and he took my arm. "come and have a stroll out here," he said; and he led me out through the gateway and down toward the river. it seemed to me as if he were waiting for me to talk to him, for he was very silent; and at last, as i suggested that it was growing late, he turned back toward the fort, whose gates we had just reached, when i suddenly became aware of a figure standing there. "mr raydon," i said. "yes. been having a walk?" "down as far as the river," replied gunson. "by the way," he continued sharply, "what should you say to my trying your streams about here?" i saw mr raydon start slightly, but his voice sounded quite calm as he replied-- "that you had better follow out your original plans." "you would not recommend me to try?" "decidedly not." we all went in, and after sitting for a time, gunson rose to go to rest. quong had a famous breakfast ready next morning, of which i too partook; and an hour later we saw gunson once more on his way, mr raydon accompanying us, till with a careless wave of the hand the prospector went off, and we returned to the fort. that visit seemed to do me good. it was as if i had had a fillip, and during the next few days i felt a return of my old vigour--a feeling which made me restless and eager to be out in the sunshine all day long. i found myself eating, too, almost ravenously, and my sleep at nights, instead of being broken and feverish, grew to be long and restful. but somehow i did not feel happy, for mr raydon, though always pleasant and polite, was less warm, and he looked at me still in a suspicious way that made me feel uncomfortable. in other respects everything went on as usual, till one day, about a fortnight after gunson's departure, mr raydon said to me at breakfast-- "do you feel strong enough to go for a week's journey?" "oh yes," i said eagerly, for i was beginning to long for something in the way of change. "it means walking every step of the way," he said, smiling at my eagerness. "oh, i can walk again well now," i said. "dean and i were climbing up the first west mountain yesterday--that one," i said, pointing out of the window. "i don't know how many hours we were, but it was dark when we came back." "well then, we'll try. i shall take grey to try and lighten our loads a little, but we shall not go very far down the river." "you are going down the river?" i said, as i saw esau prick up his ears. "yes; i have two or three spots in my mind's eye that would be suitable for a home for my sister, and i want to see if they will do. perhaps you noticed them as you came--places that you would naturally pick out for camping as evening came on." "i can remember several at the mouths of little streams, or below falls," i said excitedly. "one or two were quite like bits of parks, with great sweeping branched pine-trees growing near." "good memory, mayne," he said, smiling. "well, i have made my arrangements. your chinaman shall go with us to cook, and we will select three or four spots; and afterwards, when these travellers come, we can take them to see the selection, and they can choose which they like." "how soon shall you start, sir?" i said. "this morning. it is a leisure period for me. no indians are likely to come for some time; and i can leave my people to take care of the place till we return. you feel that you can manage the walking?" "oh yes," i cried. "i am getting stronger every day." "that's right. dean, my lad, fetch quong, and let's see what sort of a load of flour, tea, and sugar we can pack up for him. i can easily supply our little camp with meat." "then there will be some hunting and shooting too?" i said, as esau hurried out to find quong. "oh yes, for the larder," replied mr raydon, speaking more in his old fashion now. "come, you are beginning to look quite yourself, my boy. i was beginning to be afraid i should have nothing but a broken-down invalid to show my sister." "i feel more like i did," i said, with my cheeks flushing. "be thankful then, my boy, for you had a very narrow escape. let me see; we must not overload ourselves, but i must have powder and bullets, as well as my rifle. a blanket each, of course, and our knives. that will be nearly all we need take, unless you lads bring a line or two and try for some trout." he began chatting then about mr john and his sister, and of how great a change it would be for her from a london life. "but health is the first consideration," he said, smiling. "a palace is little more than an infirmary to a sick person, and out here a snug cottage such as we can soon run up will become a palace to one who recovers health. isn't master dean a long time gone? oh, here he is. well, where is quong?" "can't find him anywhere, sir, nor his bundle neither." "what? absurd! he cannot have gone out. he cooked the breakfast. did any one see him go?" "i asked several of the men and women, sir, and they had not seen him." "asleep somewhere perhaps, as he feels that his work is done. here, we must find him, or he will throw my arrangements all wrong, and we shall have to wait till another day. it's a pity i did not speak last night, but i was not sure then." "i'll soon find him," i said. "yes, do, my lad, while i see to the rifle and ammunition." "come along, esau," i said; and he followed me as i hurried out. "well, where are you going?" grumbled esau. "i suppose you are very clever, but i should like to know how you are going to find him!" "but you have not searched everywhere." "i've searched everywhere that he was likely to be," replied esau. i stopped short, thinking as to which direction we had better take. "here, i know where he is," cried esau excitedly. "yes? where?" "gone up one of the streams to try for gold on the sly. you see if he don't find out our bit one of these days." "perhaps he has gone for that," i said thoughtfully. "i feel sure of it. he has been away lots of times for a bit, and i shouldn't wonder if he is getting that little physic-bottle of his pretty full." "he had better not let mr raydon know of it. he'd be in a towering rage," i said. "here, let's hunt him out, and put a stop to it." "all right," said esau. "here we are then. which way shall we go?-- east, west, north, or south, or half-way between any two of 'em. i'm willing; don't make no difference to me." i stood and stared at him, for now i saw first how absurd my proposal was, and how unlikely we were to find quong if we had really gone off on such a mission. esau grinned. "i say, 'tain't so easy, is it?" i made no reply, but stood thinking, and trying to find a solution to the difficulty. "seems to me," said esau, "that about the best way of finding this little gentleman is to go and sit down by his fire till he comes, for he goes off so quietly, and he may be anywhere now." "let's look round again," i said, "and if we cannot find him we had better go and tell mr raydon." it was humiliating, but the only thing to do; and after asking at every cottage in the enclosure without effect, i turned to go back to mr raydon's quarters, just as we saw the man grey going in that direction. "why, he might know," i said, hurrying my pace so that we entered almost at the same time, but too late to question him. "well," said mr raydon, "have you found him?" "no," i replied; and then turning quickly to grey, who had not yet spoken--"have you seen anything of quong?" "yes; he is at the west valley, i met him going there." "the west valley?" said mr raydon, starting and looking excitedly at the speaker. "what was he doing there?" "gone to join mr gunson and a party of men i suppose," said grey, slowly. "mr gunson? back?" i said wonderingly, but with a chill of dread spreading through me as i spoke. "what is he doing there?" "busy with the others. they have set up camp, and are washing for gold." i glanced at mr raydon, whose eyes were fixed on me, and i saw a furious look of anger gathering in his face, while esau backed slowly toward the door. "this is your doing, sir. here, you--stop! don't sneak away like that, and leave your companion in the lurch." "wasn't going to sneak away," said esau, surlily. "go away then, you miserable coward. well, mayne gordon, i hope you are satisfied. is this your gratitude?" i fully expected these words, but i was not prepared to answer him, and in the rush of his indignant accusation my defence was swept down, and i could only stammer out-- "you are mistaken, sir." "no," he cried, "i am not mistaken. i told you when you made that unlucky discovery i wished to keep all the wild gold-seeking scoundrels away from my peaceful happy valley; and in spite of all i have done to welcome you for my sister's sake, you give me evil for good." "indeed you are wrong, sir; i have not told a soul," i cried. "bah!" said mr raydon, furiously. "how can i think otherwise, when i see you holding half-secret meetings with that man gunson, who returns in force to destroy this place? well, my lad, i wish you joy of your share, but, mark my words, this gold-seeking is miserable gambling, the work of men who will not see that the real way to find gold is in genuine honest work. take the gold-seekers all round, and they would have made more of the precious metal by planting corn than by this digging and washing in the river-beds." "then you will not believe me, sir?" "i cannot, my lad, after what i have seen," he said. "your conduct has not seemed to me manly and frank." "i have tried to be, sir," i cried. "and failed, boy. the temptation of the gold has proved to be too much for you." i stood silent now, for i could not speak. i wanted to say a great deal, but there was a swelling in my throat--a hot feeling of indignation and misery combined kept me tongue-tied, and above all there was a guilty feeling that he was just. "as for you," mr raydon continued, turning to esau, "i shall not waste words upon you. of course you agreed with your companion, but you would both have done better for yourselves as lads, and earned better positions in life, by being faithful to me, than by letting yourselves be led away by this miserable temptation." "i ain't done nothing," said esau; "i only--" "that will do," cried mr raydon, fiercely, cutting him short. "now go." "all right, sir," said esau; and now i found my tongue again. "yes, esau, we had better go," i said, bitterly. "mr raydon will some day find out how unjust he has been to us." "that will do," cried mr raydon, sternly. "no hypocrisy, sir. once for all, i know that you gave gunson either full particulars or hints, such as enabled him to bring a gang to this peaceful place." "well, if you won't let a fellow speak," began esau. "silence, sir!" cried mr raydon, as i moved towards the door. "and you, gordon, where are you going?" "i don't know, sir," i said. "then i do. you are going to join that wild crew up at the gold-washings." "i was going to see and tell mr gunson of what had happened, sir." "exactly. then i forbid it. you shall not go." "you ain't got no right to keep us here if we want to go," said esau, who was now losing: his temper fast. "indeed!" said mr raydon. "you won't believe in a fellow--i mean this fellow," continued esau; "and you don't believe mr gordon, so i'm going straight up to mr gunson to see if he will, and i'll trouble you to hand over that gold we found that day." "esau!" i cried, angrily. "well, you won't speak out, so i must. come on. much obliged for all you've done in keeping us, sir, and good-bye." "grey," said mr raydon, sharply. "yes, sir." "see that those lads do not leave the fort till i give them permission. when you go off duty hanson is to take your post." "what?" cried esau, as i felt my cheeks burning with indignation, "ain't we to be allowed to go out?" "am i to put them in the block-house, sir?" said grey. "no; they can occupy the strangers' quarters, but they are not to pass the gates. that will do. go!" chapter forty. inopportune arrivals. i hardly remember how i left mr raydon's office, but i do recollect seeing the bear's head grinning at me, and that of the moose gazing at me in its weak, sorrowful way. my head felt hot, and i was bitterly angry; so that when grey went from us without speaking, after leading us to the strangers' quarters, it only wanted a few words from esau to make me turn upon him fiercely. "look here," he said, "this ain't england, and there's no police and madgistrits about, so i'm not going to stand it. he ain't everybody. i'm off." "to the gold-washings?" i said. "don't you think you've done mischief enough by betraying it to mr gunson?" "oh, come, i like that," cried esau. "that's pleasant, that is. say it was me, eh? why, you know you told him." "i told him?" "well, he coaxed it out of you when he had you all by himself." "esau!" "there, don't shout at me. i don't wonder. i've been sometimes so that i couldn't hardly bear myself for wanting to tell somebody; and it was a pity for all that gold to go begging, and us not get a share." "then you believe i told mr gunson?" "course i do. i didn't; and there was no one else knew where it was except the captain, and of course he wouldn't." "you are saying that to aggravate me. esau, once more, do you believe i told mr gunson?" he looked at me and laughed. "why don't you answer?" i cried, angrily. "do you believe i told mr gunson?" "why, of course i do. what's the good of making a fuss over it with me? should ha' thought you might ha' trusted me by this time." i sank back on one of the benches staring at him, feeling weak and hopeless. "don't look like that," cried esau; "i didn't want to hurt your feelings. it was quite natural. mr gunson was our friend before mr raydon was; and it was your duty to do him a good turn if you could. who's mr raydon that he's to have everything his way? if he don't want gold, other folks do. i do--lots; and i'm going up now to get my share." "then you really believe i told?" "why, of course i do. why, how could you help it? seems queer to mr raydon, because he has been very kind; but it would have seemed queerer to poor mr gunson. why, as mother used to say, my heart quite bled for him when he came back so tired-looking and shabby, after hunting for months and finding nothing. i'd ha' told him directly if i hadn't promised you i wouldn't. there, don't be in such a fidge about it; you couldn't act square to both of them." "then it's of no use for me to keep on saying i did not tell," i said, gloomily. "not a bit; and i'm precious glad you did tell the poor fellow. i don't like him much, and he never liked me much; but he often helped me, and i'd help him. now then, i want to talk about what we're going to do. what do you say? do speak. i hate to see you sit mumchance, saying nothing." "there's nothing to do," i said, sadly, "only wait." "what, like a prisoner? i'm going up to that place where the gold is, to get mine and mother's share, and you're coming too for yours." "i'm not," i said, through my set teeth. "what?" "i wouldn't stir from here now for all the gold in the world." "why, you're talking madness. we come out here to make our fortunes, and there's our fortunes waiting to be made. the door's open and the gate's open; and though mr raydon talked big, he dare not try to stop us. come on." "i tell you nothing should make me stir from here now, till mr raydon knows the truth." "yah! what's the good o' keeping on with all that make-believe? he knows the truth now." i leaped up as if stung. "that's right. come on." my voice was very husky as i said-- "i've told you what i meant to do, and you keep on insulting me." "don't talk stuff. what's the good of making all that fuss? you couldn't help telling mr gunson, i know that, and i've told you i know it. of course mr raydon don't like it, but he can't help himself. now then. you're in disgrace here, but you won't be up at the camp; and when his bit of temper's past, mr raydon will be sorry for what he said, and ask us to come and look at the piece of land after all." while he kept on speaking, my temper, which had always remained irritable through my illness, kept on rising, and i stood there trying to fight it down, but in vain, for it was very rapidly getting the mastery. it was as if something hot was rising within me, ready to boil over if it grew a little hotter, and it soon did. "there, it's all right," cried esau, catching me by the arm. "never mind our things; we'll fetch them another time. let's be off at once." "let go of my arm," i said, hoarsely. "shan't. don't be stupid. you ain't been yourself since you were hurt, and i'm going to think for you, and do what's right. come along." "let go of my arm!" i said again, in a low menacing tone. "no, nor i shan't let go of your arm; and you ain't going to frighten me, mayne gordon, because i'm ever so much the stronger now, so come along." "let--go--of my arm!" i said, in quite a whisper, as esau hauled me towards the door. "s-h-a-r-n-'t!" cried esau. "you're going along with me up to those gold-washings. come along. it's of no use for you to struggle, i'm too much for you--oh!" in my rage at my inability to reason with him, i suddenly doubled my fist and struck him full in the face, and as he uttered a cry of pain, he started back; but it was only for a moment, and then he flew at me angrily, so that the next minute we two sworn friends, who had suffered so much together, were fighting hard, giving and taking blows, now down, now up, and each growing hotter and more vindictive as we fought--esau with determination, i with despair, for i felt myself growing weaker and weaker, and knew that in a few minutes i should be hopelessly beaten. but still in my blind fury i kept on, and i was just in the act of delivering a furious blow when i heard voices, and some one uttered a cry of horror. the struggle was over, for we two started back from our contest, esau ashamed of his rage, and i feeling utterly crushed; for there before me, as far as i could see them in my half-blinded state, giddy as i was with weakness and blows, stood mr raydon, and with him the people i would have given the world then not to have met in such a state--the three travellers, who had ended their long weary journey that unfortunate morning. mrs dean ran to esau, and flung her arms about his neck, as mr raydon said angrily-- "what is the meaning of this?" no one answered, and for a few moments the silence was to me terrible. then mr raydon spoke again. "come back to the house," he said; and i saw him take his sister's hand, draw it through his arm, and lead her away. but mr john, who looked brown and wonderfully changed, hung back, and held out his hand. "oh, mayne," he said, sadly, "i did not expect to come and find you like this. what is the meaning of it all?" "don't, mother; do be quiet," cried esau just then. "he hit me first." "oh, but, esau, my boy, my boy!" "well, what's the good o' crying? don't; you're crying all down my neck. be quiet. how are you? there. now do leave off hanging on me. i want to go and have a wash." "oh, mr gordon," cried the poor little woman, as esau ungraciously shook himself free, "how could you hit esau first--and you such friends?" "because he was trying to make me out a blackguard," i cried. "well, i couldn't help it," cried esau; "i thought it was true." "but you'll shake hands with me, my dear, after i've come all these hundreds and thousands of miles--shake hands and say you're sorry you hit esau first." "oh, do be quiet, mother," cried esau angrily. "what's the good o' making such a fuss? we fell out and had a bit of a fight, and it's all over, and i'm very sorry, and if he'll shake hands, there's mine." "not till you tell me you don't believe i did that," i cried fiercely. "well, there then, i don't believe you told him. i can't now you've knocked it all out of me. but i should have won." "if i had not been so weak from my wound, you would not have won," i cried. "well, no," said esau thoughtfully, as we shook hands, "for you do hit precious hard. there, mother, will that do?" "oh yes, my dear," cried mrs dean, clinging to my hands now; "and may i kiss you, my dear?" i bent down and kissed the little woman, whose face was full of sympathy for me. "and you've been dangerously ill and nearly dead, mr raydon told us. well, that excuses everything. esau's temper was horrible after he had been ill with measles. you remember, my dear?" "i don't," said esau, on being thus appealed to. "i know you were always cross with me, and wouldn't let me go out." "ah well, ah well," said mr john dempster, "never mind about that now. mayne, my dear boy, do wash your face, and let's have a long talk. i am sorry my dear wife saw you like this, for she has been talking so much about you. i am very sorry." "sorry, sir!" i cried passionately; "it is horrible." "yes, it is unfortunate, but an accident," he said smilingly, as he laid his hand upon my shoulder. "you have not fought much since i saw you last?" "fought? no," i said, unable to keep back a smile at his question. "ah! you laugh, but i have one memory of your prowess in that way. there, remove those marks." "that's better," he said, a few minutes later. "now i want to know all about your adventures." "and i about yours, sir," i said eagerly, for we were alone, esau having passed out of the strangers' quarters with his mother. "tell me about mrs john. is she better?" "ah, you did not see," he said, with a smile that was quite womanly lighting up his face. "for a time she frightened me, but once we were at sea she began to mend, and for months now the change has been wonderful." "i am glad," i cried. "yes, wonderful," he continued. "my brother raydon was right; but had i known, enthusiastic as i am, what a terribly long, slow, tedious journey it was across those vast plains, i should never have dared to venture." "but she has borne it well?" "borne it! my dear boy, she is no longer the same. the delightful air, the freedom from all restraint, the grandeur of the scenery we have come through, everything has seemed to be giving her back her lost strength, and it is a new life she is beginning to live." "i am thankful," i said. "but tell me, mayne," he said; "there is some coolness between you and my brother. he did not tell me what it was. have you not been happy with him?" "yes," i said, "till now." and then i told him everything, from the discovery of the gold to the moment of his arrival. he stood looking thoughtful for a few moments, and then said-- "and young dean believes it too?" "yes," i said; "and that caused the struggle that you saw." "of course--of course. i see." "but, mr john, indeed, indeed i kept my word. i did not--i would not tell a soul; and i have carefully avoided going to the place." he stood with his brows knit in silence, looking straight away. "you do not believe me?" i said, piteously. "believe you? why not?" he said, rousing himself from his musing. "of course i believe you, mayne, and so will my brother. he ought not to have doubted you. ah, here he comes back." i felt a curious shrinking as i saw mr raydon coming across the enclosure; and as he entered there was the stern severe look in his countenance which he put on when he was angry. "i came to fetch you back, john," he said quietly. then turning to me, "may i know the cause of the disgraceful scene that was taking place a little while ago?" "yes," cried mr john, instituting himself as my champion directly. "it seems that you have had unjust suspicions of my young friend mayne, and that his companion shared them. mayne could not turn and thrash you, but he could young dean, and he did." mr raydon looked at me sharply. "you may take his word for it," continued mr john, "as i do. there has been a mistake." "you have not altered a bit, john," said mr raydon drily. "come." "yes, i'll go back with you, for there is so much to say. come, mayne." i saw mr raydon raise his brows a little, and that was enough. "not now, mr john," i said. "but my wife, she wants to see you." "yes, sir, and i want to see her; but not now." "he is quite right, john," said mr raydon. "let him stay for the present." mr john looked from one to the other and then said seriously--"as you will, dan. good-bye then for the present, mayne. there, keep up your heart. i'll talk to my brother, and i'll warrant that before long he will see the truth as i do." he stopped back to say this, and then went on after mr raydon, leaving me to fling myself on the bench, rest my elbows on the table, and bury my face in my hands. for it seemed to me that i had never felt so miserable before, and as if fate was playing me the most cruel of tricks. i felt indignant too with mr raydon, who had seemed to look upon his brother-in-law's faith in me with a cruel kind of contempt, treating him as if he were an enthusiast easily deceived. and all this stung me cruelly. i was touched in my pride, and the worst part of it seemed to be that mrs john might have so much faith in her brother, that she would be ready to believe his word before mine. as i sat there thinking, i was obliged to own that matters did look black against me, and that with such terrible evidence in array, there was some excuse for mr raydon. "but she might believe me," i said, half aloud. but even as i said this, i recalled how he had evidently dreaded that i should betray the secret, and watched me and gunson at our last meeting, which certainly did look suspicious when taken into consideration with the object of the latter's visits to the neighbourhood. "gunson shall come here and tell him everything. he shall make him believe," i said to myself; and then in a despondent way, i felt that i could not go up to the camp without making mr raydon think worse of me at once, and then mrs john would believe in him more and more. and it all seemed over, and as if the happy days i had looked forward to when the travellers came, would never be, and that i was the most unfortunate fellow that had ever breathed, when a hand was laid gently on my head, and a voice said-- "mayne." i started to my feet, and there was mrs john gazing at me sadly, but so changed since i had seen her before my start, that i could only look at her wonderingly, and when she held out her hand i caught it and was about to raise it to my lips, but she drew me to her, and the next moment she was seated on the bench i had left, and i was down upon my knees gazing up into her sweet face, feeling that while she lived i had one who would always take for me the part of the mother i had lost so long. chapter forty one. an invasion of savages. it was quite two hours later that, as she rose to go back to mr raydon's quarters, mrs john said-- "there, i believe in you, mayne, and so does my husband. be satisfied." "i never shall be till mr raydon tells me he was wrong," i said. "and he will as soon as he feels convinced, so be patient and wait. my brother is rather strange in his ways, and always was. when he becomes prejudiced through some idea he is very hard to move." "but i cannot stay here," i said. "you will not go and leave us now that we have come so far. we shall want your help." "but--" "come, mayne, you will not object to suffering a little, i hope, for our sake. i dare say my brother will keep on in his stern, hard way, for a time; but when he is fully convinced, you will be glad that you bore with him." "i shall do exactly as you wish me to," i said quietly; and i again looked wonderingly at her, she was so changed. "we shall not lead you wrong, mayne," she said, smiling; and, at her wish, i walked back with her to mr raydon's place, where mr john rose to make room for us, but mr raydon hardly glanced at me, and his manner was so strained during the next hour, as i sat listening to the conversation about the adventures during the long journey across the plain, that i was very glad to make an excuse so as to get away to where mrs dean was seated in the strangers' quarters relating her story to esau. "ah," she cried, as i entered; "and what do you think of mrs john?" "i hardly knew her," i said. "she is indeed better." "yes," said mrs dean, drawing herself up proudly, "i think i did my duty there." "i am sure you did." "such a poor, thin, weak creature as she was till i began to nurse her." "the change worked wonders," i said. "yes, of course, it did her good, sir; but no change is of any good without plenty of nursing." i saw that i was touching on tender ground, and was trying to think of a fresh subject, when loud, blustering voices outside made both esau and me get up to see, for there was evidently an angry altercation going on just inside the gate. "i have told you plainly," mr raydon was saying as we drew near. "this is neither an hotel nor a liquor-bar, and you cannot have it here." "well, you might be civil," said a voice which made me start and feel puzzled as to where i had heard it before. "not going to refuse travellers a shelter or a glass of liquor, are you?" esau gave my arm a jerk, but i did not look at him, for my attention was taken up by mr raydon, who was facing, with grey and two more of the men, a party of a dozen roughs. "you do not want shelter on a fine night like this, and i have no spirits except to use for medicine." "that's right," said the familiar voice. "medicine--physic--that's what we want; drop o' spirits for medicine--eh, lads?" there was a chorus of laughter at this, and the men began to press forward. "then you will not get it here, my lads, so go back to the place from whence you came," said mr raydon, firmly. "bread and meat, and butter or milk, you can have; nothing more." "but we want a drink," said another man. "here, we don't want you to give it us. look here," he cried, taking some gold from, his pocket. "now then, i'll give you all this for a bottle of whiskey." "ay, and i'll give you this for another bottle," cried a third man. "keep your stuff in your pockets, lads," cried the first speaker, and i felt a kind of thrill run through me now, for i had recognised in him the big, fierce fellow who had wrestled with gunson on board the boat, and threatened mischief next time they met. "keep your stuff in your pockets; the old 'un is going to give us a bottle or two of the liquor he swaps with the injuns for the bear-skins. now then, old boy." "i am going to give you nothing, neither food nor drink," said mr raydon, firmly. "you have only come down from the camp yonder this evening." "well, who said we hadn't? that's right enough. we've got claims up there, and we've come to treat you all and have a drink with you." "i have told you that you will get no drink here." "get out!" said the big fellow, whose voice i had first heard. "you don't mean that. come, get out the bottles. come along, lads; we arn't going to be served like this." "no," came angrily in chorus; and the men pressed forward, but mr raydon and his party stood their ground. "we're going to take it, arn't we, if he don't fetch it out--eh, lads?" "ay." "stand back!" cried mr raydon, authoritatively. "grey!" the latter took half a dozen steps backward, and stood waiting for orders. "you, gordon, and you, dean, run to my house, and keep there in shelter." "oh," said the big fellow, with a laugh. "turning nasty, eh? well then, we'll take it. show him your shooting-irons, lads, and let him see that we can be nasty too." half a dozen of the men pulled out revolvers, and there were a few sharp clicks heard. "did you hear me, gordon?" said mr raydon, harshly. "run." "i can't run away, and leave you like this," i said. "obey orders, boy. both of you back, quick!" there was a something about him which enforced obedience, and i went back towards the house wondering why the other men did not come to their chiefs help, especially now that he was being backed slowly across the enclosure by the gang of men, each of whom had a revolver in his hand. "yes," said mr raydon, sharply, and grey and another man turned and ran for one of the little block-houses in the corner of the enclosure. "hah! yah! hoo!" roared the fellows, derisively; and one of them fired a shot, an example followed by two more, not aimed at the retreating party, but evidently meant to scare them and hasten their retreat. there was another roar of laughter at this, followed by more derisive shouts, as grey and his companions disappeared in the building before named. "it's all right, lads; that's where the landlord's cellar is: come on!" mr raydon still backed toward the corner building, and esau and i continued our retreat to the chiefs quarters, where i saw mr and mrs john at the door, alarmed by the firing. "tell them to keep in," cried mr raydon to me; and seeing that there was danger, i ran to them, half forced them back, and without instructions i snatched up mr raydon's double rifle and cartridge-belt. "good heavens, gordon, what is the matter?" cried mr john. "nothing serious, i hope," i said. "orders: stay inside." i darted out again with the rifle, and ran to where mr raydon was standing his ground still, and he was saying something in a loud voice to the men, but i only caught the words--"fair warning." "hah! good!" he exclaimed, as i ran up with the rifle; and he caught it and the cartridge-belt, but he did not attempt to load. "back to them," said mr raydon to me; and i went unwillingly, for it seemed cowardly to go. "he's going to fight," said the leader of the gang. "there, don't pepper him, mates." there was another roar of laughter at this. "i warn you once more, my good fellows. this is an outrage you are committing, and if blood is shed the fault will be yours." "those bottles o' whiskey." "you get nothing here. go!" "rush them, lads." the miners with their revolvers were about a dozen yards from the corner block-house, and mr raydon and the man with him were half-way to the door, their backs towards it, when the bully gave his order. like an echo of that order, and just as the men were in motion, came one from mr raydon. "make ready--present!" i shrank back startled as i heard the loud military commands, and the effect was the same upon the gang of rough gold-diggers, who stopped short, while half of them turned and began to run. for, as the order rang out, grey and another man sprang to the door with presented pieces, and from the openings on the floor above half a dozen more rifles were thrust out. "another step forward and i give the word--fire!" cried mr raydon, fiercely. "you see we are prepared for unpleasant visitors here, whether they are white savages or red. now then, have the goodness to go, and don't trouble us with your presence here again." "oh, it was only a joke, mate," cried the big fellow. "needn't make such a fuss about it." "a joke, to fire on my retiring men?" said mr raydon, fiercely. "go, or my men will perpetrate a similar joke on you, you miserable bully and coward." "bully am i?--coward am i?" growled the fellow, menacingly cocking his revolver. "cover this fellow, grey," said mr raydon without turning, and i saw grey make a slight movement. "that man is a dead shot, my good man," said mr raydon. "once more, go!" "right; we're going, eh, mates?" "no," said another. "let's--" "another word, and i order my men to fire," cried mr raydon, fiercely. "we have driven off a hundred indians before now, and i tell you that we are well prepared." "oh, all right," growled the fellow. "come on, mates. this is english hospitality, this is. well, every dog has his day, and perhaps ours 'll come next." they walked slowly toward the gate, and passed out muttering threateningly; and as they passed out, in obedience to an order, grey and another man ran across to the opening with their rifles at the trail, each seizing one of the swing-back gates which they were about to close, when half a dozen of the gang reappeared and fired from their revolvers. before they could repeat the shots the gates were banged to and barred, while grey sprang up a few steps and applied his eye to a loop-hole. "well?" said mr raydon, advancing quietly. "running back toward the river, sir. shall we fire over their heads?" "no. they have gone," said mr raydon. then turning to me, where i stood just outside the door of his house, he said sternly-- "you see why i wished to keep this district free of all that is connected with gold?" i made no answer, for none would come. "we have enough enemies among the indians," he continued. "these people add to our cares." still i made no answer, for i was thinking of gunson, who was, as i had heard, gold-finding up our stream, perhaps quite alone. these people, all well-armed, were going up his way, and one of them had sworn to do him some mischief. did he know that gunson was there? did gunson know that this man was within a few miles of him, perhaps close at hand? i shuddered as i thought of the wealth up that stream. these men could only be fresh-comers, attracted by rumours of a new find of rich gold. perhaps gunson had already found a good deal; he most likely would have found a great deal, and this would be an additional inducement for them to attack him, rob, perhaps kill him out of revenge. "and this was all due to the discovery of the gold," i thought, and it was emphasised the next moment, for mr john came up to his brother-in-law. "who are those men, daniel?" he said, eagerly. "scum of the earth come for the metal whose existence i have kept secret ever since i came here. i fought very hard to keep the gold unknown, but my efforts have been in vain. you see for yourself the result of the discovery;" and then, as i saw his lowering brow and anxious face, he exclaimed-- "yes, the rich finds are made known, and we do not know the extent of the mischief yet." he glanced at me again sharply, and i knew i looked very conscious; but it was not on account of the stubborn suspicion he persisted in feeling about me, but because i was excited about gunson, for i was asking myself what i ought to do with respect to a man who in his rough way had done so much for me, and the answer came at once just as if something had whispered to me-- "never mind about what people think if your intentions are good and true. warn the poor fellow before it is too late. go!" chapter forty two. we make up our minds. mr john gave me a troubled look, for in his simple earnest way he was hurt at seeing the strained situation, and, as he told me afterwards, there was great excuse for his brother-in-law, as matters did look black against me, sufficient to make mr raydon feel that i had acted a very unworthy part. i stood there alone, and otherwise quite unnoticed for a few minutes, while mr raydon gave his people some quick, sharp orders, and then walked into his quarters with mr john. "what shall i do?" i thought. "if i go and ask him to let me run and warn mr gunson, he will think i want to join him, and that this is only an excuse. i can't go down on my knees and vow and protest again that i kept my word. some one told gunson, of course. could it have been esau, and is he playing unfairly?" i did not like to think it of him, and i was just trying to drive the thoughts away, when he came out of the strangers' quarters, where i had seen him go with mrs dean. "well, it's all over," he said. "i thought we was going to have some rare fun." "esau!" i cried, aghast. "what, with men being shot!" "yes; why not, if they tried to shoot us? but, i say, they'll come back again; see if they don't, to help themselves to all there is here." i shook my head. "no," i said; "they've been too much scared as it is." "not they. of course they run when they saw the rifles. i shouldn't wonder if we have a really big fight like you've read of in books." "you are talking nonsense," i said. "but look here, esau. about that gold?" "yes," he cried eagerly; "going to have a try for it?" "no." "oh," said esau, gloomily. "thought you were coming to your senses. i don't see why other folks should get it all, and us left nowhere." "esau!" i said, as i caught him by the sleeve, "you see how i am being suspected of all this. mr raydon still thinks i told mr gunson." "well, so you did, didn't you?" he replied, with a curiously sly look. "no," i cried, fiercely; "and you know i did not. but did you?" esau looked me full in the face for a few moments, before turning his eyes away, and beginning to whistle softly. "do you hear what i say?" i cried, angrily. "course i do," he replied, with a mocking laugh. "then tell me--at once--the truth. did you give mr gunson to understand where this gold was?" "let's see: you asked me before, didn't you?" said esau, coolly. "you know i did." "well, then, don't ask no questions, and nobody won't tell you no lies." "then it was you," i cried; "and it was a mean, cowardly, cruel trick to let me be suspected and treated as i have been here. i have always been fair and open with you." esau whistled again in a low soft way, giving me a sidelong glance again, and then taking out his great knife and making a pretence of cutting his nails, for which task the knife was about as suitable as a billhook. "are you going to own it?" no answer. "are you going to own to it?" i said, more loudly. "no, i ain't," he cried, angrily, "and i don't want to be bothered about it no more. wish i'd gone after the gold myself. i could ha' made mother rich and comfortable all her life. what business had he to interfere and keep it all from us? meant to have the place to himself, and now somebody else has got it, and serve him right." i turned away from him angrily, but i was too much worried to be able to do without advice, and i walked back to where he was still chopping at his nails. "esau," i said; "you saw that big fellow with the gang?" "easy enough to see," he replied, sulkily. "you saw who it was?" "yes. chap gunson pitched over that day aboard the steamer." "yes. and you remember how he threatened mr gunson?" "course i do." "well, they're going up the little valley to where mr gunson is." "and if old gunson meets him he'll send him back with a flea in his ear." "one man against a party of twelve all well armed, esau?" i whispered. "i'm afraid about mr gunson. suppose he is up there somewhere alone, and has found a great deal of gold?" "what!" cried esau, excitedly, for my words had moved him now. "i say, suppose he has collected a lot of gold, and those rough fellows know of it?" "why, they'd kill him, and take every scrap," cried esau. "here, let's go and tell mr raydon." "he would not stir to help, i am sure. mr raydon does not want gunson there, and he would be glad if he was driven away." "think old gunson knows of those chaps coming?" "i don't know. i should think not." "let's go and see." "yes?" "and if he don't know, tell him." "yes; that is what i should like to do," i said. "we ought to warn him." "course we ought. he helped us." "but how can we manage it?" "go. we know the way." i stood for a few moments thinking, and at last made up my mind. "you will go with me, esau?" i said. "yes; soon as it's dark." "they wouldn't let us go now?" i said, dubiously. "you try," said esau, with a laugh. "why, if old raydon thought we were going to try and get out, he'd lock us up." "don't let's stand here," i said, in a husky voice, for the excitement was increasing. "let's go back to the quarters and talk there." "can't. mother's in there, and we shouldn't be able to say a word." "then as soon as it's dark we'll climb over, and make straight for the mining camp." "that's so," said esau; and we waited patiently for the coming on of night. as soon as it was decided, that which had seemed to me so very easy began to show itself in quite another light, and difficulties sprang up one after the other of which i had not taken thought before. first of all i learned that a strict watch was to be kept at night, and in consequence it would be next to impossible to get over the palisade without being heard or seen. next, when we had escaped--i inadvertently used that word, for it was like running away, though i meant to return--there would be the difficulty of hitting the right valley in the darkness. then, if we found the valley, how were we to find out the place where gunson had made his camp? and above all, how were we to pass the camp or resting-place of the gang of men who had been to the fort that day? it was pretty certain that one of their number would be on guard. "yes, and pop at us," said esau, when i told him of this difficulty. "never mind; he couldn't hit us in the dark. see, too, if old gunson doesn't shoot at us if we go disturbing him in the night." "he would not fire at us," i said, contemptuously. "oh, we are clever!" cried esau. "how's he going to know it's us?" "well, we must risk it," i said. "oh, yes, we'll risk it. way is to crawl up; then if they fire, they're sure to miss." that starting-time seemed as if it would never come. i had my evening meal with mr raydon and mr dempster, esau having his with his mother at the greys', but i hardly ate anything, for in spite of mrs john's pleasant smiles and words, the constraint seemed to have increased, and i felt, unjustly enough perhaps, as if my presence was only tolerated on account of my friends. i got away as soon as i could, and as i waited for esau to come, i began now to think that i was not doing right. but i drove the thoughts away in a reckless fashion. esau would laugh at me, i thought, and, full of determination now, i was glad when he came. "well," he said; "mean to go?" "mean to go? of course!" "'cause they're going to be on the look-out pretty sharp, so grey says, and they've got orders to fire at any one strange." "to fire?" i said, feeling rather startled. "yes; so if we get fired at when we go, and fired at when we get there, it's bound to be a lively sort of a time." i was silent. "well, what do you think of it now?" said esau, as i did not speak. "going?" "do you want to hang back, esau?" i said, huskily. "no; i'll stick to you, o' course." "then we'll go as soon as we can." "i thought you'd say so," he said. "you always was so fond of old gunson." "then you don't want to go?" "course i don't, now i've got mother here, safe. but if you're going, i'm going, so how soon?" it was already dark, and feeling if i waited much longer the hesitation i suffered from might increase, i said excitedly-- "now." "all right then; let's get a little way further from the corner, make straight for that look-out place, where grey watched the chaps going, and get over there." "yes," i said, thoughtfully; "we can get on the top of the big paling and drop down from there. but i say, esau," i whispered, "how are we to climb back?" "dunno. let's do one job first," he whispered back, philosophically. "now then, are you ready?" "yes," i said, desperately. "then down on your hands and knees, and let's creep like dogs. they will not see us then." it is impossible to describe the feeling of excitement which came over me as i followed esau's example, and letting him lead, began to crawl pretty quickly across the enclosure. i looked back, and there were the lights in mr raydon's quarters, where my friends were seated, and wondered what they would think when they heard that i had gone, and what construction mr raydon would place upon my departure, for something seemed to tell me that we should be found out; and it was not likely that we should be credited with going for so innocent a reason. "no," i said to myself; "he will think i have gone to join gunson to wash for gold, and--" "don't! i say, mind where you are coming." for my head had come sharply in contact with my companion. "what's the matter? why did you stop?" "only to look back at that place where mother is. my! won't she be in a taking if they find out we are gone?" "go on quickly, then," i whispered, "and let's get back before they know it." at that moment there was a loud growl toward one of the block-houses. "rough's heard us," whispered esau. "come on." we crept forward, and then i felt a chill of dread, for there was a quick rustling sound, a loud bark, and though we could not see him, i knew that the great dog was coming at us full speed. my first idea was to get up and run, but before i could put my intention in force, the dog was upon us, barking furiously; but the next minute, after knocking me right over, he was whining and fawning upon me, and giving a share of his attentions to esau. "down! quiet! get out!" whispered esau. "why don't you wipe your nose?" "here, rough! what is it, lad? hold him!" came from the direction of the block-house. "oh, it's all up," i whispered, as the dog set up a loud volley of barking. "seize him!" cried the voice, which i knew to be grey's; but the dog barked again, as if in remonstrance, and seemed more disposed to play with us than to seize. "what is it then? what have you got?" there was another burst of barking. "let's go back," whispered esau. "no, no, go on. never mind the dog." "let's run for it then," whispered esau, and catching hold of my hand, he led the way quickly toward the fence, with rough leaping and bounding round us, and every now and then uttering one of the volleys of barking which sounded terribly loud in the utter silence of that dark night. we had nearly reached the place, when i heard a familiar voice say-- "what's the matter with that dog?" "don't know, sir. seems to have found something, or he wouldn't go on like that. here! hi! rough, rough, rough!" but the dog would not leave us. we were only friends, and he kept on his excited bark. "here, rough!" cried mr raydon, angrily; and at that moment we reached the fence, fortunately for us just by the loophole. "over with you first," cried esau, and i climbed rapidly to the top, threw my legs over, lowered myself to the full extent of my arms, and dropped lightly. "come across and see," came just then from the other side; and now while i heard the rustling and scrambling noise made by esau in climbing, as i stood there listening with my heart beating heavily, the dog began to bark furiously, then to growl. there was a struggling noise, and then esau's voice came through the crack of the paling. "he's got hold of me tight. run, lad, run!" but i could not run then and leave my companion in the lurch, and i was about to climb back when the worrying, growling sound ceased, and esau dropped beside me. "come on!" he whispered. "this way. he's got half the leg of my trousers." catching my hand again we trotted on. "jumped at me, and held me so as i shouldn't get over," he whispered. "here, this way. we're right, i know." the dog's barking was furious now, and i whispered to esau-- "they're opening the gate." "hist! don't take no notice." for there was a shout from behind. "halt, there, or we fire!" "go on then," muttered esau. "sha'n't halt now. you couldn't hit us if you tried." "do you hear? halt!" it was mr raydon who shouted, but i was desperate now i had gone so far, and we kept up our trot, with esau acting as guide. his eyes were better than mine in the darkness. "fire!" came from behind now, and three flashes of light appeared for an instant, followed by the reports of the rifles. "not killed me," muttered esau, with a chuckle. but i did not laugh, for a thought had struck me. "esau," i whispered; "they'll set the dog on our scent, and use him to run us down. there, do you hear?" for the barking of the dog began once more. "can we cross the river?" i said. "no." "then make for the first stream and let's wade along it a little way." "never thought of that," muttered esau. "here, let's go along by the river." five minutes later we were splashing along close to the edge, keeping our feet in the water for a time, with the dog's deep baying behind coming on so slowly that i knew he must be chained and some one holding him back. "he will not track us now," i said breathlessly. "they'll think we have crossed." "then they'll think we're drowned, and go and tell mother," said esau, stopping short. "here, let's go back." "not now we have gone so far," i said. "i could not face mr raydon now. besides, they will know that we could take care of ourselves." "course they would," said esau. "come on." but before we had gone a hundred yards he said, "why they won't know it is us yet." we tramped on as quickly as we could go for the darkness, and by degrees the barking of the dog grew more faint in the distance, and finally ceased. "there," said esau; "they'll be clever if they find us now." "and we shall be clever if we find our way." "oh, i'll find my way. i shall never forget how to get to that place, after what happened that day." i shuddered, for his words brought up my long illness, and made me tramp on down alongside the stream with a curious sensation of awe. for the darkness was at times intense, and in the blackest parts the river seemed to dash and roar in a way that was startling, and as we had never heard it before. it was all fancy of course, and so it was that the pines rose up so black that it was hard work to make out the landmarks in the valley which had grown familiar during our many wanderings. twice over we stopped to argue, for esau was positive and obstinate to a degree, insisting that we had come to the right ravine, while i was as sure that we had not. he gave way sulkily, assuring me that i was going right on past it, and at last i began to think he must be correct. for i had lost all count of time in my excitement, and i stopped short. "i've taken you right by it, esau," i said sadly. "we must go back." "no, you haven't," he replied, to my great surprise. "i've thought since that couldn't be it, because there was no open pool just below the fall. don't you remember, where we saw so many trout?" "of course," i cried; "i remember now. then it is lower down, and we ought to hear the noise of falling water." we listened, but there was only the rumbling roar of the river down on our left. "i'm afraid we're wrong," i said despondently. "if it only were not so dark!" "let's go on a bit further first," said esau; and i followed him full of doubts, till we turned a corner where the river made a sudden bend, and esau uttered a low cry. "there it is," he said. "hark!" sure enough there was the roar of a fall, and we knew that we had reached the entrance of the little side valley, where the pool lay below the falls. another minute, and we were passing through a clump of little fir-trees, also familiar to us; and then esau stopped short, for there was a bright light just in front--a light which puzzled us for a few moments, before we understood that it must be the reflection from a fire which we could not see, shining in the clear waters of the pool. chapter forty three. our warning. after a whispered consultation we crept on again through the trees, until we could see a good-sized fire blazing and sparkling close down by the side of the pool, and about it--some asleep, some sitting resting, and others talking--were a group of rough-looking men, whom we had not much difficulty in making out to be our visitors at the fort. it was plain enough. they had come down after leaving us, and had camped there for the night, perhaps found gold there; and this was their station. if so, gunson must be higher up and safe. i whispered my ideas to esau, who thought for a few minutes before speaking. "no," he said, "i don't believe they'd stop here. but p'r'aps they're quite new-comers. what shall we do?" "get by them," i said resolutely. "we must hurry on to mr gunson now." "but how?" he whispered. "ain't they stopping up all the road?" "not all," i said. "let's go down on our hands again, and creep by." "all right, only you go first, and be careful. mind, if they see us they'll fire." i don't know whether it was recklessness or desperation. i had felt timid, and had shrunk from the task at first; but now that i felt i must go on, the dread had pretty well passed away. going down on my hands and knees, i found to my great satisfaction that the fire was invisible; and if so, of course we must be out of sight of the men about it. i whispered this to esau, who responded by a grunt, which, added to his position, made him bear a strong resemblance to an animal, and for the moment it amused me, and took my attention from the difficulty of my task. we had had to leave the track, and our way was amongst blocks of stone covered with moss, between which short stiff patches of bush grew, making our passage difficult, and not to be accomplished without noise. but i kept on with the light on my left, knowing that if i kept it in that position i must be going in the correct direction; and it was necessary to keep this in mind, as every now and then a tree or a block of stone forced me to diverge. the men were talking loudly, and now and then there arose a rough burst of laughter, while there was no doubt about who the party were, for i heard an allusion made to the fort. just then, as we were about level with the fire, a piece of a branch upon which i pressed my knee gave a loud crack, and the conversation ceased instantly. we neither of us moved, but crouched there, listening to our beating hearts, and expecting to have either a shot sent in our direction, or to see part of the men come rushing toward us. at last, after what seemed to be quite ten minutes, a voice said-- "hear that?" "yes," was growled. "what was it?" "don't know." they began talking again slowly, and by degrees the conversation grew general and loud. "go along," i whispered, after carefully removing the dead branch, and once more our rustling progress began. oh, how slow it was, and how i longed to jump up and run. but we were in the opening of the little valley now, and our only chance was to creep on till we were well beyond the light cast by the fire, and so we persevered. at last, after creeping along inch by inch, we paused, for in front of us the undergrowth ceased, and i saw an open patch of sand faintly lit by the fire, and across this we must pass to reach the shelter beyond. "go on first," whispered esau, and, drawing a _long_ breath, i started, going as silently and quickly as i could into the darkness of the shelter beyond, and turned to look at esau. from where i knelt i could see the fire clearly, and as he came across, i was thinking how animal-like he looked, when i fancied i saw a movement, and before i could be sure, there was a flash, a loud report, and a twig dropped from over my head upon one of my hands. "bear! bear!" shouted a voice, and the men sprang to their feet. but by this time esau was alongside of me, and rising up we hurried along in a stooping position, leaving the eager voices more and more behind, the men being evidently hunting for the bear one of them believed that he had shot. "was he firing at me?" said esau. "yes; he saw you, i suppose." "but he might have hit me," cried esau, indignantly. "chaps like that have no business to be trusted with guns." "hist!" "come on, lads," we heard plainly. "i'm sure i hit him." "don't be a fool," cried another voice. "wait till daylight. do you want to be clawed?" "shall i roar?" whispered esau. "don't--don't, whatever you do," i whispered back in alarm, for i had not the slightest faith in my companion's imitation, and felt certain that we should be found out. the men too seemed to be coming on, but in a few minutes the rustling and breaking of wood ceased, and we crept on again for a little way; and then, with the light of the fire reduced to a faint glow, we stood upright and began to ascend the little valley at a fairly rapid rate for the darkness. "what an escape!" i said, breathing more freely now. "that's what i ought to say," grumbled esau. "that bullet came close by me." "and by me too," i replied. "i felt a twig that it cut off fall upon me. but never mind as we were not hit." "but i do mind," grumbled esau. "i didn't come out here to be shot at." "don't talk," i said. "perhaps we shall come upon another camp before long." i proved to be right, for at the end of an hour we came upon a rough tent, so dimly seen that we should have passed it where it stood, so much canvas thrown over a ridge pole, if we had not been warned by a low snoring sound. we crept down to the waterside, and slowly edged our way on; but when we were some fifty yards farther we stopped to consider our position. "s'pose that's old gunson," said esau, "and we're going away from him now?" the idea struck me too, but i set it triumphantly aside directly. "if it were mr gunson there would be a fire, and most likely quong keeping watch. besides, we don't know that he had a tent like that." "no, he hadn't got a tent," assented esau; and we went on, to find that at every quarter of a mile there was a tent or a fire; and it soon became evident that the solitary little valley we had explored on the day of my accident was rapidly getting to hold a population of its own. we had passed several of these busy encampments, and were beginning to despair of finding mr gunson, when, as nearly as we could guess in the darkness, just about where we washed the gold, we came upon a fire, whose warm yellow glow lit up a huge pine, and at the scene before us we stopped to reconnoitre. "that's where i was cutting the tree," muttered esau; "and--yes, there's old quong. look!" sure enough there was the yellow-faced, quaint little fellow coming out of the darkness into the light to bend down and carefully lay some fresh wood upon the fire, after which he slowly began to walk back. mr gunson must be here, i thought, for quong would naturally be drawn to him as a strong man who would protect him. "come along," i said; "we are right after all." "no, no, stop!" he cried, seizing me and holding me back, for quong evidently heard our voices, and darted back among the trees. "nonsense," i said, struggling. "keep back, i tell you. 'tain't safe. they don't know it's us, and somebody may shoot." it was a foolish thing to do, but i wrested myself free and ran forward. as i did so i heard the ominous _click click_ of a gun-lock, and stopped short. "halt! who's that? stand!" cried a deep voice; and the effect was so great upon me, that i felt like one in a nightmare trying to speak, but no words came. esau was not so impressed, however, for he shouted wildly-- "hi! don't shoot. it's only us. mr gunson there?" the boughs were parted, and the familiar figure of the prospector came out into the light, rifle in hand. "why, gordon!" he cried. "you? glad to see you; you too, dean. but that's risky work, my lad. don't you know the old proverb--`let sleeping dogs lie'? i did not know you were friends, and these are dangerous times; i might have tried to bite." he shook hands with us both as he spoke, and quong came cautiously out from among the trees. "ay, ay, ay!" he cried, beginning to caper about. "you come along? how de-do-di-do. quong make hot flesh tea." "no, no; they don't want tea at this time of night." "yes, please give me some," i said, for i was hot and faint with exertion. "i shall be glad of a mug." "hot flesh tea," cried quong, beginning to rake the fire together. "makee cakee dleckly." "why, gordon, what brings you here?" cried mr gunson. "you belong to the opposite camp. raydon hasn't let you come gold-washing?" "no," i said, hurriedly. "have you seen those men?" "what men? there are plenty about here." "i mean those men you quarrelled with on the steamer about quong." "eh? 'bout quong?" cried the little chinaman, looking up sharply. "bad man on puff-boat pullee tail neally off. no." "yes; they have been at the fort to-day--yesterday--which is it--and they are down below yonder now." "what, those fellows?" cried gunson, excitedly; and he gave vent to a long low whistle. "that's awkward." "i was afraid you did not know," i said, hurriedly. "i knew you were here, and i came to warn you. mr raydon--" "sent you to warn me?" interrupted gunson. "no," i said; "we had to break out of the fort to-night and come. mr raydon is not good friends with me." "humph!" ejaculated gunson. "so you came to let me know?" "to put you on your guard," i said. "yes." i saw him look at me fixedly for a few moments, and then in a half-morose way he nodded his head at me, saying-- "thank you, my lad--thank you too, dean." "warn't me," said esau, sourly. "it was him. i only come too." "well, it is awkward," continued gunson, after a few moments' thought, "for i have got to the spot now that i have been looking for all these years." "then you're finding lots of gold?" cried esau, eagerly. "i am finding a little gold," replied gunson, quietly; "and quong is too." "eh? me findee gole?" cried quong, looking up from the half-boiling kettle, and hastily-made cakes which he had thrust in the embers to bake. "yes; findee lil bit, and put um in littlee bottle." "but these men--will they attack you?" i said, anxiously. "yes, if they find that i have a good claim. more than two, you say?" i told him all about the coming to the fort, and how we had passed them down below. gunson looked very serious for a while; then with a smile he said quietly-- "well, union is strength. now you two lads have come, my force is doubled. you will stay with me now?" "no," i said, firmly. "as soon as it is light i must go back to the fort to our friends." "but you have quarrelled with mr raydon, and after this night's business he will not have you back." "no," cried esau, eagerly. "let's stop and wash gold." "and leave your mother," i said, "for the sake of that." "i wish you wouldn't be so nasty, mayne gordon," cried esau. "who's a-going to leave his mother? ain't i trying to get a lot o' money so as to make her well off?" "we cannot stay," i said. "i don't want mr raydon and my friends--" "they have arrived then?" "yes," i said. "what would they think if i ran off like this?" "humph! you're a strange lad. you take french leave, and come to warn me. they fire at you, and hunt you with that great hound, and yet you are going back!" "yes," i said, "as soon as it is light; esau too." "and suppose old raydon won't have us back?" cried esau. "but he will when he knows why i came." "i am not so sure," said gunson. "well, i suppose you are right." "no, no," cried esau. "i meant to stop along with you. i shan't go. if i do, it'll be to fetch mother." i told esau i did not believe him, and gunson went on-- "it's awkward about those fellows, for at present might is right up here. the worst of it is, quong can't fight." "no fightee," said quong, looking up sharply. "melican man fightee. quong makee flesh tea, talkee ploper english. makee flesh blead all hot. hot closs bun." "i should like to stay with you, mr gunson," i said; "and it is very tempting. but i must go back." "and if mr raydon refuses to have you, my lads, come back, and i'll make you as welcome as i can." "flesh tea all leady," said quong; and i was soon after gladly partaking of the simple meal, close to the spot where i had met with the terrible accident six months before. before we lay down for a few hours' rest, i wanted to tell him more about my trouble, and how mr raydon suspected me. i wanted to ask him too how he had found out about this spot. but esau was lying close by me, and i suspected him of playing a double part. i felt sure just then that he had been gunson's informant, so i had to put it all off till a more favourable opportunity; and while i was thinking this i dropped off fast asleep. chapter forty four. grey's message. "flesh tea allee leady," cried a familiar voice in my ear; and i started up to see the sun peering over the edge of the mountains to light up the beautiful opalescent mists floating below. there was the scent of the bruised pine-boughs where i lay, and a more familiar one wafted from the fire--that of hot, newly-made bread. "yes, all right, i'm getting up," grunted esau; and directly after we went down to the stream and had a good wash, finding gunson waiting by the fire and watching the frizzling of some slices of bacon on our return. "good morning," he said. "come and have your breakfast. well," he continued, as we began, "what's it to be? going back?" "yes," i said, "directly after breakfast." "oh!" cried esau. "i can't help it, esau; we must. we are in honour bound." "and we might make our fortunes." "you leave me, then, to the mercy of those scoundrels down below?" said gunson, drily. "i am only a boy, sir," i said; "how can i fight for you? i'll beg mr raydon to send help to you though, directly." "yes; do, my lad. i shall be in rather a dangerous position. say i beg of him to try and give me protection, for though i am fighting against him here, all this was sure to come, and i might as well grow rich as any one else." i promised eagerly that i would; and we were hurrying through our breakfast, when there was the trampling of feet and the breaking of wood just below. gunson looked up and seized his rifle, to stand ready; and directly after a man strode out of the dense forest and stood before us. "grey!" i exclaimed, wonderingly. "yes," he said, stolidly. "morning." "have some breakfast?" said gunson. "yes. bit hungry," said grey. then turning to me and esau--"chief says i'm to tell you both that as you have chosen to throw in your lot with mr gunson here, you are not to come back to the fort again." i dropped my knife and sat half stunned, wondering what mr and mrs john would say; and as i recovered myself, it seemed as if when a few words of explanation would have set everything right, those words were never to be spoken. esau had been as strongly affected as i was; but he recovered himself first. "not to come back to the fort again?" he cried. "no," said grey, with his mouth full. "chief said if you were so mad after gold, you might go mad both of you." "hurray!" cried esau. "then i'm going to be mad as a hatter with hats full." "right," said grey, stolidly, as he munched away at the cake and bacon. "you're in the right spot." "but hold hard," cried esau, as another thought struck him. "this won't do. he ain't going to keep her shut up in the fort. i want my mother." "right," said grey, setting down the tin mug out of which he drank his hot tea. "i'll tell him you want your mother." "yes, do. i don't mind. i wanted to come up here." "well, gordon, what have you to say?" cried mr gunson. "any message to send back?" "yes," i said, flushing and speaking sharply. "tell mr raydon--no, tell mr and mrs john that i have been cruelly misjudged, and that some day they will know the whole truth." "right," said grey. "i won't forget. nothing to say to the chief?" "no," i said; "nothing." "yes; a word from me," said gunson. "tell him that something ought to be done to preserve order here, for the people are collecting fast, and some of them the roughest of the rough." "yes," said grey. "i'll tell him; but he knows already; we had a taste of 'em yesterday. anything else?" "no," said gunson; "only that perhaps i may want to send to him for help." "best way's to help yourselves," said grey, at last rising from a hearty breakfast. "good-bye, my lads," he said, "till we run agen each other later on. i say," he continued, after shouldering his rifle, "did you two lads bring away guns?" "no," i said; "of course not." "haven't got any then. how many have you?" he continued, turning to gunson. "only my own and a revolver." "lend you mine, young mr gordon," he said, handing it to me, and then unstrapping his ammunition-belt, and with it his revolver in its holster. "better buy yourself one first chance, and then you can send mine back. take care of the tackle; it's all good." "thank you, grey," said gunson, grasping his hand. "you couldn't have made him a better loan. i won't forget it." "course you won't. nor him neither, i know." "ain't got another, have you?" said esau. grey shook his head. "good-bye," he said. "i say, tell mother not to fret, i'm all right," cried esau. "and give old rough a pat on the head for me," i cried. "i will. nice game you had with him last night," said grey, laughing. "too good friends with you to lay hold." "oh, was i, sir?" cried esau; "he's made one of my trousers knee-breeches. look!" he held up his leg, where the piece had been torn off below the knee, and grey laughed as he went and disappeared in the forest that fringed the banks of the stream. "then now we can begin gold-digging in real earnest," cried esau, excitedly. "i say, mr gunson, how's it going to be?" "what, my lad?" "each keep all he finds?" "we'll see about that later on," said gunson, sternly. "there will be no gold-washing yet." esau stared. "there are too many enemies afoot. i am going to wait and see if those men come up this way. if they do, there will be enough work to maintain our claim, for, setting aside any ill-feeling against me, they may want to turn us off." "well, they are ugly customers," said esau, rubbing one ear. "i say, do you think they'll come to fight?" "if they think that this is a rich claim, nothing is more likely." "and i say," cried esau, "i didn't mean that." "if you feel afraid you had better go. i dare say you can overtake that man." "but i don't want to go." "then stay." "but i don't want to fight." "then go." "but there ain't nowhere to go, and--oh, i say, mayne gordon, what is a fellow to do?" "do what i do," i said, quickly. "what's that?" "trust to mr gunson the same as we have done before." "thank you, mayne gordon," said gunson, laying his hand on my shoulder; "but i hardly like exposing you to risk." "the danger has not come yet," i said, smiling, though i confess to feeling uncomfortable. "perhaps it never will." "at any rate we must be prepared," said gunson. "only to think of it! what a little thing influences our careers! i little fancied when i protected that poor little fellow on board the steamer, that in so doing i was jeopardising my prospects just when i was about to make the success of my life." "it is unfortunate," i said. "unfortunate, boy?--it is maddening. but for this i should once more have been a rich man." i looked at him curiously, and he saw it. "yes," he said, laughingly, "once more a rich man." "is one any the happier for being rich?" i said. "not a bit, my lad. i was rich once, and was a miserable idiot. mayne, i left college to find myself suddenly in possession of a good fortune," he continued, pausing excitedly now, and speaking quicker, for esau had strolled off to a little distance with quong. "instead of making good use of it, i listened to a contemptible crew who gathered about me, and wasted my money rapidly in various kinds of gambling, so that at the end of a year i was not only penniless, but face to face with half a dozen heavy debts of honour which i knew i must pay or be disgraced. bah! why am i telling you all this?" "no, no; don't stop," i said eagerly; "tell me all." "well," he said, "i will; for i like you, mayne, and have from the day we first met on board the _albatross_. it may be a warning to you. no: i will not insult you by thinking you could ever grow up as i did. for to make up for my losings, i wildly plunged more deeply into the wretched morass, and then in my desperation went to my sister and mother for help." "and they helped you?" i said, for he paused. "of course, for they loved me in spite of my follies. it was for the last time, i told them, and they signed away every shilling of their fortunes, mayne, to enable me to pay my debts. and then--" "and then?" i said, for he had paused again. "and then i had the world before me, mayne," he said, sadly. "i was free, but i had set myself the task of making money to restore my mother and sister to their old position. i tried first in london, but soon found out it would be vain to try and save a hundredth part of what i ought to pay them, so i tried adventure. there were rumours of gold being discovered in australia, then in the malay peninsula, and again at the cape, so i went to each place in turn and failed. other men made fortunes, but i was always unlucky, till once at the cape, where i hit upon a place that promised well, but my luck was always against me. my tent was attacked one night, and i was left senseless, to come to myself next morning, and find that i had been robbed, and so cruelly ill-used that the sight of one eye was gone for ever, and there was nothing left for me to do but sell my claim for enough money to take me back to england amongst my poor people to be nursed back to health. then, as i grew strong again, there came rumours of the gold in british columbia, and i started once more, taking passage as a poor man in the steerage, and meeting on board one mayne gordon, with whom i became friends. am i right?" "indeed, yes," i cried, giving him my hand. "that's well," he said, smiling. "since then i have worked, as you know, for the golden prize that, if it does not make those at home happy, will place them far above want, but always without success, passing away from fort elk, when there was abundance near, and returning poorer than i went, to find out quite by accident that here was indeed the golden land. mayne, i have gold worth hundreds of pounds already hidden away safe." "i am very, very glad," i cried. "but i want to know--" "yes?" he said, for i had stopped. "have you--no, not now," for just then esau came up to us. "look here, my lad," said gunson, quickly, "i sincerely hope that we may never have cause to use weapons against our fellow-men; but we must be prepared for emergencies. do you know how to handle a revolver?" esau shook his head. "hit ever so much harder with my fists," he said. "but that will not do. the sight of our weapons may keep evil visitors off. let me show you how to load and fire." "will it kick?" said esau. "not if you hold it tightly. now, look here." and as i looked on, mr gunson showed esau how to load and fire, and generally how to handle the weapon, the lesson acting as well for me. "there," said mr gunson at last, "you ought to be a valuable help to me now; for the beauty of a weapon like this is, that the very sight of its barrel will keep most men at a distance; and if they come i hope it will these." "did yesterday, didn't it?" said esau, laughingly, to me. "now," said gunson, "about your rifle, mayne; can you manage it?" "i think so," i said; and i handled it in a way which satisfied my master. "that's right," he said. "never mind about hitting. to fire is the thing; the noise will, i hope, scare enemies. now if quong could be of some use, it would make a show of four defenders; but we know of old his strong point." "getting up a tree," i said, laughing. "exactly. perhaps he could throw boiling water, but i shall not ask him to do that. there, we are all right; every force must have a commissariat department, and some general once said that an army fights upon its stomach. we'll have him to feed us, while we keep guard about the place." "and won't you wash for gold at all?" said esau, in a disappointed tone of voice. "no, nor yet mention it," said gunson, firmly. "to all intents and purposes there is no gold here whatever. we are settlers, and we are going to hold this spot. you see, there is our brand on that tree." as he spoke he pointed to the mark we had cut on the great fir-tree hard by, and i could not help a shudder as i recollected the events of that day. the morning passed, and the afternoon came without our hearing a sound but those made by the birds and squirrels, and after partaking of a meal we began to look anxiously for the night as the time of danger; but we saw the ruddy blaze of light die out on snow-topped peaks, and then the pale stars begin to appear. "this place is wonderfully like switzerland in parts," said gunson, as we sat near the fire always on the _qui vive_ for danger; and in a low voice he chatted to us till it was quite night, and the sky was a blaze of stars. "i think we may sleep in peace to-night," said gunson, and he was a true prophet, for, though i woke twice with a start of fear, the noise which had wakened me was only caused by quong going to throw some wood upon the fire, which he never suffered to die out, but coaxed on so as to have a plentiful heap of hot ashes in which to bake. two days passed in peace, and then a third, with the inaction telling upon us all. for we were constantly on the strain, and the slightest sound suggested the coming of an enemy. "you see we cannot stir," gunson said to me. "we must keep together. if one of us played spy and reconnoitred, the chances are that the enemy would come while we were away." "but what does quong say?" i asked. "he went down the stream last night." "that there are thirty parties between here and the river, and that means some of them are new-comers, making their way up here before long. to-morrow we shall have to send him to the fort to beg for food." "but there is a store lower down, quong told me." "yes, and to buy off the people at their exorbitant prices, i shall have to pay with gold, and for the present i wish to avoid showing that there is any here." the next day dawned, and was passing as the others had passed, for mr gunson was hesitating still about sending quong for provisions, that little gentleman having announced that there would be "plenty bread, plenty tea, plenty bacon for another day." "mayne," said mr gunson, as the sun was getting low, "i think i shall go down the stream to-night, and see if those men are there. perhaps, after all, we are scared about nothing; they may have gone up another of the valleys instead of this, and found gold in abundance--who knows? but i must end this suspense some--" he started, for i was pointing down stream at something moving. "is that a deer?" i whispered; and before he could answer a voice cried-- "come on, lads, it's more open up here, and it looks a likely spot." chapter forty five. gunson's decision. "sit fast," said gunson, "both of you. don't make any sign, and leave me to speak. but mind, if i say `tent,' run both of you to the tent, and seize your weapons ready to do what i say." i gave him a nod, and sat with beating heart watching the moving figure, which directly after caught sight of us. "hullo!" he said; "some one here?" then turning, "look sharp, some of you." both gunson and i had recognised the man as quong's principal assailant, and i glanced sharply toward the chinaman, to catch sight of the soles of his shoes as he crept rapidly in amongst the trees, a pretty evident sign that he too had recognised his enemy. "nice evening, mate," said the big fellow, advancing, as gunson sat by me, coolly filling his pipe. "ah, i just want a light." he came closer, looking sharply round, while we could hear the trampling and breaking of the fir-boughs, as others were evidently close at hand. gunson drew a burning stick from the fire, and offered it to the man, who took it, and said quietly, as he lit his own pipe-- "camping here for the night, mate?" "yes: camping here." "going on in the morning?" "no; this is my claim." the man dropped the burning stick, and stared at gunson. "what?" he said. "oh no, that won't do. me and my mates have chosen this patch, so you'll have to go higher up or lower down; haven't we, lads?" he continued, as one by one the rest of the gang came up. "eh? all right, yes, whatever it is," said one of them, whom i recognised as the second of quong's assailants. "there, you see," continued the first man; "it's all right, so you'll have to budge." "no," said gunson, quietly; "this is my claim. i've been here some days now, and here i stay." "oh, we'll see about that," said the fellow, in a bullying tone. "it's the place for us, so no nonsense. been here some days, have you?" "yes, some days now, my lad; and the law gives me a prior right." "ah, but there arn't no law up here yet. look here," he cried, suddenly seizing gunson, and forcing him back. "what's the pay dirt worth? how much gold have you got? how--why, hallo! it's you, is it? here, old lad," he cried to the other speaker, "it's our wrastling friend. i told you we should run up agen each other again, and--why of course--here's the boy too. this is quite jolly." "keep your hands off," said gunson, shaking himself free, and springing up, an example we followed. "this part of the country's wide enough, so go your way. i tell you again, this claim is mine. what i make is my business, so go." "hear all this?" said the big fellow, quickly. "hear this, mates? we arn't inside a fence now, with a lot o' riflemen ready, so just speak up, some of you. isn't this the spot we mean to have--isn't this the claim tom dunn come up and picked?" "yes, yes," came in chorus, as the men closed up round us in the gathering gloom; while i felt sick with apprehension, and stood ready to spring away as soon as mr gunson gave the order to go, while, fortunately for us, the way was open, being beyond the fire. "you hear, mate," cried the big fellow, fiercely, "so no more words. you and your boys can go, and think yourselves lucky we don't slit your ears. do you hear?" "yes," said gunson, smiling. "there's plenty of other places, so be off. where's your traps? now then, cut!" he took a step forward, and his companions seemed about to rush at us, when mr gunson's voice rang out-- "tent!" we sprang across the fire, whose thin smoke half hid us as we rushed in among the trees, and seized our weapons. "scared 'em," roared the big fellow; and there was a chorus of laughter from his companions, who gathered about the fire, kicking it together to make a blaze, and get lights for their pipes. we were in darkness, and they were in full light, the flames flashing up, and giving a strangely picturesque aspect to the group. "soon jobbed that job," said the big fellow. "how they ran! wonder whether they got any dust." "you ought to have searched 'em," said the second. "i know they had, or they wouldn't have run." "_cock_," whispered gunson, as there was a momentary pause; and the men all started, and their hands went to their hips for their pistols, as the ominous clicking of our pieces was heard. "bail up!" roared gunson, his voice pealing out of the darkness; "you are covered by rifles, and the man who moves dies." there was an angry growl, and the men threw up their hands, one of them holding a pistol. "put that iron away," roared gunson; and the man slowly replaced it, and then raised his hands like his fellows. "now go back the way you came, or strike up further," said gunson, firmly. "show your faces here again, and it is at your own risk, for i shoot at sight. off!" there was a low muttering growl at this, and the men walked slowly away in the direction by which they had come, while we sat listening till there was not a sound. "gone," i said, with the painful beating of my heart calming down. "yes, my lad, gone," said gunson; "and we shall have to follow their example. it is a horrible shame, but till we have people sent up by the governor, those scoundrels take the law in their own hands." "but they will not dare to come back." "i don't know. but i shall not dare to try and hold the place against such a gang." "but you weren't afraid of 'em?" said esau. "indeed, but i was," said gunson, with a bitter laugh, "horribly afraid. i should have fought to the end though, all the same, and so would you." "dunno," said esau; "but i was going to try and hit one, for i thought it a pity to waste a shot, and i can hit without killing; can't i, mayne gordon?" "don't talk about it," i said, with a shudder. "why not? wish we could wound all that lot like i wounded you, and that they would be as bad for six months." "don't talk," said mr gunson. "we will not stir to-night, and the best way will be not to show ourselves--only one at a time to make up the fire. no sleep to-night, lads; or if there is, it must be in turns. here, quong! what tree has he gone up?" there was no reply, and we sat listening with the darkness closing in all around, and the silence growing painful. it was a weary watch in the gloom, though outside the fire lit up the valley, and from time to time i went out and threw on a few sticks, just enough to keep it up. i don't know what time it was, probably about midnight, when mr gunson said softly. "two will be enough to watch. you, dean, lie down and take your spell till you are called." there was no reply. "do you hear?" still no answer. "what!" cried mr gunson, "has he forsaken us?" "no, no," i whispered; "here he is, and fast asleep." mr gunson uttered a low, half-contemptuous laugh. "nice fellow to trust with our lives," he said. "shall i wake him to watch while we sleep?" "don't be hard upon him," i said. "he was very tired, and it always was his weak point--he would go to sleep anywhere." "and your weak point to defend your friends, eh, mayne? there, i will not be hard upon him. talk in whispers, and keep on the _qui vive_; we must not be surprised. are you very tired?" "not at all now," i said. "i don't want to go to sleep." "then we'll discuss the position, mayne. hist!" we listened, but the faint crack we heard was evidently the snapping of a stick in the fire, and mr gunson went on. "now, mayne," he said, "after years of such toil as few men have lived through, i have found wealth. no, no, don't you speak. let me have the rostrum for awhile." he had noted that i was about to ask him a question, for it was on my lips to say, "how did you get to know of this place?" "i am not selfish or mad for wealth," he continued. "i am working for others, and i have found what i want. in a few months, or less, i shall be a rich man again, and you and your friends can take your share in my prosperity. that is, if i can hold my own here till law and order are established. if i cannot hold my own, i may never have another chance. in other words, if those scoundrels oust me, long before i can get help from the settlement they will have cleared out what is evidently a rich hoard or pocket belonging to old dame nature, where the gold has been swept. now then, for myself i am ready to dare everything, but i have you two boys with me, and i have no right to risk your injury, perhaps your lives. what do you think i ought to do?" "stand your ground," i said, firmly. "i would." i said this, for i had a lively recollection of the cowardice these men had displayed, both at the fort and here, as soon as they had been brought face to face with the rifles. gunson grasped my hand and pressed it hard. "thank you, my lad," he said, in a low deep whisper. "i half expected to hear you say this, but my conscience is hard at work with me as to whether i am justified in tying your fate up with that of such an unlucky adventurer as i am." "i am only an adventurer too," i said; "and it is not such very bad luck to have found all this gold." he was silent for a few minutes, as if he were thinking deeply, but at last he spoke. "i've been weighing it all in the balance, mayne," he said, "and god forgive me if i am going wrong, for i cannot help myself. the gold is very heavy in the scale, and bears down the beam. i cannot, gambler though i may be, give up now. look here, mayne, my lad, here is my decision. i am going to try and get a couple of good fellows from down below to come in as partners. so as soon as it is light you had better get back to the fort, explain your position, and i know mr raydon to be so straightforward and just a man, that he will forgive you." "there is nothing to forgive," i said, firmly; "and i'd sooner die than go back now." "nonsense! heroics, boy." "it is not," i said. "mr gunson, would two strange men, about whom you know nothing, be more true to you than esau dean and i would?" "no; i am sure they would not," he cried eagerly. "then i shall stay with you, and whatever i do esau will do. he will never leave me. besides, he is mad to get gold too. we are only boys, but those men are afraid of the rifles, and even if they mastered us, they would not dare to kill us." "no, my lad, they would not," cried mr gunson. "then you shall stay." he turned toward me, and grasped my hand. "and look here, mayne, i have for years now been the rough-looking fellow you met in the steerage of the ship; but i thank heaven there is still a little of the gentleman left, and you shall not find me unworthy of the trust you place in--ah!" i started back, for there was the sound of a heavy blow, and mr gunson fell forward upon his face, while two strong hands seized me from behind, and i was thrown heavily, while some one lay across my chest. chapter forty six. the representative of the law. "right behind him, mate. don't be afraid. tie his thumbs together too." i heard these words as i lay there in the darkness, and knew that our assailants must be securing gunson, while directly after esau's angry expostulations told what was going on with him. "let go, will you! oh, i say, it hurts. what yer doing of? here, hi! mr gunson, mayne gordon, don't be such cowards as to run away and leave a fellow. they're a-killing of me." "hold your row, will you," cried a gruff voice that was familiar to me now. "there, you won't run away in a hurry. have you tied that other shaver up?" "no," growled the man, who was lying across me. "look sharp then, and let's see what they've got to eat. done the job neatly this time." "yes," said another voice, whose words made me shudder; "bit too well, mate. this chap's a dead 'un." "bah! not he. crack on the head with a soft bit o' wood won't kill a man. here, let's see what they've got. make up that fire a bit. plaguey dark." while this was being said, i felt hands busy about my hands and legs, and then a voice by me said-- "there he is, tight as a bull-calf in a butcher's cart." soon after the fire blazed up vividly, sending its light in amongst the trees; and i saw the faces of the two big fellows, our old friends, and several of the others, who, after making sure of the rifles and revolvers, hunted out what food there was in gunson's little tent, and began to prepare themselves a meal. "don't seem to be no whiskey," said the big fellow, who was leader, as he passed close by me; and there i lay listening, perfectly helpless, and with my heart beating heavily with dread, as i pondered on the man's words about gunson. i waited till the men were talking round the fire, and then whispered-- "mr gunson--mr gunson," but there was no reply, and a chill feeling of horror ran through me, and the cold dew gathered on my forehead. "ain't you going to say a word to me, mayne gordon?" said esau, in a piteous voice. "say? what can i say?" i replied. "dunno, but you might say something. they've tied me so tight that the ropes cut right down to the bone." "so they have me, and it hurts horribly." "can't hurt you so much as it does me. pretty sort of chap you were to keep watch, and let them jump on us like that." "pretty sort of fellow you were to go to sleep," i returned, bitterly. "didn't go to sleep," grumbled esau. "only shut my eyes for a moment." "there, don't make paltry excuses," i said, angrily. "dare say you two was asleep too," he said, sulkily. "i say, have they killed poor old gunson?" "don't--don't--don't!" i whispered, piteously; and in spite of the pain it gave me, i rolled myself over and struggled along, till at last, after a terrible struggle, i reached gunson's side. "mr gunson," i said; "mr gunson, pray, pray speak." he uttered a low groan, and it sent a thrill of joy through me. "hurray!" whispered esau; "he ain't dead. i say, can't we get untied and drop on to them now when they don't expect it?" "impossible," i said, bitterly, "they've got the rifles too." "oh, i say," groaned esau, "ain't it too bad, mayne gordon! just as we was all going to be rich, and now we shall be cheated out of it all. only wish i could get my hands undone." what he would have done i cannot say, for his hands were tied fast, and we lay there listening to the talking and coarse laughter of the men about the fire, and a faint groan now and then from mr gunson, till the day began to break; and as the sun lit up the misty valley, and shot its bright, golden arrows through the trees, the men rose, and two of them took hold of mr gunson's head and heels, and carried him out into the open. "dead?" said one of them. "not he. take a harder crack to kill him," said the big fellow. "bring out them two boys and lay 'em here. i'm going to hold a court." "here, mind what you're doing," cried esau, as he was lifted. "you hurt." "hold your row, warmint," growled one of his hearers; and as esau kicked out viciously, they threw him down by gunson just as if he was a sack of wheat. "all right, cowards," exclaimed esau, viciously. "i'll serve you out for this." i set my teeth hard, so as not to make a sound, though they hurt me horribly, and i too was thrown down on the grass near the fire, while the big leader seated himself on a stone, took out and filled his pipe, lit it with a burning brand, and then began to smoke, while the men formed a circle round. "now then, young 'un," the big ruffian said to me, "speak up, and we shan't hurt you, but if you don't tell the whole truth, one of my mates here will take you into the woods there, and use his knife." "and then you'll be hung," said esau, sharply. "for cutting off his ears, monkey," growled the fellow. "well, they wouldn't do it for cutting off yourn, so we'll try them first." "yah! you daren't," cried esau, viciously. "don't, don't," i said. "it's of no good." "not a bit," said the big fellow. "now then, boy, where's your mate hid his pile?" "i don't know," i said. "what! no lies, or--" he clenched his fist, and held it towards me threateningly. "i tell you i don't know, and if i did i wouldn't tell you." "we'll soon see about that. now then, you," he said, turning to esau, "where's your mate keep his pile?" "dunno," said esau, laughing. "find out." "oh, we can soon do that. won't take long. here, you, how much did you get out of the stream every day?" "don't know," i said, "anything about it." "ho! very good. i say, mates, who's got the sharpest knife?" "all on us," said his principal companion--the man who was with him first. "well then, we'll have his ears off, and if that don't make him speak, his tongue ain't no use, and we'll have off that." "you dare to touch him," cried dean, fiercely, "and i'll never rest till the police catch you." "thank ye," said the big ruffian, and one man burst into a roar of laughter. "there, it's of no use, boys; tell us where he buried his pile, and you shall have a handful apiece. i don't know but what we'll let you stop in camp and cook for us. now then, out with it." "i told you before," i said firmly, "i don't know, and if i did i would not tell you." "look here," said one of the men, "give him a taste o' indian. that'll make him speak." "what d'yer mean?" "pull off his boots, and put his feet close to the fire to warm." "oh!" cried esau, "i wish my hands were untied." "and serve him the same," said the man who had made the proposal. "it'll be a race between 'em who shall speak first." "there, it's all right. ears off last. but they're going to speak; arn't you, boys?" we both remained silent. "oh, very well," said the big fellow; "off with their boots then." "don't you say a word, esau," i whispered; "it's only to frighten us." "no, it arn't," said the big ruffian, fiercely, for he must have guessed what i said. "it arn't done to frighten you. off with 'em, lads, and hold their feet close. that'll make 'em speak--or squeak," he added, with a grin. "it will not, you cowardly brute," i cried, desperately, "for we neither of us know." "and him as does can't speak," cried esau, fiercely. "call yourselves men to tie us two lads up, and do this? yah! you're afraid." "where's he hid his pile, then?" growled the big ruffian. "don't answer him," i said; "it's of no use." "not a bit, my saucy young whelps. now i give you one more chance. hold hard a moment," he cried to the men who held us. "now then, where's that there gold?" "i don't know," i said, furiously, for the pain i suffered made me reckless; "and i tell you again, if i did know i wouldn't say." "i say, mates," said the big fellow, with mock seriousness, "arn't it awful to hear two boys lie like that? must teach 'em better, mustn't us?" there was a burst of laughter at this, and the men dragged off our boots and stockings. "that's the way," he said; "now set 'em down close to the fire, and just warm their soles a bit; just to let 'em know what it's like." "oh, esau!" i groaned, as i was seized; but he did not hear me, for as they took hold of him he began to struggle and writhe with all his might. then for a few moments i began to think that this was all done to frighten us, till i heard esau give a shriek of pain. "now, will you tell us?" cried the big fellow. "give the other a taste too." four men laid hold of me, and they carried me close up to the fire, whose glow i felt upon my face, as i too made a desperate effort to escape. but it was useless, and i was turning faint with horror and dread combined, for in another moment they would have forced my feet close to the glowing embers, when i uttered a cry of joy, for mr raydon, rifle in hand, suddenly strode out from among the pines, and i was dropped, for every man seized his weapon. "put up your pistols," cried mr raydon, in a voice of thunder, as he came up to us, his piece in his left hand, while with his right he struck the man nearest to me a blow full in the eyes which sent him staggering across the fire, to fall heavily on the other side. "stand fast, mates," cried the big ruffian, fiercely; "he's only one. it's him from the fort, and we've got my gentleman now." "stand back, sir!" roared mr raydon, "if you value your life." "give up that gun if you value yours," cried the man, and, bowie-knife in hand, he sprang right at mr raydon. but at that moment there was the sharp crack of a rifle, the ruffian's legs gave way beneath him, and he fell forward, sticking his knife deep into the earth. "fool! i warned you," said mr raydon, hoarsely. "stand! all of you. you are surrounded and covered by rifles--look!" he pointed to where a thin film of smoke rose from among the pines, close by where esau had blazed the tree. "it's a lie, mates," groaned the prostrate ruffian; "there's only two of 'em. don't let him bully you like that." "no, mate," cried his chief companion. "it was a shot from behind. come on." he in turn rushed at mr raydon, who merely stepped back as the man raised his hand to strike, when a second shot rang out from the same place, and, with a yell of agony, the hand which held a knife dropped, and the blade fell with a jingling sound upon a block of stone. "will you believe me now?" said mr raydon. "i tell you there are men all round you, and every one is a marksman who can bring you down. do you surrender?" "no," cried the big ruffian, through his set teeth, as he dragged himself up on his hands. "it's the same one fired both shots. mates, you won't cave in and give up a claim like this?" "no!" came in chorus. "it's our claim, and we'll fight for it." "it is mr gunson's claim," i cried, angrily; "and it was ours before he came." "if any one has a right to the claim, it is i," said mr raydon; "and i give you warning, my men, if one of you is seen in these parts after to-day, he shall be hunted down and placed in irons till he can be sent back to the coast for attempted murder and robbery." "don't listen," cried the big ruffian, hoarsely; and i could see that he was ghastly pale. "he's nobody. he's trying to scar' you. stand up and fight for your rights." "mr raydon, quick!" i shouted. "take care!" i was too late, for a revolver-shot rang out, fired by the second man; but it was with his left hand, and i uttered a cry of joy, for it had missed. "keep to your places," cried mr raydon; "i am not hurt. grey and number two advance. stop number two and number three advance, and collect their weapons. you others cover your men. grey, bring down the next who lifts a hand." two of the men from the fort ran out from the pines, rifle in hand; but at that moment there was a crackling and rustling of branches, and one by one at least a dozen gold-finders from below came running up, armed with rifles and revolvers. "ah," cried the big ruffian, from where he lay; "come on, mates. they're trying to put a stop to the gold-washing, and to rob us of our claim." "gag that scoundrel if he speaks again," cried mr raydon, coolly, as the rough-looking men clustered together, dirt-stained, unkempt, and drenched with water some of them, and all anxiously handling their pieces. there was a low angry murmur from the new-comers, and our assailants shouted-- "yes; come to rob us of our claim." "silence!" cried mr raydon, turning then to the gold-finders. "i am mr daniel raydon, chief officer of fort elk, the station of the hudson's bay company." "ay, that's right," said one of the new-comers. "i stand to all here as the magistrate of this district till the governor, her majesty's representative, sends officers to preserve order, and protect you and your rights and claims in this newly-discovered goldfield." "that's right, sir; that's right, sir," said the same man. "but when we've chosen claims you're not to take them away." "hear, hear!" roared the big ruffian, faintly. "and shoot him down," cried another of the fresh coiners; and there was a loud murmur like a chorus of approval. "of course not, my men," said mr raydon, calmly. "don't listen to him. it's a robbery," cried one of the big ruffian's gang. "fired at us; shot two of our men." "yes; we heard the shots," said the first gold-finder. "and i am glad you have come," said mr raydon. "now then, you boys. has either of you seen a man here and those two lads before?" "seen the man," said the first speaker; "not the boys." "well, do you know he was working this claim with a chinaman?" "yes," said another; "i saw the chinaman only yesterday morning." "last night the chinaman came to the fort to tell me they were attacked by a gang of ruffians, and i brought my men over the mountains to come to their help." "it's all a lie," said the big fellow, in a faint voice. "ask the boys, my good fellows," said mr raydon. "ask them where mr gunson is." "lying yonder," cried esau, "half dead. they did it." "these boys are bound too, you see. tell them, mayne gordon, what they were about to do when i came to your help." "hold our feet in the fire to make us tell where the gold is hidden." "no, no; a bit of a game," chorussed the gang. "look at my feet," cried esau, piteously; "is that a bit of a game?" and he tried to hold up his bound legs, which the leader of the new-comers raised and examined. "it's true enough," said the chief speaker, indignantly; and a roar of execration arose. "it is all true," cried mr raydon. "where is the chinaman?" "allee light--me come along," cried quong; and there was a roar of laughter, for his voice came from high up in a tree. "come down, quong; there is no danger," said mr raydon. "some of you cut these poor lads' limbs free. stop, fool!" he roared, as one of the gang began to sidle off. "stand, all of you, if you value your lives. fire on the first scoundrel who tries to escape. i have men planted, and good shots," he said to the leader of the gold-finders. "you carry it with a high hand, governor," said this man, rather abruptly. "well, sir, i have come to save these people here. i should have done the same for you. this is english ground, where every man's life and property must be protected by the law. for the time being i represent the law, and i'll have myself obeyed. now what have you--what have any of you to say?" "three cheers for old england and the law!" cried the man. "i beg your pardon, sir: you're right, and i'm wrong. what shall we do? hang this lot?" "that's not obeying the law," said mr raydon, smiling. "no; two of them are wounded. their leader has his thigh broken; and his companion his hand smashed, as he tried to stab me. they have got their punishment. disarm the rest. then four of my men shall go with you to see these scoundrels well down the valley. if they show their faces here again they know the risks." "right!" cried the leader; and he snatched the revolver from the nearest man, and his example was so rapidly followed, that in a few minutes the utterly cowed gang was huddled together, unarmed, and guarded by four of the company's people, who had advanced from the wood at a word from their chief. "and now what about our claims along this stream?" said the leader of the new-comers. "i am here to help you maintain your just rights, sir," said mr raydon, quietly. "now help me to maintain order, and to see to the wounded men. bring lint and bandages, grey." and as that individual produced the linen from his haversack, mr raydon handed his rifle to one of the gold-finders, and went down on one knee to examine mr gunson's injury, which he carefully washed and bandaged. "a terrible cut," he said, in answer to my inquiring eyes, "and concussion of the brain. i hope not more serious. now, my man," he continued, turning to the big ruffian, "you tried to take my life, and i have got to try and save yours." the fellow made no answer, but winced and groaned with pain as his shattered limb was set and supported by rough splints. "this fellow will have to be carried," said mr raydon, rising; "he will not walk again for many months. now, sir, you." he bent over the second ruffian and examined his hand, bathed and bandaged it, and then went to the stream to wash his own. by this time several more armed men had come up from the lower part of the stream, and eagerly asked for particulars, while i heard a great deal, and noted nearly everything, as i sat by mr gunson, suffering agonies, for my arms and legs throbbed with the return of the circulation. mr raydon had only just finished his task when the chief speaker of the gold-finders came up with half a dozen more. "all my mates here, sir," he said, "from down stream ask me to speak, and say we thank you for what you've done. we want protection, and law, and order, and for every man to make his pile in peace. we see you've got half a dozen men with you, and you talk of sending four down the river with this gang." "yes," said mr raydon. "well, sir, we think we can save you that job. we'll see those chaps off the premises." "no violence," said mr raydon, sternly. "not if they behave themselves, sir, i promise that. for we think, as there's no knowing who may come next, we should be glad if you'll keep your men, so that in case of trouble we can appeal to you." "very well," said mr raydon; "let it be so then." "don't trust him," snarled one of the wounded men; "he'll rob you all of your claims." "not he," said the chief speaker. "no," said mr raydon, "and the first step i shall take will be to leave two of my men in charge of this claim, which has been taken up by the wounded prospector, gunson." "that's right; that's fair," came in chorus, and after a little more conversation the men moved off with the prisoners, the wounded fellow being carried on a litter of poles. "edwards," said mr raydon, "you and another had better stay here with the chinaman. gordon, where is the gold?" "i have not the least idea, sir." "oh, then you, dean." "don't know a bit, sir," said esau, who was nursing his blistered feet. "here, quong, where has mr gunson stored the gold he has found?" "me no sabbee, sah. quong give allee gole mis gunson take callee. no sabbee. hide allee gole ploply." "cut poles and lash them together," said mr raydon to grey; "we must carry him to the fort. gordon, dean, you had better come and stay till he is better." i looked up at him doubtingly. "yes," he said; "it will be best." half an hour after we were on our way back, with esau limping painfully. two of the miners volunteered to help carry the litter, so as to relieve the four we had, and the claim was left in charge of the two others, for whom, as we came away, quong was making, as he expressed it, "plenty good flesh tea." it was dark night again as we reached the gate of the fort, and heard the deep-toned baying of the great dog; and a few minutes later mrs john was holding my hands, and as she kissed me there was a tear left upon my cheek. "so glad, so very glad to see you back, mayne," said mr john, warmly. "i hope all the trouble now is at an end." i said nothing, only helped to get mr gunson in his old quarters, after esau had at last extricated himself from his mother's arms. "is it all real, esau?" i said, after mr raydon had gone, telling us not to be alarmed at mr gunson's insensibility, for it might be hours before he came to. "i shall come and see him twice in the course of the night," he said, as he went out. "you, esau, you must rest those feet." "yes, sir; all right," said esau; and it was then that i said, "is it all real?" "if your feet smarted like mine do, you wouldn't ask that," he replied, sulkily. "i want to know why i wasn't carried back in a litter too?" "it was impossible," i said. "wasn't impossible to have given a fellow a pig-a-back. oh, my feet, my feet! oh, yes, it's precious real." "i never expected to come back here like this," i said. "nor i neither," replied esau. "i say, you'll keep watch by mr gunson, won't you?" "yes, of course," i said. "that's right. i'm going to do something for my trotters." "what are you going to do?" "go off to sleep." in a few minutes i was listening to his hard breathing, and asking myself whether, after the past night, i could do duty in watching the wounded man, when there were footsteps, and two of the men's indian wives came in. "to nurse mr gunson," they said, in fair english, and a short time after i too was fast asleep. chapter forty seven. almost soldiers. i awoke that next morning sore, miserable, and seeing everything through the very reverse of rose-coloured spectacles. for i was back at the fort, and it now looked a very different place to the home i had journeyed so many months to find when i was sanguine and hopeful. there appeared to be a dead weight upon me; and as i first opened my eyes, i felt as if the best thing i could do would be to rouse up esau, and go right away. but as i looked round, my eyes lit upon mr gunson lying insensible in his bed, with mrs dean seated patiently by his side, and i felt ashamed of my thoughts, for i could not go away and leave one who had shown himself so true a friend from our first meeting, and i at once determined, no matter how painful my position might be, to stay by his side, and tend him till he grew strong again. i shivered as i thought this, for i could just see his pale face below his bandaged head, and the ideas came--suppose he does not recover-- never grow strong again? suppose he dies? the weak tears rose to my eyes at the thought, and i lay wistfully gazing at him in the silence of that bright morning, for i felt that i should be almost alone out there in that wild, new country. for mr and mrs john would certainly be more and more influenced by mr raydon; and as i could not stay at the fort, i should never see them. the old plans of staying with them, and building up a new house somewhere in one of the lovely spots by the river, were gone, and i told myself that i should soon have to say good-bye to them. there would be esau, though;--perhaps not: for mrs dean would naturally want to stay where there were women; and as she had become attached to mrs john, the chances were that she would stay at or near the fort, and that would influence esau, who would be forgiven by mr raydon, and stay too, while i should go off into the wilderness all alone. taken altogether, i was about as miserable and full of doleful ideas as a boy of my age could be. not one bit of blue sky could i see through the clouds that shut in my future; and i was growing worse as i lay there with an indistinct fancy that i had heard mr raydon's voice in the night, when a bright ray of sunshine came through the window, and made a ruddy golden spot on the pine-wood ceiling. it was only a ray of light, but it worked wonders, for it changed the current of my thoughts, setting me thinking that the sun was just peeping over the edge of the mountain lying to the east, and brightening the mists that lay in the valleys, and making everything look glorious as it chased away the shadows from gully and ravine, till it shone full upon the river, and turned its grey waters into dazzling, rippling, and splashing silver. i don't know how it was, but that sunlight began to drive away the mists and dark vapours in my mind. i did not feel so miserable, though i was painfully stiff and sore. the future was bright, my case not so hopeless, and i was just making up my mind that esau would never forsake me, and that mr gunson would not die, when mrs dean looked round. "ah, my dear," she said; "awake?" "yes," i said, springing up, all dressed as i was. "you have not been watching here all night?" "oh, no; i only came on at daybreak. he's sleeping very calmly." "has he spoken?" "oh dear no, and is not likely to for long enough. such a pity as it is, poor man!" "it is a terrible injury," i said. "yes, my dear; and how thankful i am it wasn't my poor esau. what should i have done if it had been he?" "it would have been terrible," i said. "or you, my dear," she whispered hurriedly, as if in apology for not naming me before. "oh, that would have been no consequence," i replied, bitterly. "oh, my dear," she cried, with the tears in her eyes; "don't--don't talk like that. i know you've been in trouble, but we all have that, and they say it makes the happiness all the sweeter." "yes, they say so," i replied gloomily. "ah, it does, my dear. there, as mr john said to me about you, `it will all come right in the end.'" "here, what's the matter?" said esau gruffly, still half asleep. "time to get up? hullo, mother! oh, oh! i recollect now. i was dreaming about old quong. i say! oh, my feet--my feet!" "there, there, there, my dear; they'll soon be better," said mrs dean, bending over him; and the sight of those two, with esau's pettish ill-humour, quite drove away the rest of my gloom for the time. for as mrs dean bent over her son, he pushed her away. "don't, mother; i do wish you wouldn't." "wouldn't what, my dear?" "talk to me, and pull me about like that." "hush! not so loud, my dear. you'll wake mr gunson." "bother mr gunson! there you go again. can't you see i'm growed up now?" "yes, of course, esau." "no you can't, or you wouldn't talk to me like that. you always seem to treat me as if i was two years old; you'll be wanting to rock me to sleep some night." "esau, my dear, how can you?" "well, so you will. pet, pet, pet, every time you get near me." "esau, my darling," cried mrs dean, excitedly. "what are you going to do?" "get up." "with your feet like that?" "well, they'll be just the same if i lie here, and i'm not going to be ill." "but you will be, dear, if you walk about." "then i shall be ill. i'm not going to lie here for you to feed me with a spoon, and keep on laying your hand on my head." "now, esau, when did i try to feed you with a spoon?" "i mean mettyphorically," grumbled esau. "you always seem to think i'm a baby. ah, if you begin to cry, i'll dance about and make my feet worse." mrs dean wiped her eyes furtively, and esau put his arm round her and gave her a hearty kiss, which made her beam again. "well," he said, turning to me with a very grim look, "not much fun in getting gold, is there? i say, who'd have thought of our coming back again like this? what 'll mr raydon say to us this morning?" i felt half startled at the idea of meeting him again, but my attention was taken up by a low muttering from mr gunson, and i went with mrs dean to his side, and stood watching her bathe his head till he sighed gently, and seemed to calm down. "poor old chap!" said esau; "he got a nasty one, that he did. i say, wonder how much gold him and old teapot had found?" "oh, never mind that now." "but i do," said esau; "and so would he mind if he could think and talk. wonder where he hid it all? let's ask quong, because it oughtn't to be lost." i made no answer, but stood watching the injured man, while esau preferred sitting down and nursing first one foot and then the other, but always obstinately refusing to lot his mother touch them. "i say," he said, after a pause. "well." "what's old raydon going to say to us? it was very jolly of him to come and help us as he did, but he looked pickled thunder at me and you here. he won't let us stay. we shall have to start off again." "i suppose so," i said drearily, with my old troubles coming back; and we relapsed into silence, till there was a soft light step at the door, and quong entered and looked sharply at the plain rough bed-place where mr gunson lay. "come over see how d'ye do," he said quickly. "cap gunson no go long die self?" "no, no," i cried; "he will get well." "yes; get well, ploper quite well, and go wash gole. makee flesh blead--flesh tea?" "no, not yet," said mrs dean, who looked askant at the fresh-comer, and as if she did not approve of him. "allee light. wait. good fi' makee blead cakee." "i say, quong," whispered esau, "did you two find much gold?" quong gave him a quaint laughing look. "you waitee littee bit. allee same ask mas gunson. you sabbee?" "but he can't tell us. i say, do you know where he hid what you got?" "no; no sabbee. mas gunson know allee same. you wait." just then i heard a cough in the enclosure, and drew back a little uneasily as the door opened, and mr raydon entered. "good morning, my lads," he said, gravely and coldly. "ah, quong, you here? well, nurse, how is your patient?" "he seems very nicely, sir, and i don't think there is much fever." "does he seem in great pain?" "only at times, sir, and then i bathe his temples." quong looked sharply from one to the other, and began to fumble about under his blue cotton blouse till he produced from some hidden pocket a tiny thin bottle, less than my little finger, and gave it to mr raydon. "velly good," he said, eagerly. "you sabbee? touch velly little dlop allee long cap gunson head. no makee hurt then." "ah, yes," said mr raydon, taking the bottle. "i have seen this before;" and as gunson just then uttered an uneasy moan, the cork was taken out, and a very tiny drop spread with a finger lightly about his temples. "makee seep," said quong, smiling. "velly good." the essence certainly produced the required effect, and quong showed his yellow teeth. "not muchee," he said. "velly lit dlop. velly ofen? no, no." "i understand," said mr raydon, handing back the bottle. "no," said quong. "no. keep all along. you sabbee?" "very well, i'll keep it," said mr raydon; and just then there was a tap at the door. "come in." grey entered. "want me?" "bad news, sir," said grey, in a sharp whisper. "that man from the little valley--barker he says his name is--" "which was barker?" "that sensible man you shook hands with." "what does he want?" "wants to see you, sir. they started that gang down the river with half a dozen armed miners, and they rose against them in the night." "yes," said mr raydon, excitedly. "well?" "they killed two, wounded all the rest, and they are all free again." "and their own wounded men?" "took them into the woods with them." "this is bad news indeed," said mr raydon, beginning to pace the room. "he wants to know what's to be done," said grey. "i must think--i must think," said mr raydon, hastily. "two men away guarding that claim." "yes, sir. weakens us." "yes," said mr raydon; "and we must be weakened more. two of our men must go to strengthen them at the claim. there must be four there." "won't draw them away and give up the claim, sir?" "no," said mr raydon, firmly. "go back to this mr barker, and say i'll be with him directly." "yes, sir," said grey; and he went out with all the quiet precision of a soldier. "bad news--bad news indeed," said mr raydon, half aloud. "more trouble to lay upon your shoulders, mayne gordon. all your fault." i felt a chill run through me, and i believe a cold hard look must have come into my face. "well, we must make the best of it. of course you two lads must stop here." "if you wish it, sir," i said, "we will go directly." "i do not wish it, boy," he replied sternly. "do you wish to leave those who have been your friends in the lurch now you have dragged all this trouble to their door?" "no, sir," i said, as i set my teeth hard, determined to be cool, in spite of the injustice with which i felt that i was being treated. "no, of course not. you have some stubborn pluck in you--both of you." esau growled in a very low tone, and made his mother look at him in a startled way, as if she had suddenly awakened to the fact that her son possessed the nature of a bear's cub. mr raydon took another turn or two up and down the room. "mrs dean," he said, "i can do nothing more for your patient. no doctor could; time is the only thing. i'll come back as soon as i can. meantime my sister will come to you, and you can have either of my men's wives to assist you in nursing. they are indians, but well trained in that way. do your best." "mother always does," growled esau. mr raydon gave him a sharp look, but esau did not flinch. "look here, you two," said mr raydon, after a pause. "i am going to send two more of my men away, for the fellows in that gang are not going to beat me. the law-and-order party must and shall prevail. this will weaken my little garrison, so you two will have to mount rifles, and take the places of two of my absent men." "yes, sir," i said, eagerly. "i'll do my best." "thank you. now, esau dean, what do you say?" "course i shall do as he does. i'm ready." "no, no, esau, my boy. your feet, your feet," cried mrs dean. "do be quiet, mother. there you go with the spoon again. fellow don't shoot off a rifle with his foot." i saw mr raydon bite his lips to repress a smile. "i had forgotten your burnt feet. do they feel very bad?" "oh, pretty tidy, sir, but i don't mind. i should like to have a pop at one of them as held me to that fire." "naturally," said mr raydon. "but i'm afraid i can't do much marching." "you will be posted in one of the block-houses." "that'll do," cried esau. "come along, mayne gordon." "you have never used a rifle." "why, mr gunson there showed us all about it. don't you be afraid; i'll try." "oh, esau!" cried mrs dean. "and mother shall nurse me when i'm wounded." "oh, my boy--my boy!" "silence, sir! mrs dean, he is only tormenting you. it is not likely that he will be hurt, but out here in the wilderness we do sometimes have to fight to protect the women and children. there, do not be uneasy; i see your son will do you credit." esau gave a gulp, and turned red in the face, while i suffered a twinge of jealousy on finding that the lad, whom i blamed as the cause of all the trouble, should be spoken to in this way while i was treated with a coldness that, in my sensitive state, seemed to freeze all the better nature within me. "a pretty mess this, sir," said barker, as we joined him out in the enclosure. "those stupid donkeys have let loose a nice gang. they'll be as savage as possible against everybody, and be coming down upon us just when we don't expect it." "but have they arms and ammunition?" "plenty, sir. they stripped our men, and if we don't look out they'll strip us. why, the little valley will never be safe again while they are about." "no," said mr raydon. "it's a bad look-out, but we must take every precaution. you may rely on my helping you, as i promised, and if i am the unlucky one attacked first, i look for help from you." "and you shall have it, sir. i answer for the lads up the valley. what do you propose doing first?" "nothing," said mr raydon. the man stared at him aghast, and mr raydon smiled. "but--but hadn't we better get a party together, and hunt them down, sir?" "an excellent plan," said mr raydon, "but impossible in this wild country. they would lead us a terrible dance, weary us out, and perhaps take advantage of our absence to plunder our places. the better way will be to keep a sharp look-out, and punish them if they attack us." "but if they take us by surprise, sir?" "they must not," said mr raydon, quietly. "my advice to you is, that you go back and make arrangements for mutual support, so that all can hurry at once to the place attacked. you will make it one man's duty to act as messenger, and come directly to give warning here, and another to give notice up the valley at gunson's claim." "and the two men there will come and help us? yes: that's good." "there will be four of my men stationed there," said mr raydon. "that is a very likely place for the first attack, if they can find their way over the mountains and through the dense forest. the trouble began by their trying to seize that claim." "why not let them go to it again, and attack them when they are settled down?" said barker. "no, my man, it is not our line to attack; let that come from the enemy. besides, i particularly wish mr gunson's claim to be reserved for him till he has recovered. so if the enemy find their way there you will go up to my men's help. if there is anything you want from the fort here at your camp, you can send up, and i will supply you if i can." "thankye, sir, thankye. that's very neighbourly," said barker. "i think the more of it because there's a report about that you were dead against the claims being taken up." i stared at mr raydon wonderingly, for his behaviour was inexplicable to me; but i had no time given me for thought. as soon as barker and the two men who came up with him had gone, mr raydon chose two of his little garrison, and sent them, well armed, and with as big loads of supplies as they could carry, by the near cut over the mountains, that is by the track taken when he and his men came to our help. directly after, in a sharp military way, he led us to his little armoury, and gave us each a rifle and pistol, with a few words of instruction as to where the weapons were to be kept in readiness for use; and, in addition, what we were to do in the places of the two men who had gone. i was glad of this, for it took up my time, and gave me something else to think about. it was pleasant too--the duty of having to help in the defence of the fort where my friends were gathered. "some day he'll be sorry for it all," i said to myself; and i was brooding over the past again, when esau uttered a low chuckle, which made me turn to him wonderingly. "only think of it, mayne gordon," he said. "what a game!" "what is a game?" "you always being so dead on to me about going for a soldier, and here we are both of us good as soldiers after all. why, if he'd let us tackle one of those guns," he continued, pointing to a little cannon mounted in the block-house, "it would be like joining the ryle artilleree." chapter forty eight. lost! we were not kept in doubt long about the proceedings of the enemy. i was in the strangers' quarters next day, talking in a whisper to mrs john, while taking her turn at nursing poor gunson, who still lay perfectly insensible, and so still that i gazed at him with feelings akin to terror, when mr raydon came in and walked straight to the bedside. we watched him as he made a short examination, and then in answer to mrs john's inquiring look-- "i can do nothing," he said. "he is no worse. there is no fracture; all this is the result of concussion of the brain, i should say, and we can only hope that nature is slowly and surely repairing the injury." "but a doctor, daniel?" said mrs john. "my dear sister, how are we to get a surgeon to come up here? it is a terrible journey up from the coast, and i believe i have done and am doing all that a regular medical man would do." "but--" "yes," he said, smiling gravely, "i know you look upon me as being very ignorant, but you forget that i have had a good deal of experience since i have been out here. i learned all i could before i came, and i have studied a good deal from books since. why, i have attended scores of cases amongst my own people--sickness, wounds, injuries from wild beasts, falls and fractures, bites from rattlesnakes, and i might say hundreds of cases among the indians, who call me the great medicine man." "i know how clever you are, dear," said mrs john. "thank you," he said, kissing her affectionately. "i wish i were; but i am proud of one achievement." "what was that, dear?" "the prescription by which i cured you." then, turning sharply on me, his face grew hard and stern again. "well, mayne gordon," he said, "you have heard the news, of course?" "i have heard nothing, sir," i said, eagerly, for it was pleasant to find him make the slightest advance towards the old friendly feeling. but my hopes were dashed the next moment, as i heard his words, and felt that they were intended as a reproach. "your friends made a raid on one of the little camps nearest the river last night, and carried off all the gold the party had washed." "was any one hurt?" said mrs john, excitedly. "happily nothing beyond a few blows and bruises," replied mr raydon. "it was a surprise, and the gold-diggers fled for help. when they returned in force the gang had gone. taken to the forest, i suppose. get back to your duty, mayne," he said; and i hurried away to find esau deep in conversation with grey about the last night's attack. "think they'll come up here?" said esau. "like enough. if they do--" "well?" i said, for the man stopped. "if they do?" "i shall be obliged to fire straight," he said, slowly. "men who act like that become wild beasts, and they must be treated similarly." i shuddered slightly, as i thought of his skill with the rifle. "i know what you think," he said, gravely; "that it's horrible to shed blood. so it is; but i've got a wife here, and children, and out in a wild place like this, a man has to be his own soldier and policeman, and judge and jury too." "it seems very horrible," i said. "it is very horrible, my lad, but it's not our doing. if these people will leave us alone, we shall not interfere with them." "of course not," said esau. "wonder whether i could hit a man." "i hope you will not have to try," said grey. "it's what the governor has been afraid of for years and years." i winced again, for it was as if everything i saw or heard tended to accuse me of destroying the peace of the place. "wonder whether they'll come here to-night," said esau. "we must be ready for them; but i don't think it's likely," said grey. "they got a good deal of plunder last night, and plenty of provisions. i should say that they will do nothing now for a few days. they'll wait till they think we are not on the look-out." it proved as grey said, and for the next few days there was no alarm. communications had been kept up with the mining camps, and one morning, as i was talking with mr john about the terribly weak state in which mr gunson lay, partaking of the food and medicine administered, but as if still asleep, mr raydon came up. "gordon," he said, "you and dean have wandered about well, and gone in nearly every direction, have you not?" "yes, sir," i said, wondering what was coming. "do you think you could find your way to gunson's claim?" "of course, sir," i said, smiling. "i do not mean by the valley," he said, testily. "i want some one to go by the short cut over the mountains--the way i came to your relief." "i don't know, sir," i said. "i have never been there, but i will try." "bravo!" said mr john. "mayne, you're like pat with the fiddle. he said he would try if he could play." "are you willing to try?" said mr raydon. "with dean, sir?" "no; alone. i cannot spare two." "yes," i said, eagerly; "i'll go." "i do not see what harm could befall you," said mr raydon, musingly. "the direction is well marked, and the trees are blazed through the bit of forest. any beasts you came near would skurry off. yes; i think i will let you go. by the way, you may as well take your rifle and pistol." "yes," i said, feeling quite excited over my mission. "have you anything for me to take to the men?" "no; it is only a visit to an outpost, to let them see that they are not forgotten, and to ask them if they have seen the enemy, or want anything. but perhaps you had better go by the valley; it is surer." "i should like to try the near way, sir," i said. he gazed at me thoughtfully for a few moments. "well," he said, to my great satisfaction, "you shall try it. you ought to know every trail round. go and make a hearty meal before you start, and then you need not take any provisions, for you can easily be back before dark. which way shall you go at first?" "up through the pines at the back," i said. "no. go down the valley to where that rounded rock stands up like a dome, and climb up at once, keeping to the left. then go right over the side of the valley, and make straight for the big pine-forest you will see across the open, striking for the tallest pine at the edge. that tree is blazed with a white patch cut out by an axe. the trees right through are blazed, and from one you can see the next, and from that the next, so that you cannot go wrong." "i see," i said; "i see." then he went on and told me what to do when i got through the dense forest--this being a narrow corner which ran out into the open lands, and on the other side went right off into the wilds, where it was impenetrable. he roughly sketched out points, buttresses, and ravines, which were to serve me as landmarks to make for; and then i was to go to right or left, as the case might be; and one way and another, he marked down for me a series of prominences to make for, so as to gain one and then see another from it, till i reached to where i could look down into golden valley, as i called it now, right above gunson's claim. he made me repeat my instructions, impressing upon me that i was to treat the landmarks he gave me just as i did the blazed trees in the forest, making sure of another's position before i left one, and, satisfied at last, he gave me a nod of the head, and said abruptly-- "off as soon as you can." "i should like to go with you, mayne," said mr john, eagerly. "no, no! nonsense!" cried mr raydon. "i cannot spare you, john. i may want you to shoot down a few hundreds of the enemy." mr john took these words so seriously that i could not help laughing, when he saw them in the right light, came with me to my quarters, watched me make a good meal, and then walked with me to the slope beneath the dome, where he shook hands and stood to see me climb. "be careful, my boy," he said, at parting. "it is very steep and dangerous." i laughed, and ran up the side feeling like a goat. there was something very delightful in the excursion, after the confinement within the block-house, and in the glorious sunshine and the bright clear air, i sprang forward, turning from time to time, as i climbed higher, to wave my hand to him, and look down on fort and valley, till the inequalities of the wild, stony side hid him from my view. i felt in high spirits, for this task made me think that mr raydon was beginning to trust me again; and as i went on i thought about mrs john and her gentle words, as she told me all would come right in the end. then i began to think about poor gunson, and wondered whether he would soon be better, as i hoped and prayed that he would. this made me feel low-spirited for a while, but the glorious scene around me chased these gloomy thoughts away, for there before me in the distance was the great pine towering up above its fellows at the edge of the forest. "oh, it's easy enough to find one's way," i said, and excited by my task i whistled, sang, and shouted, to have my voice come echoing back. "i want esau over here," i said aloud, as i shifted the heavy rifle from one shoulder to the other. "how he would enjoy it!" then i began thinking of how attentive mr raydon was in his stern, grave way to poor gunson, and it struck me that he must feel a great respect for him, or he would not be so careful, seeing how he disliked it all, in keeping guard over his gold claim. then i had to think of my task, and climb over some rough ground, till i reached the first trees, which very soon hid the huge pine, and found it to be not quite at the edge of the forest. but i soon caught sight of it again, and on reaching it saw the great mark or blaze in its side, and from it the next. from this i could see another, and so found no difficulty in getting through the solemn groves. on the other side, as i stood by the last blazed tree, i had no difficulty in making out a vast mass of rock, for which i at once stepped out, and all proved to be so clear, there were so many landmarks in the shape of peculiar stones, falls, and clumps of trees, that i made my way easily enough, and felt no little pride in being so trusted to tramp through these vast solitudes with a pistol in my belt and my rifle over my shoulder. "how grand! how grand!" i kept on saying to myself, as i climbed to the top of some high point and looked around, while at such times a feeling of awe came over me at the silence and loneliness of the scene. i found my way at last to the top of a ridge where i could look down into a green valley, seeing here and there in the distance faint lines of smoke rising over the tops of the trees, and after a hot, rather difficult descent through the pines, just as mr raydon must have come to our help that day, i reached the little camp, and was greeted by the men with a cheery shout. they had not seen a sign of danger, they said, and as i looked round i saw no sign of the place having been disturbed. i heard too that the gold-washing was going on very busily below, but no party had gone higher than they were, barker having urged upon his fellow-miners the necessity for keeping well together. after a rest and a mug of tea, which they soon had ready for me, two of them saw me up to the ridge above the valley, and gave me a hint or two about my way, with a warning to be careful; and, full of confidence, i started forward on my return journey. i soon lost sight of the men and trudged on, keeping a sharp look-out in the hope that i might see something in the form of game for a shot, and a change in the fare at the fort, but the utter absence of animals was wonderful, and it was only at rare intervals that i heard the cry of a bird, or caught sight of a squirrel. i soon found that going back was not so easy, everything looking very different reversed, and consequently i went astray twice, and had to tramp back to the spot where i knew i had erred. once i was brought up short by a terrible precipice; a second time by a huge wall of rock, going up hundreds of feet, ample proof that i was wrong. returning to the starting-place was best, and each time i soon realised where i had strayed from the right track, and went on afresh. but these wanderings took up time, and evening was setting in as i reached the great patch of wood where the trees were blazed, and under the shade of these great pines it was twilight at once, and soon after, to my dismay, i found that it was quite dark. still i knew the direction in which i ought to go, and pressed on as fast as i could, trusting to get through the forest; and then the four miles or so out in the open could soon be got over. so i thought, but if you try to realise my position it will be easy to understand how difficult it is to keep to a certain direction, when one has constantly to turn to right or left to pass round some big tree. not very difficult, you may say. trees are not so big as that. but they are out there. just picture to yourself one of our pines starting from the ground with a beautiful curve, before growing up straight as an arrow, and so far round that i have seen them, when lying on the ground felled by the axe, about ten feet up from the roots, where they would not be so big, with the butt where it was cut, ten feet across or thirty feet round, while, down at the level of the ground, it would be a long way on to double that thickness. to walk round such trees as that, and avoid the great roots, means taking a good many steps, and when this is done again and again, in a place where there is no beaten track, it is very easy to go astray. it was so with me in the darkness of that forest, and i began to repent bitterly now of my determination, for i had volunteered to come, feeling positive of being able to find my way, while the more i tried to see, the more confused i grew; till, hot, panting, and weary, i came to a dead stand. the silence was terrible, for there was not so much as a whisper in the tops of the pines. the darkness had increased so that i had to feel my way, and in a hopeless state of misery i leaned against a tree, fancying i heard steps; then the heavy breathing of some huge beast; and at last, asked myself if i was to wander about there till i fell down and died of exhaustion and want of food. chapter forty nine. i make a discovery. all this was very cowardly no doubt, but circumstances alter cases, and it is only those who have lost their way in some wild solitude who can realise the terrible feeling of bewilderment and dread which comes over him who feels that he is lost where he may never find his way again, perhaps never be found. fortunately these emotions come as a shock, and soon after there is a reaction. hope revives as it did to me, and getting over the first horror and excitement, i stood leaning against the tree thinking out my position. i was lost, that was certain; and if i went on stumbling about in the dark i might perhaps be going either farther away from my destination, or perhaps round and round in a great circle. upon thinking it out coolly there were two courses open: to lie down on a bed of pine-needles till daylight, or to try and get a glimpse of the stars through the trees, and guide myself by them. "if i stay," i thought, "i shall frighten mrs john horribly, and it will be very cowardly. as to being lost altogether, that's all nonsense; mr raydon and his men would soon find me or send indians to hunt me out. i'm going to find the way back." i drew a long breath, closed my eyes, and knelt down there in the utter darkness for a few minutes, to spring up again confident and refreshed to begin peering up through the trees for the stars. for i wanted to make out the great bear; and i quite laughed as i thought that it was the shining one i sought, not a grizzly. if i could see that, i thought i could shape my course due south-east. that must lead me out of the forest, when, even in the darkness, the rest was easy. it might have been the most cloudy night ever seen, for the blackness above me was dense, the branches effectually shutting out every star, and i had to pause and wonder whether there was any other way by which i could steer my steps. but i could find no way out of my difficulty, and i was beginning to think that i should have to stay where i was and wait for day. but i could not do that. i tried sitting down for a short time, but the darkness and want of action became too oppressive, and leaping up i began to walk slowly and carefully on, with my free hand extended to guide myself by the trunks of the trees, of whose proximity i was, however, generally made aware by my feet coming in contact with their roots. my progress was very slow, and so silent that i was able to listen intently for a signal, the hope having sprung up in my breast that, as it had grown dark, mr raydon might have sent grey or one of the other men to meet me, and in all probability they would fire guns to give me an idea of the direction i ought to take. i had read of such things, and felt that in all probability this was what mr raydon would do. but time went on as i slowly crept along from tree to tree, cautiously picking my way, till i began to feel convinced that my chance of escaping this night was hopeless, and once more i stood gazing straight before me, till i fancied i saw a gleam of light close at hand. it was so strange and misty-looking, that it was as if a bit of phosphorus had been rubbed upon the back of a tree. as i stared at it, the dim light died out, and all was so black once more that for the moment i thought it must have been fancy, but as i was coming to this conclusion, there it was again, and now fully convinced that it must be phosphorescent wood, i stepped forward cautiously to touch it, when it went out again. but i stretched out my hand, and leaning forward touched the trunk of a tree which grew luminous once more, till as i changed my position there it was out again. i repeated my movements, feeling puzzled at its coming and going so strangely, and then like a flash of mental light the reason came to me, and i turned sharply round with my heart beating, to look for the gleam of which this must be the reflection. i was quite right, and i was ready to shout for joy, for there, glimmering among the trees, some distance from where i stood, i could see that there was the blaze of a small fire, which rose and fell, and flickered, sending flashes of light up among the branches overhead; and i knew at once that it must be the fire in connection with some camp, but whether indian or english it was impossible to say. but that did not matter. the indians all about were peaceable, and very friendly to the people of the fort. they knew a few words of english too, so that with an intense feeling of relief, thinking that i could at least get food and shelter, if i could not obtain a guide, i stepped out more freely, the light growing now, and enabling me to see dangers in my path in the shape of the thick-growing trees. i was not long in finding out as i approached that the party around the fire were not indians; and as i grew near enough to see the rough, ruddy faces of a party of men, i thought it would be better to announce my coming with a shout, lest my sudden appearance should be taken as that of an enemy. somehow or other, though, i deferred this till i had made my way close up, when i heard a voice that sounded familiar say-- "well, it's 'bout time we started. be late enough when we get there. wonder whether any one 'll be on the look-out." as i heard these words, a cold perspiration broke out on my cheeks, and i felt as if something were stirring the hair about my forehead, for i had just been walking into the lion's den; and if i had had any hope that my ears were deceiving me, there, plainly enough, in the bright glow cast by the fire, stood the second of the two men we had encountered first in the steamer. it was he plainly enough, and he had one hand in a sling; while, as i peered forward round one of the trees, i counted eight men about the fire; and they all seemed to be well armed. where were they going? i asked myself. along the track by which i had just come? they must be, i thought, and bent on seizing gunson's claim. they would surprise the four men; and there would be blood shed, unless i could warn the poor fellows first. "i'll go back at once," i thought; and then with a horrible sensation of depression, i realised that this was impossible, for i did not know in which direction to go. i had hardly thought this when i saw the whole party afoot, moving off in the direction away from me, and quickly making up my mind to follow them out of the forest, and as soon as i could make out my whereabouts, to get on somehow in front, and go on ahead, i followed them. it was no easy task, for i had to get some distance round, away from the fire, and i should have lost them if one of them had not laughed aloud at some remark. this told me of the direction in which they were, and i crept on in dread lest i should get too close and be seen, and again in dread for fear i should be left behind. to my great satisfaction they kept on talking, as if in not the slightest fear of being overheard, and i followed as near as i dared go, till in a few minutes, to my great delight, i found that we were out in the open, and i could see the stars. "now," i thought, "whereabouts are we? if i could only make out that large mass of rock that lay off to the left where i passed through the forest in the morning, i could soon get on before them. why i must have walked right back, and--" i stopped short, quite startled, for to my great astonishment i found, instead of going in the direction leading to gunson's claim, i had come through the forest on the side i had been seeking for. "then they are not going to golden valley," i said to myself; and then it came to me like a flash of light--they were going to attack the fort! of course; and that was what was meant about any one being on the watch. my heart now beat violently, and i began to hasten my steps to get on before the party, and warn mr raydon of their coming. but at the end of a minute i had to check my pace, and follow more cautiously, as i tried to think where i could get before them; and the more i tried to think, the more confused and troubled i grew, for, as far as i could make out, there was no way but the track which they seemed to know; and to have gone to right or left meant to encounter some place impossible to climb in the dark, or a precipice down which i might fall. it was difficult enough in broad daylight--impossible in the dark; and in spite of all my thinking, i was at last despairingly compelled to confess that until the open ground was reached in front of the fort, i could do nothing but follow while the enemy led. i thought of a dozen plans to warn the defenders of the fort, so as to put them on the alert, but the only one that seemed possible, was to wait till we were all pretty near, and then fire my rifle to give the alarm. that i knew meant making the ruffians turn on me, but though the risk was great, i hoped to dash by them in the darkness, and reach the gate. all this time i had been cautiously creeping along behind the gang, for at a word from their leader, the men had suddenly become very silent, and the only sound to be heard was the rattle of a stone kicked to one side, or a low whisper, evidently an order about the advance. a curious feeling of despair was creeping over me, and i felt more and more convinced that i could not get to the front, so that all i should be able to do would be to wait till they were near the gate, and about to scale the palisade, for that was what i felt sure they meant to do, and then fire, let the result be what it might to me. my difficulties grew greater every minute, as we advanced, and the strain upon me heavier than i could bear. in anticipation i saw the scoundrels creeping up to the fort, cautiously getting over and silencing whoever was on guard; and then, with a feeling of horror that was almost unbearable, i saw in imagination the whole place given up to pillage and destruction, at a time too when i knew that there were many bales of valuable furs in the stores. my progress at last became like a nightmare, in which i was following the attacking party, and unable to do anything to help my friends; so that when we were within, as a german would say, half an hour of our destination, i was in no wise startled or surprised to faintly make out in the darkness the figures of two men who suddenly rose up on either side of me; a hand was clapped over my mouth, and i was dragged down, and a knee placed on my chest. i divined it all in an instant, and tried to resign myself to my fate, as i saw that, being well on their guard against surprise, two of the gang had fallen back and seen me, with the result i have described, so that i was absolutely stunned after a feeble struggle, when a voice at my ear said in a harsh whisper-- "what is the meaning of this treachery, gordon? who are those men?" my hand caught the speaker's, and i uttered a low sob of relief. "mr raydon--the men--going to attack the fort." "ah!" he panted. "you hear, grey?" "yes." "but why did you not warn us?" "they were before me. i could not get by," i whispered. "i was going to fire to alarm you all." i heard mr raydon draw a low hissing breath. "how did you know this?" he said. "lost my way in the forest, and saw the light of their fire." "and the men at the claim?" "all right, sir.--i heard these wretches say they were coming on." "lost, eh?" said mr raydon. "yes, sir. i've been wandering for hours." "we were in search of you, and drew back to let these men go by. you hear his story, grey?" "yes, sir. quite right. he would lose his way in the dark. what orders?" "his plan will be the best," said mr raydon. "gordon, finding you in such company made me suspicious." "you always do suspect me, sir," i said, bitterly. "silence, and come along. grey, i shall wait till they are close up, and about to make their attempt; then at the word, fire and load again. they will be taken by surprise, and think they are between two parties. the surprise may be sufficient. if not it will alarm those within." "and then?" "be ready to fire again, or make for the far side. we must get in there. forward! i'll lead." mr raydon went on first and i followed, grey bringing up the rear. i was hurt, for it was evident that mr raydon's ideas of my character were poor indeed, and that at the slightest thing he was ready to suspect me of any enormity. but as i paced on quickly behind him i grew more lenient in my judgment, for i was obliged to own that my position was not a satisfactory one. i had not returned as i should have done, and when i was found, it was in company with a gang of men who were about to attack and pillage the fort. i had no farther time for thoughts like these. we were gaining rapidly on the gang now, and in a few minutes' time we could hear footsteps, and then they had suddenly ceased, and a whispering began, as if the leader of the party were giving orders. mr raydon touched me to make out that i was close up, and i felt grey take his position on the other side, while my heart beat so loudly that i half thought it might be heard. all at once mr raydon pressed on my shoulder, and leaned over me to whisper to grey. "they ought to have heard this approach," he whispered. "this is not keeping good watch." "dark--very quiet," said grey, in what sounded to me like a remonstrant tone; and directly after a loud clear voice rang out from the block-house at the left-hand corner near the gate. "who goes there? halt, or i fire." a low murmur arose in front of us, and mr raydon drew a deep breath, as if relieved. then there was a quick advance, the flash of a rifle, and the sharp clear report. "only one," cried a hoarse voice. "too dark to see. over with you, boys!" bang! another shot; and then, as i panted with excitement, mr raydon whispered-- "now, altogether, fire!" i had raised my piece at his warning, and drew the trigger; but though there was a sharp report on either side of me, my piece did not speak, and suddenly recollecting that i had forgotten to cock it, i lowered it again. "who's that behind? who fired there?" cried the hoarse voice of the leader from the darkness ahead. it was just as i was ready, and raising my piece, i fired, the butt seeming to give my shoulder a heavy blow; while directly after came three flashes from the block-house, as many roars, and, like their echoes, mr raydon and grey fired again, after a rapid reloading. this was too much for the attacking party. they were so thoroughly taken between two fires, that the next thing we heard was the hurried rush of feet, and i saw very faintly what appeared to be a shadow hurry by me, while a couple more shots from mr raydon and grey completed the enemy's rout. "cease firing, there!" roared mr raydon. a loud hail came back from the block-house, and a few minutes later we were being admitted through the well-barred gate, whose fastenings dropped with a loud clang. then i walked up to the quarters with mr raydon, where the next thing i heard was mr john's voice. "found him?" "yes; all right, and the enemy beaten," said mr raydon, cheerily. "go and tell them inside." "no need," said mr john; "they have heard. where are you, mayne? ah, that's better. why, my dear lad, you have scared us terribly." "i lost my way," i said, hastily. "but what was the meaning of this firing?" "the enemy coming in force," said mr raydon. "we have beaten them off though without bloodshed, and mayne gordon here has had another lesson in the dangers of opening up gold-claims to the scum of the earth." "that you, mayne gordon?" said a familiar voice soon after, as i approached our quarters. "yes," i said. "not hurt, are you, esau?" "not a bit; nor you neither?" "yes," i said, bitterly; "wounded again." "eh? whereabouts? here, come on. mother's got lots of rag." "no, no," i said, laughing sadly. "not that sort of wound. it was with words." "go on with you. frightening a chap like that," cried esau. "i thought it was real." chapter fifty. our patient awakes. there was no alarm next day, and scouts who were sent out came back to report that they had tracked the enemy down the river, and then up into the forest by one of the side streams, the second beyond the golden valley. "humph!" ejaculated mr raydon, "pleasant that, john. they have taken to the lovely wooded vale i had marked down in my own mind for your future home." mr john shrugged his shoulders, and gave his wife and brother-in-law a half-sad, half-laughing look. "i am not surprised," he said, "i always was the most unlucky of men." "nothing of the kind, sir," retorted mr raydon. "you have had as much good fortune as other men--quite as much as i have. my dear john," he added more gently, "we men have a bad habit of forgetting the good in our lives, and remembering all the bad. my dear fellow, half your troubles have been caused by your want of energy." "yes," he said, smiling sadly, "i suppose so. i have always been too ready to give up. but," he added quickly, "i never complain." mr raydon never looked so pleasant in my eyes before as he smiled at his sister, and then laid his hand on mr john's shoulder. "never, john, never. you annoy me sometimes by being so easy and yielding." "yes, yes," said mr john; "but i'm going to turn over a new leaf, and be stern and energetic as you are." mrs john crossed to him and took his hand. "no," she said quietly, "you are going to turn over no new leaves, dear. you are best as you always have been. daniel is wrong; we cannot have all men of the same mould." "do you hear all this, mayne gordon?" said mr raydon, laughingly; and before i could reply, he said quickly, "go on now, and take your turn as sentry; i want to think out my plans. don't talk about it to the men, but something must be done. a combination must be made to capture these men again, for we shall have no peace or safety till they are cleared away." "what are you thinking of doing?" said mrs john, taking alarm at his words. "trying to end the matter peaceably, and without bloodshed." mrs john uttered a sigh of relief, and i went out wondering what would be done, and thinking that if i had my way, i should collect all the miners, join forces, and then send one party to the head of the little vale, and attempt to advance with the others from the bottom by the river, little thinking what difficulties there would be in such a plan. as soon as i was outside mr raydon's office, i met grey, who gave me a grim, dry look. "know how many men you shot last night?" he said. i looked at him in horror. "don't--don't say--" i faltered. "all right!" he replied; "but if you're going to carry a rifle, and you use it, you must expect to knock some of the enemy over. there, i was only joking you, soldier. i don't think anybody was even scratched by a ball. if you're going to stop with us, i shall have to make a marksman of you, so that you can do as i do--give a man a lesson." "in shooting?" i said. he laughed. "yes, but you don't understand me. i mean give him such a lesson as will make him behave better. 'tisn't pleasant, when you have grown cool after a fight, to think you have dangerously wounded or killed a man; not even if he tried to kill you. i felt that years ago, and i practised up, so that i can hit a man with a rifle just where i like-- that is nearly always." "it was you who fired at those two wretches then?" i said eagerly. "of course it was, and i hit one in the leg, and the other in the hand. did nearly as well as killing 'em, eh?" "yes," i said, laughing. "i must practise too." "you shall, and i hope you'll have no need to use your rifle afterwards, except on bears or deer. where are you going?" "mr raydon said i was to relieve one of the men." "so you shall, but the first one's got an hour yet to be on duty. i'll call you when you're wanted. how's mr gunson?" "i'm just going to see," i said; and i went up to the strangers' quarters and looked in, to find mrs dean on duty by the bedside, and esau seated by the fire, cutting out something which he informed me was part of a trap he had invented to catch squirrels. "how is he?" i said in a low voice to mrs dean. "very bad, my dear, and so weak." "but hasn't he shown any sign of recovering his senses?" "no, my dear; and it does seem so discouraging." "never mind, mother; you'll cure him." "hist!" i said. "well, i am whispering, ain't i," said esau. "he couldn't hear if i didn't." "but he must be kept quiet, esau, and you have such a big voice. your whispers are as loud as some people's shouts." "hush!" i said, as i heard steps. "mr raydon." mrs dean rose and curtseyed as mr raydon entered, followed by mr and mrs john; and he looked surprised on seeing me there. "not on duty, gordon?" he said. "mr grey told me to wait till he was ready for me, sir." "oh!--well, mrs dean, how is your patient?" "seems to sleep very calmly and gently, sir. i did think he looked at me sensibly once, but i'm not sure." "poor fellow!" said mr raydon gravely, as mrs dean left the place, followed by esau, while i felt as if i should like to follow them; but i stayed, knowing that if i did go, mr raydon would think i felt guilty at being found there, when i was only obeying his officer's orders. so i remained watching, and waiting to be called. mr raydon bent over the couch, and laid his hand upon his patient's head. "nice and cool. he must be mending, and sooner or later i believe he will recover. it is time, though, that he made some sign of returning consciousness. ah, mayne, my lad, this is the thirst for gold with a vengeance. i dreaded it; i have dreaded it for years. poor fellow! a thorough gentleman at heart, but his desire for wealth was his ruin." the words leaped to my lips, but i felt that all mr gunson had told me of his former life was in confidence; and beside, mr raydon's treatment did not encourage mine, so i was silent for a moment or so, gazing sadly at the thin worn face before me, and wishing that i was a clever doctor and able to cure him, when i started with surprise and pleasure, for mr gunson's eyes opened, and he lay looking fixedly at me for some time in the midst of a painful silence. then a look of recognition came into his gaze, and he smiled at me faintly. "time to get up?" he said, in a whisper. "i--" he looked quickly round then, and his face worked a little. "where am i?--what?" he faltered. "mayne, where am i? ah! i remember now," he said, faintly. mr raydon bent over him. "don't try to talk, gunson. you have been ill, but you are getting better now." "yes," he said, softly; "i remember. struck down just now." i exchanged glances with mr raydon. "no, not just now, because i have been lying here. some one nursing me--yes," he cried, with more energy, as his eyes rested on mrs john's sympathetic face, "you." "we have all nursed you," said mrs john, quietly. "but do not try to talk." "no," he said, decisively; "but--there is one thing--must say--my claim--the gold." i saw mr raydon's face pucker up, and a frown gather on his brow, but it cleared away directly, and he bent down over his patient, and laid his hand upon his forehead. "gunson, you must be quiet," he said. "your claim is quite safe. i have men protecting it, and no gold has been found or taken away." "thank heaven!" sighed gunson; and giving a grateful look round he closed his eyes, and seemed to go to sleep. "come away now," whispered mr raydon. "you will stay with him?" mrs john bowed her head, and softly took the chair by the pillow, while we all stole gently out of the room. "his first waking thought, john," said mr raydon, bitterly; "gold-- gold--gold. there, it is of no use to murmur: i must swallow my pet antipathy, i suppose." once more the thought of all mr gunson had said to me came as words to my lips; but though my friend was being wrongly judged, i felt that i could not speak. "some day he will know all the truth," i said, "and i must wait." just then grey came up. "your time, gordon," he said, abruptly. then seeing our excited looks, he glanced towards the strangers' quarters. "not worse, sir?" he said, eagerly. "no, grey; the turn has come--better," said mr raydon. grey took off his fur cap, waved it in the air, and then with a satisfied smile he marched me off. "that's what i like to hear; he'll be all right soon now. this place would set any man up. but i can't understand the gov'nor. he was always mad against any one coming about here hunting for gold, and yet somehow he seems to have quite taken to your friend, who talks about nothing else." "yes," i said; "i can't help thinking that he likes mr gunson." "oh, there's no doubt about it, my lad. we shall have him taking to gold-hunting himself one of these days." "never," i said, decisively, as we reached my post. "never's a long day, boy," said grey, thoughtfully; "but i think you're right." chapter fifty one. on active service. the scouts went out again and again, and though they never saw the enemy, they always brought back reports that they were still in the little valley, and trying for gold there. mr barker had been up to the fort with some of the principal gold-seekers, and mr raydon had been down to the valley, which had rapidly grown into a busy hive. but days glided by and no plans were made, while the enemy made not the slightest sign of their presence; and mr raydon said it was a mystery to him how they obtained provisions. then, as no more attacks were made at the camp, the excitement gradually cooled down, and it was decided to leave the men alone so long as they remained peaceable, or until such time as the governor of the colony was in a position to send up a little force to protect people, and ensure peace in his increasing settlement. the days glided on and mr gunson rapidly began to mend, while i spent all the time i could at his side--mr raydon quietly letting me see that i was only a visitor there, the companion of the sick man; and it was regularly settled that as soon as mr gunson was quite well again he was to return to his claim, and i was to go with him; esau also having, after quite a verbal battle with his mother, determined to cast in his lot with ours. "and i shall be very glad to get away from this life of inaction," gunson said to me one day. "they are all wonderfully kind, and i am most grateful, but i think raydon will be pleased to see us gone." "yes," i said; "i shall be glad to go." "you mean it, boy?" he said, smiling. "yes; there is nothing i am wanted for, and i feel as if i were an intruder. it was an unlucky day when we found that gold." "no," cried mr gunson, with fierce energy; "a most fortunate day. you forget what it is going to do for me and mine." "yes; i spoke selfishly," i said, bitterly. "bah! don't look back, boy; look forward," he cried; and he suddenly became silent, and leaned back in his chair, gazing out through the open window at the wide prospect of hill, mountain, and dark green forest. "i am looking forward to being out again in those glorious pine-woods, breathing the sweet mountain air. i shall soon be quite strong again then." i thought of my own wound, and how i had seemed to drink in health and strength as soon as i got out. "it would not be a bad life to settle down here," continued mr gunson; "i should enjoy it. a beautiful life, far better than hunting for gold. but what about those scoundrels who made me like this? is there any fresh news of them?" "none," i said. "that's bad. they may be in mischief. awkward if they come and attack us again when we get back to the claim. raydon must lend us some of his men, or else i must join forces with that barker, though i would far rather keep the place to myself. but we cannot risk another such attack. you see what a coward weakness has made me." "you a coward!" i cried, scornfully. "yes, my lad," he said, with a smile. "i do not feel a bit like a brave man should. well," he cried, with a laugh, "that is strange!" "what is?" i cried. "look," he said, pointing out of the window to a group of men coming in at the gate; "the very man i was speaking about--barker." "there's something wrong," i said, excitedly, as i sprang from my chair. "go and see," he cried; but i was already at the door, and rushed out just as mr raydon and mr john came from the office, and grey from one of the block-houses. "how are you?" said barker, coming up with a serious look on his face that told of bad news before he spoke. mr raydon took the extended hand. "well," he said, "what is it? that gang again?" "yes," said barker, rather huskily; "we were in hopes that we had seen the last of them, but they made an attack last night. we did not know till quite late this morning, when a man from the next claim went down to the bar nearest the big river." "yes, go on--quick!" said mr raydon. "they had been there some time in the night. there was a party of six working together, and i suppose they surprised them." "well?" "two of the poor fellows are lying dead, sir, and the other four badly wounded. they have swept the place of everything, and got a good deal of gold." as this bad news was told i could not look at mr raydon, for fear his eyes should gaze reproachfully into mine. i felt that he did glance at me as if to say--"your work, gordon!" but at that moment the visitor went on speaking-- "i've come up, sir, with my mates, as we agreed to help one another. we are peaceable people, and we only ask to be let alone; but after last night's work it must be war. this can't go on." "no," said mr raydon, firmly. "we're right away here from any settlement, and there might be no law at all for any help it can give us, so we must be our own judges and jury." "no," said mr raydon, firmly; "not that, but we must be our own soldiers and police." "then you will act with us, sir? you and your people know the country, and perhaps can lead us to where we can find and surprise them." "if you all give me your undertaking that there shall be no unnecessary bloodshed, and that these men shall be merely seized and taken down to the coast, i will help you to the best of my power." "here's my hand upon it," cried barker. "you're more of a soldier than i am, so tell us what to do, and the sooner it's done the better." "go back then at once, and get all your men together, and i will join you with all i can spare from the protection of my place." "how long will you be, sir?" "half an hour after you get back. but be quiet, and do not let a hint reach the enemy of what is afoot." "you may trust us, sir," said barker. "come on back, lads;" and all looking very stern and serious, the men turned and went steadily off. "you'll take me, sir?" said grey, appealingly. "i wish i could, my man," replied mr raydon. "one of us must stay to take charge here, and my place is with the men to guard against excesses." grey looked disappointed, but he was soldier-like in his obedience to orders, and without another word he went with us to the block-house, where four men were selected and duly armed. all at once mr raydon turned, and found me gazing intently at him. "well?" he said. "you will let me go too, sir?" i said. "no; you are too young to fight. yes; you shall carry an extra rifle for me, and my surgical case." i ran back to where gunson lay impatiently waiting for news, and told him. "yes," he said, "it is quite right. this must be put down with a strong hand. oh, if i had only strength to be one of the party! mayne gordon, i envy you." ten minutes later i was saying good-bye to mrs john, who looked pale and horrified at the news she had heard, and began to object to my going, till mr john whispered a few words to her, when she turned upon me a piteous look. "i am only going as the doctor's assistant," i said, lightly, but i felt as excited as if i were about to form one of a forlorn hope. "ready?" said mr raydon, coming to the door. "get to the men, gordon. good-bye, sister." "but, daniel!" she said, clinging to him; "is this necessary?" "absolutely," he replied. "john, i look to you to shoulder a rifle, and help to defend this place. good-bye." he shook hands hastily to avoid a painful parting, and strode out with me, so that i only had time to wave my hand to mrs john, who was watching us as we tramped out of the gate--the five men by me looking stern and determined enough to be more than a match for the enemy, if it was a case of fair fighting, though that was too much to expect from such men as these. hardly a word was spoken as we descended the valley, keeping close down to the river-side, till we reached the narrow entrance to the little gorge, whose stream came bubbling and plashing down into the pool, and we had not gone above a couple of hundred yards up it, when a stern voice bade us stand, and we found ourselves face to face with the whole strength of the mining camp. "that's right, sir," said barker; "ready for action. yes? then what's it to be?" "my plan is very simple," replied mr raydon. "i propose going up the valley with my men to gunson's claim, where i shall, of course, join the four stationed there." "that's right," said barker. "we asked them to come with us, but they refused. well, sir?" "you and your men will march down to the river, and descend till you are opposite the little vale where these people are hiding. you will find it very beautiful and park-like for the first half mile, but as the glade narrows it grows more dense, till it is filled from side to side with magnificent pines. you will spread your men out, to guard against the enemy passing you, and this will grow more and more easy as you go slowly on." "i understand; and what are you going to do, sir?" said the man. "come over the ridge, and through the forest which separates this valley from that, so as to get to the head of the little stream. then we shall begin to descend, and, i hope, drive the scoundrels into your hands." barker gave his rifle-stock a hearty slap. "capital!" he cried. "and you can get over there?" "i know every part here for miles round," said mr raydon, as i felt quite startled at his plan being exactly the same as the one i had thought of. "i will set over there somehow." "then we shall have them between two fires, sir," cried barker--"good!" we parted directly after this, it being understood that the miners were to move slowly, so as to give us ample time to make our arrangements, get round over the mountain-ridge, and go down to meet them so as to have the enemy safely between us, mr raydon being of opinion that the sides of the valley in which they were encamped would be too steep to give them a chance of escape. we pressed on past the various little claims, with the place looking untidy and desolate, consequent upon the number of camping-places all along the beautiful stream; and whenever we came upon the more desolate places, with the traces of fire and burned trees, i saw mr raydon's brow knit, and more than once he uttered an angry ejaculation. gunson's claim was neared at last, just as i was beginning to feel exhausted with the difficulties of the climb up the rugged rock-strewn track, and mr raydon was looking more severe than ever, when all at once, from out of the trees there rang out a sharp "halt!" and there was the clicking of a rifle-lock. "hah!" ejaculated mr raydon, brightening up at once at this display of watchfulness, which proved to him how trustworthy his men were. then stepping to the front he shouted a few words, and the man who had spoken came from his post, which commanded an approach to the claim. we were met with an eager welcome, and in spite of the risks they would have to encounter, the four men were overjoyed at hearing of the business in hand, clearly showing that they were tired of their monotonous inactive life. a brief halt was made, during which our party lay about making a good meal; and then, at a word from mr raydon, they all sprang up together quite in military fashion, while he explained to the four men the plan. "we must try and get over here at once," he said, as he glanced up at the tremendous wall of rock, piled up quite a thousand feet above our heads, and dotted with patches of trees, wherever there was soil or crevice in which a pine could take root. "better place higher up, sir," said one of the men. "there's a little branch of the stream goes off west: i followed it the other day after a sheep. i think we could get far enough up the mountain then to cross over and strike the other stream." "right," said mr raydon at once; "that will be better. all ready? ammunition?" "ready! ready!" rang along the little line. mr raydon nodded. "no talking, and go as silently as you can; sound travels in these high parts, and we do not know how high up the scoundrels may be camping. now, understand once more--single file till we cross over into the other valley, then spread out as widely as the place will allow, and keep as level a line as possible. the object is to drive these men back to the mining party, and not one must break through our line now. you lead. i trust to you to get us well over into that valley." the man who had spoken of the branch from the stream stepped to the front, rifles were shouldered, the word was given, and with mr raydon next to the leader, and i behind him, carrying a spare rifle and the surgical case, the advance was begun. chapter fifty two. a new enemy. we had not lost more than a quarter of an hour in this halt; but it was sufficient, as i found when i rose, to have cooled me down and made me feel fresh and ready for the arduous climb that we now had to make. our path was along by the stream for a time, but more often right in it, for the valley grew narrower, and was frequently little more than a gigantic crack in the mountain-side; but so beautiful that i often longed to stop and gaze at the overhanging ferns and velvety moss by some foaming fall, where the water came down from above like so much fine misty rain. but there was no halting, and we kept on till the leader suddenly turned into a gloomy niche on our left, out of which another stream rushed; and here for some time we had to climb from rock to rock, and often drag ourselves on to some shelf by the overhanging roots of trees. the ascent was wonderfully steep, and sometimes so narrow that we were in a dim twilight with the sky far away above us, like a jagged line of light. as for the stream in whose bed we were, it was a succession of tiny falls now, and we were soon dripping from the waist downward. but no word was spoken, and the men worked together as if trained by long service to this kind of travelling. when some awkward rock had been climbed by the leader, he stopped and held down his hand to mr raydon, who sprang up and offered me the same assistance, while i, taking it as the proper thing to do, held my hand down to the next. for full two hours we struggled up this narrow rift before it became less deep, and the light nearer. then the climbing was less difficult, and drier, and i could see that we were getting up more on to the open mountain-side, amid the bare rocks and piled-up stones. all at once the leader stopped short, and pointed up to where, quite half a mile away, i could see about a dozen sheep standing clearly defined against the sky, their heads with the great curled horns plainly visible. some were feeding, but two stood above the rest as if on guard. mr raydon nodded, and the man said-- "i lost sight of my sheep just below where you see those, sir, and i think if we keep on along for a mile beyond we shall find the stream we want running down into the other valley." mr raydon stood shading his eyes for a few minutes. "yes," he said, at last. "you are quite right. i can see the mountain i have been on before. forward!" the way was less arduous now, and the fresh breeze into which we had climbed made it cooler; but still it was laborious enough to make me pant as i followed right in mr raydon's steps. before we had gone on much further i saw the sheep take alarm, and go bounding up, diagonally, what looked like a vast wall of rock, and disappear; and when we had climbed just below where i had seen them bound, it seemed impossible that they could have found footing there. another half-hour's toilsome ascent, for the most part among loose stones, and we stood gazing down into a narrow gully similar to that up which we had climbed, and at the bottom i saw a little rushing stream, which mr raydon said was the one we sought, and i knew that we had but to follow that to where it joined the big river, after a journey through the dense mass of forest with which the valley was filled. here we halted for a few minutes in a stony solitude, where there was not the faintest sound to be heard; and then mr raydon's deep voice whispered "forward!" and we began to descend cautiously, for the way down to the stream was so perilous that it was only by using the greatest care that we reached the bottom in safety, and began to follow the torrent downward. "no chance for them to escape by us this way," said mr raydon to me with a grim smile, looking back as we descended the chasm in single file, gradually going as it were into twilight, and then almost into darkness, with perpendicular walls of rock on either hand, and the moist air filled with the echoing roar and rush of water. here mr raydon took the lead, the man who had been in advance letting us both pass him, and then following behind, me. "i have been up this stream to this point before," said mr raydon to me. "you never thought to see such places as this, gordon," he continued, "when you left london." "no," i said eagerly, for it was pleasant to hear him make some advances towards me; but he said no more, relapsing into complete silence as he strode on or leaped from rock to rock, till by degrees, and repeating our morning's experience in the reverse way, we began to find the narrow gorge widen and grow less dark; then we came to places where the sunshine gleamed down, and there were ferns; then lower down to more light, and where bushes were plentiful, but still with the valley so narrow that we had to keep in single file. at last, the perpendicular walls were further back, the valley grew v-shaped, and patches of dwarf forest grew visible high up. bigger trees appeared, and soon after the place became park-like, and a man stepped out to right and left, so that in front we were three abreast; and half an hour later we were amongst the thickly-growing pines--a line of eight men abreast with mr raydon in the middle, and i and the other behind. "halt!" said mr raydon, in a whisper. "join up." the men from right and left drew in, and he said in quite a whisper-- "the forest grows more and more dense here for miles away to the river. i propose now going on for another half-hour, to where there is a sudden narrowing in of the valley to about thirty yards. if we do not meet the enemy before this, i shall halt there, and keep that pass, waiting till they are driven up to us. but we may have them upon us at any moment now." "they could not have got by us, sir?" i ventured to say. mr raydon looked at me, and smiled. "impossible, my lad. ready? forward!" our advance now was slow, as we had to pass in and out among the thickly-growing trees, and to be careful to keep in line as nearly as was possible. every man was eager and excited, and from time to time, as i looked to right and left, i kept catching sight of one of our party pressing forward with rifle ready, and waiting to fire at the first sight of the enemy, this shot being the appointed signal for all to halt and stand fast, waiting for further orders. at last, after what in my excited state seemed to be hours, but which afterwards proved not to have been one, mr raydon said in a whisper-- "there is the gate." i stared, but could see nothing till we had gone a few yards further, when i found that two huge shoulders of the mountain had fallen in, and blocked the valley, which was narrowed here, as mr raydon said, to a sharply-cut passage of about thirty yards wide. here we halted, and were disposed so that a dog could not pass through without being seen, and for a full hour we remained in utter silence, watching, till, unable to bear the inaction any longer, mr raydon said sharply-- "forward! open out! i am afraid there is something wrong below. they ought to have been up here by this time." we tramped on again now, still with the same precautions, but making as much speed as we could after our rest, though our pace was slow on account of the dense nature of the forest. i cannot tell how long we had been going downward, but suddenly, just as i was growing weary of the whole business, and thinking that the men were after all, perhaps, not here, or that we had come down the wrong valley, my blood rose to fever-heat again, for mr raydon whispered-- "halt!" and the word ran along to right and left. "be ready," he whispered again. and now i heard a faint muttering in front of us, similar to that which we had made in our progress; and at last, away among the great tree-trunks dimly seen in the shade, i caught sight of a man, then of another and another, and now mr raydon's voice rang out hoarsely-- "halt, or we fire!" there was a low murmuring from before us, and a bit of a rush, as of men collecting together, and then a voice roared from among the trees-- "surrender there, or we will shoot you down to a man." "do you hear?" cried mr raydon. "surrender! the game's up, you scoundrels." "mr raydon," i whispered, excitedly, for i had caught sight of the advancing party, "don't fire; it's mr barker and his men." "what? hi! barker! is that you?" "ay--ay!" came back. "that you, mr raydon?" "yes, man, yes; where are the enemy?" "why, i thought you was them," cried barker, advancing. "we thought the same," said mr raydon, as he too stepped forward, and we all stood face to face. "then they were not here. or have you passed them?" "i don't think--" began barker. "why, i told you so," cried one of the men. "i felt sure i heard something out to our left among the trees hours ago." "what?" cried mr raydon; "did you not open out your men in line?" "far as we could," said barker, gruffly. "it's so thick down below we couldn't get along." "man!" cried mr raydon, "they've been too sharp for you, and let you pass. why--oh, good heavens! they must have known of our plans. they'll have stolen out at the mouth of the valley, gone up, and taken the fort." a dead silence reigned for a few minutes, as mr raydon stood thinking. then suddenly-- "we did not give them credit for being so sharp as they are," he continued. "here, forward all of you, back to the river. i hope my fears are wrong." "hadn't we better go your way?" said barker. "the forest is frightfully thick below, and it will take us hours." "the way we came will take twice as long," said mr raydon, sternly; "and it is one fearful climb right up into the mountain. we must go this way. follow as quickly as possible. there will be no need to keep a look-out now." the men mustered up without a word, and with mr raydon and barker leading, we tramped on as fast as we could, but making very poor progress during the next hour, for all were growing hot and exhausted, and the labour was really terrible. but they pressed on in silence, while mr raydon and barker talked together rather bitterly about the ill success of the expedition. we must have been walking about two hours when-- "it will be night before we get to the fort," i heard the former say; "and who knows what may have happened there!" "but your men will make a fight for it," said barker. "my principal fellow, grey, will fight to the death," said mr raydon; "but there are not enough to hold the place. it is ruin and destruction. i ought not to have come." "hush!" i said, excitedly. "what's that?" mr raydon stopped short, and held up his hand, when a low, dull, roaring sound as of a flood of water rushing up the valley was heard increasing rapidly. "great heavens!" cried mr raydon, excitedly; "they have fired the forest down below." and as he spoke there was a faint hot puff of air borne toward us, and with it the unmistakable odour of burning wood. a thrill of excitement ran through the men at the above words, and they looked at one another. the next moment they would have rushed back up the valley, but mr raydon cried sharply-- "no, no, my lads; the fire cannot be right across the valley; let's go on and try and pass it." they seemed to be ready to obey the first who gave them orders, and mr raydon led on again, but in less then ten minutes, during which the hot puffs of air and the roar had increased rapidly, we were face to face with the fact that the fire was coming up like some terrible tide, evidently stretching right across from side to side, and already above our heads there were clouds of pungent smoke; and the crackle, roar, and hiss of the burning wood was rapidly growing louder. "halt!" roared mr raydon. "it is death to go on. back at once." "but the sides," cried barker; "can't we all climb up here?" "the fire would be on us before we were half-way up, even if we could climb, man," said mr raydon, "which i doubt. back at once!" "yes; quick! quick!" shouted one of the men. "look, look!" it did not need his shouts, for we could see the flames rushing up the higher trees, which seemed to flash with light, as if they had been strewn with powder; the heat was growing unbearable, and already i felt faint and giddy. it was quite time we were in full retreat, for there above our heads was a pall of black smoke, dotted with flakes of flame, and a horrible panic now smote the men as they hurried on. "keep close to me, gordon," said mr raydon, glancing back. "why, it is coming on like a hurricane of fire." it was too true, for the hot wind rushed up between the towering walls of the valley as if through a funnel, and before many minutes had passed we knew that the forest was on fire where we so lately stood, and that it was rapidly growing into a race between man's endurance and the wild rush of the flames. i looked back twice, to feel the hot glow of the fire on my face, and to see the lurid glare coming on with the black smoke-clouds wreathing up at terrific speed. then as we tramped on with the roar behind us as of some vast furnace, there came explosions like the firing of guns; the crashes of small arms; and from time to time the fall of some tree sounded like thunder. the men needed no spurring to get on out of the dense labyrinth of trees, through which we toiled on hot to suffocation, breathless, and in mortal dread of being overtaken by the fearful enemy roaring in our rear. for, so rapid was the advance of the fire, that for a certainty a ten minutes' halt would have been enough to have brought the line of fire up to us. "don't stop to look back," cried mr raydon. "press on, men; press on. keep together." i thought of the consequences of one of our party losing his way ever so little, and the men knew it only too well as they kept together in a little crowd which was constantly being broken up and separated by the trees round which they threaded their way. "is there much more of this?" said barker, suddenly appearing close to us. "yes," replied mr raydon; "miles." "shall we do it?" he panted. "with god's help," was raydon's quiet reply; and i saw barker set his teeth hard, and throw his gun further over his shoulder as he bent down to his task. the narrow gate of the valley at last; and as we filed through the opening i wondered whether it would tend to check the advance of the fire, and began to wonder whether the trees were much thinner on the higher side. but i felt that they were not, and that it would be long enough before we struggled on to a place where we could be in safety; while what seemed directly after, there was a deafening roar which i knew to be that of the flames closed up by the narrow way, and leaping after us now, as if in dread that we should escape. "man down!" shouted a voice; and in the horrible selfishness of their fear the rest were passing on, but at a word from mr raydon four of his men seized the poor exhausted fellow, each taking an arm or leg, and bearing him on, while a few drops were trickled from a flask between his lips. "man down!" was shouted again; and this time the retreating party seized the poor fellow, following the example of our men, and bore him on, while he was submitted to the same treatment. ten minutes after the poor fellows were on their feet again, struggling on with the support of the arms of two of their fellows. a dozen times over i felt that all was over, and that we might as well accept our fate. for we could hardly breathe, and now the sparks and flakes of fire and burning twigs came showering down upon us, as if sent forward by the main body of the flame to check us till the advance came on. the latter part of that retreat before our merciless enemy became to me at last like a dream, during which i have some recollection of staggering along with my arm in mr raydon's, and the people about us tottering and blundering along as if drunk with horror and exhaustion. every now and then men went down, but they struggled up again, and staggered on, a crew of wild, bloodshot-eyed creatures, whose lips were parched, and white with foam; and then something cool was being splashed on my face. "coming round, sir?" said a familiar voice. "yes; he'll be better soon. a terrible experience, mr barker." "terrible isn't the word for it, sir. i gave up a dozen times or so, and thought the end had come. why, it was almost like a horse galloping. i never saw anything like it." "nor wish to see anything like it again," said mr raydon. by this time i was looking round, to find that we were seated by the stream, where the water came bubbling and splashing down, while far below us the smoke and flame went up whirling into the sky. "better, my lad?" said mr raydon. "yes, only giddy," i said; and after drinking heartily and washing my face in the fresh, cool water, i was ready to continue our journey. chapter fifty three. mr. john's scruples. it was a dreary, toilsome climb up the narrow portion of the valley, and it was quite dark by the time we had reached the spot where we descended first that morning, and consequently our task grew more risky and difficult; but there was no shrinking, and following in each other's steps, we went on over the bare mountain below where the sheep had been seen, and with no other light than that of the stars, descended into the narrow gorge which led down into golden valley. here we of necessity, on reaching gunson's claim, made a halt to refresh; but as soon as possible mr raydon gave the word "forward!" again, and the men stepped out better, for this was all well-known ground. five-minute halts were made twice on the way down, so as to obtain food at a couple of tents. then it was on again, and the river was reached at last, and the steady upward trudge commenced for the fort. mr raydon did not speak, but i felt that his thoughts must have been the same as mine, as i wondered what had taken place, and whether he was right in his belief that the enemy had gone up to the fort after firing the forest. all doubt was cleared when we were about half a mile from our destination, for there suddenly boomed out on the still night air, to echo and die rumbling away among the mountains, the heavy report of one of the small cannon of the block-houses, and this sound sent the men onward at double speed, for it meant not only that the fort was attacked, but that grey and those with him were making a brave defence. "steady, steady!" said mr raydon, in a low, stern voice. "we must get up there ready for a run in. you are out of breath, my lads." the men from the fort, who were in front, slowed down a little at this, dropping from the double into a sharp, quick walk; but the report of a second gun, and then the crackle of rifle-firing, started them again into a steady trot, and i found myself forgetting my weariness, and running by mr raydon step for step. the firing grew sharper as we neared the palisade, which was dimly seen in the starlight, and the flashes of the rifles and the lights we saw going here and there added to the excitement of the scene as mr raydon said aloud-- "they have got in, and are trying to take the west block-house. too late! they have taken it," he cried, as a burst of cheering rose from within the great fence. then in a quick whisper he bade the men halt, about a dozen yards from the gateway. "mr barker," he said, "keep the gate, and come to our help if we want it. don't let a man pass. no bloodshed if you can help it--prisoners. now, hudson's bay boys, ready!" a fresh burst of cheering arose just then, and directly after the loud shriek of a woman, and a voice i knew as esau's roaring out angry words. "forward!" said mr raydon. "open out into line, and use the butts of your rifles." i ran with them from the force of example, and carried away by the excitement, as our men charged rapidly across the enclosure to where, in happy ignorance of the fact that help was at hand, the gang of scoundrels were busy binding their prisoners, whom they had just dragged out of the block-house. but the next minute there was a yell of rage and hate, with the sound of heavy blows, pistol-shots, oaths and curses, and then the pattering of feet, and mr raydon's voice rang out. "four men your way," he cried; and directly after there was a repetition of the blows, shots, and yells, followed by a cheer from the gate. for the last of the gang had been beaten down, and as pine-torches were lit, the wounded were separated from the uninjured, and these latter were placed in rows under a strong guard; while explanations followed, grey assuring us that the women were safe; that the cry came from mrs dean, who had tried to protect her son; and that we had come just in time, after a desperate struggle, first at the gate, and lastly at the block-house, which he had defended as vigorously as his limited means would allow. but at last, after being wounded twice, and his two most helpful men laid low, he had succumbed to a desperate rush. day broke on as wild a looking set as can be imagined; jaded, exhausted, blackened with smoke, our men sat and lay about for the most part unhurt, though several showed traces of the desperate struggle made by the surprised gang, whose one-handed leader told mr raydon with a savage oath that he thought our party had been burned in the forest. "then it was your doing," said barker, fiercely. "course it was," said the ruffian. "give me a chance, and i'll burn this place too." barker raised his fist to strike the fellow, but mr raydon seized his arm. "don't do that," he said; "we shall not give him a chance." and so it proved, for that night, when i rose after a long deep sleep, i found that a party had started down the valley with the prisoners. "you came just in time, mayne gordon," said mr john to me. "i was so frightened that it made me desperate too. i'm afraid i hurt one man." "you did, sir," i said laughing. "grey told me how you swung your rifle round, and struck him down." "i did, my boy, i did," he said. "don't laugh. i do not feel satisfied that i did right." "you did it to defend your wife," said mr raydon, who came up; "and i never felt so proud of you before, john. there, i must go and see my injured men." chapter fifty four. we make a fresh start. the wounded prisoners were not got rid of for quite a fortnight, during which time matters settled down again into the regular routine, one of my principal tasks being helping mr gunson to take little walks, then longer and longer ones, after which we used to go and have a chat with grey, who made very light of his wounds. one day i asked leave of mr raydon to go and have a look at the valley where we had had so narrow an escape. he gave me leave freely enough; and as mr gunson did not care to accompany me, saying he had no taste for works in charcoal, i asked leave for esau to come; and in due time we stood at the mouth of the valley gazing up. "'nuff to make a fellow sit down and cry," said esau, as i recalled our escape. "pitiful!" i said sadly. "ah, that ain't half strong enough," he said, as we tramped on amongst the ashes and charred wood, with the tall stumps of the great pines standing burned for the most part to sharp points, and looking like landmarks to show the terrible devastation in the once lovely wooded vale. "i only feel as if i could not use words strong enough," i replied, as we slowly tramped on, with the charred wood cracking under our feet, and the only thing that redeemed the burned region being the beautiful stream which rushed and leaped and sparkled, just as it had been wont before the fire scorched the whole place into a desert. "why, it'll take hundreds of years for the trees to grow up again, if they ever do, for it strikes me the fire's spoiled even the ground." "it may," i said sadly. "well, it's too hot to go on any further," said esau. "let's go back. ugh! see how black we're getting. i say, look! i can't see a single green thing. everything's burnt!" "yes," i said; "and this was to have been our home." "what!" cried esau, giving such a start that he raised a little puff of black dust. "this valley, with its pleasant meadows and the park-like entrance, was to have been our home. mr raydon had chosen it for mr and mrs john." "well," cried esau; "then it is too bad. it was bad enough before for such a glorious place to be burned up; but as it was to have been ours-- oh, i hope they'll transport those fellows for life." we tramped back, having seen enough of the desolation to make our hearts ache, and stayed for a couple of hours in the lower part catching trout to take back with us before starting homeward, and passing two parties of gold-diggers from the coast on their way to the golden valley. they asked us eagerly to direct them, and i showed them the way with a curious feeling of dissatisfaction. but that was of little use, for if i had not pointed out the way some one else would, for the news had spread far and wide, and the gold-washing was going on more vigorously every day. crowds of people were flocking up the valleys, some to gain fortunes, but the greater part nothing but ill-health and disappointment. the constant accessions of strangers made it the more difficult for gunson's claim to be held; but, in spite of all opposition and complaint, this was done, the four men, or others in their place, being always kept on guard. at last came the day when, in spite of mr raydon's advice to stay longer, gunson declared himself quite strong and well. "i am anxious to get back," he said, "and the more so that i am keeping your men there." "i have not complained," said mr raydon. "no; and you puzzle me," replied gunson. "i should have thought you would have tried all you could to keep me back." "why should i? what difference does one make?" "then one more or less is of no consequence?" said gunson, laughing. "well, i am not going to repeat all i have said before as to being grateful." "i beg you will not," said mr raydon. "we had our duty to do to a sick man, and we have done it." "nobly," said gunson, warmly. "and you intend to start?" "to-morrow morning, eagerly but unwillingly, for i am loth to leave the society of the tender friends who have nursed me back to life." he looked at mrs john and then at mr john, ending by beckoning to me to come out with him into the enclosure, where mr raydon joined us, to begin talking about the stores he meant gunson to have. "but really, i cannot be putting myself under fresh obligations," said gunson. "very well then," said mr raydon, rather bitterly; "pay me, and be independent." then facing round and looking at me, and at esau, who was some little distance away, he said sharply-- "you will take these two lads to help you, of course?" "yes," said gunson, as the blood flushed to my temples, "of course. i could not do without them." i saw mr raydon frown, but no more was said, and we spent the rest of the day making preparations for our start, mrs dean helping, with the tears trickling down her cheeks as she worked, and bringing forth appeal after appeal from esau not "to do that." those few hours seemed to run away, so that it was night long before i expected it, and at last i went to mr raydon's quarters to say good-bye. "there is no need," said mr john, sadly. "the morning will do." "but we start directly after daylight," i said. "yes, i know; but we shall be up to see you off." i went away to my own quarters sadly dispirited; and my feelings were not brightened by the scene going on between esau and his mother; and i gladly went out into the cool dark night to try and grow composed, when a high-pitched voice saluted me. "allee leady," it said. "plenty tea, plenty flou, plenty bacon. quong velly glad to go." i could not say the same, and i passed a very poor night, gladly rising at gunson's call, and dressing in the half-darkness, so eager was i to get the painful farewells over and make a start. mr and mrs john had kept their words, and mrs dean was waiting to kiss me and say good-bye, and beg me to take care of esau. "for he is so rash," she whimpered. "do keep him out of danger, my dear." i promised, and it was understood that we all parted the best of friends, mr raydon inviting us all to come over and see them when we chose, and offering to take charge of any gold gunson might feel disposed to bring over to the fort. then we were off, all well laden, and with two of the men and their indian wives to carry stores. the way chosen was through the forest, and away over the mountain ridge, so as to avoid passing all the little camps; and in due time we reached the claim, dismissed the bearers, and once more settled down to our work. "we must try hard to make up for lost time, my lads," said gunson. "why, gordon, you don't seem to relish the task." "oh, yes," i said, "only i feel a little dull at leaving the fort." chapter fifty five. mr. raydon quotes latin. "nothing has been touched," said mr gunson, the next morning. "i don't believe raydon's men have even washed a pan of gold, and my bank is quite safe." i looked at him inquiringly. "i examined it while you were asleep, mayne," he said. "then you have a good deal stored up here?" "yes--somewhere," he said. "i'll show you one of these days. now then; ready?" we declared our readiness, and once more we began work, out in the silence of that beautiful valley, digging, washing, and examining, as we picked out the soft deadened golden scales, beads, grains, and tiny smooth nuggets. we all worked our hardest, quong being indefatigable, and darting back, after running off to see to the fire, to dig and wash with the best of us. we had very fair success, but nothing dazzling, and the gold we found was added to the bank on the fourth day, this bank proving to be a leather bag which mr gunson dug up carefully in my presence, while i stared at him, and burst out laughing at his choice of what i thought so silly and unsafe a place for his findings. "why do you laugh?" he said, quietly. "do you think i might have had a strong box instead of a leather bag?" "i should have thought that you would have buried it in some out-of-the-way, deserted corner," i said. "i could find hundreds about." "yes," he said; "and so could other people, my lad. those are the very spots they would have searched. i wanted a place where no one would look." "and so you hid it here," i said, wonderingly, for i could not quite see that he was right, and yet he must have been, for the gold was safe. his hiding-place was down in the sand, right in the beaten track people walked over on their way up the valley. we worked on busily for a month after mr gunson's coming back to his claim; and then one day we struck camp and marched back to the fort, with a small quantity of gold, the fifth that we had taken up. "why, hallo!" cried mr raydon as he came in and found us there, with mr and mrs john, and gunson looking very serious. "yes," he said. "it's all over. my luck again." "what do you mean?" "that was a rich little deposit, and we have gleaned the last grain. the other people are doing badly too, and going back." "but there must be plenty more," said mr raydon. "no; i believe we have pretty well cleared the valley." "then i am delighted," cried mr raydon. "gunson, i congratulate you." "indeed!" said gunson, coldly. "yes, for now there will be an end to this grasping, avaricious work, and our pleasant vales will return to the condition that is best." "the hope of my life is crushed, man, and i must begin my weary hunt again," said gunson, bitterly. "no; your new and happier, more manly life is now about to commence. look here, what gold have you got?" "you know." "not i. i know that i supplied you with a couple of sheep-skins, which you made into bags, and that those bags are in my strong box. what have you?" "after i have fairly apportioned shares to mayne, to dean, and to my little chinese friend, i shall have a thousand pounds' worth for myself." "ample, and double what you will require, man," said mr raydon. "think where you are, in a country--a virgin country--as beautiful, more beautiful than dear old england, a place where for almost nothing you may select land by one of our lovely streams, which, as the writer said, is waiting to be tickled with a hoe, that it may laugh with a harvest. come: england is too narrow for such a man as you. take up land, make a ranch if you like, or farm as they farm at home; sow your grains of gold in the shape of wheat, and they will come up a hundredfold. build your house, and send for the mother and sister of whom you spoke to me when you were so weak." "i spoke!" said gunson, wonderingly. "yes; you were half delirious, but you spoke of a dear mother and sister in england; bring them to share your prosperity, for prosperity must come; and it is a life worth living, after all." as he spoke i felt my heart swell with hope; the gloomy feelings of disappointment passed away, and i found myself gazing with astonishment at mr gunson, whose morose, disfigured face seemed to brighten up and glow, while his eye flashed again, as when mr raydon finished speaking he leaned forward and grasped his hand. "god bless you for those words," he said; "you have made light shine into a darkened heart. i will do this thing. heaven helping me, i will never seek for a grain of gold again." "i shall register your oath, gunson," said mr raydon, smiling. "do. it will be kept. yes: i will fetch them over; and, mrs john, it will be one of the delights of my new life, to introduce two ladies most dear to me to one whom they will venerate and love. mayne, you have never told them all i said to you?" "no," i said; "it would have been a breach of confidence." i looked up as i spoke, and saw that mr raydon's eyes were fixed upon me searchingly, and his voice sounded harsh again as he said-- "it was a breach of confidence, mayne gordon, to tell mr gunson here of the existence of gold in the little valley. do you remember your promise to me?" "yes, sir," i said, boldly, for i felt that at last the truth must come out, and i should be cleared; for i would speak now if mr gunson did not. "i remember well." "mayne," said gunson; and my heart seemed to leap--"mayne tell me about the gold up yonder? no, no; it was not he." "what!" cried mr raydon, excitedly. "it was not mayne gordon who told you?" "no; it was that little chinaman confided to me that he had made a big find. the little fellow always had confidence in me. he brought me quite a hundred pounds' worth to take care of for him when i was here last, and proposed to put himself under my protection and to work for me if i allowed him a tenth." "then it was not mayne?" cried mrs john, excitedly. "no, madam. i knew friend raydon would be angry, but i was obliged to accept the offer, for i felt that some time or other the people would come, and i argued that the sooner it was all cleared out the better for raydon's peace of mind. you knew it must be discovered." "yes; i always knew that; but i wanted to keep away those who came as long as possible." "they are going already, and you will soon have your vales in peace again." "yes, yes, yes," muttered mr raydon, beginning to walk up and down the room, while i felt in such a whirl of excitement, as i saw mrs john's beautiful, motherly eyes fixed lovingly on mine, and felt mr john snatch my hand and press it, and then give vent to his delight at the clearing up by slapping me heavily on the shoulder, that i could not see mr raydon's puckered brow. what i did see was the bear's head looking down at me, showing its grinning teeth as if it were laughing and pleased, and the moose staring at me with its mournful aspect less marked. all nonsense this, i know, but there was a feeling of joy within me that filled me with exultation. the silence was almost painful at last, and the tension grew to such an extent that i felt at last that i must run out and tell esau i had misjudged him, as i had been misjudged, when mr raydon stopped before me and said softly-- "you remember your latin, mayne?" "a little, sir," i said, wondering at his words. "_humanum est curare_. you know that?" "yes, sir," i said, huskily; "but please don't say any more." "i must. i have erred bitterly. i was blind to the truth. will you forgive me?" "mr raydon!" i cried. "my dear boy," he said, as he grasped my hands; and, to my astonishment, i saw the tears standing in his eyes, while i could not help thinking as he stood there softened towards me, how like he seemed to his sister; "you do not know how i have suffered, hard, cold man as i have grown in my long residence in these wilds." "but it's all past now, sir," i said; "and you know the truth." "yes; all past," said gunson, warmly. "past; but i shall never forget it, mayne. my dear sister's letter interested me deeply in you, and when you came i felt that she had not exaggerated, and you at once made your way with me. then came this wretched misunderstanding, blinding me to everything but the fact that i had received a wound, one which irritated me more than i can say." "pray, pray say no more, sir," i cried, excitedly. "i must, mayne. i ought to have known better." "i am glad, dan," cried mr john, exultingly. "i have always been such a weak, easily-led-away man, that my life has been a series of mistakes; and it is a delightful triumph to me to find that my hard-headed, stern brother-in-law can blunder too." "yes; it will take some of the conceit out of me," said mr raydon, smiling. "there; shake hands, my lad. i read your forgiveness in your eyes." "why, my dear raydon," cried mr gunson, merrily, "what moles we all are, and how things shape themselves without our help! i find that in my wild thirst for gold i have been acting as your good genii." "how?" said mr raydon. "by bringing mayne and you closer together than you would ever have been without this mistake. see what i have done for you too, in clearing the valley of this horrible gold!" he cried, merrily. "but you've ruined the estate i was to have had," said mr john. "my brother and i went down and had a look at it, and it is one horrible black desert." "pish, man!" cried gunson; "may work for the best." "what!" cried mr john; "are you mad?" "no, sir. never more sane; for the gold mania has gone. that vale was grand with its mighty trees, but it was the work of a generation to clear that forest. through me, that place was swept clean in a couple of days." "clean?" said mr john, dolefully. "yes; and the ground covered with the rich, fertilising ashes of the forest. raydon, what will that place be in a year?" "green again; and in two years, when the black stumps are demolished, far more beautiful and suitable for settlement than it was before. he is quite right, john; it is a blessing for us in disguise." "humph!" ejaculated mr john; and mrs john shook her head sadly. "i do not like disguises," she said; "and i grieve for those lovely pyramidal trees." "trees enough and to spare everywhere," said mr raydon. "don't be afraid; you shall have a lovely home--eh, mayne? i think we can manage that. there, gunson, the sooner the better. let's have a happy settlement there, and no more gold." chapter fifty six. the golden harvest. in a year from that time there was not a single gold-digger left in the neighbourhood, for the news of fresh discoveries further north had drawn them all away, and nature soon hid the untidy spots they had made in golden valley with their camps. gunson had no hesitation in selecting the black valley for his farm, where, in a wonderfully short space of time, patches of green began to appear; while mrs john, in perfect faith that the place would soon recover, herself picked out the spot at the entrance of the burned valley, close by a waterfall, and was more contented by the fact that several magnificent pines were left standing by the fire, which at starting had not extended so far. here a delightful little cottage was built almost in swiss fashion, the men from the fort helping eagerly to prepare a home for one who, by her gentleness, had quickly won a place in their esteem, without counting the fact that she was their chief officer's sister. in a very short time this was surrounded by a garden, in which mr john spent the greater part of his time, planting flowers that his wife loved, while esau and i had our shares of the gold invested in land bought by acting under mr raydon's advice, ready for our working at some future time, for then we were busy helping the dempsters and gunson, making plans and improvements. how we all worked! and what delightful days those were, the more so that in due time there came to our friend's home a sweet-looking, grey-haired lady with a patient, rather pinched aspect, and a grave, handsome woman, whom i knew at once for gunson's sister; but i was rather puzzled when i heard that their names were mrs and miss effingham. "my name, mayne, my lad," said the prospector, "when i was a gentleman, and now i take it once again." those two ladies looked scared and sad till they saw mrs john, and then a change seemed to come over them, such as i had seen in gunson--i mean effingham--as he listened to mr raydon's words. in a week mrs effingham was ready for me with a smile, and miss effingham was singing about the place while i helped her plan a garden for the alpine flowers we collected. yes: that soon became a happy valley, where there was always some new pleasure of a simple kind--the arrival of boxes of seeds, or packages of fruit-trees from england, implements for the farming--endless things that civilisation asks for. then esau developed into a wonderful carpenter, after instructions from grey at the fort; and from carpentering blossomed into cabinet-making. every one was busy, and as for quong, he quite settled down as cook in general, baker, and useful hand, confiding to me that he did not mean to go back to china till he died. "this velly nice place, sah. no sabbee more ploper place. quong velly happy, sah. you like cup flesh tea?" he always offered me that whenever i went near him, and i think his feelings were those of every one there. for it was a pleasant sight to see mr and mrs john in their garden, which was half nature-made when they began, and grew in beauty as the years rolled on, though they had formidable competitors up at the farm. "yes," said mr effingham one day as i stood with him and mr raydon in the big barn--that big barn built of douglas pine planks, cut down by esau and me, sawn in our own mill turned by the beautiful stream--a mill erected with mr raydon's help. "yes," he said, as he thrust his hand into a sack, and let the contents trickle back; "that's as good wheat as they grow in england. you were right, old fellow. do you hear, mayne? these are the real golden grains, and the best that man can find." the end. distributed proofreaders vane of the timberlands by harold bindloss contents chapter i. a friend in need ii. a breeze of wind iii. an afternoon ashore iv. a change of environment v. the old country vi. upon the heights vii. storm-stayed viii. lucy vane ix. chisholm proves amenable x. with the otter hounds xi. vane withdraws xii. in vancouver xiii. a new project xiv. vane sails north xv. the first misadventure xvi. the bush xvii. vane postpones the search xviii. jessy confers a favor xix. vane foresees trouble xx. the flood xxi. vane yields a point xxii. evelyn goes for a sail xxiii. vane proves obdurate xxiv. jessy strikes xxv. the intercepted letter xxvi. on the trail xxvii. the end of the search xxviii. carroll seeks help xxix. jessy's contrition xxx. convincing testimony xxxi. vane is reinstated vane of the timberlands chapter i a friend in need a light breeze, scented with the smell of the firs, was blowing down the inlet, and the tiny ripples it chased across the water splashed musically against the bows of the canoe. they met her end-on, sparkling in the warm sunset light, gurgled about her sides, and trailed away astern in two divergent lines as the paddles flashed and fell. there was a thud as the blades struck the water, and the long, light hull forged onward with slightly lifted, bird's-head prow, while the two men swung forward for the next stroke with a rhythmic grace of motion. they knelt, facing forward, in the bottom of the craft, and, dissimilar as they were in features and, to some extent, in character, the likeness between them was stronger than the difference. both bore the unmistakable stamp of a wholesome life spent in vigorous labor in the open. their eyes were clear and, like those of most bushmen, singularly steady; their skin was clean and weather-darkened; and they were leanly muscular. on either side of the lane of green water giant firs, cedars and balsams crept down the rocky hills to the whitened driftwood fringe. they formed part of the great coniferous forest which rolls west from the wet coast range of canada's pacific province and, overleaping the straits, spreads across the rugged and beautiful wilderness of vancouver island. ahead, clusters of little frame houses showed up here and there in openings among the trees, and a small sloop, toward which the canoe was heading, lay anchored near the wharf. the men had plied the paddle during most of that day, from inclination rather than necessity, for they could have hired siwash indians to undertake the labor for them, had they been so minded. they were, though their appearance did not suggest it, moderately prosperous; but their prosperity was of recent date; they had been accustomed to doing everything for themselves, as are most of the men who dwell among the woods and ranges of british columbia. vane, who knelt nearest the bow, was twenty-seven years of age. nine of those years he had spent chopping trees, driving cattle, poling canoes and assisting in the search for useful minerals among the snow-clad ranges. he wore a wide, gray felt hat, which had lost its shape from frequent wettings, an old shirt of the same color, and blue duck trousers, rent in places; but the light attire revealed a fine muscular symmetry. he had brown hair and brown eyes; and a certain warmth of coloring which showed through the deep bronze of his skin hinted at a sanguine and somewhat impatient temperament. as a matter of fact, the man was resolute and usually shrewd; but there was a vein of impulsiveness in him, and, while he possessed considerable powers of endurance, he was on occasion troubled by a shortness of temper. his companion, carroll, had lighter hair and gray eyes, and his appearance was a little less vigorous and a little more refined; though he, too, had toiled hard and borne many privations in the wilderness. his dress resembled vane's, but, dilapidated as it was, it suggested a greater fastidiousness. the two had located a valuable mineral property some months earlier and, though this does not invariably follow, had held their own against city financiers during the negotiations that preceded the floating of a company to work the mine. that they had succeeded in securing a good deal of the stock was largely due to vane's pertinacity and said something for his acumen; but both had been trained in a very hard school. as the wooden houses ahead rose higher and the sloop's gray hull grew into sharper shape upon the clear green shining of the brine, vane broke into a snatch of song: "had i the wings of a dove, i would fly just for to-night to the old country." he stopped and laughed. "it's nine years since i've seen it, but i can't get those lines out of my head. perhaps it's because of the girl who sang them. somehow, i felt sorry for her. she had remarkably fine eyes." "sea-blue," suggested his companion. "i don't grasp the connection between the last two remarks." "neither do i," admitted vane. "i suppose there isn't one. but they weren't sea-blue; unless you mean the depth of indigo when you are out of soundings. they're irish eyes." "you're not irish. there's not a trace of the celt in you, except, perhaps, your habit of getting indignant with the people who don't share your views." "no, sir! by birth, i'm north country--england, i mean. over there we're descendants of the saxons, scandinavians, danes--teutonic stock at bottom, anyhow; and we've inherited their unromantic virtues. we're solid, and cautious, respectable before everything, and smart at getting hold of anything worth having. as a matter of fact, you ontario scotsmen are mighty like us." "you certainly came out well ahead of those city men who put up the money," agreed carroll. "i guess it's in the blood; though i fancied once or twice that they would take the mine from you." vane brought his paddle down with a thud. "just for to-night to the old country,--" he hummed, and added: "it sticks to one." "what made you leave the old country? i don't think you ever told me." vane laughed. "that's a blamed injudicious question to ask anybody, as you ought to know; but in this particular instance you shall have an answer. there was a row at home--i was a sentimentalist then, and just eighteen--and as a result of it i came out to canada." his voice changed and grew softer. "i hadn't many relatives, and, except one sister, they're all gone now. that reminds me--she's not going to lecture for the county education authorities any longer." the sloop was close ahead, and slackening the paddling they ran alongside. vane glanced at his watch when they had climbed on board. "supper will be finished at the hotel," he remarked. "you had better get the stove lighted. it's your turn, and that rascally siwash seems to have gone off again. if he's not back when we're ready, we'll sail without him." supper is served at the hotels in the western settlements as soon as work ceases for the day, and the man who arrives after it is over must wait until the next day's breakfast is ready. carroll, accordingly, prepared the meal; and when they had finished it they lay on deck smoking with a content not altogether accounted for by a satisfied appetite. they had spent several anxious months, during which they had come very near the end of their slender resources, arranging for the exploitation of the mine, and now at last the work was over. vane had that day made his final plans for the construction of a road and a wharf by which the ore could be economically shipped for reduction, or, as an alternative to this, for the erection of a small smelting plant. they had bought the sloop as a convenient means of conveyance and shelter, as they could live in some comfort on board; and now they could take their ease for a while, which was a very unusual thing to both of them. "i suppose you're bent on sailing this craft back?" carroll remarked at length. "we could hire a couple of siwash to take her home while we rode across the island and got the train to victoria. besides, there's that steamboat coming down the coast to-night." "either way would cost a good deal extra." "that's true," carroll agreed with an amused expression; "but you could charge it to the company." vane laughed. "you and i have a big stake in the concern; and i haven't got used to spending money unnecessarily yet, i've been mighty glad to earn a couple dollars by working from sunup until dark, though i didn't always get it afterward. so have you." "how are you going to dispose of your money, then? you have a nice little balance in cash, besides the shares." "it has occurred to me that i might spend a few months in the old country. have you ever been over there?" "i was across some time ago; but, if you like, i'll go along with you. we could start as soon as we've arranged the few matters left open in vancouver." vane was glad to hear it. he knew little about carroll's antecedents, but his companion was obviously a man of education, and they had been staunch comrades for the last three years. they had plodded through leagues of rain-swept bush, had forded icy rivers, had slept in wet fern and sometimes slushy snow, and had toiled together with pick and drill. during that time they had learned to know and trust each other and to bear with each other's idiosyncrasies. filling his pipe again as he lay in the fading sunlight, vane looked back on the nine years he had passed in canada, and, allowing for the periods of exposure to cold and wet and the almost ceaseless toil, he admitted that he might have spent them more unpleasantly. he had a stout heart and a muscular body, and the physical hardships had not troubled him. what was more, he had a quick, almost instinctive, judgment and the faculty for seizing an opportunity. having quarreled with his relatives and declined any favors from them, he had come to canada with only a few pounds and had promptly set about earning a living with his hands. when he had been in the country several years, a friend of the family had, however, sent him a small sum, and the young man had made judicious use of the money. the lot he bought outside a wooden town doubled in value, and the share he took in a new orchard paid him well; but he had held aloof from the cities, and his only recklessness had been his prospecting journeys into the wilderness. prospecting for minerals is at once an art and a gamble. skill, acquired by long experience or instinctive--and there are men who seem to possess the latter--counts for much, but chance plays a leading part. provisions, tents and packhorses are expensive, and though a placer mine may be worked by two partners, a reef or lode can be disposed of only to men with means sufficient to develop it. even in this delicate matter, in which he had had keen wits against him, vane had held his own; but there was one side of life with which he was practically unacquainted. there are no social amenities on the rangeside or in the bush, where women are scarce. vane had lived in spartan simplicity, practising the ascetic virtues, as a matter of course. he had had no time for sentiment, his passions had remained unstirred; and now he was seven and twenty, sound and vigorous of body, and, as a rule, level of head. at length, however, there was to be a change. he had earned an interlude of leisure, and he meant to enjoy it without, so he prudently determined, making a fool of himself. presently carroll took his pipe from his mouth. "are you going ashore again to the show to-night?" "yes," vane answered. "it's a long while since i've struck an entertainment of any kind, and that yellow-haired mite's dancing is one of the prettiest things i've seen." "you've been twice already," carroll hinted. "the girl with the blue eyes sings her first song rather well." "i think so," vane agreed with a significant absence of embarrassment. "in this case a good deal depends on the singing--the interpretation, isn't it? the thing's on the border, and i've struck places where they'd have made it gross; but the girl only brought out the mischief. strikes me she didn't see there was anything else in it" "that's curious, considering the crowd she goes about with. aren't you cultivating a critical faculty?" vane disregarded the ironical question. "she's irish; that accounts for a good deal." he paused and looked thoughtful. "if i knew how to do it, i'd like to give five or ten dollars to the child who dances. it must be a tough life, and her mother--the woman at the piano--looks ill. i wonder whatever brought them to a place like this?" "struck a cold streak at nanaimo, the storekeeper told me. anyway, since we're to start at sunup, i'm staying here." then he smiled. "has it struck you that your attendance in the front seats is liable to misconception?" vane rose without answering and dropped into the canoe. thrusting her off, he drove the light craft toward the wharf with vigorous strokes of the paddle, and carroll shook his head whimsically as he watched him. "anybody except myself would conclude that he's waking up at last," he commented. a minute or two later vane swung himself up onto the wharf and strode into the wooden settlement. there were one or two hydraulic mines and a pulp mill in the vicinity, and, though the place was by no means populous, a company of third-rate entertainers had arrived there a few days earlier. on reaching the rude wooden building in which they had given their performance and finding it closed, he accosted a lounger. "what's become of the show?" he asked. "busted. didn't take the boys' fancy. the crowd went out with the stage this afternoon; though i heard that two of the women stayed behind. somebody said the hotel-keeper had trouble about his bill." vane turned away with a slight sense of compassion. more than once during his first year or two in canada he had limped footsore and weary into a wooden town where nobody seemed willing to employ him. an experience of the kind was unpleasant to a vigorous man, but he reflected that it must be much more so in the case of a woman, who probably had nothing to fall back upon. however, he dismissed the matter from his mind. having been kneeling in a cramped position in the canoe most of the day, he decided to stroll along the waterside before going back to the sloop. great firs stretched out their somber branches over the smooth shingle, and now that the sun had gone their clean resinous smell was heavy in the dew-cooled air. here and there brushwood grew among outcropping rock and moss-grown logs lay fallen among the brambles. catching sight of what looked like a strip of woven fabric beneath a brake, vane strode toward it. then he stopped with a start, for a young girl lay with her face hidden from him, in an attitude of dejected abandonment. he was about to turn away softly, when she started and looked up at him. her long dark lashes glistened and her eyes were wet, but they were of the deep blue he had described to carroll, and he stood still. "you really shouldn't give way like that," he said. it was all he could think of, but he spoke without obtrusive assurance or pronounced embarrassment; and the girl, shaking out her crumpled skirt over one little foot, with a swift sinuous movement, choked back a sob and favored him with a glance of keen scrutiny as she rose to a sitting posture. she was quick at reading character--the life she led had made that necessary--and his manner and appearance were reassuring. he was on the whole a well-favored man--good-looking seemed the best word for it--though what impressed her most was his expression. it indicated that he regarded her with some pity, not as an attractive young woman, which she knew she was, but merely as a human being. the girl, however, said nothing; and, sitting down on a neighboring boulder, vane took out his pipe from force of habit. "well," he added, in much the same tone he would have used to a distressed child, "what's the trouble?" she told him, speaking on impulse. "they've gone off and left me! the takings didn't meet expenses; there was no treasury." "that's bad," responded vane gravely. "do you mean they've left you alone?" "no; it's worse than that. i suppose i could go--somewhere--but there's mrs. marvin and elsie." "the child who dances?" the girl assented, and vane looked thoughtful. he had already noticed that mrs. marvin, whom he supposed to be the child's mother, was worn and frail, and he did not think there was anything she could turn her hand to in a vigorous mining community. the same applied to his companion, though he was not greatly astonished that she had taken him into her confidence. the reserve that characterizes the insular english is less common in the west, where the stranger is more readily taken on trust. "the three of you stick together?" he suggested. "of course! mrs. marvin's the only friend i have." "then i suppose you've no idea what to do?" "no," she confessed, and then explained, not very clearly, that it was the cause of her distress and that they had had bad luck of late. vane could understand that as he looked at her. her dress was shabby, and he fancied that she had not been bountifully fed. "if you stayed here a few days you could go out with the next stage and take the train to victoria." he paused and continued diffidently: "it could be arranged with the hotel-keeper." she laughed in a half-hysterical manner, and he remembered what she had said about the treasury, and that fares are high in that country. "i suppose you have no money," he added with blunt directness. "i want you to tell mrs. marvin that i'll lend her enough to take you all to victoria." her face crimsoned. he had not quite expected that, and he suddenly felt embarrassed. it was a relief when she broke the brief silence. "no," she replied; "i can't do that. for one thing, it would be too late when we got to victoria, i think we could get an engagement if we reached vancouver in time to get to kamloops by--" vane knit his brows when he heard the date, and it was a moment or two before he spoke. "there's only one way you can do it. there's a little steamboat coming down the coast to-night. i had half thought of intercepting her, anyway, and handing the skipper some letters to post in victoria. he knows me--i'm likely to have dealings with his employers. that's my sloop yonder, and if i put you on board the steamer, you'd reach vancouver in good time. we should have sailed at sunup, anyhow." the girl hesitated and turned partly from him. he surmised that she did not know what to make of his offer, though her need was urgent. in the meanwhile he stood up. "come along and talk it over with mrs. marvin," he urged. "i'd better tell you that i'm wallace vane, of the clermont mine. of course, i know your name, from the program." she rose and they walked back to the hotel. once more it struck him that the girl was pretty and graceful, though he had already deduced from several things that she had not been regularly trained as a singer nor well educated. on reaching the hotel, he sat down on the veranda while she went in, and a few minutes later mrs. marvin came out and looked at him much as the girl had done. he grew hot under her gaze and repeated his offer in the curtest terms. "if this breeze holds, we'll put you on board the steamer soon after daybreak," he explained. the woman's face softened, and he recognized now that there had been strong suspicion in it. "thank you," she said simply; "we'll come." there was a moment's silence and then she added with an eloquent gesture: "you don't know what it means to us!" vane merely took off his hat and turned away; but a minute or two later he met the hotel-keeper. "do these people owe you anything?" he asked. "five dollars; they paid up part of the time. i was wondering what to do with them. guess they've no money. they didn't come in to supper, though we would have stood them that. made me think they were straight folks; the other kind wouldn't have been bashful." vane handed him a bill. "take it out of this, and make any excuse you like. i'm going to put them on board the steamboat." the man made no comment, and vane, striding down to the beach, sent a hail ringing across the water. carroll appeared on the sloop's deck and answered him. "hallo!" he cried. "what's the trouble?" "get ready the best supper you can manage, for three people, as quick as you can!" "supper for three people!" vane caught the astonished exclamation and came near losing his temper. "for three people!" he shouted. "don't ask any fool questions! you'll see later on!" then he turned away in a hurry, wondering somewhat uneasily what carroll would say when he grasped the situation. chapter ii a breeze of wind there were signs of a change in the weather when vane walked down to the wharf with his passengers, for a cold wind which had sprung up struck an eerie sighing from the somber firs and sent the white mists streaming along the hillside. there was a watery moon in the sky, and when they reached the water's edge vane fancied that the singer hesitated; but mrs. marvin laid her hand on the girl's arm reassuringly, and she got into the canoe. a few minutes later vane ran the craft alongside the sloop and saw the amazement in carroll's face by the glow from the cabin skylight. he fancied, however, that his comrade would rise to the occasion, and he helped his guests up. "my partner, carroll. mrs. marvin and her daughter; miss kitty blake. you have seen them already. they're coming down with us to catch the steamer." carroll bowed, and vane thrust back the cabin slide and motioned the others below. the place was brightly lighted by a nickeled lamp, though it was scarcely four feet high and the centerboard trunk occupied the middle of it. a wide cushioned locker ran along either side a foot above the floor, and a swing-table, fixed above the trunk, filled up most of the space between. there was no cloth on the table, but it was invitingly laid out with canned fruit, coffee, hot flapjacks and a big lake trout, for in the western bush most men can cook. "you must help yourselves while we get sail upon the boat," said vane cheerily. "the saloon's at your disposal--my partner and i have the forecastle. you will notice that there are blankets yonder, and as we'll have smooth water most of the way you should get some sleep. perhaps you'd better keep the stove burning; and if you should like some coffee in the early morning you'll find it in the top locker." he withdrew, closing the slide, and went forward with carroll to shorten in the cable; but when they stopped beside the bitts his companion broke into a laugh. "is there anything amusing you?" vane asked curtly. "well," drawled carroll, "this country, of course, isn't england; but, for all that, it's desirable that a man who expects to make his mark in it should exercise a certain amount of caution. it strikes me that you're making a rather unconventional use of your new prosperity, and it might be prudent to consider how some of your friends in vancouver may regard the adventure." vane sat down upon the bitts and took out his pipe. "one trouble in talking to you is that i never know whether you're in earnest or not. you trot out your cold-blooded worldly wisdom--i suppose it is wisdom--and then you grin at it." "it seems to me that's the only philosophic attitude," carroll replied. "it's possible to grow furiously indignant with the restraints stereotyped people lay on one, but on the whole it's wiser to bow to them and chuckle. after all, they've some foundation." vane looked up at him sharply. "you've been right in the advice you have given me more than once. you seem to know how prosperous, and what you call stereotyped, people look at things. but you've never explained where you acquired the knowledge." "oh, that's quite another matter," laughed carroll. "anyway, there's one remark of yours i'd like to answer. you would, no doubt, consider that i made a legitimate use of my money when i entertained that crowd of city people--some of whom would have plundered me if they could have managed it--in vancouver. i didn't grudge it, of course, but i was a little astonished when i saw the wine and cigar bill. it struck me that the best of them scarcely noticed what they got--i think they'd been up against it at one time, as we have; and it would have done the rest of the guzzlers good if they'd had to work with the shovel all day on pork and flapjacks. but we'll let that go. what have you and i done that we should swill in champagne, while a girl with a face like that one below and a child who dances like a fairy haven't enough to eat? you know what i paid for the last cigars. what confounded hogs we are!" carroll laughed outright. there was not an ounce of superfluous flesh upon his comrade, who was hardened and toughened by determined labor. with rare exceptions, which included the occasions when he had entertained or had been entertained in vancouver, his greatest indulgence had been a draught of strong green tea from a blackened pannikin, though he had at times drunk nothing but river water. the term hog appeared singularly inappropriate as applied to him. "well," replied carroll, "you'll no doubt get used to the new conditions by and by; and in regard to your latest exploit, there's a motto on your insignia of the garter which might meet the case. but hadn't we better heave her over her anchor?" they seized the chain, and a sharp, musical rattle rang out as it ran below, for the hollow hull flung back the metallic clinking like a sounding-board. when the cable was short-up, they grasped the halyards and the big gaff-mainsail rose flapping up the mast. they set it and turned to the head-sails, for though, strictly speaking, a sloop carries only one, the term is loosely applied in places, and as vane had changed her rig, there were two of them to be hoisted. "it's a fair wind, and i dare say we'll find more weight in it lower down," commented carroll. "we'll let the staysail lie and run her with the jib." when they set the jib and broke out the anchor, vane took the helm, and the sloop, slanting over until her deck on one side dipped close to the frothing brine, drove away into the darkness. the lights of the settlement faded among the trees, and the black hills and the climbing firs on either side slipped by, streaked by sliding vapors. a crisp, splashing sound made by the curling ripples followed the vessel; the canoe surged along noisily astern; and the frothing and gurgling grew louder at the bows. they were running down one of the deep, forest-shrouded inlets which, resembling the norwegian fiords, pierce the pacific littoral of canada; though there are no scandinavian pines to compare with the tremendous conifers which fill all the valleys and climb high to the snow-line in that wild and rugged land. there was no sound from the cabin, and vane decided that his guests had gone to sleep. the sloop was driving along steadily, with neither lift nor roll, but when, increasing her speed, she piled the foam up on her lee side and the canoe rode on a great white wave, he glanced toward his companion. "i wonder how the wind is outside?" he questioned. carroll looked around and saw the white mists stream athwart the pines on a promontory they were skirting. "that's more than i can tell. in these troughs among the hills, it either blows straight up or directly down, and i dare say we'll find it different when we reach the sound. one thing's certain--there's some weight in it now." vane nodded agreement, though an idea that troubled him crept into his mind. "i understand that the steamboat skipper will run in to land some siwash he's bringing down. it will be awkward in the dark if the wind's on-shore." carroll made no comment, and they drove on. as they swept around the point, the sloop, slanting sharply, dipped her lee rail in the froth. ahead of them the inlet was flecked with white, and the wail of the swaying firs came off from the shadowy beach and mingled with the gurgling of the water. "we'll have to tie down a reef and get the canoe on board," suggested carroll. "here, take the tiller a minute!" scrambling forward vane rapped on the cabin slide and then flung it back. mrs. marvin lay upon the leeward locker with a blanket thrown over her and with the little girl at her feet; miss blake sat on the weather side with a book in her hand. "we're going to take some sail off the boat," he explained. "you needn't be disturbed by the noise." "when do you expect to meet the steamer?" miss blake inquired. "not for two or three hours, anyway." vane fancied that the girl noticed the hint of uncertainty in his voice, and he banged the slide to as he disappeared. "down helm!" he shouted to carroll. there was a banging and thrashing of canvas as the sloop came up into the wind. they held her there with the jib aback while they hauled the canoe on board, which was not an easy task; and then with difficulty they hove down a reef in the mainsail. it was heavy work, because there was nobody at the helm; and the craft, falling off once or twice while they leaned out upon the boom with toes on her depressed lee rail, threatened to hurl them into the frothing water. neither of them was a trained sailor; but on that coast, with its inlets and sounds and rivers, the wanderer learns readily to handle sail and paddle and canoe-pole. they finished their task; and when vane seized the helm carroll sat down under the shelter of the coaming, out of the flying spray. "we'll probably have some trouble putting your friends on board the steamer, even if she runs in," he remarked. "what are you going to do if there's no sign of her?" "it's a question i've been shirking for the last half-hour," vane confessed. "it would be very slow work beating back up this inlet; and even if we did so there isn't a stage across the island for several days. no doubt, you remember that you have to see that contractor on thursday; and there's the directors' meeting, too." "it's uncommonly awkward," vane answered dubiously. carroll laughed. "it strikes me that your guests will have to stay where they are, whether they like it or not; but there's one consolation--if this wind is from the northwest, which is most likely, it will be a fast run to victoria. guess i'll try to get some sleep." he disappeared down a scuttle forward, leaving vane somewhat disturbed in mind. he had contemplated taking his guests for merely a few hours' run, but to have them on board for, perhaps, several days was a very different thing. besides, he was far from sure that they would understand the necessity for keeping them, and in that case the situation might become difficult. in the meanwhile, the sloop drove on, until at last, toward morning, the beach fell back on either hand and she met the long swell tumbling in from the pacific. the wind was from the northwest and blowing moderately hard; there was no light as yet in the sky above the black heights to the east; and the onrushing swell grew higher and steeper, breaking white here and there. the sloop plunged over it wildly, hurling the spray aloft; and it cost vane a determined effort to haul in his sheets as the wind drew ahead. shortly afterward, the beach faded altogether on one hand, and the sea piled up madly into foaming ridges. it seemed most improbable that the steamer would run in to land her indian passengers, but vane drove the sloop on, with showers of stinging brine beating into her wet canvas and whirling about him. as the pacific opened up, he found it necessary to watch the seas that came charging down upon her. they were long and high, and most of them were ridged with seething foam. with a quick pull on the tiller, he edged her over them, and a cascade swept her forward as she plunged across their crests. though there were driving clouds above him, it was not very dark and he could see for some distance. the long ranks of tumbling combers did not look encouraging, and when the plunges grew sharper and the brine began to splash across the coaming that protected the well he wished that they had hauled down a second reef. he could not shorten sail unassisted, however; nor could he leave the helm to summon carroll, who was evidently sleeping soundly in the forecastle, without rousing his passengers, which he did not desire to do. a little while later he noticed that a stream of smoke was pouring from the short funnel of the stove and soon afterward the cabin slide opened. miss blake crept out and stood in the well, gazing forward while she clutched the coaming. day was now breaking, and vane could see that the girl's thin dress was blown flat against her. there was something graceful in her pose, and it struck him again that her figure was daintily slender. she wore no hat, and it was evident that the wild plunging had no effect on her. he waited uneasily until she turned and faced him. "we are going out to sea," she said. "where's the steamer?" it was a question vane had dreaded; but he answered it honestly. "i can't tell you. it's very likely that she has gone straight on to victoria." he saw the suspicion in her suddenly hardening face, but the quick anger in it pleased him. he had not expected her to be prudish, but it was clear that the situation did not appeal to her. "you expected this when you asked us to come on board!" she cried. "no," vane replied quietly; "on my honor, i did nothing of the kind. there was only a moderate breeze when we left, and when it freshened enough to make it unlikely that the steamer would run in, i was as vexed as you seem to be. as it happened, i couldn't go back; i must get on to victoria as soon as possible." she looked at him searchingly, but he fancied that she was slightly comforted. "can't you put us ashore?" "it might be possible if i could find a sheltered beach farther on, but it wouldn't be wise. you would find yourselves twenty or thirty miles from the nearest settlement, and you could never walk so far through the bush." "then what are we to do?" there was distress in the cry, and vane answered it in his most matter-of-fact tone. "so far as i can see, you can only reconcile yourselves to staying on board. we'll have a fresh, fair wind for victoria, once we're round the next head, and with moderate luck we ought to get there late to-night" "you're sure?" vane felt sorry for her. "i'm afraid i can't even promise that; it depends upon the weather," he replied. "but you mustn't stand there in the spray. you're getting wet through." she still clung to the coaming, but he fancied that her misgivings were vanishing, and he spoke again. "how are mrs. marvin and the little girl? i see you have lighted the stove." the girl sat down, shivering, in the partial shelter of the coaming, and at last a gleam of amusement, which he felt was partly compassionate, shone in her eyes. "i'm afraid they're--not well. that was why i kept the stove burning; i wanted to make them some tea. there is some in the locker--i thought you wouldn't mind." "everything's at your service, as i told you. you must make the best breakfast you can. the nicest things are at the back of the locker." she stood up, looking around again. the light was growing, and the crests of the combers gleamed a livid white. their steep breasts were losing their grayness and changing to dusky blue and slatey green, but their blurred coloring was atoned for by their grandeur of form. they came on, ridge on ridge, in regularly ordered, tumbling phalanxes. "it's glorious!" she exclaimed, to his astonishment. "aren't you carrying a good deal of sail?" "we'll ease the peak down when we bring the wind farther aft. in the meanwhile, you'd better get your breakfast, and if you come out again, put on one of the coats you'll find below." she disappeared, and vane felt relieved. though the explanation had proved less difficult than he had anticipated, he was glad that it was over, and the way in which she had changed the subject implied that she was satisfied with it. half an hour later, she appeared again, carrying a loaded tray, and he wondered at the ease of her movements, for the sloop was plunging viciously. "i've brought you some breakfast. you have been up all night." vane laughed. "as i can take only one hand from the helm, you will have to cut up the bread and canned stuff for me. draw out that box and sit down beneath the coaming, if you mean to stay." she did as he told her. the well was about four feet long, and the bottom of it about half that distance below the level of the deck. as a result of this, she sat close at his feet, while he balanced himself on the coaming, gripping the tiller. he noticed that she had brought out an oilskin jacket with her. "hadn't you better put this on first? there's a good deal of spray," she said. vane struggled into the jacket with some difficulty, and she smiled as she handed him up a slice of bread and canned meat. "i suppose you can manage only one piece at a time," she laughed. "thank you. that's about as much as you could expect one to be capable of, even allowing for the bushman's appetite. i'm a little surprised to see you looking so fresh." "oh, i used to go out with the mackerel boats at home--we lived at the ferry. it was a mile across the lough, and with the wind westerly the sea worked in." "the lough? i told carroll that you were from the green isle." it struck him that this was, perhaps, imprudent, as it implied that they had been discussing her; but, on the other hand, he fancied that the candor of the statement was in his favor. "have you been long out here?" he added. the girl's face grew wistful. "four years. i came out with larry--he's my brother. he was a forester at home, and he took small contracts for clearing land. then he married--and _i_ left him." vane made a sign of comprehension. "i see. where's larry now?" "he went to oregon. there was no answer to my last letter; i've lost sight of him." "and you go about with mrs. marvin? is her husband living?" sudden anger flared up in the girl's blue eyes, though he knew that it was not directed against him. "yes! it's a pity he is! men of his kind always seem to live!" it occurred to vane that miss blake, who evidently had a spice of temper, could be a staunch partizan, and he also noticed that now that he had inspired her with some degree of trust in himself her conversation was marked by an ingenuous candor. "another piece, or some tea?" she asked. "tea first, please." they both laughed when she handed him a second slice of bread. "these sandwiches strike me as unusually nice," he informed her. "it's exceptionally good tea, too. i don't remember ever getting anything to equal them at a hotel." the blue eyes gleamed with amusement. "you have been in the cold all night--but i was once in a restaurant." she watched the effect of this statement on him. "you know i really can't sing--i was never taught, anyway--though there were some of the settlements where we did rather well." vane hummed a few bars of a song. "i don't suppose you realize what one ballad of yours has done. i'd almost forgotten the old country, but the night i heard you i felt i must go back and see it again. what's more, carroll and i are going shortly--it's your doing." this was a matter of fact; but kitty blake had produced a deeper effect on him, although he was not yet aware of it. "it's a shame to keep you handing me things to eat," he added disconnectedly. "still, i'd like another piece." she smiled delightfully as she passed the food to him. "you can't help yourself and steer the boat. besides--after the restaurant--i don't mind waiting on you." vane made no comment, but he watched her with satisfaction while he ate. there was no sign of the others; they were alone on the waste of tumbling water in the early dawn. the girl was pretty, and there was a pleasing daintiness about her. what was more, she was a guest of his, dependent for her safety upon his skill with the tiller. so far as he could remember, it was a year or two since he had breakfasted in a woman's company; it was certain that no woman had waited on him so prettily. then as he remembered many a lonely camp in the dark pine forest or high on the bare rangeside, it occurred to him for the first time that he had missed a good deal of what life had to offer. he wondered what it would have been like if when he had dragged himself back to his tent at night, worn with heavy toil, as he had often done, there had been somebody with blue eyes and a delightful smile to welcome him. kitty blake belonged to the people--there was no doubt of that; but then he had a strong faith in the people, native-born and adopted, of the pacific slope. it was from them that he had received the greatest kindnesses he could remember. they were cheerful optimists; indomitable grapplers with forest and flood, who did almost incredible things with ax and saw and giant-powder. they lived in lonely ranch houses, tents and rudely flung-up shacks; driving the new roads along the rangeside or risking life and limb in wild-cat adits. they were quick to laughter, and reckless in hospitality. then with an effort he brushed the hazy thoughts away. kitty blake was merely a guest of his; in another day he would land her in victoria, and that would be the end of it. he was assuring himself of this when carroll crawled up through the scuttle forward and came aft to join them. in spite of his prudent reflections, vane was by no means certain that he was pleased to see him. chapter iii an afternoon ashore half the day had slipped by. the breeze freshened further and the sun broke through. the sloop was then rolling wildly as she drove along with the peak of her mainsail lowered down before a big following sea. the combers came up behind her, foaming and glistening blue and green, with seamy white streaks on their hollow breasts, and broke about her with a roar. then they surged ahead while she sank down into the hollow with sluicing deck and tilted stern. vane's face was intent as he gripped the helm; three or four miles away a head ran out from the beach he was following, and he would have to haul the boat up to windward to get around it. this would bring the combers upon her quarter, or, worse still, abeam. kitty blake was below; and mrs. marvin had made no appearance yet. vane looked at carroll, who was standing in the well. "the sea's breaking more sharply, and we'd get uncommonly wet before we hammered round yonder head. there's an inlet on this side of it where we ought to find good shelter." "the trouble is that if you stay there long you'll be too late for the directors' meeting. besides, i'm under the impression that i've seen you run an open sea-canoe before as hard a breeze as this." "they can't have the meeting without me, and if it's necessary they can wait," vane answered impatiently. "i've had to. many an hour i've spent cooling my heels in corridors and outer offices before the head of the concern could find time to attend to me. no doubt it was part of the game, done to impress me with a due sense of my unimportance." "it's possible," carroll laughed. "besides, you can drive one of those big siwash craft as hard as you can this sloop; that is, so long as you keep the sea astern of her." "yes; i dare say you can. after all, you hadn't any passengers on the occasion i was referring to. i suppose you feel you have to consider them?" vane colored slightly. "naturally, i'd prefer not to land mrs. marvin and the child in a helpless condition; and i understand they're feeling the motion pretty badly." kitty blake made her appearance in the cabin entrance, and vane smiled at her. "we're going to give you a rest," he announced. "there's an inlet close ahead where we should find smooth water, and we'll put you all ashore for a few hours until the wind drops." there was no suspicion in the girl's face now. she gave him a grateful glance before she disappeared below with the consoling news. a quarter of an hour later vane closed with the beach, and a break in the hillside, which was dotted with wind-stunted pines, opened up. while the two men struggled with the mainsheet, the big boom and the sail above it lurched madly over. the sloop rolled down until half her deck on one side was in the sea, but she hove herself up again and shot forward, wet and gleaming, into a space of smooth green water behind a head. soon afterward, vane luffed into a tiny bay, where she rode upright in the sunshine, with loose canvas flapping softly in a faint breeze while the cable rattled down. they got the canoe over, and when they had helped mrs. marvin and her little girl, both of whom looked very wobegone and the worse for the voyage, into her, vane glanced around. "isn't miss blake coming?" he asked. "she's changing her dress," explained mrs. marvin, with a smile. she glanced at her own crumpled attire as she added: "i'm past thinking of such things as that!" they waited some minutes, and then kitty appeared in the entrance to the cabin. vane called to her. "won't you look in the locker, and bring along anything you think would be nice? we'll make a fire and have supper on the beach--if it isn't first-rate, you'll be responsible!" a few minutes later they paddled ashore, and vane landed them on a strip of shingle. beyond it a wall of rock arose, with dark firs clinging in the rifts and crannies. the sunshine streamed into the hollow; the wind was cut off; and not far away a crystal stream came splashing down a ravine. "there's a creek at the top of the inlet," vane told them, as he and carroll thrust out the canoe, "and we're going to look for a trout. you can stroll about or rest in the sun for a couple of hours, and if the wind drops after supper we'll make a start again." they paddled away, with a fishing-rod and a gun in the canoe, and it was toward six o'clock in the evening when they came back with a few trout. vane made a fire of resinous wood, and carroll and kitty prepared a bountiful supper. when it was finished, carroll carried the plates away to the stream; mrs. marvin and the little girl followed him; and vane and kitty were left beside the fire. she sat on a log of driftwood, and he lay on the warm shingle with his pipe in his hand. the clear green water splashed and tinkled upon the pebbles close at his feet, and a faint, elfin sighing fell from the firs above them. it was very old music: the song of the primeval wilderness; and though he had heard it often, it had a strange, unsettling effect on him as he languidly watched his companion. there was no doubt that she was pleasant to look upon; but, although he did not clearly recognize this, it was to a large extent an impersonal interest that he took in her. she was not so much an attractive young woman with qualities that pleased him as a type of something that had so far not come into his life; something which he vaguely felt that he had missed. one could have fancied that by some deep-sunk intuition she recognized this fact, and felt the security of it. "so you believe you can get an engagement if you reach vancouver in time?" he asked at length. "yes." "how long will it last?" "i can't tell. perhaps a week or two. it depends upon how the boys are pleased with the show." vane frowned. he felt very compassionate toward her and toward all friendless women compelled to wander here and there, as she was forced to do. it seemed intolerable that she should depend for daily bread upon the manner in which a crowd of rude miners and choppers received her song; though there was, as he knew, a vein of primitive chivalry in most of them. "suppose it only lasts a fortnight, what will you do then?" "i don't know," said kitty simply. "it must be a hard life," vane broke out. "you must make very little--scarcely enough, i suppose, to carry you on from one engagement to another. after all, weren't you as well off at the restaurant? didn't they treat you properly?" she colored a little at the question. "oh, yes. at least, i had no fault to find with the man who kept it or with his wife." vane made a hasty sign of comprehension. he supposed that the difficulty had arisen from the conduct of one or more of the regular customers. he felt that he would very much like to meet the man whose undesired attentions had driven his companion from her occupation. "did you never try to learn keeping accounts or typewriting?" he asked. "i tried it once. i could manage the figures, but the mill shut down." vane made his next suggestion casually, though he was troubled by an inward diffidence. "i've an idea that i could find you a post. it looks as if i'm going to be a person of some little influence in the future, which"--he laughed--"is a very new thing to me." he saw a tinge of warmer color creep into the girl's cheeks. she had, as he had already noticed a beautifully clear skin. "no," she said decidedly; "it wouldn't do." vane knit his brows, though he fancied that she was right. "well," he replied, "i don't want to be officious--but how can i help?" "you can't help at all." vane saw that she meant it, and he broke out with quick impatience: "i've spent nine years in this country, in the hardest kind of work; but all the while i fancied that money meant power, that if i ever got enough of it i could do what i liked! now i find that i can't do the first simple thing that would please me! what a cramped, hide-bound world it is!" kitty smiled in a curious manner. "yes; it's a very cramped world to some of us; but complaining won't do any good," she paused with a faint sigh. "don't spoil this evening. you and mr. carroll have been very kind. it's so quiet and calm here--though it was pleasant on board the yacht--and soon we'll have to go to work again." vane once more was stirred by a sense of pity which almost drove him to rash and impulsive speech; but her manner restrained him. "then you must be fond of the sea," he suggested. "i love it! i was born beside it--where the big, green hills drop to the head of the water and you can hear the atlantic rumble on the rocks all night long." "ah!" exclaimed vane; "don't you long for another sight of it now and then?" the girl smiled in a way that troubled him. "i'm wearying for it always; and some day, perhaps, i'll win back for another glimpse at the old place." "you wouldn't go to stay?" "that would be impossible! what would i do yonder, after this other life? once you leave the old land, you can never quite get back again." vane lay smoking in silence for a minute or two. on another occasion he had felt the thrill of the exile's longing that spoke through the girl's song, and now he recognized the truth of what she said. one changed in the west, acquiring a new outlook which diverged more and more from that held by those at home. only a wistful tenderness for the motherland remained. still, alien in thought and feeling as he had become, he was going back there for a time; and she, as she had said, must resume her work. a feeling of anger at his impotence to alter this came upon him. then carroll came up with mrs. marvin and elsie, and he felt strongly stirred when the little girl walked up to him shyly with a basket filled with shells and bright fir-cones. he drew her down beside him with an arm about her waist while he examined her treasures. glancing up he met kitty's eyes and felt his face grow hot with an emotion he failed to analyze. the little mite was frail and delicate; life, he surmised, had scanty pleasure to offer her; but now she was happy. "they're so pretty, and there are such lots of them!" she exclaimed. "can't we stay here just a little longer and gather some more?" "yes," answered vane, conscious that carroll, who had heard the question, was watching him. "you shall stay and get as many as you want. i'm afraid you don't like the sloop." "no; i don't like it when it jumps. after i woke up, it jumped all the time." "never mind, little girl. the boat will keep still to-night, and i don't think there'll be any waves to roll her about to-morrow. we'll have you ashore the first thing in the morning." he talked to her for a few minutes, and then strolled along the beach with carroll until they could look out upon the pacific. the breeze was falling, though the sea still ran high. "why did you promise that child to stay here?" carroll asked. "because i felt like doing so." "i needn't remind you that you've an appointment with horsfield about the smelter; and there's a meeting of the board next day. if we started now and caught the first steamer across, you wouldn't have much time to spare." "that's correct. i shall have to wire from victoria that i've been detained." carroll laughed expressively. "do you mean to put off the meeting and keep your directors waiting, to please a child?" "i suppose that's one reason. anyway, i don't propose to hustle the little girl and her mother on board the steamer while they're helpless with seasickness." a gleam of humor crept into his eyes. "as i think i told you, i've no great objections to letting the gentlemen you mentioned await my pleasure." "but they found you the shareholders, and set the concern on its feet." "just so. on the other hand, they got excellent value for their services--and i found the mine. what's more, during the preliminary negotiations most of them treated me very casually." "well?" "there's going to be a difference now. i've a board of directors--one way or another, i've had to pay for the privilege pretty dearly; but it's not my intention that they should run the clermont mine." carroll glanced at him with open amusement. there had been a marked change in vane since he had located the mine, though it was one that did not astonish his comrade. carroll had long suspected him of latent capabilities, which had suddenly sprung to life. "you ought to see horsfield before you meet the board," he advised him. "i'm not sure," vane answered. "in fact, i'm uncertain whether i'll give horsfield the contract, even if we decide about the smelter. he was offensively patronizing once upon a time and tried to bluff me. besides, he has already a stake in the concern. i don't want a man with too firm a hold-up against me." "but if he put his money in partly with the idea of getting certain pickings?" "he didn't explain his intentions; and i made no promises. he'll get his dividends, or he can sell his stock at a premium, and that ought to satisfy him." "if you submitted the whole case to a business man, he'd probably tell you that you were going to make a hash of things." "that's your own idea?" carroll grinned. "oh, i'll reserve my opinion. it's possible you may be right. time will show." they rejoined the others, and when the white mists crept lower down from the heights above and the chill of the dew was in the air, vane launched the canoe. "it's getting late and there's a long run in front of us to-morrow," he informed his passengers. "the sloop will lie as still as if moored in a pond; and you'll have her all to yourselves. carroll and i are going to camp ashore." he paddled them off to the boat. coming back with some blankets, he cut a few armfuls of spruce twigs in a ravine and spread them out beside the fire. then sitting down just clear of the scented smoke he lighted his pipe and asked an abrupt question. "what do you think of kitty blake?" "she's attractive, in person and manners." "anybody could see that at a glance!" "well," carroll added cautiously, "i must confess that i've taken some interest in the girl--partly because you were obviously doing so. in a general way, what i noticed rather surprised me. it wasn't what i expected." "you smart folks are as often wrong as the rest of us. i suppose you looked for cold-blooded assurance, tempered by what one might call experienced coquetry?" "something of the kind," carroll agreed. "as you say, i was wrong. there are only two ways of explaining miss blake, and the first's the one that would strike most people. that is, she's acting a part, possibly with an object; holding her natural self in check, and doing it cleverly." vane laughed scornfully. "i've lived in the woods for nine years, but i wouldn't have entertained that idea for five seconds!" "then, there's the other explanation. it's simply that the girl's life hasn't affected her. somehow, she has kept fresh and wholesome. i think that's the correct view." "there's no doubt of it!" declared vane. "you offered to help her in some way?" "i did; i don't know how you guessed it. i said i'd find her a situation. she wouldn't hear of it." "she was wise. vancouver isn't a very big place yet, and the girl has more sense than you have. what did you say?" "i'm afraid i lost my temper because there was nothing i could do." carroll grinned. "there are limitations--even to the power of the dollar. you'll probably run up against more of them later on." "i suppose so," yawned vane. "well, i'm going to sleep." he rolled himself up in his blanket and lay down among the soft spruce twigs, but carroll sat still in the darkness and smoked out his pipe. then he glanced at his comrade, who lay still, breathing evenly. "no doubt you'd be considered fortunate," he said, apostrophizing him half aloud. "you've had power and responsibility thrust upon you. what will you make of it?" then he, too, lay down, and only the soft splash of the tiny ripples broke the silence while the fire sank lower. they sailed the next morning, and when they arrived in victoria the boat which crossed the straits had gone, but the breeze was fair from the westward, and, after despatching a telegram, vane sailed again. the sloop made a quick passage, and most of the time her passengers lounged in the sunshine on her gently slanted deck. it was evening when they ran through the narrows into vancouver's land-locked harbor and saw the roofs of the city rise tier on tier from the water-front. somber forest crept down to the skirts of it, and across the glistening water black hills ran up into the evening sky, with the blink of towering snow to the north of them. half an hour later vane landed his passengers, and it was not until he had left them that they discovered he had thrust a roll of paper currency into the little girl's hand. then he and carroll set off for the c.p.r. hotel, although they were not accustomed to a hostelry of that sort. chapter iv a change of environment on the evening after his arrival in vancouver, vane paid a visit to one of his directors; and, in accordance with the invitation, he and carroll reached the latter's dwelling some little time before the arrival of several other guests, whose acquaintance it was considered advisable he should make. in the business parts of most western cities iron and stone have now replaced the native lumber, but on their outskirts wood is still employed with admirable effect as a building material, and nairn's house was an example of the judicious use of the latter. it stood on a rise above the inlet; picturesque in outline, with its artistic scroll-work, its wooden pillars, its lattice shutters and its balustraded verandas. virgin forest crept up close about it, and there was no fence to the sweep of garden which divided it from the road. vane and his companion were ushered into a small room, with an uncovered floor and simple, hardwood furniture. it was obviously a working room, for, as a rule, the work of the western business man goes on continuously except when he is asleep; but a somewhat portly lady with a good-humored face reclined in a rocking chair. a gaunt, elderly man of rugged appearance rose from his seat at a writing-table as his guests entered. "so ye have come at last," he said. "i had ye shown in here, because this room is mine, and i can smoke when i like. the rest of the house is mrs. nairn's, and it seems that her friends do not appreciate the smell of my cigars. i'm no sure that i can blame them." mrs. nairn smiled placidly. "alic," she explained, "leaves them lying everywhere, and i do not like the stubs of them on the stairs. but sit ye down and he will give ye one." vane felt at home with both of them. he had met people of their kind before, and, allowing for certain idiosyncrasies, considered them the salt of the dominion. nairn had done good service to his adopted country, developing her industries--with some profit to himself, for he was of scottish extraction; but, while close at a bargain, he could be generous afterward. in the beginning, he had fought sternly for his own hand, and it was supposed that mrs. nairn had helped him, not only by sound advice, but by such practical economies as the making of his working clothes. those he wore on the evening in question did not fit him well, though they were no longer the work of her capable fingers. when his guests were seated he laid two cigar boxes on the table. "those," he said, pointing to one of them, "are mine. i think ye had better try the others; they're for visitors." vane had already noticed the aroma of the cigar that was smoldering on a tray and he decided that nairn was right; so he dipped his hand into the second box, which he passed to carroll. "now," declared nairn, "we can talk comfortably. clara will listen. afterwards, it's possible she will favor me with her opinion." mrs. nairn smiled at them encouragingly, and her husband proceeded. "one or two of my colleagues were no pleased at ye for putting off the meeting." "the sloop was small, and it was blowing rather hard," vane explained. "maybe. for all that, the tone of your message was no altogether what one would call conciliatory. it informed us that ye would arrange for the postponed meeting at your earliest convenience. ye did not mention ours." "i pointed that out to him, and he said it didn't matter," carroll interrupted with a laugh. nairn spread out his hands in expostulation, but there was dry appreciation in his eyes. "young blood must have its way." he paused and looked thoughtful. "ye will no have said anything definite to horsfield yet about the smelter?" "no. so far, i'm not sure that it would pay us to put up the plant; and the other man's terms are lower." "maybe," nairn answered, and he made the single word very expressive. "ye have had the handling of the thing; but henceforward it will be necessary to get the sanction of the board. however, ye will meet horsfield to-night. we expect him and his sister." vane thought he had been favored with a hint, but he fancied also that his host was not inimical and was merely reserving his judgment with caledonian caution. nairn changed the subject. "so ye're going to england for a holiday. ye will have friends who'll be glad to see ye yonder?" "i've one sister, but no other near relatives. but i expect to spend some time with people you know. the chisholms are old family friends, and, as you will remember, it was through them that i first approached you." then, obeying one of the impulses which occasionally swayed him, he turned to mrs. nairn. "i'm grateful to them for sending me the letter of introduction to your husband, because in many ways i'm in his debt. he didn't treat me as the others did when i first went round this city with a few mineral specimens." he had expected nothing when he spoke, but there was a responsive look in the lady's face which hinted that he had made a friend. as a matter of fact, he owed a good deal to his host. there is a vein of human kindness in the scot, and he is often endowed with a keen, half-instinctive judgment of his fellows which renders him less likely to be impressed by outward appearances and the accidental advantages of polished speech or tasteful dress than his southern neighbors. vane would have had even more trouble in floating his company had not nairn been satisfied with him. "so ye are meaning to stay with chisholm!" the latter exclaimed. "we had evelyn here two years ago, and clara said something about her coming out again." "it's nine years since i saw evelyn." "then there's a surprise in store for ye. i believe they've a bonny place--and there's no doubt chisholm will make ye welcome." the slight pause was expressive. it implied that nairn, who had a somewhat biting humor, could furnish a reason for chisholm's hospitality if he desired, and vane was confirmed in this supposition when he saw the warning look which his hostess cast at her husband. "it's likely that we'll have evelyn again in the fall," she said hastily. "it's a very small world, mr. vane." "it's a far cry from vancouver to england," vane replied. "how did you first come to know chisholm?" nairn answered him. "our acquaintance began with business. a concern that he was chairman of had invested in british columbian mining stock; and he's some kind of connection of colquhoun's." colquhoun was a man of some importance, who held a crown appointment, and vane felt inclined to wonder why chisholm had not sent him a letter to him. afterward, he guessed at the reason, which was not flattering to himself or his host. nairn and he chatted a while on business topics, until there was a sound of voices below, and going down in company with mrs. nairn they found two or three new arrivals in the entrance hall. more came in; and when they sat down to supper, vane was given a place beside a young lady whom he had already met. jessy horsfield was about his own age; tall and slight in figure, with regular features, a rather colorless face, and eyes of a cold, light blue. there was, however, something striking in her appearance, and vane was gratified by her graciousness to him. her brother sat almost opposite them: a tall, spare man, with a somewhat expressionless countenance, except for the aggressive hardness in his eyes. vane had noticed this look, and it had aroused his dislike, but he had not observed it in the eyes of miss horsfield, though it was present now and then. nor did he realize that while she chatted she was unobtrusively studying him. she had not favored him with much notice when she was in his company on a previous occasion; he had been a man of no importance then. he was now dressed in ordinary attire, and the well-cut garments displayed his lean, athletic figure. his face, miss horsfield decided, was a good one: not exactly handsome, but attractive in its frankness; and she liked the way he had of looking steadily at the person he addressed. though he had been, as she knew, a wandering chopper, a survey packer, and, for a time, an unsuccessful prospector, there was no coarsening stamp of toil on him. indeed, the latter is not common in the west, where as yet the division of employments is not practised to the extent it is in older countries. specialization has its advantages; but it brands a man's profession upon him and renders it difficult for him to change it. except for the clear bronze of his skin, vane might just have left a government office, or have come out from london or montreal. he was, moreover, a man whose acquaintance might be worth cultivating. "i suppose you are glad you have finished your work in the bush," she remarked presently. "it must be nice to get back to civilization." vane smiled as he glanced round the room. it ran right across the house, and through the open windows came the clank of a locomotive bell down by the wharf and the rattle of a steamer's winch. the sounds appealed to him. they suggested organized activity, the stir of busy life; and it was pleasant to hear them after the silence of the bush. the gleam of snowy linen, dainty glass and silver caught his eye; and the hum of careless voices and the light laughter were soothing. "yes; it's remarkably nice after living for nine years in the wilderness, with only an occasional visit to some little wooden town." a fresh dish was laid before him, and his companion smiled. "you didn't get things of this kind among the pines." "no," laughed vane. "in fact, cookery is one of the bushman's trials; anyway, when he's working for himself. you come back dead tired, and often very wet, to your lonely tent, and then there's a fire to make and supper to get before you can rest. it happens now and then that you're too played out to trouble, and you go to sleep instead." "dreadful!" sympathized the girl. "but you have been in vancouver before?" "except on the last occasion, i stayed down near the water-front. we were not provided with luxurious quarters or with suppers of this kind there." "it's romantic; and, though you're glad it's over, there must be some satisfaction in feeling that you owe the change to your own efforts. i mean it must be nice to think one has captured a fair share of the good things of life, instead of having them accidentally thrust upon one. doesn't it give you a feeling that in some degree you're master of your fate? i should like that" it was subtle flattery, and there were reasons why it appealed to the man. he had worked for others, sometimes for inadequate wages, and had wandered about the province, dusty and footsore, in search of employment, besides being beaten down at many a small bargain by richer or more fortunately situated men. now, however, he had resolved that there should be a difference; instead of begging favors, he would dictate terms. "i should have imagined it," he laughed, in answer to her last remark; and he was right, for jessy horsfield was a clever woman who loved power and influence. vane dropped his napkin, and was stooping to pick it up when an attendant handed it back to him. he noticed and responded to the glimmer of amusement in his companion's eyes. "we are not accustomed to being waited on in the bush," he explained. "it takes some time to get used to the change. when we wanted anything there we got it for ourselves." "is that, in its wider sense, a characteristic of most bushmen?" "i don't quite follow." the girl laughed. "i suppose one could divide men into two classes: those who are able to get the things they desire for themselves--which implies the possession of certain eminently useful qualities--and those who have them given to them. in canada the former are the more numerous." "there's a third division," vane corrected her, with a trace of grimness. "i mean those who want a good many things and have to learn to do without. it strikes me they're the most numerous of all." "it's no doubt excellent discipline," retorted his companion. she looked at him boldly, for she was interested in the man and was not afraid of personalities. "in any case, you have now passed out of that division." vane sat silent for the next few moments. up to the age of eighteen most of his reasonable wishes had been gratified. then had come a startling change, and he had discovered in the dominion that he must lead a life of spartan self-denial. he had had the strength to do so, and for nine years he had resolutely banished most natural longings. amusements, in some of which he excelled, the society of women, all the small amenities of life, were things which must be foregone, and he had forced himself to be content with food and, as a rule, very indifferent shelter. this, as his companion suggested, had proved a wholesome discipline, since it had not soured him. now, though he did not overvalue them, he rejoiced in his new surroundings, and the girl's comeliness and quickness of comprehension had their full effect. "it was you who located the clermont mine, wasn't it?" she went on. "i read something about it in the papers--i think they said it was copper ore." this vagueness was misleading, for her brother had given her a good deal of definite information about the mine. "yes," replied vane, willing to take up any subject she suggested; "it's copper ore, but there's some silver combined with it. of course, the value of any ore depends upon two things--the percentage of the metal, and the cost of extracting it." her interest was flattering, and he added: "in both respects, the clermont product is promising." after that he did not remember what they talked about; but the time passed rapidly and he was surprised when mrs. nairn rose and the company drifted away by twos and threes toward the veranda. left by himself a moment, he came upon carroll sauntering down a corridor. "i've had a chat with horsfield," carroll remarked. "well?" "he may merely have meant to make himself agreeable, and he may have wished to extract information about you: if the latter was his object, he was not successful." "ah! nairn's straight, anyway, and to be relied on. i like him and his wife." "so do i, though they differ from some of the others. there's not much gilding on either of them." "it's not needed; they're sterling metal." "that's my own idea." carroll moved away and vane strolled out onto the veranda, where horsfield joined him a few minutes later. "i don't know whether it's a very suitable time to mention it; but may i ask whether you are any nearer a decision about that smelter? candidly, i'd like the contract." "i am not," vane answered. "i can't make up my mind, and i may postpone the matter indefinitely. it might prove more profitable to ship the ore out for reduction." horsfield examined his cigar. "of course, i can't press you; but i may, perhaps, suggest that, as we'll have to work together in other matters, i might be able to give you a quid pro quo." "that occurred to me. on the other hand, i don't know how much importance i ought to attach to the consideration." his companion laughed with apparent good-humor. "oh, well; i must wait until you're ready." he strolled away, and presently joined his sister. "how does vane strike you?" he asked. "you seem to get on with him." "i've an idea that you won't find him easy to influence," answered the girl, looking at her brother pointedly. "i'm inclined to agree with you. in spite of that, he's a man whose acquaintance is worth cultivating." he passed on to speak to nairn; and shortly afterward vane sat down beside jessy in a corner of a big room. looking out across the veranda, he could see far-off snowy heights tower in cold silver tracery against the green of the evening sky. voices and laughter reached him, and now and then some of the guests strolled through the room. it was pleasant to lounge there and feel that miss horsfield had taken him under her wing, which seemed to describe her attitude toward him. she was handsome, and he noticed how finely the soft, neutral tinting of her attire, which was neither blue nor altogether gray, matched the azure of her eyes and emphasized the dead-gold coloring of her hair. "as mrs. nairn tells me you are going to england, i suppose we shall not see you in vancouver for some months," she said presently. "this city really isn't a bad place to live in." vane felt gratified. she had implied that he would be an acquisition and had included him among the number of her acquaintances. "i fancy that i shall find it a particularly pleasant place," he responded. "indeed, i'm inclined to be sorry that i've made arrangements to leave it very shortly." "that is pure good-nature," laughed his companion. "no; it's what i really feel." jessy let this pass. "mrs. nairn mentioned that you know the chisholms." "i'd better say that i used to do so. they have probably changed out of my knowledge, and they can scarcely remember me except by name." "but you are going to see them?" "i expect to spend some time with them." jessy changed the subject, and vane found her conversation entertaining. she appealed to his artistic perceptions and his intelligence, and it must be admitted that she laid herself out to do so. she said nothing of any consequence, but she knew how to make a glance or a changed inflection expressive. he was sorry when she left him, but she smiled at him before she moved away. "if you and mr. carroll care to call, i am generally at home in the afternoon," she said. she crossed the room, and vane joined nairn and remained near him until he took his departure. late the next afternoon, an hour or two after an empress liner from china and japan had arrived, he and carroll reached the c.p.r. station. the atlantic train was waiting and an unusual number of passengers were hurrying about the cars. they were, for the most part, prosperous people: business men, and tourists from england going home that way; and when vane found mrs. marvin and kitty, he once more was conscious of a stirring of compassion. the girl's dress, which had struck him as becoming on the afternoon they spent on the beach, now looked shabby. in mrs. marvin's case, the impression was more marked, and standing amid the bustling throng with the child clinging to her hand she looked curiously forlorn. kitty smiled at him diffidently. "you have been so kind," she began, and, pausing, added with a tremor in her voice: "but the tickets--" "pshaw!" interrupted vane. "if it will ease your mind, you can send me what they cost after the first full house you draw." "how shall we address you?" "clermont mineral exploitation. i don't want to think i'm going to lose sight of you." kitty looked away from him a moment, and then looked back. "i'm afraid you must make up your mind to that," she said. vane could not remember his answer, though he afterward tried; but just then an official strode along beside the cars, calling to the passengers, and when a bell began tolling vane hurried the girl and her companions onto a platform. mrs. marvin entered the car, elsie held up her face to kiss him before she disappeared, and he and kitty were left alone. she held out her hand, and a liquid gleam crept into her eyes. "we can't thank you properly," she murmured, "good-by!" "no," vane protested. "you mustn't say that." "yes," answered kitty firmly, but with signs of effort. "it's good-by. you'll be carried on in a moment!" vane gazed down at her, and afterward wondered at what he did, but she looked so forlorn and desolate, and the pretty face was so close to his. stooping swiftly, he kissed her, and had a thrilling fancy that she did not recoil; then the cars lurched forward and he swung himself down. they slid past him, clanking, while he stood and gazed after them. turning around, he was by no means pleased to see that nairn was regarding him with quiet amusement. "been seeing the train away?" the latter suggested. "it's a popular diversion with idle folk." "i was saying good-by to somebody i met on the west coast," vane explained. "weel," chuckled nairn, "she has bonny een." chapter v the old country a month after vane said good-by to kitty he and carroll alighted one evening at a little station in northern england. brown moors stretched about it, for the heather had not bloomed yet, rolling back in long slopes to the high ridge which cut against leaden thunder-clouds in the eastern sky. to the westward, they fell away; and across a wide, green valley smooth-backed heights gave place in turn to splintered crags and ragged pinnacles etched in gray and purple on a vivid saffron glow. the road outside the station gleamed with water, and a few big drops of rain came splashing down, but there was a bracing freshness in the mountain air. the train went on, and vane stood still, looking about him with a poignant recollection of how he had last waited on that platform, sick at heart, but gathering his youthful courage for the effort that he must make. it all came back to him--the dejection, the sense of loneliness--for he was then going out to the western dominion in which he had not a friend. now he was returning, moderately prosperous and successful; but once again the feeling of loneliness was with him--most of those whom he had left behind had made a longer journey than he had done. then he noticed an elderly man, in rather shabby livery, approaching, and he held out his hand with a smile of pleasure. "you haven't changed a bit, jim!" he exclaimed. "have you got the young gray in the new cart outside?" "t' owd gray was shot twelve months since," the man replied. "broke his leg comin' down hartop bank. new car was sold off, done, two or t'ree years ago." "that's bad news. anyway, you're the same." "a bit stiffer in the joints, and maybe a bit sourer," was the answer. then the man's wrinkled face relaxed. "i'm main glad to see thee, mr. wallace. master wad have come, only he'd t' gan t' manchester suddenly." vane helped him to place their baggage into the trap and then bade him sit behind; and as he gathered up the reins, he glanced at the horse and harness. the one did not show the breeding of the gray he remembered, and there was no doubt that the other was rather the worse for wear. they set off down the descending road, which wound, unconfined, through the heather, where the raindrops sparkled like diamonds. farther down, they ran in between rough limestone walls with gleaming spar in them, smothered here and there in trailing brambles and clumps of fern, while the streams that poured out from black gaps in the peat and flowed beside the road flashed with coppery gold in the evening light. it was growing brighter ahead of them, though inky clouds still clung to the moors behind. by and by, ragged hedges, rent and twisted by the winds, climbed up to meet them, and, clattering down between the straggling greenery, they crossed a river sparkling over banks of gravel. after that, there was a climb, for the country rolled in ridge and valley, and the crags ahead, growing nearer, rose in more rugged grandeur against the paling glow. carroll gazed about him in open appreciation as they drove. "this little compact country is really wonderful, in its way!" he exclaimed. "there's so much squeezed into it, even leaving out your towns. parts of it are like ontario---the southern strip i mean--with the plow-land, orchards and homesteads sprinkled among the woods and rolling ground. then your midlands are like the prairie, only that they're greener--there's the same sweep of grass and the same sweep of sky, and this"--he gazed at the rugged hills rent by winding dales--"is british columbia on a miniature scale." "yes," agreed vane; "it isn't monotonous." "now you have hit it! that's the precise difference. we've three belts of country, beginning at labrador and running west--rock and pine scrub, level prairie, and ranges piled on ranges beyond the rockies. hundreds of leagues of each of them, and, within their limits, all the same. but this country's mixed. you can get what you like--woods, smooth grass-land, mountains--in a few hours' ride." vane smiled. "our people and their speech and habits are mixed, too. there's more difference between county and county in thirty miles than there is right across your whole continent. you're cast in the one mold." "i'm inclined to think it's a good one," laughed carroll. "what's more, it has set its stamp on you. the very way your clothes hang proclaims that you're a westerner." vane laughed good-humoredly; but as they clattered through a sleepy hamlet with its little, square-towered church overhanging a brawling river, his face grew grave. pulling up the horse, he handed the reins to carroll. "this is the first stage of my pilgrimage. i won't keep you five minutes." he swung himself down, and the groom motioned to him. "west of the tower, mr. wallace; just before you reach the porch." vane passed through the wicket in the lichened limestone wall, and there was a troubled look in his eyes when he came back and took the reins again. "i went away in bitterness--and i'm sorry now," he said. "the real trouble was unimportant; i think it was forgotten. every now and then the letters came; but the written word is cold. there are things that can never be set quite right in this world." carroll made no comment, though he knew that if it had not been for the bond between them his comrade would not have spoken so. they drove on in silence for a while, and then, as they entered a deep, wooded dale, vane turned to him again. "i've been taken right back into the old days to-night; days in england, and afterward those when we worked on the branch road beneath the range. there's not a boy among the crowd in the sleeping-shack i can't recall--first, wild larry, who taught me how to drill and hid my rawness from the construction boss." "he lent me his gum-boots when the muskeg stiffened into half-frozen slush," carroll interrupted him. "and was smashed by the snowslide," vane went on. "then there was tom, from the boundary country. he packed me back a league to camp the day i chopped my right foot; and went down in the lumber schooner off flattery. black pete, too, who held on to you in the rapid when we were running the bridge-logs through. it was in firing a short fuse that he got his discharge," he raised his free hand, with a wry smile. "gone on--with more of their kind after them; a goodly company. why are we left prosperous? what have we done?" carroll made no response. the question was unanswerable, and after a while vane abruptly began to talk about their business in british columbia. it passed the time; and he had resumed his usual manner when he pulled up where a stile path led across a strip of meadow. "you can drive round; we'll be there before you," he said to the groom as he got down. carroll and he crossed the meadow. passing around a clump of larches they came suddenly into sight of an old gray house with a fir wood rolling down the hillside close behind it. the building was long and low, weather-worn and stained with lichens where the creepers and climbing roses left the stone exposed. the bottom row of mullioned windows opened upon a terrace, and in front of the terrace ran a low wall with a broad coping on which were placed urns bright with geraniums. it was pierced by an opening approached by shallow stairs on which an iridescent peacock stood, and in front of all that stretched a sweep of lawn. a couple of minutes later, a lady met them in the wide hall, and held out her hand to vane. she was middle-aged, and had once been handsome, but now there were wrinkles about her eyes, which had a hint of hardness in them, and her lips were thin. carroll noticed that they closed tightly when she was not speaking. "welcome home, wallace," she said effusively. "it should not be difficult to look upon the dene as that--you were here so often once upon a time." "thank you," was the response. "i felt tempted to ask jim to drive me round by low wood; i wanted to see the place again." "i'm glad you didn't. the house is shut up and going to pieces. it would have been depressing to-night." vane presented carroll. mrs. chisholm's manner was gracious, but for no particular reason carroll wondered whether she would have extended the same welcome to his comrade had the latter not come back the discoverer of a profitable mine. "tom was sorry he couldn't wait to meet you, but he had to leave for manchester on some urgent business," she apologized. just then a girl with disordered hair and an unusual length of stocking displayed beneath her scanty skirt came up to them. "this is mabel," said mrs. chisholm. "i hardly think you will remember her." "i've carried her across the meadow." the girl greeted the strangers demurely, and favored vane with a critical gaze. "so you're wallace vane--who floated the clermont mine! though i don't remember you, i've heard a good deal about you lately. very pleased to make your acquaintance!" vane's eyes twinkled as he shook hands with her. her manner was quaintly formal, but he fancied that there was a spice of mischief hidden behind it. carroll, watching his hostess, surmised that her daughter's remarks had not altogether pleased her. she chatted with them, however, until the man who had driven them appeared with their baggage, when they were shown their respective rooms. vane was the first to go down. reaching the hall, he found nobody there, though a clatter of dishes and a clink of silver suggested that a meal was being laid out in an adjoining room. sitting down near the hearth, he looked about him. the house was old; a wide stairway with a quaintly carved balustrade of dark oak ran up one side and led to a landing, also fronted with ponderous oak rails. the place was shadowy, but a stream of light from a high window struck athwart one part of it and fell upon the stairs. vane's eyes rested on many objects that he recognized, but as his glance traveled to and fro it occurred to him that much of what he saw conveyed a hint that economy was needful. part of the rich molding of the jacobean mantel had fallen away, and patches of the key pattern bordering the panels beneath it had broken off, though he decided that a clever cabinet-maker could have repaired the damage in a day. there were one or two choice rugs on the floor, but they were threadbare; the heavy hangings about the inner doors were dingy and moth-eaten; and, though all this was in harmony with the drowsy quietness and the faint smell of decay, it had its significance. presently he heard footsteps, and looking up he saw a girl descending the stairs in the fading stream of light. she was clad in trailing white, which gleamed against the dark oak and rustled softly as it flowed about a tall, finely outlined and finely poised figure. she had hair of dark brown with paler lights in its curling tendrils, gathered back from a neck that showed a faintly warmer whiteness than the snowy fabric below it. it was her face, though, that seized vane's attention: the level brows; the quiet, deep brown eyes; the straight, cleanly-cut nose; and the subtle suggestion of steadfastness and pride which they all conveyed. he rose with a cry that had pleasure and eagerness in it. "evelyn!" she came down, moving lightly but with a rhythmic grace, and laid a firm, cool hand in his. "i'm glad to see you back, wallace," she said. "how you have changed!" "i'm not sure that's kind," smiled vane. "in some ways, you haven't changed at all; i would have known you anywhere!" "nine years is a long time to remember any one." vane had seen few women during that period; but he was not a fool, and he recognized that this was no occasion for an attempt at gallantry. there was nothing coquettish in evelyn's words, nor was there any irony. she had answered in the tranquil, matter-of-fact manner which, as he remembered, usually characterized her. "it's a little while since you landed, isn't it?" she added. "a week. i had some business in london, and then i went on to look up lucy. she had just gone up to town--to a congress, i believe--and so i missed her. i shall go up again to see her as soon as she answers my letter." "it won't be necessary. she's coming here for a fortnight." "that's very kind. whom have i to thank for suggesting it?" "does it matter? it was a natural thing to ask your only sister--who is a friend of mine. there is plenty of room, and the place is quiet." "it didn't used to be. if i remember, your mother generally had it full part of the year." "things have changed," said evelyn quietly. vane was baffled by something in her manner. evelyn had never been effusive--that was not her way---but now, while she was cordial, she did not seem disposed to resume their acquaintance where it had been broken off. after all, he could hardly have expected this. "mabel is like you, as you used to be," he observed. "it struck me as soon as i saw her; but when she began to talk there was a difference." evelyn laughed softly. "yes; i think you're right in both respects. mopsy has the courage of her convictions. she's an open rebel." there was no bitterness in her laugh. evelyn's manner was never pointed; but vane fancied that she had said a meaning thing--one that might explain what he found puzzling in her attitude, when he held the key to it. "mopsy was dubious about you before you arrived, but i'm pleased to say she seems reassured," she laughed. carroll came down, and a few moments later mrs. chisholm appeared and they went in to dinner in a low-ceilinged room. during the general conversation, mabel suddenly turned to vane. "i suppose you have brought your pistols with you?" "i haven't owned one since i was sixteen," vane laughed. the girl looked at him with an excellent assumption of incredulity. "then you have never shot anybody in british columbia!" carroll laughed, as if this greatly pleased him, but vane's face was rather grave as he answered her. "no; i'm thankful to say that i haven't. in fact, i've never seen a shot fired, except at a grouse or a deer." "then the west must be getting what the archdeacon--he's flora's husband, you know--calls decadent," the girl sighed. "she's incorrigible," mrs. chisholm interposed with a smile. carroll leaned toward mabel confidentially. "in case you feel very badly disappointed, i'll let you into a secret. when we feel real, real savage, we take the ax instead." evelyn fancied that vane winced at this, but mabel looked openly regretful. "can either of you pick up a handkerchief going at full gallop on horseback?" she inquired. "i'm sorry to say that i can't; and i've never seen wallace do so," carroll laughed. mrs. chisholm shook her head at her daughter. "miss clifford complained of your inattention to the study of english last quarter," she reproved severely. mabel made no answer, though vane thought it would have relieved her to grimace. presently the meal came to an end, and an hour afterward, mrs. chisholm rose from her seat in the lamplit drawing-room. "we keep early hours at the dene, but you will retire when you like," she said. "as tom is away, i had better tell you that you will find syphons and whisky in the smoking-room. i have had the lamp lighted." "thank you," vane replied with a smile. "i'm afraid you have taken more trouble on our account than you need have done. except on special occasions, we generally confine ourselves to strong green tea." mabel looked at him in amazement. "oh!" she cried. "the west is certainly decadent! you should be here when the otter hounds are out. why, it was only--" she broke off abruptly beneath her mother's withering glance. when vane and carroll were left alone, they strolled out, pipe in hand, upon the terrace. they could see the fells tower darkly against the soft sky, and a tarn that lay in the blackness of the valley beneath them was revealed by its pale gleam. a wonderful mingling of odors stole out of the still summer night. "i suppose you could put in a few weeks here?" vane remarked. "i could," carroll replied. "there's an atmosphere about these old houses that appeals to me, perhaps because we have nothing like it in canada. the tranquillity of age is in it--it's restful, as a change. besides, i think your friends mean to make things pleasant." "i'm glad you like them." carroll knew that his comrade would not resent a candid expression of opinion. "i do; the girls in particular. they interest me. the younger one's of a type that's common in our country, though it's generally given room for free development into something useful there. mabel's chafing at the curb. it remains to be seen whether she'll kick, presently, and hurt herself in doing so." vane remembered that evelyn had said something to the same effect; but he had already discovered that carroll possessed a keen insight in certain matters. "and her sister?" he suggested. "you won't mind my saying that i'm inclined to be sorry for her? she has learned repression--been driven into line. that girl has character, but it's being cramped and stunted. you live in walled-in compartments in this country." "doesn't the same thing apply to new york, montreal, or toronto?" "not to the same extent. we haven't had time yet to number off all the little subdivisions and make rules for them, nor to elaborate the niceties of an immutable system. no doubt, we'll come to it." he paused with a deprecatory laugh. "mrs. chisholm believes in the system. she has been modeled on it--it's got into her blood; and that's why she's at variance with her daughters. no doubt, the thing's necessary; i'm finding no fault with it. you must remember that we're outsiders, with a different outlook; we've lived in the new west." vane strolled on along the terrace thoughtfully. he was not offended; he understood his companion's attitude. like other men of education and good upbringing driven by unrest or disaster to the untrammeled life of the bush, carroll had gained sympathy as well as knowledge. facing facts candidly, he seldom indulged in decided protest against any of them. on the other hand, vane was on occasion liable to outbreaks of indignation. "well," said vane at length, "i guess it's time to go to bed." chapter vi upon the heights vane rose early the next morning, as he had been accustomed to do, and taking a towel he made his way across dewy meadows and between tall hedgerows to the tarn. stripping where the rabbit-cropped sward met the mossy boulders, he swam out, joyously breasting the little ripples which splashed and sparkled beneath the breeze that had got up with the sun. coming back, where the water lay in shadow beneath a larchwood which as yet had not wholly lost its vivid vernal green, he disturbed the paddling moor-hens and put up a mallard from a clump of swaying reeds. then he dressed and turned homeward, glowing, beside a sluggish stream which wound through a waste of heather where the curlew were whistling eerily. he had no cares to trouble him, and it was delightful to feel that he had nothing to do except to enjoy himself in what he considered the fairest country in the world, at least in summertime. scrambling over a limestone wall tufted thick with parsley fern, he noticed mabel stooping over an object which lay among the heather where a rough cartroad approached a wooden bridge. on joining her he saw that she was examining a finely-built canoe with a hole in one bilge. she looked up at him ruefully. "it's sad, isn't it? that stupid little did it with his clumsy cart." "i think it could be mended," vane replied. "old beavan--he's the wheelwright--said it couldn't; and dad said i could hardly expect him to send the canoe back to kingston. he bought it for me at an exhibition." then a thought seemed to strike her and her eyes grew eager. "perhaps you had something to do with light canoes in canada?" "yes; i used to pole one loaded with provisions up a river and carry the lot round several falls. if i remember, i made eight shillings a day at it, and i think i earned it. you're fond of paddling?" "i love it! i used to row the fishing-punt, but it's too old to be safe; and now that the canoe's smashed i can't go out at all." "well, we'll walk across and see what we can find in beavan's shop." he took a few measurements, making them on a stick, and they crossed the heath to a tiny hamlet nestling in a hollow of a limestone crag. there vane made friends with the wheelwright, who regarded him dubiously at first, and obtained a piece of larch board from him. the grizzled north countryman watched him closely as he set a plane, which is a delicate operation, and he raised no objections when vane made use of his work-bench. when the board had been sawed up, vane borrowed a few tools and copper nails, and he and mabel went back to the canoe. on the way she glanced at him curiously. "i wasn't sure old beavan would let you have the things," she remarked. "it isn't often he'll even lend a hammer, but he seemed to take to you; i think it was the way you handled his plane." "it's strange what little things win some people's good opinion, isn't it?" "oh, don't!" exclaimed mabel. "that's the way the archdeacon talks. i thought you were different!" the man acquiesced in the rebuke; and after an hour's labor at the canoe, he scraped the red lead he had used off his hands and sat down beside the craft. the sun was warm now, the dew was drying, and a lark sang riotously overhead. vane became conscious that his companion was regarding him with what seemed to be approval. "i really think you'll do, and we'll get on," she informed him. "if you had been the wrong kind, you would have worried about your red hands. still, you could have rubbed them on the heather, instead of on your socks." "i might have thought of that," vane laughed. "but, you see, i've been accustomed to wearing old clothes. anyway, you'll be able to launch the canoe as soon as the joint's dry." "there's one thing i should have told you," the girl replied. "dad would have sent the canoe away to be mended if it hadn't been so far. he's very good when things don't ruffle him; but he hasn't been fortunate lately. the lead mine takes a good deal of money." vane admired her loyalty, and he refrained from taking advantage of her candor, though there were one or two questions he would have liked to ask. when he was last in england, chisholm had been generally regarded as a man of means, though it was rumored that he was addicted to hazardous speculations. mabel, without noticing his silence, went on: "i heard stevens--he's the gamekeeper--tell beavan that dad should have been a rabbit because he's so fond of burrowing. no doubt, that meant that he couldn't keep out of mines." vane made no comment; and mabel, breaking off for a moment, looked up at the rugged fells to the west and then around at the moors which cut against the blue of the morning sky. "it's all very pretty, but it shuts one in!" she cried. "you feel you want to get out and can't! i suppose you really couldn't take me back with you to canada?" "i'm afraid not. if you were about ten years older, it might be possible." mabel grimaced. "oh, don't! that's the kind of thing some of gerald's smart friends say, and it makes one want to slap them! besides," she added naively, glancing down at her curtailed skirt, "i'm by no means so young as i appear to be. the fact is, i'm not allowed to grow up yet." "why?" the girl laughed at him. "oh, you've lived in the woods. if you had stayed in england, you would understand." "i'm afraid i've been injudicious," vane answered with a show of humility. "but don't you think it's getting on toward breakfast time?" "breakfast won't be for a good while yet. we don't get up early. evelyn used to, but it's different now. we used to go out on the tarn every morning, even in the wind and rain; but i suppose that's not good for one's complexion, though bothering about such things doesn't seem to me to be worth while. aunt julia couldn't do anything for evelyn, though she had her in london for some time. flora is our shining light." "what did she do?" "she married the archdeacon; and he isn't so very dried up. i've seen him smile when i talked to him." "i'm not astonished at that, mabel," laughed vane. his companion looked up at him. "my name's not mabel--to you. i'm mopsy to the family, but my special friends call me mops. you're one of the few people one can be natural with, and i'm getting sick--you won't be shocked--of having to be the opposite. if you'll come along, i'll show you the setter puppies." it was half an hour later when vane, who had seldom had to wait so long for breakfast, sat down with an excellent appetite. the spacious room pleased him after the cramped quarters to which he had been accustomed. the sunlight that streamed in sparkled on choice old silver and glowed on freshly gathered flowers; and through the open windows mingled fragrances flowed in from the gardens. all that his gaze rested on spoke of ease and taste and leisure. evelyn, sitting opposite him, looked wonderfully fresh in her white dress; mopsy was as amusing as she dared to be; but vane felt drawn back to the restless world again as he glanced at his hostess and saw the wrinkles round her eyes and a hint of cleverly hidden strain in her expression. he fancied that a good deal could be deduced from the fragments of information her younger daughter had given him. it was mabel who suggested that they should picnic upon the summit of a lofty hill, from which there was a striking view; and as this met with the approval of mrs. chisholm, who excused herself from accompanying them, they set out an hour later. the day was bright, with glaring sunshine, and a moderate breeze drove up wisps of ragged cloud that dappled the hills with flitting shadow. towering crag and shingly scree showed blue and purple through it and then flashed again into brilliancy, while the long, grassy slopes gleamed with silvery gray and ocher. on leaving the head of the valley they climbed leisurely up easy slopes, slipping on the crisp hill grass now and then. by and by they plunged into tangled heather on a bolder ridge, rent by black gullies, down which at times wild torrents poured. this did not trouble either of the men, who were used to forcing a passage over more rugged hillsides and through leagues of matted brush, but vane was surprised at the ease with which evelyn threaded her way across the heath. she wore a short skirt and stout laced boots, and he noticed the supple grace of her movements and the delicate color the wind had brought into her face. it struck him that she had somehow changed since they had left the valley. she seemed to have flung off something, and her laugh had a gay ring; but, while she smiled and chatted with him, he was still conscious of a subtle reserve in her manner. climbing still, they reached the haunts of the cloudberries and brushed through broad patches of the snowy blossoms that open their gleaming cups among the moss and heather. vane gathered a handful and gave them to evelyn. "you should wear these. they grow only far up on the heights." she flashed a swift glance at him, but she smiled as she drew the fragile stalks through her belt, and he felt that had it been permissible he could have elaborated the idea in his mind. they are stainless flowers, passionlessly white, that grow beyond the general reach of man, where the air is keen and pure; and, in spite of her graciousness, there was a coldness and a calm, which instead of repelling appealed to him strongly, about this girl. mabel laughed mischievously. "if you want to give me flowers, it had better be marsh-marigolds," she said. "they grow low down where it's slushy--but they blaze." carroll laughed. "mabel," he remarked a few moments later to vane, "is unguarded in what she says, but she now and then shows signs of being considerably older than her years." they left the black peat-soil behind them, and the heather gave place to thin and more fragile ling, beaded with its unopened buds, while fangs of rock cropped out here and there. then turning the flank of a steep ascent, they reached the foot of a shingly scree, and sat down to lunch in the warm sunshine where the wind was cut off by the peak above. beneath them, a great rift opened up among the rocks, and far beyond the blue lake in the depths of it they could catch the silver gleam of the distant sea. the fishing creel in which the provisions had been carried was promptly emptied; and when mabel afterward took carroll away to climb some neighboring crags, vane lay resting on one elbow not far from evelyn. she was looking down the long hollow, with the sunshine, which lighted a golden sparkle in her brown eyes, falling upon her face. "you didn't seem to mind the climb." "i enjoyed it;" evelyn declared, glancing at the cloudberry blossom in her belt. "i really am fond of the mountains, and i have to thank you for a day among them." on the surface the words offered an opening for a complimentary rejoinder; but vane was too shrewd to seize it. he had made one venture, and he surmised that a second one would not please her. "they're almost at your door. one would imagine that you could indulge in a scramble among them whenever it pleased you." "there are a good many things that look so close and still are out of reach," evelyn answered with a smile that somehow troubled him. then her manner changed. "you are content with this?" vane gazed about him. purple crags lay in shadow; glistening threads of water fell among the rocks; and long slopes lay steeped in softest color under the cloud-flecked summer sky. "content is scarcely the right word for it," he assured her, "if it weren't so still and serene up here, i'd be riotously happy. there are reasons for this quite apart from the scenery; for one, it's remarkably pleasant to feel that i need do nothing but what i like during the next few months." "the sensation must be unusual. i wonder if, even in your case, it will last so long?" vane laughed and stretched out one of his hands. it was lean and brown, and she could see the marks of old scars on the knuckles. "in my case," he answered, "it has come only once in a lifetime, and, if it isn't too presumptuous, i think i've earned it." he indicated his battered fingers. "that's the result of holding a wet and slippery drill; and those aren't the only marks i carry about with me--though i've been more fortunate than many fine comrades." evelyn noticed something that pleased her in his voice as he concluded. "i suppose one must get hurt now and then," she responded. "after all, a bruise that's only skin-deep doesn't trouble one long, and no doubt some scars are honorable. it's slow corrosion that's the deadliest." she broke off with a laugh. "moralizing's out of place on a day like this," she added; "and such days are not frequent in the north. that's their greatest charm." vane nodded. he knew the sad gray skies of his native land, when its lonely heights are blurred by driving snow-cloud or scourged by bitter rain for weeks together, though now and then they tower serenely into the blue heavens, steeped in ethereal splendor. once more it struck him that in their latter aspect his companion resembled them. made finely, of warm flesh and blood, she was yet ethereal too. there was something aloof and intangible about her that seemed in harmony with the hills among which she was born. "yes," he agreed. "on the face of it, the north is fickle; though to those who know it that's a misleading term. to some of us it's always the same, and its dark grimness makes one feel the radiance of its smile. for all that, i think we're going to see a sudden change in the weather." long wisps of leaden cloud began to stream across the crags above, intensifying, until it seemed unnatural, the glow of light and color on the rest. "i wonder if mopsy is leading mr. carroll into any mischief? they have been gone some time," said evelyn. "she has a trick of getting herself and other people into difficulties. i suppose he is an old friend of yours, as you brought him over; unless, perhaps, he's acting as your secretary." vane's eyes twinkled. "if he came in any particular capacity, it's as bear-leader. you see, there are a good many things i've forgotten in the bush, and, as i left this country young, there are no doubt some that i never learned." "and so you make mr. carroll your confidential adviser. how did he gain the necessary experience?" "that is more than i can tell you; but i'm inclined to believe he has been at one of the universities--toronto, most likely. anyhow, on the whole he acts as a judicious restraint." "but don't you really know anything about him?" "only what some years of close companionship have taught me, though i think that's enough. for the rest, i took him on trust." evelyn looked surprised, and he spread out his hands in a humorous manner. "a good many people have had to take me in that way, and they seemed willing to do so--the thing's not uncommon in the west. why should i be more particular than they were?" just then mabel and carroll appeared. the latter's garments were stained in places, as if he had been scrambling over mossy rocks, and his pockets bulged. mabel's skirt was torn, while a patch of white skin showed through her stocking. "we've found some sun-dew and two ferns i don't know, as well as all sorts of other things," she announced. "that's correct," vouched carroll dryly; "i've got them. i guess they're going to fill up most of the creel." mabel superintended their transfer, and then addressed the others generally. "i think we ought to go up the pike now, when we have the chance. it isn't much of a climb from here: and we'll have rain before to-morrow. besides, the quickest way back to the road is across the top and down the other side." evelyn agreed, and they set out, following a sheep path which skirted the screes, until they left the bank of sharp stones behind and faced a steep ascent. parts of it necessitated a breathless scramble, and the sunlight faded from the hills as they climbed, while thicker wisps of cloud drove across the ragged summit. they reached the top at length and stopped, bracing themselves against a rush of chilly breeze, while they looked down upon a wilderness of leaden-colored rock. long trails of mist were creeping in and out among the crags, and here and there masses of it gathered round the higher slopes. "i think the pike's grandest in this weather," mabel declared. "look below, mr. carroll, and you'll see the mountain's like a starfish. it has prongs running out from it." carroll did as she directed him, and noticed three diverging ridges springing off from the shoulders of the peak. their crests, which were narrow, led down toward the valley, but their sides fell in rent and fissured crags to great black hollows. "you can get down two of them," mabel went on. "the first is the nearest to the road, but the third's the easiest. it takes you to the hause--that's the gap between it and the next big hill. you must be a climber to try the middle one." a few big drops began to fall, and evelyn cut her sister's explanations short. "it strikes me that we'd better make a start at once," she said. they set out, mabel and carroll leading, and drawing farther away from the two behind. the rain began in earnest as they descended. rock slope and scattered stones were slippery, and vane found it difficult to keep his footing on some of their lichened surfaces. he was relieved, however, to see that his companion seldom hesitated, and they made their way downward cautiously, until near the spot where the three ridges diverged they walked into a belt of drifting mist. the peak above them was suddenly blotted out, and evelyn bade vane hail carroll and mabel, who had disappeared. he sent a shout ringing through the vapor, and caught a faint and unintelligible answer. a flock of sheep fled past and dislodged a rush of sliding stones. vane heard the stones rattle far down the hillside, and when he called again a blast of chilly wind whirled his voice away. there was a faint echo above him and then silence. "it looks as if they were out of hearing; and the slope ahead of us seems uncommonly steep by the way those stones went down. do you think mabel has taken carroll down the stanghyll ridge?" "i can't tell," answered evelyn. "it's comforting to remember that she knows it better than i do. i think we ought to make for the hause; there's only one place that's really steep. keep up to the left a little; the scale crags must be close beneath us." they moved on circumspectly, skirting what seemed to be a pit of profound depth in which dim vapors whirled, while the rain, growing thicker, beat into their faces. chapter vii storm-stayed the weather was not the only thing that troubled vane as he stumbled on through the mist. any unathletic tourist from the cities could have gone up without much difficulty by the way they had ascended, but it was different coming down on the opposite side of the mountain. there, their route led across banks of sharp-pointed stones that rested lightly on the steep slope, interspersed with outcropping rocks which were growing dangerously slippery, and a wilderness of crags pierced by three great radiating chasms lay beneath. after half an hour's arduous scramble, he decided that they must be close upon the top of the last rift, and he stood still for a minute looking about him. the mist was now so thick that he could see scarcely thirty yards ahead, but the way it drove past him indicated that it was blowing up a hollow. on one hand a rampart of hillside loomed dimly out of it; in front there was a dark patch that looked like the face of a dripping rock; and between that and the hill a boggy stretch of grass ran back into the vapor. vane glanced at his companion with some concern. her skirt was heavy with moisture and the rain dripped from the brim of her hat, but she smiled at him reassuringly. "it's not the first time i've got wet," she said cheeringly; "and you're not responsible--it's mopsy's fault." vane felt relieved on one account he had imagined that a woman hated to feel draggled and untidy, and he was willing to own that in his case fatigue usually tended toward shortness of temper. though the scramble had scarcely taxed his powers, he fancied that evelyn had already done as much as one could expect of her. "i must prospect about a bit. scardale's somewhere below us; but, if i remember, it's an awkward descent to the head of it; and i'm not sure of the right entrance to the hause." "i've only once been down this way, and that was a long while ago," evelyn replied. vane left her and plodded away across the grass, sinking ankle-deep in the spongy moss among the roots of it when he had grown scarcely distinguishable in the haze he turned and waved his hand. "i know where we are--almost to the head of the beck!" he called. evelyn joined him at the edge of a trickle of water splashing in a peaty hollow, and they followed it down, seeing only odd strips of hillside amid the vapor. at length the ground grew softer, and vane, going first, sank among the long green moss almost to his knees. it made a bubbling, sucking sound as he drew out his feet. "that won't do! stand still, please! i'll try a little to the right." he tried in one or two directions; but wherever he went he sank over his boots. coming back he informed his companion that they would better go straight ahead. "i know there's no bog worth speaking of--the hause is a regular tourist track." he stopped and stripped off his jacket. "first of all, you must put this on; i'm sorry i didn't think of it before." evelyn demurred, and vane rolled up the jacket. "you have to choose between doing what i ask and watching me pitch it into the beck. i'm a rather determined person. it would be a pity to throw the thing away, particularly as the rain hasn't got through it yet." she yielded, and he held the jacket while she put it on. "there's another thing," he added. "i'm going to carry you for the next hundred yards, or possibly farther." "no," replied evelyn firmly. "on that point, my determination is as strong as yours." vane made a sign of acquiescence. "you may have your way for a minute; i expect that will be long enough." he was correct. evelyn moved forward a pace or two, and then stopped with the skirt she had gathered up brushing the quivering emerald moss, and her boots, which were high ones, hidden in the mire. she had some difficulty in pulling them out. then vane coolly picked her up. "all you have to do is to keep still for the next few minutes," he informed her in a most matter-of-fact voice. evelyn did not move, though she recognized that had he shown any sign of self-conscious hesitation she would at once have shaken herself loose. as it was, the fact that he appeared perfectly at ease and unaware that he was doing anything unusual was reassuring. then as he plodded forward she wondered at his steadiness, for she remembered that when she had once fallen heavily when nailing up a clematis her father, who was a vigorous man, had found it difficult to carry her upstairs. vane had never carried any woman in his arms before, but he had occasionally had to pack--as it is termed in the west--hundred-and-forty-pound flour bags over a rocky portage, and, though the comparison did not strike him as a happy one, he thought the girl was not quite so heavy as that. he was conscious of a curious thrill and a certain stirring of his blood, but this, he decided, must be sternly ignored. his task was not an easy one, and he stumbled once or twice, but he accomplished it and set the girl down safely on firmer ground. "now," he said, "there's only the drop to the dale, but we must endeavor to keep out of the beck." his voice and air were unembarrassed, though he was breathless, and evelyn fancied that in this and the incident of the jacket he had at last revealed the forceful, natural manners of the west. it was the first glimpse she had had of them, and she was not displeased. the man had merely done what was most advisable, with practical sense. a little farther on, a shoot of falling water swept out of the mist above and came splashing down a crag, spread out in frothing threads. it flowed across their path, reunited in a deep gully, and then fell tumultuously into the beck, which was now ten or twelve feet below them. they clung to the rock as they traced it downward, stepping cautiously from ledge to ledge and from slippery stone to stone. at times a stone plunged into the mist beneath them, and vane grasped the girl's arm and held out a steadying hand, but he was never fussy nor needlessly concerned. when she wanted help, it was offered at the right moment; but that was all. had she been alarmed, her companion's manner would have been more comforting than persistent solicitude. he was, she decided, one who could be relied upon in an emergency. "you are sure-footed," she remarked, when they stopped a minute or two for breath. vane laughed as he glanced into the vapor-rilled depths beneath. they stood on a ledge, two or three yards in width, with a tall crag behind them and the beck, which had rapidly grown larger, leaping half seen from rock to rock in the rift in front. "i was born among these fells; and i have helped to pack various kinds of mining truck over much rougher mountains." "have you ever gone up as steep a place as this with a load?" "if i remember rightly, the top of the hause drops about three hundred feet, and we'll probably spend half an hour in reaching the valley. there was one western divide that it took us several days to cross, dragging a tent, camp gear and provisions in relays. its foot was wrapped in tangled brush that tore most of our clothes to rags, and the last pitch was two thousand feet of rock where the snow lay waist-deep in the hollows." "two thousand feet! that dwarfs our little drop to the hause. what were you doing so far up in the ranges?" "looking for a copper mine." "and you found one?" "no; not that time. as a rule, the mineral trail leads poor men to greater poverty, and sometimes to a grave; but once you have set your feet on it you follow it again. the thing becomes an obsession; you feel forced to go." "even if you bring nothing back?" vane laughed. "one always brings back something--frost-bite, bruises, a bag of specimens that assayers and mineral development men smile at. they're the palpable results, but in most cases you pick up an intangible something else." "and that is?" "a thing beyond definition. a germ that lies in wait in the lonely places and breeds fantasies when it gets into your blood. anyway, you can never quite get rid of it." evelyn was interested. the man was endowed with a trick of quaint and almost poetical imagination, which she had not suspected him of possessing. "it conduces to unrest?" she suggested. "yes. one feels that there's a rich claim waiting beyond the thick timber through which one can hardly scramble, across the icy rivers, or over the snow-line." "but you found one." "at last i found it easily. after ranging the wildest solitudes, we struck it in a sheltered valley near the warm west coast. curious, isn't it?" "but didn't that banish the unrest and leave you satisfied?" the man looked at her with a flicker of grim amusement in his eyes. "as i explained, it can't be banished. there's always a richer claim somewhere that you haven't found. our prospectors dream of it as the mother lode, and some spend half their lives in search of it; it was called el dorado three hundred years ago. after all, the idea's a deeper thing than a miner's fantasy: in one shape or another it's inherent in optimistic human nature. are you sure the microbe hasn't bitten you and mopsy?" he was too shrewd. turning from him, she looked down at the eddying mist. for several years she had chafed at her surroundings and the restraints they laid upon her, with a restless longing for something wider and better: a freer, sunnier atmosphere where her nature could expand. at times she fancied there was only one sun which could warm it to a perfect growth, but that sun had not risen and scarcely seemed likely to do so. vane broke the silence deprecatingly. "now that you're rested, we'd better get on. i'm sorry i've kept you so long." though caution was still necessary, the rest of the descent was easier, and after a while they reached a winding dale. they followed it downward, splashing through water part of the time, and at length came into sight of a cluster of little houses standing between a river and a big fir wood. "it must be getting on toward evening. mopsy and carroll probably went down the ridge, and as it runs out lower down the valley, they'll be almost at home." "it's six o'clock," replied vane, glancing at his watch. "you can't walk home in the rain, and it's a long while since lunch. if adam bell and his wife are still at the golden fleece, we'll get something to eat there and borrow you some dry clothes. i've no doubt he'll drive us back afterward." evelyn made no objections. she was very wet and was beginning to feel weary, and they were some distance from home. she returned his jacket, and a few minutes later they entered an old hostelry which, like many others among those hills, was a farm as well as an inn. the landlady recognized vane with pleased surprise. when she had attended to evelyn she provided vane with some of her husband's clothes. then she lighted a fire; and when she had laid out a meal in the guest-room, evelyn came in, attired in a dress of lilac print. "it's maggie bell's," she explained demurely. "her mother's things were rather large. adam is away at a sheep auction, and they have only the trap he went in; but they expect him back in an hour or so." "then we must wait," smiled vane. "worse misfortunes have befallen me." they made an excellent meal, and then vane drew up a wicker chair to the fire for evelyn and sat down opposite her. the room was low and shadowy, and partly paneled. against one wall stood a black oak sideboard, with a plate-rack above it, and a great chest of the same material with ponderous hand-forged hinge-straps stood opposite it. a clock with an engraved metal dial and a six-foot case, polished to a wonderful luster by the hands of several generations, ticked in one corner; and here and there the firelight flickered upon utensils of burnished copper. there was little in the place that looked less than a century old, for there are nooks in the north that have still escaped the ravages of the collector. outside, the rain dripped from the massy flagstone eaves, and the song of the river stole in monotonous cadence into the room. evelyn was silent and vane said nothing for a while. he had been in the air all day, and though this was nothing new to him he was content to sit lazily still and leave the opening of conversation to his companion. in the meanwhile it was pleasant to glance toward her now and then. the pale-tinted dress became her, and he felt that the room would have looked less cheerful had she been away; though this by no means comprised the whole of his sensations. after living almost entirely among men, he had of late met three women who had impressed him in different ways, and they had all been pleasant to look upon. first, there was kitty blake, little, graceful and, in a way, alluring; and it was she who had first roused in him a vague desire for a companion who could be more to him than a man could be. beyond that, pretty as she was, she had only moved him to chivalrous pity and a wider sympathy. then he had met jessy horsfield, whom he admired. she was a clever woman and a handsome one, but she had scarcely stirred him at all. last, he had met evelyn, as well endowed with physical charm as either; and there was no doubt that the effect she had on him was different again. it was one that was difficult to analyze, though he lazily tried. she appealed to him by the grace of her carriage, the poise of her head, her delicate coloring, and the changing lights in her eyes; but behind these points there was something stronger and deeper expressed through them. he fancied that she possessed qualities he had not hitherto encountered, which would become more precious when they were fully understood. he thought of her as steadfast and wholesome in mind; one who sought for the best; but beyond this there was an ethereal something that could not be defined. then a simile struck him: she was like the snow that towered high into the empyrean in british columbia. in this, however, he was wrong, for there was warm human passion in the girl, though as yet it was sleeping. he realized suddenly that he was getting absurdly sentimental, and instinctively he fumbled for his pipe, then stopped. evelyn noticed this and smiled. "you needn't hesitate. the dene is redolent of cigars, and gerald smokes everywhere when he is at home." "is he likely to turn up?" vane asked. "it's ever so long since i've seen him." "i'm afraid not. in fact, gerald's rather under a cloud just now. i may as well tell you this, because you are sure to hear of it sooner or later. he has been extravagant and, so he assures us, extraordinarily unlucky." "stocks?" suggested vane. he was acquainted with some of the family tendencies. evelyn hesitated a moment. "that would more readily have been forgiven him. i believe he has speculated on the turf as well." vane was surprised. he understood that gerald chisholm was a barrister, and betting on the turf was not an amusement he would have associated with that profession. "i must run up and see him by and by," he said thoughtfully. evelyn felt sorry she had spoken. gerald needed help, which his father was not in a position to offer. evelyn was not censorious of other people's faults, but it was impossible to be blind to some aspects of her brother's character, and she would have preferred that vane should not meet gerald while the latter was embarrassed by financial difficulties. she abruptly changed the subject. "several of the things you have told me about your life in canada interest me. it must have been bracing to feel that you depended upon your own efforts and stood on your own feet, free from the hampering customs that are common here." "the position has its disadvantages. you have no family influence behind you--nothing to fall back on. if you can't make good your footing, you must go down. it's curious that just before i came over here, a lady i met in vancouver expressed an opinion very much like yours. she said it must be pleasant to feel that one is, to some extent at least, master of one's fate." "then she merely explained my meaning more clearly than i have done." "one could have imagined that she had everything she could reasonably wish for. if i'm not transgressing, so have you. it's strange you should both harbor the same idea." evelyn smiled. "i don't think it's uncommon among young women nowadays. there's a grandeur in the thought that one's fate lies in the hands of the high unseen powers; but to allow one's life to be molded by the prejudices and preconceptions of one's--neighbors is a different matter. besides, if unrest and human striving were sent, was it only that they should be repressed?" vane sat silent a moment or two. he had noticed the brief pause and fancied that she had changed one of the words that followed it. he did not think that it was the opinions of her neighbors against which she chafed most. "it's something that i've never experienced," he replied at length. "in a general way, i've done what i wanted." "which is a privilege that is denied us." evelyn spoke without bitterness. "what do women who are left to their own resources do in western canada?" she asked presently. "some of them marry; i suppose that's the most natural thing," answered vane, with an air of reflection that amused her. "anyway, they have plenty of opportunities. there's a preponderating number of unattached young men in the newly opened parts of the dominion." "things are different here; or perhaps we require more than they do across the atlantic. what becomes of the others?" "they are waitresses in the hotels; they learn stenography and typewriting, and go into offices and stores." "and earn just enough to live upon meagerly? if their wages are high, they must pay out more. that follows, doesn't it?" "to some extent." "is there nothing better open to them?" "no; not unless they're trained for it and become specialized. that implies peculiar abilities and a systematic education with one end in view. you can't enter the arena to fight for the higher prizes unless you're properly armed. the easiest way for a woman to acquire power and influence is by a judicious marriage. no doubt, it's the same here." "it is," laughed evelyn. "a man is more fortunately situated." "probably; but if he's poor, he's rather walled in, too. he breaks through now and then; and in the newer countries he gets an opportunity." vane abstractedly examined his pipe, which he had not lighted yet. it was clear that the girl was dissatisfied with her surroundings, and had for some reason temporarily relaxed the restraint she generally laid upon herself; but he felt that, if she were wise, she would force herself to be content. she was of too fine a fiber to plunge into the struggle that many women had to wage. though he did not doubt her courage, she had not been trained for it. he had noticed that among men it was the cruder and less developed organizations that proved hardiest in adverse situations; one needed a strain of primitive vigor. there was, it seemed, only one means of release for evelyn, and that was a happy marriage. but a marriage could not be happy unless the suitor should be all that she desired; and evelyn would be fastidious, though her family would, no doubt, look only for wealth and station. vane imagined that this was where the trouble lay, and he felt a protective pity for her. he would wait and keep his eyes open. presently there was a rattle of wheels outside and the landlord came in and greeted them with rude cordiality. shortly afterward vane helped evelyn into the rig, and bell drove them home through the rain. chapter viii lucy vane bright sunshine streamed down out of a cloudless sky one afternoon shortly after the ascent of the pike. vane stood talking with his sister upon the terrace in front of the dene. he leaned against the low wall, frowning, for lucy hitherto had avoided a discussion of the subject which occupied their attention, and now, as he would have said, he could not make her listen to reason. she stood in front of him, with the point of her parasol pressed firmly into the gravel and her lips set, though in her eyes there was a smile which suggested forbearance. lucy was tall and spare of figure; a year younger than her brother; and of somewhat determined and essentially practical character. she earned her living in a northern manufacturing town by lecturing on domestic economy, for the public authorities. vane understood that she also received a small stipend as secretary to some women's organization and that she took a part in suffrage propaganda. she had a thin, forceful face, seldom characterized by repose. "after all," vane broke out, "what i'm urging is a very natural thing. i don't like to think of your being forced to work as you are doing, and i've tried to show you that it wouldn't cost me any self-denial to make you an allowance. there's no reason why you should be at the beck and call of those committees any longer." lucy's smile grew plainer. "i don't think that quite describes my position." "it's possible," vane agreed with a trace of dryness. "no doubt, you insist that the chairman or lady president give way to you; but this doesn't affect the question. you have to work, anyway." "but i like it; and it keeps me in some degree of comfort." the man turned impatiently and glanced about him. the front of the old gray house was flooded with light, and the mossy sward below the terrace glowed luminously green. the shadows of the hollies and cypresses were thin and unsubstantial, but where a beech overarched the grass, evelyn and mrs. chisholm. attired in light draperies, reclined in basket chairs. carroll, in thin gray tweed, stood near them, talking to mabel, and chisholm sat on a bench with a newspaper in his hand. he looked half asleep, and a languorous stillness pervaded the whole scene. beyond it, the tarn shone dazzlingly, and in the distance ranks of rugged fells towered, dim and faintly blue. all that the eye rested on spoke of an unbroken tranquillity. "wouldn't you like this kind of thing, as well?" vane asked. "of course, i mean what it implies--the power to take life easy and get as much enjoyment as possible out of it. it wouldn't be difficult, if you'd only take what i'd be glad to give you." he indicated the languid figures in the foreground. "you could, for instance, spend your time among people of this sort. after all, it's what you were meant to do." "would that appeal to you?" "oh, i like it in the meantime," he evaded. "well," lucy returned curtly, "i believe i'm more at home with the other kind of people--those in poverty, squalor and ignorance. i've an idea that they have a stronger claim on me; but that's not a point i can urge. the fact is, i've chosen my career, and there are practical reasons why i shouldn't abandon it. i had a good deal of trouble in getting a footing, and if i fell out now, it would be harder still to take my place in the ranks again." "but you wouldn't require to do so." "i can't be sure. i don't want to hurt you; but, after all, your success was sudden, and one understands that it isn't wise to depend on an income derived from mining properties." vane frowned. "none of you ever did believe in me!" "i suppose there's some truth in that. you really did give us trouble, you know. somehow, you were different--you wouldn't fit in; though i believe the same thing applied to me, for that matter." "and now you don't expect my prosperity to last?" the girl hesitated, but she was candid by nature. "perhaps i'd better answer. you have it in you to work determinedly and, when it's necessary, to do things that men with less courage would shrink from; but i'm doubtful whether yours is the temperament that leads to success. you haven't the huckster's instincts; you're not cold-blooded enough; you wouldn't cajole your friends nor truckle to your enemies." "if i adopted the latter course, it would certainly be against the grain," vane confessed. lucy laughed. "well, i mean to go on earning my living; but you may take me up to london for a few days, if you want to, and buy me some hats and things. then i don't mind your giving something to the emancipation society." "i am not sure that i believe in emancipation; but you may have ten guineas." "thank you." lucy glanced around toward carroll, who was approaching them with mabel. "i'll give you a piece of advice," she added. "stick to that man. he's cooler and less headstrong than you are; he'll prove a useful friend." "what are you two talking about?" asked carroll. "you look animated." "wallace has just promised me ten guineas to assist the movement for the emancipation of women." lucy answered pointedly. "our society's efforts are sadly restricted by the lack of funds." "vane is now and then a little inconsequential in his generosity," carroll rejoined. "i didn't know he was interested in that kind of thing; but as i don't like to be outdone by my partner, i'll subscribe the same. by the way, why do you people reckon these things in guineas?" "thanks," smiled lucy, making an entry in a notebook in a businesslike manner. "as you said it was a subscription, you'll hear from us next year. in answer to your question, it's an ancient custom, and it has the advantage that you get in the extra shillings." they strolled along the terrace together, and as they went down the steps to the lawn carroll turned to her with a smile. "have you tackled chisholm yet?" "i never waste powder and shot," lucy replied tersely. "a man of his restricted views would sooner subscribe handsomely to a movement to put us down." "are you regretting the ten guineas, vane?" carroll questioned laughingly. "you don't look pleased." "the fact is, i wanted to do something that wasn't allowed. i've met with the same disillusionment here as i did in british columbia." lucy looked up at her brother. "did you attempt to give somebody money there?" "i did. it's not worth discussing; and, anyway, she wouldn't listen to me." they strolled on, vane frowning, while carroll, noticing signs of suppressed interest in lucy's face, smiled unobserved. neither he nor the others thought of mabel, who was following them. some time after they joined the others, carroll lay back in a deep chair, with his half-closed eyes turned in lucy's direction. "are you asleep, or thinking hard?" mrs. chisholm asked him. "not more than half asleep," he laughed. "i was trying to remember _a dream of fair women_. it's a suitable occupation for a drowsy summer afternoon in a place like this, but i must confess that it was miss vane who put it into my head. she reminded me of one or two of the heroines when she was championing the cause of the suffragist." "you mustn't imagine that englishwomen in general sympathize with her, or that such ideas are popular at the dene." carroll smiled reassuringly. "i shouldn't have imagined the latter for a moment. but, as i said, on an afternoon of this kind one may be excused for indulging in romantic fancies. don't you see what brought those old-time heroines into my mind? i mean the elusive resemblance to their latter-day prototype?" mrs. chisholm looked puzzled. "no," she declared. "one of them was greek, another early english, and the finest of all was the hebrew maid. as they couldn't have been like one another, how could they, collectively, have borne a resemblance to anybody else?" "that's logical, on the surface. to digress, why do you most admire jephthah's daughter, the gentle gileadite?" his hostess affected surprise. "isn't it evident, when one remembers her patient sacrifice; her fine sense of family honor?" carroll felt that this was much the kind of sentiment one could have expected from her; and he did her the justice to believe that it was genuine and that she was capable of living up to her convictions. his glance rested on vane for a moment, and the latter was startled as he guessed carroll's thought. evelyn sat near him, reclining languidly in a wicker chair. she had been silent, and now that her face was in repose the signs of reserve and repression were plainer than ever. there was, however, pride in it, and vane felt that she was endowed with a keener and finer sense of family honor than her thin-lipped mother. her brother's career was threatened by the results of his own imprudence, and though her father could hardly be compared with the gileadite warrior, there was, vane fancied, a disturbing similarity between the two cases. it was unpleasant to contemplate the possibility of this girl's being called upon to bear the cost of her relatives' misfortunes or follies. carroll looked across at lucy with a smile. "you won't agree with mrs. chisholm?" he suggested. "no," answered lucy firmly. "leaving out the instance in question, there are too many people who transgress and then expect somebody else--a woman, generally--to serve as a sacrifice." "i don't agree, either," mabel broke in. "i'd sooner have been cleopatra, or joan of arc--only she was burned, poor thing." "that was only what she might have expected. an unpleasant fate generally overtakes people who go about disturbing things," mrs. chisholm said severely. the speech was characteristic, and the others smiled. it would have astonished them had mrs. chisholm sympathized with the rebel idealist whose beckoning visions led to the clash of arms. "aren't you getting off the track," vane asked carroll. "i don't see the drift of your previous remarks." "well," drawled carroll, "there must be, i think, a certain distinctive stamp upon those who belong to the leader type--i mean the people who are capable of doing striking and heroic things. apart from this, i've been studying you english--i've been over here before--and it has struck me that there's occasionally something imperious, or rather imperial, in the faces of your women in the most northern counties. i can't define the thing, but it's there--in the line of nose, in the mouth, and, i think, most marked in the brows. it's not saxon, nor norse, nor danish; i'd sooner call it roman." vane was slightly astonished. he had seen that look in evelyn's face, and now, for the first time, he recognized it in his sister's. "perhaps you have hit it," he said with a laugh. "you can reach the wall from here in a day's ride." "the wall?" "the roman wall; hadrian's wall. i believe one authority states that they had a garrison of one hundred thousand men to keep it." chisholm joined the group. he was a tall, rather florid-faced man, with a formal manner, and was dressed immaculately in creaseless clothes. "the point wallace raises is interesting," he remarked. "while i don't know how long it takes for a strain to die out, there must have been a large civil population living near the wall, and we know that the characteristics of the teutonic peoples who followed the romans still remain. on the other hand, some of the followers were vexillaries, from the bounds of the empire; gauls, for example, or iberians." when, later on, the group broke up, evelyn was left alone for a few minutes with mabel. "gerald should have been sent to canada instead of to oxford," the younger girl declared. "then he might have got as rich as wallace vane and mr. carroll." "what makes you think they're rich?" evelyn asked with reproof in her tone. mabel grimaced. "oh, we all knew they were rich before they came. they were giving lucy guineas for the suffragists an hour ago. they must have a good deal of money to waste it like that. besides, i think wallace wanted her to take some more; and he seemed quite vexed when he said he'd tried to give money to somebody else in canada who wouldn't have it. as he said 'she,' it must have been a woman, but i don't think he meant to mention that. it slipped out." "you had no right to listen," evelyn retorted severely; but the information sank into her mind, and she afterward remembered it. she rose when the sunshine, creeping farther across the grass, fell upon her, and vane carried her chair, as well as those of the others, who were strolling back toward them, into the shadow. this she thought was typical of the man. he seemed happiest when he was doing something. by and by a chance remark of her mother's once more set carroll to discoursing humorously. "after all," he contended, "it's difficult to obey a purely arbitrary rule of conduct. several of the philosophers seem to have decided that the origin of virtue is utility." "utility?" chisholm queried. "yes; utility to one's neighbors or the community at large. for instance, i desire an apple growing on somebody else's tree--one of the big red apples that hang over the roadside in ontario. now the longing for the fruit is natural, and innocent in itself; the trouble is that if it were indulged in and gratified by every person who passed along the road, the farmer would abandon the cultivation of his orchard. he would neither plant nor prune his trees, except for the expectation of enjoying what they yield. the offense, accordingly, concerns everybody who enjoys apples." mrs. chisholm smiled assent. "i believe that idea is the basis of our minor social and domestic codes. even when they're illogical in particular cases, they're necessary in general." evelyn looked across at vane, as if to invite his opinion, and he knit his brows. "i don't think carroll's correct. the traditional view, which, as i understand it, is that the sense of right is innate, ingrained in man's nature, seems more reasonable. i'll give you two instances. there was a man in charge of a little mine. he had had the crudest education, and no moral training, but he was an excellent miner. well, he was given a hint that it was not desirable the mine should turn out much paying ore." "but why wasn't it required to produce as much as possible?" evelyn asked. "i believe that somebody wanted to break down the value of the shares and afterward quietly buy them up. anyway, though he knew it would result in his dismissal, the man i mentioned drove the boys his hardest. he worked savagely, taking risks he could have avoided by spending a little more time in precautions, in a badly timbered tunnel. he didn't reason--he was hardly capable of it--but he got the most out of the mine." "it was fine of him!" evelyn exclaimed. "the engineer of a collier figures in the next case." vane went on. "the engines were clumsy and badly finished, but the man spent his care and labor on them until i think he loved them. his only trouble was that he was sent to sea with second-rate oils and stores. after a while they grew so bad that he could hardly use them; and he had reasons for believing that a person who could dismiss or promote him was getting a big commission on the goods. he was a plain, unreasoning man; but he would not cripple his engines; and at last he condemned the stores and made the skipper purchase supplies he could use, at double the usual prices, in a foreign port. there could be only one result; he was driving a pump in a mine when i last met him." he paused, and added quietly: "it wasn't logic, it wasn't even conventional morality, that impelled these men. it was something that was part of them. what's more, men of their type are more common than the cynics believe." carroll smiled good-humoredly; and when the party sauntered toward the house, he walked beside evelyn. "there's one point that wallace omitted to mention in connection with his tales," he remarked. "the things he narrated are precisely those which, on being given the opportunity, he would have pleasure in doing himself." "why pleasure? i could understand his doing them, but i'd expect him to feel some reluctance." carroll's eyes twinkled. "he gets indignant now and then. virtuous people are generally content to resist temptation, but wallace is apt to attack the tempter. i dare say it isn't wise, but that's the kind of man he is." "ah! one couldn't find fault with the type. but i wonder why you have taken the trouble to tell me this?" "really, i don't know. somehow, i have an impression that i ought to say what i can in wallace's favor, if only because he brought me here, and i feel like talking when i can get a sympathetic listener." "i shouldn't have imagined the latter was indispensable," laughed evelyn. "is this visit all you owe wallace?" "no, indeed. in many ways, i owe him a good deal more. he has no idea of this, but it doesn't lessen my obligation. by the way, it struck me that in many respects miss vane is rather like her brother." "lucy is opinionative, and now and then embarrassingly candid, but she leads a life that most of us would shrink from. it isn't necessary that she should do so--family friends would have arranged things differently--and the tasks she's paid for are less than half her labors. i believe she generally gets abuse as a reward for the rest." then mabel joined them and took possession of carroll, and evelyn strolled on alone, thinking of what he had told her. chapter ix chisholm proves amenable vane spent a month at the dene, with quiet satisfaction, and when at last he left for london and paris he gladly promised to come back for another few weeks before he sailed for canada. he stayed some time in paris, because carroll insisted on it, but it was with eagerness that he went north again late in the autumn. for one reason--and he laid some stress upon this--he longed for the moorland air and the rugged fells, though he admitted that evelyn's society enhanced their charm for him. at last, shortly before he set out on the journey, he took himself to task and endeavored to determine precisely the nature of his feelings toward her; but he signally failed to elucidate the point. it was clear only that he was more contented in her presence, and that, apart from her physical comeliness, she had a stimulating effect upon his mental faculties. then he wondered how she regarded him; and to this question he could find no answer. she had treated him with a quiet friendliness, and had to some extent taken him into her confidence. for the most part, however, there was a reserve about her that he found more piquant than deterrent, and he was conscious that, while willing to talk with him freely, she was still holding him off at arm's length. on the whole, he could not be absolutely sure that he desired to get much nearer. though he failed to recognize this clearly, his attitude was largely one of respectful admiration, tinged with a vein of compassion. evelyn was unhappy, and out of harmony with her relatives; and he could understand this more readily because their ideas occasionally jarred on him. one morning, about a fortnight after they returned to the dene, vane and carroll walked out of the hamlet where the wheelwright's shop was. sitting down on the wall of a bridge, vane opened the telegram in his hand. "i think you have nairn's code in your wallet," he said. "we'll decipher the thing." carroll laid the message on a smooth stone and set to work with a pencil. "_situation highly satisfactory_." he broke off, to chuckle a comment. "it must be, if nairn paid for an extra word--highly's not in the code." then he went on with the deciphering: "_result of reduction exceeds anticipations. stock thirty premium. your presence not immediately required_." "that's distinctly encouraging," declared vane. "now that they are getting farther in, the ore must be carrying more silver." "it strikes me as fortunate. i ran through the bank account last night, and there's no doubt that you have spent a good deal of money. it confirms my opinion that you have mighty expensive friends." vane frowned, but carroll continued undeterred. "you want pulling up, after the way you have been indulging in a reckless extravagance which, i feel compelled to point out, is new to you. the check drawn in favor of gerald chisholm rather astonished me. have you said anything about it to his relatives?" "i haven't." "then, judging by the little i saw of him, i should consider it most unlikely that he has made any allusion to the matter. the next check was even more surprising--i mean the one you gave his father." "they were both loans. chisholm offered me security." "unsalable stock, or a mortgage on property that carries another charge! have you any idea of getting the money back?" "what has that to do with you?" carroll spread out his hands. "only this: it strikes me that you need looking after. we can't stay here indefinitely. hadn't you better get back to vancouver before your english friends ruin you?" "i'll go in three or four weeks; not before." carroll sat silent a minute or two, and then looked his companion squarely in the face. "is it your intention to marry evelyn chisholm?" "i don't know what has put that into your mind." "i should be a good deal astonished if it hadn't suggested itself to her family," carroll retorted. vane looked thoughtful. "i'm far from sure that it's an idea they would entertain with any great favor. for one thing, i can't live here." carroll laughed. "try them, and see. show them nairn's telegram when you mention the matter." vane swung himself down from the wall. during the past two weeks he had seen a good deal of evelyn, and his regard for her had rapidly grown stronger. now that news that his affairs were prospering had reached him, he suddenly made up his mind. "it's very possible that i may do so," he informed his comrade. "we'll get along." his heart beat a little more rapidly than usual as they turned back toward the house, but he was perfectly composed when some time later he sat down beside chisholm, who was lounging away the morning on the lawn. "i've been across to the village for a telegram i expected," he said, handing chisholm the deciphered message. "it occurred to me that you might be interested. the news is encouraging." chisholm read it with inward satisfaction. when he laid it down he had determined on the line he meant to follow. "you're a fortunate man. there's probably no reasonable wish that you can't gratify." "there are things one can't buy with money," vane replied. "that is very true. they're often the most valuable. on the other hand, some of them may now and then be had for the asking. besides, when one has a sanguine temperament and a determination, it's difficult to believe that anything one sets one's heart on is quite unattainable." vane wondered whether he had been given a hint. chisholm's manner was suggestive, and carroll's remarks had had an effect on him. he sat silent, and chisholm continued: "if i were in your place, i should feel that i had all that i could desire within my reach." vane was becoming sure that his comrade had been right. chisholm would not have harped on the same idea unless he had intended to convey some particular meaning; but the man's methods roused vane's dislike. he could face opposition, and he would rather have been discouraged than judiciously prompted. "then if i offered myself as a suitor for evelyn, you would not think me presumptuous?" chisholm was somewhat astonished at his abruptness, but he smiled reassuringly. "no; i can't see why i should do so. you are in a position to maintain a wife in comfort, and i don't think anybody could take exception to your character." he paused a moment. "i suppose you have some idea of how evelyn regards you?" "not the faintest. that's the trouble." "would you like mrs. chisholm or myself to mention the matter?" "no," answered vane decidedly. "in fact, i must ask you not to do anything of the kind. i only wished to make sure of your good will, and now that i'm satisfied on that point, i'd rather wait and speak--when it seems judicious." chisholm nodded. "i dare say that would be wisest. there is nothing to be gained by being precipitate." vane thanked him, and waited. he fancied that the transaction--that seemed the best name for it--was not completed yet; but he meant to leave the matter to his companion; he would not help the man. "there's something that had better be mentioned now, distasteful as it is," chisholm said at length. "i can settle nothing upon evelyn. as you must have guessed, my affairs are in a far from promising state. indeed, i'm afraid i may have to ask your indulgence when the loan falls due; and i don't mind confessing that the prospect of evelyn's making what i think is a suitable marriage is a relief to me." vane's feelings were somewhat mixed, but contempt figured prominently among them. he could find no fault with chisholm's desire to safeguard his daughter's future, but he was convinced that the man looked for more than this. he felt that he had been favored with a delicate hint to which his companion expected an answer. he was sorry for evelyn, and was ashamed of the position he was forced to take. "well," he replied curtly, "you need not be concerned about the loan; i'm not likely to prove a pressing creditor. to go a little farther, i should naturally take an interest in the welfare of my wife's relatives. i don't think i can say anything more in the meanwhile." when he saw chisholm's smile, he felt that he might have spoken more plainly without offense; but the elder man looked satisfied. "those are the views i expected you to hold," he declared. "i believe that mrs. chisholm will share my gratification if you find evelyn disposed to listen to you." vane left him shortly afterward with a sense of shame. he felt that he had bought the girl, and that, if she ever heard of it, she would find it hard to forgive him for the course he had taken. when he met carroll he was frowning. "i've had a talk with chisholm," he said. "it has upset my temper--i feel mean! there's no doubt that you were right." carroll's smile showed that he could guess what was in his comrade's mind. "i shouldn't worry too much about the thing. the girl probably understands the situation. it's not altogether pleasant, but i dare say she's more or less resigned to it. she can't help herself." vane gazed at him with anger. "does that make it any better? is it any comfort to me?" "take her out of it. if she has any liking for you, she'll thank you for doing so." vane strode away, and nobody saw him again for an hour or two. in the afternoon, however, at mrs. chisholm's suggestion, he and carroll set out with the girls for a hill beyond the tarn. it was a perfect day of late autumn. a pale golden haze softened the rugged outlines of crag and fell, which towered in purple masses against a sky of stainless azure. warm sunshine flooded the valley, glowing on the gold and crimson that flecked the lower beech sprays and turning the leaves of the brambles to points of ruby flame. here and there white limestone ridges flung back the light, and the tarn gleamed like molten silver when a faint puff of wind traced a dark blue smear athwart its surface. the winding road was thick with dust, and a deep stillness brooded over everything. by and by, however, a couple of whip-cracks rose from beyond a dip of the road and were followed by a shout in a woman's voice and a sharp clatter of iron on stone. "oh!" cried mabel, when they reached the brow of the descent, "the poor thing can't get up! what a shame to give it such a load!" the road fell sharply between ragged hedgerows, and near the foot of the hill a pony was struggling vainly to move a cart. the vehicle was heavily loaded, and while the animal strained and floundered, a woman struck it with a whip. "its mrs. hoggarth; her husband's the carrier," mabel explained. "come on! we must stop her! she mustn't beat the pony like that!" vane strode down the hill, and when they approached the cart mabel called indignantly to the woman. "stop! you oughtn't to do that! the load's too heavy! where's hoggarth?" vane seized one rein close up to the bit and turned the pony until the cart was across the road. when he had done so, the woman looked around at mabel. "wheel went over his foot last night. he canna get on his boot. i'm none fond of beating pony, but bank's steep and we mun gan up. the folks mun have their things." vane glanced at the pony, which stood with lowered head and heaving flank. it was evident that the animal could do no more. "there's only one way out of the trouble," he said. "we must pack some of this truck to the top. what's in those bags?" "one's oats," answered the woman. "it's four bushel. other one's linseed cake. those slates for bell's new stable are the heaviest." carroll came up with evelyn just then, and vane spoke to him. "come here and help me with this bag!" they had it ready at the back of the cart in a few moments, and evelyn, who knew that a four-bushel bag of oats is difficult to move, was astonished at the ease with which they handled it. vane got the bag upon his back and walked up the hill with it. the veins stood out on his forehead and his face grew red, but he plodded steadily on and came back for another load. "i'll take an armful of the slates this time, carroll. you can tackle the cake." the cake was heavy, though the bag was not full, and when they returned, carroll was breathing hard and there were smears of blood on one of vane's hands. the old woman gazed at him in amazed admiration. "thank you, sir," she said. "there's not many men wad carry four bushel up a bank like that." vane laughed. "i'm used to it. now i think that we can face the hill." he seized the rein, and after a flounder or two the pony started the load and struggled up the ascent. leaving the woman at the top, voluble with thanks, vane came down and sauntered on again with mabel. "i made sure you would drop that bag until i saw how you got hold of it, and then i knew you would manage," she informed him. "you see, i've watched the men at scarside mill. i didn't want you to drop it." "i wonder why?" laughed vane. "if you do, you must be stupid. we're friends, aren't we? i like my friends to be able to do anything that other folks can. that's partly why i took to you." vane made her a ceremonious bow and they went on, chatting lightly. when they came to a sweep of climbing moor, they changed companions, for mabel led carroll off in search of plants and ferns. farther on, evelyn sat down upon a heathy bank, and vane found a place on a stone beside a trickling rill. "it's pleasant here, and i like the sun," she explained. "besides, it's still a good way to the top, and i generally feel discontented when i get there. there are other peaks much higher--one wants to go on." vane smiled in comprehension. "yes," he agreed. "on and always on! it's the feeling that drives the prospector. we seem to have the same thoughts on a good many points." evelyn did not answer this. "i was glad you got that cart up the hill. what made you think of it?" "the pony was played out, though it was a plucky beast. i suppose i felt sorry for it. i've been driven hard myself." the girl's eyes softened. she had seen him use his strength, though it was, she imagined, the strength of determined will and disciplined body rather than bulk of muscle, for the man was hard and lean. the strength also was associated with a gentleness and a sympathy with the lower creation that appealed to her. "how hard were you driven?" she asked. "sometimes, until i could scarcely crawl back to my tent or the sleeping-shack at night. out yonder, construction bosses and contractors' foremen are skilled in getting the utmost value of every dollar out of a man. i've had my hands worn to raw wounds and half my knuckles bruised until it was almost impossible to bend them." "were you compelled to work like that?" "i thought so. it seemed to be the custom of the country; one had to get used to it." evelyn hesitated a moment; though she was interested. "but was there nothing easier? had you no money?" "very little, as a rule; and what i had i tried to keep. it was to give me a start in life. it was hard to resist the temptation to use some of it now and then, but i held out." he laughed grimly. "after all, i suppose it was excellent discipline." the girl made a sign of comprehending sympathy. there was a romance in the man's career which had its effect on her, and she could recognize the strength of will which had held him to the laborious tasks he might have shirked while the money lasted. then a stain on the sleeve of his jacket caught her eye. "you have hurt your hand!" she exclaimed. vane glanced down at his hand, which was reddened all over. "it looks like it; those slates must have cut it." "hadn't you better wash it and tie it up? it seems a nasty cut." he dipped his hand into the rill, and was fumbling awkwardly with his handkerchief when she stopped him. "that won't do! let me fix it for you." rolling up her own handkerchief, she wet it and laid it on his palm, across which a red gash ran. he had moved close to her, stooping down, and a disturbing thrill ran through him as she held his hand. once more, however, he was troubled by a sense of compunction as he recalled his interview with chisholm. "thank you," he said abruptly when she finished. there were signs of tension in his face, and she drew a little away from him when he sat down again. for a few moments he struggled with himself. they were alone; he had her father's consent; and he knew that what he had done half an hour ago had appealed to her. but he felt that he could not plead his cause just then. with her parents on his side, she was at a disadvantage; and he shrank from the thought that she might be forced upon him against her will. this was not what he desired; and she might hate him for it afterward. she was very alluring, there had been signs of an unusual gentleness in her manner, and the light touch of her cool fingers had stirred his blood; but he wanted time to win her favor, aided only by such gifts as he had been endowed with. it cost him a determined effort, but he made up his mind to wait; and it was a relief to him when the approach of mabel and carroll rendered any confidential conversation out of the question. chapter x with the otter hounds a week or two had slipped away since vane cut his hand. he lounged one morning upon the terrace, chatting with carroll. it was a heavy, black morning; the hills were hidden by wrappings of leaden mist, and the still air was charged with moisture. suddenly a long, faint howl came up the valley and was answered by another in a deeper note. then a confused swelling clamor broke out, softened by the distance, and slightly resembling the sound of chiming bells. carroll stopped and listened. "what in the name of wonder is that?" he asked. "the first of it reminded me of a coyote howling, but the rest's more like the noise the timber wolves make in the bush at night." "you haven't made a bad shot," vane laughed. "it's a pack of otter hounds hot upon the scent." the sound ceased as suddenly as it had begun; and a few moments later mabel came running toward the men. "i knew the hounds met at patten brig, but jim was sure they'd go down-stream!" she cried breathlessly. "they're coming up! i think they're at the pool below the village! get two poles--you'll find some in the tool-shed--and come along at once!" she climbed into the house through a window, calling for evelyn, and carroll smiled. "we have our orders. i suppose we'd better go." "it's one of the popular sports up here," vane replied. "you may as well see it." they set out a few minutes later, accompanied by evelyn, while mabel hurried on in front and reproached them for their tardiness. sometimes they heard the hounds, sometimes a hoarse shouting that traveled far through the still air, and then sometimes there was only the tremulous song of running water. at length, after crossing several wet fields, they came to a rushy meadow on the edge of the river, which spread out into a wide pool, fringed with alders which had not yet lost their leaves and the barer withes of osiers. there was a swift stream at the head of it, and a long rippling shallow at the tail; and scattered along the bank and in the water was a curiously mixed company. a red-coated man with whip and horn stood in the tail outflow, and three or four more with poles in their hands were spread out across the stream behind him. these, and one or two in the head stream, appeared by their dress to belong to the hunt; but the rest, among whom were a few women, were attired in every-day garments and were of different walks in life: artisans, laborers, people of leisure, and a late tourist or two. three or four big hounds were swimming aimlessly up and down the pool; a dozen more trotted to and fro along the water's edge, stopping to sniff and give tongue in an uncertain manner now and then; but there was no sign of an otter. carroll looked round with a smile when his companions stopped. "it strikes me there'll be very little work done in this neighborhood to-day," he remarked. "i'd no idea there were so many people in the valley with time to spare. the only thing that's missing is the beast they're after." "an otter is an almost invisible creature," evelyn explained. "you very seldom see one, unless it's hard pressed by the dogs. there are a good many in the river, but even the trout fishers, who are about at sunrise in the hot weather and wade in the dusk, rarely come across them. are you going to take a share in the hunt?" "no," replied carroll, glancing humorously at his pole. "i don't know why i brought this thing, unless it was because mopsy sent me for it. i'd rather stay and watch with you. splashing through a river after a little beast that i don't suppose they'd let an outsider kill doesn't interest me. i don't see why i should want to kill it, anyway. some of you english people have sporting ideas i can't understand. i struck a young man the other day--a well-educated man by the looks of him--who was spending the afternoon happily with a ferret by a corn stack, killing rats with a club. he seemed uncommonly pleased with himself because he'd got four of them." "oh," chided mabel, "you're as bad as the silly people who call killing things cruel! i wouldn't have thought it of you!" vane laughed. "i've seen him drop a deer with a single-shot rifle when it was going through thick brush almost as fast as a locomotive; and i believe that he once assisted in killing a panther in a thicket where you couldn't see two yards ahead. the point is that he meant to eat the deer--and the panther had been taking a rancher's hogs." "i'm sorry i brought him," mabel pouted. "he's not a sportsman." "i really think there's some excuse for the more vigorous sports," evelyn maintained. "of course, you can't eliminate a certain amount of cruelty; but, admitting that, isn't it just as well that men who live in a luxurious civilization should be willing to plod through miles of heather after grouse, risk their limbs on horseback, or spend hours in cold water? these are bracing things; they imply some moral discipline. it really can't be nice to ride at a dangerous fence, or to flounder down a rapid after an otter when you're stiff with cold. the effort to do so must be wholesome." "a sure thing," carroll agreed. "the only trouble is that when you've got your fox or otter, it isn't worth anything. a good many of the people in the newer lands, every day, have to make something of the kind of effort you describe. in their case, the results are wagon trails, valleys cleared for orchards, or new branch railroads. i suppose it's a matter of opinion, but if i'd put in a season's risky work, i'd rather have a piece of land to grow fruit on or a share in a mineral claim--you get plenty of excitement in prospecting for that--than a fox's tail." he strolled along the bank with evelyn, following the hunt up-stream. suddenly he looked around. "mopsy's gone; and i don't see vane." "after all, he's one of us," evelyn laughed. "if you're born in the north country, it's hard to keep out of the river when you hear the otter hounds." "but mopsy's not going in!" "i'm afraid i can't answer for her." they took up their station behind a growth of alders, and for a while the dogs went trotting by in twos and threes or swam about the pool, but nothing else broke the surface of the leaden-colored water. then there was a cry, an outbreak of shouting, a confused baying, and half a dozen hounds dashed past. more followed, heading up-stream along the bank, with a tiny brown terrier panting behind them. evelyn stretched out her hand. "look!" carroll saw a small gray spot--the top of the otter's head--moving across the slacker part of the pool, with a very slight, wedge-shaped ripple trailing away from it. it sank the next moment; a bubble or two rose; and then there was nothing but the smooth flow of water. a horn called shrilly; a few whip-cracks rang out like pistol-shots; and the dogs took the water, swimming slowly here and there. men scrambled along the bank. some, entering the river, reinforced the line spread out across the head rapid while others joined the second row wading steadily up-stream and splashing about as they advanced with iron-tipped poles. nothing rewarded their efforts. the dogs suddenly turned and went down-stream; and then everybody ran or waded toward the tail outflow. a clamor of shouting and baying broke out; and floundering men and swimming dogs went down the stream together in a confused mass. there was a brief silence. the hounds came out and trotted to and fro along the bank; and dripping men clambered after them. evelyn laughed as she pointed to vane among the leading group. he looked even wetter than the others. "i don't suppose he meant to go in. it's in the blood." "there's no reason why he shouldn't, if it amuses him," carroll replied. "when i first met him, he'd have been more careful of his clothes." a little later the dogs were driven in again, and this time the whole of the otter's head was visible as it swam up-stream. the animal was flagging, and on reaching shoaler water it sprang out altogether now and then, rising and falling in the stronger stream with a curious serpentine motion. in fact, as head and body bent in the same sinuous curves, it looked less like an animal than a plunging fish. the men guarding the rapid stood ready with their poles, and more were wading and splashing up both sides of the pool. the otter's pace was getting slower; sometimes it seemed to stop; and now and then it vanished among the ripples. carroll saw that evelyn's face was intent, though there were signs of shrinking in it. "i'll tell you what you are thinking," he said. "you want that poor little beast to get away." "i believe i do," evelyn confessed. "and you?" "i'm afraid i'm not much of a sportsman, in this sense." they watched with strained attention. the girl could not help it, though she dreaded the climax. her sympathies were now with the hard-pressed, exhausted creature that was making a desperate fight for its life. the pursuers were close upon it, the swimming dogs leading them; and ahead lay a foaming rush of water which seemed less than a foot deep, with men spread out across it. the shouting from the bank had ceased, and everybody waited in tense expectancy when the otter disappeared. the dogs reached the rapid, where they were washed back a few yards before they could make headway up-stream. men who came splashing close upon them left the water to scramble along the bank; and then they stopped abruptly, while the dogs swam in an uncertain manner about the still reach beyond. they came out in a few minutes and scampered up and down among the stones, evidently at fault, for there was no sign of the otter anywhere. incredible as it seemed, the hunted creature, an animal that would probably weigh about twenty-four pounds, had crept up the rush of water among the feet of those who watched for it and vanished unseen into the sheltering depths beyond. evelyn sighed with relief. "i think it will escape," she said. "the river's rather full after the rain, which is against the dogs, and there isn't another shallow for some distance. shall we go on?" they strolled forward behind the dogs, which were again moving up-stream; but they turned aside to avoid a bit of woods, and it was some time later when they came out upon a rocky promontory dropping steeply to the river. just there, the water flowed through a deep gorge, down the sides of which great oaks and ashes straggled. in front of carroll and his companion a ragged face of rock fell about twenty feet; but there was a little soil among the stones below, and a dense growth of alders interspersed with willows, fringed the water's edge. the stream swirled in deep black eddies beneath their drooping branches, though a little farther on it poured tumultuously between scattered boulders into the slacker pool. the rock sloped on one side, and there was a bank of underbrush near the foot of the descent. the hunt was now widely scattered about the reach. men crept along slippery ledges above the water and moved over dangerously slanting slopes, half hidden among the trees; a few were in the river. three or four of the dogs were swimming; the others, spread out in twos and threes, trotted in and out among the undergrowth. presently, a figure creeping along the foot of the rock not far away seized carroll's attention. "it's mopsy!" he exclaimed. "the foothold doesn't look very safe among those stones, and there seems to be deep water below." he called out in warning, but the girl did not heed. the willows were thinner at the spot she had reached, and, squeezing herself through them, she leaned down, clinging to an alder branch. "he's gone to holt among the roots!" she cried. three or four men running along the opposite bank apparently decided that she was right, for the horn was sounded and here and there a dog broke through the underbrush. just as the first-comers reached the rapid, there was a splash. it was a moment or two before evelyn or carroll, who had been watching the dogs, realized what had happened; then the blood ebbed from the girl's face. mabel had disappeared. running a few paces forward, carroll saw what looked like a bundle of outspread garments swing round in an eddy. it washed in among the willows, and he heard a faint cry. "help!--quick! i've caught a branch!" he could not see the girl now, but an alder branch was bending sharply, and he flung a rapid glance around him. the summit of the rock on which he stood rose above the trees. had there been a better landing, he would have faced the risky fall, but it seemed impossible to alight among the stones without a broken leg. even if he came down uninjured, there was a barrier of tangled branches and densely growing withes between him and the river, and the opening through which mabel had fallen was some distance away. farther down-stream, he might reach the water by a reckless jump, as the promontory sloped toward it there, but he would not be able to swim back against the current. his position was a painful one; there was nothing that he could do. the next moment, men and dogs went scrambling and swimming down the rapid. they were in hot pursuit of the otter, which had left its hiding place, and it was evident that the girl, clinging to a branch beneath the willows, had escaped their attention. carroll shouted savagely as his comrade appeared among the tail of the hunt below. the others were too much occupied to heed; or perhaps they concluded that he was urging them on. "help! mabel!" carroll shouted again and again, gesticulating wildly in his desperation. vane, waist-deep in the water, seemed to catch the girl's name and understand. in a few moments he was swimming down the pool along the edge of the alders. then carroll saw that evelyn expected him to take some part in the rescue. "get down before it's too late!" she cried. carroll spread out his hands, as if to beg her forbearance. while every impulse urged him to the leap, he endeavored to keep his head. he fancied that he would be wanted later, and it was obvious that he would not be available if he lay upon the rocks below with broken bones. "i can't do any good just now," he tried to explain, knowing that he was right and yet feeling horribly ashamed. "she's holding on, and wallace will reach her in a moment or two." evelyn broke out at him in an agony of fear and anger. "you coward! will you let her drown?" she turned and ran forward, but carroll, dreading that she meant to attempt the descent, seized her shoulder and held her fast. while he grappled with her, vane's voice rose from below, and he let his hands drop. "wallace has her. there's no more danger," he said quietly. evelyn suddenly recovered a small degree of calm. even amid the stress of her terror, she recognized the assurance in the man's tone. he had blind confidence in his comrade's prowess, and his next words made this impression clearer. "don't be afraid. he'll never let go until he brings her out." standing, breathless, a pace or two apart, they saw vane and the girl appear from beneath the willows and wash away down-stream. the man was swimming, but he was hampered by his burden, and once he and mabel sank almost from sight in a whirling eddy. carroll said nothing. turning, he ran along the sloping ridge until the fall was less and the trees were thinner; then he leaped out into the air. he broke through the alders amid a rustle of bending boughs, and disappeared; but a moment or two later his shoulders shot out of the water close beside vane, and the two men went down the stream with mabel between them. evelyn scrambled wildly along the ridge, and when she reached the foot of it, vane was helping mabel up the sloping bank of gravel. the girl's drenched garments clung about her, and her wet hair was streaked across her face, but she seemed able to stand. the hunt had swept on through shoaler water, but there was a cheer from the stragglers across the river. evelyn clutched her sister, half laughing, half sobbing, and incoherently upbraided her. mabel shook herself free, and her first remark was characteristic. "oh, don't make a silly fuss! i'm only wet through. wallace, take me home." she tried to shake out her dripping skirt, and vane picked her up, as she seemed to expect it. the others followed when he pushed through the underbrush toward a neighboring meadow. evelyn, however, was still a little unnerved, and when they reached a gap in a wall she stopped and leaned heavily against the stones. "i think i'm more disturbed than mopsy is," she said to carroll. "what i felt must be some excuse for me. you were right, of course. i'm sorry for what i said; it was unjustifiable." carroll laughed lightly. "anyway, it was perfectly natural; but i must confess that i felt some temptation to make a spectacular fool of myself. i might have jumped into those alders, but it's most unlikely that i could have got out of them." evelyn looked at him with a new respect. he had not troubled to point out that he had not flinched from the jump when it seemed likely to be of service. "how could you have the sense to think of that?" she asked. "i suppose it's a matter of practise. one can't work among the ranges and rivers without learning to make the right decision rapidly. when you don't, you get badly hurt. with most of us, the thing has to be cultivated; it's not instinctive." evelyn was struck by the explanation. this acquired coolness was a finer thing, and undoubtedly more useful, than hot-headed gallantry, though she admired the latter. she was young, and physical prowess appealed to her; besides, it had been displayed in saving her sister's life. carroll and his comrade were men of varied and romantic experience; and they possessed, she fancied, qualities not shared by all their fellows. "wallace was splendid in the water!" she exclaimed, uttering part of her thoughts aloud. "i thought rather more of him in the city," carroll replied. "that kind of thing was new to him, and i'm inclined to believe that i'd have let the people he had to negotiate with have the mine for a good deal less than he eventually got for it. but i've said something about that before; and, after all, i'm not here to play boswell." the girl was surprised at the apt allusion; it was not what she would have expected from the man. as she had not wholly recovered her composure, she forgot what vane had told her about him, and her comment was an incautious one: "how did you hear of him?" carroll parried this with a smile. "you don't suppose you can keep those old fellows to yourselves--they're international. but hadn't we better be getting on? let me help you through the gap." they reached the dene some time later, and mabel, very much against her wishes, was sent to bed. shortly afterward carroll came across vane, who had changed his clothes and was strolling up and down among the shrubberies. "what are you doing here?" he asked. vane looked embarrassed. "for one thing, i'm keeping out of mrs. chisholm's way; she's inclined to be effusive. for another, i'm trying to think out what i ought to do. we'll have to pull out very shortly; and i had meant to have an interview with evelyn to-day. that's why i feel uncommonly annoyed with mopsy for falling in." carroll made a grimace. "if that's how it strikes you, any advice i could offer would be wasted. a sensible man would consider it a promising opportunity." "and trade upon it? as you know, there wasn't the slightest risk, with branches that one could get hold of, and a shelving bank almost within reach." "do you really want the girl?" "that impression's firmly in my mind," vane said curtly. "then you'd better pitch your quixotic notions overboard and tell her so." vane frowned but made no answer; and carroll, recognizing that his comrade was not inclined to be communicative, left him pacing up and down. chapter xi vane withdraws dusk was drawing on, but there was still a little light in the western sky, when vane strolled along the terrace in front of the dene. in the distance the ranks of fells rose black and solemn out of filmy trails of mist, but the valley had faded to a trough of shadow. a faint breeze was stirring, and the silence was broken by the soft patter of withered leaves which fluttered down across the lawn. vane noticed it all by some involuntary action of his senses, for although, at the time, he was oblivious to his surroundings, he afterward found that he could recall each detail of the scene with vivid distinctness. he was preoccupied and eager, but fully aware of the need for coolness, for it was quite possible that he might fail in the task he had in hand. presently he saw evelyn, for whom he had been waiting, cross the opposite end of the terrace. moving forward he joined her at the entrance to a shrubbery walk. a big, clipped yew with a recess in which a seat had been placed stood close by. "i have been sitting with mopsy," said evelyn. "she seems very little the worse for her adventure--thanks to you." she hesitated and her voice grew softer. "i owe you a heavy debt--i am very fond of mopsy." "it's a great pity she fell in," vane declared curtly. evelyn looked at him in surprise. she scarcely thought he could regret the efforts he had made on her sister's behalf, but that was what his words implied. he noticed her change of expression. "the trouble is that the thing might seem to give me some claim on you; and i don't want that," he explained. "it cost me no more than a wetting; i hadn't the least difficulty in getting her out." his companion was still puzzled. she could find no fault with him for being modest about his exploit, but that he should make it clear that he did not require her gratitude struck her as unnecessary. "for all that, you did bring her out," she persisted. "even if it causes you no satisfaction, the fact is of some importance to us." "i don't seem to be beginning very fortunately. what i mean is that i don't want to urge my claim, if i have one. i'd rather be taken on my merits." he paused a moment with a smile. "that's not much better, is it? but it partly expresses what i feel. leaving mopsy out altogether, let me try to explain--i don't wish you to be influenced by anything except your own idea of me. i'm saying this because one or two points that seem in my favor may have a contrary effect." evelyn made no answer, and he indicated the seat. "won't you sit down? i have something to say." the girl did as he suggested, and his smile died away. "would you be astonished if i were to ask you to marry me?" he leaned against the smooth wall of yew, looking down at her with an impressive steadiness of gaze. she could imagine him facing the city men from whom he had extorted the full value of his mine in the same fashion, and, in a later instance, so surveying the eddies beneath the osiers, when he had gone to mabel's rescue. it was borne in upon her that they would better understand each other. "no," she answered. "if i must be candid, i am not astonished." then the color crept into her cheeks as she met his gaze. "i suppose it is an honor; and it is undoubtedly a--temptation." "a temptation?" "yes," said evelyn, mustering her courage to face a crisis she had dreaded. "it is only due you that you should hear the truth--though i think you suspect it. besides--i have some liking for you." "that is what i wanted you to own!" vane broke in. she checked him with a gesture. her manner was cold, and yet there was something in it that stirred him more than her beauty. "after all," she explained, "it does not go very far, and you must try to understand. i want to be quite honest, and what i have to say is--difficult. in the first place, things are far from pleasant for me here; i was expected to make a good marriage, and i had my chance in london. i refused to profit by it, and now i'm a failure. i wonder whether you can realize what a temptation it is to get away?" vane frowned. "yes," he responded. "it makes me savage to think of it! i can, at least, take you out of all this. if you hadn't had a very fine courage, you wouldn't have told me." evelyn smiled, a curious wry smile. "it has only prompted me to behave, as most people would consider, shamelessly; but there are times when one must get above that point of view. besides, there's a reason for my candor--had you been a man of different stamp, it's possible that i might have been driven into taking the risk. we should both have suffered for a time, but we might have reached an understanding--not to intrude on each other--through open variance. as it is, i could not do you that injustice, and i should shrink from marrying you with only a little cold liking." the man held himself firmly in hand. her calmness had infected him, and he felt that this was not an occasion for romantic protestations, even had he felt capable of making them, which was not the case. as a matter of fact, such things were singularly foreign to his nature. "even that would go a long way with me, if i could get nothing better," he declared. "besides, you might change. i could surround you with some comfort; i think i could promise not to force my company upon you; i believe i could be kind." "yes," assented evelyn. "i shouldn't be afraid of harshness from you; but it seems impossible that i should change. you must see that you started handicapped from the beginning. had i been free to choose, it might have been different, but i have lived for some time in shame and fear, hating the thought that some one would be forced on me." he said nothing and she went on. "must i tell you? you are the man!" his face grew hard and for a moment he set his lips tight. it would have been a relief to express his feelings concerning his host just then. "if you don't hate me for it now, i'm willing to take the risk," he said at length. "it will be my fault if you hate me in the future; i'll try not to deserve it." he fancied that she was yielding, but she roused herself with an effort. "no. love on one side may go a long way, if it is strong enough--but it must be strong to overcome the many clashes of thought and will. yours"--she looked at him steadily--"would not stand the strain." vane started. "you are the only woman i ever wished to marry," he declared vehemently. he paused and spread out his hands. "what can i say to convince you?" "i'm afraid it's impossible. if you had wanted me greatly, you would have pressed the claim you had in saving mopsy, and i should have forgiven you that; you would have urged any and every claim. as it is, i suppose i am pretty"--her lips curled scornfully--"and you find that some of your ideas and mine agree. it isn't half enough! shall i tell you that you are scarcely moved as yet?" it flashed upon vane that he was confronted with the reality. her beauty had appealed to him, and her other qualities--her reserved graciousness with its tinge of dignity, her insight and her comprehension--had also had their effect; but they had only awakened admiration and respect. he desired her as one desires an object for its rarity and preciousness; but this, as she had told him, was not enough. behind her physical and mental attributes, and half revealed by them, there was something deeper: the real personality of the girl. it was elusive, mystic, with a spark of immaterial radiance which might brighten human love with its transcendent glow; but, as he dimly realized, if he won her by force, it might recede and vanish altogether. he could not, with strong ardor, compel its clearer manifestation. "i think i am moved as much as it is possible for me to be." evelyn shook her head. "no; you will discover the difference some day, and then you will thank me for leaving you your liberty. now i beg you to leave me mine and let me go." vane stood silent a minute or two, for the last appeal had stirred him to chivalrous pity. he was shrewd enough to realize that if he persisted he could force her to come to him. her father and mother were with him; she had nothing--no commonplace usefulness nor trained abilities--to fall back on if she defied them. but it was unthinkable that he should brutally compel her. "well," he yielded at length, "i must try to face the situation; i want to assure you that it is not a pleasant one to me. but there's another point--i'm afraid i've made things worse for you. your people will probably blame you for sending me away." evelyn did not answer this, and he broke into a grim smile. "well," he added, "i think i can save you any trouble on that score--though the course i'm going to take isn't flattering, if you look at it in one way, i want you to leave me to deal with your father." he took her consent for granted, and leaning down laid a hand lightly on her shoulder. "you will try to forgive me for the anxiety i have caused you? the time i've spent here has been very pleasant, but i'm going back to canada in a day or two. perhaps you'll think of me without bitterness now and then." he turned away; and evelyn sat still, glad that the strain was over, thinking earnestly. the man was gentle and considerate as well as forceful, and to some extent she liked him. indeed, she admitted that she had not met any man she liked as much; but that was not going very far. then she began to wonder at her candor, and to consider if it had been necessary. it was curious that this was the only man she had ever taken into her confidence. it struck her that her next suitor would probably be a much less promising specimen. on the other hand, since her views on the subject differed from those her parents held, it was consoling to remember that eligible suitors for the daughter of an impoverished gentleman were likely to be scarce. it had grown dark when she rose and entering the house went up to mabel's room. the girl looked at her sharply as she came in. "so you have got rid of him!" she said. "i think you're very silly." "how did you know?" evelyn asked with a start. "i heard him walking up and down the terrace, and i heard you go out. you can't walk over raked gravel without making a noise. he went along to join you, and it was a good while before you came back at different times. i've been waiting for this the last day or two." evelyn sat down with a rather strained smile. "well, i have sent him away." mabel regarded her indignantly. "you'll never get another chance like this one. if i'd been in your place, i'd have had wallace if it had cost me no end of trouble to get him. he said something about its being a pity i wasn't older, one day, and i told him that i wasn't by any means as young as i looked. if you had only taken him, i could have worn decent frocks. nobody could call the last one that!" this was a favorite grievance, and evelyn ignored it; but mabel had more to say. "i suppose," she went on, "you don't know that wallace has been getting gerald out of trouble?" "are you sure of that?" "yes. i'll tell you what i know. wallace saw gerald in london--he told us that--and we all know that gerald couldn't pay his debts a little while ago. you remember he came down to kendall and went on and stayed the next night with the claytons. it isn't astonishing that he didn't come here, after the row there was on the last occasion." "go on," prompted evelyn impatiently. "what has his visit to the clayton's to do with it?" "well, you don't know that i saw gerald in the afternoon. after all, he's the only brother i've got; and as jim was going to the station with the trap i made him take me. the claytons were in the garden; we were scattered about, and i heard frank and gerald, who had strolled off from the others, talking. gerald was telling him about some things he'd bought--they must have been expensive, because frank asked him where he got the money. gerald laughed and said he'd had an unexpected stroke of luck that had set him straight again. now, of course gerald got no money from home, and if he'd won it he would have told frank how he did so. gerald always would tell a thing like that." evelyn was filled with confusion and hot indignation. she had little doubt that mabel's surmise was correct. "i wonder whether he has told anybody; though it's scarcely likely." mabel laughed. "of course he hasn't. we all know what gerald is. before i came home, i asked him what he thought of wallace. he said he was a good sort, or something like that, and i saw that he had a reason for saying it; but he must go on in his patronizing style that wallace was rather colonial, though he hadn't drifted too far--not beyond reclamation. after all, wallace was one of--us--before he went out; and if carroll's colonial he's the kind of man i like. i was so angry with gerald i wanted to slap him!" there was no doubt that mabel was a staunch partizan, and evelyn sympathized with her. she was, of course, acquainted with her brother's character, and she was filled with indignant contempt for him. it was intolerable that he should have allowed vane to discharge his debts and then have alluded to him in terms of indulgent condescension. "it strikes me wallace ought to get his money back, now that you have sent him away," mabel added. "but of course that's most unlikely. it wouldn't take gerald long to waste it." evelyn rose and, making some excuse, left the room. she could feel her face growing hot, and mabel had unusually keen eyes and precocious powers of deduction. a suspicion which had troubled her more than gerald's conduct had lately crept into her mind, and it now thrust itself upon her attention; several things pointed to the fact that her father had taken the same course her brother had done. she felt that had she heard mabel's information before the interview with vane, she might have yielded to him in an agony of humiliation. mabel had summed up the situation with stinging candor and crudity--vane, who had been defrauded, was entitled to recover his money. for a few moments evelyn was furiously angry with him, and then, growing calmer, she recognized that this was unreasonable. she could not imagine any idea of a compact originating with the man, and he had quietly acquiesced in her decision. soon after she left her sister, vane walked into the room which chisholm reserved for his own use. it was handsomely furnished, and the big, light-oak writing-table and glass-fronted cabinets were examples of artistic handicraft. the sight of them jarred on vane, who had already surmised that it was the women of the chisholm family who were expected to practise self-denial. chisholm was sitting at the table with some papers in front of him and a cigar in his hand, and vane drew out a chair and lighted his pipe before he addressed him. "i've made up my mind to sail on saturday, instead of next week," he said abruptly. "you have decided rather suddenly, haven't you?" chisholm suggested. vane knew that what his host wished to know was the cause of the decision, and he meant to come to the point. he was troubled by no consideration for the man. "the last news i had indicated that i was wanted," he replied. "after all, there is only one reason why i have abused mrs. chisholm's hospitality so long." "well?" "you will remember what i asked you some time ago. i had better say that i retire from the position--abandon the idea." chisholm started and his florid face grew redder, while vane, in place of embarrassment, was conscious of a somewhat grim amusement. it seemed curious that a man of chisholm's stamp should have any pride. "what am i to understand by that?" chisholm asked with some asperity. "i think that what i said explained it. bearing in mind your and mrs. chisholm's influence, i've an idea that evelyn might have yielded, if i'd strongly urged my suit; but that was not by any means what i wanted. i'd naturally prefer a wife who married me because she wished to do so. that's why, after thinking the thing over, i've decided to--withdraw." chisholm straightened himself in his chair in fiery indignation, which he made no attempt to conceal. "you mean that after asking my consent, and seeing more of evelyn, you have changed your mind! can't you understand that it's an unpardonable confession--one which i never fancied a man born and brought up in your station could have brought himself to make?" vane looked at him with an impassive face. "it strikes me as largely a question of terms--i may not have used the right one. now that you know how the matter stands, you can describe it in any way that sounds nicest. in regard to your other remark, i've been in a good many stations, and i must admit that until lately none of them were likely to promote much delicacy of sentiment." "so it seems!" chisholm was almost too hot to sneer. "but can't you realize how your action reflects upon my daughter?" vane held himself in hand. he had only one object: to divert chisholm's wrath from evelyn to himself, and he fancied that he was succeeding in this. for the rest, he was conscious of a strong resentment against the man. evelyn had told him that he had started handicapped. "it can't reflect upon her unless you talk about it, and both you and mrs. chisholm have sense enough to refrain from doing that," he answered dryly. "i can't flatter myself that evelyn will grieve over me." then his manner changed. "now we'll get down to business. i don't purpose to call in that loan, which will, no doubt, be a relief to you." he rose leisurely and strolled out of the room. shortly afterward he met carroll in the hall, and the latter glanced at him sharply. "what have you been doing?" he inquired. "there's a look in your eyes i seem to remember." vane laughed. "i suppose i've been outraging the rules of decency; but i don't feel ashamed. i've been acting the uncivilized westerner, though it's possible that i rather strained the part. to come to the point, however, we pull out for the dominion first thing to-morrow." carroll asked no further questions; he did not think it would serve any purpose. he contented himself with making arrangements for their departure, which they took early on the morrow. vane had a brief interview with mabel, and then by her contrivance he secured a word or two with evelyn alone. "it is possible," he told her, "that you may hear some hard things of me--and i count upon your not contradicting them. after all, i think you owe me that favor. there's just another matter--now that i won't be here to trouble you, won't you try to think of me leniently?" he held her hand for a moment and then turned away, and a few minutes later he and carroll left the dene. chapter xii in vancouver about a fortnight after vane's return to vancouver, he sat one evening on the veranda of nairn's house, in company with his host and carroll, lazily looking down upon the inlet. the days were growing shorter; the air was clear and cool; and the snow upon the heights across the still, blue water was creeping lower down. the clatter of a steamer's winches rose sharply from the wharf, and the sails of two schooners gleamed against the dark pines that overhang the narrows. in some respects, vane was glad to be back in the western city. at first, the ease and leisure at the dene had their charm for him, but by degrees he came to chafe at them. the green english valley, hemmed in by its sheltering hills, was steeped in too profound a tranquillity; the stream of busy life passed it by with scarcely an entering ripple to break its drowsy calm. one found its atmosphere enervating, dulling to the faculties. in the new west, however, one was forcibly thrust into contact with a strenuous activity. life was free and untrammeled there; it flowed with a fierce joyousness in natural channels, and one could feel the eager throb of it. yet the man was not content. he had been to the mine, and in going and coming he had ridden far over a very rough trail, but the physical effort had not afforded a sufficient outlet for his pent-up energies. he had afterward lounged about the city for nearly a week, and he found this becoming monotonous. nairn presently referred to one of the papers in his hand. "horsfield has been bringing up that smelter project again, and there's something to be said in favor of his views," he remarked. "we're paying a good deal for reduction." "we couldn't keep a smelter going, at present," vane objected. "there are two or three low-grade mineral properties in the neighborhood of the clermont that have had very little development work done on them. they can't pay freight on their raw product, but i'm thinking that we'd encourage their owners to open up the mines, and we'd get their business, if we had a smelter handy." "it wouldn't amount to much," vane replied. "besides, there's another objection--we haven't the money to put up a thoroughly efficient plant." "horsfield's ready to find part of it and to do the work." "i know he is." vane frowned. "it strikes me he's suspiciously anxious. the arrangement he has in view would give him a pretty strong hold upon the company; and there are ways in which he could squeeze us." "it's possible. but, looking at it as a purely personal matter, there are inducements he could offer ye. horsfield's a man who has the handling of other folks' money, if he has no that much of his own. it might be wise to stand in with him." "so he hinted," vane answered dryly. "your argument was about the worst you could have used, mr. nairn," carroll laughed. "weel," drawled nairn good-humoredly, "i'm no urging it. i would not see your partner make enemies for the want of a warning." "he'd probably do so, in any case; it's a gift of his. on the other hand, it's fortunate that he has a way of making friends. the two things sometimes go together." vane turned to nairn with signs of impatience. "it might save trouble if i state that while i'm a director of the clermont i expect to be content with a fair profit on my stock in the company." "he's modest," carroll commented. "what he means is that he doesn't propose to augment that profit by taking advantage of his position." "it's a creditable idea, though i'm no sure it's as common as might be desired. while i have to thank ye for it, i would not consider the explanation altogether necessary." nairn's eyes twinkled for a moment, and then he turned seriously to vane. "now we come to another point--the company's a small one, the mine is doing satisfactorily, and the moment's favorable for the floating of mineral properties. if we got an option on the half-developed claims near the clermont and went into the market, it's likely that an issue of new stock would meet with the favor of investors." "i suppose so," vane responded. "i'll support such a scheme when i can see how an increased capital could be used to advantage and am convinced about the need for a smelter. at present that's not the case." "i mentioned it as a duty---ye'll hear more of it. for the rest, i'm inclined to agree with ye." a few minutes later, nairn went into the house with carroll, and as they entered he glanced at his companion. "in the present instance, mr. vane's views are sound," he said. "but i see difficulties before him in his business career." "so do i," smiled carroll. "when he grapples with them it will be by a frontal attack." "a bit of compromise is judicious now and then." "in a general way, it's not likely to appeal to vane. when he can't get through by direct means, there'll be something wrecked. you'd better understand what kind of man he is." nairn made a sign of concurrence. "it's no the first time i've been enlightened upon the point." shortly after they had disappeared, miss horsfield came out of another door, and vane rose when she approached him. he had always found her a pleasant companion. "mrs. nairn told me i would find you and the others on the veranda," she informed him. "she said she would join you presently. it is too fine an evening to stay in." "i'm alone, as you see. nairn and carroll have just deserted me: but i can't complain. what pleases me most about this house is that you can do what you like in it, and--within limits--the same thing applies to this city." jessy laughed as she sank gracefully into the chair he drew forward. she was, as a rule, deliberate in her movements, and her pose was usually an effective one. "yes," she replied; "i think that would please you. but how long have you been back?" "a fortnight, yesterday." there was a hint of reproach in jessy's glance. "then i think mrs. nairn might have brought you over to see us." vane wondered whether she meant that she was surprised that he had not come of his own accord. he felt mildly flattered. she was interesting, and knew how to listen sympathetically, as well as how to talk, and she was also a lady of station in the western city. "i was away at the mine a good deal of the time," he explained. "i wonder if you are sorry to get back?" turning a little, vane indicated the climbing city, rising tier on tier above its water-front; and then the broad expanse of blue inlet and the faint white line of towering snow. "wouldn't anything i could say in praise of vancouver be a trifle superfluous?" he asked. jessy recognized that he had parried her question neatly, but this did not deter her. she was anxious to learn whether he had felt any regret at leaving england, or, to be more concise, if there was anybody in that country from whom he had reluctantly parted. she admitted that the man attracted her. there was a breezy freshness about him which he had brought from the rocks and woods, and though she was acquainted with a number of young men whose conversation was characterized by snap and sparkle, they needed toning down. this miner was set apart from them by something which he had doubtless acquired in youth in the older land. "that wasn't quite what i meant," she returned. "we don't always want to be flattered. i'm in search of information. you told me that you had been eight or nine years in this country, and life must be rather different yonder. how did it and the people you belong to strike you after the absence?" "it's difficult to explain," vane replied with an air of amused reflection which hinted that he meant to get away from the point. "on the whole, i think i'm more interested in the question as to how i struck them. it's curious that whereas some people here insist on considering me english, i've a suspicion that they looked upon me as a typical colonial there." "one wouldn't like to think you resented it." "how could i? this land sheltered me when i was an outcast; it provided me with a living, widened my views, and set me on my feet." "ah!" murmured jessy, "you are the kind we don't mind taking in. the others go back and try to forget us, or abuse us. but you haven't given me very much information yet." "well," drawled vane, "the best comparison is supplied by my first remark--that in this city you can do what you like. you're rather fenced in yonder. if you're of a placid disposition, that, no doubt, is comforting, because it shuts out unpleasant things. on the other hand, if you happen to be restless and active, the fences are inconvenient, for you can't always climb over--and it is not considered proper to break them down. still, having admitted that, i'm proud of the old land. if one has means and will conform, it's the finest country in the world! it's only the fences that irritate me." "fences would naturally be obnoxious to you. but we have some here." "they're generally built loose, of split-rails, and not nailed. an energetic man can pull off a bar or two and stride over. if it's necessary, he can afterward put them up again, and there's no harm done." "would you do the latter?" vane's expression changed. "no. i think if there were anything good on the other side, i'd widen the gap so that the less agile and the needy could crawl through." he smiled at her. "you see, i owe some of them a good deal. they were the only friends i had when i first tramped, jaded and footsore, about the province." jessy was pleased with his answer. she had heard of the free hospitality of the bush choppers, and she thought it was a graceful thing that he should acknowledge his debt to them. she was also pleased that she could lead him on to talk unreservedly. "now at last you'll be content to rest a while," she suggested. "i dare say you deserve it." "it's strange that you should say that, because just before you came out of the house i was thinking that i'd sat still long enough. it's a thing that gets monotonous. one must keep going on." "take care that you don't walk over a precipice some day when you have left all the fences behind. but i've kept you from your meditations, and i had better see if mrs. nairn is coming." he was sitting alone, lighting a cigar, when he noticed a girl whose appearance seemed familiar in the road below. moving along the veranda, he recognized her as kitty, and hastily crossed the lawn toward her. she was accompanied by a young man whom vane had once or twice seen in the city, and she greeted him with evident pleasure. "tom," she introduced, when they had exchanged a few words, "this is mr. vane." turning to vane she added: "mr. drayton." vane liked the man's face and manner. he shook hands with him, and then looked back at kitty. "what are you doing now; and how are little elsie and her mother?" kitty's face clouded. "mrs. marvin's dead. elsie's with some friends at spokane, and i think she's well looked after. i've given up the stage. tom"--she explained shyly--"didn't like it. now i'm with some people at a ranch near the fraser, on the westminster road. there are two or three children, and i'm very fond of them." "she won't be there long," drayton interposed. "i've wanted to meet you for some time, mr. vane. they told me at the office that you were away." vane smiled comprehendingly. "i suppose my congratulations will not be out of place? won't you ask me to the wedding?" kitty blushed. "will you come?" "try!" "there's nobody we would rather see," declared drayton. "i'm heavily in your debt, mr. vane." "pshaw!" rejoined vane. "come to see me any time--to-morrow, if you can manage it." drayton said that he would do so, and shortly afterward he and kitty moved away. vane turned back across the lawn; but he was not aware that jessy horsfield had watched the meeting from the veranda and had recognized kitty, whom she had once seen at the station. she had already ascertained that the girl had arrived in vancouver in vane's company, and, in view of the opinion she had formed of him, this somewhat puzzled her; but she decided that one must endeavor to be charitable. besides, having closely watched the little group, she was inclined to believe from the way vane shook hands with the man that there was no danger to be apprehended from kitty. chapter xiii a new project vane was sitting alone in the room set apart for the clermont company in nairn's office when drayton was shown in. he took the chair vane indicated and lighted a cigar the latter gave him. "now," he began with some diffidence, "you cut me off short when i met you the other day, and one of my reasons for coming over was to get through with what i was saying then. it's just this--i owe you a good deal for taking care of kitty; she's very grateful and thinks no end of you. i want to say i'll always feel that you have a claim on me." vane smiled at him. it was evident that kitty had taken her lover into her confidence with regard to her trip aboard the sloop, and that she had done so said a good deal for her. he thought one might have expected a certain amount of half-jealous resentment, or even faint suspicion, on the man's part; but there was no sign of this. drayton believed in kitty, and that was strongly in his favor. "it didn't cost me any trouble," vane replied. "we were coming to vancouver, anyway." drayton's embarrassment became more obvious. "it cost you some money--there were the tickets. now i feel that i have to--" "nonsense! when you are married to miss blake, you can pay me back, if it will be a relief to you. when's the wedding to be?" "in a couple of months," answered drayton. he saw that it would be useless to protest. "i'm a clerk in the winstanley mills, and as one of the staff is going, i'll get a move up then. we are to be married as soon as i do." he said a little more on the same subject, and then after a few moments' silence he added: "i wonder if the clermont business keeps your hands full, mr. vane?" "it doesn't. it's a fact i'm beginning to regret." drayton appeared to consider. "well," he said, "people seem to regard you as a rising man with snap in him, and there's a matter i might, perhaps, bring before you. let me explain. i'm a clerk on small pay, but i've taken an interest outside my routine work in the lumber trade of this province and its subsidiary branches. i figured any knowledge i could pick up might stand me in some money some day. so far"--he smiled ruefully--"it hasn't done so." "go on," prompted vane. his curiosity was aroused. "it has struck me that pulping spruce--paper spruce--is likely to be scarce presently. the supply's not unlimited and the world's consumption is going up by jumps." "there's a good deal of timber you could use for pulp, in british columbia alone," vane interposed. "sure. but there's not a very great deal that could be milled into high-grade paper pulp; and it's getting rapidly worked out in most other countries. then, as a rule, it's mixed up with firs, cedars and cypresses; and that means the cutting of logging roads to each cluster of milling trees. there's another point--a good deal of the spruce lies back from water or a railroad, and in some cases it would be costly to bring in a milling plant or to pack the pulp out." "that's obvious; anyway, where you would have to haul every pound of freight over a breakneck divide." drayton leaned forward confidentially. "then if one struck high-grade paper spruce--a whole valley full of it--with water power and easy access to the sea, there ought to be money in the thing?" "yes," vane answered with growing interest; "that strikes me as very probable." "i believe i could put you on the track of such a valley." vane looked at him thoughtfully. "we'd better understand each other. do you want to sell me your knowledge? and have you offered it to anybody else?" his companion answered with the candor he expected. "kitty and i aren't going to find it easy to get along--rents are high in this city. i want to give her as much as i can; but i'm willing to leave you to do the square thing. the winstanley people have their hands full and won't look at any outside matter, and the one or two people i've spoken to don't seem anxious to consider it. it's mighty hard for a little man to launch a project." "it is," vane agreed sympathetically. "then," drayton continued, "the idea's not my own. it was a mineral prospector--a relative of mine--who struck the valley on his last trip. he's an old man, and he came down played out and sick. now i guess he's slowly dying." he paused a moment. "would you like to see him?" "i'll go with you now, if it's convenient," vane replied. drayton said that he might spare another half-hour without getting into trouble, and they crossed the city to where a row of squalid frame shacks stood on its outskirts. in the one they entered, a gaunt man with grizzled hair lay upon a rickety bed. a glance showed vane that the man was very frail, and the harsh cough that he broke into as the colder air from outside flowed in made the fact clearer. drayton, hastily shutting the door and explaining the cause of the visit, motioned vane to sit down. "i've heard of you," said the prospector, fixing his eyes on vane. "you're the man who located the clermont--and put the project through. you had the luck. i've been among the ranges half my life--and you can see how much i've made of it! when i struck a claim that was worth anything somebody else got the money." vane had reasons for believing that this was not an uncommon experience. "well," the man continued, "you look straight--and i've got to take some chances. it's my last stake. we'll get down to business. i'll tell you about that spruce." he spoke for a few minutes, and then asked abruptly: "what are you going to offer?" vane had not been certain that he would make any offer at all; but, as had befallen him once or twice before, the swift decision flashed instinctively into his mind. "if i find that the timber and its location come up to your account of it, i'll pay you so many dollars down--whatever we can agree on--when i get my lease from the land office. then i'll make another equal payment the day we start the mill. but i don't bind myself to record the timber or to put up a mill, unless i'm convinced that it's worth while." "i'd rather take less money and have a small share in the concern; and drayton must stand in." "it's a question of terms," vane replied. "i'll consider your views." they discussed it for a while, and when they had at length arrived at a provisional understanding, the prospector made a sign of acquiescence. "we'll let it go at that; but the thing will take time, and i'll never get the money. if you exercise your option, you'll sure pay it down to seely?" "celia's his daughter," drayton explained. "he has no one else. she's a waitress at the ---- house." he named a hotel of no great standing in the city. "comes home at nights, and looks after him as best she can." vane glanced round the room. it was evident that celia's earnings were small; but he noticed several things which suggested that she had lavished loving care upon the sick man, probably at the cost of severe self-denial. this was what he would have expected, for he had spent most of his nine years in canada among the people who toil the hardest for the least reward. "yes," he answered; "i'll promise that. but, as i pointed out, while we have agreed on the two payments, i reserve the right of deciding what share your daughter and drayton are to have, within the limits sketched out. i can't fix it definitely until i've seen the timber--you'll have to trust me." the prospector once more looked at him steadily, and then implied by a gesture that he was satisfied. he was not in a position to dictate terms, but his confidence had its effect on the man in whom he reposed it. "there's another thing. you'll do all you can to find that spruce?" "yes," vane promised. the man fumbled under his pillow and produced a piece cut out from a map of the province, with rough pencil notes on the back of it. "it was on my last prospecting trip i found the spruce," he said. "i'd been looking round, and i figured i'd strike down to the coast over the range. the creeks were full up with snow-water, and as i was held up here and there before i could get across, provisions began to run short. then i fell down a gulch and hurt my knee, and as i had to leave my tent and it rained most of the while, i lay in the wet at nights, half-fed, with my knee getting worse. by and by i fell sick; but i had to get out of the mountains, and i was pushing on for the straits when i struck the valley where the spruce is. after that, i got kind of muddled in the head, but i went down a long valley on an easy grade and struck some siwash curing the last of the salmon. the trouble is, i was too sick to figure exactly where the small inlet they were camped by lies. they took me back with them to their rancherie--you could find that--and sailed me across to comox. i came down on a steamboat, and the doctor told me i'd made my last journey." vane could sympathize. the narrative had been crudely matter-of-fact, but he had been out on the prospecting trail often enough to fill in the details the sick man omitted. he had slept in the rain, very scantily fed, and he could picture the starving man limping along in an agony of pain and exhaustion, with an injured knee, over boulders and broken rock and through dense tangles of underbrush strewed with mighty fallen logs. "how far was the valley from the inlet?" he asked. "i can't tell you. i think i was three days on the trail; but it might have been more. i was too sick to remember. anyway, there was a creek you could run the logs down." "well, how far was the inlet from the rancherie?" "i was in the canoe part of one night and some of the next day. i can't get it any clearer. we had a fair breeze. guess thirty miles wouldn't be far out." "that's something to go upon. how much does your daughter earn?" it was an abrupt change of subject, but the man answered as vane had expected. the girl's wages might maintain her economically, but it was difficult to see how she could provide for her sick father. the latter seemed to guess vane's thoughts, for he spoke again. "if i'd known i was done for when i was up in the bush, i wouldn't have pushed on quite so fast," he said with expressive simplicity. vane rose. "if drayton will come along with me, i'll send him back with a hundred dollars. it's part of the first payment. your getting it now should make things a little easier for celia." "but you haven't located the spruce yet!" "i'm going to locate it, if the thing's anyway possible." vane shook hands with the man. "i expect to get off up the straits very shortly." the prospector looked at him with relief and gratitude in his eyes. "you're white--and i guess you'd be mighty hard to beat!" when they reached the rutted street, which was bordered on one side by great fir stumps, drayton glanced at vane with open admiration. "i'm glad i brought you across. you have a way of getting hold of people--making them believe in you. hartley hasn't a word in writing, but he knows you mean to act square with him. kitty felt the same thing--it was why she came down in the sloop with you." vane smiled, though there was a trace of embarrassment in his manner. "now that you mention it, i don't think hartley was wise; and you were equally confiding. we have only arrived at a rather indefinite understanding about your share." "we'll leave it at that. i haven't struck anybody else in this city who would hear about the thing. anyway, i'd prefer a few shares in the concern, as mentioned, instead of money. if you get the thing on foot, i guess it will go." "won't they raise trouble at the mill about your staying out?" vane inquired. "we have still to go for that hundred dollars." drayton owned that it might be advisable to hurry, and they set off for the business quarter of the city. during the remainder of the day vane was busy on board the sloop, but in the evening he walked over to horsfield's house with mrs. nairn and found jessy and her brother at home. horsfield presently took vane to his smoking-room. "about that smelter," he began. "haven't you made up your mind yet? the thing's been hanging fire a long while." "isn't it a matter for the board?" vane asked suggestively. "there are several directors." horsfield laughed. "we'll face the fact: they'll do what you decide on." vane did not reply to this. "well," he said, "at present we couldn't keep a smelter big enough to be economical going, and i'm doubtful whether we would get much ore from the other properties you were talking about to nairn." "did he say it was my idea?" "he didn't; i'd reasons for assuming it. those properties, however, are of no account." horsfield made no comment but waited expectantly, and vane went on: "if it seems possible that we can profitably increase our output later on, by means of further capital, we'll put up a smelter. but in that case it might be economical to do the work ourselves." "who would superintend it?" "i would, if necessary, with the assistance of an engineer used to such plant." horsfield smiled in a significant manner. "aren't you inclined to take hold of too much? when you have plenty in your hands, it's good policy to leave a little for somebody else. sometimes the person who benefits is willing to reciprocate." the hint was plain, and nairn had said sufficient on another occasion to make it clearer; but vane did not respond. "if we gave the work out, it would be on an open tender," he declared. "there would be no reason why you shouldn't make a bid." horsfield found it difficult to conceal his disgust. he had no desire to bid on an open tender, which would prevent his obtaining anything beyond the market price. "the question must stand over until i come back," vane went on. "i'm going up the west coast shortly and may be away some time." they left the smoking-room shortly afterward, and when they strolled back to the others, vane sat down near jessy. "i hear you are going away," she began. "yes. i'm going to look for pulping timber." "but what do you want with pulping timber?" "it can sometimes be converted into money." "isn't there every prospect of your obtaining a good deal already? are you never satisfied?" "i suppose i'm open to take as much as i can get." vane answered with an air of humorous reflection. "the reason probably is that i've had very little until lately. still, i don't think it's altogether the money that is driving me." "if it's the restlessness you once spoke of, you ought to put a check on it and try to be content. there's danger in the longing to be always going on." "it's a common idea that a small hazard gives a thing a spice." jessy shot a swift glance at him, and she had, as he noticed, expressive eyes. "be careful," she advised. "after all, it's wiser to keep within safe limits and not climb over too many fences." she paused and her voice grew softer. "you have friends who would be sorry if you got hurt." the man was stirred. she was alluring, physically, while something in her voice had its effect on him. evelyn, however, still occupied his thoughts and he smiled at his companion. "thank you. i like to believe it." then mrs. nairn and horsfield crossed the room toward them and the conversation became general. chapter xiv vane sails north on the evening of vane's departure he walked out of nairn's room just as dusk was falling. his host was with him, and when they entered an adjacent room the elder man's face relaxed into a smile as he saw jessy horsfield talking to his wife. vane stopped a few minutes to speak to them, and it was jessy who gave the signal for the group to break up. "i must go," she said to mrs. nairn. "i've already stayed longer than i intended. i'll let you have those patterns back in a day or two." "mair patterns!" nairn exclaimed with dry amusement. "it's the second lot this week! ye're surely industrious, jessy. women"--he addressed vane--"have curious notions of economy. they will spend a month knitting a thing to give to somebody who does no want it, when they could buy it for half a dollar, done better by machinery. i'm no saying, however, that it does no keep them out of mischief." jessy laughed. "i don't think many of us are industrious in that way now. after all, isn't it a pity that so many of the beautiful old handicrafts are dying out? no loom, for instance, could turn out some of the things your wife makes. they're matchless." "she has an aumrie--ye can translate it bureaufull of them. it's no longer customary to scatter them over the house. if ye mean to copy the lot, ye have a task that will take ye most a lifetime." mrs. nairn's smile was half a sigh. "there were no books and no many amusements when i was young. we sat through the long winter forenights, counting stitches, in the old gray house at burnfoot, under the scottish moors. that, my dear, was thirty years ago." she shook hands with vane as he left the house with jessy, and standing on the stoop she watched them cross the lawn. "i'm thinking ye'll no see so much of jessy for the next few weeks," nairn remarked dryly. "has she shown ye any of yon knickknacks when she has finished them?" his wife shook her head at him reproachfully. "alic," she admonished, "ye're now and then hasty in jumping at conclusions." "maybe. i'm no infallible, but the fault ye mention is no common in the land where we were born. i'm no denying that jessy has enterprise, but how far it will carry her in this case is mair than i can tell." he smiled as he recalled a scene at the station some time ago, and mrs. nairn looked up at him. "what is amusing you, alic?" "it was just a bit idea no worth the mentioning. i think it would no count." he paused, and added with an air of reflection: "a young man's heart is whiles inconstant and susceptible." mrs. nairn, ignoring the last remark, went into the house. in the meanwhile jessy and vane walked down the road, until they stopped at a gate. jessy held out her hand. "i'm glad i met you to-night," she said. "you will allow me to wish you every success?" there was a softness in her voice which vane wholly failed to notice, though he was aware that she was pretty and artistically dressed. this was possibly why she made him think of evelyn. "thank you," he replied. "it's nice to feel that one has the sympathy of one's friends." he turned away, and jessy stood watching him as he strode down the road, noticing, though it was getting dark, the free vigor of his movements. there was, she thought, something in his fine poise and swing that set him apart from other men she knew. none of them walked or carried himself as vane did. she was, however, forced to recognize that although he had answered her courteously, there had been no warmth in his words. as a matter of fact, vane just then was conscious of a slight relief. he admired jessy, and he liked nairn and his wife; but they belonged to the city; and he was glad, on the whole, to leave it behind. he was going back to the shadowy woods, where men lived naturally. the lust of fresh adventure was strong in him. on reaching the wharf he found kitty, with celia hartley, whom he had not met hitherto, awaiting him with carroll and drayton. a boat lay at the steps, and he and carroll rowed the others off to the sloop. the moon was just rising from behind the black firs at the inner end of the inlet, and a little cold wind that blew down across them, faintly scented with resinous fragrance, stirred the water into tiny ripples that flashed into silvery radiance here and there. lights gleamed on the forestays of vessels whose tall spars were etched in high, black tracery against the dusky blue of the sky, athwart which there streamed the long smoke trail of a steamer passing out through the narrows. kitty, urged by drayton, broke into a little song with a smooth, swinging cadence that went harmoniously with the measured splash of oars; and vane enjoyed it all. the city was dropping behind him; he felt himself at liberty. carroll was a tried comrade; the others were simple people whose views were more or less his own. besides, it was a glorious night and kitty sang charmingly. a soft glow shone out from the skylights to welcome them as they approached the sloop. when, laughing gaily, they clambered on board, carroll led the way to the tiny saloon, which just held them all. it was brightly lighted by two nickeled lamps; flowers were fastened against the paneling, and clusters of them stood upon the table, which was covered with a spotless cloth. what was even more unusual, it was daintily set out with good china and silver. vane took the head of it, and carroll modestly explained that only part of the supper had been prepared by himself. the rest he had obtained in the city, out of regard for the guests, who, he added, had not lived in the bush. presently vane, who had been busy talking to the others, turned to celia. "now that we can see each other better, i think you ought to recognize me, miss hartley." the girl was young and attractive, and she blushed prettily. "i do, of course; but i thought i'd wait until i saw whether you remembered me." "why should you wait?" celia looked confused. "it's two or three years since i've seen you; and i've left that place." vane laughed. he had made her acquaintance at a workman's hotel where she was engaged, when he was differently situated, and he fancied that she was diffident about recalling the fact, now that he was obviously prosperous. "well," he responded, "it's only fair that i should give you supper, for once. i've always had an idea that you brought me more dessert than i was really entitled to." "it was because you were--civil," celia explained, though her expression suggested that the word did not convey all she meant. "still, i can't complain of the rest of the boys." "i wonder if you remember how astonished you were the first time you brought me supper?" celia smiled and vane turned to the others. "i'd just come in on a schooner. we'd had wild weather, during which the galley fire was generally washed out and the cook had some difficulty in getting us anything to eat. miss hartley brought me a double supply. she must have thought i needed it." "there was mighty little left," the girl retorted. the others laughed, but vane went on, in a reminiscent manner: "i was wearing a pair of old gum-boots with one toe torn off, and my jacket was split right up the back. when i went up-town the next day, people looked at me suspiciously. the trade of the province is pretty bad when you see men in vancouver dressed as i was. the fact that sticks in my mind most clearly, however, is that on the following morning, when i'd arranged to see a man who might give me a job, miss hartley offered to sew up the tear for me. i was uncommonly glad to let her." celia colored again, but it was evident that she was not displeased. kitty smiled at him, and there was appreciation in drayton's eyes. "were you surprised when she offered to sew it?" kitty inquired. "now, you have helped me on to what i wanted to say. i wasn't surprised--how could i be? the kind of people i'd met out here had seldom much money, or much of anything; but i had generally less, and they held out a hand when i needed it and gave me what they had. it stirs me in a way that almost hurts to think of it." then carroll started the general chatter, which went on after the meal was finished, and nobody appeared to notice that kitty sat with her hand in drayton's amid the happy laughter. even celia, who had her grief to grapple with, smiled bravely. vane had given them champagne, the best in the city, though they drank sparingly; and at last, when celia made a move to rise, drayton stood up with his glass in his hand. "we must go, but there's something to be done," he announced. "it's to thank our host and wish him success. it's a little boat he's sailing in, but she's carrying a big freight, if our good wishes count for anything." they emptied the glasses, and vane replied: "my success is yours. you have all a stake in the venture, and that piles up my responsibility. if the spruce is still in existence, i've got to find it." "and you're going to find it!" declared drayton. "it's a sure thing!" vane divided the flowers between celia and kitty, but when they went up on deck kitty raised one bunch and kissed it. "tom won't mind," she laughed. "take that one back from celia and me--for luck." they got down into the boat, and carroll handed them a basket of crockery and table linen which drayton promised to have delivered at the hotel. then, while the girls called back to vane, drayton rowed away, and the boat was fading out of sight when kitty's voice once more reached the men on board. she was singing a well-known jacobite ballad. carroll laughed softly. "it strikes me as appropriate," he said. "considering what his highland followers suffered on his account and what the women thought of him, some of the virtues they credited the young chevalier with must have been real." he raised his hand. "you may as well listen!" vane stood still a moment, with the blood hot in his face, as the refrain rang more clearly across the sparkling water: "better lo'ed ye cannot be-- will ye no come back to me?" "i don't know whether you feel flattered, but i've an idea that kitty and celia would go through fire for you; and drayton seems to share their confidence," carroll went on in his most matter-of-fact tone. "celia mended my jacket," vane replied. "i got a month's work as a result of it." then he began to shake the mainsail loose. "i believe we both went rather far in our talk to-night; but we have got to find the spruce!" "so you have said already. hadn't you better heave the boom up with the topping lift?" they got the mainsail onto her, broke out the anchor and set the jib; and as the boat slipped away before a freshening breeze vane sat at the helm while carroll stood on the foredeck, coiling up the gear. the moon was higher now; the broad sail gleamed a silvery gray; the ripples, which were getting bigger, flashed and sparkled as they streamed back from the bows; and the lights of the city dropped fast astern. vane was conscious of a keen exhilaration. he had started on a new adventure. he was going back to the bush; and he knew that, no matter how his life might change, the wilderness would always call to him. in spite of this, however, he was, as he had said, conscious of an unusual responsibility. hitherto he had fought for what he could get, for himself; but now kitty's future partly depended on his efforts, and his success would be of vast importance to celia. he had a very friendly feeling toward both the girls. indeed, all the women he had met of late had attracted him, in different ways. it was hard to believe that any of them possessed unlovable qualities, though there was not one among them to compare with evelyn. whatever he liked most in the others--intelligence, beauty, tenderness, courage--reminded him of her. kitty, he thought, belonged to the hearth; she personified gentleness and solace; it would be her part to diffuse cheerful comfort in the home. jessy would make an ambitious man's companion; a clever counselor, who would urge him forward if he lagged. celia he had not placed yet; but evelyn stood apart from all. she appealed less to his senses and intellect than she did to a sublimated something in the depths of his nature; and it somehow seemed fitting that her image should materialize before his mental vision as the sloop drove along under the cloudless night sky while the moonlight poured down glamour on the shining water. evelyn harmonized with such things as these. it was true that she had repulsed him; but that, he felt, was what he deserved for entering into an alliance against her with her venial father. he was glad now that he had acquiesced in her dismissal of him, since to have stood firm and broken her to his will would have brought disaster upon both of them. he felt that she had not wholly escaped him, after all; by and by he would go back and seek her favor by different means. then she might, perhaps, forgive him and listen. the breeze came down fresher as they drove out through the narrows. carroll had gone below; and, brushing his thoughts aside, vane busied himself hauling in some of the mainsheet, while the water splashed more loudly beneath the bows. the great black firs rolled by in somber masses over his port hand, and presently the last of the lights were blotted out. he was alone, flitting swiftly and smoothly across the glittering sea. chapter xv the first misadventure the breeze freshened fiercely with the red and fiery dawn. vane, who had gone below, was advised of it by being flung off the locker in the saloon, where he sat with coffee and crackers before him. the jug, overturning, spilled its contents upon him, and the crackers were scattered, but he picked himself up in haste and scrambled out into the well. he found the sloop slanted over with a good deal of her lee deck submerged in rushing foam, and carroll bracing himself against the strain upon the tiller. to windward, the sea looked as if it had been strewed with feathers, for there were flecks and blurs of white everywhere. "i'll let her come up when you're ready!" carroll shouted. "we'd better get some sail off her, if we mean to hold on to the mast!" he thrust down his helm; and the sloop, forging round to windward, rose upright, with her heavy main-boom banging to and fro. after that, they were desperately busy for a few minutes. vane wished that they had engaged a hand in vancouver, instead of waiting to hire a siwash somewhere up the coast. there was the headsail to haul to windward, which was difficult, and the mainsheet to get in; then the two men, standing on the slippery, inclined deck, struggled hard to haul the canvas down to the boom. the jerking spar smote them in the ribs; once or twice the reefing tackle beneath it was torn from their hands; but they mastered the sail, tying two reefs in it, to reduce its size; and the craft drove away with her lee rail just awash. "you'd better go down and get some crackers," vane advised his comrade. "you'll find them rolling up and down the floor. i spilled the coffee, but perhaps the kettle's still on the stove. anyhow, you may not have an opportunity later." "it looks like that," carroll agreed. "the wind's backing northward, and that means more of it before long. you can call, if you want me." he disappeared below, and vane sat at the helm with a frown on his face. an angry coppery glare streamed down upon the white-flecked water which gleamed in the lurid light. it was very cold, but there was a wonderful quality that set the blood tingling in the nipping air. even upon the high peaks and in the trackless bush, one fails to find the bracing freshness that comes with the dawn at sea. vane, however, knew that the breeze would increase and draw ahead, which was unfortunate, because they would have to beat, fighting for every fathom they slowly made. there was no help for it, and he buttoned his jacket against the spray. by the time carroll came up the sloop was plunging sharply, pitching showers of stinging brine all over her when the bows went down. they drove her at it stubbornly most of the day, making but little to windward, while the seas got bigger and whiter, until they had some trouble to keep the light boat they carried upon the deluged deck. at last, when she came bodily aft amid a frothing cascade which poured into the well, vane brought the sloop round, and they stretched away to eastward, until they could let go the anchor in smooth water beneath a wall of rock. they were very wet, and were stiff with cold, for winter was drawing near. "we'll get supper," said vane. "if the breeze drops a little at dusk, which is likely, we'll go on again." having eaten little since dawn, they enjoyed the meal; and carroll would have been content to remain at anchor afterward. the tiny saloon was comfortably warm, and he thought it would be pleasanter to lounge away the evening on a locker, with his pipe, than to sit amid the bitter spray at the helm. the breeze had fallen a little, but the firs in a valley ashore were still wailing loudly. vane, however, was proof against his companion's hints. "with a head wind, we'll be some time working up to the rancherie, and then we have thirty miles of coast to search for the inlet hartley reached. after that, there's the valley to locate; he was uncertain how far it lay from the beach." "it couldn't be very far. you wouldn't expect a man who was sick and badly lame to make any great pace." "i can imagine a man, who knew he must reach the coast before he starved, making a pretty vigorous effort. if he were worked-up and desperate, the pain might turn him savage and drive him on, instead of stopping him. do you remember the time we crossed the divide in the snow?" "i could remember it, if i wanted to," carroll answered with a shiver. "as it happens, that's about the last thing i'm anxious to do." "the trouble is that there are a good many valleys in this strip of country, and we may have to try a number before we strike the right one. winter's not far off, and i can't spend very much time over this search. as soon as the man we put in charge of the mine has tried his present system long enough to give us something to figure on, i want to see what can be done to increase our output. we haven't marketed very much refined metal yet." "there's no doubt that it would be advisable," carroll answered thoughtfully. "as i've pointed out, you have spent a good deal of the cash you got when you turned the clermont over to the company. in fact, that's one reason why i didn't try to head off this timber-hunting scheme. you can't spend much over the search, and if the spruce comes up to expectations, you ought to get it back. it would be a fortunate change, after your extravagance in england." vane frowned. "that's a subject i don't want to talk about. we'll go up and see what the weather's like." carroll shivered when they stood in the well. it was falling dusk, and the sky was a curious cold, shadowy blue. a nipping wind came down across the darkening firs ashore, but there was no doubt that it had fallen somewhat, and carroll resigned himself when vane began to pull the tiers off the mainsail. in a few minutes they were under way, the sloop heading out toward open water with two reefs down in her mainsail, a gray and ghostly shape of slanted canvas that swept across the dim, furrowed plain of sea. by midnight the breeze was as strong as ever, but they had clear moonlight and they held on; the craft plunging with flooded decks through the white combers, while carroll sat at the helm, battered by spray and stung with cold. when vane came up, an hour or two later, the sea was breaking viciously. carroll would have put up his helm and run for shelter, had the decision been left to him; but he saw his comrade's face in the moonlight and refrained from any suggestion of that nature. there was a spice of dogged obstinacy in vane, which, although on the whole it made for success, occasionally drove him into needless difficulties. they held on; and soon after day broke, with its first red flush ominously high in the eastern sky, they stretched in toward the land, with a somewhat sheltered bay opening up beyond a foam-fringed point ahead of them. carroll glanced dubiously at the white turmoil in the midst of which black fangs of rock appeared. "will she weather the point on this tack?" he asked. "she'll have to! we'll have smoother water to work through, once we're round, and the tide's helping her." they drove on, though it occurred to carroll that they were not opening up the bay very rapidly. the light was growing, and he could now discern the orderly phalanxes of white-topped combers that crumbled into a chaotic spouting on the point's outer end. it struck him that the sloop would not last long if she touched bottom there; but once more, after a glance at vane's face, he kept silent. after all, vane was leader; and when he looked as he did then, he usually resented advice. the mouth of the bay grew wider, until carroll could see most of the forest-girt shore on one side of it; but the surf upon the point was growing unpleasantly near. wisps of spray whirled away from it and vanished among the scrubby firs clinging to the fissured crags behind. the sloop, however, was going to windward, for vane was handling her with nerve and skill. she had almost cleared the point when there was a rattle and a bang inside of her. carroll started. "it's the centerboard coming up! it must have touched a boulder!" "then jump down and lift it before it strikes another and bends!" cried vane. "she's far enough to windward to keep off the beach without it." carroll went below and hove up the centerboard, which projected several feet beneath the bottom of the craft; but he was not satisfied that the sloop was far enough off the beach, as vane seemed to be, and he got out into the well as soon as possible. the worst of the surf was abreast of their quarter now, and less-troubled water stretched away ahead. carroll had hardly noticed this, however, when there was a second heavy crash and the sloop stopped suddenly. the comber to windward that should have lifted her up, broke all over her, flinging the boat on deck upon the saloon skylight and pouring inches deep over the coaming into the well. vane was hurled from the tiller. his wet face was smeared with blood, from a cut on his forehead, but he seized a big oar to shove the sloop off, when she swung upright, moved, and struck again. the following sea hove her up; there was a third, less violent, crash; and as vane dropped the oar and grasped the helm, she suddenly shot ahead. "she'll go clear!" he shouted. "jump below and see if she's damaged!" carroll got no farther than the scuttle, for the saloon floorings on the depressed side were already awash, and he could hear an ominous splashing and gurgling. "it's pouring into her!" he cried. "then, you'll have to pump!" "we passed an opening some miles to lee. wouldn't it be better if you ran back there?" carroll suggested. "no! i won't run a yard! there's another inlet not far ahead and we'll stand on until we reach it. i'd put her on the beach here, only that she'd go to pieces with the first shift of the wind to westward." carroll agreed with this opinion; but there is a great difference between running to leeward with the sea behind the vessel and thrashing to windward when it is ahead, and he hesitated. "get the pump started! we're going on!" vane said impatiently. fortunately the pump was a powerful one, of the semi-rotary type, and they had nearly two miles of smoother water before they stretched out of the bay upon the other tack. when they did so, carroll, glancing down again through the scuttle, could not flatter himself that he had reduced the water. it was comforting, however, to see that it had not increased, though he did not expect that state of affairs to last. when they drove out into broken water, he found it difficult to work the crank. the plunges threw him against the coaming, and the sea poured in over it continually. there are not many men who feel equal to determined toil before their morning meal, and the physical slackness is generally more pronounced if they have been up most of the preceding night; but carroll recognized that he had no choice. there was too much sea for the boat, even if they could have launched her, and he could make out no spot on the beach where it seemed possible to effect a landing if they ran the sloop ashore. as a result of this, it behooved him to pump. after half an hour of it, he was breathless and exhausted, and vane took his place. the sea was higher; the sloop wetter than she had been; and there was no doubt that the water was rising fast inside of her. carroll wondered how far ahead the inlet lay; and the next two hours were anxious ones to both of them. turn about, they pumped with savage determination and went back, gasping, to the helm to thrash the boat on. they drove her remorselessly; and she swept through the combers, tilted and streaming, while the spray scourged the helmsman's face as he gazed to weather. the men's arms and shoulders ached from working in a cramped position; but there was no help for it. they toiled on furiously, until at last the crest of a crag for which they were heading sloped away in front of them. a few minutes later they drove past the end of it into a broad lane of water. the wind was suddenly cut off; the combers fell away; and the sloop crept slowly up the inlet, which wound, green and placid, among the hills, with long ranks of firs dropping steeply to the edge of the water. vane loosed the pump handle, and striding to the scuttle looked down at the flood which splashed languidly to and fro below. "it strikes me as fortunate that we're in," he commented. "another half-hour would have seen the end of her. let her come up a little! there's a smooth beach to yonder cove." she slid in quietly, scarcely rippling the smooth surface of the tiny basin, and carroll laid her on the beach. "now," advised vane, "we'll drop the boom on the shore side to keep her from canting over; and then we'll get breakfast. we'll see where she's damaged when the tide ebbs." as most of their stores had lain in the flooded lockers, from which there had been no time to extricate them, the meal was not an appetizing one. they were, however, glad to have it; and rowing ashore afterward, they lay on the shingle in the sunshine while the sloop was festooned with their drying clothes. there was no wind in that deep hollow, and they were thankful, for the weather was already getting cold. "if she has only split a plank or two, we can patch her up," vane remarked. "there are all the tools we'll want in the locker." "where will you get new planks?" carroll inquired. "i don't think we have any spikes that would go through the frames." "that is the trouble. i expect i'll have to make a trip across to comox for them in a sea canoe. we're sure to come across a few siwash somewhere in the neighborhood." then he knit his brows. "i can't say that this expedition is beginning fortunately." "there's no doubt on that point," carroll agreed. "well, the sloop has to be patched up; and until i find that spruce i'm going on--anyway, as long as the provisions hold out. if we're not through with the business then, we'll come back again." carroll made no comment. it was not worth while to object, when vane was obviously determined. chapter xvi the bush it was a quiet evening, nearly a fortnight after the arrival of the sloop. pale sunshine streamed into the cove, and little glittering ripples lapped lazily along the shingle. the placid surface of the inlet was streaked with faint blue lines where wandering airs came down from the heights above, and now and then an elfin sighing fell from the ragged summits of the firs. when it died away, the silence was broken only by the pounding of a heavy hammer and the crackle of a fire. carroll sat beside the latter, alternately holding a stout plank up to the blaze and dabbling its hot surface with a dripping mop. his face was scorched, and he coughed as the resinous-scented smoke drifted about his head and floated in heavy, blue wisps half-way up the giant trunks behind him. a big sea canoe lay drawn up not far away, and one of its copper-skinned siwash owners lounged on the shingle, stolidly watching the white men. his comrade was then inside the sloop, holding a big stone against one of her frames, while vane crouched outside, swinging a hammer. her empty hull flung back the thud of the blows, which rang far across the trees. vane was bare-armed and stripped to shirt and trousers. he had arrived from comox across the straits at dawn that morning. it was a long trip and they had had wild weather on the journey, but he had set to work with characteristic energy as soon as he landed. now, though the sun was low, he was working harder than ever, with the flood tide, which would shortly compel him to desist, creeping up to his feet. it is a difficult matter to fit a new plank into the rounded bilge of a boat, particularly when one is provided with inadequate appliances. one requires a good eye for curves, for the planks need much shaping. they must also be driven into position by force. two or three stout shores were firmly wedged against the side of the boat, and these encumbered vane in the free use of his arms. his face was darkly flushed and he panted heavily and now and then flung vitriolic instructions to the siwash inside the craft. carroll, watching him with quiet amusement, was on the whole content that the tide was rising, for his comrade had firmly declined to stop for dinner, and he was conscious of a sharpened appetite. it was comforting to reflect that vane would be unable to get the plank into place before the evening meal, for if there had been any prospect of his doing so, he would certainly have postponed his dinner. presently he stopped a moment and turned to carroll. "if you were any use in an emergency, you'd be holding up for me, instead of that wooden image inside! he will back the stone against any frame except the one i'm nailing." "the difficulty is that i can't be in two places at the same time," carroll retorted good-naturedly. "shall i leave this plank? you can't get it in to-night." "i'm going to try," vane answered grimly. he turned around to direct the siwash and then cautiously hammered in one of the wedges a little farther. swinging back the hammer, he struck a heavy blow. the result was disastrous, for there was a crash and one of the shores shot backward, striking him on the knee. he jumped with a savage cry, and the next moment there was a sharp snapping, and the end of the plank sprang out. then another shore gave way; and when the plank fell clattering at his feet, vane whirled the hammer round his head and hurled it violently into the bush. this appeared to afford him some satisfaction, and he strode up the beach, with the blood dripping from the knuckles of one hand. "that's the blamed siwash's fault!" he muttered. "i couldn't get him to back up when i put the last spike in." "hadn't you better tell him to come out?" carroll suggested. "no!" thundered vane. "if he hasn't sense enough to see that he isn't wanted, he can stay where he is all night! are you going to get supper, or must i do that, too?" carroll merely smiled and set about preparing the meal, which the two siwash partook of and afterward departed with some paper currency. then vane, walking down the beach, came back with the plank. lighting his pipe, he pointed to one or two broken nails in it. the water was now rippling softly about the sloop, and the splash of canoe paddles came up out of the distance in rhythmic cadence. "that's the cause of the trouble," he explained. "it cost me a week's journey to get the package of galvanized spikes--i could have managed to split a plank or two out of one of these firs. the storekeeper fellow assured me they were specially annealed for heading up. if i knew who the manufacturers were, i'd have pleasure in telling them what i think of them. if they set up to make spikes, they ought to make them, and empty every keg that won't stand the test out on to the scrap-heap." carroll smiled. the course his partner had indicated was the one he would have adopted. he was characterized by a somewhat grim idea of efficiency, and never spared his labor to attain it, though the latter fact now and then had its inconveniences for those who cooperated with him, as carroll had discovered. the latter had no doubt that vane would put the planks in, if he spent a month over the operation. "i wouldn't have had this trouble if you'd been handier with tools," vane went on. "i can't see why you never took the trouble to learn how to use them." "my abilities aren't as varied as yours; and the thing strikes me as bad economy," carroll replied. "skill of the kind you mention is worth about three dollars a day." "you were getting two dollars for shoveling in a mining ditch when i first met you." "i was," carroll assented good-humoredly. "i believe another month or two of it would have worn me out. it's considerably pleasanter and more profitable to act as your understudy; but a fairly proficient carpenter might have bungled the matter." vane looked embarrassed. "let it pass. i've a pernicious habit of expressing myself unfortunately. anyhow, we'll start again on those planks the first thing to-morrow." he stretched out his aching limbs beside the fire, and languidly watched the firs grow dimmer and the mists creep in ghostly trails down the steep hillside. presently carroll broke the silence. "wallace," he advised, "wouldn't it be wiser if you met that fellow horsfield to some extent?" "no," vane answered decidedly. "i have no intention of giving way an inch. it would only encourage the man to press me on another point, if i did. i'm going to have trouble with him, and it seems to me that the sooner it comes the better. there's room for only one controlling influence in the clermont mine." carroll smoked in silence for a while. his comrade had successfully carried out most of the small projects he had undertaken in the bush, and though fortune had, perhaps, favored him, he had every reason to be satisfied with the result of his efforts as a prospector. he had afterward held his own in the city, mainly by simple unwavering determination. carroll, however, realized that to guard against the wiles of a clever man like horsfield, who was unhampered by any scruples, might prove a very different thing. "in that case, it might be as well to stay in vancouver as much as possible and keep your eye on him," he suggested. "the same idea has struck me since we sailed. the trouble is that until i've decided about the pulp mill he'll have to go unwatched--for the same reason that prevented you from holding up for me and steaming the plank." "if any unforeseen action of horsfield's made it necessary, you could let this pulp project drop." "you ought to understand why that's impossible. drayton, kitty and hartley count on my exertions; the matter was put into my hands only on the condition that i did all that i could. they're poor people and i can't go back on them. if we can't locate the spruce, or it doesn't seem likely to pay for working up, there's nothing to prevent my abandoning the undertaking; but i'm not at liberty to do so just because it would be a convenience to myself. hartley got my promise before he told me where to search." carroll changed the subject. "it might have been better if you had made the directors' qualification higher. you would have been more sure of horsfield then, because he would have been less likely to do anything that might depreciate the value of his stock." "i had to get a few good names to make it easier for men of standing to join me. they wouldn't have been willing to subscribe for too many shares until they saw how the thing would go. anyhow, so long as he's a director, horsfield must hold a stipulated amount of stock. he's actually holding a good deal." "the limit's rather a low one. suppose he sold out down to it; he wouldn't mind having the value of the rest knocked down, if he could make more than the difference by some jobbery. of course, we're only a small concern, and we'll have to raise more capital sooner or later. i've an idea that horsfield might find his opportunity then." "if he does, we must try to be ready for him," vane replied. "i sat up most of last night with the spritsail sheet in my hand, and i'm going to sleep." he strolled away to the tent they had pitched on the edge of the bush, but carroll sat a while smoking beside the fire with a thoughtful face. he was suspicious of horsfield and foresaw trouble; more particularly now that his comrade had undertaken a project which seemed likely to occupy a good deal of his attention. hitherto, vane had owed part of his success to his faculty of concentrating all his powers upon one object. they rose at dawn the next morning, and by sunset had fitted the new planks. two days later, they sailed northward, and eventually they found the rancherie hartley mentioned. they had expected to hire a guide there, but the rickety wooden building was empty. vane decided that its siwash owners, who made long trips in search of fish and furs, had left it for a time, and he pushed on again. he had now to face an unforeseen difficulty; there were a number of openings in that strip of coast, and hartley's description was of no great service in deciding which was the right one. during the next day or two, they looked into several bights, and seeing no valleys opening out of them, went on again. one evening, however, they ran into an inlet with a forest-shrouded hollow at the head of it. here they moored the sloop close in with a sheltered beach and after a night's rest got ready their packs for the march inland. carroll regretted they had not hired the indians with whom his comrade had crossed the straits. "we would have traveled a good deal more comfortably if you had brought those siwash along to pack for us," he observed. "if you had been with them on the canoe trip, you might think differently," vane answered with a laugh. "besides, they're in the habit of going to cornox and might put some enterprising lumber men on our trail." "there's one thing i'm going to insist on," carroll declared. "we'll leave enough provisions on board to last us until we get back to civilization, even if we have a head wind. i've made one or two journeys on short rations." vane agreed to this, and after rowing ashore and hiding the boat among the undergrowth, they proceeded to strap their packs about them. there is an art in this, for the weight must be carried where it will be felt and retard one's movements least. they had a light tent without poles--which could be cut when wanted--two blankets, an ax, and one or two cooking utensils, besides their provisions. a new-comer from the cities would probably not have carried his share for half a day, but in that rugged land mineral prospector and survey packer are accustomed to travel heavily burdened, and the men had followed both these vocations. in front of them a deep trough opened up in the hills, but it was filled with giant forest, through which no track led, and only those who have traversed the dim recesses of the primeval bush can fully understand what this implies. the west winds swept through that gateway, reaping as they went, and here and there tremendous trees lay strewed athwart one another with their branches spread abroad in impenetrable tangles. some had fallen amid the wreckage left by previous gales, which the forest had partly made good, and there was scarcely a rod of the way that was not obstructed by half-rotted trunks. then there were thick bushes, and an undergrowth of willows where the soil was damp, with thorny brakes and matted fern in between. in places the growth was almost like a wall, and the men, skirting the inlet, were glad to scramble forward among the rough boulders and ragged driftwood at the water's edge for some minutes at a time, until it was necessary to leave the beach behind. after the first few minutes there was no sign of the gleaming water. they had entered a region of dim green shade, where the moist air was heavy with resinous smells. the trunks rose about them in tremendous columns, thorns clutched their garments, and twigs and brittle branches snapped beneath their feet. the day was cool, but the sweat of tense effort dripped from them, and when they stopped for breath at the end of an hour, vane estimated that they had gone a mile. "i'll be content if we can keep this up," he said. "it isn't likely," carroll replied with a trace of dryness, glancing down at a big rent in his jacket. a little farther on, they waded with difficulty through a large stream, and carroll stopped and glanced round at a deep rift in a crag on one side of them. "i don't know whether that could be considered a valley; but we may as well look at it." they scrambled forward, and reaching gravelly soil where the trees were thinner, vane surveyed the opening. it was very narrow and appeared to lose itself among the rocks. the size of the creek which flowed out of it was no guide, for those ranges are scored by running water. "we won't waste time over that ravine," vane concluded. "i noticed a wider one farther on. we'll see what it's like; though hartley led me to understand that he came down a straight and gently sloping valley. the one we're in answers the description." it was two hours before they reached the second opening, and then vane, unstrapping his pack, clambered up the steep face of a crag. when he came back, his face was thoughtful. he sat down and lighted his pipe. "this search seems likely to take us longer than i expected," he said. "to begin with, there are a number of inlets, all of them pretty much alike, along this part of the coast, but i needn't go into the reasons for supposing that this is the one hartley visited. taking it for granted that we're right, we're up against another difficulty. so far as i could make out from the top of that rock, there's a regular series of ravines running back into the hills." "hartley told you he came straight down to tidewater, didn't he?" "that's not much of a guide. the slope of every fissure seems to run naturally from the inland watershed to this basin. hartley was sick and it was raining all the time, and coming out of any of these ravines he'd only have to make a slight turn to reach the water. what's more, he could only tell me that he was heading roughly west. allowing that there was no sun visible, that might have meant either northwest or southwest, which gives us the choice of searching the hollows on either side of the main valley. now, it strikes me as most probable that he came right down the main valley itself; but we have to face the question as to whether we should push straight on, or search every opening that might be called a valley?" "what's your idea?" carroll rejoined. "that we ought to go into the thing systematically, and look at every ravine we come to." carroll nodded agreement. "i guess you're right." they strapped their packs about them and struggled on again. stopping half an hour for dinner, they plodded all the afternoon up a long hollow, which rose steadily in front of them. it was narrow, and in places the bottom of it was so choked with fallen trunks that they were forced for the sake of a clearer passage to take to the creek, where they alternately stumbled among big boulders and splashed through shallow pools. the water, which was mostly melted snow, was very cold. the light was fading down in the deep rift when, winding round a spur through a tangle of clinging underbrush, they saw the timber thin off ahead. in a few minutes vane stopped with an exclamation, and carroll, overtaking him, loosened his pack. they stood upon the edge of the timber, but in front of them a mass of soil and stones ran up almost vertically to a great outcrop of rock high above. "if hartley had come down that, he'd have remembered it," vane remarked grimly. "it's obvious," carroll agreed, sitting down with a sigh of weariness. "we'll try the next one to-morrow; i don't move another step to-night." vane laughed. "i've no wish to urge you. there's hardly a joint in my body that doesn't ache." he flung down his pack and stretched himself with an air of relief. "that's what comes of civilization and soft living. it would be nice to sit still now while somebody brought me my supper." as there was nobody to do so, he took up the ax and set about hewing chips off a fallen trunk while carroll made a fire. then he cut the tent poles and a few armfuls of twigs for a bed, and in half an hour the camp was pitched and a meal prepared. darkness closed down on them while they ate, and they afterward lay a while, smoking and saying little, beside the sinking fire, while the red light flickered upon the massy trunks and fell away again. then they crawled into the tent and wrapped their blankets round them. chapter xvii vane postpones the search when vane rose early the next morning, there was frost in the air. the firs glistened with delicate silver filigree, and thin spears of ice stretched out from behind the boulders in the stream. the smoke of the fire thickened the light haze that filled the hollow, and when breakfast was ready the men ate hastily, eager for the exertion that would put a little warmth into them. "we've had it a good deal colder on other trips. i suppose i've been getting luxurious, for i seem to resent it now," observed vane. "there's no doubt that winter's beginning earlier that i expected up here. as soon as you can strike the tent, we'll get a move on." carroll made no comment he had a vivid recollection of one or two of those other journeys, during which they had spent arduous days floundering through slushy snow and had slept in saturated blankets, and sometimes shelterless in bitter frost. carroll had endured these things without complaint, though he had never attained to the cheerfulness his comrade usually displayed. he was willing to face hardship, when it promised to lead to a tangible result, but he failed to understand the curious satisfaction vane assumed to feel in ascertaining exactly how much weariness and discomfort he could force his flesh to bear. vane, however, was not singular in this respect; there are men in the newer lands who, if they do not actually seek it, will seldom make an effort to avoid the strain of overtaxed muscles and exposure to wild and bitter weather. they have imbibed the pristine vigor of the wilderness, and conflict with the natural forces braces instead of daunting them. one recognizes them by their fixed and steady gaze, their direct and deliberate speech, and the proficiency that most display with ax and saw and rifle. but the effect of this spartan training is not merely physical; the men who leave the bush and the ranges, as a rule, come to the forefront in commerce and industry. endurance, swiftness of action and stubborn tenacity are apt to carry their possessor far anywhere. vane and his comrade needed these qualities during the following week. the valley grew more wild and rugged as they proceeded. in places, its bottom was filled with muskegs, cumbered with half-submerged, decaying trunks of fallen trees; and when they could not spring from one crumbling log to another they sank in slime and water to the knee. then there were effluents of the main river to be waded through, and every now and then they were forced back by impenetrable thickets to the hillside, where they scrambled along a talus of frost-shattered rock. they entered transverse valleys, and after hours of exhausting labor abandoned the search of each in turn and plodded back to the one they had been following. their boots and clothing suffered; their packs were rent upon their backs; and their provisions diminished rapidly. at length, one lowering afternoon, they were brought to a standstill by the river which forked into two branches, one of which came foaming out of a cleft in the rocks. this would have mattered less, had it flowed across the level; but just there it had scored itself out a deep hollow, from which the roar of its turmoil rose in long reverberations. carroll, aching all over, stood upon the brink and gazed ahead. he surmised from the steady ascent and the contours of the hills that the valley was dying out and that they should reach the head of it in another day's journey. the higher summits, however, were veiled in leaden mist, and there was a sting in the cold breeze that blew down the hollow and set the ragged firs to wailing. then carroll glanced dubiously at the dim, green water which swirled in deep eddies and boiled in white confusion among the fangs of rock sixty or seventy feet below. not far away, the stream was wider and, he supposed, in consequence, shallower, though it ran furiously. "it doesn't look encouraging, and we have no more food left than will take us back to the sloop if we're economical. do you think it's worth while going on?" "i haven't a doubt about it," vane declared. "we ought to reach the head of the valley and get back here in two or three days." carroll fancied they could have walked the distance in a few hours on a graded road; but the roughness of the ground was not the chief difficulty. "three days will make a big hole in the provisions," he pointed out. "then we'll have to put up with short rations." carroll nodded in rueful acquiescence. "if you're determined, we may as well get on." he stepped cautiously over the edge of the descent, and went down a few yards with a run, while loosened soil and stones slipped away under him. then he clutched a slender tree, and proceeded as far as the next on his hands and knees. after that it was necessary to swing himself over a ledge, and he alighted safely on one below, from which he could scramble down to the narrow strip of gravel between rock and water. he was standing, breathless, looking at the latter, when vane joined him. the stones dipped sharply, and two or three large boulders, ringed about with froth, rose near the middle of the stream, which seemed to be running slacker on the other side of them. there was nothing to show how deep it was, and carroll did not relish the idea of being compelled to swim burdened with his pack. no trees grew immediately upon the brink of the chasm, and to chop a good-sized log and get it down to the water, in order to ferry themselves across on it, would cost more time than vane was likely to spare for the purpose. seeing no other way out of it, carroll braced himself for an effort and sturdily plunged in. two steps took him up to the waist, and he had trouble in finding solid bottom at the next, for the gravel rolled and slipped away beneath his feet in the strong stream. the current dragged hard at his limbs, and he set his lips tight when it crept up to his ribs. then he lost his footing, and was washed away, plunging and floundering, with now and then one toe resting momentarily upon the bottom. sweeping rapidly down the stream he was hurled against the first of the boulders with a crash that almost drove the little remaining breath out of his body. he clung to it desperately, gasping hard; then, with a determined struggle, he contrived to reach the second stone, but the stream pressed him violently against this and he was unable to find any support for his feet. a moment later vane was washed down toward him and, grabbing at the boulder, held on by it. they said nothing to each other, but they looked at the sliding water between them and the opposite bank. carroll was getting dangerously cold, and he felt the power ebbing out of him. he realized that if he must swim across he would better do it at once. launching himself forward, he felt the flood lap his breast, but as his arms went in he struck something with his knee and found that he could stand on a submerged ledge. this carried him a yard or two, but the next moment he had stepped suddenly over the end of the ledge into deeper water. floundering forward, he staggered up a strip of shelving shingle and lay there, breathless, waiting for vane; then together they scrambled up the slope ahead. the work warmed them slightly, and they needed it; but as they strode on again, keeping to the foot of the hillside, where the timber was less dense, a cold rain drove into their faces. it grew steadily thicker; the straps began to gall their wet shoulders, and their saturated clothing clung heavily about their limbs. in spite of this, they struggled on until nightfall, when with difficulty they made a fire and, after a reduced supper, found a little humid warmth in their wet blankets. the next day's work was much the same, only that they crossed no rivers. it rained harder, however, and when evening came carroll, who had burst one boot, was limping badly. they made camp among the dripping firs which partly sheltered them from the bitter wind, and shortly after their meager supper carroll fell asleep. vane, to his annoyance, found that he could not follow his friend's example. he was overstrung, and the knowledge that the morrow would show whether the spruce he sought grew in that valley made him restless. the flap of the tent was flung back and resting on one elbow he looked out upon shadowy ranks of trunks, which rose out of the gloom and vanished again as the firelight grew and sank. he could smell the acrid smoke and could hear the splash of heavy drops upon the saturated soil, while the hoarse roar of the river came up in fitful cadence from the depths of the valley. in place of being deadened by fatigue, his imagination seemed quickened and set free. it carried him back to the lonely heights and the rugged dales of his own land, and once more in vivid memory he roamed the upland heath with evelyn. she had attracted him strongly when he was in her visible presence; but now he thought he understood her better than he had ever done then. he had, he felt, not grasped the inner meaning of much that she said. words might convey but little in their literal sense and yet give to a sympathetic listener an insight into the depths of the speaker's nature, or hint at a thought too finely spun and delicate for formal expression. the same thing applied to her physical personality. contours, coloring, features, were things that could be defined and appraised; but there was besides, in evelyn's case, an aura that only now and then could dimly be perceived by senses attuned to it. it enveloped her in a mystic light. again he remembered how he had sought her with crude longing and cold appreciation. he had failed to comprehend her; the one creditable thing he had done was the renouncing of his claim. then the half-formed idea grew plainer that she would understand and sympathize with what he was doing now. it was to keep faith with those who trusted him that he meant stubbornly to prosecute his search and, if the present journey failed, to come back again. that evelyn would ever hear of his undertaking, appeared most improbable; but this did not matter. he knew now that it was the remembrance of her that had largely animated him to make the venture; and to go on in the face of all opposing difficulties was something he could do in her honor. then by degrees his eyes grew heavy, and when he sank down in his wet blankets sleep came to him. perhaps he had been fanciful--he was undoubtedly overstrung--but, through such dreams as he indulged in, passing glimpses of strange and splendid visions that transfigure the toil and clamor of a material world are now and then granted to wayfaring men. at noon the next day they reached the head of the valley. it was still raining, and heavy mists obscured the summits of the hills, but above the lower slopes of rock glimmering snow ran up into the woolly vapor. there were firs, a few balsams and hemlocks, but no sign of a spruce. "now," carroll commented dryly, "perhaps you'll be satisfied." vane smiled. he was no nearer to owning himself defeated than he had been when they first set out. "we know there's no spruce in this valley--and that's something," he replied. "when we come back again we'll try the next one." "it has cost us a good deal to make sure of the fact" vane's expression changed. "we haven't ascertained the cost just yet. as a rule, you don't make up the bill until you're through with the undertaking; and it may be a longer one than either of us think. well, we might as well turn upon our tracks." carroll recalled this speech afterward. just then, however, he hitched his burden a little higher on his aching shoulders as he plodded after his comrade down the rain-swept hollow. they had good cause to remember the march to the inlet. it rained most of the while and their clothes were never dry; parts of them, indeed, flowed in tatters about their aching limbs, and before they had covered half the distance, their boots were dropping to pieces. what was more important, their provisions were rapidly running out, and they marched on a few handfuls of food, carefully apportioned, twice daily. at last they lay down hungry, with empty bags, one night, to sleep shelterless in the rain, for they had thrown their tent away. carroll had some difficulty in getting on his feet the next morning. "i believe i can hold out until sundown, though i'm far from sure of it," he said. "you'll have to leave me behind if we don't strike the inlet then." "we'll strike it in the afternoon," vane assured him. they reslung their packs and set out wearily. carroll, limping and stumbling along, was soon troubled by a distressful stitch in his side. he managed to keep pace with vane, however, and some time after noon a twinkling gleam among the trees caught their eye. then the shuffling pace grew faster, and they were breathless when at last they stopped and dropped their burdens beside the boat. it was only at the third or fourth attempt that they got her down to the water, and the veins were swollen high on vane's flushed forehead when he sat down, panting heavily, on her gunwale. "we ran her up quite easily, though we had the slope to face then," he remarked. "you could scarcely expect to carry boats about without trouble after a march like the one we've made!" they ran her in and pulled off to the sloop. when at last they sat down in the little saloon, vane got a glimpse of himself in the mirror. "i knew you looked a deadbeat," he laughed, "but i'd no idea i was quite so bad. anyhow, we'll get the stove lighted and some dry things on. the next question is--what shall we have for supper?" "that's easy. everything that's most tempting, and the whole of it." shortly afterward they flung their boots and rent garments overboard and sat down to a feast. the plates were empty when they rose, and in another hour both of them were wrapped in heavy slumber. chapter xviii jessy confers a favor the next morning it was blowing fresh from the southeast, which was right ahead, and vane's face was hard when he and carroll got the boat on deck and set about tying down two reefs in the mainsail. "bad luck seems to follow us," he grumbled. carroll smiled. "there's no doubt of that; but i suppose the fact won't have much effect on you." "no," returned vane decidedly, "we had our troubles in other ventures, and somehow we got over them--i don't see why we shouldn't do the same again. now that we've seen the country, we ought to get some useful information out of hartley--we'll know what to ask him." "i shouldn't count too much on his help," carroll answered with a thoughtful air. they got sail upon the sloop and drove her out into a confused head sea, through which she labored with flooded decks, making very little to windward. when night came, a deluge killed the breeze, and the next day she lay rolling wildly in a heavy calm while light mist narrowed in the horizon and a persistent drizzle poured down upon the smoothly heaving sea. then they had light variable winds, and their provisions were once more running out when they drew abreast of a little coaling port. carroll suggested running in and going on to victoria by train, but they had hardly decided to do so when the fickle breeze died away and the tide-stream bore them past to the south. they had no longer a stitch of dry clothing and they were again upon reduced rations. still bad fortune dogged them, for that night a fresh head wind sprang up and held steadily while they thrashed her south, swept by stinging spray. their tempers grew shorter under the strain, and their bodies ached from the chill of their sodden garments and from sitting hour by hour at the helm. at last the breeze fell, and shortly afterward a trail of smoke and a half-seen strip of hull emerged from the creeping haze astern of them. "a lumber tug," observed vane. "she seems to have a raft in tow, and it will probably be for drayton's people. if you'll edge in toward her i'll send him word that we're on the way." there was very little wind just then and presently the tug was close alongside, pitching her bows out of the slow swell, while a great mass of timber wonderfully chained together surged along astern, the dim, slate-green sea washing over it. a shapeless oil-skinned figure stood outside her pilot-house, balancing itself against the heave of the bridge, which slanted and straightened. "winstanley?" vane shouted. the figure waved an arm, as if in assent, and vane raised his voice again. "report us to mr. drayton. we'll come along as fast as we can." the man turned and pointed to the misty horizon astern. "you'll get it from the north before to-morrow!"' he called. then the straining tug and the long wet line of working raft drew ahead while the sloop crawled on, close-hauled toward the south. late that night, however, the mist melted away, and a keen rushing breeze that came out of the north crisped the water. the vessel sprang forward when the ripples reached her; the flapping canvas went to sleep; and while each slack rope tightened a musical tinkle broke out at the bows. it grew steadily louder, and when the sun swung up red above the eastern hills, she had piled the white froth to her channels and was driving forward merrily with little sparkling seas tumbling, foam-tipped, after her. the wind fell light as the sun rose higher, but the swinging sloop ran on all day, with blurred hills and forests sliding past; and the western sky was still blazing with a wondrous green when she stole into vancouver harbor. carroll gazed at the city with open appreciation. it rose, girded with many wires and giant telegraph poles, roof above roof, up a low rise, on the crest of which towering pines still lifted their ragged spires against the evening sky. lower down, big white lights were beginning to blink, and the forests up the inlet beyond the smoke of the mills had already faded to a belt of shadow. "quebec," he remarked, "looks fine from the river, clustering round and perched upon its heights; and montreal at the foot of its mountain strikes your eye from most points of view; but i can't remember ever entering either with the pleasure i've experienced in reaching this city." "you probably arrived at the others traveling in a pullman or in a luxurious side-wheel steamboat. it wouldn't be any great change from them to a smart hotel." "that may explain the thing," carroll agreed with an air of humorous reflection. "i guess the way you regard a city depends largely on the condition you're in when you reach it and on what you expect to get out of it. in the present case, vancouver stands for rest and comfort and enough to eat." vane laughed. "i'm as glad to be back as you are; but you'd better make the most of any leisure that you can get. as soon as i've arranged things here we'll go north again." the light faded as they crept across the inlet before a faint breeze, but when they got the anchor over and the boat into the water, carroll made out two dim figures standing on the wharf. "it's drayton, i think," he said, waving a hand to them. "kitty's with him." they pulled ashore, and drayton and kitty greeted them. "i've been looking out for you since noon," drayton told them. "what about the spruce?" there was eagerness in his voice, and vane's face clouded. "we couldn't find a trace of it." drayton's disappointment was obvious, though he tried to hide it. "well," he said resignedly, "i've no doubt you did all you could." "of course!" kitty broke in. "we're quite sure of that!" vane thanked her with a glance. he felt sorry for her and drayton. they were strongly attached to each other, and he had reasons for believing that even with the advanced salary the man expected to get they would find it needful to study strict economy. it was easy to understand that a small share in a prosperous enterprise would have made things easier for them. "i'm going to make another attempt. i expect some of our difficulties will vanish after i've had a talk with hartley." "that's impossible," kitty explained softly. "hartley died a week ago." vane started. the prospector had given him very little definite information, and it was disconcerting to recognize that he must now rely entirely upon his own devices. "i'm sorry", he said "how's celia?" "she's very ill." there was concern in kitty's voice. "hartley got worse soon after you left, and she sat up all night with him, after her work for the last few weeks. now she's broken down, and she seems to worry for fear they will not take her back again at the hotel." "i must go to see her," declared vane. "but won't you and drayton come with us and have dinner?" drayton explained that this was out of the question; kitty's employer, who had driven in that afternoon, was waiting with his team. they left the wharf together, and a few minutes later vane shook hands with the girl and her companion. "don't lose heart," he said encouragingly. "we're far from beaten yet." some time afterward vane, rejoicing in the unusual luxury of clean, dry clothes, walked across to call on nairn. the house struck him as larger, more commodious and better lighted than it had been when he left it, although he supposed that was only the result of his having lived on board the sloop and in the bush. he was shown into a room where jessy horsfield was sitting, and she rose with a slight start when he came in; but her manner was reposeful and quietly friendly when she held out her hand. "so you have come back! have you succeeded in your search?" vane was gratified. it was pleasant to feel that she was interested in his undertaking. "no," he confessed. "for the time being, i'm afraid i have failed." there was reproach in jessy's voice when she answered. "then you have disappointed me!" it was delicate flattery, as she had conveyed the impression that she had expected him to succeed, which implied that she held a high opinion of his abilities. still, she did not mean him to think that he had forfeited the latter. "after all, you must have had a good deal against you," she added consolingly. "won't you sit down and tell me about it? mr. nairn, i understand, is writing some letters, and he sent for mrs. nairn just before you came in. i don't suppose she will be back for a few minutes." she indicated a chair beside the open hearth and vane sat down opposite her, where a low screen cut them off from the rest of the room. a shaded lamp above their heads cast down a soft radiance which lighted a sparkle in the girl's hair, and a red, wood fire glowed cheerfully in front of them. vane, still stiff and aching from exposure to the cold and rain, reveled in the unusual sense of comfort. in addition to this, his companion's pose was singularly graceful, and the ease of it and the friendly smile with which she regarded him somehow implied that they were on excellent terms. "it's very nice to be here again," he said languidly. jessy looked up at him. he had, as she recognized, spoken as he felt, on impulse, and this was more gratifying than an obvious desire to pay her a compliment would have been. "i suppose you didn't get many comforts in the bush," she suggested. "no. comforts of any kind are remarkably scarce up yonder. as a matter of fact, i can't imagine a country where the contrasts between the luxuries of civilization and--the other thing--are sharper. you can step off a first-class car into the wilderness, where no amount of money can buy you better fare than pork, potatoes and dried apples; and if you want to travel you must shoulder your pack and walk. but that wasn't exactly what i meant." "then what did you mean?" "i don't know that it's worth explaining. we have rather luxurious quarters at the hotel, but this room is somehow different. it's restful--i think it's homely--in fact, as i said, it's nice to be here." jessy made no comment. she understood that he had been attempting to analyze his feelings, and had failed clearly to recognize that her presence contributed to the satisfaction of which he was conscious. she had no doubt that if he were a man of average susceptibility, which seemed to be the case, the company of a well-dressed and attractive woman would have some effect on him after his sojourn in the wilds; but whether she had produced any deeper effect than that or not she could not determine. though she was curious upon the point, it did not appear judicious to prompt him unduly. "but won't you tell me your adventures?" she begged. it required a few leading questions to start him but at length he told the story in a manner that compelled her interest. "you see," he concluded, "it was the lack of definite knowledge as much as the natural obstacles that brought us back--and i've been troubled about the thing since we landed." jessy's manner invited his confidence. "i wonder," she said softly, "if you would care to tell me why?" vane knit his brows. "hartley's dead, and i understand that his daughter has broken down after nursing him. it's doubtful whether her situation can be kept open, and it may be some time before she's strong enough to look for another." he hesitated. "in a way, i feel responsible for her." "you really aren't responsible in the least," jessy declared. "still, i can understand the idea's troubling you." "she's left without a cent and unable to work--and i don't know what to do. in an affair of this kind i'm handicapped by being a man." "would you like me to help you?" "i can hardly ask it, but it would be a relief to me," vane answered with obvious eagerness. "then if you'll tell me her address, i'll go to see her, and we'll consider what can be done." vane leaned forward impulsively. "you have taken a weight off my mind. it's difficult to thank you properly." "oh, i don't suppose it will give me any trouble. of course, it must be embarrassing to you to feel that you have a helpless young woman on your hands." then a thought flashed into her mind, as she remembered what she had seen at the station some months ago. "i wonder whether the situation is an altogether unusual one to you?" she queried. "have you never let your pity run away with your judgment before?" "you wouldn't expect me to proclaim my charities," vane parried with a laugh. "i think you are trying to put me off. you haven't given me an answer." "well, perhaps i was able to make things easier for somebody else not very long ago," vane confessed reluctantly but without embarrassment. "i now see that i might have done harm without meaning to do so. it's sometimes extraordinarily difficult to help people--and that makes me especially grateful for your offer." for the next few moments jessy sat silent. it was clear that she had misjudged him, for although she was not one who demanded too much from human nature, the fact that kitty blake had arrived in vancouver in his company had undoubtedly rankled in her mind. now she acquitted him of any blame, and it was a relief to do so. she changed the subject abruptly. "i suppose you will make another attempt to find the timber?" "yes. in a week or two." he had hardly spoken when mrs. nairn came in and welcomed him with her usual friendliness. "i'm glad to see ye, though ye're looking thin," she said. "what's the way ye did not come straight to us, instead of going to the hotel. ye would have got as good a supper as they would give ye there." "i haven't a doubt of it," vane declared. "on the other hand, i hardly think that even one of your suppers would quite have put right the defect in my appearance you mentioned. you see, the cause of it has been at work for some time." mrs. nairn regarded him with half-amused compassion. "if ye'll come over every evening, we'll soon cure that. i would have been down sooner if alic had not kept me. he's writing letters, and there was a matter or two he wanted to ask my opinion on." "i think that was very wise of him," vane commented. his hostess smiled. "for one thing, we had a letter from evelyn chisholm this afternoon. she'll be out to spend some time with us in about a month." "evelyn's coming here?" vane exclaimed, with a sudden stirring of his heart. "why should she no? i told ye some time ago that we partly expected her. ye were no astonished then." she appeared to expect an explanation of the change in his attitude, and as he volunteered none she drew him a few paces aside. "if i'm no betraying a confidence, evelyn writes--i'm no sure of the exact words--that she'll be glad to get away a while. now, i've been wondering why she should be anxious to leave home?" she looked at him fixedly, and, to his annoyance, he felt his face grow hot. mrs. nairn had quick perceptions, and now and then she was painfully direct. "it struck me that evelyn was not very comfortable there," he replied. "she seemed out of harmony with her people--she didn't belong. the same thing," he went on lamely, "applies to mopsy." mrs. nairn glanced at him with a twinkle in her eyes. "it's no unlikely. the reason may serve--for the want of a better." then she changed her tone. "ye'll away up to alic; he told me to send ye." vane went out of the room, but he left jessy in a thoughtful mood. she had seen his start at the mention of evelyn, and it struck her as significant, for she had heard that he had spent some time with the chisholms. on the other hand, there was the obvious fact that he had been astonished to hear that evelyn was coming out, which implied that their acquaintance had not progressed far enough to warrant the girl's informing him. besides, evelyn would not arrive for a month; and jessy reflected that she would probably see a good deal of vane in the meanwhile. she now felt glad that she had promised to look after celia hartley, for that, no doubt, would necessitate her consulting with him every now and then. she endeavored to dismiss the matter from her mind, however, and exerted herself to interest mrs. nairn in a description of a function she had lately attended. chapter xix vane foresees trouble nairn was sitting at a writing-table when vane entered his room, and after a few questions about his journey he handed the younger man one of the papers that lay in front of him. "it's a report from the mine. ye can read and think it over while i finish this letter." vane carefully studied the document, and then waited until nairn laid down his pen. "it only brings us back to our last conversation on the subject," he said when his host glanced at him inquiringly. "we have the choice of going on as we are doing, or extending our operations by an increase of capital. in the latter case, our total earnings might be larger, but i hardly believe there would be as good a return on the money actually sunk. taking it all round, i don't know what to think. of course, if it appeared that there was a moral certainty of making a satisfactory profit on the new stock, i should consent." nairn chuckled. "a moral certainty is no a very common thing in mining." "horsfield's in favor of the scheme. how far would you trust that man?" "about as far as i could fling a bull by the tail. the same thing applies to both of them." "he has some influence. no doubt he'd find supporters." nairn saw that the meaning of his last remark, which implied that he had no more confidence in jessy than he had in her brother, had not been grasped by his companion, but he did not consider it judicious to make it plainer. instead, he gave vane another piece of information. "he and winter work into each other's hands." "but winter has no interest in the clermont!" nairn smiled sourly. "he holds no shares in the mine; but there's no much in the shape of mineral developments yon man has no an interest in. since ye do no seem inclined to yield horsfield a point or two, it might pay ye to watch the pair of them." vane was aware that winter was a person of some importance in financial circles, and he sat thoughtfully silent for a couple of minutes. "now," he explained at length, "every dollar we have in the clermont is usefully employed and earning a satisfactory profit. of course, if we put the concern on the market, we might get more than it is worth from investors; but that doesn't greatly appeal to me." "it's unnecessary to point out that a director's interest is no invariably the same as that of his shareholders," nairn rejoined. "it's an unfortunate fact. yet i'd be no better off if i got only the same actual return on a larger amount of what would be watered stock." "there's sense in that. i'm no urging the scheme--there are other points against it." "well, i'll go up and look round the mine, and then we'll have another talk about the matter." vane walked back to his hotel in a thoughtful frame of mind. finding carroll in the smoking-room, he related his conversation with nairn. "i'm a little troubled about the situation," he confessed. "the clermont finances are now on a sound basis, but it might after all prove advantageous to raise further capital; although in such a case we would, perhaps, lie open to attack. nairn's inclined to be cryptic in his remarks; but he seems to hint that it would be advisable to make horsfield some concession--in other words, to buy him off." "which is a course you have objections to?" "very decided ones." "in a general way, nairn's advice strikes me as quite sensible. wherever mining and other schemes are floated, there are men who make a good living out of the operations. they're trained to the business; they've control of the money; and when a new thing's put on the market, they consider they've the first claim on the pickings. as a rule, that notion seems to be justified." "you needn't elaborate the point," vane broke in impatiently. "you made your appearance in this city as a poor and unknown man with a mine to sell," carroll went on. "disregarding tactful hints, you laid down your terms and stuck to them. launching your venture without considering their views, you did the gentlemen i've mentioned out of their accustomed toll, and i've no doubt that some of them were indignant. it's a thing you couldn't expect them to sanction. now, however, one who probably has others behind him is making overtures to you. you ought to consider it a compliment; a recognition of ability. the question is--do you mean to slight these advances and go on as you have begun?" "that's my present intention," vane answered. "then you needn't be astonished if you find yourself up against a determined opposition." "i think my friends will stand by me." vane looked at him steadily, and carroll laughed. "thanks. i've merely been pointing out what you may expect, and hinting at the most judicious course--though the latter's rather against my natural inclinations. i'd better add that i've never been particularly prudent, and the opposite policy appeals to me. if we're forced to clear for action, we'll nail the flag to the mast." it was spoken lightly, because the man was serious, but vane knew that he had an ally who would support him with unflinching staunchness. "i'm far from sure that it will be needful," he replied. they talked about other matters until they strolled off to their rooms. the next week vane was kept occupied in the city; and then once more they sailed for the north. they pushed inland until they were stopped by snow among the ranges, without finding the spruce. the journey proved as toilsome as the previous one, and both men were worn out when they reached the coast. vane was determined on making a third attempt, but he decided to visit the mine before proceeding to vancouver. they had heavy rain during the voyage down the straits, and when, on the day after reaching port, the jaded horses they had hired plodded up the sloppy trail to the mine a pitiless deluge poured down on them. the light was growing dim among the dripping firs, and a deep-toned roar came throbbing across their shadowy ranks. vane turned and glanced back at carroll. "i've never heard the river so plainly before," he said. "it must be unusually swollen." the mine was situated on a narrow level flat between the hillside and the river, and carroll understood the anxiety in his comrade's voice. urging the wearied horses they pressed on a little faster. it was almost dark, however, when they reached the edge of an opening in the firs and saw a cluster of iron-roofed, wooden buildings and a tall chimney-stack, in front of which the unsightly ore-dump extended. wet, chilled and worn out as the men were, there was comfort in the sight; but vane frowned as he noticed that a shallow lake stretched between him and the buildings. on one side of it there was a broad strip of tumbling foam, which rose and fell in confused upheavals and filled the forest with the roar it made. vane drove his horse into the water; and dismounting among the stumps before the ore-dump, he found a wet and soil-stained man awaiting him. a long trail of smoke floated away from the iron stack behind him, and through the sound of the river there broke the clank and thud of hard-driven pumps. "you have got a big head of steam up, salter," he remarked. the man nodded. "we want it. it's a taking me all my time to keep the water out of the workings; and the boys are over their ankles in the new drift. leave your horses--i'll send along for them--and i'll show you what we've been doing, after supper." "i'd rather go now, while i'm wet," vane answered. "we came straight on as soon as we landed, and i probably shouldn't feel like turning out again when i'd had a meal." salter made a sign of assent, and a few minutes later they went down into the mine. the approach to it looked like a canal, and they descended the shallow shaft amid a thin cascade. the tunnel slanted, for the lode dipped, and the pale lights that twinkled here and there among the timbering showed shadowy, half-naked figures toiling in water which rose well up their boots. further streams of it ran in from fissures; and vane's face grew grave as he plodded through the flood with a lamp in his hand. he spent an hour in the workings, asking salter a question now and then, and afterward went back with him to one of the iron-roofed sheds, where he put on dry clothes and sat down to a meal. when it was over and the table had been cleared, he lay in a canvas chair beside the stove, listening to the resinous billets snapping and crackling cheerfully. the little, brightly lighted room was pleasantly warm, and vane was filled with a languid sense of physical comfort after long exposure to rain and bitter wind. the deluge roared upon the iron roof; the song of the river rose and fell, filling the place with sound; and now and then the pounding and clanking of the pumps broke in. vane examined the sheet of figures salter handed him, and lighted a fresh cigar when he had laid it down. then he carefully turned over some of the pieces of stone which partly covered the table. "there's no doubt that those specimens aren't quite so promising," he said at length; "and the cost of extraction is going up. i'll have a talk with nairn when i get back; but in the meanwhile it looks as if we were going to have trouble with the water." "it's a thing i've been afraid of for some time," salter answered. "we can keep down any leakage that comes in through the rock, though it means driving the pumps hard, but an inrush from the river would beat us. a rise of a foot or so would turn the flood into the workings." he paused and added significantly: "drowning out a mine's a costly matter. my idea is that you ought to double our pumping power and cut down the rock in the river-bed near the rapid. that would take off three or four feet of water." "it would mean a mighty big wages bill." salter nodded gravely. "to do the thing properly would cost a pile of money; but it's an outlay that you'll surely have to face." vane let the matter drop, and an hour later retired to his wooden berth. the roar of the rain upon the vibrating roof was like the roll of a great drum, and the sound of the river's turmoil throbbed through the frail wooden shack; but the man had lain down at night near many a rapid and thundering fall, and in a few minutes he was fast asleep. he was awakened by a new shrill note, which he recognized as the whistle of the pumping engine. it was sounding the alarm. the next moment vane was struggling into his clothing; then the door swung open and salter stood in the entrance, lantern in hand, with water trickling from him. there was keen anxiety in his expression. "flood's lapping the bank top now!" he gasped. "there's a jam in the narrow place at the head of the rapid and the water's backing up! i'm going along with the boys." he vanished as suddenly as he had appeared and vane savagely jerked on his jacket. if the mine were drowned, it would entail a heavy expenditure in pumping plant to clear out the water, and even then operations might be stopped for a considerable time. what was more, it would precipitate a crisis in the affairs of the company and necessitate an increase of its capital. vane was outside in less than a minute and stood still, looking about him, while the deluge lashed his face and beat his clothing against his limbs. he could make out only a blurred mass of climbing trees on one side and a strip of foam cutting through the black level, which he supposed was water, in front of him. his trained ears, however, gave him a little information, for the clamor of the flood was broken by a sharp snapping and crashing which he knew was made by a mass of driftwood driving furiously against the boulders. in that region, the river banks are encumbered here and there with great logs, partly burned by forest fires, reaped by gales or brought down from the hillsides by falls of frost-loosened soil. a flood higher than usual sets them floating, and on subsiding sometimes leaves them packed in a gorge or stranded in a shallow to wait for the next big rise. now they were driving down and, as salter had said, jamming at the head of the rapid. suddenly a column of fierce white radiance leaped up, lower down-stream, and vane knew that a big compressed air-lamp had been carried to the spot where the driftwood was gathering. even at a distance, the brightness of the blaze dazzled him, and he could see nothing else when he headed toward it. he stumbled against a fir stump, and the next minute the splashing about his feet warned him that he was entering the water. having no wish to walk into the main stream, he floundered to one side. getting nearer to the blaze, he soon made out a swarm of shadowy figures scurrying about beneath it. some of them had saws or axes, for he caught the gleam of steel. he broke into a splashing run; and presently carroll, whom he had forgotten, came up calling to him. chapter xx the flood when he reached the blast-lamp, which was raised on a tall tripod, vane stood with his back to the pulsating gaze while he grasped the details of a somewhat impressive scene. a little upstream of him, the river leaped out of the darkness, breaking into foaming waves, and a wall of dripping firs flung back the roar it made, the first rows of serried trunks standing out hard and sharp in the fierce white light. nearer the spot where he stood, a projecting spur of rock narrowed in the river, which boiled tumultuously against its foot, while about halfway across, the top of a giant boulder rose above the flood. vane could just see it, because a mass of driftwood, which was momentarily growing, stretched from bank to bank. a big log, drifting down sidewise, had brought up against the boulder and once fixed had seized and held fast each succeeding trunk. some had been driven partly out upon those that had preceded them; some had been drawn beneath and catching the bottom had jammed; then the rest had been wedged by the current into the gathering mass, trunks, branches and brushwood all finding a place. when the stream is strong, a jam usually extends downward, as well as rises, as the water it pens back increases in depth, until it forms an almost solid barrier from surface to bed. if it occurs during a log-drive the river is choked with valuable lumber. bent figures were at work with handspikes and axes at the shoreward end of the mass; others had crawled out along the logs in search of another point where they could advantageously be attacked; but vane, watching them with practised eye, decided that they were largely throwing their toil away. then he glanced down-stream; but, powerful as the light was, it did not pierce far into the darkness and the rain, and the mad white rush of the rapid vanished abruptly into the surrounding gloom. he caught the clink of a hammer on a drill, and seeing salter not far away, he strode toward him. "how are you getting to work?" he asked. salter pointed to the foot of the rock on which they stood. "i reckoned that if we could put a shot in yonder we might cut out stone enough to clear the butts of the larger logs that are keying up the jam." "you're wasting time--starting at the wrong place." "it's possible; but what am i to do? i'd rather split that boulder or chop down to the king log there--but the boys can't get across." "have they tried?" vane demanded. "i will, if it's necessary." salter expostulated. "i want to point out that you're the boss director of this company. i don't know what you're making out of it; but you can hire men to do that kind of work for three dollars a day." "we'll let the boys try it, if they're willing." vane raised his voice. "are any of you open to earn twenty dollars? i'll pay that to the man who'll put a stick of giant-powder in yonder boulder, and another twenty to any one who can find the king log and chop it through." three or four of them crept cautiously along the driftwood bridge. it heaved and worked beneath them; the foam sluiced across it and the stream forced the thinner tops of shattered trees above the barrier. it was obvious that the men were risking life and limb, and there was a cry from the others when one of them went down and momentarily disappeared. he scrambled to his feet again, but those behind him stopped, bracing themselves against the stream, nearly waist-deep in rushing froth. most of them had followed rough and dangerous occupations in the bush; but they were not professional river-jacks trained to high proficiency in log-driving, and one of them, turning, shouted to the watchers on the bank. "this jam's not solid!" he explained above the roar of the water. "she's working open and shutting; and you can't tell where the breaks are." he stooped and rubbed his leg, and vane understood him to add: "figured i had it smashed." vane swung round toward carroll. "we'll give them a lead!" salter ventured another expostulation: "stay where you are! how are you going to manage, if the boys can't tackle the thing?" "they haven't as much at stake as i have," was vane's reply. "i'm a director of the company, as you pointed out. give me two sticks of giant-powder, some fuse, and detonators!" salter yielded when he saw that vane meant to be obeyed; and cramming the blasting material into his pocket, vane turned to carroll. "are you coming with me?" "since i can't stop you, i suppose i'd better go." as they sprang down the bank, salter addressed one of the miners at work near him. "i've seen a few company bosses in my time, but this one's different from the rest. i can't imagine any of the others wanting to cross that jam." vane crawled out on the groaning timber, with carroll a few feet behind him. the perilous bridge they traversed rolled beneath their feet; but they had joined the other men before they came to any particularly troublesome opening. then the clustering wet figures were brought up by a gap filled with leaping foam, in the midst of which brushwood swung to and fro and projecting branches ground on one another. whether there was solid timber a foot or two beneath, or only the entrance to some cavity by which the stream swept through the barrier, there was nothing to show; but vane set his lips and leaped. he alighted on something that bore him, and when the others followed, floundering and splashing, the deliberation which hitherto had characterized their movements suddenly deserted them. they had reached the limit beyond which it was no longer needful. there is courage which springs from knowledge, often painfully acquired, of the threatened dangers and the best means of avoiding them; but it carries its possessor only so far. beyond that point he must face the risk he cannot estimate and blindly trust to chance. at sea, when canvas is still the propelling power, and in the wilderness, man at grips with the elemental forces must now and then rise above bodily shrinking and disregard the warnings of reason. there are tasks which cannot be undertaken in cold blood; and when they had crossed the gap, vane and those behind him blundered on in hot berserker fury. they had risen to the demand on them, and the curious psychic change had come; now they must achieve success or face annihilation. but in this there was nothing unusual; it is the alternative offered many a log-driver, miner and sailorman. neither vane nor carroll, nor any of those who assisted them, had a clear recollection of what they did. somehow they reached the boulder; somehow they plied ax or iron-hooked peevy, while the unstable, foam-lapped platform rocked beneath their feet. every movement entailed a peril no one could calculate; but they toiled savagely on. when vane began to swing a hammer above a drill, or from whom he got it, he did not know, any more than he remembered when he had torn off and thrown away his jacket although the sticks of giant-powder which had been in his pocket lay near him upon the stone. sparks leaped from the drill which carroll held and fell among the coils of snaky fuse; but that did not trouble them; and it was only when vane was breathless that he changed places with his companion. they heard neither the turmoil of the flood nor the crashing of the timber, and the foam that lapped their long boots whirled unheeded by. about them, bowed figures that breathed in stertorous gasps grappled desperately with the grinding, smashing timber. sometimes they were forced up in harsh distinctness by a dazzling glare; sometimes they faded into blurred shadows as the pulsating flame upon the bank sank a little or was momentarily blown aside; but all the while gorged veins rose on bronzed foreheads and toil-hardened muscles were taxed to the utmost. at last, when a trunk rolled beneath him, carroll missed a stroke and realized with a shock of dismay that it was not the drill he had struck with his hammer. "i couldn't help it!" he gasped. "where did i hit you?" "get on!" vane cried hoarsely; "i can hold the drill." carroll struck for a few more minutes, and then flung down the hammer and inserted the giant-powder into the holes sunk in the stone. he lighted the fuse and, warning the others, they hastily recrossed the dangerous bridge. they had reached the edge of the forest when, a flash leaped up amid the foam and a sharp crash was followed by a deafening, drawn-out uproar. rending, grinding, smashing, the jam broke up. it hammered upon the partly shattered boulder, and, carrying it away or driving over it, washed in tremendous ruin down the rapid. when the wild clamor had subsided, salter gave the men some instructions; and then, as they approached the lamp, he noticed vane's reddened hand. "that looks a nasty smash; you want to get it seen to," he advised. "i'll get it dressed at the settlement; we'll make an early start to-morrow. we were lucky in breaking the jam; but you'll have the same trouble over again any time a heavy flood brings down an unusual quantity of driftwood." "it's what i'd expect." "then something will have to be done to prevent it. i'll go into the matter when i reach the city." carroll and vane walked back to the shack, where the latter bound up his comrade's injured hand. when he had done so, vane managed to light a cigar, and lying back, still very wet, he looked thoughtful. "we can't risk having the workings drowned; but i'm afraid the cost of the remedy will force me into sanctioning some scheme for increasing our capital." "its a very common procedure," carroll rejoined. "i've wondered why you had so strong an objection to it. of course, i've heard your business reasons." vane smiled. "i have some of a different kind--we'll call them sentimental ones--though i don't think i quite realized it until lately." "you're not given to introspection. go on; i think i know what's coming." "to put the thing into words may help me to formulate my ideas; they're rather hazy. well, ostensibly, i left england as the result of a difference of opinion--which i've regretted ever since--though i know now that really it was from another cause. i wanted room, i wanted freedom; and i got them both--freedom either to do work that nearly broke my heart and wore the flesh off me or to starve." "the experience is not an unusual one." "eventually," vane proceeded, "i managed to get on my feet. i suppose i got rather proud of myself when i beat the city men over the floating of the mine, and i began to think of going back to the sphere of life in which i was born--excuse the phrase." "it looked nice, from a distance," carroll suggested. "it was tolerable in vancouver; anyway, while i could go straight ahead and interest myself in the development of the mine. i began to expect a good deal from my english visit." carroll laughed softly before he helped him out. "and you were bitterly disappointed. it's a very old tale. you had cut loose--and you couldn't get back when you wanted to." "i suppose i'd changed: the bush had got hold of me. the ways and views of the people over yonder didn't seem to be those i remembered. they couldn't look at things from my standpoint; i wouldn't adopt theirs. you and i have had to face--realities." "hunger," corrected carroll softly; "wet snow to sleep in; bodily exhaustion. they probably teach one something, or, at any rate, they alter one's point of view. when you've marched for days on half rations, some things don't seem so important--how you put on your clothes, for instance, or how your dinner's served. but i don't see yet what bearing this has on your reluctance to extend the clermont operations." "i could act as director, with such men as nairn, when it was a question of running a mine; but it's doubtful if i'd make a successful financial juggler. it's hard to keep one's hands off some of the professional tricksters. bluff, assumption, make-believe--pshaw! i've had enough of them. better stick to the ax and cross-cut; that's what i feel to-night." "now that you've relieved your mind, i'll show you where you were wrong. you said that you had changed in the wilderness--you haven't; your kind are fore-loopers born. your place is with the vedettes, ahead of the massed columns. but there's a point that strikes one--is your objection to financial scheming due to honesty or pride?" vane laughed. "i suspect a good deal of it's bad temper. anyhow, i've felt that rather than truckle with that fellow horsfield i'd like to pitch him down the stairs. but all this is pretty random talk." "it is," carroll agreed. "you haven't said whether you intend to authorize that extension of capital?" "i suppose it will have to be done. and now it's very late and i'm going to sleep." they retired to the wooden bunks salter had placed at their disposal; and early the next morning they left the mine. vane got his hand dressed when they reached the little mining town at the head of the railroad, and on the following day they arrived in vancouver. chapter xxi vane yields a point the short afternoon was drawing toward its close when vane came out of a large building in the city. glancing at his watch, he stopped on the steps. "the meeting went pretty satisfactorily, taking it all round," he remarked to carroll. "i think so," agreed his companion. "but i'm far from sure that horsfield was pleased with the stockholders' decision." vane smiled in a thoughtful manner. after returning from the mine, he had gone inland to examine a new irrigation property in which he had been asked to take an interest, and had got back only in time for a meeting of the clermont shareholders, which nairn had arranged in his absence. the meeting, of the kind that is sometimes correctly described as extraordinary, was just over, and though vane had been forced to yield to a majority on some points, he had secured the abandonment of a proposition he considered dangerous. "though i don't see what the man could have gained by it, i'm inclined to believe that if nairn and i had been absent he'd have carried his total reconstruction scheme. that wouldn't have pleased me." "i thought it injudicious." "it was only because we must raise more money that i agreed to the issue of the new block of shares," vane went on. "we ought to pay a fair dividend on the moderate sum in question." "you think you'll get it?" "i've not much doubt." carroll made no reply to this. vane was capable and forceful; but his abilities were of a practical rather than a diplomatic order, and he was occasionally addicted to somewhat headstrong action. knowing that he had a very cunning antagonist intriguing against him, his companion had misgivings. "shall we walk back to the hotel?" he suggested. "no," answered vane; "i'll go across and see how celia hartley's getting on. i'm afraid i've been forgetting her." "then i'll come too. you may need me; there are matters which you're not to be trusted to deal with alone." just then nairn came down the steps and waved his hand to them. "ye will no forget that mrs. nairn is expecting both of ye this evening." he passed on, and they set off together across the city toward the district where celia lived. though the quarter in question may have been improved out of existence since, a few years ago rows of low-rented shacks stood upon mounds of sweating sawdust which had been dumped into a swampy hollow. leaky, frail and fissured, they were not the kind of places anyone who could help it would choose to live in; but vane found the sick girl still installed in one of the worst of them. she looked pale and haggard; but she was busily at work upon some millinery; and the light of a tin lamp showed drayton and kitty blake sitting near her. there were cracks in the thin, boarded walls, from which a faint resinous odor exuded, but it failed to hide the sour smell of the wet sawdust upon which the shack was built. the room, which was almost bare of furniture, felt damp and unwholesome. "you oughtn't to be at work; you don't look fit," vane said to celia. he paused a moment, hesitating, before he added: "i'm sorry we couldn't find that spruce; but, as i told drayton, we're going back to try again." the girl smiled bravely. "then you'll find it the next time. i'm glad i'm able to do a little; it brings in a few dollars." "but what are you doing?" "making hats. i did one for miss horsfield, and afterward some friends of hers sent me two or three more to trim. she said she'd try to get me work from one of the big stores." "but you're not a milliner, are you?" asked vane, feeling grateful to jessy for the practical way in which she had kept her promise to assist. "celia's something better," kitty broke in. "she's a genius." "isn't that a slight on the profession?" vane laughed. he was anxious to lead the conversation away from miss horsfield's action; he shrank from figuring as the benefactor who had prompted her. "i'm not quite sure," he continued, "what genius really is." "i don't altogether agree with the definition of it as the capacity for taking infinite pains," carroll, guessing his companion's thoughts, remarked with mock sententiousness. "in miss hartley's case, it strikes me as the instinctive ability to evolve a finished work of art from a few fripperies, without the aid of technical training. give her two or three feathers, a yard of ribbon and a handful of mixed sundries, and she'll magically transmute them into--this." he took up a hat from the table and surveyed it with an air of critical intelligence. "it was innate genius that set this plume at the one artistic angle. had it been done by less capable hands, the thing would have looked like a decorated beehive." the others laughed, and he led them on to general chatter, under cover of which vane presently drew drayton to the door. "the girl looks far from fit," he said. "has the doctor been over lately?" "two or three days ago," answered drayton. "we've been worried about celia. it's out of the question that she should go back to the hotel, and she can only manage to work a few hours daily. there's another thing--the clerk of the fellow who owns these shacks has just been along for his rent. it's overdue." "where's he now?" drayton laughed, for the sounds of a vigorous altercation rose from farther up the unlighted street. "i guess he's yonder, having some more trouble with his collecting." "i'll fix that matter, anyway." vane disappeared into the darkness, and it was some time later when he re-entered the shack. he waited until a remark of celia's gave him a lead. "you're really a partner in the lumber scheme," he told her; "i can't see why you shouldn't draw part of your share in the proceeds beforehand." "the first payment isn't to be made until you find the spruce and get your lease," the girl reminded him. "you've already paid a hundred dollars that we had no claim on." "that doesn't matter; i'm going to find it." "yes," agreed celia, with a look of confidence, "i think you will. but"--a flicker of color crept into her thin face--"i can't take any more money until it is found." vane, failing in another attempt to shake her resolution, dropped the subject, and soon afterward he and carroll took their departure. they were sitting in their hotel, waiting for dinner, when carroll looked up lazily from his luxurious chair. "what are you thinking about so hard?" he inquired. vane glanced meaningly round the elaborately furnished room. "there's a contrast between all this and that rotten shack. did you notice that celia never stopped sewing while we were there, though she once or twice leaned back rather heavily in her chair?" "i did. i suppose you're going to propound another conundrum of a kind i've heard before--why you should have so many things you don't particularly need, while miss hartley must go on sewing when she's hardly able for it in her most unpleasant shack? i don't know whether the fact that you found a mine answers the question; but if it doesn't the thing's beyond your philosophy." "come off!" vane bade him with signs of impatience. "there are times when your moralizing gets on one's nerves. anyhow, i straightened out one difficulty--i found the rent man, who'd been round worrying her, and got rid of him." carroll groaned in mock dismay, which covered some genuine annoyance with himself; but vane frowned. "what's the matter?" he inquired. "do you want a drink?" "i'll get over it," carroll informed him. "it isn't the first time i've suffered from the same complaint. but i'd like to point out that your chivalrous impulses may be the ruin of you some day. why didn't you let drayton settle with the man? you gave him a check, i suppose?" "sure. i'd only a few loose dollars with me." vane frowned again. "now i see what you're driving at; and i want to say that any little reputation i possess can pretty well take care of itself." "just so. no doubt it will be necessary; but it doesn't seem to have struck you that you're not the only person concerned." "it didn't," vane confessed with a further show of irritation. "but who's likely to hear or take any notice of the thing?" "i can't tell; but you make enemies as well as friends, and you're walking in slippery places which you're not altogether accustomed to. you can't meet your difficulties with the ax here." "that's true," assented vane. "it's rather a pity. anyhow, i'm not to be scared out of my interest in celia hartley." "what is your interest in her? it's a question that may be asked." "as you pretend that you don't know, i'll have pleasure in telling you again. when i first struck this city, played out and ragged, she was waitress at a little hotel, and she brought me a double portion of the nicest things at supper. what's more, she sewed up some of my clothes, and i struck a job on the strength of looking comparatively decent. it's the kind of thing you're apt to remember. one doesn't meet with too much kindness in this blamed censorious world." "i'd expect you to remember," carroll smiled. they went in to dinner and when the meal was over they walked across to nairn's. they were ushered into a room in which several other guests were assembled, and vane sat down beside jessy horsfield. a place on the sofa she occupied was invitingly empty; he did not know, of course, that she had adroitly got rid of her previous companion as soon as he came in. "i want to thank you; i was over at miss hartley's this afternoon," he began. "i understood that you were at the mining meeting." "so i was, your brother would tell you that--" vane broke off, remembering that he had defeated horsfield; but jessy laughed encouragingly. "he did so--you were opposed to him; but it doesn't follow that i share all his views. perhaps i ought to be a stauncher partizan." "if you'll be just to both of us, i'll be satisfied." jessy reflected that while this was, no doubt, a commendable sentiment, he might have made a better use of the opening she had given him by at least hinting that he would value her sympathy. "i suppose that means that you're convinced of the equity of your cause?" she suggested. "i dare say i deserve the rebuke; but aren't you trying to switch me off the subject?" vane retorted with a laugh. "it's celia hartley that i want to talk about." he did her an injustice. jessy felt that she had earned his gratitude, and she had no objection to his expressing it. "it was a happy thought of yours to give her hats and things to make; i'm ever so much obliged to you," he went on. "i felt that you could be trusted to think of the right thing. an ingenious idea of that kind would never have occurred to me." jessy smiled up at him. "it was very simple," she said sweetly. "i noticed a hat and dress of hers, which she admitted she had made. the girl has some talent; i'm only sorry i can't keep her busy." "couldn't you give her an order for a dozen hats? i'd be glad to be responsible." jessy laughed. "the difficulty would be the disposal of them. they would be of no use to you; and i couldn't allow you to present them to me." "i wish i could," vane declared. "you certainly deserve them." this was satisfactory, so far as it went, though jessy would have preferred that his desire to bestow the favor should have sprung from some other motive than a recognition of her services to celia hartley. she was, however, convinced that his only feeling toward the girl was one of compassion. then she saw that he was looking at her with half-humorous annoyance in his face. "are you really grieved because i won't take those hats?" she asked lightly. "i am," vane confessed, and then proceeded to explain with rather unnecessary ingenuousness: "i'm still more vexed with the state of things that it's typical of--i suppose i mean the restrictedness of this civilized life. when you want to do anything in the bush, you take the ax and set about it; but here you're continually running up against some quite unnecessary barrier." "one understands that it's worse in england," jessy returned dryly. "but in regard to miss hartley, i'll recommend her to my friends, as far as i can." vane made an abrupt movement, and jessy realized by his expression that he had suddenly become oblivious of her presence. she had no doubt about the reason, for just then evelyn chisholm had entered the room. the lamplight fell upon her as she crossed the threshold, and jessy recognized unwillingly that she looked surprisingly handsome. handsome, however, was not the word vane would have used. he thought evelyn looked exotic: highly cultivated, strangely refined, as though she had grown up in a rarefied atmosphere in which nothing rank could thrive. exactly what suggested this it was difficult to define; but the man felt that she had brought along with her the clean, chill air of the heights where the cloud-berries bloom. she was a flower of the dim and misty north, which has nevertheless its flashes of radiant, ethereal beauty. though evelyn had her faults, the impression she made on vane was, perhaps, more or less justifiable. then he remembered that the girl had been offered to him and he had refused the gift. he wondered how he had exerted the necessary strength of will, for he was conscious that admiration, respect, pity, had now, changed and melted into sudden passion. his blood tingled, and he felt strangely happy. laying a check upon his thoughts, he resumed a desultory conversation with jessy, but he betrayed himself several times during it, for no change of his expression was lost upon the girl. at length she let him go. it was some time, however, before he secured a place beside evelyn, a little apart from the others. he was now unusually quiet and self-contained. "nairn promised me an astonishment this evening, but it exceeds all my expectations," he said. "how are your people?" evelyn informed him that their health was satisfactory and added, watching him the while: "gerald sent his best remembrances." "thank you," vane responded in a casual manner; "i am glad to have them." evelyn was now convinced that mabel had been correct in concluding that he had assisted gerald financially, though she was aware that nothing would induce either of the men to acquaint her with the fact. "and mopsy?" he inquired. "i left her in tears because she could not come. she sent you so many confused messages that i'm afraid i've forgotten them." vane's face grew gentle. "dear little girl! it's a pity you couldn't have brought her. mopsy and i are great friends." evelyn smiled at him. the tenderness of the man appealed to her; and she knew that to be the friend of anyone meant a good deal to him. "you are her hero," she told him. "i don't think it is because you pulled her out of the water, either; in fact, i think you won her regard when you mended her canoe. you have a reputation to keep up with mopsy." there was no answering smile in vane's eyes. "well, i shouldn't like to disappoint her; but isn't it curious what effect some things have? a patch on mopsy's canoe, for instance--and i've known a piece of cold pie carry with it a big obligation." the last was somewhat cryptic, and evelyn looked at him with surprise, until it dawned on her that he had merely been half-consciously expressing a wandering thought aloud. "i understood from mrs. nairn that you were away in the bush," she said. "that was the case; and i'm shortly going off again. perhaps it's fortunate that i may be away some time. it will leave you more at ease." the last remark was more of a question than an assertion. evelyn knew that the man could be direct; and she esteemed candor. "no," she answered; "i shouldn't wish you to think that--and i shouldn't like to believe that i had anything to do with driving you away." vane saw a faintly warmer tone show through the clear pallor of her skin, but while his heart beat faster than usual he recognized that she meant just what she said and nothing more. he must proceed with caution, and this, on the whole, was foreign to him. shortly afterward he left her. when he had gone, evelyn sat thinking about him. she had shrunk from the man in rebellious alarm when her parents would have bestowed her hand on him; but even then, and undoubtedly afterward, she had felt that there was something in his nature which would have attracted her had she been willing to allow it to do so. now, though he had said nothing to rouse it, the feeling had grown stronger. then she remembered with a curious smile her father's indignation when vane had withdrawn from the field. he had done this because she had appealed to his generosity, and she had been grateful to him; but, unreasonable as she admitted the faint resentment she was conscious of to be, the recollection of the fact that he had yielded to her wishes was somehow bitter. in the meanwhile carroll had taken his place by jessy's side. "i understand that you steered your comrade satisfactorily through the meeting to-day," she began. "no," objected carrol; "i can't claim any credit for doing so. in matters of that kind vane takes full control; and i'm willing to own that he drove us all, including your brother, on the course he chose." jessy laughed good-humoredly. "then it's in other matters you exercise a little judicious pressure on the helm?" the man looked at her in well-assumed admiration of her keenness. "i don't know how you guessed it, but i suppose it's a fact. it's an open secret, however, that vane's now and then unguardedly ingenuous; indeed, there are respects in which he's a babe by comparison with, we'll say, either of us." "that's rather a dubious compliment. by the way, what do you think of miss chisholm? i suppose you saw a good deal of her in england?" carroll's eyes twinkled. "i spent a month or two in her company; so did vane. i fancy she's rather like him in several ways; and there are reasons for believing that he thinks a good deal of her." having watched vane carefully when evelyn came in, jessy was inclined to agree with him. she glanced round the room. one or two people were moving about and the others were talking in little groups; but there was nobody very near, and she fancied that she and her companion were safe from interruption. "what are some of the reasons?" she asked boldly. carroll had expected some question of this description, and had decided to answer it plainly. it seemed probable that jessy would get the information out of him in one way or another, anyway; and he had also another reason, which he thought a commendable one. jessy had obviously taken a certain interest in vane, but it could not have gone very far as yet, and vane did not reciprocate it. his comrade, however, was impulsive, while jessy was calculating and clever; and carroll foresaw that complications might follow any increase of friendliness between her and vane. he thought it might be wise to warn her to leave vane alone. "well," he answered, "since you have asked, i'll try to tell you." he proceeded to recount what had passed at the dene and jessy listened, sitting perfectly still, with an expressionless face. "so he gave her up--because he admired her?" she said at length. "that's my view of it. of course, it sounds unlikely, but i don't think it is so in my partner's case." jessy made no comment, but he felt that she was hit hard, and that was not what he had anticipated. he began to wonder whether he had acted judiciously. he glanced about the room, as it did not seem considerate to study her expression just then. a few moments later she turned to him with a smile in which there was the faintest hint of strain. "i dare say you are right; but there are one or two people to whom i haven't spoken." she moved away from him, and a little while afterward mrs. nairn came upon carroll standing for the moment alone. "it's no often one sees ye looking moody," she said. "was jessy no gracious?" "that," replied carroll, smiling, "is not the difficulty. i'm an unsusceptible and a somewhat inconspicuous person--not worth powder and shot, so to speak; for which i'm sometimes thankful. i believe it saves me a good deal of trouble." "then is it something vane has done that is on your mind? doubtless, ye feel him a responsibility." "he's what you'd call all that," carroll declared. "still, you see, i've constituted myself his guardian. i don't know why; he'd probably be very vexed if he suspected it." "the gods give ye a good conceit of yourself," mrs. nairn laughed. "i need it. this afternoon i let him do a most injudicious thing; and now i've done another which i fear is worse. on the whole, i think i'd better take him away to the bush. he'd be safer there." "ye will no; no just now," declared his hostess firmly. carroll made a sign of resignation. "oh, well," he agreed, "if you say so. i'm quite willing to stand out and let things alone. too many cooks are apt to spoil the kale." mrs. nairn left him, but she afterward glanced thoughtfully once or twice at vane and evelyn, who had again drawn together. chapter xxii evelyn goes for a sail vane sat in nairn's office with a frown on his face. specimens of ore lately received from the mine were scattered about a table and nairn had some papers in his hand. "weel?" inquired the scotchman when vane, after examining two or three of the stones, abruptly flung them down. "the ore's running poorer. on the other hand, i partly expected this. there's better stuff in the reef. we're a little too high, for one thing; i look for more encouraging results when we start the lower heading." he went into details of the new operations, and when he finished nairn looked up from the figures he had been jotting down. "yon workings will cost a good deal," he pointed out "ye will no be able to make a start until we're sure of the money." "we ought to get it." nairn looked thoughtful. "a month or two ago, i would have agreed with ye; but general investors are kittle folk, and the applications for the new stock are no numerous." "howitson promised to subscribe largely; and bendle pledged himself to take a considerable block." "i'm no denying it. but we have no been favored with their formal applications yet." "you had better tell me if you have anything particular in your mind," vane said bluntly. an unqualified affirmation is not strictly in accordance with the scottish character, and nairn was seldom rash. "i would have ye remember what i told ye about the average investor," he replied. "he has no often the boldness to trust his judgment nor the sense to ken a good thing when he sees it--he waits for a lead, and then joins the rush when other folk are going in. what makes a mineral or other stock a favorite for a time is now and then no easy to determine; but we'll allow that it becomes so--ye will see men who should have mair sense thronging to buy and running the price up. like sheep they come in, each following the other; and like sheep they run out, if anything scares them. it's no difficult to start a panic." "the plain english of it is that the mine is not so popular as it was," retorted vane impatiently. "i'm thinking something of the kind," nairn agreed. then he proceeded with a cautious explanation: "the result of the first reduction and the way ye forced the concern on the market secured ye notice. folk put their money on ye, looking for sensational developments, and when the latter are no forthcoming they feel a bit sore and disappointed." "there's nothing discouraging in our accounts. even if the ore all ran as poor as that,"--vane pointed to the specimens on the table--"the mine could be worked on a reasonably satisfactory paying basis. we have issued no statements that could spread alarm." "just so. what was looked for was more than reasonable satisfaction--ye have no come up to expectations. forby, it's my opinion that damaging reports have somehow leaked out from the mine. just now i see clouds on the horizon." "bendle pledged himself to take up a big block of the shares," repeated vane. "if howitson does the same, as he said he would, our position would be secure. as soon as it was known that they were largely interested, others would follow them." "now ye have it in a nutshell--it would put a wet blanket on the project if they both backed down. in the meanwhile we canna hurry them. ye will have to give them time." vane rose. "we'll leave it at that. i've promised to take mrs. nairn and miss chisholm for a sail." by the time he reached the water-front he had got rid of the slight uneasiness the interview had occasioned him. he found mrs. nairn and evelyn awaiting him with carroll in attendance, and in a few minutes they were rowing off to the sloop. as they approached her, the elder lady glanced with evident approval at the craft, which swam, a gleaming ivory shape, upon the shining green brine. "ye have surely been painting the boat," she exclaimed. "was that for us?" vane disregarded the question. "she wanted it, and paint's comparatively cheap. it has been good drying weather the last few days." it was a little thing, but evelyn was pleased. the girls had not been greatly considered at the dene, and it was flattering to recognize that the man had thought it worth while to decorate his craft in her honor; she supposed it had entailed a certain amount of work. she did not ask herself if he had wished to please her; he had invited her for a sail some days ago, and he was thorough in everything he did. he helped her and mrs. nairn on board and when they sat down in the well he and carroll proceeded to hoist the mainsail. it looked exceedingly large as it thrashed and fluttered above their heads, and there seemed to be a bewildering quantity of ropes, but evelyn was interested chiefly in watching vane. he was wonderfully quick, but no movement was wasted. his face was intent, his glances sharp, and she liked the crisp, curt way in which he spoke to carroll. the man's task was, in one sense, not important, but he was absorbed in it. then while carroll slipped the moorings, vane ran up the headsails and springing aft seized the tiller as the boat, slanting over, commenced to forge through the water. it was the first time evelyn had ever traveled under sail and, receptive as she was of all new impressions she sat silent a few minutes rejoicing in the sense of swift and easy motion. the inlet was crisped by small white ripples, and the boat with her boom broad off on her quarter drove through them, with a wedge of foam on her lee bow and a stream of froth sluicing past her sides. overhead, the great inclined sail cut, sharply white, against the dazzling blue of the mid-morning sky. evelyn glanced farther around. wharves stacked with lumber, railroad track, clustering roofs, smoking mills, were flitting fast astern. ahead, a big side-wheel steamer was forging, foam-ringed, toward her, with the tall spars of a four-master towering behind, and stately pines, that apparently walled in the harbor, a little to one side. to starboard, beyond the wide stretch of white-flecked water, mountains ran back in ranks, with the chilly gleam of snow, which had crept lower since her arrival, upon their shoulders. it was a sharp contrast: the noisy, raw-new city and, so close at hand, the fringe of the wilderness. they swept out through the gate of the narrows, and vane luffed the boat up to a moderately fresh breeze. "it's off the land, and we'll have fairly smooth water," he explained. "how do you like sailing?" evelyn watched the white ridges, which were larger than the ripples in the inlet, smash in swift succession upon the weather bow and hurl the glittering spray into the straining mainsail. there was something fascinating in the way the gently-swaying boat clove through them. "it's glorious!" she cried, looking first ahead then back toward the distant snow. "if anything more were wanted, there are the mountains, too." vane smiled, but there was a suggestive sparkle in his eyes. "yes; we have them both, and that's something to be thankful for. the sea and the mountains--the two grandest things in this world!" "if you think that, how did you reconcile yourself to the city?" "i'm not sure that i've done so." he indicated the gleaming heights. "anyway, i'm going back up yonder very soon." mrs. nairn glanced at carroll, who affected to be busy with a rope; then she turned to vane. "it will no be possible with winter coming on." "it's not really so bad then," vane declared. "besides, i expect to get my work done before the hardest weather's due." "but ye canna leave vancouver until ye have settled about the mine!" "i don't want to," vane admitted. "that's not quite the same thing." "it is with a good many people," carroll interposed with a smile. evelyn fancied that there was something behind all this, but it did not directly concern her and she made no inquiry. in the meanwhile they were driving on to the southward, opening up the straits, with the forests to port growing smaller and the short seas increasing in size. the breeze was cold, but the girl was warmly clad and the easy motion in no way troubled her. the rush of keen salt air stirred her blood, and all round her were spread wonderful harmonies of silver-laced blue and green, through which the straining fabric that carried her swept on. the mountains were majestic, but except when tempests lashed their crags or torrents swept their lower slopes they were wrapped in eternal repose; the sea was filled with ecstatic motion. "the hills have their fascination; it's a thing i know," she said, to draw the helmsman out. "i think i should like the sea, too; but at first sight it's charm isn't quite so plain." "you have started him," interposed carroll. "he won't refuse that challenge." vane accepted it with a smile which meant more than good-humored indulgence. "well," he declared, "the sea's the same everywhere, unbridled, unchanging; a force that remains as it was in the beginning. once you're out of harbor, under sail, you have done with civilization. it has possibly provided you with excellent gear, but it can do no more; you stand alone, stripped for the struggle with the elements." "is it always a struggle?" "always. the sea's as treacherous as the winds that vex it, pitiless, murderous. when you have only sail to trust to, you can never relax your vigilance; you must watch the varying drift of clouds and the swing of the certain tides. there's nothing and nobody to fall back upon when the breeze pipes its challenge; you have sloughed off civilization and must stand or fall by the raw natural powers with which man is born, and chief among them is the capacity for brutal labor. the thrashing sail must be mastered; the tackle creaking with the strain must be hauled in. perhaps, that's the charm of it for some of us whose lives are pretty smooth--it takes one back, as i said, to the beginning." "but haven't human progress and machines made life more smooth for everybody?" vane laughed somewhat grimly. "oh, no; i think that can never be done. so far, somebody pays for the others' ease. at sea, in the mine and in the bush man still grapples with a rugged, naked world." the girl was pleased. she had drawn him out, and she thought that in speaking he had kept a fair balance between too crude a mode of colloquial expression and poetic elaboration. there was, she knew, a vein of poetic conception in him, and the struggle he had hinted at could be described fittingly only in heroic language. it was in one sense a pity that those who had the gift of it and cultivated imagination had, for the most part, never been forced into the fight; but that was, perhaps, not a matter of much importance. there were plenty of men, such as her companion, endowed with steadfast endurance who, if they seldom gave their thoughts free rein, rejoiced in the struggle; and by them the world's sternest work was clone. "after all," she went on, "we have the mountains in civilized england." vane did not respond with the same freedom this time. he was inclined to think he had spoken too unrestrainedly. "yes," he agreed, smiling; "you can walk about them--where you won't disturb the grouse--and they're grand enough; but if you look down you can see the motor dust trails and the tourist coaches in the valleys." "but why shouldn't people enjoy themselves in that way?" "i can't think of any reason. no doubt most of them have earned the right to do so. but you can't rip up those hills with giant-powder where you feel inclined, or set to work to root out some miles of forest. the government encourages that kind of thing here." "and that's the charm?" "yes; i suppose it is." "i'd better explain," carroll interposed. "men of a certain temperament are apt to fall a prey to fantasies in the newer lands; any common sense they once possessed seems to desert them. after that, they're never happy except when they're ripping things--such as big rocks and trees--to pieces, and though they'll tell you it's only to get out minerals or to clear a ranch, they're wrong. once they get the mine or ranch, they don't care about it; they set to work wrecking things again. isn't that true, mrs. nairn?" "there are such crazy bodies," agreed the lady. "i know one or two; but if i had my way with them, they should find one mine, or build one sawmill." "and then," supplied carroll, "you would chain them up for good by marrying them." "i would like to try, but i'm no sure it would act in every case. i have come across some women as bad as the men; they would drive their husbands on." she smiled in a half wistful manner. "maybe," she added, "it's as well to do something worth the remembering when ye are young. there's a long while to sit still in afterward." half in banter and half in earnest, they had given evelyn a hint of the master passion of the true colonist, whose pride is in his burden. afterward, mrs. nairn led the conversation until carroll laid out in the saloon a somewhat elaborate lunch which he had brought from the hotel. then the others went below, leaving vane at the helm. when they came up again, carroll looked at his comrade ruefully. "i'm afraid miss chisholm's disappointed," he said. "no," declared evelyn; "that would be most ungrateful. i only expected a more characteristic example of sea cookery. after what mr. vane told us, a lunch like the one you provided, with glass and silver, struck me as rather an anachronism." "it's better to be broken in to sea cookery gently," vane interposed with some dryness. evelyn laughed. "it's a poor compliment to take it for granted that we're afraid of a little hardship. besides, i don't think you're right." vane left the helm to carroll and went below. "he won't be long," carroll informed the girl, with a smile. "he hasn't got rid of all his primitive habits yet. i'll give him ten minutes." when vane came up, he glanced about him before he resumed the helm and noticed that it was blowing fresher. they were also drawing out from the land and the short seas were getting bigger; but he held on to the whole sail, and an hour or so afterward a white iron bark, light in ballast, with her rusty load-line high above the water, came driving up to meet them. she made a striking picture, evelyn thought, with the great curve of her forecourse, which was still set, stretching high above the foam that spouted about her bows and tier upon tier of gray canvas diminishing aloft. with the wind upon her quarter, she rode on an even keel, and the long iron hull, gleaming snowily in the sunshine, drove on, majestic, through a field of white-flecked green and azure. abreast of one quarter, a propeller tug that barely kept pace with her belched out a cloud of smoke. "her skipper's been up here before--he's no doubt coming for salmon," vane explained. then he turned to carroll. "we'd better pass to lee of her." carroll let a foot or two of a rope run out and the sloop's bows swung round a little. her rail was just awash, and she was sailing very fast. then her deck slanted more sharply and the low rail became submerged in rushing foam. "we'll heave down a reef when we're clear of the bark," vane said. the vessel was now to windward and coming up rapidly; to shorten sail they must first round up the boat, for which they no longer had room. a few moments later a fiercer blast swept suddenly down and the water boiled white between the bark and the sloop. the latter's deck dipped deeper until the lower part of it was lost in streaming froth. carroll made an abrupt movement. "shall i drop the peak?" "no. there's the propeller close to lee." the tug was hidden by the inclined sail, but evelyn, clinging tightly to the coaming, understood that they were running into the gap between the two vessels and in order to avoid collision with one or the other, must hold on as they were through the stress of the squall. how much more the boat would stand she did not know, but it looked as if it were going over bodily. then a glance at the helmsman's face reassured her. it was fixed and expressionless, but she somehow felt that whatever was necessary would be promptly done. he was not one to lose his nerve or vacillate in a crisis, and his immobility appealed to her, because she knew that if occasion arose it would be replaced by prompt decisive action. in the meanwhile the slant of sail and deck increased. one side of the sloop was hove high out of the sea. it was all the girl could do to hold herself upright, and mrs. nairn had fallen against and was only supported by the coaming to leeward. then the wind was suddenly cut off and the sloop rose with a bewildering lurch, as the tall iron hull to weather forged by, hurling off the sea. she passed, and while vane called out something and carroll scrambled forward, the sloop swayed violently down again. everything in her creaked; the floorings sloped away beneath evelyn's feet, and now the madly-whirling froth poured in across the coaming. the veins stood out on the helmsman's forehead, his pose betrayed the tension on his arms; but the sloop was swinging round, and she fell off before the wind when the upper half of the great sail collapsed. rising more upright, she flung the water off her deck, and for some moments drove on at a bewildering speed; then there was a mad thrashing as vane brought her on the wind again. the two men, desperately busy, mastered the fluttering sail, and in a few more minutes they were running homeward, with the white seas splashing harmlessly astern. it was now difficult to believe they had been in any danger, but evelyn felt that she had had an instance of the sea's treachery; what was more, she had witnessed an exhibition of human nerve and skill. vane, with his half-formulated thoughts which yet had depth to them and his flashes of imagination, had interested her; but now he had been revealed in his finer capacity, as a man of action. "i'd have kept to weather of the bark, where we'd have had room to luff, if i'd expected that burst of wind," he explained. "did you hurt yourself against the coaming, mrs. nairn?" the lady smiled reassuringly. "it's no worth mentioning, and i'm no altogether unused to it. alic once kept a boat and would have me out with him." the remainder of the trip proved uneventful, and as they ran homeward the breeze gradually died away. the broad inlet lay still in the moonlight when they crept across it with the water lapping very faintly about the bows, and it was over a mirror-like surface they rowed ashore. nairn was waiting at the foot of the steps and evelyn walked back with him, feeling, she could not tell exactly why, that she had been drawn closer to the sloop's helmsman. chapter xxiii vane proves obdurate vane spent two or three weeks very pleasantly in vancouver, for evelyn, of whom he saw a good deal, was gracious to him. the embarrassment both had felt on their first meeting in the western city had speedily vanished; they had resumed their acquaintance on what was ostensibly a purely friendly footing, and since both avoided any reference to what had taken place in england, it had ripened into a mutual confidence and appreciation. this would have been less probable in the older country, where they would have been continually reminded of what the chisholm family expected of them; but the past seldom counts for much in the new and changeful west, where men look forward to the future. indeed, there is something in its atmosphere which banishes regret and retrospection; and when evelyn looked back at all, she felt inclined to wonder why she had once been so troubled by the man's satisfaction with her company. she decided that this could not have been the result of any aversion for him, and that it was merely an instinctive revolt against the part her parents had wished to force upon her. chisholm and his wife had blundered, as such people often do, for it is possible that had they adopted a perfectly neutral attitude everything would have gone as they desired. their mistake was nevertheless a natural one. somewhat exaggerated reports of vane's prosperity had reached them; but while they coveted the advantages his wealth might offer their daughter, in their secret hearts they looked upon him as a raw colonial and something of a barbarian, and the opinions he occasionally expressed in their hearing did not dispel this idea. both feared that evelyn regarded him in the same light, and it accordingly became evident that a little pressure might be required. in spite of their prejudices, they did not shrink from applying it. in the meanwhile, several people in vancouver watched the increase of friendliness between the girl and vane. mrs. nairn and her husband did so with benevolent interest, and it was by mrs. nairn's adroit management, which even evelyn did not often suspect, that they were thrown more and more into each other's company. jessy horsfield, however, looked on with bitterness. she was a strong-willed young woman who hitherto had generally contrived to obtain whatever she had set her heart on; and she had set it on this man. indeed, she had fancied that he returned the feeling, but disillusionment had come on the evening when he had unexpectedly met evelyn. her smoldering resentment against the girl grew steadily stronger, until it threatened to prove dangerous on opportunity. there were, however, days when vane was disturbed in mind. winter was coming on, and although it is rarely severe on the southern seaboard, it is by no means the season one would choose for an adventure among the ranges of the northern wilderness. unless he made his search for the spruce very shortly he might be compelled to postpone it until the spring, at the risk of some hardy prospector's forestalling him; but there were two reasons which detained him. he thought that he was gaining ground in evelyn's esteem and he feared the effect of absence, and there was no doubt that the new issue of the clermont shares was in very slack demand. to leave the city might cost him a good deal in several ways, but he had pledged himself to go. that fact was uppermost in his mind one evening when he set off to call on celia hartley. as it happened, evelyn and mrs. nairn were driving past as he turned off from a busy street toward the quarter in which she lived. it had been dark for some time, but the street was well lighted and evelyn had no difficulty in recognizing him. indeed, she watched him for a few moments while he passed on into a more shadowy region, where the gloom and dilapidation of the first small frame houses were noticeable. beyond them there was scarcely a light at all; the neighborhood looked mysterious, and she wondered what kind of people inhabited it. she did not think that mrs. nairn had noticed vane. "you have never taken me into the district on our left," she said. "i'm no likely to. we're no proud of it." evelyn was a little astonished. she had seen no signs of squalor or dissipation since she entered canada, and had almost fancied that they did not exist. "i suppose the chinese and other aliens live there?" "they do," was the dry answer. "i'm no sure, however, that they're the worst." "but one understands that you haven't a criminal population." "we have folk who're on the fringe of it, only we see that they live all together. folk who would be respectable live somewhere else, except, maybe, a few who have to consider cheapness. there's no great difference in human nature wherever ye find it, and i do no suppose we're very much better than the rest of the world; but it's no a recommendation to be seen going into yon quarter after dark." this left evelyn thoughtful, for she had undoubtedly seen vane going there. she considered herself a judge of character and generally trusted her intuitions, and she believed that the man's visit to the neighborhood in question admitted of some satisfactory explanation. on the other hand, she felt that her friends should be beyond suspicion. taking it all round, she was rather vexed with vane, and it cost her some trouble to drive the matter out of her mind. she did not see vane the next day, but the latter called upon nairn at his office during the afternoon. "have you had any more applications for the new stock?" he asked. "i have no. neither bendle nor howitson has paid up yet, though i've seen them about it once or twice." "investors are shy; that's a fact," vane confessed. "it's unfortunate. i've already put off my trip north as long as possible. i wanted to see things arranged on a satisfactory basis before i went." "a very prudent wish. i should advise ye to carry it out." "what do you mean by that?" "something like this--if the money's no forthcoming, we may be compelled to fall back upon a different plan, and unless ye're to the fore, the decision of a shareholders' meeting might no suit ye. considering the position and the stock ye hold, any views ye might express would carry more weight than mine would do in your absence." vane drummed with his fingers on the table. "i suppose that's the case; but i've got to make the journey. with moderately good fortune it shouldn't take me long." "ye would be running some risk if anything delayed ye and we had to call a meeting before ye got back." vane frowned. "i see that; but it can't be helped. i expect to be back before i'm wanted. anyway, i could leave you authority to act on my behalf." after a further attempt to dissuade him, nairn spread out one hand resignedly. "he who will to cupar maun be left to gang," he said. "whiles, i have wondered why any one should be so keen on getting there, but doubtless a douce scottish town has mair attractions for a sensible person than the rugged northwest in the winter-time." vane smiled and shortly afterward went out and left him; and when nairn reached home he briefly recounted the interview to his wife over his evening meal. evelyn listened attentively. "yon man will no hear reason," nairn concluded. "he's thrawn." evelyn had already noticed that her host, for whom she had a strong liking, spoke broader scotch when he was either amused or angry, and she supposed that vane's determination disturbed him. "but why should he persist in leaving the city, when it's to his disadvantage to do so, as you lead one to believe it is?" she asked. "if the latter's no absolutely certain, it's very likely." "you have answered only half my question." mrs. nairn smiled. "alic," she explained, "is reserved by nature; but if ye're anxious for an answer, i might tell ye." "anxious hardly describes it." "then we'll say curious. the fact is that vane made a bargain with a sick prospector, in which he undertook to locate some timber the man had discovered away among the mountains. he was to pay the other a share of its value when he got his government license." "is the timber very valuable?" "no," broke in nairn. "one might make a fair business profit out of pulping it, though the thing's far from certain." "then why is mr. vane so determined on finding it?" the question gave mrs. nairn a lead, but she decided to say no more than was necessary. "the prospector died, but that bound the bargain tighter, in vane's opinion. the man died without a dollar, leaving a daughter worn out and ill with nursing him. according to the arrangement, his share will go to the girl." "then," said evelyn, "mr. vane is really undertaking the search, which may involve him in difficulties, in order to keep his promise to a man who is dead? and he will not even postpone it, because if he did so this penniless girl might, perhaps, lose her share? isn't that rather fine of him?" "on the whole, ye understand the position," nairn agreed. "if ye desire my view of the matter, i would merely say that yon's the kind of man he is." evelyn made no further comment, though the last common phrase struck her as a most eloquent tribute. she had heard vane confess that he did not want to go north at present, and she now understood that to do so might jeopardize his interests in the mine; but he was undoubtedly going. he meant to keep his promise in its fullest and widest meaning--that was what one would expect of him. one mild afternoon, a few days later, he took her for a drive among the stanley pines, and, though she knew that she would regret his departure, she was unusually friendly. vane rejoiced at it, but he had already decided that he must endeavor to proceed with caution and to content himself in the meanwhile with the part of trusted companion. for this reason, he chatted lightly, which he felt was safer, during most of the drive; but once or twice, when by chance or design she asked a leading question, he responded without reserve. he did so when they were approaching a group of giant conifers. "i wonder whether you ever feel any regret at having left england for this country?" she asked. "i did so pretty often when i first came out," he answered with a smile. "in those days i had to work in icy water and carry massive lumps of rock." "i dare say regret was a natural feeling then; but that wasn't quite what i meant." "so i supposed," vane confessed. "well, i'd better own that when i'd spent a week or two in england--at the dene--i began to think i'd missed a good deal by not staying at home. it struck me that the life you led had a singular charm. everything went so smoothly there, among the sheltering hills. one felt that care and anxiety could not creep in. somehow, the place reminded me of avalon." "the impression was by no means correct," smiled evelyn, "but i don't think you have finished. won't you go on?" "then if i get out of my depth, you mustn't blame me. by and by i discovered that charm wasn't the right word--the place was permeated with a narcotic spell." "narcotic? do you think the term's more appropriate?" "i do. narcotics, one understands, are insidious things. if you take them regularly, in small doses, they increase their hold on you until you become wrapped up in dreams and unrealities. if, however, you get too big a dose of them at the beginning, it leads to a vigorous revulsion. it's nature's warning and remedy." "you're not flattering; but i almost fancy you're right." "we are told that man was made to struggle--to use all his powers. if he rests too long beside the still backwaters of life, in fairy-like dales, they're apt to atrophy, and he finds himself slack and nerveless when he goes out to face the world again." evelyn nodded, for she had felt and striven against the insidious influence of which he spoke. she had now and then left the drowsy dale for a while; but the life of which she had then caught glimpses was equally sheltered--one possible only to the favored few. even the echoes of the real tense struggle seldom passed its boundaries. "but you confessed not long ago that you loved the western wilderness," she said. "you have spent a good deal of time in it; and you expect to do so again. after all, isn't that only exchanging one beautiful, tranquil region for another? the bush must be even quieter than the english dales." "perhaps i haven't made the point quite clear. when one goes up into the bush, it's not to lounge and dream there, but to make war upon it with ax and drill." he pulled up his team and pointed to the clump of giant trees. "look there! that's nature's challenge to man in this country." evelyn recognized that it was an impressive one. the great trunks ran up far aloft, tremendous columns, before their brighter portions were lost in the vaulted roof of somber greenery. they dwarfed the rig and team; she felt herself a pygmy by comparison. "they're a little larger than the average," her companion explained, "still, that's the kind of thing you run up against when you buy land to start a ranch or clear the ground for a mine. chopping, sawing up, splitting those giants doesn't fill one with languorous dreams; the only dreams that our axmen indulge in materialize. it's an unending, bracing struggle. there are leagues and leagues of trees, shrouding the valleys in a shadow that has lasted since the world was young; but you see the dawn of a wonderful future breaking in as the long ranks go down." once more, without clearly intending it, he had stirred the girl. he had not spoken in that rather fanciful style to impress her; she knew that, trusting in her comprehension, he had merely given his ideas free rein. but in doing so he had somehow made her hear the trumpet-call to action which, for such men, rings through the roar of the river and the song of the tall black pines. "ah!" she murmured, "it must be a glorious life, in many ways; but it's bound to have its drawbacks. doesn't the flesh shrink from them?" "the flesh?" he laughed. "in this land the flesh takes second place--except, perhaps, in the cities." he turned and looked at her curiously. "why should you talk of shrinking? the bush couldn't daunt you; you have courage." the girl's eyes sparkled, but not at the compliment. his words rang with freedom; the freedom of the heights, where heroic effort was the rule, in place of luxury. she longed now, as she had often done, to escape from bondage; to break away. "ah, well," she said, smiling half wistfully; "perhaps it's fortunate that such courage as i have may never be put to the test." though reticence was difficult, vane made no comment. he had already spoken unguardedly, and he decided that caution would be desirable. as he started the team, an automobile came up, and he looked around as he drove on. "it's curious that i never heard the thing," he remarked. "i didn't, either," replied evelyn. "i was too much engrossed in the trees. but i think miss horsfield was in it" "was she?" responded vane in a very casual manner; and evelyn, for no reason that she was willing to recognize, was pleased. she had not been mistaken. jessy horsfield was in the automobile, and she had had a few moments in which to study vane and his companion. the man's look and the girl's expression had struck her as significant; and her lips set in an ominously tight line as the car sped on. she felt that she almost hated vane; and there was no doubt that she entirely hated the girl at his side. it would be soothing to humiliate her, to make her suffer, and though the exact mode of setting about it was not very clear just yet, she thought it might be managed. her companion wondered why she looked preoccupied during the rest of the journey. chapter xxiv jessy strikes it was the afternoon before vane's departure for the north, and evelyn, sitting alone for the time being in mrs. nairn's drawing-room, felt disturbed by the thought of it. she sympathized with his object, as it had been briefly related by her hostess, but she supposed there was a certain risk attached to the journey, and that troubled her. in addition to this, there was another point on which she was not altogether pleased. she had twice seen him acknowledge a bow from a very pretty girl whose general appearance suggested that she did not belong to evelyn's own walk in life, and that very morning she had noticed him crossing a street in the young woman's company. vane, as it happened, had met kitty blake by accident and had asked her to accompany him on a visit to celia. evelyn did not think she was of a jealous disposition, and jealousy appeared irrational in the case of a man whom she had dismissed as a suitor; but the thing undoubtedly rankled in her mind. while she was considering it, jessy horsfield entered the room. "i'm here by invitation, to join mr. vane's other old friends in giving him a good send-off," she explained. "only, mrs. nairn told me to come over earlier." evelyn noticed that jessy laid some stress upon her acquaintance with vane, and wondered whether she had any motive for doing so. "i suppose you have known him for some time?" "oh, yes," was the careless answer. "my brother was one of the first to take him up when he came to vancouver." the phrase jarred on evelyn. it savored of patronage; besides, she did not like to think that vane owed anything to the horsfields. "though i don't know much about it, i understood that they were opposed to each other," she said coldly. jessy laughed. "their business interests don't coincide; but it doesn't follow that they should disagree about anything else. my brother did all he could to dissuade mr. vane from going on with his search for the timber until the winter is over." this was true, inasmuch as horsfield had spoken to vane about the subject, though it is possible that he would not have done so had he expected the latter to yield to his reasoning. vane was one whom opposition usually rendered more determined. "i think it is rather fine of him to persist in it," evelyn declared. jessy smiled, though she felt venomous just then. "yes," she agreed; "one undoubtedly feels that. besides, the thing's so characteristic of him; the man's impulsively generous and not easily daunted. he possesses many of the rudimentary virtues, as well as some of the corresponding weaknesses, which is very much what one would look for." "what do you mean by that?" evelyn inquired with a trace of asperity. though she was not prepared to pose as vane's advocate, she was conscious of a growing antagonism toward her companion. "it's difficult to explain, and i don't know that the subject's worth discussing," answered jessy. "however, what i think i meant was this--mr. vane's of a type that's not uncommon in the west, and it's a type one finds interesting. he's forcibly elementary, which is the only way i can express it; the restraints the rest of us submit to don't bind him--he breaks through them." this, evelyn fancied, was more or less correct. indeed, the man's fearless disregard of hampering customs had pleased her, but she recognized that some restraints are needful. her companion followed the same train of thought. "when one breaks down or gets over fences, it's necessary to discriminate," she went on. "men of the berserker type, however, are more addicted to going straight through the lot. in a way, they're consistent--having smashed one barrier why should they respect the next?" jessy, as she was quite aware, was playing a dangerous game; one that might afterward be exposed. the latter possibility, however, was of less account, for detection would come too late if she were successful. she was acquainted with the salient points of evelyn's character. "they're consistent, if not always very logical," she concluded after a pause. "one endeavors to make allowances for men of that description." something in her tone roused evelyn to sudden imperious anger. it was intolerable that this woman should offer excuses for vane. "what particular allowances do you feel it needful to make in mr. vane's case?" she asked haughtily. now that she was faced by the direct question, jessy hesitated. as a rule, she was subtle, but she could be ruthlessly frank, and she was possessed by a passionate hatred of the girl beside her. "you have forced me to an explanation," she smiled. "the fact is that while he has a room at the hotel he has an--establishment--in a different neighborhood. unfortunately such places are a feature of some western towns." it was a shock to evelyn; one that she found hard to face; though she was not convinced. the last piece of information agreed with something mrs. nairn had told her; but, although she had on one occasion had the testimony of her eyes in support of it, jessy's first statement seemed incredible. "it's impossible!" jessy smiled in a bitter manner. "it's unpleasant, but it can't be denied. he undoubtedly pays the rent of a shack in the neighborhood i mentioned." evelyn sat tensely still for a moment or two. she dare not give rein to her feelings, for she would not betray herself; but composure was extremely difficult. "if that is true," she demanded, "how is it that he is received everywhere--at your house and by mrs. nairn? he is coming here to-night." jessy shrugged her shoulders. "people in general are more or less charitable in the case of a successful man. apart from that, mr. vane has a good many excellent qualities. as i said, one has to make allowances." just then, to evelyn's relief, mrs. nairn came in, and though the girl suffered during the time, it was half an hour before she could find an excuse for slipping away alone. then, sitting in the gathering darkness in her own room, she set herself to consider, as dispassionately as possible, what she had heard. it was exceedingly difficult to believe the charge, but jessy's assertion was definite enough, and one which, if incorrect, could readily be disproved. nobody would say such a thing unless it could be substantiated; and that led evelyn to consider why jessy had given her the information. she had obviously done so with at least a trace of malice, but it could hardly have sprung from jealousy; evelyn could not think that a woman would vilify a man for whom she had any tenderness. besides, she had seen vane entering the part of the town indicated, where he could not have had any legitimate business. hateful as the suspicion was, it could not be contemptuously dismissed. then she recognized that she had no right to censure the man; he was not accountable to her for his conduct--but calm reasoning carried her no farther. she was once more filled with intolerable disgust and burning indignation. somehow, she had come to believe in vane, and he had turned out an impostor. about an hour later vane and carroll entered the house with nairn and proceeded to the latter's room where he offered them cigars. "so ye're all ready to sail the morn?" vane nodded and handed him a paper. "there's your authority to act in my name, if it's required. if we have moderately fine weather, i expect to be back before there's much change in the situation; but i'll call at nanaimo, where you can wire me if anything turns up during the two or three days it may take us to get there. the wind's ahead at present." "i suppose there's no use in my saying anything more now; but i can't help pointing out that as head of the concern you have a certain duty to the shareholders which you seem inclined to disregard," carroll remarked. vane smiled. "i've no doubt that their interests will be as safe in nairn's hands as in mine. what i stand to risk is the not getting my personal ideas carried out, which is a different matter, though i'll own that it wouldn't please me if they were overruled." "i fail to see why ye could no have let the whole thing stand over until the spring," grunted nairn. "the spruce will no run away." "i'd have done so, had it been a few years earlier, but the whole country is overrun with mineral prospectors and timber righters now. every month's delay gives somebody else a chance for getting in ahead of me." "weel," responded nairn resignedly, "i can only wish ye luck; but, should ye be detained up yonder, if one of ye could sail across to comox to see if there's any mail there it would be wise to do so." he waved his hand. "no more of that; we'll consider what tactics i had better adopt in case of delay." an hour had passed before they went down to join the guests who were arriving for the evening meal. as a rule, the western business man, who is more or less engrossed in his occupation except when he is asleep, enjoys little privacy; and nairn's friends sometimes compared his dwelling to the rotunda of a hotel. the point of this was that people of all descriptions who have nothing better to do are addicted to strolling into the combined bazaar and lounge which is attached to many canadian hostelries. vane was placed next to evelyn at the table; but after a quiet reply to his first observation she turned and talked to the man at her other side. as the latter, who was elderly and dull, had only two topics--the most efficient means of desiccating fruit and the lack of railroad facilities--vane was somewhat astonished that she appeared interested in his conversation, and by and by he tried again. he was not more successful this time, and his face grew warm as he realized that evelyn was not inclined to talk to him. being a very ordinary mortal and not particularly patient, he was sensible of some indignation, which was not diminished when, on looking around, jessy horsfield favored him with a compassionate smile. however, he took his part in the general conversation; and the meal was over and the guests were scattered about the adjoining rooms when, after impatiently waiting for the opportunity, he at last found evelyn alone. she was standing with one hand on a table, looking rather thoughtful. "i've come to ask what i've done?" evelyn was not prepared for this blunt directness and she felt a little disconcerted, but she broke into a chilly smile. "the question's rather indefinite, isn't it? do you expect me to be acquainted with all your recent actions?" "then i'll put the thing in another way--do you mind telling me how i have offended you?" the girl almost wished that she could do so. appearances were badly against him, but she felt that if he declared himself innocent she could take his word in the face of overwhelming testimony to the contrary. unfortunately, however, it was unthinkable that she should plainly state the charge. "do you suppose i should feel warranted in forming any opinion upon your conduct?" she retorted. "it strikes me that you have formed one, and it isn't favorable." the girl hesitated a moment, but she had the courage of her convictions and she felt impelled to make some protest. "that," she said, looking him in the eyes, "is perfectly true." he seemed more puzzled than guilty, and once more she chafed against the fact that she could give him no opportunity for defending himself. "well," he responded, "i'm sorry; but it brings us back to my first question." the situation was becoming painful as well as embarrassing, and evelyn, perhaps unreasonably, grew more angry with the man. "i'm afraid that you either are clever at dissembling or have no imagination." vane held himself in hand with an effort. "i dare say you're right on the latter point. it's a fact i'm sometimes thankful for. it leaves one more free to go straight ahead. now, as i see the dried-fruit man coming in search of you and you evidently don't mean to answer me, i can't urge the matter." he turned away and left her wondering why he had abandoned his usual persistency, unless it was that an uneasy conscience had driven him from the field. it did not occur to her that the man had under strong provocation merely yielded to the prompting of a somewhat hasty temper. in the meanwhile he crossed the room in an absent-minded manner and presently found himself near jessy, who made room for him at her side. "it looks as if you were in disgrace to-night," she said sweetly, and waited with concealed impatience for his answer. if evelyn had been sufficiently clever or bold to give him a hint as to what he was suspected of, jessy foresaw undesirable complications. "i think i am," he owned without reflection. "the trouble is that, while i may deserve it on general grounds, i'm unconscious of having done anything very reprehensible in particular." jessy was sensible of considerable relief. the man was sore and resentful; he would not press evelyn for an explanation, and the breach would widen. in the meanwhile she must play her cards skillfully. "then that fact should sustain you," she smiled. "we shall miss you after to-morrow--more than one of us. of course, it's too late to tell you that you are not altogether wise in resolving to go." "everybody has been telling me the same thing for the last few weeks," he laughed. "then i'll only wish you every success. it's a pity that bendle and the other man haven't paid up yet." she met his surprised look with an engaging smile. "you needn't be astonished. there's not very much goes on in the city that i don't hear about you know how men talk business here, and it's interesting to look on, even when one can't actually take a hand in the game. it's said that the watchers sometimes see the most of it." "to tell the truth, it's the uncertainty as to what those two men might do that has chiefly been worrying me." "of course. i believe that i understand the position--they've been hanging fire, haven't they? but i've reasons for believing they'll come to a decision before very long." vane looked troubled. "that's interesting, but i ought to warn you that your brother--" jessy stopped him with a smile. "i've no intention of giving him away; and, as a matter of fact, i think you are a little prejudiced against him. after all, he's not your greatest danger. there's a cabal against you among your shareholders." the man knit his brows, but she knew by the way he looked at her that he admired her acumen. "yes," he responded; "i've suspected that." "there are two courses open to you--the first is to put off your expedition." the answer was to the effect she had anticipated. "that's impossible, for several reasons." "the other is to call at nanaimo and wait until, we'll say, next thursday. if there's need for you to come back i think it will arise by then; but it might be better if you called at comox too--after you leave the latter you'll be unreachable. if it seems necessary, i'll send you a warning; if you hear nothing, you can go on." vane reflected hastily. jessy, as she had told him, had opportunities for picking up valuable information about the business done in that city, and he had confidence in her. "thank you," he said. "it will be the second service you have done me, and i appreciate it. anyway, i promised nairn i'd call at nanaimo, in case there should be a wire from him." "it's a bargain; and now we'll talk of something else." jessy drew him into an exchange of badinage. noticing, however, that evelyn once or twice glanced at her with some astonishment, she presently got rid of him. she could understand evelyn's attitude and she did not wish her friendliness with the offender to appear unnatural after what she had said about him. at length the guests began to leave, and most of them had gone when vane rose to take his departure. his host and hostess went with him to the door, but, though he once or twice glanced round eagerly, there was no sign of evelyn. he lingered a few moments on the threshold after mrs. nairn had given him a kindly send-off; but nobody appeared in the lighted hall, and after another word with nairn he went moodily down the steps to join jessy and carroll, who were waiting for him below. as the group walked down the garden path, mrs. nairn looked at her husband. "i do not know what has come over evelyn this night," she remarked. nairn followed jessy's retreating figure with distrustful eyes. "weel," he drawled, "i'm thinking yon besom may have had a hand in the thing." a few minutes later jessy, standing where the light of a big lamp streamed down upon her through the boughs of a leafless maple, bade vane farewell at her brother's gate. "if my good wishes can bring you success, it will most certainly be yours," she said, and there was something in her voice which faintly stirred the man, who was feeling very sore. "thank you." she did not immediately withdraw the hand she had given him. he was grateful to her and thought she looked unusually pretty with the sympathy shining in her eyes. "you will not forget to wait at nanaimo and comox?" she reminded him. "no. if you recall me, i'll come back at once; if not, i'll go on with a lighter heart, knowing that i can safely stay away." jessy said nothing further, and he moved on. she felt that she had scored and she knew when to stop. the man had given her his full confidence. soon afterward vane entered his hotel, where he turned impatiently upon carroll. "you can go into the rotunda or the smoking-room and talk to any loafer who thinks it worth while to listen to your cryptic remarks," he said. "as we sail as soon as it's daylight to-morrow, i'm going to sleep." chapter xxv the intercepted letter the wind was fresh from the northwest when vane drove the sloop out through the narrows in the early dawn and saw a dim stretch of white-flecked sea in front of him. land-locked as they are by vancouver island, the long roll of the pacific cannot enter those waters, but they are now and then lashed into short, tumbling seas, sufficient to make passage difficult for a craft no larger than the sloop. carroll frowned when a comber smote the weather bow and a shower of stinging spray lashed his face. "right ahead again," he remarked. "but as i suppose you're going on, we'd better stretch straight across on the starboard tack. we'll get smoother water along the island shore." they let her go and vane sat at the helm hour after hour, drenched with spray, hammering her mercilessly into the frothy seas. they could have done with a second reef down, for the deck was swept and sluicing, and most of the time the lee rail was buried deep in rushing foam; but vane showed no intention of shortening sail. nor did carroll, who saw that his comrade was disturbed in temper, suggest it; resolute action had, he knew, a soothing effect on vane. as a matter of fact, vane needed soothing. of late, he had felt that he was making steady progress in evelyn's favor, and now she had most inexplainably turned against him. there was no doubt that, as jessy had described it, he was in disgrace; but rack his brain as he would, he could not discover the reason. that he was conscious of no offense only made the position more galling. in the meanwhile, the boat engrossed more and more of his attention, and though he was by no means careful of her, he spared no effort to get her to windward. it was a relief to drive her hard at some white-topped sea and watch her bows disappear in it with a thud, while it somehow eased his mind to see the smashed-up brine fly half the height of her drenched mainsail. there was also satisfaction in feeling the strain on the tiller when, swayed down by a fiercer gust, she plunged through the combers with the froth swirling, perilously close to the coaming, along her half-submerged deck. in all their moods, men of his kind find pleasure in such things; the turmoil, the rush, the need for quick, resolute action stirs the blood in them. the day was cold; the man, who was compelled to sit almost still in a nipping wind, was soon wet through; but this in some curious way further tended to restore his accustomed optimism and good-humor. he had partly recovered both when, as the sloop drove through the whiter turmoil whipped up by a vicious squall, there was a crash forward. "down helm!" shouted carroll. "the bobstay's gone!" he scrambled toward the bowsprit, which having lost its principal support swayed upward, in peril of being torn away by the sagging jib. vane first rounded up the boat into the wind and then followed him; and for several minutes they had a savage struggle with the madly-flapping sail before they flung it, bundled up, into the well. then they ran in the bowsprit, and vane felt glad that, although the craft had been rigged in the usual western fashion as a sloop, he had changed that by giving her a couple of headsails in place of one. "she'll trim with the staysail if we haul down another reef," he suggested. it cost them some labor, but they were warmer afterward, and when they drove on again vane glanced at the bowsprit. "we'll try to get a bit of galvanized steel in nanaimo," he said. "i can't risk another smash." carroll laughed. "you'd better be prepared for one, if you mean to drive her as you have been doing." he flung back the saloon scuttle. "you'd have swamped her in another hour or two--the cabin floorings are all awash." "then hadn't you better pump her out?" retorted vane. "after that, you can light the stove. it's beginning to dawn on me that it's a long while since i had anything worth speaking of to eat. the kind of lunch you brought along in the basket isn't sustaining." they made a bountiful if somewhat primitive meal, in turn, sitting in the dripping saloon which was partly filled with smoke, and carroll sighed for the comforts he had abandoned. he did not, however, mention his regrets, because he did not expect his comrade's sympathy. vane seldom noticed what he was eating when he was on board his boat. the craft, being under reduced sail, drove along more easily during the rest of the afternoon, and they ran into a little colliery town late on the following day. there vane replaced the broken bobstay with a solid piece of steel, and then sat down to write a letter while carroll stretched his cramped limbs ashore. the letter was addressed to evelyn, and he found it difficult to express himself as he desired. the spoken word, as he had discovered, is now and then awkward to use, but the written one is more evasive and complex still, and he shook his head ruefully over the production when he laid down his pen. this was, perhaps, unnecessary, for having grown calm he had framed a terse and forcible appeal to the girl's sense of justice, which would in all probability have had its effect on her had she received it. though he hardly realized it, the few simple words were convincing. having had no news from nairn or jessy, they sailed again in a day or two, bound for comox farther along the coast, where there was a possibility of communications overtaking them; but in the meanwhile matters which concerned them were moving forward in vancouver. it was rather early one afternoon when jessy called on one of her friends and found her alone. mrs. bendle was a young and impulsive woman from one of the eastern cities and she had not made many friends in vancouver yet, though her husband, whom she had lately married, was a man of some importance there. "i'm glad to see you," she said, greeting jessy eagerly. "it's a week since anybody has been in to talk to me, and tom's away again. it's a trying thing to be the wife of a western business man--you so seldom see him." jessy made herself comfortable in an easy-chair before she referred to one of her companion's remarks. "where has mr. bendle gone now?" she asked. "into the bush to look at a mine. he left this morning and it will be a week before he's back. then he's going across the selkirks with that clavering man about some irrigation scheme." this suggested one or two questions which jessy desired to ask, but she did not frame them immediately. mrs. bendle was incautious and discursive, but there was nothing to be gained by being precipitate. "it must be dull for you," she sympathized. "i don't mean to complain. tom's reasonable; the last time i said anything about being left alone he bought me a pair of ponies. he said i could have either them or an automobile, and i took the ponies. i thought them safer." jessy smiled. "you're fortunate in several ways; there are not a great many people who can make such presents. but while everybody knows your husband has been successful lately, i'm a little surprised that he's able to go into clavering's irrigation scheme. it's a very expensive one, and i understand that they intend to confine it to a few, which means that those interested will have to subscribe handsomely." "tom," explained her companion, "likes to have a number of different things in hand. he told me it was wiser, when i said that i couldn't tell my friends back east what he really is, because he seemed to be everything at once. but your brother's interested in a good many things, too, isn't he?" "i believe so," answered jessy. "still, i'm pretty sure he couldn't afford to join clavering and at the same time take up a big block of shares in mr. vane's mine." "but tom isn't going to do the latter now." jessy was startled. this was valuable information which she could scarcely have expected to obtain so easily. there was more that she desired to ascertain, but she had no intention of making any obvious inquiries. "it's generally understood that mr. vane and your husband are on good terms," she said. "you know him, don't you?" "i've met him once or twice, and i like him, but when i mention him tom smiles. he says it's unfortunate mr. vane can see only one thing at a time, and that the one which lies right in front of his eyes. for all that, he once owned that the man is likable." "then it's a pity he's unable to stand by him now." mrs. bendle looked thoughtful. "i really believe tom's half sorry he can't do so. he said something last night that suggested it--i can't remember exactly what it was. of course, i don't understand much about these matters, but howitson was here talking business until late." jessy was satisfied. her hostess's previous incautious admission had gone a long way, but to this was added the significant information that bendle was inclined to be sorry for vane. the fact that he and howitson had decided on some joint action after a long private discussion implied that there was trouble in store for the absent man, unless he could be summoned to deal with the crisis in person. jessy wondered whether nairn knew anything about the matter yet, and decided that she would call and try to sound him. this would be difficult, because nairn was not the man to make any rash avowal, and he had an annoying habit of parrying an injudicious question with an enigmatical smile. in the meanwhile she led her companion away from the subject and they discussed millinery and such matters until she took her departure. it was early in the evening when she reached nairn's house, for she thought it better to arrive there a little before he came home. she was told that mrs. nairn and miss chisholm were out but were expected back shortly. evelyn had been by no means cordial to her since their last interview, and mrs. nairn's manner had been colder; but jessy decided to wait; and for the second time that day fortune seemed to play into her hands. it was dark outside, but the entrance hall was brightly lighted and jessy could see into it from where she sat. highly trained domestics are generally scarce in the west, and the maid had left the door of the room open. presently there was a knock at the outer door and a young lad came in with some letters in his hand. he explained to the maid that he had been to the post-office and had brought his employer's private mail. the maid pointed out that the top letter looked dirty, and the lad owned that he had dropped the bundle in the street. then he withdrew and the maid laid the letters carelessly on a little table and also retired, banging a door behind her. the concussion shook down the letters, and one, fluttering forward with the sudden draught, fell almost upon the threshold of the room. jessy, who was methodical in most things, rose to pick it up and replace it with the rest. when she reached the door, however, she stopped abruptly, for she recognized the rather large writing on the envelope. there was no doubt that it was from vane and she noticed that it was addressed to miss chisholm. jessy picked it up, and when she had laid the others on the table, she stood with vane's letter in her hand. "has the man no pride?" she said half aloud. then she looked about her, listening, greatly tempted, and considering. there was no sound in the house; evelyn and mrs. nairn were out, and the other occupants were cut off from her by a closed door. nobody would know that she had entered the hall, and if the letter were subsequently missed it would be remembered that the lad had confessed to dropping the bundle. it was most unlikely, however, that any question regarding its disappearance would ever be asked. if there should be no response from evelyn, vane, she thought, would not renew his appeal. jessy had no doubt that the letter contained an appeal of some kind which might lead to a reconciliation, and she knew that silence is often more potent than an outbreak of anger. she had only to destroy the letter, and the breach between the two people whom she desired to separate would widen automatically. there was little risk of detection, but, standing tensely still, with set lips and heart beating faster than usual, she shrank from the decisive action. she could still replace the letter and look for other means of bringing about what she wished. she was self-willed and endowed with few troublesome principles, but until she had poisoned evelyn's mind against vane she had never done anything flagrantly dishonorable. then while she waited, irresolute, a fresh temptation seized her in the shape of a burning desire to learn what the man had to say. he would reveal his feelings in the message and she could judge the strength of her rival's influence over him. jessy had her ideas on this point, but she could now see them confirmed or refuted by the man's own words. yet she hesitated, with a half-instinctive recognition of the fact that the decision she must make was an eventful one. she had transgressed grievously in one recent interview with evelyn, but, while she had no idea of making reparation, she could at least stop short of a second offense. she had, perhaps, not gone too far yet, but if she ventured a little farther she might be driven on against her will and become inextricably involved in an entanglement of dishonorable treachery. the issue hung in the balance--the slightest thing would have turned the scale--when she heard footsteps outside and the tinkle of a bell. moving with a start, she slipped back into the room just before the maid opened the adjacent door. in another moment she thrust the envelope inside her dress, and gathered her composure as mrs. nairn and evelyn entered the hall. the former approached the table and turned over the handful of letters. "two for ye from england, evelyn, and one or two for me," she said, flashing a quick glance at the girl. "nothing else; i had thought vane would maybe send a bit note from one of the island ports to say how he was getting on." then jessy rose, smiling, to greet her hostess. the question was decided--it was too late to replace the letter now. she could not remember what they talked about during the next half-hour, but she took her part, until nairn came in, and she contrived to have a word with him before leaving. mrs. nairn had gone out to give some instructions about supper, and when evelyn followed her, jessy turned to nairn. "mr. vane should be at comox now," she began. "have you any idea of recalling him? of course, i know a little about the clermont affairs." nairn glanced at her with thoughtful eyes. "i'm no acquainted with any reason that would render such a course necessary." evelyn reappeared shortly after this, and jessy excused herself from staying for the evening meal and walked home thinking hard. it was needful that vane should be recalled. he had written to evelyn, but jessy still meant to send him word. he would be grateful to her, and, indignant and wounded as she was, she would not own herself beaten. she would warn the man, and afterward perhaps allow nairn to send him a second message. on reaching her brother's house, she went straight to her own room and tore open the envelope. the color receded from her face as she read, and sinking into a chair she sat still with hands clenched. the message was terse, but it was stirringly candid; and even where the man did not fully reveal his feelings in his words she could read between the lines. there was no doubt that he had given his heart unreservedly into her rival's keeping. he might be separated from her, but jessy knew enough of him to realize at last that he would not turn to another. the lurid truth was burned upon her brain--she might do what she would, but this man was not for her. for a while she sat still, and then stooping swiftly she seized the letter, which she had dropped, and rent it into fragments. her eyes had grown hard and cruel; love of the only kind that she was capable of had suddenly turned to hate. what was more, it was a hate that could be gratified. a little later horsfield came in. jessy was very composed now, but she noticed that her brother looked at her in a rather unusual manner once or twice during the meal that followed. "you make me feel that you have something on your mind," she observed at length. "that's a fact." horsfield hesitated. he was attached to and rather proud of his sister. "well?" she prompted. he leaned forward confidentially. "see here," he said, "i've always imagined that you would go far, and i'm anxious to see you do so. i shouldn't like you to throw yourself away." his sister could take a hint, but there was information that she desired and the man was speaking with unusual reserve. "you must be plainer," she retorted with a slight show of impatience. "then, you have seen a good deal of vane, and in case you have any hankering after his scalp, i think i'd better mention that there's reason to believe he won't be worth powder and shot before very long." "ah!" exclaimed jessy with a calmness that was difficult to assume; "you may as well understand that there is nothing between vane and me. i suppose you mean that howitson and bendle are turning against him?" "something like that." horsfield's tone implied that her answer had afforded him relief. "the man has trouble in front of him." jessy changed the subject. what she had gathered from mrs. bendle was fully confirmed; but she had made up her mind. evelyn's lover might wait for the warning which could save him, but he should wait in vain. chapter xxvi on the trail it was a long, wet sail up the coast with the wind ahead, and carroll was quite content when, on reaching comox, vane announced his intention of stopping there until the mail came in. immediately after its arrival, carroll went ashore, and came back empty-handed. "nothing," he reported. "personally, i'm pleased. nairn could have advised us here if there had been any striking developments since we left the last place." "i wasn't expecting to hear from him," vane replied tersely. carroll read keen disappointment in his face, and was not surprised, although the absence of any message meant that it was safe for them to go on with their project and that should have afforded his companion satisfaction. the latter sat on deck, gazing somewhat moodily across the ruffled water toward the snow-clad heights of the mainland range. they towered, dimly white and majestic, above a scarcely-trodden wilderness, and carroll, at least, was not pleasantly impressed by the spectacle. though not to be expected always, the cold snaps are now and then severe in those wilds. indeed, at odd times a frost almost as rigorous as that of alaska lays its icy grip upon the mountains and the usually damp forests at their feet. "i wish i could have got a man to go with us, but between the coal development and the logging, everybody's busy," he remarked. "it doesn't matter," vane assured him. "if we took a man along and came back unsuccessful, there'd be a risk of his giving the thing away. besides, he might make trouble in other respects. a hired packer would probably kick against what you and i may have to put up with." carroll was far from pleased with this hint, but he let it pass. "do you mean that if you don't find the spruce this time, you'll go back again?" "yes, that's my intention. and now we may as well get the mainsail on her." they got off shortly afterward and stood out to northward with the wind still ahead of them. it was a lowering day, and a short, tumbling sea was running. when late in the afternoon carroll fixed their position by the bearing of a peak on the island, he pointed out the small progress they had made. the sloop was then plunging close-hauled through the vicious slate-green combers, and thin showers of spray flew all over her. "the luck's been dead against us ever since we began this search," he commented. "do you believe in that kind of foolishness?" vane inquired. carroll, sitting on the coaming, considered the question. it was not one of much importance, but the dingy sky and the dreary waste of sad-colored water had a depressing effect on him, and as it was a solace to talk, one topic would serve as well as another. "i think i believe in a rhythmical recurrence of the contrary chance," he answered. "i mean that the uncertain and adverse possibility often turns up in succession for a time." "then you couldn't call it uncertain." "you can't tell exactly when the break will come," carroll explained. "but if i were a gambler or had other big risks, i think i'd allow for dangers in triplets." "yes," vane responded; "you could cite the three extra big head seas, and i've noticed that when one burned tree comes down in a brûlée, it's quite often followed by two more, though there may be a number just ready to fall." he mused for a few moments, with the spray whistling about him. he had three things at stake: evelyn's favor; his interest in the clermont mine; and the timber he expected to find. two of them were undoubtedly threatened, and he wondered gloomily if he might be bereft of all. then he drove the forebodings out of his mind. "in the present case, anyway, our course is pretty simple," he declared with a laugh. "we have only to hold out and go on until the luck changes." carroll knew that vane was capable of doing as he had suggested and he was not encouraged by the prospect; but he went below to trim and bring up the lights, and soon afterward retired to get what rest he could. the locker cushions on which he lay felt unpleasantly damp; his blankets, which were not much drier, smelt moldy; and there was a dismal splash and gurgle of water among the timbers of the plunging craft. now and then a jet of it shot up between the joints of the flooring or spouted through the opening made for the lifting-gear in the centerboard trunk. when he had several times failed to plug the opening with a rag, carroll gave it up and shortly afterward fell into fitful slumber. he was awakened, shivering, by hearing vane calling him, and scrambling out into the well, he took the helm as his comrade left it. "what's her course?" he inquired. "if you can keep her hammering ahead close-hauled on the port tack, it's all i ask," vane laughed. "you needn't call me unless the sea gets steeper." he crawled below; and it was a few minutes before carroll, who was dazzled by the change from the dim lamplight, felt himself fit for his task. fine spray whirled about him. it was pitch dark, but by degrees he made out the shadowy seas which came charging up, tipped with frothing white, upon the weather bow. by the way they broke on board it struck him that they were steep enough already, but vane had seen them not long ago and there was nothing to be gained by expostulation if they caused him no anxiety. several hours went by, and then carroll noticed that the faint crimson blink which sometimes fell upon the seas to weather was no longer visible. it was evident that the port light had either gone out or been washed out, and it was his manifest duty to relight it. on the other hand, he could not do so unless vane took the helm. he was wet and chilled through; any fresh effort was distasteful; he did not want to move; and he decided that they were most unlikely to meet a steamer, while it was certain that there would be no other yacht about. he left the lamp alone, and at length vane came up. "what's become of the port light?" he demanded. "that's more than i can tell you. it was burning an hour ago." "an hour ago!" vane broke out with disgusted indignation. "it may have been a little longer. they've stopped the alaska steamboats now, but of course there's no reason why you shouldn't light that lamp again, if it would give you any satisfaction. i'll stay up until you're through with it." vane did as he suggested, and immediately afterward carroll retired below. he slept until a pale ray of sunshine crept in through the skylights, and then crawling out found the sloop lurching very slowly over a dying swell, with her deck and shaking mainsail white with frost. the wind had fallen almost dead away, and it was very cold. "on the whole," he complained, "this is worse than the other thing." vane merely told him to get breakfast; and most of that day and the next one they drifted with the tides through narrowing waters, though now and then for a few hours they were wafted on by light and fickle winds. at length, they crept into the inlet where they had landed on the previous voyage, and on the morning after their arrival they set out on the march. there was on this occasion reason to expect more rigorous weather, and the load each carried was an almost crushing one. where the trees were thinner the ground was frozen hard, and even in the densest bush the undergrowth was white and stiff with frost, while overhead a forbidding gray sky hung. on approaching the rift in the hillside at which he had glanced when they first passed that way, vane stopped a moment. "i looked into that place before, but it didn't seem worth while to follow it up," he said. "if you'll wait, i'll go a little farther along it." though the air was nipping, carroll was content to remain where he was, and he spent some time sitting upon a log before a faint shout reached him. then he rose and, making his way up the hollow, found his comrade standing upon a jutting ledge. "i thought you were never coming! climb up; i've something to show you!" carroll joined him with difficulty, and vane stretched out his hand. "look yonder!" carroll looked and started. they stood in a rocky gateway with a river brawling down the chasm beneath them, but a valley opened up in front. filled with somber forest, it ran back almost straight between stupendous walls of hills. "it answers hartley's description. after all, i don't think it's extraordinary that we should have taken so much trouble to push on past the right place." "why?" carroll sat down and filled his pipe. "it's the natural result of possessing a temperament like yours. somehow, you've got it firmly fixed into your mind that everything worth doing must be hard." "i've generally found it so." "i think," grinned carroll, "you've generally made it so. there's a marked difference between the two. if any means of doing a thing looks easy, you at once conclude that it can't be the right one. that mode of reasoning has never appealed to me. in my opinion, it's more sensible to try the easiest method first." "as a rule, that leads to your having to fall back upon the other one; and a frontal attack on a difficulty's often quicker than considering how you can work round its flank. in this case, i'll own we have wasted a lot of time and taken a good deal of trouble that might have been avoided. but are you going to sit here and smoke?" "until i've finished my pipe," carroll answered firmly. "i expect we'll find tobacco, among other things, getting pretty scarce before this expedition ends." he carried out his intention, and they afterward pushed on up the valley during the remainder of the day. it grew more level as they proceeded, and in spite of the frost, which bound the feeding snows, there was a steady flow of water down the river, which was free from rocky barriers. vane now and then glanced at the river attentively, and when dusk was drawing near he stopped and fixed his gaze on the long ranks of trees that stretched away in front of him; fretted spires of somber greenery lifted high above a colonnade of mighty trunks. "does anything in connection with this bush strike you?" he asked. "its stiffness, if that's what you mean," carroll answered with a smile. "these big conifers look as if they'd been carved, like the wooden trees in the swiss or german toys. they're impressive in a way, but they're too formally artificial." "that's not what i mean," vane said impatiently. "to tell the truth, i didn't suppose it was. anyway, these trees aren't spruce. they're red cedar; the stuff they make roofing shingles of." "precisely. just now, shingles are in good demand in the province, and with the wooden towns springing up on the prairie, western millers can hardly send roofing material across the rockies fast enough. besides this, i haven't struck a creek more adapted for running down logs, and the last sharp drop to tide-water would give power for a mill. i'm only puzzled that none of the timber-lease prospectors have recorded the place." "that's easy to understand," laughed carroll. "like you, they'd no doubt first search the most difficult spots to get at." they went on, and when darkness fell they pitched their light tent beside the creek. it was now freezing hard, and after supper the men lay smoking, wrapped in blankets, with the tent between them and the stinging wind, while a great fire of cedar branches snapped and roared in front of them. sometimes the red blaze shot up, flinging a lurid light on the stately trunks and tinging the men's faces with the hue of burnished copper; sometimes it fanned out away from them while the sparks drove along the frozen ground and the great forest aisle, growing dim, was filled with drifting vapor. the latter was aromatic; pungently fragrant. "it struck me that you were disappointed when you got no mail at comox," carroll remarked at length, feeling that he was making something of a venture. "i was," admitted vane. "that's strange," carroll persisted, "because your hearing nothing from nairn left you free to go ahead, which, one would suppose, was what you wanted." vane happened to be in a confidential mood; though usually averse to sharing his troubles, he felt that he needed sympathy. "i'd better confess that i wrote miss chisholm a few lines from nanaimo." "and she didn't answer you? now, i couldn't well help noticing that you were rather in her bad graces that night at nairn's--the thing was pretty obvious. no doubt you're acquainted with the reason?" "i'm not. that's just the trouble." carroll reflected. he had an idea that miss horsfield was somehow connected with the matter, but this was a suspicion he could not mention. "well," he said, "as i pointed out, you're addicted to taking the hardest way. when we came up here before, you marched past this valley, chiefly because it was close at hand; but i don't want to dwell on that. has it occurred to you that you did something of the same kind when you were at the dene? the way that was then offered you was easy." vane frowned. "that is not the kind of subject one cares to talk about; but you ought to know that i couldn't allow them to force miss chisholm upon me against her will. it was unthinkable! besides, looking at it in the most cold-blooded manner, it would have been foolishness, for which we'd both have had to pay afterward." "i'm not so sure of that," carroll smiled. "there were the sabine women, among other instances. didn't they cut off their hair to make bowstring for their abductors?" his companion made no comment, and carroll, deciding that he had ventured as far as was prudent, talked of something else until they crept into the little tent and soon fell asleep. they started with the first of the daylight, but the timber grew denser and more choked with underbrush as they proceeded and for a day or two they wearily struggled through it and the clogging masses of tangled, withered fern. besides this, they were forced to clamber over mazes of fallen trunks, when the ragged ends of the snapped-off branches caught their loads. their shoulders ached, their boots were ripped, their feet were badly galled; but they held on stubbornly, plunging deeper into the mountains all the while. it would probably overcome the average man if he were compelled to carry all the provisions he needed for a week along a well-kept road, but the task of the prospector and the survey packer, who must transport also an ax, cooking utensils and whatever protection he requires from the weather, through almost impenetrable thickets, is infinitely more difficult. vane and carroll were more or less used to it, but both of them were badly jaded when soon after setting out one morning they climbed a clearer hillside to look about them. high up ahead, the crest of the white range gleamed dazzlingly against leaden clouds in a burst of sunshine; below, dark forest, still wrapped in gloom, filled all the valley; and in between, a belt of timber touched by the light shone with a curious silvery luster. though it was some distance off, probably a day's journey allowing for the difficulty of the march, vane gazed at it earnestly. the trees were bare--there was no doubt of that, for the dwindling ranks, diminished by the distance, stood out against the snow-streaked rock like rows of thick needles set upright; their straightness and the way they glistened suggested the resemblance. "ominous, isn't it?" carroll suggested at length. "if this is the valley hartley came down--and everything points to that--we should be getting near the spruce." vane's face grew set. "yes," he agreed. "there has been a big fire up yonder; but whether it has swept the lower ground or not is more than i can tell. we'll find out to-night or early to-morrow." he swung round without another word, and scrambling down the hillside they resumed the march. they pushed on all that day rather faster than before, with the same uncertainty troubling both of them. forest fires are common in that region when there is a hot dry fall; and where, as often happens, a deep valley forms a natural channel for the winds that fan them, they travel far, stripping and charring the surface of every tree in their way. neither of the men thought of stopping for a noonday meal, and during the gloomy afternoon, when dingy clouds rolled down from the peaks, they plodded forward with growing impatience. they could see scarcely a hundred yards in front of them; dense withering thickets choked up the spaces between the towering trunks; and there was nothing to indicate that they were nearing the burned area when at last they pitched their camp as darkness fell. chapter xxvii the end of the search the two men made a hurried breakfast in the cold dawn, and soon afterward they were struggling through thick timber when the light suddenly grew clearer. carroll remarked upon the fact and vane's face hardened. "we're either coming to a swamp, or the track the fire has swept is close in front," he explained. a thicket lay before them, but they smashed savagely through the midst of it, the undergrowth snapping and crackling about their limbs. then there was a network of tangled branches to be crossed, and afterward, reaching slightly clearer ground, they broke into a run. three or four minutes later they stopped, breathless and ragged, with their rent boots scarcely clinging to their feet, and gazed eagerly about. the living forest rose behind them, an almost unbroken wall, but ahead the trees ran up in detached and blackened spires. their branches had vanished; every cluster of somber-green needles and delicate spray had gone; the great rampicks looked like shafts of charcoal. about their feet lay crumbling masses of calcined wood, which grew more numerous where there were open spaces farther on, and then the bare, black columns ran on again, up the valley and the steep hill benches on either hand. it was a weird scene of desolation; impressive to the point of being appalling in its suggestiveness of wide-spread ruin. for the space of a minute the men gazed at it; and then vane, stretching out his hand, pointed to a snow-sheeted hill. "that's the peak hartley mentioned," he said in a voice which was strangely incisive. "give me the ax!" he took it from his comrade and striding forward attacked the nearest rampick. twice the keen blade sank noiselessly overhead, scattering a black dust in the frosty air, and then there was a clear, ringing thud. after that, vane smote on with a determined methodical swiftness, until carroll grabbed his shoulder. "look out!" he cried. "it's going!" vane stepped back a few paces; the trunk reeled and rushed downward; there was a deafening crash, and they were enveloped in a cloud of gritty dust. through the midst of it they dimly saw two more great trunks collapse; and then somewhere up the valley a series of thundering shocks, which both knew were not echoes, broke out. the sound jarred on carroll's nerves, as the thud of the felled rampick had not done. vane picked up one of the chips. "we have found hartley's spruce." carroll did not answer for a minute. after all, when defeat must be faced, there was very little to be said, though his companion's expression troubled him. its grim stolidity was portentous. "i suppose," he suggested hopefully, "nothing could be done with it?" vane pointed to the butt of the tree, which showed a space of clear wood surrounded by a blackened rim. "you can't make marketable pulp of charcoal, and the price would have to run pretty high before it would pay for ripping most of the log away to get at the residue. "but there may be some unburned spruce farther on." "it's possible. i'm going to find out." this was a logical determination; but, in spite of his recent suggestion, carroll realized that he would have abandoned the search there and then, had the choice been left to him, in which he did not think he was singular. after all they had undergone and the risk they had run in leaving vancouver, the shock of the disappointment was severe. he could have faced a failure to locate the spruce, with some degree of philosophical calm; but to find it at last, useless, was very much worse. he did not, however, expect his companion to turn back yet; before he desisted, vane would search for and examine every unburned tree. what was more, carroll would have to accompany him. he noticed that vane was waiting for him to speak, and he decided that this was a situation which he would better endeavor to treat lightly. "i think i'll have a smoke," he said. "i'm afraid any remarks i could make wouldn't do justice to the occasion. language has its limits." he sat down on the charred log and took out his pipe. "a brûlée's not a nice place to wander about in when there's any wind," he proceeded; "and i've an idea there's some coming, though it's still enough now." shut in, as they were, in the deep hollow with the towering snows above them, it was impressively still; and, in conjunction with the sight of the black desolation, the deep silence reacted on carroll's nerves. he longed to escape from it, to make a noise; though this, if done unguardedly, might bring more of the rampicks thundering down. he could hear tiny flakes of charcoal falling from them and, though the fire had long gone out, a faint and curious crackling, as if the dead embers were stirring. he wondered if it were some effect of the frost; it struck him as disturbing and weird. "we'll work right round the brûlée," vane decided. "then i suppose we'd better head back for vancouver, though we'll look at that cedar as we go down. something might be made of it--i'm not sure we've thrown our time away." "you'd never be sure of that. it isn't in you." vane disregarded this. a new, constructive policy was already springing up out of the wreck of his previous plans. "there's a good mill site on the inlet, but as it's a long way from the railroad we'll have to determine whether it would be cheaper to tow the logs down or split them up on the spot. i'll talk it over with drayton; he'll no doubt be useful, and there's no reason why he shouldn't earn his share." "do you consider that the arrangement you made with hartley applies to the cedar?" carroll asked. "of course. i don't know that the other parties could insist on the original terms--we can discuss that later; but, though it may be modified, the arrangement stands." his companion considered the matter dispassionately, as an abstract proposition. here was a man, who in return for certain information respecting the whereabouts of a marketable commodity had undertaken to find and share it with his informant. the commodity had proved to be valueless, but during the search for it he had incidentally discovered something else. was he under any obligation to share the latter with his informant's heirs? carroll decided that the question could be answered only in the negative; but he had no intention of disputing his comrade's point of view. in the first place, this would probably make vane only more determined or would ruffle his temper; and, in the second place, carroll was neither a covetous man nor an ambitious one, which, perhaps, was fortunate for him. ambition, the mother of steadfast industry and heroic effort, has also a less reputable progeny. vane, as his partner realized, was ambitious; but in place of aspiring after wealth or social prominence, his was a different aim: to rend the hidden minerals from the hills, to turn forests into dressed lumber, to make something grow. money is often, though not always, made that way; but, while vane affected no contempt for it, in his case its acquisition was undoubtedly not the end. fortunately, he was not altogether singular in this respect. when he next spoke, however, there was no hint of altruistic sentiment in his curt inquiry: "are you going to sit there until you freeze?" carroll got up and they spent the remainder of the day plodding through the brûlée, with the result that when darkness fell vane had abandoned all idea of working the spruce. the next morning they set out for the inlet, and one afternoon during the journey they came upon several fallen logs lying athwart each other with their branches spread in an almost impenetrable tangle. vane proceeded to walk along one log, which was tilted up several yards above the ground, balancing himself carefully upon the rounded surface, and carroll followed cautiously. suddenly there was a sharp snapping, and vane plunged headlong into the tangle beneath, while carroll stood still and laughed. it was not an uncommon accident. vane, however, did not reappear; nor was there any movement among the half-rotten boughs and withered sprays, and carroll, moving forward hastily, looked down into the hole. he was disagreeably surprised to see his comrade lying, rather white in face, upon his side. "i'm afraid you'll have to chop me out," came up hoarsely. "get to work. i can't move my leg." moving farther along the log, carroll dropped to the ground, which was less encumbered there, and spent the next quarter of an hour hewing a passage to his comrade. then as he stood beside him, hot and panting, vane looked up. "it's my lower leg; the left," he explained. "bone's broken; i felt it snap." carroll turned from him for a moment in consternation. looking out between the branches, he could see the lonely hills tower, pitilessly white, against the blue of the frosty sky, and the rigid firs running back as far as his vision reached upon their lower slopes. there was no touch of life in all the picture; everything was silent and absolutely motionless, and its desolation came near to appalling him. when he looked around again, vane smiled wryly. "if this had happened farther north, it would have been the end of me," he said. "as it is, it's awkward." the word struck carroll as singularly inexpressive, but he made an effort to gather his courage when his companion broke off with a groan of pain. "it's lucky we helped that doctor when he set pete's leg at bryant's mill," he declared cheerily. "can you wait a few minutes?" vane's face was beaded with damp now, but he tried to smile. "it strikes me," he answered, "i'll have to wait a mighty long time." carroll turned and left him. he was afraid to stand still and think, and action was a relief. it was some time before he returned with several strips of fabric cut from the tent curtain, and the neatest splints he could extemporize from slabs of stripped-off bark; and the next half-hour was a trying one to both of them. sometimes vane assisted him with suggestions--once he reviled his clumsiness--and sometimes he lay silent with his face awry and his lips tight silent; but at length it was done and carroll stood up, breathing hard. "i'll fasten you on to a couple of skids and pull you out. then i'll make camp here." he managed it with difficulty, pitched the tent above vane, whom he covered with their blankets, and made a fire outside. "are you comfortable now?" he inquired. vane looked up at him with a somewhat ghastly smile. "i suppose i'm about as comfortable as could be expected. anyhow, i've got to get used to the thing. six weeks is the shortest limit, isn't it?" carroll confessed that he did not know, and presently vane spoke again. "it's lucky that the winters aren't often very cold near the coast." the temperature struck carroll as low enough, but he made no comment. to his disgust, he could think of no cheering observation, for there was no doubt that the situation was serious. they were cut off from the sloop by leagues of tangled forest which a vigorous man would find it difficult to traverse, and it would be weeks before vane could use his leg; no human assistance could be looked for; and they had only a small quantity of provisions left. besides this, it would not be easy to keep the sufferer warm in rigorous weather. "i'll get supper. you'll feel better afterward," he said at length. "don't be too liberal," vane warned him. after the meal, vane fell into a restless doze, and it was dark when he opened his eyes again. "i can't sleep any more, and we may as well talk--there are things to be arranged. in the first place, as soon as i feel a little easier you'll have to sail across to comox and hire some men to pack me out. when you've sent them off, you can make for vancouver and get a timber license and find out how matters are going on." "that is quite out of the question," carroll replied firmly. "nairn can look after our mining interests--he's a capable man--and if the thing's too much for him, they can go to smash. besides, they won't give you a timber license without full particulars of area and limits, and we've blazed no boundaries. anyhow, i'm staying right here." vane began to protest, but carroll raised his hand. "argument's not conducive to recovery. you're on your back, unfortunately, and i'll give way to you as usual as soon as you're on your feet again, but not before." "i'd better point out that we'll both be hungry by that time. the provisions won't last long." "then i'll look for a deer as soon as i think you can be left. and now we'll try to talk of something more amusing." "can you see anything humorous in the situation?" "i can't," carroll confessed. "still, there may be something of that description which i haven't noticed yet. by the way, the last time we were at nairn's i happened to cross the room near where you and miss horsfield were sitting, and i heard her ask you to wait for something at nanaimo or comox. it struck me as curious." "she told me to wait so that she could send me word to come back, if it should be needful." "ah!" ejaculated carroll. "i won't ask why she was willing to do so--it concerns you more than me--but i think that as regards your interests in the clermont a warning from her would be worth as much as one from nairn; that is, if she could be depended on." "have you any doubt upon the subject?" carroll made a soothing gesture. "don't get angry! perhaps i've talked too much. we have to think of your leg." "i'm not likely to forget it," vane informed him. "but i dare say you're right in one respect--as an amusing companion you're a dead failure; and talking isn't as easy as i thought." he lay silent afterward, and though he had disclaimed any desire for sleep, worn by the march and pain as he was, his eyes presently closed. carroll, however, sat long awake that night, and he afterward confessed that he felt badly afraid. deer are by no means numerous in some parts of the bush--they had not seen one during the journey; and it was a long way to the sloop. once or twice, for no obvious reason, he drew aside the tent flap and looked out. the sky was cloudless and darkly blue, and a sickle moon gleamed in it, keen and clear with frost. below, the hills were washed in silver, majestic, but utterly cheerless; and lower still the serrated tops of the rigid firs cut against the dreary whiteness. after each glimpse of them, carroll drew his blanket tighter round him with a shiver. very shortly, when the little flour and pork was gone and their few cartridges had been expended, he would be reduced to the condition of primitive man. cut off from all other resources, he must then wrest what means of subsistence he could from the snowy wilderness by brute strength and cunning and such instruments as he could make with his unassisted hands, except that an ax of pennsylvania steel was better than a stone one. civilization has its compensations, and carroll longed for a few more of them that night. on rising the next morning, he found the frost keener, and he spent that day and a number of those that followed in growing anxiety, which was only temporarily lessened when he once succeeded in killing a deer. there was almost a dearth of animal life in the lonely valley. sometimes, at first, vane was feverish; often he was irritable; and the recollection of the three or four weeks he spent with him afterward haunted carroll like a nightmare. at last, when he had spent several days in vain search for a deer and the provisions were almost exhausted, he and his companion held a council of emergency. "there's no use in arguing," vane declared. "you'll rig me a shelter of green boughs outside the tent and close to the fire. i can move from the waist upward and, if it's necessary, drag myself with my hands. then you can chop enough cord-wood to last a while, cook my share of the eatables, and leave me while you go down to the sloop. there's half a bag of flour on board her, and a few other things i'd be uncommonly glad to have." carroll expostulated; but it was evident that his companion was right, and the next morning he started for the inlet, taking with him the smallest possible portion of their provisions. so long as he had enough to keep him from fainting on the way, it was all he required, because he could renew his stores on board the sloop. the weather broke during the march; driving snow followed him down the valley, and by and by gave place to bitter rain. the withered underbrush was saturated, the soil was soddened with melting snow, and after the first scanty meal or two the man dare risk no delay. he felt himself flagging from insufficient food, and it was obvious that he must reach the sloop before he broke down. he had tobacco, but that failed to stay the gnawing pangs, and before the march was done he was on the verge of exhaustion, forcing himself onward, drenched and grim of face, scarcely able to keep upon his bleeding feet. it was falling dusk and blowing fresh when he limped down the beach and with a last effort launched the light dingy and pulled off to the sloop. she rode rather deep in the water, but that did not trouble him. most wooden craft leak more or less, and it was a considerable time since he had pumped her out. clambering wearily on board, he made the dingy fast; and then stood still a moment or two, looking about him with his hand on the cabin slide. thin flakes of snow drifted past him; the firs were rustling eerily ashore, and ragged wisps of cloud drove by low down above their tops. little frothy ripples flecked the darkening water with streaks of white and splashed angrily against the bows of the craft. the prospect was oppressively dreary, and the worn-out man was glad that he was at last in shelter and could snatch a few hours' rest. thrusting back the slide, he stepped below and lighted the lamp. the brightening glow showed him that the boat's starboard side was wet high up, and though there was a good deal of water in her, this puzzled him until an explanation suggested itself. they had moored the craft carefully, but he supposed she must have dragged her anchor or kedge and swung in near enough the shore to ground toward low tide. then as the tide left her she would fall over on her starboard bilge, because they had lashed the heavy boom down on that side, and the water in her would cover the depressed portion of her interior. this reasoning was probably correct; but he did not foresee the result until, after lighting the stove and putting on the kettle, he opened the provision locker, which was to starboard. then he saw with a shock of dismay that the stock of food they had counted on was ruined. the periodically-submerged flour-bag had rotted and burst, and most of its contents had run out into the water as the boat righted with the rising tide; the prepared cereals, purchased to save cooking, had turned to moldy pulp; and the few other stores were in much the same condition. there were only two sound cans of beef and a few ounces of unspoiled tea in a canister. carroll's courage failed him as he realized it, but he felt that he must eat and sleep before he could grapple with the situation. he would allow himself a scanty meal and a few hours' rest. while the kettle boiled, he crawled out and shortened in the cable and plied the pump. then he went below and feasted on preserved beef and tea, gaging the size of each slice with anxious care, until he reluctantly laid the can aside. after that, he filled his pipe and stretching his aching limbs out on the port locker, which was comparatively dry, soon sank into heavy sleep. chapter xxviii carroll seeks help carroll slept for several hours before he awakened and sat up on the locker, shivering. he had left the hatch slightly open, and a confused uproar reached him from outside; the wail of wind-tossed trees; the furious splash of ripples against the bows; and the drumming of the halyards upon the mast. there was no doubt that it was blowing hard, but the wind was off the land and the sloop in shelter. filling his pipe, he set himself to think, and promptly decided that it would have been better had he gone down to the sloop in the beginning, before the provisions had been spoiled. a natural reluctance to leave his helpless companion had mainly prevented him from doing this, but he had also been encouraged by the possibility of obtaining a deer now and then. it was clear that he had made a mistake in remaining, but it was not the first time he had done so, and the point was unimportant. the burning question was--what should he do now. it would obviously be useless to go back with rations that would barely suffice for the march. vane still had food enough to keep life in one man for a little while, and it would not be a long run to comox with a strong northerly wind. if the sloop would face the sea that was running he might return with assistance before his comrade's scanty store was exhausted. getting out the mildewed chart, he laid off his course, carefully trimmed and lighted the binnacle lamp, and going up on deck hauled in the kedge-anchor. he could not break the main one out, though he worked savagely with a tackle, and deciding to slip it, he managed to lash three reefs in the mainsail and hoist it with the peak left down. then he stopped to gather breath--for the work had been cruelly heavy--before he let the cable run and hoisted the jib. she paid off when he put up his helm, and the black loom of trees ashore vanished. he thought that he could find his way out of the inlet, but he knew that he had done so only when the angry ripples that splashed about the boat suddenly changed to confused tumbling combers. they foamed up in quick succession on her quarter, but he fancied she would withstand their onslaught so long as he could prevent her from screwing up to windward when she lifted. it would need constant care, and if he failed, the next comber would, no doubt, break on board. his task was one that would have taxed the vigilance of a strong, well-fed man, and carroll had already nearly reached the limit of his powers. his case, however, was by no means an unusual one. the cost of the subjugation of the wilderness is the endurance of hunger and thirst, cold and crushing fatigue; and somebody pays, to the utmost farthing. carroll sitting, drenched, strung up and hungry, at the helm, was merely playing his part in the struggle, though he found it cruelly difficult. it was pitch dark, but he must gaze ahead and guess the track of the pursuing seas by the angle of the spouting white ridge abreast of the weather shrouds. he had a compass, but when his course did not coincide with safety it must be disregarded. the one essential thing was to keep the sloop on top, and to do so he had frequently to let her fall off dead before the mad white combers that leaped out of the dark. by and by his arms began to ache from the strain of the tiller, and his wet fingers grew stiff and claw-like. the nervous strain was also telling, but that could not be helped; he must keep the craft before the sea or go down with her. there was one consolation; she was traveling at a furious speed. at length, morning broke, gray and lowering, over a leaden sea that was seamed with white. carroll glanced longingly at the meat can on the locker near his feet. he could reach it by stooping, though he dare not leave the helm, but he determined to wait until noon before he broke his fast again. it could not be very far to comox, but the wind might drop. then he began to wonder how he had escaped the perils of the night. he had come down what was really a wide and not quite straight sound, passing several unlighted islands. before starting, he had decided that he would run so far, and then change his course a point or two, but he could not be sure that he had done so. he had a hazy recollection of seeing surf, and once a faint loom of land, but he supposed that he had avoided it half-consciously or that chance had favored him. in the afternoon, the wind changed a little, backing to the northwest; the sky grew brighter, and carroll made out shadowy land over his starboard quarter. soon he recognized it with a start. it was the high ridge north of comox. he had run farther than he had expected, and he must try to hoist the peak of the mainsail and haul her on the wind. there was danger in rounding her up, but it must be faced, though a sea foamed across her as he put down his helm. another followed, but he scrambled forward and struggled desperately to hoist the down-hanging gaff. the halyards were swollen; and he could scarcely keep his footing on the deluged deck that slanted steeply under him. he thought he could have mastered the banging canvas had he been fresh; but worn out as he was, drenched with spray and buffeted by the shattered tops of the seas, the task was beyond his power. giving it up, he staggered back, breathless and almost nerveless, to the helm. he could not reach comox, which lay to windward, with the sail half set, but it was only seventy miles or so to nanaimo and not much farther to vancouver. the breeze would be fair to either, and he could charter a launch or tug for the return journey. letting her go before the sea again, he ate some canned meat ravenously, tearing it with one hand. during the afternoon, a gray mass rose out of the water to port and he supposed it was texada. there were mines on the island and he might be able to engage a rescue party; but he reflected that he could not beat the sloop back to windward unless the breeze fell, which it showed no signs of doing. it would be more prudent to go on to vancouver, where he would be sure of getting a steamer; but he closed with the long island a little, and dusk was falling when he made out a boat in the partial shelter of a bight. standing in closer, he saw that there were two men on the craft, and driving down upon her he backed and ran alongside. there was a crash as he struck the boat and an astonished and angry man clutched the sloop's rail. "now what in the name of thunder--" he began and stopped, struck by carroll's haggard and ragged appearance. "can you take this sloop to vancouver?" carroll asked hoarsely. "i could if it was worth while," was the cautious answer. "it will be a mighty wet run." "seven dollars a day, until you're home again. a bonus, if you can sail her with the whole reefed mainsail up--i won't stick at a few dollars. can your partner pull that boat ashore alone? if not, cast her adrift; i'll buy her." "he'll make the beach," returned the other, jumping on board. "seven dollars sounds a square deal. i won't put the screw on you." "then help me hoist the peak. after that, you can take the helm; i'm played out." the man shouted something to his companion and then seized the halyards, and the sloop drove on again, furiously, with an increased spread of canvas, while carroll stood holding on by the coaming until the boat dropped back. "i'll leave you to it," he told the new helmsman, "it's twenty-four hours since i've had more than a bite or two of food, and some weeks since i had a decent meal." "you look it. been up against it somewhere?" carroll, without replying, crawled below and managed to light the stove and make a kettleful of tea. he drank a good deal of it, and nearly emptied the remaining small meat can, which he presently held out for the helmsman's inspection, standing beneath the hatch. "there's some tea left, but this is all there is to eat on board the craft," he said. "you're hired to take her to vancouver--you'd better get there as quick as you can." the bronzed helmsman nodded. "she won't be long on the way if the mast holds up." "have you seen any papers lately?" carroll inquired. "i've been up in the bush and i'm interested in the clermont mine. it looked as if there might be some changes in the company's prospects when i went away." "i noticed a bit about it in the _colonist_ a while back. the company sold out to another concern, or amalgamated with it; i don't remember which." carroll was not astonished. the news implied that he must be prepared to face a more or less serious financial reverse, and it struck him as a fitting climax to his misadventures. "it's pretty much what i expected," he said. "i'm going to sleep and i don't want to be wakened before it's necessary." he crawled below, and he had hardly stretched himself out upon the locker before his eyes closed. when he opened them, feeling more like his usual self, he saw that the sun was above the horizon, and he recognized by the boat's motion that the wind had fallen. going out he found her driving through the water under her whole mainsail and the helmsman sitting stolidly at the tiller. the man stretched out a hand and pointed to the hazy hills to port. "we'll fetch the narrows some time before noon. if you'll take the helm, i guess we'll half that meat for breakfast" his prediction proved correct, for carroll reached his hotel about midday, and hastily changing his clothes set off to call on nairn. he had not yet recovered his mental equipoise and, in spite of his long, sound sleep, he was still badly jaded physically. on arriving at the house, he was shown into a room where mrs. nairn and her husband were sitting with evelyn, waiting for the midday meal the elder lady rose with a start of astonishment when he walked in. "man," she cried, "what's wrong? ye're looking like a ghost." it was not an inapt description. carroll's face was worn and haggard, and his clothes hung slack upon him. "i've been feeling rather unsubstantial of late, as the result of a restricted diet," he answered with a smile sinking into the nearest chair. nairn regarded him with carefully suppressed curiosity. "ye're over lang in coming," he remarked. "where left ye your partner?" carroll sat silent a moment or two, his eyes fixed on evelyn. it was evident that his sudden appearance unaccompanied by vane, which he felt had been undesirably dramatic, had alarmed her. at first, he felt compassionate, and then he was suddenly possessed by hot indignation. this girl, with her narrow prudish notions and dispassionate nature, had presumed to condemn his comrade, unheard, for an imaginary offense. the thing was at once ludicrous and intolerable; if his news brought her dismay, let her suffer. his nerves, it must be remembered, were not in their normal condition. "yes," he said, in answer to his host's first remark; "i've gathered that we have failed to save the situation. but i don't know exactly what has happened. you had better tell me." mrs. nairn made a sign of protest, but her husband glanced at her restrainingly. "ye will hear his news in good time," he informed her, and then turned to carroll. "in a few words, the capital was no subscribed--it leaked out that the ore was running poor--and we held an emergency meeting. with vane away, i could put no confidence into the shareholders--they were anxious to get from under--and horsfield brought forward an amalgamation scheme: a combine would take the property over, on their valuation. i and a few others were outvoted; the scheme went through; and when the announcement steadied the stock, which had been tumbling down, i exercised the authority given me and sold your shares and vane's at considerably less than their face value. ye can have particulars later. what i have to ask now is--where is vane?" the man's voice grew sharp; the question was flung out like an accusation; but carroll still looked at evelyn. he felt very bitter against her; he would not soften the blow. "i left him in the bush, with no more than a few days' provisions and a broken leg," he announced. then, in spite of evelyn's efforts to retain her composure, her face blanched. carroll's anger vanished, because the truth was clear. vane had triumphed through disaster; his peril and ruin had swept his offenses away. the girl, who had condemned him in his prosperity, would not turn from him in misfortune. in the meanwhile the others sat silent, gazing at the bearer of evil news, until he spoke again. "i want a tug to take me back, at once, if she can be got. i'll pick up a few men along the waterfront." nairn rose and went out of the room. the tinkle of a telephone bell reached those who remained, and a minute or two later he came back. "i've sent whitney round," he explained. "he'll come across if there's a boat to be had, and now ye look as if ye needed lunch." "it's several weeks since i had one," carroll smiled. the meal was brought in, but for a while he talked as well as ate, relating his adventures in somewhat disjointed fragments, while the others sat listening eagerly. he was also pleased to notice something which suggested returning confidence in him in evelyn's intent eyes as the tale proceeded. when at last he had made the matter clear, he added: "if i keep you waiting, you'll excuse me." his hostess watched his subsequent efforts with candid approval, and looking up once or twice, he saw sympathy in the girl's face, instead of the astonishment or disgust he had half expected. when he finished, his hostess rose and carroll stood up, but nairn motioned to him to resume his place. "i'm thinking ye had better sit still a while and smoke," he said. carroll was glad to do so, and they conferred together until nairn was called to the telephone. "ye can have the brodick boat at noon to-morrow," he reported on his return. "that won't do," carroll objected heavily. "send whitney round again; i must sail to-night." he had some difficulty in getting out the words, and when he rose his eyes were half closed. walking unsteadily, he crossed the room and sank onto a big lounge. "i think," he added, "if you don't mind, i'll go to sleep." nairn merely nodded, and when he went silently out of the room a minute or two afterward, the worn-out man was already wrapped in profound slumber. nairn just then received another call by telephone and left in haste for his office without speaking to his wife, with the result that mrs. nairn and evelyn, returning to the room in search of carroll, found him lying still. the elder lady raised her hand in warning as she bent over the sleeper, and then taking up a light rug spread it gently over him. evelyn, too, was stirred to sudden pity, for the man's attitude was eloquent of exhaustion. they withdrew softly and had reached the corridor outside when mrs. nairn turned to the girl. "when he first came in, ye blamed that man for deserting his partner," she said. evelyn confessed it and her hostess smiled meaningly. "are ye no rather too ready to blame?" "i'm afraid i am," evelyn admitted, with the color creeping into her face as she remembered another instance in which she had condemned a man hastily. "in this case, ye were very foolish. the man came down for help, and if he could no get it, he would go back his lone, if all the way was barred with ice and he must walk on his naked feet. love of woman's strong and the fear of death is keen, but ye will find now and then a faith between man and man that neither would sever." she paused and looked at the girl fixedly as she asked: "what of him that could inspire it?" evelyn did not answer. she had never seen her hostess in this mood, and she also was stirred; but the elder lady went on again: "the virtue of a gift lies in part, but no altogether, with the giver. whiles, it may be bestowed unworthily, but i'm thinking it's no often. the bond that will drag carroll back to the north again, to his death, if need be, has no been spun from nothing." evelyn had no doubt that mrs. nairn was right. loyalty, most often, demanded a worthy object to tender service to; it sprang from implicit confidence, mutual respect and strong appreciation. it was not without a reason that vane had inspired it in his comrade's breast; and this was the man she had condemned. that fact, however, was by comparison a very minor trouble. vane was lying, helpless and alone, in the snowy wilderness, in peril of his life; and she knew that she loved him. she realized now, when it might be too late, that had he in reality been stained with dishonor, she could have forgiven him. indeed, it had only been by a painful effort that she had maintained some show of composure since carroll had brought the disastrous news, and she felt that she could not keep it up much longer. what she said to mrs. nairn she could not remember, but escaping from her she retired to her own room, to lie still and grapple with an agony of fear and contrition. it was two hours later when she went down and found carroll, who still looked drowsy, about to go out. his hostess had left him for a moment in the hall, and meeting the girl's eyes, he smiled at her reassuringly. "don't be anxious. i'll bring him back," he said. then mrs. nairn appeared and in a few moments carroll left without another word to evelyn. she did not ask herself why he had taken it for granted that she would be anxious; she was beyond any petty regard for appearances then. it was consoling to remember that he was vane's tried comrade; a man who kept his word. chapter xxix jessy's contrition after leaving mrs. nairn, carroll walked toward horsfield's residence in a thoughtful mood, because he felt it incumbent upon him to play a part he was not particularly fitted for in a somewhat delicate matter. uncongenial as his task was, it was one that could not be left to vane, who was even less to be trusted with the handling of such affairs; and carroll had resolved, as he would have described it, to straighten out things. his partner had somehow offended evelyn, and though she was now obviously disposed to forgive him, the recollection of his supposititious iniquity might afterward rankle in her mind. though vane was innocent of any conduct to which she could with reason take exception, it was first of all needful to ascertain the exact nature of the charge against him. carroll, who for several reasons had preferred not to press this question upon evelyn, had a strong suspicion that jessy horsfield was at the bottom of the trouble. there was also one clue to follow--vane had paid the rent of celia hartley's shack, and he wondered whether jessy could by any means have heard of it. if she had done so, the matter would be simplified, for he had a profound distrust of her. a recent action of hers was, he thought, sufficient to justify this attitude. he found her at home, reclining gracefully in an easy-chair in her drawing-room, and though she did not seem astonished to see him, he fancied that her expression hinted at suppressed concern. "i heard that you had arrived alone, and i intended to make inquiries from mrs. nairn as soon as i thought she would be at liberty," she informed him. carroll had found the direct attack effective in evelyn's case, and he determined to try it again. "then," he declared, "it says a good deal for your courage." he never doubted that she possessed courage, and she displayed it now. "so," she said calmly, "you have come as an enemy." "not exactly; it didn't seem worth while. though there's no doubt you betrayed us--vane waited for the warning you could have sent--so far as it concerns our ruined interests in the clermont, the thing's done and can't be mended. we'll let that question go. the most important point is that if you had recalled us, as you promised, vane would now be safe and sound." this shot told. the girl's face became less imperturbable; there was eagerness and, he thought, a hint of fear in it. "then has any accident happened to him?" "he's lying in the bush, helpless, in imminent peril of starvation." "go on!" there were signs of strain clearly perceptible in the girl's voice. carroll was brief, but he made her understand the position; then she turned upon him imperiously. "then why are you wasting your time here?" "it's a reasonable question. i can't get a tug to take me back until noon to-morrow." "ah!" murmured jessy. "excuse me for a minute." she left him astonished. he had not expected her to take him at a disadvantage, as she had done with her previous thrust, and now he did not think that she had slipped away to hide her feelings. that did not seem necessary in jessy's case, though he believed she was more or less disturbed. she came back presently, looking calm, and sat down again. "my brother will be here in a quarter of an hour," she informed him. "things are rather slack, and he had half promised to take me for a drive. i have just called him up." carroll did not see how this bore upon the subject of their conversation, but he left her to take the lead. "did mr. vane tell you that i had promised to warn him?" she asked. "to do him justice, he let it out before he quite realized what he was saying. i'd better own that i partly surprised him into giving me the information." "the expedient seems a favorite one with you. i suppose no news of what has happened here can have reached him?" "none. if it's any consolation, he has still an unshaken confidence in you," carroll assured her with blunt bitterness. the girl showed faint signs of confusion, but she sat silent for the next few moments. during that time it flashed upon carroll with illuminating light that he had heard celia hartley say that miss horsfield had found her orders for millinery. this confirmed his previous suspicion that jessy had discovered who had paid the rent of celia's shack, and that she had with deliberate malice informed evelyn, distorting her account so that it would tell against vane. there were breaks in the chain of reasoning which led him to this conclusion, but he did not think that jessy would shrink from such a course, and he determined to try a chance shot. "vane's inclined to be trustful, and his rash generosity has once or twice got him into trouble," he remarked, and went on as if an explanation were needed: "it's miss hartley's case i'm thinking about just now. i've an idea he asked you to look after her. am i right?" as soon as he had spoken he knew that he had hit the mark. jessy did not openly betray herself, but there are not many people who can remain absolutely unmoved when unexpectedly asked a startling question. besides, the man was observant, and had all his faculties strung up for the encounter. he saw one of her hands tighten on the arm of her chair and a hint of uneasiness in her eyes, and that sufficed him. "yes," she replied; "i recommended her to some of my friends. i understand that she is getting along satisfactorily." carroll felt compelled to admire her manner. he believed that she loved his comrade but had nevertheless tried to ruin him in a fit of jealous rage. she was, no doubt, now keenly regretting her success, but though he thought she deserved to suffer, she was bravely facing the trying situation. it was one that was rife with dramatic possibilities, and he was grateful to her for avoiding them. "you are going back to-morrow," she said after a brief silence. "i suppose you will have to tell your partner--what you have discovered here--as soon as you reach him?" carroll had not intended to spare her, but now he felt almost compassionate, and he had one grain of comfort to offer. "i must tell him that his shares in the clermont have been sacrificed. i wonder if that is all you meant?" jessy met his inquiring gaze with something very much like an appeal, and then she spread out her hands in a manner that seemed to indicate that she threw herself upon his mercy. "it is not all i meant," she confessed. "then if it's any relief to you, i'll confine myself to telling him that he has been deprived of his most valuable property. i dare say the news will hit him hard enough. he may afterward discover other facts for himself, but on the whole i shouldn't consider it likely. as i said, he's confiding and slow to suspect." he read genuine gratitude, which he had hardly expected, in the girl's face; but he raised his hand and went on in the rather formal manner which he felt was the only safe one to assume: "i had, perhaps, better mention that i am going to call on miss hartley. after that, i shall be uncommonly thankful to start back for the bush." he paused and concluded with a sudden trace of humor: "i'll own that i feel more at home with the work that awaits me there." jessy made a little gesture which, while it might have meant anything, was somehow very expressive. just then there were footsteps outside and the next moment horsfield walked into the room. "so you're back!" "yes," carroll replied shortly. "beaten at both ends--there's no use in hiding it." horsfield showed no sign of satisfaction, and carroll afterward admitted that the man behaved very considerately. "well," he declared, "though you may be astonished to hear it, i'm sorry. unfortunately, our interests clashed, and i naturally looked after mine. once upon a time i thought i could have worked hand in hand with vane, but our ideas did not coincide, and your partner is not the man to yield a point or listen to advice." carroll was aware that horsfield had by means which were far from honorable deprived him of a considerable portion of his possessions. he had also betrayed his fellow shareholders in the clermont mine, selling their interests, doubtless for a tempting consideration, to the directors of another company. for all that, carroll recognized that since he and vane were beaten, as he had confessed, recriminations and reproaches would be useless as well as undignified. he preferred to face defeat calmly. "it's the fortunes of war," he returned. "what you say about vane is more or less correct; but, although it is not a matter of much importance now, it was impossible from the beginning that your views and his ever should agree." horsfield smiled. "too great a difference of temperament? i dare say you're right. vane measures things by a different standard--mine's perhaps more adapted to the market-place. but where have you left him?" "in the bush. miss horsfield will, no doubt, give you particulars; i've just told her the tale." "she called me up at the office and asked me to come across at once. will you excuse us for a few minutes?" they went out together, and jessy presently came back alone and looked at carroll in a diffident manner. "i suppose," she began, "one could hardly expect you to think of either of us very leniently; but i must ask you to believe that i am sincerely distressed to hear of your partner's accident. it was a thing i could never have anticipated; but there are amends i can make. every minute you can save is precious, isn't it?" "it is." "then i can get you a tug. my brother tells me the _atlin_ is coming across from victoria and should be here early this evening. he has gone back to the office to secure her for you, though she was fixed to go off for a lumber boom." "thank you," responded carroll. "it's a very great service. she's a powerful boat." jessy hesitated. "i think my brother would like to say a few words when he comes back. can i offer you some tea?" "i think not," answered carroll, smiling. "for one thing, if i sit still much longer, i shall, no doubt, go to sleep again, as i did at nairn's; and that would be neither seemly nor convenient, if i'm to sail this evening. besides, now that we've arranged an armistice, it might be wiser not to put too much strain on it." "an armistice?" "i think that describes it." carroll's manner grew significant. "the word implies a cessation of hostilities--on certain terms." jessy could take a hint, and his meaning was clear. unless she forced him to do so, he would not betray her to his comrade, who might never discover the part she had played; but he had given her a warning, which might be bluntly rendered as "hands off." there was only one course open to her--to respect it. she had brought down the man she loved, but it was clear that he was not for her, and now that the unreasoning fury which had driven her to strike had passed, she was troubled with contrition. there was nothing left except to retire from the field, and it was better to do so gracefully. for all that, there were signs of strain in her expression as she capitulated. "well," she said, "i have given you proof that you have nothing to fear from me. my brother is the only man in vancouver who could have got you that tug for this evening; i understand that the sawmill people are very much in need of the lumber she was engaged to tow." she held out her hand and carroll took it, though he had not expected to part from her on friendly terms. "i owe you a good deal for that," he smiled. his task, however, was only half completed when he left the house, and the remaining portion was the more difficult, but he meant to finish it. he preferred to take life lightly; he had trifled with it before disaster had driven him out into the wilds; but there was resolution in the man, and he could force himself to play an unpleasant part when it was needful. fortune also favored him, as she often does those who follow the boldest course. he had entered a busy street when he met kitty and celia. the latter looked thin and somewhat pale, but she was moving briskly, and her face was eager when she shook hands with him. "we have been anxious about you," she declared; "there was no news. is mr. vane with you? how have you got on?" "we found the spruce," answered carroll. "it's not worth milling--a forest fire has wiped out most of it--but we struck some shingling cedar we may make something of." "where's mr. vane?" "in the bush. i've a good deal to tell you about him; but we can't talk here. i wonder if we could find a quiet place in a restaurant, or if the park would be better." "the park," said kitty decidedly. they reached it in due time, and carroll, who had refused to say anything about vane on the way, found the girls a seat in a grove of giant firs and sat down opposite to them. though it was winter, the day, as is often the case near vancouver, was pleasantly mild. "now," he began, "my partner is a singularly unfortunate person. in the first place, the transfer of the clermont property, which you have no doubt heard of, means a serious loss to him, though he is not ruined yet. he talks of putting up a shingling mill, in which drayton will be of service, and if things turn out satisfactorily you will be given an interest in it." he added the last sentence as an experiment, and was satisfied with the result. "never mind our interests," cried kitty. "what about mr. vane?" for the third time since his arrival, carroll made the strongest appeal he could to womanly pity, drawing, with a purpose, a vivid picture of his comrade's peril and suffering. nor was he disappointed, for he saw consternation, compassion and sympathy in the girls' faces. so far, the thing had been easy, but now he hesitated, and it was with difficulty that he nerved himself for what must follow. "he has been beaten out of his stock in the mine; he's broken down in health and in danger; but, by comparison, that doesn't count for very much with him. he has another trouble; and though i'm afraid i'm going out of the way in mentioning it, if it could be got over, it would help him to face the future and set him on his feet again." then he briefly recounted the story of vane's regard for evelyn, making the most of his sacrifice in withdrawing from the field, and again he realized that he had acted wisely. a love affair appealed to his listeners, and there was a romance in this one that heightened the effect of it. "but miss chisholm can't mean to turn from him now," interrupted celia. carroll looked at her meaningly. "no; she turned from him before he sailed. she heard something about him." his companions appeared astonished. "she couldn't have heard anything that anybody could mind," kitty exclaimed indignantly. "he's not that kind of man." "it's a compliment," returned carroll. "i think he deserves it. at the same time, he's a little rash, and now and then a man's generosity is open to misconception. in this case, i don't think one could altogether blame miss chisholm." kitty glanced at him sharply and then at celia, who looked at first puzzled and then startled. then the blood surged into kitty's cheeks. "oh!" she gasped, as if she were breathless, "i was once afraid of something like this. you mean we're the cause of it?" the course he followed was hateful to carroll, but the tangle could not be straightened without having somebody's feelings hurt, and it was his comrade about whom he was most concerned. "i believe that you understand the situation," he said quietly. he saw the fire in kitty's eyes and noticed that celia's face also was flushed, but he did not think their anger was directed against him. they knew the world they lived in, and, for that matter, he could share their indignation. he resented the fact that a little thing should bring swift suspicion upon them. he was, however, not required to face any disconcerting climax. indeed, it struck him as curious that a difficult situation in which strong emotion was stirred up could become so tamely prosaic merely because it was resolutely handled in a matter-of-fact manner. "well," inquired celia, "why did you tell us this?" "i think you both owe vane something, and you can do him a great favor just now." kitty looked up at him. "don't ask me too much, mr. carroll. i'm irish, and i feel like killing somebody." "it's natural," responded carroll with a sympathetic smile. "i've now and then felt much the same way; it's probably unavoidable in a world like this. however, i think you ought to call on miss chisholm, after i've gone, though you'd better not mention that i sent you. you can say you came for news of vane--and add anything that you consider necessary." the girls looked at each other, and at length, though it obviously cost her a struggle, kitty said decidedly: "we will have to go." then she faced round toward carroll. "if miss chisholm won't believe us, she'll be sorry we came!" carroll made her a slight inclination. "she'll deserve it, if she's not convinced. but it might be better if you didn't approach her in the mood you're in just now." kitty rose, motioning to celia, and carroll turned back with them toward the city, feeling a certain constraint in their company and yet conscious of a strong relief. it had grown dark when he returned to nairn's house. "where have ye been?" his host inquired. "i had a clerk seeking ye all round the city. i canna get ye a boat before the morn." carroll saw that mrs. nairn shared her husband's desire to learn how he had been occupied. evelyn also was in the room, and she waited expectantly for his answer. "there were one or two little matters that required attention and i managed to arrange them satisfactorily," he explained. "among other things, i've got a tug, and i expect to sail in an hour or two. miss horsfield found me the vessel." he noticed evelyn's interest, and was rather pleased to see it. if she were disposed to be jealous of jessy it could do no harm. nairn, however, frowned. "i'm thinking it might have been better if ye had no troubled jessy," he commented. "i'm sorry i can't agree with you," carroll retorted. "the difference between this evening and noon to-morrow is a big consideration." "weel," replied nairn resignedly; "i can no deny the thing, if ye look at it like that." carroll changed the subject; but some time later mrs. nairn sat down near him in the temporary absence of her husband and evelyn. "we will no be disturbed for two or three minutes," she said. "ye answered alic like a scotsman before supper and put him off the track, though that's no so easy done." carroll grinned. he enjoyed an encounter with mrs. nairn, though she was, as a rule, more than a match for him. "you're too complimentary," he declared. "the genuine caledonian caution can't be acquired by outsiders; it's a gift." "i'll no practise it now," returned the lady. "ye're no so proud of yourself for nothing. what have ye been after?" carroll crossed his finger-tips and looked at her over them. "since you ask the question, i may say this--if miss chisholm has two lady visitors during the next few days, you might make sure that she sees them." "what are their names?" "miss celia hartley, the daughter of the prospector who sent vane off to look for the timber, and miss kitty blake, who, as you have probably heard, once came down the west coast with him, in company with an elder lady and myself." mrs. nairn started, then she looked thoughtful, and finally she broke into a smile of open appreciation. "now," she ejaculated, "i understand. i did no think it of ye. ye're no far from a genius!" "thanks. i believe i succeeded better than i could have expected, and perhaps than i deserved." they were interrupted then by nairn, who came hastily into the room. "there's one of the _atlin_ deck-hands below," he announced. "he's come on here from horsfield's to say that the boat's ready with a full head of steam up, and the packers ye hired are waiting on the wharf." carroll rose and became in a moment intent and eager. "tell him i'll be down almost as soon as he is. you'll have to excuse me." two minutes later he left the house, and fervent good wishes followed him from the party on the stoop. he did not stop to acknowledge them, but shortly afterward the blast of a whistle came ringing across the roofs from beside the water-front. chapter xxx convincing testimony one afternoon three or four days after carroll had sailed, evelyn sat alone in mrs. nairn's drawing-room, a prey to confused regrets and keen anxiety. she had recovered from the first shock caused her by carroll's news, but though she could face the situation more calmly, she could find no comfort anywhere--vane was lying, helpless and famishing, in the frost-bound wilderness. she knew that she loved the man; indeed, she had really known it for some time, and it was that which had made jessy's revelation so bitter. now, fastidious in thought and feeling as she was, she wondered whether she had been too hard upon him; it was becoming more and more difficult to believe that he could have justified her disgust and anger; but this was not what troubled her most. she had sent him away with cold disfavor. now he was threatened by dangers. it was horrible to think of what might befall him before assistance arrived, and yet she could not drive the haunting dread out of her mind. she was in this mood when a maid announced that two visitors wished to see her; and when they were shown in, she found it difficult to hide her astonishment as she recognized in kitty the very attractive girl she had once seen in vane's company. it was this which prompted her to assume a chilling manner, though she asked her guests to be seated. neither of them appeared altogether at her ease, and there was, indeed, a rather ominous sparkle in kitty's blue eyes. "mr. carroll was in town not long ago," kitty began bluntly. "have you had any news of him since he sailed?" evelyn did not know what to make of the question, and she answered coldly. "no; we do not expect any word for some time." "i'm sorry. we're anxious about mr. vane." on the surface, the announcement appeared significant, but the girl's boldness in coming to her for news was inexplainable to evelyn. puzzled as she was, her attitude became more discouraging. "you know him then?" something in her tone made celia's cheeks burn and she drew herself up. "yes," she said; "we know him, both of us. i guess it's astonishing to you. but i met him first when he was poor, and getting rich hasn't spoiled mr. vane." evelyn was once more puzzled. the girl's manner savored less of assurance than of wholesome pride which had been injured. kitty then broke in: "we had no cards to send in; but i'm kathleen blake, and this is celia hartley--it was her father sent mr. vane off to look for the spruce." "ah!" exclaimed evelyn, a little more gently, addressing celia. "i understand that your father died." kitty flashed a commanding glance at celia. "yes," the girl replied; "that is correct. he left me ill and worn out, without a dollar, and i don't know what i should have done if mr. vane hadn't insisted on giving drayton a little money for me; on account, he said, because i was a partner in the venture. then miss horsfield got some work among her friends for me to do at home. mr. vane must have asked her to; it would be like him." evelyn sat silent a few moments. celia had given her a good deal of information in answer to a very simple remark; but she was most impressed by the statement that jessy, who had prejudiced her against vane, had helped the girl at his request. it was difficult to believe that she would have done so had there been any foundation for her insinuations. if celia spoke the truth, and evelyn somehow felt this was the case, the whole thing was extraordinary. "now," continued celia, "it's no way astonishing that i'm grateful to mr. vane and anxious to hear whether mr. carroll has reached him." this was spoken with a hint of defiance, but the girl's voice changed. "i am anxious. it's horrible to think of a man like him freezing in the bush." her concern was so genuine and yet somehow so innocent that evelyn's heart softened. "yes," she asserted, "it's dreadful." then she asked a question. "who's the mr. drayton you mentioned?" kitty blushed becomingly; this was her lead. "he's a kind of partner in the lumber scheme; i'm going to marry him. he's as firm a friend of mr. vane's as any one. there's a reason for that--i was in a very tight place once, left without money in a desolate settlement where there was nothing i could do, when mr. vane helped me. but perhaps that wouldn't interest you." for a moment her doubts still clung to their hold in evelyn's mind, and then she suddenly drove the last of them out, with a stinging sense of humiliation. she could not distrust this girl; it was jessy's suggestion that was incredible. "it would interest me very much," she declared. kitty told her story effectively, but with caution, laying most stress upon vane's compassion for the child and her invalid mother. she was rather impressed by miss chisholm, but she supposed that she was endowed with some of the failing common to human nature. evelyn listened with confused emotions and a softened face. she was convinced of the truth of the simple tale, and the thought of vane's keeping his moneyed friends and directors waiting in vancouver in order that a tired child might rest and gather shells upon a sunny beach stirred her deeply. it was so characteristic; exactly what she would have expected him to do. "thank you," she said quietly, when kitty had finished; and then, flinging off the last of her reserve, she asked a number of questions about drayton and about celia's affairs. before her visitors left, all three were on friendly terms; but evelyn was glad when they took their departure. she wanted to be alone to think. in spite of the relief of which she was conscious, her thoughts were far from pleasant. foremost among them figured a crushing sense of shame. she had wickedly misjudged a man who had given her many proofs of the fineness of his character; the evil she had imputed to him was born of her own perverted imagination. she was no better than the narrow-minded, conventional pharisees she detested, who were swift to condemn out of the uncleanness of their self-righteous hearts. then, as she began to reason, it flashed upon her that she was, perhaps, wronging herself. her mind had been cunningly poisoned by an utterly unscrupulous and wholly detestable woman, and she flamed out into a fit of imperious anger against jessy. she had a hazy idea that this was not altogether reasonable, for she was to some extent fastening the blame she deserved upon another person's shoulders; but it did not detract from the comfort the indulgence in her indignation brought her. when she had grown a little calmer, mrs. nairn came in; and mrs. nairn was a discerning lady. it was not difficult to lead evelyn on to speak of her visitors, for the girl's pride was broken and she felt in urgent need of sympathy; but when she had described the interview she felt impelled to avoid any discussion of the more important issues, even with the kindly scotch lady. "i was surprised at the girls' manner," she concluded. "it must have been embarrassing to them; but they were really so delicate over it, and they had so much courage." mrs. nairn smiled. "although one of them has traveled with third-rate strolling companies and the other has waited in a hotel? weel, maybe your surprise was natural. ye canna all at once get rid of the ideas and prejudices ye were brought up with." "i suppose that was it," replied evelyn thoughtfully. her companion's eyes twinkled. "then, if ye're to live among us happily, ye'll have to try. in the way ye use the words, some of the leading men in this country were no brought up at all." "do you imagine that i'm going to live here?" mrs. nairn gathered up one or two articles she had brought into the room with her and moved toward the door, but before she reached it she looked back with a laugh. "it occurred to me that the thing was no altogether impossible." an hour afterward, evelyn and mrs. nairn went down into the town, and in one of the streets they came upon jessy leaving a store. the latter was not lacking in assurance and she moved toward them with a smile; but evelyn gazed at her with a total disregard of her presence and walked quietly on. there was neither anger nor disdain in her attitude; to have shown either would have been a concession she could not make. the instincts of generations of gently-reared englishwomen were aroused, as well as the revulsion of an untainted nature from something unclean. jessy's cheeks turned crimson and a malevolent light flashed into her eyes as she crossed the street. mrs. nairn noticed her expression and smiled at her companion. "i'm thinking it's as weel ye met jessy after she had got the boat for carroll," she commented. the remark was no doubt justified, but the fact that jessy had been able to offer valuable assistance failed to soften evelyn toward her. it was merely another offense. in the meanwhile, the powerful tug steamed northward, towing the sloop, which would be required, and after landing the rescue party at the inlet steamed away again. before she had disappeared carroll began his march, and his companions long remembered it. two of them were accustomed to packing surveyors' stores through the seldom-trodden bush and the others had worked in logging camps and chopped new roads, but though they did not spare themselves, they lacked their leader's animus. carroll, with all his love of ease, could rise to meet an emergency, and he wore out his companions before the journey was half done. he scarcely let them sleep; he fed them on canned stuff to save delay in lighting fires; and he grew more feverishly impatient with every mile they made. he showed it chiefly by the tight set of his lips and the tension of his face, though now and then when fallen branches or thickets barred the way he fell upon the obstacles with the ax in silent fury. for the rest, he took the lead and kept it, and the others, following with shoulders aching from the pack-straps and labored breath, suppressed their protests. like many another made in that country, it was a heroic journey; one in which every power of mind and body was taxed to the limit. delay might prove fatal. the loads were heavy; fatigue seized the shrinking flesh, but the unrelenting will, trained in such adventures, mercilessly spurred it on. toughened muscle is useful and in the trackless north can seldom be dispensed with; but man's strength does not consist of that alone: there are occasions when the stalwart fall behind and die. in front of them, as they progressed, lay the unchanging forest, tangled, choked with fallen wreckage, laced here and there with stabbing thorns, appalling and almost impenetrable to the stranger. they must cleave their passage, except where they could take to the creek for an easier way and wade through stingingly cold water or flounder over slippery fangs of rock and ice-encrusted stones. there was sharp frost among the ranges and the brush through which they tore their way was generally burdened with clogging snow. they went on, however, and on the last day carroll drew some distance ahead of those who followed him. it was dark when he discovered that he had lost them, but that did not matter, for now and then faint moonlight came filtering down and he was leaving a plain trail behind. his shoulders were bleeding beneath the biting straps; he was on the verge of exhaustion; but he struggled forward, panting heavily and rending his garments to rags as he smashed through the brakes in the darkness. the night--it seemed a very long one--was nearly over when he recognized the roar of a rapid that rang in louder and louder pulsations across the snow-sprinkled bush. he was not far from the end now, and he became conscious of an unnerving fear. the ground was ascending sharply, and when he reached the top of the slope the question from which he shrank would be answered for him--if there should be no blink of light among the serried trunks, he would have come too late. he reached the summit and his heart leaped; then he clutched at a drooping branch to support himself, shaken by a reaction that sprang from relief. a flicker of uncertain radiance fell upon the trees ahead, and down the bitter wind there came the reek of pungent smoke. the bush was slightly more open, and carroll broke into a run. presently he came crashing and stumbling into the light of the fire and then stopped, too stirred and out of breath to speak. vane lay where the red glow fell upon his face, smiling up at him. "well," he said, "you've come. i've been expecting you, but on the whole i got along not so badly." carroll flung off his pack and sat down beside the fire; then he fumbled for his pipe and began to fill it hurriedly with trembling fingers. he lighted it and flung away the match before he spoke. "sorry i couldn't get through sooner," he mumbled. "the stores on board the sloop were spoiled; i had to go on to vancouver. but there are things to eat in my pack." "hand it across. i haven't been faring sumptuously the last few days. no, sit still! i'm supple enough from the waist up." he proved it by the way he leaned to and fro as he opened the pack and distributed part of its contents among the cooking utensils. carroll assisted him now and then but he did not care to speak. the sight of the man's gaunt face and the eagerness in his eyes prompted him to an outbreak of feeling rather foreign to his nature, and he did not think his companion would appreciate it. when the meal was ready, vane looked up at him. "i've no doubt this journey cost you something--partner," he said. then they ate cheerfully, and carroll, watching his friend's efforts with appreciation, told his story in broken sentences. afterward, they lighted their pipes, but by and by carroll's fell from his relaxing grasp. "i can't get over this sleepiness," he explained. "i believe i disgraced myself in vancouver by going off in the most unsuitable places," "i dare say it was quite natural. anyway, hadn't you better hitch yourself a little farther from the fire?" carroll did so and lay still afterward, but vane kept watch during the rest of the night, until in the dawn the packers appeared. chapter xxxi vane is reinstated breakfast was over and the two men, wrapped in blankets, lay on opposite sides of the fire, while the packers reclined in various ungainly attitudes about another. now that they had a supply of provisions, haste was not a matter of importance, and there was no doubt that the rescue party needed a rest. carroll was aching all over and was somewhat disturbed in mind. he had not said anything about their financial affairs to his comrade yet, and the subject must be mentioned. it was, from every point of view, an unpleasant one. "what about the clermont?" vane asked at length. "you needn't trouble about breaking the news--come right to the point." "then, to all intents and purposes, the company has gone under; it's been taken over by horsfield's friends. nairn has sold our stock--at considerably less than face value," carroll explained, adding a brief account of the absorption of the concern. vane's face set hard. "i anticipated something of the kind last night; i saw how you kept clear of the matter." "but you said nothing." "no. i'd had time to consider the thing while i lay here, and it didn't look as if i could have got an intelligible account out of you. but you may as well mention how much nairn got." he lay smoking silently for a few minutes after he learned the amount, and carroll was strongly moved to sympathy. he felt that it was not the financial reverse but one indirect result of it which would hit his comrade hardest. "well," vane said grimly, "i suppose i've done what my friends would consider a mad thing in coming up here--and i must face the reckoning." carroll wondered whether their conversation could be confined to the surface of the subject, because there were depths beneath it that it would be better to leave undisturbed. "after all, you're far from broke," he encouraged him. "you have what the clermont stock brought in, and you may make something out of this shingle scheme." there was bitterness in vane's laugh. "when i left vancouver for england i was generally supposed to be well on the way to affluence, and there was some foundation for the idea. i had floated the clermont in the face of opposition; people believed in me; i could have raised what money i required for any new undertaking. now a good deal of my money and all of my prestige is gone; people have very little confidence in a man who has shown himself a failure. what's more, i may be a cripple. my leg will probably have to be broken again." carroll could guess his companion's thoughts. there was a vein of stubborn pride in him, and he had, no doubt, decided it was unfitting that evelyn's future should be linked to that of a ruined man. this was an exaggerated view, because vane was in reality far from ruined, and even if he had been so, he had in him the ability to recover from his misfortunes. still, the man was obstinate and generally ready to make a sacrifice for an idea. carroll, however, consoled himself with the reflection that evelyn would probably have something to say upon the subject if she were given an opportunity, and he felt certain that mrs. nairn would contrive that she had one. "i can't see any benefit in making things out considerably worse than they are," he objected. "nor can i," vane agreed. "after all, i was getting pretty tired of the city, and i suppose i can raise enough to put up a small-power mill. it will be a pleasant change to take charge for a year or two in the bush. i'll make a start at the thing as soon as i'm able to walk." this was significant, as it implied that he did not intend to remain in vancouver, where he would be able to enjoy evelyn's company; but carroll made no comment, and vane soon spoke again. "didn't you mention last night that it was through miss horsfield that you got the tug? i was thinking about something else at the time." "yes. she made horsfield put some pressure on the people who had previously hired the boat." "that's rather strange." for a moment he looked puzzled, but almost immediately his face grew impassive, and carroll knew that he had some idea of jessy's treachery. he was, however, sure that any suspicions his comrade entertained would remain locked up in his breast. "i'm grateful to her, anyway," vane added. "i dare say i could have held out another day or two, but it wouldn't have been pleasant." carroll began to talk about the preparations for their return, which he soon afterward set about making, and early the next morning they started for the sloop, carrying vane upon a stretcher they had brought with them. though they had to cut a passage for it every here and there, they reached the sloop in safety, and after some trouble in getting vane below and onto a locker, carroll decided to sail straight for vancouver. they were favored with moderate, fair winds, and though the little vessel was uncomfortably crowded, she made a quick passage and stole in through the narrows as dusk was closing down one tranquil evening. evelyn had spent the greater part of the afternoon on the forest-crested rise above the city, where she could look down upon the inlet. she had visited the spot frequently during the last few days, watching eagerly for a sail that did not appear. there had been no news of carroll since the skipper of the tug reported having landed him, and the girl was tormented by doubts and anxieties. she had just come back and was standing in mrs. nairn's sitting-room, when she heard the tinkle of the telephone bell. a moment or two later her hostess entered hastily. "it's a message from alic," she cried. "he's heard from the wharf--vane's sloop's crossing the harbor. i'll away down to see carroll brings him here." evelyn turned to follow her, but mrs. nairn waved her back. "no," she said firmly; "ye'll bide where ye are. see they get plenty lights on--at the stairhead and in the passage--and the room on the left of it ready." she was gone in another moment, and evelyn hastily carried out her instructions and then waited with what patience she could assume. at last there was a rattle of wheels outside, followed by a voice giving orders, and then a tramp of feet. the sounds brought her a strange inward shrinking, but she ran to the door, and saw two tattered men awkwardly carrying a stretcher up the steps, while carroll and another assisted them. then the light fell upon its burden and, half prepared as she was, she started in dismay. vane, whom she had last seen in vigorous health, lay partly covered with an old blanket which had slipped off him to the waist. his jacket looked a mass of rags, his hat had fallen aside and his face showed hollow and worn and pinched. then he saw her and a light leaped into his eyes, but the next moment carroll's shoulder hid him and the men plodded on toward the stairs. they ascended them with difficulty and the girl waited until carroll came down. "i noticed you at the door. i dare say you were a little shocked at the change in vane," he said. "what he has undergone has pulled him down, but if you had seen him when i first found him, you'd have been worse startled. he's getting on quite satisfactorily." evelyn was relieved to hear it; and carroll continued: "as soon as the doctor comes, we'll make him more presentable; he can't be moved till then, as i'm not sure about the last bandages i put on. afterward, he'll no doubt hold an audience." there was nothing to do but wait, and evelyn again summoned her patience. before long, a doctor arrived, and carroll followed him to vane's room. the invalid's face was very impassive, though carroll waited in tense suspense while the doctor stripped off the bandages and bark supports from the injured leg. he examined it attentively, and then looked around at carroll. "you fixed that limb, when it was broken in the bush?" he asked. "yes," carroll answered, with a desperate attempt to treat the matter humorously. "but i really think we both had a hand in the thing. my partner favored me with his views; i disclaim some of the responsibility." "then i guess you've been remarkably fortunate. perhaps that's the best way of expressing it." vane raised his head and fixed his eyes upon the speaker. "it won't have to be rebroken? i'll be able to walk without a limp?" "it's most probable." vane's eyes glistened and he let his head fall back. "it's good news; better than i expected. now if you could fix me up again, i'd like to get dressed. i've felt like a hobo long enough." the doctor smiled indulgently. "we can venture to change that state of affairs, but i'll superintend the operation." it was some time before vane's toilet was completed, and then carroll surveyed him with humorous admiration. "it strikes me you do us credit; and now i suppose i can announce that you'll receive?" nairn and his wife and evelyn came in. nairn, shaking hands with vane very heartily, looked down at him with twinkling eyes. "i'd have been glad to see ye, however ye had come," he asserted, and vane fully believed him. "for a' that, this is no the way i would have wished to welcome ye." "when a man won't take his friends' advice, what can he expect?" retorted vane. nairn nodded, smiling. "let it be a warning. if the making of your mark and money is your object, ye must stick to it and think of nothing else. ye canna accumulate riches by spreading yourself, and philanthropy's no lucrative, except maybe to a few." "it's good counsel, but i'm thinking that it's a pity," mrs. nairn remarked. "what would ye say, evelyn?" the girl was aware that the tone of light banter had been adopted to cover deeper feelings, which those present shrank from expressing; but she ventured to give her thoughts free rein. "i agree with you in one respect," she said. "but i can't believe the object mentioned is mr. vane's only one. he would never be willing to pay the necessary price." it was a delicate compliment uttered in all sincerity, and vane's worn face grew warm. he was, however, conscious that it would be safer to avoid being serious, and he smiled. "well," he drawled, "looking for timber rights is apt to prove expensive, too. i had a haunting fear that i might be lame, until the doctor banished it. i'd better own that i'd no great confidence in carroll's surgery." carroll, keeping strictly to the line the others had chosen, made him an ironical bow; but evelyn was not to be deterred. "it was foolish of you to be troubled," she declared. "it isn't a fault to be wounded in an honorable fight, and even if the mark remains, there is no reason why one should be ashamed of it." mrs. nairn glanced at the girl rather sharply, but carroll came to his comrade's relief. "strictly speaking, there wasn't a wound," he pointed out. "fortunately, it was what is known as a simple fracture. if it had been anything else, i'm inclined to think i couldn't have treated it." nairn chuckled, as if this met with his approval; and his wife turned around as they heard a patter of footsteps on the stairs. "yon bell has kept on ringing ever since we came up," she complained. "i left word i was no to be disturbed. weel"--as the door opened--"what is it, minnie?" "the reception room's plumb full," announced the maid, who was lately from the bush. "if any more folks come along, i sure won't know where to put 'em." now that the door was open, evelyn could hear a murmur of voices on the floor below, and the next moment the bell rang violently again. it struck her as a testimonial to the injured man. vane had not spent a long time in vancouver, but he had the gift of making friends. having heard of the sloop's arrival, they had come to inquire for him, and there was obviously a number of them. mrs. nairn glanced interrogatively at carroll. "it does no look as if they could be got rid of by a message." "i guess he's fit to see them," carroll answered, "we'll hold a levee. if he'd only let me, i'd like to pose him a bit." mrs. nairn, with evelyn's assistance, did so instead, rearranging the cushions about the man, in spite of his confused and half-indignant protests; and during the next half-hour the room was generally full. people walked in, made sympathetic inquiries, or exchanged cheerful banter, until mrs. nairn forcibly dismissed the last of them. after this, she declared that vane must go to sleep, and paying no heed to his assertion that he had not the least wish to do so, she led her remaining companions away. a couple of hours had passed when she handed evelyn a large tumbler containing a preparation of beaten eggs and milk. "ye might take him this and ask if he would like anything else," she said. "i'm weary of the stairs and i would no trust minnie. she's handiest at spilling things." carroll grinned. "it's the third and, i'd better say firmly, the limit." then he assumed an aggrieved expression as evelyn moved off with the tray. "i can't see why i couldn't have gone. i think i've discharged my duties as nurse satisfactorily." "i canna help ye thinking," mrs. nairn informed him. "but i would point out that ye have now and then been wrong." "that's a fact," carroll confessed. evelyn fully shared his suspicions. her hostess's artifice was a transparent one, but she nevertheless fell in with it. she had seen vane only in the company of others; this might be the same again to-morrow; and there was something to be said. by intuition as much as reason, she recognized that there was something working in his mind; something that troubled him and might trouble her. it excited her apprehension and animated her with a desire to combat it. that she might be compelled to follow an unconventional course did not matter. she knew this man was hers--and she could not let him go. she entered his room collectedly. he was lying, neatly dressed, upon a couch with his shoulders raised against the end of it, for he had thrown the cushions which supported him upon the floor. as she came in, he leaned down in an attempt to recover them, and finding himself too late looked up guiltily. the fact that he could move with so much freedom was a comfort to the girl. she set the tray down on a table near him. "mrs. nairn has sent you this," she said, and the laugh they both indulged in drew them together. then her mood changed and her heart yearned over him. he had gone away a strong, self-confident, prosperous man, and he had come back defeated, broken in fortune and terribly worn. her pity shone in her softening eyes. "do you wish to sleep?" she asked. "no," vane assured her; "i'd a good deal rather talk to you." "i want to say something," evelyn confessed. "i'm afraid i was rather unpleasant to you the evening before you sailed. i was sorry for it afterward; it was flagrant injustice." "then i wonder why you didn't answer the letter i wrote at nanaimo." "the letter? i never received one." vane considered this for a few moments. "after all," he declared, "it doesn't matter now. i'm acquitted?" "absolutely." the man's satisfaction was obvious, but he smiled. "do you know," he said, "i've still no idea of my offense?" evelyn was exceedingly glad to hear it, but a warmth crept into her face, and as the blood showed through the delicate skin he fixed his eyes upon her intently. "it was all a mistake; i'm sorry still," she murmured penitently. "oh!" he exclaimed in a different tone. "don't trouble about it. the satisfaction of being acquitted outweighs everything else. besides, i've made a number of rather serious mistakes myself. the search for that spruce, for instance, is supposed to be one." "no," returned evelyn decidedly; "whoever thinks that, is wrong. it is a very fine thing you have done. it doesn't matter in the least that you were unsuccessful." "do you really believe that?" "of course. how could i believe anything else?" the man's face changed again, and once more she read the signs. whatever doubts and half-formed resolutions--and she had some idea of them--had been working in his mind were dissipating. "well," he continued, "i've sacrificed the best half of my possessions and have destroyed the confidence of the people who, to serve their ends, would have helped me on. isn't that a serious thing?" "no; it's really a most unimportant one. i"--the slight pause gave the assertion force--"really mean it." vane partly raised himself with one arm and there was no doubting the significance of his intent gaze. "i believe i made another blunder--in england. i should have had more courage and have faced the risk. but you might have turned against me then." "i don't think that's likely," evelyn murmured, lowering her eyes. the man leaned forward eagerly, but the hand he stretched out fell short, and the trivial fact once more roused her compassion for his helplessness. "you can mean only one thing!" he cried. "you wouldn't be afraid to face the future with me now?" "i wouldn't be afraid at all." a half-hour later mrs. nairn tapped at the door and smiled rather broadly when she came in. then she shook her head reproachfully. "ye should have been asleep a while since," she scolded vane, and then turned to evelyn. "is this the way ye intend to look after him?" she waved the girl toward the door and when she joined her in the passage she kissed her effusively. "ye have got the man i would have chosen ye," she declared. "it will no be any fault of his if ye are sorry." "i have very little fear of that," laughed evelyn. the end legends of vancouver by e. pauline johnson (tekahionwake) preface i have been asked to write a preface to these legends of vancouver, which, in conjunction with the members of the publication sub-committee--mrs. lefevre, mr. l. w. makovski and mr. r. w. douglas--i have helped to put through the press. but scarcely any prefatory remarks are necessary. this book may well stand on its own merits. still, it may be permissible to record one's glad satisfaction that a poet has arisen to cast over the shoulders of our grey mountains, our trail-threaded forests, our tide-swept waters, and the streets and sky-scrapers of our hurrying city, a gracious mantle of romance. pauline johnson has linked the vivid present with the immemorial past. vancouver takes on a new aspect as we view it through her eyes. in the imaginative power that she has brought to these semi-historical sagas, and in the liquid flow of her rhythmical prose, she has shown herself to be a literary worker of whom we may well be proud: she has made a most estimable contribution to purely canadian literature. bernard mcevoy author's foreword these legends (with two or three exceptions) were told to me personally by my honored friend, the late chief joe capilano, of vancouver, whom i had the privilege of first meeting in london in , when he visited england and was received at buckingham palace by their majesties king edward vii and queen alexandra. to the fact that i was able to greet chief capilano in the chinook tongue, while we were both many thousands of miles from home, i owe the friendship and the confidence which he so freely gave me when i came to reside on the pacific coast. these legends he told me from time to time, just as the mood possessed him, and he frequently remarked that they had never been revealed to any other english-speaking person save myself. e. pauline johnson (tekahionwake) biographical notice e. pauline johnson (tekahionwake) is the youngest child of a family of four born to the late g. h. m. johnson (onwanonsyshon), head chief of the six nations indians, and his wife emily s. howells. the latter was of english parentage, her birthplace being bristol, but the land of her adoption canada. chief johnson was of the renowned mohawk tribe, being a scion of one of the fifty noble families which composed the historical confederation founded by hiawatha upwards of four hundred years ago, and known at that period as the brotherhood of the five nations, but which was afterwards named the iroquois by the early french missionaries and explorers. for their loyalty to the british crown they were granted the magnificent lands bordering the grand river, in the county of brant, ontario, on which the tribes still live. it was upon this reserve, on her father's estate, "chiefswood," that pauline johnson was born. the loyalty of her ancestors breathes in her prose, as well as in her poetic writings. her education was neither extensive nor elaborate. it embraced neither high school nor college. a nursery governess for two years at home, three years at an indian day school half a mile from her home, and two years in the central school of the city of brantford, was the extent of her educational training. but, besides this, she acquired a wide general knowledge, having been through childhood and early girlhood a great reader, especially of poetry. before she was twelve years old she had read scott, longfellow, byron, shakespeare, and such books as addison's "spectator," foster's essays and owen meredith's writings. the first periodicals to accept her poems and place them before the public were "gems of poetry," a small magazine published in new york, and "the week," established by the late prof. goldwin smith, of toronto, the new york "independent" and toronto "saturday night." since then she has contributed to most of the high-grade magazines, both on this continent and england. her writings having brought her into notice, the next step in miss johnson's career was her appearance on the public platform as a reciter of her own poems. for this she had natural talent, and in the exercise of it she soon developed a marked ability, joined with a personal magnetism, that was destined to make her a favorite with audiences from the atlantic to the pacific. her friend, mr. frank yeigh, of toronto, provided for a series of recitals having that scope, with the object of enabling her to go to england to arrange for the publication of her poems. within two years this aim was accomplished, her book of poems, "the white wampum," being published by john lane, of the bodley head. she took with her numerous letters of introduction, including one from the governor-general, the earl of aberdeen, and she soon gained both social and literary standing. her book was received with much favor, both by reviewers and the public. after giving many recitals in fashionable drawing-rooms, she returned to canada, and made her first tour to the pacific coast, giving recitals at all the cities and towns en route. since then she has crossed the rocky mountains no fewer than nineteen times. miss johnson's pen had not been idle, and in the george morang co., of toronto, published her second book of poems, entitled "canadian born," which was also well received. after a number of recitals, which included newfoundland and the maritime provinces, she went to england again in and made her first appearance in steinway hall, under the distinguished patronage of lord and lady strathcona. in the following year she again visited london, returning by way of the united states, where she gave many recitals. after another tour of canada she decided to give up public work, to make vancouver, b. c., her home, and to devote herself to literary work. only a woman of remarkable powers of endurance could have borne up under the hardships necessarily encountered in travelling through north-western canada in pioneer days as miss johnson did; and shortly after settling down in vancouver the exposure and hardship she had endured began to tell on her, and her health completely broke down. for almost a year she has been an invalid, and as she is unable to attend to the business herself, a trust has been formed by some of the leading citizens of her adopted city for the purpose of collecting and publishing for her benefit her later works. among these are the beautiful indian legends contained in this volume, which she has been at great pains to collect, and a series of boys' stories, which have been exceedingly well received by magazine readers. during the sixteen years miss johnson was travelling, she had many varied and interesting experiences. she travelled the old battleford trail before the railroad went through, and across the boundary country in british columbia in the romantic days of the early pioneers. once she took an eight hundred and fifty mile drive up the cariboo trail to the gold fields. she has always been an ardent canoeist, and has run many strange rivers, crossed many a lonely lake, and camped in many an unfrequented place. these venturesome trips she made more from her inherent love of nature and adventure than from any necessity of her profession. contents preface author's foreword biographical notice the two sisters the siwash rock the recluse the lost salmon-run the deep waters the sea-serpent the lost island point grey the tulameen trail the grey archway deadman's island a squamish legend of napoleon the lure in stanley park deer lake a royal mohawk chief the two sisters ----- the lions you can see them as you look towards the north and the west, where the dream-hills swim into the sky amid their ever-drifting clouds of pearl and grey. they catch the earliest hint of sunrise, they hold the last color of sunset. twin mountains they are, lifting their twin peaks above the fairest city in all canada, and known throughout the british empire as "the lions of vancouver." sometimes the smoke of forest fires blurs them until they gleam like opals in a purple atmosphere, too beautiful for words to paint. sometimes the slanting rains festoon scarfs of mist about their crests, and the peaks fade into shadowy outlines, melting, melting, forever melting into the distances. but for most days in the year the sun circles the twin glories with a sweep of gold. the moon washes them with a torrent of silver. oftentimes, when the city is shrouded in rain, the sun yellows their snows to a deep orange; but through sun and shadow they stand immovable, smiling westward above the waters of the restless pacific, eastward above the superb beauty of the capilano canyon. but the indian tribes do not know these peaks as "the lions." even the chief, whose feet have so recently wandered to the happy hunting grounds, never heard the name given them until i mentioned it to him one dreamy august day, as together we followed the trail leading to the canyon. he seemed so surprised at the name that i mentioned the reason it had been applied to them, asking him if he recalled the landseer lions in trafalgar square. yes, he remembered those splendid sculptures, and his quick eye saw the resemblance instantly. it appeared to please him, and his fine face expressed the haunting memories of the far-away roar of old london. but the "call of the blood" was stronger, and presently he referred to the indian legend of those peaks--a legend that i have reason to believe is absolutely unknown to thousands of palefaces who look upon "the lions" daily, without the love for them that is in the indian heart, without knowledge of the secret of "the two sisters." the legend was intensely fascinating as it left his lips in the quaint broken english that is never so dulcet as when it slips from an indian tongue. his inimitable gestures, strong, graceful, comprehensive, were like a perfectly chosen frame embracing a delicate painting, and his brooding eyes were as the light in which the picture hung. "many thousands of years ago," he began, "there were no twin peaks like sentinels guarding the outposts of this sunset coast. they were placed there long after the first creation, when the sagalie tyee moulded the mountains, and patterned the mighty rivers where the salmon run, because of his love for his indian children, and his wisdom for their necessities. in those times there were many and mighty indian tribes along the pacific--in the mountain ranges, at the shores and sources of the great fraser river. indian law ruled the land. indian customs prevailed. indian beliefs were regarded. those were the legend-making ages when great things occurred to make the traditions we repeat to our children to-day. perhaps the greatest of these traditions is the story of 'the two sisters,' for they are known to us as 'the chief's daughters,' and to them we owe the great peace in which we live, and have lived for many countless moons. there is an ancient custom amongst the coast tribes that, when our daughters step from childhood into the great world of womanhood, the occasion must be made one of extreme rejoicing. the being who possesses the possibility of some day mothering a man-child, a warrior, a brave, receives much consideration in most nations; but to us, the sunset tribes, she is honored above all people. the parents usually give a great potlatch, and a feast that lasts many days. the entire tribe and the surrounding tribes are bidden to this festival. more than that, sometimes when a great tyee celebrates for his daughter, the tribes from far up the coast, from the distant north, from inland, from the island, from the cariboo country, are gathered as guests to the feast. during these days of rejoicing the girl is placed in a high seat, an exalted position, for is she not marriageable? and does not marriage mean motherhood? and does not motherhood mean a vaster nation of brave sons and of gentle daughters, who, in their turn, will give us sons and daughters of their own? "but it was many thousands of years ago that a great tyee had two daughters that grew to womanhood at the same springtime, when the first great run of salmon thronged the rivers, and the ollallie bushes were heavy with blossoms. these two daughters were young, lovable, and oh! very beautiful. their father, the great tyee, prepared to make a feast such as the coast had never seen. there were to be days and days of rejoicing, the people were to come for many leagues, were to bring gifts to the girls and to receive gifts of great value from the chief, and hospitality was to reign as long as pleasuring feet could dance, and enjoying lips could laugh, and mouths partake of the excellence of the chief's fish, game, and ollallies. "the only shadow on the joy of it all was war, for the tribe of the great tyee was at war with the upper coast indians, those who lived north, near what is named by the paleface as the port of prince rupert. giant war-canoes slipped along the entire coast, war parties paddled up and down, war-songs broke the silences of the nights, hatred, vengeance, strife, horror festered everywhere like sores on the surface of the earth. but the great tyee, after warring for weeks, turned and laughed at the battle and the bloodshed, for he had been victor in every encounter, and he could well afford to leave the strife for a brief week and feast in his daughters' honor, nor permit any mere enemy to come between him and the traditions of his race and household. so he turned insultingly deaf ears to their war-cries; he ignored with arrogant indifference their paddle-dips that encroached within his own coast waters, and he prepared, as a great tyee should, to royally entertain his tribesmen in honor of his daughters. "but seven suns before the great feast these two maidens came before him, hand clasped in hand. "'oh! our father,' they said, 'may we speak?' "'speak, my daughters, my girls with the eyes of april, the hearts of june'" (early spring and early summer would be the more accurate indian phrasing). "'some day, oh! our father, we may mother a man-child, who may grow to be just such a powerful tyee as you are, and for this honor that may some day be ours we have come to crave a favor of you--you, oh! our father.' "'it is your privilege at this celebration to receive any favor your hearts may wish,' he replied graciously, placing his fingers beneath their girlish chins. 'the favor is yours before you ask it, my daughters.' "'will you, for our sakes, invite the great northern hostile tribe--the tribe you war upon--to this, our feast?' they asked fearlessly. "'to a peaceful feast, a feast in the honor of women?' he exclaimed incredulously. "'so we would desire it,' they answered. "'and so shall it be,' he declared. 'i can deny you nothing this day, and some time you may bear sons to bless this peace you have asked, and to bless their mother's sire for granting it.' then he turned to all the young men of the tribe and commanded: 'build fires at sunset on all the coast headlands--fires of welcome. man your canoes and face the north, greet the enemy, and tell them that i, the tyee of the capilanos, ask--no, command--that they join me for a great feast in honor of my two daughters.' and when the northern tribes got this invitation they flocked down the coast to this feast of a great peace. they brought their women and their children; they brought game and fish, gold and white stone beads, baskets and carven ladles, and wonderful woven blankets to lay at the feet of their now acknowledged ruler, the great tyee. and he, in turn, gave such a potlatch that nothing but tradition can vie with it. there were long, glad days of joyousness, long, pleasurable nights of dancing and camp-fires, and vast quantities of food. the war-canoes were emptied of their deadly weapons and filled with the daily catch of salmon. the hostile war-songs ceased, and in their place were heard the soft shuffle of dancing feet, the singing voices of women, the play-games of the children of two powerful tribes which had been until now ancient enemies, for a great and lasting brotherhood was sealed between them--their war-songs were ended forever. "then the sagalie tyee smiled on his indian children: 'i will make these young-eyed maidens immortal,' he said. in the cup of his hands he lifted the chief's two daughters and set them forever in a high place, for they had borne two offspring--peace and brotherhood--each of which is now a great tyee ruling this land. "and on the mountain crest the chief's daughters can be seen wrapped in the suns, the snows, the stars of all seasons, for they have stood in this high place for thousands of years, and will stand for thousands of years to come, guarding the peace of the pacific coast and the quiet of the capilano canyon." * * * * * this is the indian legend of "the lions of vancouver" as i had it from one who will tell me no more the traditions of his people. the siwash rock unique, and so distinct from its surroundings as to suggest rather the handicraft of man than a whim of nature, it looms up at the entrance to the narrows, a symmetrical column of solid grey stone. there are no similar formations within the range of vision, or indeed within many a day's paddle up and down the coast. amongst all the wonders, the natural beauties that encircle vancouver, the marvels of mountains, shaped into crouching lions and brooding beavers, the yawning canyons, the stupendous forest firs and cedars, siwash rock stands as distinct, as individual, as if dropped from another sphere. i saw it first in the slanting light of a redly setting august sun; the little tuft of green shrubbery that crests its summit was black against the crimson of sea and sky, and its colossal base of grey stone gleamed like flaming polished granite. my old tillicum lifted his paddle-blade to point towards it. "you know the story?" he asked. i shook my head (experience has taught me his love of silent replies, his moods of legend-telling). for a time we paddled slowly; the rock detached itself from its background of forest and shore, and it stood forth like a sentinel--erect, enduring, eternal. "do you think it stands straight--like a man?" he asked. "yes, like some noble-spirited, upright warrior," i replied. "it is a man," he said, "and a warrior man, too; a man who fought for everything that was noble and upright." "what do you regard as everything that is noble and upright, chief?" i asked, curious as to his ideas. i shall not forget the reply; it was but two words--astounding, amazing words. he said simply: "clean fatherhood." through my mind raced tumultuous recollections of numberless articles in yet numberless magazines, all dealing with the recent "fad" of motherhood, but i had to hear from the lip of a squamish indian chief the only treatise on the nobility of "clean fatherhood" that i have yet unearthed. and this treatise has been an indian legend for centuries; and, lest they forget how all-important those two little words must ever be, siwash rock stands to remind them, set there by the deity as a monument to one who kept his own life clean, that cleanliness might be the heritage of the generations to come. it was "thousands of years ago" (all indian legends begin in extremely remote times) that a handsome boy chief journeyed in his canoe to the upper coast for the shy little northern girl whom he brought home as his wife. boy though he was, the young chief had proved himself to be an excellent warrior, a fearless hunter, and an upright, courageous man among men. his tribe loved him, his enemies respected him, and the base and mean and cowardly feared him. the customs and traditions of his ancestors were a positive religion to him, the sayings and the advices of the old people were his creed. he was conservative in every rite and ritual of his race. he fought his tribal enemies like the savage that he was. he sang his war-songs, danced his war-dances, slew his foes, but the little girl-wife from the north he treated with the deference that he gave his own mother, for was she not to be the mother of his warrior son? the year rolled round, weeks merged into months, winter into spring, and one glorious summer at daybreak he wakened to her voice calling him. she stood beside him, smiling. "it will be to-day," she said proudly. he sprang from his couch of wolf-skins and looked out upon the coming day: the promise of what it would bring him seemed breathing through all his forest world. he took her very gently by the hand and led her through the tangle of wilderness down to the water's edge, where the beauty spot we moderns call stanley park bends about prospect point. "i must swim," he told her. "i must swim, too," she smiled, with the perfect understanding of two beings who are mated. for, to them, the old indian custom was law--the custom that the parents of a coming child must swim until their flesh is so clear and clean that a wild animal cannot scent their proximity. if the wild creatures of the forests have no fear of them, then, and only then, are they fit to become parents, and to scent a human is in itself a fearsome thing to all wild creatures. so those two plunged into the waters of the narrows as the grey dawn slipped up the eastern skies and all the forest awoke to the life of a new, glad day. presently he took her ashore, and smilingly she crept away under the giant trees. "i must be alone," she said, "but come to me at sunrise: you will not find me alone then." he smiled also, and plunged back into the sea. he must swim, swim, swim through this hour when his fatherhood was coming upon him. it was the law that he must be clean, spotlessly clean, so that when his child looked out upon the world it would have the chance to live its own life clean. if he did not swim hour upon hour his child would come to an unclean father. he must give his child a chance in life; he must not hamper it by his own uncleanliness at its birth. it was the tribal law--the law of vicarious purity. as he swam joyously to and fro, a canoe bearing four men headed up the narrows. these men were giants in stature, and the stroke of their paddles made huge eddies that boiled like the seething tides. "out from our course!" they cried as his lithe, copper-colored body arose and fell with his splendid stroke. he laughed at them, giants though they were, and answered that he could not cease his swimming at their demand. "but you shall cease!" they commanded. "we are the men [agents] of the sagalie tyee [god], and we command you ashore out of our way!" (i find in all these coast indian legends that the deity is represented by four men, usually paddling an immense canoe.) he ceased swimming, and, lifting his head, defied them. "i shall not stop, nor yet go ashore," he declared, striking out once more to the middle of the channel. "do you dare disobey us," they cried--"we, the men of the sagalie tyee? we can turn you into a fish, or a tree, or a stone for this; do you dare disobey the great tyee?" "i dare anything for the cleanliness and purity of my coming child. i dare even the sagalie tyee himself, but my child must be born to a spotless life." the four men were astounded. they consulted together, lighted their pipes, and sat in council. never had they, the men of the sagalie tyee, been defied before. now, for the sake of a little unborn child, they were ignored, disobeyed, almost despised. the lithe young copper-colored body still disported itself in the cool waters; superstition held that should their canoe, or even their paddle-blades, touch a human being, their marvellous power would be lost. the handsome young chief swam directly in their course. they dared not run him down; if so, they would become as other men. while they yet counselled what to do, there floated from out the forest a faint, strange, compelling sound. they listened, and the young chief ceased his stroke as he listened also. the faint sound drifted out across the waters once more. it was the cry of a little, little child. then one of the four men, he that steered the canoe, the strongest and tallest of them all, arose, and, standing erect, stretched out his arms towards the rising sun and chanted, not a curse on the young chief's disobedience, but a promise of everlasting days and freedom from death. "because you have defied all things that come in your path we promise this to you," he chanted; "you have defied what interferes with your child's chance for a clean life, you have lived as you wish your son to live, you have defied us when we would have stopped your swimming and hampered your child's future. you have placed that child's future before all things, and for this the sagalie tyee commands us to make you forever a pattern for your tribe. you shall never die, but you shall stand through all the thousands of years to come, where all eyes can see you. you shall live, live, live as an indestructible monument to clean fatherhood." the four men lifted their paddles and the handsome young chief swam inshore; as his feet touched the line where sea and land met he was transformed into stone. then the four men said, "his wife and child must ever be near him; they shall not die, but live also." and they, too, were turned into stone. if you penetrate the hollows in the woods near siwash rock you will find a large rock and a smaller one beside it. they are the shy little bride-wife from the north, with her hour-old baby beside her. and from the uttermost parts of the world vessels come daily throbbing and sailing up the narrows. from far trans-pacific ports, from the frozen north, from the lands of the southern cross, they pass and repass the living rock that was there before their hulls were shaped, that will be there when their very names are forgotten, when their crews and their captains have taken their long last voyage, when their merchandise has rotted, and their owners are known no more. but the tall, grey column of stone will still be there--a monument to one man's fidelity to a generation yet unborn--and will endure from everlasting to everlasting. the recluse journeying toward the upper course of the capilano river, about a mile citywards from the dam, you will pass a disused logger's shack. leave the trail at this point and strike through the undergrowth for a few hundred yards to the left and you will be on the rocky borders of that purest, most restless river in all canada. the stream is haunted with tradition, teeming with a score of romances that vie with its grandeur and loveliness, and of which its waters are perpetually whispering. but i learned this legend from one whose voice was as dulcet as the swirling rapids; but, unlike them, that voice is hushed to-day, while the river, the river still sings on--sings on. it was singing in very melodious tones through the long august afternoon two summers ago, while we, the chief, his happy-hearted wife, and bright young daughter, all lounged amongst the boulders and watched the lazy clouds drift from peak to peak far above us. it was one of his inspired days; legends crowded to his lips as a whistle teases the mouth of a happy boy; his heart was brimming with tales of the bygones, his eyes were dark with dreams and that strange mournfulness that always haunted them when he spoke of long-ago romances. there was not a tree, a boulder, a dash of rapid upon which his glance fell which he could not link with some ancient poetic superstition. then abruptly, in the very midst of his verbal reveries, he turned and asked me if i were superstitious. of course i replied that i was. "do you think some happenings will bring trouble later on--will foretell evil?" he asked. i made some evasive answer, which, however, seemed to satisfy him, for he plunged into the strange tale of the recluse of the canyon with more vigor than dreaminess; but first he asked me the question: "what do your own tribes, those east of the great mountains, think of twin children?" i shook my head. "that is enough," he said before i could reply. "i see, your people do not like them." "twin children are almost unknown with us," i hastened. "they are rare, very rare; but it is true we do not welcome them." "why?" he asked abruptly. i was a little uncertain about telling him. if i said the wrong thing, the coming tale might die on his lips before it was born to speech, but we understood each other so well that i finally ventured the truth: "we iroquois say that twin children are as rabbits," i explained. "the nation always nicknames the parents. 'tow-wan-da-na-ga.' that is the mohawk for rabbit." "is that all?" he asked curiously. "that is all. is it not enough to render twin children unwelcome?" i questioned. he thought a while, then, with evident desire to learn how all races regarded this occurrence, he said, "you have been much among the palefaces, what do they say of twins?" "oh! the palefaces like them. they are--they are--oh! well, they say they are very proud of having twins," i stammered. once again i was hardly sure of my ground. he looked most incredulous, and i was led to enquire what his own people of the squamish thought of this discussed problem. "it is no pride to us," he said decidedly, "nor yet is it disgrace of rabbits; but it is a fearsome thing--a sign of coming evil to the father, and, worse than that, of coming disaster to the tribe." then i knew he held in his heart some strange incident that gave substance to the superstition. "won't you tell it to me?" i begged. he leaned a little backward against a giant boulder, clasping his thin, brown hands about his knees; his eyes roved up the galloping river, then swept down the singing waters to where they crowded past the sudden bend, and during the entire recital of the strange legend his eyes never left that spot where the stream disappeared in its hurrying journey to the sea. without preamble he began: "it was a grey morning when they told him of this disaster that had befallen him. he was a great chief, and he ruled many tribes on the north pacific coast; but what was his greatness now? his young wife had borne him twins, and was sobbing out her anguish in the little fir-bark lodge near the tidewater. "beyond the doorway gathered many old men and women--old in years, old in wisdom, old in the lore and learning of their nations. some of them wept, some chanted solemnly the dirge of their lost hopes and happiness, which would never return because of this calamity; others discussed in hushed voices this awesome thing, and for hours their grave council was broken only by the infant cries of the two boy-babies in the bark lodge, the hopeless sobs of the young mother, the agonized moans of the stricken chief--their father. "'something dire will happen to the tribe,' said the old men in council. "'something dire will happen to him, my husband,' wept the young mother. "'something dire will happen to us all,' echoed the unhappy father. "then an ancient medicine-man arose, lifting his arms, outstretching his palms to hush the lamenting throng. his voice shook with the weight of many winters, but his eyes were yet keen and mirrored the clear thought and brain behind them, as the still trout-pools in the capilano mirror the mountain tops. his words were masterful, his gestures commanding, his shoulders erect and kindly. his was a personality and an inspiration that no one dared dispute, and his judgment was accepted as the words fell slowly, like a doom. "'it is the olden law of the squamish that, lest evil befall the tribe, the sire of twin children must go afar and alone, into the mountain fastnesses, there by his isolation and his loneliness to prove himself stronger than the threatened evil, and thus to beat back the shadow that would otherwise follow him and all his people. i, therefore, name for him the length of days that he must spend alone fighting his invisible enemy. he will know by some great sign in nature the hour that the evil is conquered, the hour that his race is saved. he must leave before this sun sets, taking with him only his strongest bow, his fleetest arrows, and, going up into the mountain wilderness, remain there ten days--alone, alone.' "the masterful voice ceased, the tribe wailed their assent, the father arose speechless, his drawn face revealing great agony over this seemingly brief banishment. he took leave of his sobbing wife, of the two tiny souls that were his sons, grasped his favorite bow and arrows, and faced the forest like a warrior. but at the end of the ten days he did not return, nor yet ten weeks, nor yet ten months. "'he is dead,' wept the mother into the baby ears of her two boys. 'he could not battle against the evil that threatened; it was stronger than he--he, so strong, so proud, so brave.' "'he is dead,' echoed the tribesmen and the tribeswomen. 'our strong, brave chief, he is dead.' so they mourned the long year through, but their chants and their tears but renewed their grief; he did not return to them. "meanwhile, far up the capilano the banished chief had built his solitary home; for who can tell what fatal trick of sound, what current of air, what faltering note in the voice of the medicine-man had deceived his alert indian ears? but some unhappy fate had led him to understand that his solitude must be of ten years' duration, not ten days, and he had accepted the mandate with the heroism of a stoic. for if he had refused to do so his belief was that, although the threatened disaster would be spared him, the evil would fall upon his tribe. thus was one more added to the long list of self-forgetting souls whose creed has been, 'it is fitting that one should suffer for the people.' it was the world-old heroism of vicarious sacrifice. "with his hunting-knife the banished squamish chief stripped the bark from the firs and cedars, building for himself a lodge beside the capilano river, where leaping trout and salmon could be speared by arrow-heads fastened to deftly shaped, long handles. all through the salmon-run he smoked and dried the fish with the care of a housewife. the mountain sheep and goats, and even huge black and cinnamon bears, fell before his unerring arrows; the fleet-footed deer never returned to their haunts from their evening drinking at the edge of the stream--their wild hearts, their agile bodies were stilled when he took aim. smoked hams and saddles hung in rows from the cross-poles of his bark lodge, and the magnificent pelts of animals carpeted his floors, padded his couch, and clothed his body. he tanned the soft doe-hides, making leggings, moccasins and shirts, stitching them together with deer sinew as he had seen his mother do in the long-ago. he gathered the juicy salmon-berries, their acid a sylvan, healthful change from meat and fish. month by month and year by year he sat beside his lonely camp-fire, waiting for his long term of solitude to end. one comfort alone was his--he was enduring the disaster, fighting the evil, that his tribe might go unscathed, that his people be saved from calamity. slowly, laboriously the tenth year dawned; day by day it dragged its long weeks across his waiting heart, for nature had not yet given the sign that his long probation was over. "then, one hot summer day, the thunder-bird came crashing through the mountains about him. up from the arms of the pacific rolled the storm-cloud, and the thunder-bird, with its eyes of flashing light, beat its huge vibrating wings on crag and canyon. "up-stream, a tall shaft of granite rears its needle-like length. it is named 'thunder rock,' and wise men of the paleface people say it is rich in ore--copper, silver, and gold. at the base of this shaft the squamish chief crouched when the storm-cloud broke and bellowed through the ranges, and on its summit the thunder-bird perched, its gigantic wings threshing the air into booming sounds, into splitting terrors, like the crash of a giant cedar hurtling down the mountain-side. "but when the beating of those black pinions ceased and the echo of their thunder-waves died down the depths of the canyon, the squamish chief arose as a new man. the shadow on his soul had lifted, the fears of evil were cowed and conquered. in his brain, his blood, his veins, his sinews, he felt that the poison of melancholy dwelt no more. he had redeemed his fault of fathering twin children; he had fulfilled the demands of the law of his tribe. "as he heard the last beat of the thunder-bird's wings dying slowly, faintly, faintly, among the crags, he knew that the bird, too, was dying, for its soul was leaving its monster black body, and presently that soul appeared in the sky. he could see it arching overhead, before it took its long journey to the happy hunting grounds, for the soul of the thunder-bird was a radiant half-circle of glorious color spanning from peak to peak. he lifted his head then, for he knew it was the sign the ancient medicine-man had told him to wait for--the sign that his long banishment was ended. "and all these years, down in the tidewater country, the little brown-faced twins were asking childwise, 'where is our father? why have we no father, like other boys?' to be met only with the oft-repeated reply, 'your father is no more. your father, the great chief, is dead.' "but some strange filial intuition told the boys that their sire would some day return. often they voiced this feeling to their mother, but she would only weep and say that not even the witchcraft of the great medicine-man could bring him to them. but when they were ten years old the two children came to their mother, hand within hand. they were armed with their little hunting-knives, their salmon-spears, their tiny bows and arrows. "'we go to find our father,' they said. "'oh! useless quest,' wailed the mother. "'oh! useless quest,' echoed the tribes-people. "but the great medicine-man said, 'the heart of a child has invisible eyes; perhaps the child-eyes see him. the heart of a child has invisible ears; perhaps the child-ears hear him call. let them go.' so the little children went forth into the forest; their young feet flew as though shod with wings, their young hearts pointed to the north as does the white man's compass. day after day they journeyed up-stream, until, rounding a sudden bend, they beheld a bark lodge with a thin blue curl of smoke drifting from its roof. "'it is our father's lodge,' they told each other, for their childish hearts were unerring in response to the call of kinship. hand in hand they approached, and entering the lodge, said the one word, 'come.' "the great squamish chief outstretched his arms towards them, then towards the laughing river, then towards the mountains. "'welcome, my sons!' he said. 'and good-bye, my mountains, my brothers, my crags, and my canyons!' and with a child clinging to each hand he faced once more the country of the tidewater." * * * * * the legend was ended. for a long time he sat in silence. he had removed his gaze from the bend in the river, around which the two children had come and where the eyes of the recluse had first rested on them after ten years of solitude. the chief spoke again: "it was here, on this spot we are sitting, that he built his lodge: here he dwelt those ten years alone, alone." i nodded silently. the legend was too beautiful to mar with comments, and, as the twilight fell, we threaded our way through the underbrush, past the disused logger's camp, and into the trail that leads citywards. the lost salmon-run great had been the "run," and the sockeye season was almost over. for that reason i wondered many times why my old friend, the klootchman, had failed to make one of the fishing fleet. she was an indefatigable work-woman, rivalling her husband as an expert catcher, and all the year through she talked of little else but the coming run. but this especial season she had not appeared amongst her fellow-kind. the fleet and the canneries knew nothing of her, and when i enquired of her tribes-people they would reply without explanation, "she not here this year." but one russet september afternoon i found her. i had idled down the trail from the swans' basin in stanley park to the rim that skirts the narrows, and i saw her graceful, high-bowed canoe heading for the beach that is the favorite landing-place of the "tillicums" from the mission. her canoe looked like a dream-craft, for the water was very still, and everywhere a blue film hung like a fragrant veil, for the peat on lulu island had been smoldering for days and its pungent odors and blue-grey haze made a dream-world of sea and shore and sky. i hurried up-shore, hailing her in the chinook, and as she caught my voice she lifted her paddle directly above her head in the indian signal of greeting. as she beached, i greeted her with extended eager hands to assist her ashore, for the klootchman is getting to be an old woman; albeit she paddles against tidewater like a boy in his teens. "no," she said, as i begged her to come ashore. "i will wait--me. i just come to fetch maarda; she been city; she soon come--now." but she left her "working" attitude and curled like a school-girl in the bow of the canoe, her elbows resting on her paddle which she had flung across the gunwales. "i have missed you, klootchman; you have not been to see me for three moons, and you have not fished or been at the canneries," i remarked. "no," she said. "i stay home this year." then, leaning towards me with grave import in her manner, her eyes, her voice, she added, "i have a grandchild, born first week july, so--i stay." so this explained her absence. i, of course, offered congratulations and enquired all about the great event, for this was her first grandchild, and the little person was of importance. "and are you going to make a fisherman of him?" i asked. "no, no, not boy-child, it is girl-child," she answered with some indescribable trick of expression that led me to know she preferred it so. "you are pleased it is a girl?" i questioned in surprise. "very pleased," she replied emphatically. "very good luck to have girl for first grandchild. our tribe not like yours; we want girl children first; we not always wish boy-child born just for fight. your people, they care only for war-path; our tribe more peaceful. very good sign first grandchild to be girl. i tell you why: girl-child may be some time mother herself; very grand thing to be mother." i felt i had caught the secret of her meaning. she was rejoicing that this little one should some time become one of the mothers of her race. we chatted over it a little longer and she gave me several playful "digs" about my own tribe thinking so much less of motherhood than hers, and so much more of battle and bloodshed. then we drifted into talk of the sockeye and of the hyiu chickimin the indians would get. "yes, hyiu chickimin," she repeated with a sigh of satisfaction. "always; and hyiu muck-a-muck when big salmon run. no more ever come that bad year when not any fish." "when was that?" i asked. "before you born, or i, or"--pointing across the park to the distant city of vancouver that breathed its wealth and beauty across the september afternoon--"before that place born, before white man came here--oh! long before." dear old klootchman! i knew by the dusk in her eyes that she was back in her land of legends, and that soon i would be the richer in my hoard of indian lore. she sat, still leaning on her paddle; her eyes, half-closed, rested on the distant outline of the blurred heights across the inlet. i shall not further attempt her broken english, for this is but the shadow of her story, and without her unique personality the legend is as a flower that lacks both color and fragrance. she called it "the lost salmon-run." "the wife of the great tyee was but a wisp of a girl, but all the world was young in those days; even the fraser river was young and small, not the mighty water it is now; but the pink salmon crowded its throat just as they do now, and the tillicums caught and salted and smoked the fish just as they have done this year, just as they will always do. but it was yet winter, and the rains were slanting and the fogs drifting, when the wife of the great tyee stood before him and said: "'before the salmon-run i shall give to you a great gift. will you honor me most if it is the gift of a boy-child or a girl-child?' the great tyee loved the woman. he was stern with his people, hard with his tribe; he ruled his council-fires with a will of stone. his medicine-men said he had no human heart in his body; his warriors said he had no human blood in his veins. but he clasped this woman's hands, and his eyes, his lips, his voice, were gentle as her own, as he replied: "'give to me a girl-child--a little girl-child--that she may grow to be like you, and, in her turn, give to her husband children.' "but when the tribes-people heard of his choice they arose in great anger. they surrounded him in a deep, indignant circle. 'you are a slave to the woman,' they declared, 'and now you desire to make yourself a slave to a woman-baby. we want an heir--a man-child to be our great tyee in years to come. when you are old and weary of tribal affairs, when you sit wrapped in your blanket in the hot summer sunshine, because your blood is old and thin, what can a girl-child do to help either you or us? who, then, will be our great tyee?' "he stood in the centre of the menacing circle, his arms folded, his chin raised, his eyes hard as flint. his voice, cold as stone, replied: "'perhaps she will give you such a man-child, and, if so, the child is yours; he will belong to you, not to me; he will become the possession of the people. but if the child is a girl she will belong to me--she will be mine. you cannot take her from me as you took me from my mother's side and forced me to forget my aged father in my service to the tribe; she will belong to me, will be the mother of my grandchildren, and her husband will be my son.' "'you do not care for the good of your tribe. you care only for your own wishes and desires,' they rebelled. 'suppose the salmon-run is small, we will have no food; suppose there is no man-child, we will have no great tyee to show us how to get food from other tribes, and we shall starve.' "'your hearts are black and bloodless,' thundered the great tyee, turning upon them fiercely, 'and your eyes are blinded. do you wish the tribe to forget how great is the importance of a child that will some day be a mother herself, and give to your children and grandchildren a great tyee? are the people to live, to thrive, to increase, to become more powerful with no mother-women to bear future sons and daughters? your minds are dead, your brains are chilled. still, even in your ignorance, you are my people: you and your wishes must be considered. i call together the great medicine-men, the men of witchcraft, the men of magic. they shall decide the laws which will follow the bearing of either boy or girl-child. what say you, oh! mighty men?' "messengers were then sent up and down the coast, sent far up the fraser river, and to the valley lands inland for many leagues, gathering as they journeyed all the men of magic that could be found. never were so many medicine-men in council before. they built fires and danced and chanted for many days. they spoke with the gods of the mountains, with the gods of the sea; then 'the power' of decision came to them. they were inspired with a choice to lay before the tribes-people, and the most ancient medicine-man in all the coast region arose and spoke their resolution: "'the people of the tribe cannot be allowed to have all things. they want a boy-child and they want a great salmon-run also. they cannot have both. the sagalie tyee has revealed to us, the great men of magic, that both these things will make the people arrogant and selfish. they must choose between the two.' "'choose, oh! you ignorant tribes-people,' commanded the great tyee. 'the wise men of our coast have said that the girl-child who will some day bear children of her own will also bring abundance of salmon at her birth; but the boy-child brings to you but himself.' "'let the salmon go,' shouted the people, 'but give us a future great tyee. give us the boy-child.' "and when the child was born it was a boy. "'evil will fall upon you,' wailed the great tyee. 'you have despised a mother-woman. you will suffer evil and starvation and hunger and poverty, oh! foolish tribes-people. did you not know how great a girl-child is?' "that spring, people from a score of tribes came up to the fraser for the salmon-run. they came great distances--from the mountains, the lakes, the far-off dry lands, but not one fish entered the vast rivers of the pacific coast. the people had made their choice. they had forgotten the honor that a mother-child would have brought them. they were bereft of their food. they were stricken with poverty. through the long winter that followed they endured hunger and starvation. since then our tribe has always welcomed girl-children--we want no more lost runs." the klootchman lifted her arms from her paddle as she concluded; her eyes left the irregular outline of the violet mountains. she had come back to this year of grace--her legend land had vanished. "so," she added, "you see now, maybe, why i am glad my grandchild is girl; it means big salmon-run next year." "it is a beautiful story, klootchman," i said, "and i feel a cruel delight that your men of magic punished the people for their ill choice." "that because you girl-child yourself," she laughed. there was the slightest whisper of a step behind me. i turned to find maarda almost at my elbow. the rising tide was unbeaching the canoe, and as maarda stepped in and the klootchman slipped astern, it drifted afloat. "kla-how-ya," nodded the klootchman as she dipped her paddle-blade in exquisite silence. "kla-how-ya," smiled maarda. "kla-how-ya, tillicums," i replied, and watched for many moments as they slipped away into the blurred distance, until the canoe merged into the violet and grey of the farther shore. the deep waters far over your left shoulder as your boat leaves the narrows to thread the beautiful waterways that lead to vancouver island, you will see the summit of mount baker robed in its everlasting whiteness and always reflecting some wonderful glory from the rising sun, the golden noontide, or the violet and amber sunset. this is the mount ararat of the pacific coast peoples; for those readers who are familiar with the ways and beliefs and faiths of primitive races will agree that it is difficult to discover anywhere in the world a race that has not some story of the deluge, which they have chronicled and localized to fit the understanding and the conditions of the nation that composes their own immediate world. amongst the red nations of america i doubt if any two tribes have the same ideas regarding the flood. some of the traditions concerning this vast whim of nature are grotesque in the extreme; some are impressive; some even profound; but of all the stories of the deluge that i have been able to collect i know of not a single one that can even begin to equal in beauty of conception, let alone rival in possible reality and truth, the squamish legend of "the deep waters." i here quote the legend of "mine own people," the iroquois tribes of ontario, regarding the deluge. i do this to paint the color of contrast in richer shades, for i am bound to admit that we who pride ourselves on ancient intellectuality have but a childish tale of the flood when compared with the jealously preserved annals of the squamish, which savour more of history than tradition. with "mine own people," animals always play a much more important part, and are endowed with a finer intelligence, than humans. i do not find amid my notes a single tradition of the iroquois wherein animals do not figure, and our story of the deluge rests entirely with the intelligence of sea-going and river-going creatures. with us, animals in olden times were greater than man; but it is not so with the coast indians, except in rare instances. when a coast indian consents to tell you a legend he will, without variation, begin it with, "it was before the white people came." the natural thing for you, then, to ask is, "but who were here then?" he will reply, "indians, and just the trees, and animals, and fishes, and a few birds." so you are prepared to accept the animal world as intelligent co-habitants of the pacific slope; but he will not lead you to think he regards them as equals, much less superiors. but to revert to "mine own people": they hold the intelligence of wild animals far above that of man, for perhaps the one reason that when an animal is sick it effects its own cure; it knows what grasses and herbs to eat, what to avoid, while the sick human calls the medicine-man, whose wisdom is not only the result of years of study, but also heredity; consequently any great natural event, such as the deluge, has much to do with the wisdom of the creatures of the forests and the rivers. iroquois tradition tells us that once this earth was entirely submerged in water, and during this period for many days a busy little muskrat swam about vainly looking for a foothold of earth wherein to build his house. in his search he encountered a turtle also leisurely swimming; so they had speech together, and the muskrat complained of weariness; he could find no foothold; he was tired of incessant swimming, and longed for land such as his ancestors enjoyed. the turtle suggested that the muskrat should dive and endeavor to find earth at the bottom of the sea. acting on this advice, the muskrat plunged down, then arose with his two little forepaws grasping some earth he had found beneath the waters. "place it on my shell and dive again for more," directed the turtle. the muskrat did so; but when he returned with his paws filled with earth he discovered the small quantity he had first deposited on the turtle's shell had doubled in size. the return from the third trip found the turtle's load again doubled. so the building went on at double compound increase, and the world grew its continents and its islands with great rapidity, and now rests on the shell of a turtle. if you ask an iroquois, "and did no men survive this flood?" he will reply, "why should men survive? the animals are wiser than men; let the wisest live." how, then, was the earth repeopled? the iroquois will tell you that the otter was a medicine-man; that, in swimming and diving about, he found corpses of men and women; he sang his medicine-songs and they came to life, and the otter brought them fish for food until they were strong enough to provide for themselves. then the iroquois will conclude his tale with, "you know well that the otter has greater wisdom than a man." so much for "mine own people" and our profound respect for the superior intelligence of our little brothers of the animal world. but the squamish tribe hold other ideas. it was on a february day that i first listened to this beautiful, humane story of the deluge. my royal old tillicum had come to see me through the rains and mists of late winter days. the gateways of my wigwam always stood open--very widely open--for his feet to enter, and this especial day he came with the worst downpour of the season. woman-like, i protested with a thousand contradictions in my voice, that he should venture out to see me on such a day. it was "oh! chief, i am so glad to see you!" and it was "oh! chief, why didn't you stay at home on such a wet day--your poor throat will suffer." but i soon had quantities of hot tea for him, and the huge cup my own father always used was his--as long as the sagalie tyee allowed his dear feet to wander my way. the immense cup stands idle and empty now for the second time. helping him off with his great-coat, i chatted on about the deluge of rain, and he remarked it was not so very bad, as one could yet walk. "fortunately, yes, for i cannot swim," i told him. he laughed, replying, "well, it is not so bad as when the great deep waters covered the world." immediately i foresaw the coming legend, so crept into the shell of monosyllables. "no?" i questioned. "no," he replied. "for, one time, there was no land here at all; everywhere there was just water." "i can quite believe it," i remarked caustically. he laughed--that irresistible, though silent, david warfield laugh of his that always brought a responsive smile from his listeners. then he plunged directly into the tradition, with no preface save a comprehensive sweep of his wonderful hands towards my wide window, against which the rains were beating. "it was after a long, long time of this--this rain. the mountain streams were swollen, the rivers choked, the sea began to rise--and yet it rained; for weeks and weeks it rained." he ceased speaking, while the shadows of centuries gone crept into his eyes. tales of the misty past always inspired him. "yes," he continued. "it rained for weeks and weeks, while the mountain torrents roared thunderingly down, and the sea crept silently up. the level lands were first to float in sea-water, then to disappear. the slopes were next to slip into the sea. the world was slowly being flooded. hurriedly the indian tribes gathered in one spot, a place of safety far above the reach of the on-creeping sea. the spot was the circling shore of lake beautiful, up the north arm. they held a great council and decided at once upon a plan of action. a giant canoe should be built, and some means contrived to anchor it in case the waters mounted to the heights. the men undertook the canoe, the women the anchorage. "a giant tree was felled, and day and night the men toiled over its construction into the most stupendous canoe the world has ever known. not an hour, not a moment, but many worked, while the toil-wearied ones slept, only to awake to renewed toil. meanwhile, the women also worked at a cable--the largest, the longest, the strongest that indian hands and teeth had ever made. scores of them gathered and prepared the cedar-fibre; scores of them plaited, rolled, and seasoned it; scores of them chewed upon it inch by inch to make it pliable; scores of them oiled and worked, oiled and worked, oiled and worked it into a sea-resisting fabric. and still the sea crept up, and up, and up. it was the last day; hope of life for the tribes, of land for the world, was doomed. strong hands, self-sacrificing hands, fastened the cable the women had made--one end to the giant canoe, the other about an enormous boulder, a vast immovable rock as firm as the foundations of the world--for might not the canoe, with its priceless freight drift out, far out, to sea, and when the water subsided might not this ship of safety be leagues and leagues beyond the sight of land on the storm-driven pacific? "then, with the bravest hearts that ever beat, noble hands lifted every child of the tribe into this vast canoe; not one single baby was overlooked. the canoe was stocked with food and fresh water, and lastly, the ancient men and women of the race selected as guardians to these children the bravest, most stalwart, handsomest young man of the tribes, and the mother of the youngest baby in the camp--she was but a girl of sixteen, her child but two weeks old; but she, too, was brave and very beautiful. these two were placed, she at the bow of the canoe to watch, he at the stern to guide, and all the little children crowded between. "and still the sea crept up, and up, and up. at the crest of the bluffs about lake beautiful the doomed tribes crowded. not a single person attempted to enter the canoe. there was no wailing, no crying out for safety. 'let the little children, the young mother, and the bravest and best of our young men live,' was all the farewell those in the canoe heard as the waters reached the summit, and--the canoe floated. last of all to be seen was the top of the tallest tree, then--all was a world of water. "for days and days there was no land--just the rush of swirling, snarling sea; but the canoe rode safely at anchor, the cable those scores of dead, faithful women had made held true as the hearts that beat behind the toil and labor of it all. "but one morning at sunrise, far to the south, a speck floated on the breast of the waters; at midday it was larger; at evening it was yet larger. the moon arose, and in its magic light the man at the stern saw it was a patch of land. all night he watched it grow, and at daybreak looked with glad eyes upon the summit of mount baker. he cut the cable, grasped his paddle in his strong, young hands, and steered for the south. when they landed, the waters were sunken half down the mountain-side. the children were lifted out; the beautiful young mother, the stalwart young brave, turned to each other, clasped hands, looked into each other's eyes--and smiled. "and down in the vast country that lies between mount baker and the fraser river they made a new camp, built new lodges, where the little children grew and thrived, and lived and loved, and the earth was repeopled by them. "the squamish say that in a gigantic crevice half-way to the crest of mount baker may yet be seen the outlines of an enormous canoe, but i have never seen it myself." he ceased speaking with that far-off cadence in his voice with which he always ended a legend, and for a long time we both sat in silence listening to the rains that were still beating against the window. the sea-serpent there is one vice that is absolutely unknown to the red man; he was born without it, and amongst all the deplorable things he has learned from the white races, this, at least, he has never acquired. that is the vice of avarice. that the indian looks upon greed of gain, miserliness, avariciousness, and wealth accumulated above the head of his poorer neighbor as one of the lowest degradations he can fall to is perhaps more aptly illustrated than anything i could quote to demonstrate his horror of what he calls "the white man's unkindness." in a very wide and varied experience with many tribes, i have yet to find even one instance of avarice, and i have encountered but one single case of a "stingy indian," and this man was so marked amongst his fellows that at mention of his name his tribes-people jeered and would remark contemptuously that he was like a white man--hated to share his money and his possessions. all red races are born socialists, and most tribes carry out their communistic ideas to the letter. amongst the iroquois it is considered disgraceful to have food if your neighbor has none. to be a creditable member of the nation you must divide your possessions with your less fortunate fellows. i find it much the same amongst the coast indians, though they are less bitter in their hatred of the extremes of wealth and poverty than are the eastern tribes. still, the very fact that they have preserved this legend, in which they liken avarice to a slimy sea-serpent, shows the trend of their ideas; shows, too, that an indian is an indian, no matter what his tribe; shows that he cannot, or will not, hoard money; shows that his native morals demand that the spirit of greed must be strangled at all cost. the chief and i had sat long over our luncheon. he had been talking of his trip to england and of the many curious things he had seen. at last, in an outburst of enthusiasm, he said: "i saw everything in the world--everything but a sea-serpent!" "but there is no such thing as a sea-serpent," i laughed, "so you must have really seen everything in the world." his face clouded; for a moment he sat in silence; then, looking directly at me, said, "maybe none now, but long ago there was one here--in the inlet." "how long ago?" i asked. "when first the white gold-hunters came," he replied. "came with greedy, clutching fingers, greedy eyes, greedy hearts. the white men fought, murdered, starved, went mad with love of that gold far up the fraser river. tillicums were tillicums no more, brothers were foes, fathers and sons were enemies. their love of the gold was a curse." "was it then the sea-serpent was seen?" i asked, perplexed with the problem of trying to connect the gold-seekers with such a monster. "yes, it was then, but----" he hesitated, then plunged into the assertion, "but you will not believe the story if you think there is no such thing as a sea-serpent." "i shall believe whatever you tell me, chief," i answered. "i am only too ready to believe. you know i come of a superstitious race, and all my association with the palefaces has never yet robbed me of my birthright to believe strange traditions." "you always understand," he said after a pause. "it's my heart that understands," i remarked quietly. he glanced up quickly, and with one of his all too few radiant smiles, he laughed. "yes, skookum tum-tum." then without further hesitation he told the tradition, which, although not of ancient happening, is held in great reverence by his tribe. during its recital he sat with folded arms, leaning on the table, his head and shoulders bending eagerly towards me as i sat at the opposite side. it was the only time he ever talked to me when he did not use emphasising gesticulations, but his hands never once lifted: his wonderful eyes alone gave expression to what he called "the legend of the 'salt-chuck oluk'" (sea-serpent). "yes, it was during the first gold craze, and many of our young men went as guides to the whites far up the fraser. when they returned they brought these tales of greed and murder back with them, and our old people and our women shook their heads and said evil would come of it. but all our young men, except one, returned as they went--kind to the poor, kind to those who were foodless, sharing whatever they had with their tillicums. but one, by name shak-shak (the hawk), came back with hoards of gold nuggets, chickimin (money), everything; he was rich like the white men, and, like them, he kept it. he would count his chickimin, count his nuggets, gloat over them, toss them in his palms. he rested his head on them as he slept, he packed them about with him through the day. he loved them better than food, better than his tillicums, better than his life. the entire tribe arose. they said shak-shak had the disease of greed; that to cure it he must give a great potlatch, divide his riches with the poorer ones, share them with the old, the sick, the foodless. but he jeered and laughed and told them no, and went on loving and gloating over his gold. "then the sagalie tyee spoke out of the sky and said, 'shak-shak, you have made of yourself a loathsome thing; you will not listen to the cry of the hungry, to the call of the old and sick; you will not share your possessions; you have made of yourself an outcast from your tribe and disobeyed the ancient laws of your people. now i will make of you a thing loathed and hated by all men, both white and red. you will have two heads, for your greed has two mouths to bite. one bites the poor, and one bites your own evil heart; and the fangs in these mouths are poison--poison that kills the hungry, and poison that kills your own manhood. your evil heart will beat in the very centre of your foul body, and he that pierces it will kill the disease of greed forever from amongst his people.' and when the sun arose above the north arm the next morning the tribes-people saw a gigantic sea-serpent stretched across the surface of the waters. one hideous head rested on the bluffs at brockton point, the other rested on a group of rocks just below mission, at the western edge of north vancouver. if you care to go there some day i will show you the hollow in one great stone where that head lay. the tribes-people were stunned with horror. they loathed the creature, they hated it, they feared it. day after day it lay there, its monstrous heads lifted out of the waters, its mile-long body blocking all entrance from the narrows, all outlet from the north arm. the chiefs made council, the medicine-men danced and chanted, but the salt-chuck oluk never moved. it could not move, for it was the hated totem of what now rules the white man's world--greed and love of chickimin. no one can ever move the love of chickimin from the white man's heart, no one can ever make him divide all with the poor. but after the chiefs and medicine-men had done all in their power, and still the salt-chuck oluk lay across the waters, a handsome boy of sixteen approached them and reminded them of the words of the sagalie tyee, 'that he that pierced the monster's heart would kill the disease of greed forever amongst his people.' "'let me try to find this evil heart, oh! great men of my tribe,' he cried. 'let me war upon this creature; let me try to rid my people of this pestilence.' "the boy was brave and very beautiful. his tribes-people called him the tenas tyee (little chief) and they loved him. of all his wealth of fish and furs, of game and hykwa (large shell-money) he gave to the boys who had none; he hunted food for the old people; he tanned skins and furs for those whose feet were feeble, whose eyes were fading, whose blood ran thin with age. "'let him go!' cried the tribes-people. 'this unclean monster can only be overcome by cleanliness, this creature of greed can only be overthrown by generosity. let him go!' the chiefs and the medicine-men listened, then consented. 'go,' they commanded, 'and fight this thing with your strongest weapons--cleanliness and generosity.' "the tenas tyee turned to his mother. 'i shall be gone four days,' he told her, 'and i shall swim all that time. i have tried all my life to be generous, but the people say i must be clean also to fight this unclean thing. while i am gone put fresh furs on my bed every day, even if i am not here to lie on them; if i know my bed, my body and my heart are all clean i can overcome this serpent.' "'your bed shall have fresh furs every morning,' his mother said simply. "the tenas tyee then stripped himself, and, with no clothing save a buckskin belt into which he thrust his hunting-knife, he flung his lithe young body into the sea. but at the end of four days he did not return. sometimes his people could see him swimming far out in mid-channel, endeavoring to find the exact centre of the serpent, where lay its evil, selfish heart; but on the fifth morning they saw him rise out of the sea, climb to the summit of brockton point, and greet the rising sun with outstretched arms. weeks and months went by, still the tenas tyee would swim daily searching for that heart of greed; and each morning the sunrise glinted on his slender young copper-colored body as he stood with outstretched arms at the tip of brockton point, greeting the coming day and then plunging from the summit into the sea. "and at his home on the north shore his mother dressed his bed with fresh furs each morning. the seasons drifted by; winter followed summer, summer followed winter. but it was four years before the tenas tyee found the centre of the great salt-chuck oluk and plunged his hunting-knife into its evil heart. in its death-agony it writhed through the narrows, leaving a trail of blackness on the waters. its huge body began to shrink, to shrivel; it became dwarfed and withered, until nothing but the bones of its back remained, and they, sea-bleached and lifeless, soon sank to the bed of the ocean leagues off from the rim of land. but as the tenas tyee swam homeward and his clean, young body crossed through the black stain left by the serpent, the waters became clear and blue and sparkling. he had overcome even the trail of the salt-chuck oluk. "when at last he stood in the doorway of his home he said, 'my mother, i could not have killed the monster of greed amongst my people had you not helped me by keeping one place for me at home fresh and clean for my return.' "she looked at him as only mothers look. 'each day, these four years, fresh furs have i laid for your bed. sleep now, and rest, oh! my tenas tyee,' she said." * * * * * the chief unfolded his arms, and his voice took another tone as he said, "what do you call that story--a legend?" "the white people would call it an allegory," i answered. he shook his head. "no savvy," he smiled. i explained as simply as possible, and with his customary alertness he immediately understood. "that's right," he said. "that's what we say it means, we squamish, that greed is evil and not clean, like the salt-chuck oluk. that it must be stamped out amongst our people, killed by cleanliness and generosity. the boy that overcame the serpent was both these things." "what became of this splendid boy?" i asked. "the tenas tyee? oh! some of our old, old people say they sometimes see him now, standing on brockton point, his bare young arms outstretched to the rising sun," he replied. "have you ever seen him, chief?" i questioned. "no," he answered simply. but i have never heard such poignant regret as his wonderful voice crowded into that single word. the lost island "yes," said my old tillicum, "we indians have lost many things. we have lost our lands, our forests, our game, our fish; we have lost our ancient religion, our ancient dress; some of the younger people have even lost their fathers' language and the legends and traditions of their ancestors. we cannot call those old things back to us; they will never come again. we may travel many days up the mountain-trails, and look in the silent places for them. they are not there. we may paddle many moons on the sea, but our canoes will never enter the channel that leads to the yesterdays of the indian people. these things are lost, just like 'the island of the north arm.' they may be somewhere nearby, but no one can ever find them." "but there are many islands up the north arm," i asserted. "not the island we indian people have sought for many tens of summers," he replied sorrowfully. "was it ever there?" i questioned. "yes, it was there," he said. "my grandsires and my great-grandsires saw it; but that was long ago. my father never saw it, though he spent many days in many years searching, always searching for it. i am an old man myself, and i have never seen it, though from my youth, i, too, have searched. sometimes in the stillness of the nights i have paddled up in my canoe." then, lowering his voice: "twice i have seen its shadow: high rocky shores, reaching as high as the tree-tops on the mainland, then tall pines and firs on its summit like a king's crown. as i paddled up the arm one summer night, long ago, the shadow of these rocks and firs fell across my canoe, across my face, and across the waters beyond. i turned rapidly to look. there was no island there, nothing but a wide stretch of waters on both sides of me, and the moon almost directly overhead. don't say it was the shore that shadowed me," he hastened, catching my thought. "the moon was above me; my canoe scarce made a shadow on the still waters. no, it was not the shore." "why do you search for it?" i lamented, thinking of the old dreams in my own life whose realization i have never attained. "there is something on that island that i want. i shall look for it until i die, for it is there," he affirmed. there was a long silence between us after that. i had learned to love silences when with my old tillicum, for they always led to a legend. after a time he began voluntarily: "it was more than one hundred years ago. this great city of vancouver was but the dream of the sagalie tyee [god] at that time. the dream had not yet come to the white man; only one great indian medicine-man knew that some day a great camp for palefaces would lie between false creek and the inlet. this dream haunted him; it came to him night and day--when he was amid his people laughing and feasting, or when he was alone in the forest chanting his strange songs, beating his hollow drum, or shaking his wooden witch-rattle to gain more power to cure the sick and the dying of his tribe. for years this dream followed him. he grew to be an old, old man, yet always he could hear voices, strong and loud, as when they first spoke to him in his youth, and they would say: 'between the two narrow strips of salt water the white men will camp, many hundreds of them, many thousands of them. the indians will learn their ways, will live as they do, will become as they are. there will be no more great war-dances, no more fights with other powerful tribes; it will be as if the indians had lost all bravery, all courage, all confidence.' he hated the voices, he hated the dream; but all his power, all his big medicine, could not drive them away. he was the strongest man on all the north pacific coast. he was mighty and very tall, and his muscles were as those of leloo, the timber-wolf, when he is strongest to kill his prey. he could go for many days without food; he could fight the largest mountain-lion; he could overthrow the fiercest grizzly bear; he could paddle against the wildest winds and ride the highest waves. he could meet his enemies and kill whole tribes single-handed. his strength, his courage, his power, his bravery, were those of a giant. he knew no fear; nothing in the sea, or in the forest, nothing in the earth or the sky, could conquer him. he was fearless, fearless. only this haunting dream of the coming white man's camp he could not drive away; it was the only thing in life he had tried to kill and failed. it drove him from the feasting, drove him from the pleasant lodges, the fires, the dancing, the story-telling of his people in their camp by the water's edge, where the salmon thronged and the deer came down to drink of the mountain-streams. he left the indian village, chanting his wild songs as he went. up through the mighty forests he climbed, through the trailless deep mosses and matted vines, up to the summit of what the white men call grouse mountain. for many days he camped there. he ate no food, he drank no water, but sat and sang his medicine-songs through the dark hours and through the day. before him--far beneath his feet--lay the narrow strip of land between the two salt waters. then the sagalie tyee gave him the power to see far into the future. he looked across a hundred years, just as he looked across what you call the inlet, and he saw mighty lodges built close together, hundreds and thousands of them--lodges of stone and wood, and long straight trails to divide them. he saw these trails thronging with palefaces; he heard the sound of the white man's paddle-dip on the waters, for it is not silent like the indian's; he saw the white man's trading posts, saw the fishing-nets, heard his speech. then the vision faded as gradually as it came. the narrow strip of land was his own forest once more. "'i am old,' he called, in his sorrow and his trouble for his people. 'i am old, o sagalie tyee! soon i shall die and go to the happy hunting grounds of my fathers. let not my strength die with me. keep living for all time my courage, my bravery, my fearlessness. keep them for my people that they may be strong enough to endure the white man's rule. keep my strength living for them; hide it so that the paleface may never find or see it.' "then he came down from the summit of grouse mountain. still chanting his medicine-songs, he entered his canoe and paddled through the colors of the setting sun far up the north arm. when night fell he came to an island with misty shores of great grey rock; on its summit tall pines and firs encircled like a king's crown. as he neared it he felt all his strength, his courage, his fearlessness, leaving him; he could see these things drift from him on to the island. they were as the clouds that rest on the mountains, grey-white and half transparent. weak as a woman, he paddled back to the indian village; he told them to go and search for 'the island,' where they would find all his courage, his fearlessness and his strength, living, living forever. he slept then, but--in the morning he did not awake. since then our young men and our old have searched for 'the island.' it is there somewhere, up some lost channel, but we cannot find it. when we do, we will get back all the courage and bravery we had before the white man came, for the great medicine-man said those things never die--they live for one's children and grandchildren." his voice ceased. my whole heart went out to him in his longing for the lost island. i thought of all the splendid courage i knew him to possess, so made answer: "but you say that the shadow of this island has fallen upon you; is it not so, tillicum?" "yes," he said half mournfully. "but only the shadow." point grey "have you ever sailed around point grey?" asked a young squamish tillicum of mine who often comes to see me, to share a cup of tea and a taste of muck-a-muck that otherwise i should eat in solitude. "no," i admitted, i had not had that pleasure, for i did not know the uncertain waters of english bay sufficiently well to venture about its headlands in my frail canoe. "some day, perhaps next summer, i'll take you there in a sail-boat, and show you the big rock at the south-west of the point. it is a strange rock; we indian people call it homolsom." "what an odd name!" i commented. "is it a squamish word?--it does not sound to me like one." "it is not altogether squamish, but half fraser river language. the point was the dividing-line between the grounds and waters of the two tribes; so they agreed to make the name 'homolsom' from the two languages." i suggested more tea, and, as he sipped it, he told me the legend that few of the younger indians know. that he believes the story himself is beyond question, for many times he admitted having tested the virtues of this rock, and it had never once failed him. all people that have to do with water-craft are superstitious about some things, and i freely acknowledge that times innumerable i have "whistled up" a wind when dead calm threatened, or stuck a jack-knife in the mast, and afterwards watched with great contentment the idle sail fill, and the canoe pull out to a light breeze. so, perhaps, i am prejudiced in favor of this legend of homolsom rock, for it strikes a very responsive chord in that portion of my heart that has always throbbed for the sea. "you know," began my young tillicum, "that only waters unspoiled by human hands can be of any benefit. one gains no strength by swimming in any waters heated or boiled by fires that men build. to grow strong and wise one must swim in the natural rivers, the mountain torrents, the sea, just as the sagalie tyee made them. their virtues die when human beings try to improve them by heating or distilling, or placing even tea in them, and so--what makes homolsom rock so full of 'good medicine' is that the waters that wash up about it are straight from the sea, made by the hand of the great tyee, and unspoiled by the hand of man. "it was not always there, that great rock, drawing its strength and its wonderful power from the seas, for it, too, was once a great tyee, who ruled a mighty tract of waters. he was god of all the waters that wash the coast, of the gulf of georgia, of puget sound, of the straits of juan de fuca, of the waters that beat against even the west coast of vancouver island, and of all the channels that cut between the charlotte islands. he was tyee of the west wind, and his storms and tempests were so mighty that the sagalie tyee himself could not control the havoc that he created. he warred upon all fishing craft, he demolished canoes, and sent men to graves in the sea. he uprooted forests and drove the surf on shore heavy with wreckage of despoiled trees and with beaten and bruised fish. he did all this to reveal his powers, for he was cruel and hard of heart, and he would laugh and defy the sagalie tyee, and, looking up to the sky, he would call, 'see how powerful i am, how mighty, how strong; i am as great as you.' "it was at this time that the sagalie tyee in the persons of the four men came in the great canoe up over the rim of the pacific, in that age thousands of years ago when they turned the evil into stone, and the kindly into trees. "'now,' said the god of the west wind, 'i can show how great i am. i shall blow a tempest that these men may not land on my coast. they shall not ride my seas and sounds and channels in safety. i shall wreck them and send their bodies into the great deeps, and i shall be sagalie tyee in their place and ruler of all the world.' so the god of the west wind blew forth his tempests. the waves arose mountain high, the seas lashed and thundered along the shores. the roar of his mighty breath could be heard wrenching giant limbs from the forest trees, whistling down the canyons and dealing death and destruction for leagues and leagues along the coast. but the canoe containing the four men rode upright through all the heights and hollows of the seething ocean. no curling crest or sullen depth could wreck that magic craft, for the hearts it bore were filled with kindness for the human race, and kindness cannot die. "it was all rock and dense forest, and unpeopled; only wild animals and sea-birds sought the shelter it provided from the terrors of the west wind; but he drove them out in sullen anger, and made on this strip of land his last stand against the four men. the paleface calls the place point grey, but the indians yet speak of it as 'the battle ground of the west wind.' all his mighty forces he now brought to bear against the oncoming canoe; he swept great hurricanes about the stony ledges; he caused the sea to beat and swirl in tempestuous fury along its narrow fastnesses; but the canoe came nearer and nearer, invincible as those shores, and stronger than death itself. as the bow touched the land the four men arose and commanded the west wind to cease his war-cry, and, mighty though he had been, his voice trembled and sobbed itself into a gentle breeze, then fell to a whispering note, then faded into exquisite silence. "'oh, you evil one with the unkind heart,' cried the four men, 'you have been too great a god for even the sagalie tyee to obliterate you forever, but you shall live on, live now to serve, not to hinder mankind. you shall turn into stone where you now stand, and you shall rise only as men wish you to. your life from this day shall be for the good of man, for when the fisherman's sails are idle and his lodge is leagues away you shall fill those sails and blow his craft free, in whatever direction he desires. you shall stand where you are through all the thousands upon thousands of years to come, and he who touches you with his paddle-blade shall have his desire of a breeze to carry him home.'" my young tillicum had finished his tradition, and his great, solemn eyes regarded me half-wistfully. "i wish you could see homolsom rock," he said. "for that is he who was once the tyee of the west wind." "were you ever becalmed around point grey?" i asked irrelevantly. "often," he replied. "but i paddle up to the rock and touch it with the tip of my paddle-blade, and, no matter which way i want to go, the wind will blow free for me, if i wait a little while." "i suppose your people all do this?" i replied. "yes, all of them," he answered. "they have done it for hundreds of years. you see the power in it is just as great now as at first, for the rock feeds every day on the unspoiled sea that the sagalie tyee made." the tulameen trail did you ever "holiday" through the valley lands of the dry belt? ever spend days and days in a swinging, swaying coach, behind a four-in-hand, when "curly" or "nicola ned" held the ribbons, and tooled his knowing little leaders and wheelers down those horrifying mountain-trails that wind like russet skeins of cobweb through the heights and depths of the okanagan, the nicola, and the similkameen countries? if so, you have listened to the call of the skookum chuck, as the chinook speakers call the rollicking, tumbling streams that sing their way through the canyons with a music so dulcet, so insistent, that for many moons the echo of it lingers in your listening ears, and you will, through all the years to come, hear the voices of those mountain-rivers calling you to return. but the most haunting of all the melodies is the warbling laughter of the tulameen; its delicate note is far more powerful, more far-reaching than the throaty thunders of niagara. that is why the indians of the nicola country still cling to their old-time story that the tulameen carries the spirit of a young girl enmeshed in the wonders of its winding course; a spirit that can never free itself from the canyons, to rise above the heights and follow its fellows to the happy hunting grounds, but which is contented to entwine its laughter, its sobs, its lonely whispers, its still lonelier call for companionship, with the wild music of the waters that sing forever beneath the western stars. as your horses plod up and up the almost perpendicular trail that leads out of the nicola valley to the summit, a paradise of beauty outspreads at your feet; the color is indescribable in words, the atmosphere thrills you. youth and the pulse of rioting blood are yours again, until, as you near the heights, you become strangely calmed by the voiceless silence of it all--a silence so holy that it seems the whole world about you is swinging its censer before an altar in some dim remote cathedral! the choir-voices of the tulameen are yet very far away across the summit, but the heights of the nicola are the silent prayer that holds the human soul before the first great chords swell down from the organ-loft. in this first long climb up miles and miles of trail, even the staccato of the drivers' long black-snake whip is hushed. he lets his animals pick their own sure-footed way, but once across the summit he gathers the reins in his steely fingers, gives a low, quick whistle, the whiplash curls about the ears of the leaders and the plunge down the dip of the mountain begins. every foot of the way is done at a gallop. the coach rocks and swings as it dashes through a trail rough-hewn from the heart of the forest; at times the angles are so abrupt that you cannot see the heads of the leaders as they swing around the grey crags that almost scrape the tires on the left, while within a foot of the rim of the trail the right wheels whirl along the edge of a yawning canyon. the rhythm of the hoof-beats, the recurrent low whistle and crack of the whiplash, the occasional rattle of pebbles showering down to the depths, loosened by rioting wheels, have broken the sacred silence. yet, above all those nearby sounds, there seems to be an indistinct murmur, which grows sweeter, more musical, as you gain the base of the mountains, where it rises above all harsher notes. it is the voice of the restless tulameen as it dances and laughs through the rocky throat of the canyon, three hundred feet below. then, following the song, comes a glimpse of the river itself--white-garmented in the film of its countless rapids, its showers of waterfalls. it is as beautiful to look at as to listen to, and it is here, where the trail winds about and above it for leagues, that the indians say it caught the spirit of the maiden that is still interlaced in its loveliness. it was in one of the terrible battles that raged between the valley tribes before the white man's footprints were seen along these trails. none can now tell the cause of this warfare, but the supposition is that it was merely for tribal supremacy--that primeval instinct that assails the savage in both man and beast, that drives the hill-men to bloodshed and the leaders of buffalo herds to conflict. it is the greed to rule; the one barbarous instinct that civilization has never yet been able to eradicate from armed nations. this war of the tribes of the valley lands was of years in duration; men fought, and women mourned, and children wept, as all have done since time began. it seemed an unequal battle, for the old, experienced, war-tried chief and his two astute sons were pitted against a single young tulameen brave. both factors had their loyal followers, both were indomitable as to courage and bravery, both were determined and ambitious, both were skilled fighters. but on the older man's side were experience and two other wary, strategic brains to help him, while on the younger was but the advantage of splendid youth and unconquerable persistence. but at every pitched battle, at every skirmish, at every single-handed conflict the younger man gained little by little, the older man lost step by step. the experience of age was gradually but inevitably giving way to the strength and enthusiasm of youth. then, one day, they met face to face and alone--the old, war-scarred chief, the young battle-inspired brave. it was an unequal combat, and at the close of a brief but violent struggle the younger had brought the older to his knees. standing over him with up-poised knife the tulameen brave laughed sneeringly, and said: "would you, my enemy, have this victory as your own? if so, i give it to you; but in return for my submission i demand of you--your daughter." for an instant the old chief looked in wonderment at his conqueror; he thought of his daughter only as a child who played about the forest-trails or sat obediently beside her mother in the lodge, stitching her little moccasins or weaving her little baskets. "my daughter!" he answered sternly. "my daughter--who is barely out of her own cradle-basket--give her to you, whose hands are blood-dyed with the killing of a score of my tribe? you ask for this thing?" "i do not ask it," replied the young brave. "i demand it; i have seen the girl and i shall have her." the old chief sprang to his feet and spat out his refusal. "keep your victory, and i keep my girl-child," though he knew he was not only defying his enemy, but defying death as well. the tulameen laughed lightly, easily. "i shall not kill the sire of my wife," he taunted. "one more battle must we have, but your girl-child will come to me." then he took his victorious way up the trail, while the old chief walked with slow and springless step down into the canyon. the next morning the chief's daughter was loitering along the heights, listening to the singing river, and sometimes leaning over the precipice to watch its curling eddies and dancing waterfalls. suddenly she heard a slight rustle, as though some passing bird's wing had clipt the air. then at her feet there fell a slender, delicately shaped arrow. it fell with spent force, and her indian woodcraft told her it had been shot to her, not at her. she started like a wild animal. then her quick eye caught the outline of a handsome, erect figure that stood on the heights across the river. she did not know him as her father's enemy. she only saw him to be young, stalwart, and of extraordinary manly beauty. the spirit of youth and of a certain savage coquetry awoke within her. quickly she fitted one of her own dainty arrows to the bow-string and sent it winging across the narrow canyon; it fell, spent, at his feet, and he knew she had shot it to him, not at him. next morning, woman-like, she crept noiselessly to the brink of the heights. would she see him again--that handsome brave? would he speed another arrow to her? she had not yet emerged from the tangle of forest before it fell, its faint-winged flight heralding its coming. near the feathered end was tied a tassel of beautiful ermine-tails. she took from her wrist a string of shell beads, fastened it to one of her little arrows, and winged it across the canyon, as yesterday. the following morning, before leaving the lodge, she fastened the tassel of ermine-tails in her straight black hair. would he see them? but no arrow fell at her feet that day, but a dearer message was there on the brink of the precipice. he himself awaited her coming--he who had never left her thoughts since that first arrow came to her from his bow-string. his eyes burned with warm fires, as she approached, but his lips said simply: "i have crossed the tulameen river." together they stood, side by side, and looked down at the depths before them, watching in silence the little torrent rollicking and roystering over its boulders and crags. "that is my country," he said, looking across the river. "this is the country of your father, and of your brothers; they are my enemies. i return to my own shore to-night. will you come with me?" she looked up into his handsome young face. so this was her father's foe--the dreaded tulameen! "will you come?" he repeated. "i will come," she whispered. it was in the dark of the moon and through the kindly night he led her far up the rocky shores to the narrow belt of quiet waters, where they crossed in silence into his own country. a week, a month, a long golden summer, slipped by, but the insulted old chief and his enraged sons failed to find her. then, one morning, as the lovers walked together on the heights above the far upper reaches of the river, even the ever-watchful eyes of the tulameen failed to detect the lurking enemy. across the narrow canyon crouched and crept the two outwitted brothers of the girl-wife at his side; their arrows were on their bow-strings, their hearts on fire with hatred and vengeance. like two evil-winged birds of prey those arrows sped across the laughing river, but before they found their mark in the breast of the victorious tulameen the girl had unconsciously stepped before him. with a little sigh, she slipped into his arms, her brothers' arrows buried into her soft, brown flesh. it was many a moon before his avenging hand succeeded in slaying the old chief and those two hated sons of his. but when this was finally done the handsome young tulameen left his people, his tribe, his country, and went into the far north. "for," he said, as he sang his farewell war-song, "my heart lies dead in the tulameen river." * * * * * but the spirit of his girl-wife still sings through the canyon, its song blending with the music of that sweetest-voiced river in all the great valleys of the dry belt. that is why this laughter, the sobbing murmur of the beautiful tulameen, will haunt for evermore the ear that has once listened to its song. the grey archway the steamer, like a huge shuttle, wove in and out among the countless small islands; its long trailing scarf of grey smoke hung heavily along the uncertain shores, casting a shadow over the pearly waters of the pacific, which swung lazily from rock to rock in indescribable beauty. after dinner i wandered astern with the traveller's ever-present hope of seeing the beauties of a typical northern sunset, and by some happy chance i placed my deck-stool near an old tillicum, who was leaning on the rail, his pipe between his thin, curved lips, his brown hands clasped idly, his sombre eyes looking far out to sea, as though they searched the future--or was it that they were seeing the past? "kla-how-ya, tillicum!" i greeted. he glanced round, and half smiled. "kla-how-ya, tillicum!" he replied, with the warmth of friendliness i have always met with among the pacific tribes. i drew my deck-stool nearer to him, and he acknowledged the action with another half smile, but did not stir from his entrenchment, remaining as if hedged about with an inviolable fortress of exclusiveness. yet i knew that my chinook salutation would be a drawbridge by which i might hope to cross the moat into his castle of silence. indian-like, he took his time before continuing the acquaintance. then he began in most excellent english: "you do not know these northern waters?" i shook my head. after many moments he leaned forward, looking along the curve of the deck, up the channels and narrows we were threading, to a broad strip of waters off the port bow. then he pointed with that peculiar, thoroughly indian gesture of the palm uppermost. "do you see it--over there? the small island? it rests on the edge of the water, like a grey gull." it took my unaccustomed eyes some moments to discern it; then all at once i caught its outline, veiled in the mists of distance--grey, cobwebby, dreamy. "yes," i replied, "i see it now. you will tell me of it--tillicum?" he gave a swift glance at my dark skin, then nodded. "you are one of us," he said, with evidently no thought of a possible contradiction. "and you will understand, or i should not tell you. you will not smile at the story, for you are one of us." "i am one of you, and i shall understand," i answered. it was a full half-hour before we neared the island, yet neither of us spoke during that time; then, as the "grey gull" shaped itself into rock and tree and crag, i noticed in the very centre a stupendous pile of stone lifting itself skyward, without fissure or cleft; but a peculiar haziness about the base made me peer narrowly to catch the perfect outline. "it is the 'grey archway,'" he explained, simply. only then did i grasp the singular formation before us: the rock was a perfect archway, through which we could see the placid pacific shimmering in the growing colors of the coming sunset at the opposite rim of the island. "what a remarkable whim of nature!" i exclaimed, but his brown hand was laid in a contradictory grasp on my arm, and he snatched up my comment almost with impatience. "no, it was not nature," he said. "that is the reason i say you will understand--you are one of us--you will know what i tell you is true. the great tyee did not make that archway, it was--" here his voice lowered--"it was magic, red man's medicine and magic--you savvy?" "yes," i said. "tell me, for i--savvy." "long time ago," he began, stumbling into a half-broken english language, because, i think, of the atmosphere and environment, "long before you were born, or your father, or grandfather, or even his father, this strange thing happened. it is a story for women to hear, to remember. women are the future mothers of the tribe, and we of the pacific coast hold such in high regard, in great reverence. the women who are mothers--o-ho!--they are the important ones, we say. warriors, fighters, brave men, fearless daughters, owe their qualities to these mothers--eh, is it not always so?" i nodded silently. the island was swinging nearer to us, the "grey archway" loomed almost above us, the mysticism crowded close, it enveloped me, caressed me, appealed to me. "and?" i hinted. "and," he proceeded, "this 'grey archway' is a story of mothers, of magic, of witchcraft, of warriors, of--love." an indian rarely uses the word "love," and when he does it expresses every quality, every attribute, every intensity, emotion, and passion embraced in those four little letters. surely this was an exceptional story i was to hear. i did not answer, only looked across the pulsing waters toward the "grey archway," which the sinking sun was touching with soft pastels, tints one could give no name to, beauties impossible to describe. "you have not heard of yaada?" he questioned. then, fortunately, he continued without waiting for a reply. he well knew that i had never heard of yaada, so why not begin without preliminary to tell me of her?--so-- "yaada was the loveliest daughter of the haida tribe. young braves from all the islands, from the mainland, from the upper skeena country, came, hoping to carry her to their far-off lodges, but they always returned alone. she was the most desired of all the island maidens, beautiful, brave, modest, the daughter of her own mother. "but there was a great man, a very great man--a medicine-man, skilful, powerful, influential, old, deplorably old, and very, very rich; he said, 'yaada shall be my wife.' and there was a young fisherman, handsome, loyal, boyish, poor, oh! very poor, and gloriously young, and he, too, said, 'yaada shall be my wife.' "but yaada's mother sat apart and thought and dreamed, as mothers will. she said to herself, 'the great medicine-man has power, has vast riches, and wonderful magic, why not give her to him? but ulka has the boy's heart, the boy's beauty; he is very brave, very strong; why not give her to him?' "but the laws of the great haida tribe prevailed. its wise men said, 'give the girl to the greatest man, give her to the most powerful, the richest. the man of magic must have his choice.' "but at this the mother's heart grew as wax in the summer sunshine--it is a strange quality that mothers' hearts are made of! 'give her to the best man--the man her heart holds highest,' said this haida mother. "then yaada spoke: 'i am the daughter of my tribe; i would judge of men by their excellence. he who proves most worthy i shall marry; it is not riches that make a good husband; it is not beauty that makes a good father for one's children. let me and my tribe see some proof of the excellence of these two men--then, only, shall i choose who is to be the father of my children. let us have a trial of their skill; let them show me how evil or how beautiful is the inside of their hearts. let each of them throw a stone with some intent, some purpose in their hearts. he who makes the noblest mark may call me wife.' "'alas! alas!' wailed the haida mother. 'this casting of stones does not show worth. it but shows prowess.' "'but i have implored the sagalie tyee of my father, and of his fathers before him, to help me to judge between them by this means,' said the girl. 'so they must cast the stones. in this way only shall i see their innermost hearts.' "the medicine-man never looked so old as at that moment; so hopelessly old, so wrinkled, so palsied: he was no mate for yaada. ulka never looked so god-like in his young beauty, so gloriously young, so courageous. the girl, looking at him, loved him--almost was she placing her hand in his, but the spirit of her forefathers halted her. she had spoken the word--she must abide by it. 'throw!' she commanded. "into his shrivelled fingers the great medicine-man took a small, round stone, chanting strange words of magic all the while; his greedy eyes were on the girl, his greedy thoughts about her. "into his strong young fingers ulka took a smooth, flat stone; his handsome eyes were lowered in boyish modesty, his thoughts were worshipping her. the great medicine-man cast his missile first; it swept through the air like a shaft of lightning, striking the great rock with a force that shattered it. at the touch of that stone the 'grey archway' opened and has remained open to this day. "'oh, wonderful power and magic!' clamored the entire tribe. 'the very rocks do his bidding.' "but yaada stood with eyes that burned in agony. ulka could never command such magic--she knew it. but at her side ulka was standing erect, tall, slender, and beautiful, but just as he cast his missile the evil voice of the old medicine-man began a still more evil incantation. he fixed his poisonous eyes on the younger man, eyes with hideous magic in their depths--ill-omened and enchanted with 'bad medicine.' the stone left ulka's fingers; for a second it flew forth in a straight line, then, as the evil voice of the old man grew louder in its incantations, the stone curved. magic had waylaid the strong arm of the young brave. the stone poised an instant above the forehead of yaada's mother, then dropped with the weight of many mountains, and the last long sleep fell upon her. "'slayer of my mother!' stormed the girl, her suffering eyes fixed upon the medicine-man. 'oh, i now see your black heart through your black magic. through good magic you cut the "grey archway," but your evil magic you used upon young ulka. i saw your wicked eyes upon him; i heard your wicked incantations; i know your wicked heart. you used your heartless magic in hope of winning me--in hope of making him an outcast of the tribe. you cared not for my sorrowing heart, my motherless life to come.' then, turning to the tribe, she demanded: 'who of you saw his evil eyes fixed on ulka? who of you heard his evil song?' "'i,' and 'i,' and 'i,' came voice after voice. "'the very air is poisoned that we breathe about him,' they shouted. 'the young man is blameless, his heart is as the sun; but the man who has used his evil magic has a heart black and cold as the hours before the dawn.' "then yaada's voice arose in a strange, sweet, sorrowful chant: my feet shall walk no more upon this island, with its great, grey archway. my mother sleeps forever on this island, with its great, grey archway. my heart would break without her on this island, with its great, grey archway. my life was of her life upon this island, with its great, grey archway. my mother's soul has wandered from this island, with its great, grey archway. my feet must follow hers beyond this island, with its great, grey archway. "as yaada chanted and wailed her farewell she moved slowly towards the edge of the cliff. on its brink she hovered a moment with outstretched arms, as a sea gull poises on its weight--then she called: "'ulka, my ulka! your hand is innocent of wrong; it was the evil magic of your rival that slew my mother. i must go to her; even you cannot keep me here; will you stay, or come with me? oh! my ulka!' "the slender, gloriously young boy sprang toward her; their hands closed one within the other; for a second they poised on the brink of the rocks, radiant as stars; then together they plunged into the sea." * * * * * the legend was ended. long ago we had passed the island with its "grey archway"; it was melting into the twilight, far astern. as i brooded over this strange tale of a daughter's devotion, i watched the sea and sky for something that would give me a clue to the inevitable sequel that the tillicum, like all his race, was surely withholding until the opportune moment. something flashed through the darkening waters not a stone's-throw from the steamer. i leaned forward, watching it intently. two silvery fish were making a succession of little leaps and plunges along the surface of the sea, their bodies catching the last tints of sunset, like flashing jewels. i looked at the tillicum quickly. he was watching me--a world of anxiety in his half-mournful eyes. "and those two silvery fish?" i questioned. he smiled. the anxious look vanished. "i was right," he said; "you do know us and our ways, for you are one of us. yes, those fish are seen only in these waters; there are never but two of them. they are yaada and her mate, seeking for the soul of the haida woman--her mother." deadman's island it is dusk on the lost lagoon, and we two dreaming the dusk away, beneath the drift of a twilight grey-- beneath the drowse of an ending day and the curve of a golden moon. it is dark in the lost lagoon, and gone are the depths of haunting blue, the grouping gulls, and the old canoe, the singing firs, and the dusk and--you, and gone is the golden moon. o! lure of the lost lagoon-- i dream to-night that my paddle blurs the purple shade where the seaweed stirs-- i hear the call of the singing firs in the hush of the golden moon. for many minutes we stood silently, leaning on the western rail of the bridge as we watched the sunset across that beautiful little basin of water known as coal harbor. i have always resented that jarring, unattractive name, for years ago, when i first plied paddle across the gunwale of a light little canoe, and idled about its margin, i named the sheltered little cove the lost lagoon. this was just to please my own fancy, for, as that perfect summer month drifted on, the ever-restless tides left the harbor devoid of water at my favorite canoeing hour, and my pet idling-place was lost for many days--hence my fancy to call it the lost lagoon. but the chief, indian-like, immediately adopted the name, at least when he spoke of the place to me, and, as we watched the sun slip behind the rim of firs, he expressed the wish that his dug-out were here instead of lying beached at the farther side of the park. "if canoe was here, you and i we paddle close to shores all 'round your lost lagoon: we make track just like half-moon. then we paddle under this bridge, and go channel between deadman's island and park. then 'round where cannon speak time at nine o'clock. then 'cross inlet to indian side of narrows." i turned to look eastward, following in fancy the course he had sketched. the waters were still as the footsteps of the oncoming twilight, and, floating in a pool of soft purple, deadman's island rested like a large circle of candle-moss. "have you ever been on it?" he asked as he caught my gaze centering on the irregular outline of the island pines. "i have prowled the length and depth of it," i told him, "climbed over every rock on its shores, crept under every tangled growth of its interior, explored its overgrown trails, and more than once nearly got lost in its very heart." "yes," he half laughed, "it pretty wild; not much good for anything." "people seem to think it valuable," i said. "there is a lot of litigation--of fighting going on now about it." "oh! that the way always," he said, as though speaking of a long accepted fact. "always fight over that place. hundreds of years ago they fight about it; indian people; they say hundreds of years to come everybody will still fight--never be settled what that place is, who it belong to, who has right to it. no, never settle. deadman's island always mean fight for someone." "so the indians fought amongst themselves about it?" i remarked, seemingly without guile, although my ears tingled for the legend i knew was coming. "fought like lynx at close quarters," he answered. "fought, killed each other, until the island ran with blood redder than that sunset, and the sea-water about it was stained flame color--it was then, my people say, that the scarlet fire-flower was first seen growing along this coast." "it is a beautiful color--the fire-flower," i said. "it should be fine color, for it was born and grew from the hearts of fine tribes-people--very fine people," he emphasized. we crossed to the eastern rail of the bridge, and stood watching the deep shadows that gathered slowly and silently about the island; i have seldom looked upon anything more peaceful. the chief sighed. "we have no such men now, no fighters like those men, no hearts, no courage like theirs. but i tell you the story; you understand it then. now all peace; to-night all good tillicums; even dead man's spirit does not fight now, but long time after it happen those spirits fought." "and the legend?" i ventured. "oh! yes," he replied, as if suddenly returning to the present from out a far country in the realm of time. "indian people, they call it the 'legend of the island of dead men.' "there was war everywhere. fierce tribes from the northern coast, savage tribes from the south, all met here and battled and raided, burned and captured, tortured and killed their enemies. the forests smoked with camp-fires, the narrows were choked with war-canoes, and the sagalie tyee--he who is a man of peace--turned his face away from his indian children. about this island there was dispute and contention. the medicine-men from the north claimed it as their chanting-ground. the medicine-men from the south laid equal claim to it. each wanted it as the stronghold of their witchcraft, their magic. great bands of these medicine-men met on the small space, using every sorcery in their power to drive their opponents away. the witch-doctors of the north made their camp on the northern rim of the island; those from the south settled along the southern edge, looking towards what is now the great city of vancouver. both factions danced, chanted, burned their magic powders, built their magic fires, beat their magic rattles, but neither would give way, yet neither conquered. about them, on the waters, on the mainlands, raged the warfare of their respective tribes--the sagalie tyee had forgotten his indian children. "after many months, the warriors on both sides weakened. they said the incantations of the rival medicine-men were bewitching them, were making their hearts like children's, and their arms nerveless as women's. so friend and foe arose as one man and drove the medicine-men from the island, hounded them down the inlet, herded them through the narrows, and banished them out to sea, where they took refuge on one of the outer islands of the gulf. then the tribes once more fell upon each other in battle. "the warrior blood of the north will always conquer. they are the stronger, bolder, more alert, more keen. the snows and the ice of their country make swifter pulse than the sleepy suns of the south can awake in a man; their muscles are of sterner stuff, their endurance greater. yes, the northern tribes will always be victors.* but the craft and the strategy of the southern tribes are hard things to battle against. while those of the north followed the medicine-men farther out to sea to make sure of their banishment, those from the south returned under cover of night and seized the women and children and the old, enfeebled men in their enemy's camp, transported them all to the island of dead men, and there held them as captives. their war-canoes circled the island like a fortification, through which drifted the sobs of the imprisoned women, the mutterings of the aged men, the wail of little children. * note.--it would almost seem that the chief knew that wonderful poem of "the khan's," "the men of the northern zone," wherein he says: if ever a northman lost a throne did the conqueror come from the south? nay, the north shall ever be free ... etc. "again and again the men of the north assailed that circle of canoes, and again and again were repulsed. the air was thick with poisoned arrows, the water stained with blood. but day by day the circle of southern canoes grew thinner and thinner; the northern arrows were telling, and truer of aim. canoes drifted everywhere, empty, or, worse still, manned only by dead men. the pick of the southern warriors had already fallen, when their greatest tyee mounted a large rock on the eastern shore. brave and unmindful of a thousand weapons aimed at his heart, he uplifted his hand, palm outward--the signal for conference. instantly every northern arrow was lowered, and every northern ear listened for his words. "'oh! men of the upper coast,' he said, 'you are more numerous than we are; your tribe is larger, your endurance greater. we are growing hungry, we are growing less in numbers. our captives--your women and children and old men--have lessened, too, our stores of food. if you refuse our terms we will yet fight to the finish. to-morrow we will kill all our captives before your eyes, for we can feed them no longer, or you can have your wives, your mothers, your fathers, your children, by giving us for each and every one of them one of your best and bravest young warriors, who will consent to suffer death in their stead. speak! you have your choice.' "in the northern canoes scores and scores of young warriors leapt to their feet. the air was filled with glad cries, with exultant shouts. the whole world seemed to ring with the voices of those young men who called loudly, with glorious courage: "'take me, but give me back my old father.' "'take me, but spare to my tribe my little sister.' "'take me, but release my wife and boy-baby.' "so the compact was made. two hundred heroic, magnificent young men paddled up to the island, broke through the fortifying circle of canoes, and stepped ashore. they flaunted their eagle plumes with the spirit and boldness of young gods. their shoulders were erect, their step was firm, their hearts strong. into their canoes they crowded the two hundred captives. once more their women sobbed, their old men muttered, their children wailed, but those young copper-colored gods never flinched, never faltered. their weak and their feeble were saved. what mattered to them such a little thing as death? "the released captives were quickly surrounded by their own people, but the flower of their splendid nation was in the hands of their enemies, those valorous young men who thought so little of life that they willingly, gladly laid it down to serve and to save those they loved and cared for. amongst them were war-tried warriors who had fought fifty battles, and boys not yet full grown, who were drawing a bow-string for the first time; but their hearts, their courage, their self-sacrifice were as one. "out before a long file of southern warriors they stood. their chins uplifted, their eyes defiant, their breasts bared. each leaned forward and laid his weapons at his feet, then stood erect, with empty hands, and laughed forth his challenge to death. a thousand arrows ripped the air, two hundred gallant northern throats flung forth a death cry exultant, triumphant as conquering kings--then two hundred fearless northern hearts ceased to beat. "but in the morning the southern tribes found the spot where they fell peopled with flaming fire-flowers. dread terror seized upon them. they abandoned the island, and when night again shrouded them they manned their canoes and noiselessly slipped through the narrows, turned their bows southward, and this coast-line knew them no more." "what glorious men!" i half whispered as the chief concluded the strange legend. "yes, men!" he echoed. "the white people call it deadman's island. that is their way; but we of the squamish call it the island of dead men." the clustering pines and the outlines of the island's margin were now dusky and indistinct. peace, peace lay over the waters, and the purple of the summer twilight had turned to grey, but i knew that in the depths of the undergrowth on deadman's island there blossomed a flower of flaming beauty; its colors were veiled in the coming nightfall, but somewhere down in the sanctuary of its petals pulsed the heart's blood of many and valiant men. a squamish legend of napoleon holding an important place among the majority of curious tales held in veneration by the coast tribes are those of the sea-serpent. the monster appears and reappears with almost monotonous frequency in connection with history, traditions, legends and superstitions; but perhaps the most wonderful part it ever played was in the great drama that held the stage of europe, and incidentally all the world during the stormy days of the first napoleon. throughout canada i have never failed to find an amazing knowledge of napoleon bonaparte amongst the very old and "uncivilized" indians. perhaps they may be unfamiliar with every other historical character from adam down, but they will all tell you they have heard of the "great french fighter," as they call the wonderful little corsican. whether this knowledge was obtained through the fact that our earliest settlers and pioneers were french, or whether napoleon's almost magical fighting career attracted the indian mind to the exclusion of lesser warriors, i have never yet decided. but the fact remains that the indians of our generation are not as familiar with bonaparte's name as were their fathers and grandfathers, so either the predominance of english-speaking settlers or the thinning of their ancient war-loving blood by modern civilization and peaceful times must, one or the other, account for the younger indian's ignorance of the emperor of the french. in telling me the legend of "the lost talisman," my good tillicum, the late chief capilano, began the story with the almost amazing question, had i ever heard of napoleon bonaparte? it was some moments before i just caught the name, for his english, always quaint and beautiful, was at times a little halting; but when he said, by way of explanation, "you know big fighter, frenchman. the english they beat him in big battle," i grasped immediately of whom he spoke. "what do you know of him?" i asked. his voice lowered, almost as if he spoke a state secret. "i know how it is that english they beat him." i have read many historians on this event, but to hear the squamish version was a novel and absorbing thing. "yes?" i said--my usual "leading" word to lure him into channels of tradition. "yes," he affirmed. then, still in a half-whisper, he proceeded to tell me that it all happened through the agency of a single joint from the vertebra of a sea-serpent. in telling me the story of brockton point and the valiant boy who killed the monster, he dwelt lightly on the fact that all people who approach the vicinity of the creature are palsied, both mentally and physically--bewitched, in fact--so that their bones become disjointed and their brains incapable; but to-day he elaborated upon this peculiarity until i harked back to the boy of brockton point and asked how it was that his body and brain escaped this affliction. "he was all good, and had no greed," he replied. "he was proof against all bad things." i nodded understandingly, and he proceeded to tell me that all successful indian fighters and warriors carried somewhere about their person a joint of a sea-serpent's vertebra; that the medicine-men threw "the power" about them so that they were not personally affected by this little "charm," but that immediately they approached an enemy the "charm" worked disaster, and victory was assured to the fortunate possessor of the talisman. there was one particularly effective joint that had been treasured and carried by the warriors of a great squamish family for a century. these warriors had conquered every foe they encountered, until the talisman had become so renowned that the totem-pole of their entire "clan" was remodelled, and the new one crested by the figure of a single joint of a sea-serpent's vertebra. about this time stories of napoleon's first great achievements drifted across the seas; not across the land--and just here may be a clue to buried coast-indian history, which those who are cleverer at research than i can puzzle over. the chief was most emphatic about the source of indian knowledge of napoleon. "i suppose you heard of him from quebec, through, perhaps, some of the french priests," i remarked. "no, no," he contradicted hurriedly. "not from east; we hear it from over the pacific from the place they call russia." but who conveyed the news or by what means it came he could not further enlighten me. but a strange thing happened to the squamish family about this time. there was a large blood connection, but the only male member living was a very old warrior, the hero of many battles and the possessor of the talisman. on his death-bed his women of three generations gathered about him; his wife, his sisters, his daughters, his granddaughters, but not one man, nor yet a boy of his own blood, stood by to speed his departing warrior spirit to the land of peace and plenty. "the charm cannot rest in the hands of women," he murmured almost with his last breath. "women may not war and fight other nations or other tribes; women are for the peaceful lodge and for the leading of little children. they are for holding baby hands, teaching baby feet to walk. no, the charm cannot rest with you, women. i have no brother, no cousin, no son, no grandson, and the charm must not go to a lesser warrior than i. none of our tribe, nor of any tribe on the coast, ever conquered me. the charm must go to one as unconquerable as i have been. when i am dead send it across the great salt chuck, to the victorious 'frenchman'; they call him napoleon bonaparte." they were his last words. the older women wished to bury the charm with him, but the younger women, inspired with the spirit of their generation, were determined to send it over-seas. "in the grave it will be dead," they argued. "let it still live on. let it help some other fighter to greatness and victory." as if to confirm their decision, the next day a small sealing-vessel anchored in the inlet. all the men aboard spoke russian, save two thin, dark, agile sailors, who kept aloof from the crew and conversed in another language. these two came ashore with part of the crew and talked in french with a wandering hudson's bay trapper, who often lodged with the squamish people. thus the women, who yet mourned over their dead warrior, knew these two strangers to be from the land where the great "frenchman" was fighting against the world. here i interrupted the chief. "how came the frenchmen in a russian sealer?" i asked. "captives," he replied. "almost slaves, and hated by their captors, as the majority always hate the few. so the women drew those two frenchmen apart from the rest and told them the story of the bone of the sea-serpent, urging them to carry it back to their own country and give it to the great 'frenchman' who was as courageous and as brave as their dead leader. "the frenchmen hesitated; the talisman might affect them, they said; might jangle their own brains, so that on their return to russia they would not have the sagacity to plan an escape to their own country; might disjoint their bodies, so that their feet and hands would be useless, and they would become as weak as children. but the women assured them that the charm only worked its magical powers over a man's enemies, that the ancient medicine-men had 'bewitched' it with this quality. so the frenchmen took it and promised that if it were in the power of man they would convey it to 'the emperor.' "as the crew boarded the sealer, the women watching from the shore observed strange contortions seize many of the men; some fell on the deck; some crouched, shaking as with palsy; some writhed for a moment, then fell limp and seemingly boneless; only the two frenchmen stood erect and strong and vital--the squamish talisman had already overcome their foes. as the little sealer set sail up the gulf she was commanded by a crew of two frenchmen--men who had entered these waters as captives, who were leaving them as conquerors. the palsied russians were worse than useless, and what became of them the chief could not state; presumably they were flung overboard, and by some trick of a kindly fate the frenchmen at last reached the coast of france. "tradition is so indefinite about their movements subsequent to sailing out of the inlet that even the ever-romantic and vividly colored imaginations of the squamish people have never supplied the details of this beautifully childish, yet strangely historical fairy-tale. but the voices of the trumpets of war, the beat of drums throughout europe heralded back to the wilds of the pacific coast forests the intelligence that the great squamish 'charm' eventually reached the person of napoleon; that from this time onward his career was one vast victory, that he won battle after battle, conquered nation after nation, and, but for the direst calamity that could befall a warrior, would eventually have been master of the world." "what was this calamity, chief?" i asked, amazed at his knowledge of the great historical soldier and strategist. the chief's voice again lowered to a whisper--his face was almost rigid with intentness as he replied: "he lost the squamish charm--lost it just before one great fight with the english people." i looked at him curiously; he had been telling me the oddest mixture of history and superstition, of intelligence and ignorance, the most whimsically absurd, yet impressive, tale i ever heard from indian lips. "what was the name of the great fight--did you ever hear it?" i asked, wondering how much he knew of events which took place at the other side of the world a century agone. "yes," he said, carefully, thoughtfully; "i hear the name sometime in london when i there. railroad station there--same name." "was it waterloo?" i asked. he nodded quickly, without a shadow of hesitation. "that the one," he replied. "that's it, waterloo." the lure in stanley park there is a well-known trail in stanley park that leads to what i always love to call the "cathedral trees"--that group of some half-dozen forest giants that arch overhead with such superb loftiness. but in all the world there is no cathedral whose marble or onyx columns can vie with those straight, clean, brown tree-boles that teem with the sap and blood of life. there is no fresco that can rival the delicacy of lace-work they have festooned between you and the far skies. no tiles, no mosaic or inlaid marbles, are as fascinating as the bare, russet, fragrant floor outspreading about their feet. they are the acme of nature's architecture, and in building them she has outrivalled all her erstwhile conceptions. she will never originate a more faultless design, never erect a more perfect edifice. but the divinely moulded trees and the man-made cathedral have one exquisite characteristic in common. it is the atmosphere of holiness. most of us have better impulses after viewing a stately cathedral, and none of us can stand amid that majestic forest group without experiencing some elevating thoughts, some refinement of our coarser nature. perhaps those who read this little legend will never again look at those cathedral trees without thinking of the glorious souls they contain, for according to the coast indians they do harbor human souls, and the world is better because they once had the speech and the hearts of mighty men. my tillicum did not use the word "lure" in telling me this legend. there is no equivalent for the word in the chinook tongue, but the gestures of his voiceful hands so expressed the quality of something between magnetism and charm that i have selected this word "lure" as best fitting what he wished to convey. some few yards beyond the cathedral trees, an overgrown disused trail turns into the dense wilderness to the right. only indian eyes could discern that trail, and the indians do not willingly go to that part of the park to the right of the great group. nothing in this, nor yet the next world would tempt a coast indian into the compact centres of the wild portions of the park, for therein, concealed cunningly, is the "lure" they all believe in. there is not a tribe in the entire district that does not know of this strange legend. you will hear the tale from those that gather at eagle harbor for the fishing, from the fraser river tribes, from the squamish at the narrows, from the mission, from up the inlet, even from the tribes at north bend, but no one will volunteer to be your guide, for having once come within the "aura" of the lure it is a human impossibility to leave it. your will-power is dwarfed, your intelligence blighted, your feet will refuse to lead you out by a straight trail, you will circle, circle for evermore about this magnet, for if death kindly comes to your aid your immortal spirit will go on in that endless circling that will bar it from entering the happy hunting grounds. and, like the cathedral trees, the lure once lived, a human soul, but in this instance it was a soul depraved, not sanctified. the indian belief is very beautiful concerning the results of good and evil in the human body. the sagalie tyee [god] has his own way of immortalizing each. people who are wilfully evil, who have no kindness in their hearts, who are bloodthirsty, cruel, vengeful, unsympathetic, the sagalie tyee turns to solid stone that will harbor no growth, even that of moss or lichen, for these stones contain no moisture, just as their wicked hearts lacked the milk of human kindness. the one famed exception, wherein a good man was transformed into stone, was in the instance of siwash rock, but as the indian tells you of it he smiles with gratification as he calls your attention to the tiny tree cresting that imperial monument. he says the tree was always there to show the nations that the good in this man's heart kept on growing even when his body had ceased to be. on the other hand, the sagalie tyee transforms the kindly people, the humane, sympathetic, charitable, loving people into trees, so that after death they may go on forever benefiting all mankind; they may yield fruit, give shade and shelter, afford unending service to the living by their usefulness as building material and as firewood. their saps and gums, their fibres, their leaves, their blossoms, enrich, nourish, and sustain the human form; no evil is produced by trees--all, all is goodness, is hearty, is helpfulness and growth. they give refuge to the birds, they give music to the winds, and from them are carved the bows and arrows, the canoes and paddles, bowls, spoons, and baskets. their service to mankind is priceless; the indian that tells you this tale will enumerate all these attributes and virtues of the trees. no wonder the sagalie tyee chose them to be the abode of souls good and great. but the lure in stanley park is that most dreaded of all things, an evil soul. it is embodied in a bare, white stone, which is shunned by moss and vine and lichen, but over which are splashed innumerable jet-black spots that have eaten into the surface like an acid. this condemned soul once animated the body of a witch-woman, who went up and down the coast, over seas and far inland, casting her evil eye on innocent people, and bringing them untold evils and diseases. about her person she carried the renowned "bad medicine" that every indian believes in--medicine that weakened the arm of the warrior in battle, that caused deformities, that poisoned minds and characters, that engendered madness, that bred plagues and epidemics; in short, that was the seed of every evil that could befall mankind. this witch-woman herself was immune from death; generations were born and grew to old age, and died, and other generations arose in their stead, but the witch-woman went about, her heart set against her kind. her acts were evil, her purposes wicked. she broke hearts and bodies and souls; she gloried in tears, and revelled in unhappiness, and sent them broadcast wherever she wandered. and in his high heaven the sagalie tyee wept with sorrow for his afflicted human children. he dared not let her die, for her spirit would still go on with its evil doing. in mighty anger he gave command to his four men (always representing the deity) that they should turn this witch-woman into a stone and enchain her spirit in its centre, that the curse of her might be lifted from the unhappy race. so the four men entered their giant canoe, and headed, as was their custom, up the narrows. as they neared what is now known as prospect point they heard from the heights above them a laugh, and, looking up, they beheld the witch-woman jeering defiantly at them. they landed, and, scaling the rocks, pursued her as she danced away, eluding them like a will-o'-the-wisp as she called out to them sneeringly: "care for yourselves, oh! men of the sagalie tyee, or i shall blight you with my evil eye. care for yourselves and do not follow me." on and on she danced through the thickest of the wilderness, on and on they followed until they reached the very heart of the sea-girt neck of land we know as stanley park. then the tallest, the mightiest of the four men, lifted his hand and cried out: "oh! woman of the stony heart, be stone for evermore, and bear forever a black stain for each one of your evil deeds." and as he spoke the witch-woman was transformed into this stone that tradition says is in the centre of the park. such is the "legend of the lure." whether or not this stone is really in existence who knows? one thing is positive, however: no indian will ever help to discover it. three different indians have told me that fifteen or eighteen years ago, two tourists--a man and a woman--were lost in stanley park. when found a week later the man was dead, the woman mad, and each of my informants firmly believed they had, in their wanderings, encountered "the stone" and were compelled to circle around it, because of its powerful lure. but this wild tale, fortunately, had a most beautiful conclusion. the four men, fearing that the evil heart imprisoned in the stone would still work destruction, said: "at the end of the trail we must place so good and great a thing that it will be mightier, stronger, more powerful than this evil." so they chose from the nations the kindliest, most benevolent men, men whose hearts were filled with the love of their fellow-beings, and transformed these merciful souls into the stately group of "cathedral trees." how well the purpose of the sagalie tyee has wrought its effect through time! the good has predominated, as he planned it to, for is not the stone hidden in some unknown part of the park where eyes do not see it and feet do not follow--and do not the thousands who come to us from the uttermost parts of the world seek that wondrous beauty spot, and stand awed by the majestic silence, the almost holiness of that group of giants? more than any other legend that the indians about vancouver have told me does this tale reveal the love of the coast native for kindness and his hatred of cruelty. if these tribes really have ever been a warlike race i cannot think they pride themselves much on the occupation. if you talk with any of them, and they mention some man they particularly like or admire, their first qualification of him is: "he's a kind man." they never say he is brave, or rich, or successful, or even strong, that characteristic so loved by the red man. to these coast tribes if a man is "kind" he is everything. and almost without exception their legends deal with rewards for tenderness and self-abnegation, and personal and mental cleanliness. call them fairy-tales if you wish to, they all have a reasonableness that must have originated in some mighty mind, and, better than that, they all tell of the indian's faith in the survival of the best impulses of the human heart, and the ultimate extinction of the worst. in talking with my many good tillicums, i find this witch-woman legend is the most universally known and thoroughly believed in of all traditions they have honored me by revealing to me. deer lake few white men ventured inland, a century ago, in the days of the first chief capilano, when the spoils of the mighty fraser river poured into copper-colored hands, but did not find their way to the remotest corners of the earth, as in our times, when the gold from its sources, the salmon from its mouth, the timber from its shores are world-known riches. the fisherman's craft, the hunter's cunning, were plied where now cities and industries, trade and commerce, buying and selling, hold sway. in those days the moccasined foot awoke no echo in the forest trails. primitive weapons, arms, implements, and utensils were the only means of the indians' food-getting. his livelihood depended upon his own personal prowess, his skill in woodcraft and water lore. and, as this is a story of an elk-bone spear, the reader must first be in sympathy with the fact that this rude instrument, most deftly fashioned, was of priceless value to the first capilano, to whom it had come through three generations of ancestors, all of whom had been experienced hunters and dexterous fishermen. capilano himself was without a rival as a spearman. he knew the moods of the fraser river, the habits of its thronging tenants, as no other man has ever known them before or since. he knew every isle and inlet along the coast, every boulder, the sand-bars, the still pools, the temper of the tides. he knew the spawning-grounds, the secret streams that fed the larger rivers, the outlets of rock-bound lakes, the turns and tricks of swirling rapids. he knew the haunts of bird and beast and fish and fowl, and was master of the arts and artifice that man must use when matching his brain against the eluding wiles of the untamed creatures of the wilderness. once only did his cunning fail him, once only did nature baffle him with her mysterious fabric of waterways and land-lures. it was when he was led to the mouth of the unknown river, which has evaded discovery through all the centuries, but which--so say the indians--still sings on its way through some buried channel that leads from the lake to the sea. he had been sealing along the shores of what is now known as point grey. his canoe had gradually crept inland, skirting up the coast to the mouth of false creek. here he encountered a very king of seals, a colossal creature that gladdened the hunter's eyes as game worthy of his skill. for this particular prize he would cast the elk-bone spear. it had never failed his sire, his grandsire, his great-grandsire. he knew it would not fail him now. a long, pliable, cedar-fibre rope lay in his canoe. many expert fingers had woven and plaited the rope, had beaten and oiled it until it was soft and flexible as a serpent. this he attached to the spearhead, and with deft, unerring aim cast it at the king seal. the weapon struck home. the gigantic creature shuddered, and, with a cry like a hurt child, it plunged down into the sea. with the rapidity and strength of a giant fish it scudded inland with the rising tide, while capilano paid out the rope its entire length, and, as it stretched taut, felt the canoe leap forward, propelled by the mighty strength of the creature which lashed the waters into whirlpools, as though it was possessed with the power and properties of a whale. up the stretch of false creek the man and monster drove their course, where a century hence great city bridges were to over-arch the waters. they strove and struggled each for the mastery; neither of them weakened, neither of them faltered--the one dragging, the other driving. in the end it was to be a matching of brute and human wits, not forces. as they neared the point where now main street bridge flings its shadow across the waters, the brute leaped high into the air, then plunged headlong into the depths. the impact ripped the rope from capilano's hands. it rattled across the gunwale. he stood staring at the spot where it had disappeared--the brute had been victorious. at low tide the indian made search. no trace of his game, of his precious elk-bone spear, of his cedar-fibre rope, could be found. with the loss of the latter he firmly believed his luck as a hunter would be gone. so he patrolled the mouth of false creek for many moons. his graceful, high-bowed canoe rarely touched other waters, but the seal king had disappeared. often he thought long strands of drifting sea grasses were his lost cedar-fibre rope. with other spears, with other cedar-fibres, with paddle-blade and cunning traps he dislodged the weeds from their moorings, but they slipped their slimy lengths through his eager hands: his best spear with its attendant coil was gone. the following year he was sealing again off the coast of point grey, and one night, after sunset, he observed the red reflection from the west, which seemed to transfer itself to the eastern skies. far into the night dashes of flaming scarlet pulsed far beyond the head of false creek. the color rose and fell like a beckoning hand, and, indian-like, he immediately attached some portentous meaning to the unusual sight. that it was some omen he never doubted, so he paddled inland, beached his canoe, and took the trail towards the little group of lakes that crowd themselves into the area that lies between the present cities of vancouver and new westminster. but long before he reached the shores of deer lake he discovered that the beckoning hand was in reality flame. the little body of water was surrounded by forest fires. one avenue alone stood open. it was a group of giant trees that as yet the flames had not reached. as he neared the point he saw a great moving mass of living things leaving the lake and hurrying northward through this one egress. he stood, listening, intently watching with alert eyes; the zwirr of myriads of little travelling feet caught his quick ear--the moving mass was an immense colony of beaver. thousands upon thousands of them. scores of baby beavers staggered along, following their mothers; scores of older beavers that had felled trees and built dams through many seasons; a countless army of trekking fur-bearers, all under the generalship of a wise old leader, who, as king of the colony, advanced some few yards ahead of his battalions. out of the waters through the forest towards the country to the north they journeyed. wandering hunters said they saw them cross burrard inlet at the second narrows, heading inland as they reached the farther shore. but where that mighty army of royal little canadians set up their new colony no man knows. not even the astuteness of the first capilano ever discovered their destination. only one thing was certain: deer lake knew them no more. after their passing the indian retraced their trail to the water's edge. in the red glare of the encircling fires he saw what he at first thought was some dead and dethroned king beaver on the shore. a huge carcass lay half in, half out, of the lake. approaching it, he saw the wasted body of a giant seal. there could never be two seals of that marvellous size. his intuition now grasped the meaning of the omen of the beckoning flame that had called him from the far coasts of point grey. he stooped above his dead conqueror and found, embedded in its decaying flesh, the elk-bone spear of his forefathers, and, trailing away at the water's rim, was a long, flexible, cedar-fibre rope. as he extracted this treasured heirloom he felt the "power," that men of magic possess, creep up his sinewy arms. it entered his heart, his blood, his brain. for a long time he sat and chanted songs that only great medicine-men may sing, and, as the hours drifted by, the heat of the forest fires subsided, the flames diminished into smouldering blackness. at daybreak the forest fire was dead, but its beckoning fingers had served their purpose. the magic elk-bone spear had come back to its own. until the day of his death the first capilano searched for the unknown river up which the seal travelled from false creek to deer lake; but its channel is a secret that even indian eyes have not seen. but although those of the squamish tribe tell and believe that the river still sings through its hidden trail that leads from deer lake to the sea, its course is as unknown, its channel is as hopelessly lost as the brave little army of beavers that a century ago marshalled their forces and travelled up into the great lone north. a royal mohawk chief how many canadians are aware that in prince arthur, duke of connaught, and only surviving son of queen victoria, who has been appointed to represent king george v. in canada, they undoubtedly have what many wish for--one bearing an ancient canadian title as governor-general of all the dominion? it would be difficult to find a man more canadian than any one of the fifty chiefs who compose the parliament of the ancient iroquois nation, that loyal race of redskins that has fought for the british crown against all of the enemies thereof, adhering to the british flag through the wars against both the french and the colonists. arthur, duke of connaught, is the only living white man who to-day has an undisputed right to the title of "chief of the six nations indians" (known collectively as the iroquois). he possesses the privilege of sitting in their councils, of casting his vote on all matters relative to the governing of the tribes, the disposal of reservation lands, the appropriation of both the principal and interest of the more than half a million dollars these tribes hold in government bonds at ottawa, accumulated from the sales of their lands. in short, were every drop of blood in his royal veins red, instead of blue, he could not be more fully qualified as an indian chief than he now is, not even were his title one of the fifty hereditary ones whose illustrious names composed the iroquois confederacy before the paleface ever set foot in america. it was on the occasion of his first visit to canada in , when he was little more than a boy, that prince arthur received, upon his arrival at quebec, an address of welcome from his royal mother's "indian children" on the grand river reserve, in brant county, ontario. in addition to this welcome they had a request to make of him: would he accept the title of chief and visit their reserve to give them the opportunity of conferring? one of the great secrets of england's success with savage races has been her consideration, her respect, her almost reverence of native customs, ceremonies, and potentates. she wishes her own customs and kings to be honored, so she freely accords like honor to her subjects, it matters not whether they be white, black, or red. young arthur was delighted--royal lads are pretty much like all other boys; the unique ceremony would be a break in the endless round of state receptions, banquets, and addresses. so he accepted the red indians' compliment, knowing well that it was the loftiest honor these people could confer upon a white man. it was the morning of october first when the royal train steamed into the little city of brantford, where carriages awaited to take the prince and his suite to the "old mohawk church," in the vicinity of which the ceremony was to take place. as the prince's especial escort, onwanonsyshon, head chief of the mohawks, rode on a jet-black pony beside the carriage. the chief was garmented in full native costume--a buckskin suit, beaded moccasins, headband of owl's and eagle's feathers, and ornaments hammered from coin silver that literally covered his coat and leggings. about his shoulders was flung a scarlet blanket, consisting of the identical broadcloth from which the british army tunics are made; this he "hunched" with his shoulders from time to time in true indian fashion. as they drove along the prince chatted boyishly with his mohawk escort, and once leaned forward to pat the black pony on its shining neck and speak admiringly of it. it was a warm autumn day: the roads were dry and dusty, and, after a mile or so, the boy-prince brought from beneath the carriage seat a basket of grapes. with his handkerchief he flicked the dust from them, handed a bunch to the chief, and took one himself. an odd spectacle to be traversing a country road: an english prince and an indian chief, riding amicably side by side, enjoying a banquet of grapes like two school-boys. on reaching the church, arthur leapt lightly to the greensward. for a moment he stood, rigid, gazing before him at his future brother-chiefs. his escort had given him a faint idea of what he was to see, but he certainly never expected to be completely surrounded by three hundred full-blooded iroquois braves and warriors, such as now encircled him on every side. every indian was in war-paint and feathers, some stripped to the waist, their copper-colored skins brilliant with paints, dyes, and "patterns"; all carried tomahawks, scalping-knives, and bows and arrows. every red throat gave a tremendous war-whoop as he alighted, which was repeated again and again, as for that half moment he stood silent, a slim, boyish figure, clad in light grey tweeds--a singular contrast to the stalwarts in gorgeous costumes who crowded about him. his young face paled to ashy whiteness, then with true british grit he extended his right hand and raised his black "billy-cock" hat with his left. at the same time he took one step forward. then the war-cries broke forth anew, deafening, savage, terrible cries, as one by one the entire three hundred filed past, the prince shaking hands with each one, and removing his glove to do so. this strange reception over, onwanonsyshon rode up, and, flinging his scarlet blanket on the grass, dismounted and asked the prince to stand on it. then stepped forward an ancient chief, father of onwanonsyshon, and speaker of the council. he was old in inherited and personal loyalty to the british crown. he had fought under sir isaac brock at queenston heights in , while yet a mere boy, and upon him was laid the honor of making his queen's son a chief. taking arthur by the hand, this venerable warrior walked slowly to and fro across the blanket, chanting as he went the strange, wild formula of induction. from time to time he was interrupted by loud expressions of approval and assent from the vast throng of encircling braves, but apart from this no sound was heard but the low, weird monotone of a ritual older than the white man's foot-prints in north america. it is necessary that a chief of each of the three "clans" of the mohawks shall assist in this ceremony. the veteran chief, who sang the formula, was of the bear clan. his son, onwanonsyshon, was of the wolf (the clanship descends through the mother's side of the family). then one other chief, of the turtle clan, and in whose veins coursed the blood of the historic brant, now stepped to the edge of the scarlet blanket. the chant ended, these two young chiefs received the prince into the mohawk tribe, conferring upon him the name of "kavakoudge," which means "the sun flying from east to west under the guidance of the great spirit." onwanonsyshon then took from his waist a brilliant deep-red sash, heavily embroidered with beads, porcupine quills, and dyed moose-hair, placing it over the prince's left shoulder and knotting it beneath his right arm. the ceremony was ended. the constitution that hiawatha had founded centuries ago, a constitution wherein fifty chiefs, no more, no less, should form the parliament of the "six nations," had been shattered and broken, because this race of loyal red men desired to do honor to a slender young boy-prince, who now bears the fifty-first title of the iroquois. many white men have received from these same people honorary titles, but none has been bestowed through the ancient ritual, with the imperative members of the three clans assisting, save that borne by arthur of connaught. after the ceremony the prince entered the church to autograph his name in the ancient bible, which, with a silver holy communion service, a bell, two tablets inscribed with the ten commandments, and a bronze british coat of arms, had been presented to the mohawks by queen anne. he inscribed "arthur" just below the "albert edward," which, as prince of wales, the late king wrote when he visited canada in . when he returned to england chief kavakoudge sent his portrait, together with one of queen victoria and the prince consort, to be placed in the council house of the "six nations," where they decorate the walls to-day. as i write, i glance up to see, in a corner of my room, a draping scarlet blanket, made of british army broadcloth, for the chief who rode the jet-black pony so long ago was the writer's father. he was not here to wear it when arthur of connaught again set foot on canadian shores. many of these facts i have culled from a paper that lies on my desk; it is yellowing with age, and bears the date, "toronto, october , ," and on the margin is written, in a clear, half-boyish hand, "onwanonsyshon, with kind regards from your brother-chief, arthur." [illustration: cover art] my brave and gallant gentleman a romance of british columbia by robert watson mcclelland, goodchild & stewart publishers :: :: :: :: toronto _copyright, ,_ _by george h. doran company_ _printed in the united states of america_ to a lady called nan contents chapter i the second son ii another second son iii jim the blacksmith iv viscount harry, captain of the guards v tommy flynn, the harlford bruiser vi aboard the coaster vii k. b. horsfal, millionaire viii golden crescent ix the booze artist x rita of the spanish song xi an informative visitor xii joe clark, bully xiii a visit, a discovery and a kiss xiv the coming of mary grant xv "music hath charms--" xvi the devil of the sea xvii good medicine xviii a maid, a mood and a song xix the "green-eyed monster" awakes xx fishing! xxi the beachcombers xxii jake stops the drink for good xxiii the fight in the woods xxiv two maids and a man xxv the ghoul xxvi "her knight proved true" my brave and gallant gentleman chapter i the second son lady rosemary granton! strange how pleasant memories arise, how disagreeable nightmares loom up before the mental vision at the sound of a name! lady rosemary granton! as far back as i could remember, that name had sounded familiar in my ears. as i grew from babyhood to boyhood, from boyhood to youth, it was drummed into me by my father that lady rosemary granton, some day, would wed the future earl of brammerton and hazelmere. this apparently awful calamity did not cause me any mental agony or loss of sleep, for the reason that i was merely the honourable george, second son of my noble parent. i was rather happy that morning, as i sat in an easy chair by the library window, perusing a work by my favourite author,--after a glorious twenty-mile gallop along the hedgerows and across country. i was rather happy, i say, as i pondered over the thought that something in the way of a just retribution was at last about to be meted out to my elder, haughty, arrogant and extremely aristocratic rake of a brother, harry. my mind flashed back again to the source of my vagrant thoughts. lady rosemary granton! to lose the guiding hand of her mother in her infancy; to spend her childhood in the luxurious lap of new york's pampered three hundred; to live six years more among the ranchers, the cowboys and, no doubt, the cattle thieves of wyoming, in the care of an old friend of her father, to wit, colonel sol dorry; then to be transferred for refining and general educational purposes for another spell of six years to the strict discipline of a french convent; to flit from city to city, from country to country, for three years with her father, in the stress of diplomatic service--what a life! what an upbringing for the future countess of brammerton! finally, by way of culmination, to lose her father and to be introduced into london society, with a fortune that made the roués of every capital in europe gasp and order a complete new wardrobe! as i thought what the finish might be, i threw up my hands, for it was a most interesting and puzzling speculation. lady rosemary granton! who had not heard the stories of her conquests and her daring? they were the talk of the clubs and the gossip of the drawing-rooms. masculine london was in ecstasies over them and voted lady rosemary a trump. the ladies were scandalised, as only jealous minded ladies can be at lavishly endowed and favoured members of their own sex. personally, i preferred to sit on the fence. being a lover of the open air, of the agile body, the strong arm and the quick eye, i could not but admire some of this extraordinary young lady's exploits. but,--the woman who was conceded the face of an angel, the form of a venus de milo; who was reported to have dressed as a jockey and ridden a horse to victory in the grand national steeplechase; who, for a wager, had flicked a coin from the fingers of a cavalry officer with a revolver at twenty paces; lassooed a cigar from between the teeth of the duke of kaslo and argued on the budget with a cabinet minister, all in one week; who could pray with the piety of a fasting monk; weep at will and look bewitching in the process; faint to order with the grace, the elegance and all the stage effect of an early victorian duchess: the woman who was styled a golden-haired goddess by those on whom she smiled and dubbed a saucy, red-haired minx by those whom she spurned;--was too, too much of a conglomeration for such a humdrum individual, such an ordinary, country-loving fellow as i,--george brammerton. and now, poor old hazelmere was undergoing a process of renovation such as it had not experienced since the occasion of a royal visit some twenty years before: not a room in the house where one could feel perfectly safe, save the library: washing, scrubbing, polishing and oiling in anticipation of a rousing week-end house party in honour of this wonderful, chameleon-like, lady rosemary's first visit; when her engagement with harry would be formally announced to the inquisitive, fashionable world of which she was a spoiled child. why all this fuss over a matter which concerned only two individuals, i could not understand. had i been going to marry the lady rosemary,--which, heaven forbid,--i should have whipped her quietly away to some little, country parsonage, to the registrar of a small country town; or to some village blacksmith, and so got the business over, out of hand. but, of course, i had neither the inclination, nor the intention, let alone the opportunity, of putting to the test what i should do in regard to marrying her, nor were my tastes in any way akin to those of my most elegant, elder brother, viscount harry, captain of the guards,--egad,--for which two blessings i was indeed truly thankful. as i was thus ruminating, the library door opened and my noble sire came in, spick and span as he always was, and happier looking than usual. "'morning, george," he greeted. "good morning, dad." he rubbed his hands together. "gad, youngster! (i was twenty-four) everything is going like clockwork. the house is all in order; supplies on hand to stock an hotel; all london falling over itself in its eagerness to get here. harry will arrive this afternoon and lady rosemary to-morrow." i raised my eyebrows, nodded disinterestedly and started in again to my reading. father walked the carpet excitedly, then he stopped and looked down at me. "you don't seem particularly enthusiastic over it, george. nothing ever does interest you but boxing bouts, wrestling matches, golf and books. why don't you brace up and get into the swim? why don't you take the place that belongs to you among the young fellows of your own station?" "god forbid!" i answered fervently. "not jealous of harry, are you? not smitten at the very sound of the lady's name,--like the young bloods, and the old ones, too, in the city?" "god forbid!" i replied again. "hang it all, can't you say anything more than that?" he asked testily. "oh, yes! dad,--lots," i answered, closing my book and keeping my finger at the place. "for one thing--i have never met this lady rosemary granton; never even seen her picture--and, to tell you the truth, from what i have heard of her, i have no immediate desire to make the lady's acquaintance." there was silence for a moment, and from my father's heavy breathing i could gather that his temper was ruffling. "look here, you young barbarian, you revolutionary,--what do you mean? what makes you talk in that way of one of the best and sweetest young ladies in the country? i won't have it from you, sir, _this_ lady rosemary granton, _this_ lady indeed." "oh! you know quite well, dad, what i mean," i continued, a little bored. "harry is no angel, and i doubt not but lady rosemary is by far too good for him. but,--you know,--you cannot fail to have heard the stories that are flying over the country of her cantrips;--some of them, well, not exactly pleasant. and, allowing fifty percent for exaggeration, there is still a lot that would be none the worse of considerable discounting to her advantage." "tuts, tush and nonsense! foolish talk most of it! the kind of stuff that is garbled and gossiped about every popular woman. the girl is up-to-date, modern, none of your drawing-room dolls. i admit that she has go in her, vim, animal spirits, youthful exuberance and all that. she may love sport and athletics, but, but,--you, yourself, spend most of your time in pursuit of these same amusements. why not she?" "why! father, these are the points i admire in her,--the only ones, i may say. but, oh! what's the good of going over it all? i know, you know,--everybody knows;--her flirtations, her affairs; every rake in london tries to boast of his acquaintance with her and bandies her name over his brandy and soda, and winks." "look here, george," put in my father angrily, "you forget yourself. these stories are lies, every one of them! lady rosemary is the daughter of my dearest, my dead friend. very soon, she will be your sister." "yes! i know,--so let us not say any more about it. it is harry and she for it, and, if they are pleased and an old whim of yours satisfied,--what matters it to an ordinary, easy-going, pipe-loving, cold-blooded fellow like me?" "whim, did you say? whim?" cried my father, flaring up and clenching his hands excitedly. "do you call the vow of a brammerton a whim? the pledged word of a granton a whim? whim, be damned." for want of words to express himself, my father dropped into a chair and drummed his agitated fingers on the arms of it. i rose and went over to him, laying my hand lightly on his shoulder. poor old dad! i had not meant to hurt his feelings. after all, he was the dearest of old-fashioned fellows and i loved his haughty, mid-victorian ways. "there, there, father,--i did not mean to say anything that would give offence. i take it all back. i am sorry,--indeed i am." he looked up at me and his face brightened once more. "'gad, boy,--i'm glad to hear you say it. i know you did not mean anything by your bruskness. you are an impetuous, headstrong young devil though,--with a touch of your mother in you,--and, 'gad, if i don't like you the more for it. "but, but," he went on, looking in front of him, "you must remember that although granton and i were mere boys at the time our vow was made,--he was a granton and i a brammerton, whose vows are made to keep. it seems like yesterday, george; it was a few hours after he saved my life in the fighting before sevastopol. we were sitting by the camp-fire. the chain-shot was still flying around. the cries of the wounded were in our ears. the sentries were challenging continually and drums were rolling in the distance. "i clasped fred's hand and i thanked him for what he had done for me that day, right in the teeth of the russian guns. "'freddy, old chap, you're a trump,' i said, 'and, if ever i be blessed with an heir to brammerton and hazelmere, i would wish nothing better than that he should marry a granton.' "'and nothing would please me so much, harry, old boy,--as that a maid of granton should wed a brammerton,' he answered earnestly. "'then it's a go,' said i, full of enthusiasm. "'it's a go, harry.' "and we raised our winecups, such as they were. "'your daughter, fred!' "'your heir, harry!' "'the future earl and countess of brammerton and hazelmere,' we chimed together. "our winecups clinked and the bond was made;--made for all time, george." my father's eyes lit up and he seemed to be back in the crimea. he shook his head sadly. "and now, poor old fred is gone. ah, well! our dream is coming true. in a month, the maid of granton weds the future earl of brammerton. "'gad, george, my boy,--rosemary may be skittish and lively, but were she the most mercurial woman in christendom, she has never forgotten that she is first of all a granton, and, as a granton, she has kept a granton's pledge." for a moment i caught the contagion of my father's earnestness. my eyes felt damp as i thought how important, after all, this union was to him. but, even then, i could not resist a little more questioning. "does harry love her, dad?" "love her!" he smiled. "why! my boy, he's madly in love with her." "then, why doesn't he mend a bit? give over his mad chasing after,--to put it mildly,--continual excitement; and demonstrate that he is thoroughly in earnest. you know, falling madly in love is a habit of harry's." "don't you worry your serious head about that, george. you talk of harry as if he were a baby. you talk as if you were his grandfather, instead of his younger brother and a mere boy." "does lady rosemary love harry?" i asked, ignoring his admonition. "of course, she loves him. why shouldn't she? he's a good fellow; well bred and well made; he is a soldier; he is in the swim; he has plenty to spend; he is the heir to brammerton;--why shouldn't she love him? she is going to marry him, isn't she? she may not be of the gushing type, george, but she'll come to it all in good time. she will grow to love him, as every good wife does her husband. so, don't let that foolish head of yours give you any more trouble." i turned to leave. "george!" "yes, dad!" "you will be on hand this week-end. i want you at home. i need you to keep things going. no skipping off to sporting gatherings or athletic conventions. i wish you to meet your future sister." "well,--i had not thought of that, dad. big jim darrol, tom tanner and i have entered for a number of events at the gartnockan games on saturday. i am also on the lists as a competitor for the northern counties golf championship on monday." my father looked up at me in a strange way. "however," i went on quickly, "much as i dislike the rush, the gush and the clatter of house parties, i shall be on hand." "good! i knew you would, my boy," replied my father quietly. "where away now, lad?" "oh! down to the village to tell jim and tom not to count on me for their week-end jaunt." chapter ii another second son i strolled down the avenue, between the tall trees and on to the broad, sun-baked roadway leading to the sleepy little village of brammerton, which lay so snugly down in the hollow. swinging my stout stick and whistling as i went, i felt at peace with the good old world. my head was clear, my arm was strong; rich, fresh blood was dancing in my veins; i was young, single, free;--so what cared i? as i walked along, i saw ahead of me a thin line of blue-grey smoke curling up from the roadside. as i drew nearer, i made out the back of a ragged man, leaning over a fire. his voice, lusty and clear as a bell, was ringing out a strange melody. i went over to him. i was looking over his shoulder, yet he seemed not to have heard me, so intent was he on his song and in his work. he was toasting the carcass of a poached rabbit, the wet skin of which lay at his side. he was a dirty, ragged rascal, but he seemed happy and his voice was good. the sentiment of his song was not altogether out of harmony with my own feelings. "a carter swore he'd love always a skirt, some rouge, a pair of stays. after his vow, for days and days, he thought himself the smarter." the singer bit a piece of flesh from the leg of his rabbit, to test its tenderness, then he resumed his toasting and his song. "but, underneath the stays and paint he found the usual male complaint: a woman's tongue, with satan's taint; a squalling, brawling tartar. "she scratches, bites and blacks his eye. his head hangs low; he heaves a sigh; he longs for single days, gone by. he's doomed to die a martyr." the peculiar fellow stopped, opened a red-coloured handkerchief, took out a hunk of bread and set it down by his side with slow deliberation. it was quite two minutes ere he started off again. "now, friends, beware, take my advice; when eating sugar, think of spice; before you marry, ponder twice: remember ned the carter." from the words, it seemed to me that he had finished the song, but, judging from the tune, it was never-ending. "a fine song, my good fellow," i remarked from behind. the rascal did not turn round. "oh!--it's no' so bad. it's got the endurin' quality o' carrying a moral," he answered. "you seem to be clear in the conscience yourself," said i. "it'll be clearer when i get outside o' this rabbit," he returned, still not deigning to look at me. "but you did not seem to be startled when i spoke to you," i remarked in surprise. "what way should i? i never saw the man yet that i was feart o'. forby,--i kent you were there." "but, how could you know? i did not make a noise or display my presence in any way." "no!--but the wind was blawin' from the back, ye see; and when ye came up behind the smoke curled up a bit further and straighter than it did before; then there was just the ghost o' a shadow." i laughed. "you are an observant customer." "oh, ay! i'm a' that. come round and let me see ye." i obeyed, and he seemed satisfied with his inspection. "sit doon,--oot o' the smoke," he said. i did so. "you are scotch?" i ventured. "ay! from perth, awa'. "a scotch tinker?" "just that; a tinker from perth, and my name's robertson. i'm a struan, ye ken. the struans,--the real struans,--are a' tinkers or pipers. in oor family, my elder brother fell heir to my father's pipes, so i had just to take to the tinkering. but we're joint heirs to my father's fondness for a dram. ye havena a wee drop on ye?" "not a drop," i remarked. "that's a disappointment. i was kind o' feart ye wouldna, when i asked ye." "how so?" "oh! ye don't look like a man that wasted your substance. more like a seller o' bibles, or maybe a horse doctor." i laughed at the queer comparison, and he looked out at me from under his shaggy, red eyebrows. "have a bite o' breakfast wi' me. i like to crack to somebody when i'm eatin'. it helps the digestion." "no, thank you," i said. "i have breakfasted already." "it's good meat, man. the rabbit's fresh. i can guarantee it, for it was runnin' half an hour ago. try a leg." i refused, but, as he seemed crestfallen, i took the drumstick in my hand and ate the meat slowly from it; and never did rabbit taste so good. "what makes ye smile?" asked my tattered companion. "do ye no' like the taste o' it?" "oh! the rabbit is all right," i said, "but i was just thinking that had it lived its children might have belonged to a brother of mine some day." "how's that? is he a keeper? od sake!" he went on, scratching his head, as it seemed to dawn on him, "ye don't happen to belong to the big hoose up there?" "i live there," said i. he leaned over to me quickly. "have another leg, man,--have it;--dod! it's your ain, anyway." "i haven't finished the first yet. go ahead yourself." he ate slowly, eying me now and again through the smoke. "so you're a second son, eh?" he pondered. "man, ye have my sympathy. i had the same ill-luck. that's how my brother angus got the pipes and i'm a tinker. although, i wouldna mind being the second son o' a laird or a duke." "well, my friend," said i; "that's just where our opinions differ. now, i'd sooner be the second son of a rag-and-bone man; a--perthshire piper of the name of robertson; ay! of the devil himself,--than the second son of an earl." "do ye tell me that now!" he put in, with a cock of his towsled head, picking up another piece of rabbit. "you see,--you and these other fellows can do as you like; go where you like when you like. an earl's second son has to serve his house. he has to pave the way and make things smooth for the son and heir. he is supposed to work the limelight that shines on his elder brother. he is tolerated, sometimes spoiled and petted, because,--well, because he has an elder brother who, some day, will be an earl; but he counts for little or nothing in the world's affairs. "be thankful, sir, you are only the second son of a highland piper." the tramp reflected for a while. "ay, ay!" he philosophised at last, "no doot,--maybe,--just that. i can see you have your ain troubles and i'm thinkin', maybe, i'm just as weel the way i am. but it's a queer thing; we aye think the other man is gettin' the best o' what's goin'. it's the way o' the world." he was quiet a while. he negotiated the rabbit's head and i watched him with interest as he extracted every bit of meat from the maze of bone. "and you would be the earl when your father dies, if it wasna for your brother?" he added. "yes!" i answered. "man, it must be a dreadful temptation." "what must be?" "och! to keep from puttin' something in his whisky; to keep from flinging him ower the window or droppin' a flower pot on his heid, maybe. if my ain father had been an earl, angus robertson would never have lived to blow the pipes. as it was, it was touch and go wi' angus;--for they were the bonny pipes,--the grand, bonny pipes." "do you mean to tell me, you would have murdered your brother for a skirling, screeching bagpipes?" i asked in horror. "och! hardly that, man. murder is no' a bonny name for it. i would just kind o' quietly have done awa' wi' him. it's maybe a pity my conscience was so keen, for he's no' much good, is angus; he's a through-other customer: no' steady and law-abidin' like mysel'." "well, my friend," i said finally---- "donald! that's my name." "well, donald, i must be on my way." "what's a' the hurry, man?" "business." "oh! weel; give me your hand on it. you've a fine face. the face o' a man that, if he had a dram on him, he would give me a drop o' it." "that i would, donald." "it's a pity. but ye don't happen to have the price o' the dram on ye?" "maybe i have, donald." i handed him a sixpence. "thank ye. i'm never wrong in the readin' o' face character." as i made to go from him, he started off again. "you don't happen to be a married man, wi' a wife and bairns?" he asked. "no, donald. thank goodness! what made you ask that?" "oh! i thought maybe you were and that was the way you liked the words o' my bit song." i left the tinker finishing his belated breakfast and hurried down the road toward the village. the sun was getting high in the heavens, birds were singing and the spring workers were busy in the fields. i took the side track down the rough pathway leading to modley farm. my good friend, big, brawny, bluff tom tanner,--who was standing under the porch,--hailed me from a distance, with his usual merry shout. "where away, george? feeling fit for our trip?" he asked as i got up to him. "i am sorry, old boy, but, so far as i am concerned, the trip is off. i just hurried down to tell you and jim. "you see, tom, there is going to be a house party up there this week-end and my dad's mighty anxious to have me at home; so much so, that i would offend him if i went off. being merely george brammerton, i must bow to the paternal commands, although i would rather, a hundred times, be at the games." tom's face fell, and i could see he was disappointed. i knew how much he enjoyed those week-end excursions of ours. "the fact is," i explained, "there is going to be a marriage up there pretty soon, and, naturally, i am wanted to meet the lady." "great scott! george,--you are not trying to break it gently to me? you are not going to get married, are you?" he asked in consternation. i laughed loudly. "lord, no! not for a kingdom. it is my big brother harry." tom seemed relieved. he even sighed. "i'm glad to hear you say it, george, for there's a lot of fine athletic meetings coming on during the next three or four months and it would be a pity to miss them for, for,---- oh! hang it all! you know what i mean. you're such a queer, serious, determined sort of customer, that it's hard to say what you will do next." he looked so solemn over the matter that i laughed again. his kind-hearted old mother, who had been at work in the kitchen and had overheard our conversation, came to the doorway and placed her arms lovingly around our broad shoulders. "lots of time yet to think about getting married. and, let me whisper something into your ears. it's an old woman's advice, and it's good:--when you do think of marrying, be sure you get a wife with a pleasant face and a good figure; a wife that other wives' men will turn round and admire; for, you know, you can never foretell what kind of temper a woman has until you have lived with her. a maid is always on her best behaviour before her lover. and, just think what it would mean if you married a plain, shapeless lass and she proved to have a temper like a termagant! now, a handsome lass, even if she has a temper, is always--a handsome lass and something to rouse envy of you in other men. and, after all, we measure and treasure what we have in proportion as other people long for it. so, whatever you do, young men, make sure she is handsome!" "good, sensible advice, mrs. tanner; and i mean to take it," said i. "but i would be even more exacting. in addition to being sweet tempered and fair of face and form, she must have curly, golden hair and golden brown eyes to match." "and freckles?" put in mrs. tanner with a wry face. "no! freckles are barred," i added. "but, golden hair and brown eyes are mighty rare to find in one person," said tom innocently. "of course they are; and the combination such as i require is so extremely rare that my quest will be a long one. i am likely therefore to enjoy my bachelorhood for many days to come." "good-bye, mrs. tanner. good-bye, tom; i am going down to the smithy to see jim." i strolled away from my happy, contented friends, on to the main road again and down the hill to the village, little dreaming how long it would be ere i should have an opportunity of talking with them again. chapter iii jim the blacksmith the village of brammerton seemed only half awake. a rumbling cart was slowly wending its way up the hill, three or four old men were standing yarning at the inn corner; now and again, a busy housewife would appear at her door and take a glimpse of what little was going on and disappear inside just as quickly as she had shown herself. the sound of the droning voices of children conning their lessons came through the open window of the old schoolhouse. these were the only signs and sounds of life that forenoon in brammerton. stay!--there was yet another. breaking in on the general quiet of the place, i could hear distinctly the regular thud of hard steel on soft, followed by the clear double-ring of a small hammer on a mellow-toned anvil. one man, at any rate, was hard at work,--jim darrol,--big, honest, serious giant that he was. light of heart and buoyant in body, i turned down toward the smithy. i looked in through the grimy, broken window and admired the brawny giant he looked there in the glare of the furnace, with his broad back to me, his huge arms bared to the shoulders. little wonder, thought i, jim darrol can whirl the hammer and put the shot farther than any man in the northern counties. how the muscles bulged, and wriggled, and crawled under his dark, hairy skin! what a picture of manliness he portrayed! and, best of all,--i knew his heart was as good and clean as his body was sound. i tiptoed cautiously inside and slapped him between the shoulders. he wheeled about quickly. he always was a solemn-looking owl, but this morning his face was clouded and grim. as he recognised me, a terrible anger seemed to blaze up in his black eyes. i could see the muscles tighten in his arms and his fingers close firmly over the shaft of the hammer he held. i could see a new-born, but fierce hatred burning in every inch of his enormous frame. "hello, jim, old man! who has been rubbing you the wrong way?" i cried. his jaws set. he raised his left hand and pointed with his finger to the open doorway. "get out!" he growled, in a deep, hoarse voice. i stood dumbfounded for a brief moment, then i replied roughly and familiarly: "oh, you go to the devil! keep your anger for those who have caused it." "get out, will you!" he cried again, taking a step nearer to me, his brows lowered, his lips drawn to a thin line. i had seen these danger signals in jim before, but never with any ill intent toward me. i was so astounded i could scarcely think aright. what could he mean? what was the matter? "jim, jim," i soothed, "don't talk that way to old friends." "you're no friend of mine," he shouted. "will you get out of here?" in some respects, i was like jim darrol: i did not like to be ordered about. "no! i will not get out," i snapped back at him. "i mean to remain here until you grow sensible." i went over to his anvil, set my leg across it and looked straight at him. he raised his hammer high, as if to strike me; and i felt then that if i had taken my eyes from jim's for the briefest flash of time, my last minute on earth would have arrived. with an oath,--the first i ever heard him utter,--he cast the hammer from him, sending it clattering into a corner among the old horse shoes. "damn you,--i hate you and all your cursed aristocratic breed," he snarled. and, with the spring of a tiger, he had me by the throat, with those great, grabbing hands of his, his fingers closing cruelly on my windpipe as he tried to shake the life out of me. i had always been able to account for jim when it came to fisticuffs, but never at close quarters. this time, his attack was violent as it was unexpected. i did not have the ghost of a chance. i staggered back against the furnace wall, still in his devilish clutch. not a gasp of air entered or left my body from the moment he clutched me. he shook me as a terrier does a rat. soon my strength began to go; my eyes bulged; my head felt as if it were bursting; dancing lights and awful darknesses flashed and loomed alternately before and around me. then the lights became scarcer and the darknesses longer and more intense. as the last glimmer of consciousness was leaving me, when black gloom had won and there was no more light, i felt a sudden release, painful and almost unwelcome to the oblivion to which i had been hurling. the lights came flashing back to me again and out of the whirling chaos i began to grasp the tangible once more. as i leaned against the side of the furnace, pulling at my throat where those terrible fingers had been,--gasping,--gasping,--for glorious life-giving, life-sustaining air, i gradually began to see as through a haze. before long, i was almost myself again. jim was standing a few paces away, his chest heaving, his shaggy head bent and his great hands clenched against his thighs. i gazed at him, and as i gazed something wet glistened in his eyes, rolled down his cheeks and splashed on the back of his hand, where it dried up as if it had fallen on a red-hot plate. i took an unsteady step toward him and held out my hand. "jim," i murmured, "my poor old jim!" his head remained lowered. "strike me," he groaned huskily. "for god's sake strike me, for the coward i am!" "i want your hand, jim," i answered. "tell me what is wrong? what is all this about?" at last he looked into my eyes. i could see a hundred conflicting emotions working in his expressive face. "you would be friends after what i have done?" he asked. "i want your hand, jim," i said again. in a moment, both his were clasped over mine, in his vicelike grip. "george,--george!" he cried. "we've always been friends,--chums. i have always known you were not like the rest of them." he drew his forearm across his brow. "i am not myself, george. you'll forgive me for what i did, won't you?" "man, jim,--there is nothing done that requires forgiving;--only, you have the devil's own grip. i don't suppose i shall be able to swallow decently for a week. "but you are in trouble: what is it, jim? tell me; maybe i can help." "ay,--it's trouble enough,--god forbid. it's peggy, george,--my dear little sister, peggy, that has neither mother nor father to guide her;--only me, and i'm a blind fool. oh!--i can't speak about it. come over with me and see for yourself." i followed him slowly and silently out of the smithy, down the lane and across the road to his little, rose-covered cottage. we went round to the back of the house. jim held up his hand for caution, as he peeped in at the kitchen window. he turned to me again, and beckoned, his big eyes blind with tears. "look in there," he gulped. "that's my little sister, my little peggy; she who never has had a sorrow since mother left us. she's been like that for four hours and she gets worse when i try to comfort her." i peered in. peggy was sitting on the edge of a chair and bending across the table. her arms were spread out in front of her and her face was buried in them. her brown, curly hair rippled over her neck and shoulders like a mountain stream. great sobs seemed to be shaking her supple body. i listened, and my ears caught the sound of a breaking heart. there was a fearful agony in her whole attitude. i turned away without speaking and followed jim back to the smithy. when we got there, something pierced me like a knife, although all was not quite clear to my understanding. "jim,--jim," i cried, "surely you never fancied i--i was in any way to blame for this. why! jim,--i don't even know yet what it is all about." he laughed unpleasantly. "no, george, no!--oh! i can't tell you. here----" he went to his coat which hung from a hook in the wall. he pulled a letter from his inside pocket. "read that," he said. i unfolded the paper, as he stood watching me keenly. the note was in handwriting with which i was well familiar. "my dear little peggy, i am very, very sorry,--but surely you know that what you ask is impossible. i shall try to find time to run out and see you at the usual place, friday night at nine o'clock. do not be afraid, little woman; everything will come out all right. you know i shall see that you are well looked after; that you do not want for anything. burn this after you read it. keep our secret, and bear up, like the good little girl you are. yours affectionately, h----" as i read, my blood chilled in my veins, was,--there could be no mistaking it. "my god! jim," i cried, "this is terrible. surely,--surely----" "yes! george," he said, in a tensely subdued voice, "your brother did that. your brother,--with his glib tongue and his masterful way. oh!--well i know the breed. they are to be found in high and low places; they are generally not much for a man to look at, but they are the kind no woman is safe beside; the kind that gets their soft side whether they be angels or she-devils. why couldn't he leave her alone? why couldn't he stay among his own kind? "and now, he has the gall to think that his accursed money can smooth it over. damn and curse him for what he is." i had little or nothing to say. my heart was too full for words and a great anger was surging within me against my own flesh and blood. "jim,--does this make any difference between you and me?" i asked, crossing over to him on the spongy floor of hoof parings and steel filings. "does it, jim?" he caught me by the shoulders, in his old, rough way, and looked into my face. then he smiled sadly and shook his head. "no, george, no! you're different: you always were different; you are the same straight, honest george brammerton to me;--still the same." "then, jim, you will let me try to do something here? you will promise me not to get into personal contact with harry,--at least until i have seen him and spoken with him. not that he does not deserve a dog's hiding, but i should like to see him and talk with him first." "why should i promise that?" he asked sharply. "for one thing,--because, doubtless, harry is home now. and again, there is going to be a week-end house party at our place. harry's engagement of marriage with lady rosemary granton is to be announced; and lady rosemary will be there. "it would only mean trouble for you, jim;--and, god knows, this is trouble enough." "what do i care for trouble?" he cried defiantly. "what trouble can make me more unhappy than i now am?" "you must avoid further trouble for peggy's sake," i interposed. "jim,--let me see harry first. do what you like afterwards. promise me, jim." he swallowed his anger. "god!--it will be a hard promise to keep if ever i come across him. but i do promise, just because i like you, george, as i hate him." "may i keep this meantime?" i asked, holding up harry's letter to peggy. "no! give it to me. i might need it." "but i might find greater use for it, jim. won't you let me have it, for a time at least?" "oh! all right, all right," he answered, spreading his hands over his leather apron. i left him there amid the roar of the fire and the odour of sizzling hoofs, and wended my way slowly up the dust-laden hill, back home, having forgotten entirely, in the great sorrow that had fallen, to tell jim my object in calling on him that day. chapter iv viscount harry, captain of the guards on nearing home, i noticed the "flying dandy," harry's favourite horse, standing at the front entrance in charge of a groom. "hello, wally," i shouted in response to the groom's salute and broad grin. "is captain harry home?" "yes, sir! three hours agone, sir. 'e's just agoing for a canter, sir, for the good of 'is 'ealth." i went inside. "hi! william," i cried to the retreating figure of our portly and aristocratic butler. "where's harry?" "captain harry, sir, is in the armoury. any message, sir?" "no! it is all right, william. i shall go along in and see him." i went down the corridor, to the most ancient part of hazelmere house; the old armoury, with its iron-studded oaken doors and its suggestion of spooks and goblins. i pushed in to that sombre-looking place, which held so many grim secrets of feudal times. how many drinking orgies and all-night card parties had been held within its portals, i dared not endeavour to surmise. as to how many plots had been hatched behind its studded doors, how many affairs of honour had been settled for all time under its high-panelled roof,--there was only a meagre record; but those we knew of had been bloody and not a few. figures, in suits of armour, stood in every corner; two-edged swords, shields of brass and cowhide, blunderbusses and breech-loading pistols hung from the walls, while the more modern rifles and fowling pieces were ranged in orderly fashion along the far side. the light was none too good in there, and i failed, at first, to discover the object of my quest. "how do, farmer giles?" came that slow, drawling, sarcastic voice which i knew so well. i turned suddenly, and,--there he was, seated on a brass-studded oak chest almost behind the heavy door, swinging one leg and toying with a seventeenth century rapier. through his narrow-slitted eyes, he was examining me from top to toe in apparent disgust: tall, thin, perfectly groomed, handsome, cynical, devil-may-care. i tried to speak calmly, but my anger was greater than i could properly control. poor little peggy darrol was uppermost in my thoughts. "'gad, george,--you look like a tramp. why don't you spruce up a bit? hobnailed boots, home-spun breeches; ugh! it's enough to make your noble ancestors turn in their coffins and groan. "don't you know the brammerton motto is, 'clean,--within and without.'" he bent the blade of his rapier until it formed a half hoop, then he let it fly back with a twang. "and some of us have degenerated so," i answered, "that we apply the motto only in so far as it affects the outside." "while some of us, of course, are so busy scrubbing and polishing at our inwards," he put in, "that we have no time to devote to the parts that are seen. but that seems to me deuced like cant; and a cheap variety of it at that. "so you have taken to preaching, as well as farming. fine combination, little brother! however, george,--dear boy,--we shall let it go at that. there is something you are anxious to unload. get it out of your system, man." "i have just been hearing that you are going to marry lady rosemary granton soon." "why, yes! of course. you may congratulate me, for i have that distinguished honour," he drawled. "and you _do_ consider it an honour?" i asked, pushing my hands deep into my pockets and spreading my legs. he leaned back and surveyed me tolerantly. "'gad!--that's a beastly impertinent question, george. why shouldn't it be an honour, when every gentleman in london will be biting his finger-tips with envy?" i nodded and went on. "you consider also that she will be honoured in marrying a brammerton?" "look here," he answered, a little irritated, "what's all this damned catechising for?" "i am simply asking questions, harry; taking liberties seeing i am a brammerton and your little brother," i retorted calmly. "and nasty questions they are, too;--but, by jove! since you ask, and, as i am a brammerton, and it is i she is going to marry,--why! i consider she _is_ honoured. the honour will be,--ah! on both sides, george. now,--dear fellow,--don't worry about my feelings. if you have anything more to ask, why! shoot it over, now that i am in the mood for answering," he continued dryly. "i have a hide like a rhino'." i looked him over coldly. "yes, harry,--lady rosemary _will_ come to you as a granton, fulfilling the pledge made by her father. she will come to you with her honour bright and unsullied." he bent forward and frowned at me. "do you doubt it?" he shot across. i shook my head. "no!" he resumed his old position. "glad to hear you say so. now,--what else? blest if this doesn't make me feel quite a devil, to be lectured and questioned by my young brother,--my own, dear, little, preaching, farmer, kid of a brother." "you will go to her a brammerton, fulfilling the vow made by a brammerton, with a brammerton's honour, unstained, unblemished,--'clean,--within and without'?" he rose slowly from the chest and faced me squarely. there was nothing of the coward in harry. his eye glistened with a cruel light. "have a care, little brother," he said between his regular, white teeth. "have a care." "why, harry," i remonstrated in feigned surprise, "what's the matter? what have i said amiss?" he had always played the big, patronising, bossing brother with me and i had suffered it from him, although, from a physical standpoint, the suffering of late had been one of good-natured tolerance. to-day, there was something in my manner that told him he had reached the end of it. "tell me what you mean?" he snarled. "if you do not know what i mean, brother mine, sit down and i will tell you." "no!" he answered. "oh, well!--i'll tell you anyway." i went up close to him. "what are you going to do about peggy darrol?" i demanded. the shot hit hard; but he was almost equal to it. he sat down on the chest again and toyed once more with the point of the rapier. then, without looking up, he answered: "peggy darrol,--eh, george! peggy darrol, did you say? who the devil is she? oh,--ah,--eh,--oh, yes! the blacksmith's sister,--um,--nice little wench, peggy:--attractive, fresh, clinging, strawberries and cream and all that sort of thing. bit of a dreamer, though!" "who set her dreaming?" i asked, pushing my anger back. "hanged if i know; born in her i suppose. it is part of every woman's make-up. pretty little thing, though; by gad! she is." "yes! she is pretty; and she was good as she is pretty until she got tangled up with you." harry sprang up and menaced me. "what do you mean, you,--you?---- what are you driving at? what's your game?" "oh! give over this rotten hypocrisy," i shouted, pushing him back. "hit you on the raw, did it?" he drew himself up. "no! it didn't. but i have had more than enough of your impertinences. i would box your ears for the unlicked pup you are, if i could do it without soiling my palms." i smiled. "those days are gone, harry,--and you know it, too. let us cut this evasion and tom-foolery. you have got that poor girl into a scrape. what are you going to do about getting her out of it?" "_i_ have got her into trouble? how do you know _i_ have? her word for it, i suppose? a fine state of affairs it has come to, when any girl who gets into trouble with her clod-hopper sweetheart, has simply to accuse some one in a higher station than she, to have all her troubles ended." he flicked some dust from his coat-sleeve. "'gad,--we fellows would never be out of the soup." "no! not her word," i retorted. "little peggy darrol is not that sort of girl and well you know it. i have your own word for it,--in writing." his face underwent a change in expression; his cheeks paled slightly. i drew his letter from my pocket. "damn her for a little fool," he growled. he held out his hand for it. "oh, no! harry,--i am keeping this meantime." and i replaced it. "tell me now,--what are you going to do about peggy?" i asked relentlessly. "oh!" he replied easily, "don't worry. i shall have her properly looked after. she needn't fear. probably i shall make a settlement on her; although the little idiot hardly deserves that much after giving the show away as she has done." "of course, you will tell lady rosemary of this before any announcement is made of your marriage, harry? a brammerton must, in all things, be honourable, 'clean,--within and without.'" he looked at me incredulously, and smiled almost in pity for me and my strange ideas. "certainly not! what do you take me for? what do you think lady rosemary is that i should trouble her with these petty matters?" "petty matters," i cried. "you call this petty? god forgive you, harry. petty! and that poor girl crying her heart out; her whole innocent life blasted; her future a disgrace! petty!--my god!;--and you a brammerton! "but i tell you," i blazed, "you shall let lady rosemary know." "and i tell you,--i shall not," he replied. "then, by god!--i'll do it myself," i retorted. "i give you two hours to decide which of us it is to be." i made toward the door. but harry sprang for his rapier, picked it up and stood with his back against my exit, the point of his weapon to my breast. there was a wicked gleam in his narrow eyes. "damn you! george brammerton, for a sneaking, prying, tale-bearing lout;--you dare not do it!" he took a step forward. "now, sir,--i will trouble you for that letter." i looked at him in astonishment. there was a strange something in his eyes i had never seen there before; a mad, irresponsible something that cared not for consequences; a something that makes heroes of some men and murderers of others. i stood motionless. slowly he pushed the point of his rapier through my coat-sleeve. it pricked into my arm and i felt a few drops of warm blood trickle. i did not wince. "stop this infernal fooling," i cried angrily. he bent forward, in the attitude of fence with which he was so familiar. "fooling, did you say? 'gad! then, is this fooling?" he turned the rapier against my breast, ripping my shirt and lancing my flesh to the bone. i staggered back with a gasp. it was the act of a madman; and i knew in that moment that i was face to face with death by violence for the second time in a few hours. i slowly backed from him, but he followed me, step for step, as i came up against and sought the wall behind me for support, my hand came in contact with something hard. i closed my fingers over it. it was the handle of an old highland broadsword and the feel of it was not unpleasant. it lent a fresh flow to my blood. i tore the sword from its fastenings, and, in a second, i was standing facing my brother on a more equal, on a more satisfactory footing, determined to defend myself, blow for blow, against his inhuman, insane conduct. "ho! ho!" he yelled. "a duel in the twentieth century. 'gad! wouldn't this set london by the ears? the corsican brothers over again! "come on, with your battle-axe, farmer giles, let's see what stuff you're made of--blood or sawdust." twice he thrust at me and twice i barely avoided his dextrous onslaughts. i parried as he thrust, not daring to venture a return. our strange weapons rang out and re-echoed, time and again, in the dread stillness of the isolated armoury. my left arm was smarting from the first wound i had received, and a few drops of blood trickled down over the back of my hand, splashing on the floor. "you bleed!--just like a human being, george. who would have thought it?" gloated harry with a taunt. he came at me again. my broadsword was heavy and, to me, unwieldy, while harry's rapier was light and pliable. i could tell that there could be only one ending, if the unequal contest were prolonged,--i would be wounded badly, or killed outright. at that moment, i had no very special desire for either happening. harry turned and twisted his weapon with the clever wrist movement for which he was famous in every fencing club in britain; and every time i wielded my heavy weapon to meet his light one i thought i should never be in time to meet his counter-stroke, his recovery was so very much quicker than mine. he played with me thus for a time which seemed an eternity. my breath began to come in great gasps. suddenly he lunged at me with all his strength, throwing the full weight of his body recklessly behind his stroke, so sure was he, evidently, that it would find its mark. i sprang aside just in time, bringing my broadsword down on his rapier and sending six inches of the point of it clattering to the floor. "damn the thing!" he blustered, taking a firmer grip of what steel remained in his hand. "aren't you satisfied? won't you stop this madness?" i panted, my voice sounding loud and hollow in the stillness around us. for answer he grazed my cheek with his jagged steel, letting a little more blood and hurting sufficiently to cause me to wince. "got you again, you see," he chuckled, pushing up his sleeves and pulling his tie straight. "george, dear boy, i'll have you in mincemeat before i get at any of your well-covered vitals." a blind fury seized me. i drove in on him. he turned me aside with a grin and thrust heavily at me in return. i darted to the left, making no endeavour to push aside his weapon with my own but relying only on the agility of my body. with an oath, he floundered forward, and before he could recover i brought the flat of my heavy broadsword crashing down on the top of his head. his arm went up with a nervous jerk and his rapier flew from his hand, shattering against a high window and sending the broken glass rattling on to the cement walk below. harry sagged to the floor like a sack of flour and lay motionless on his face, his arms and legs spread out like a spider's. i was bending down to turn him over, when i heard my father's voice on the other side of the door. "stand back! i'll see to this," he cried, evidently addressing the frightened servants. i turned round. the door swung on its immense hinges and my father stood there, with staring eyes and pallid face, taking in the situation deliberately, looking from me to harry's inert body beside which i knelt. slowly he came into the centre of the room. full of anxiety, i looked at him. but there was no opening in that stern, old face for any explanations. he did not assail me with a torrent of words nor did he burst into a paroxysm of grief and anger. his every action was calculated, methodical, remorseless. he turned to the open door. "go!" he commanded sternly. "leave us,--leave brammerton. i never wish to see you again. you are no son of mine." his words seared into me. i held out my hands. "go!" he repeated quietly, but, if anything, more firmly. "good god! father,--won't you hear what i have to say in explanation?" i cried in vexatious desperation. he did not answer me except with his eyes--those eyes which could say so much. my anger was still hot within me. my inborn sense of fairness deeply resented this conviction on less than even circumstantial evidence; and, at the back of all that, i,--as well as he, as well as harry,--was a brammerton, with a brammerton's temperament. "do you mean this, father?" i asked. "go!" he reiterated. "i have nothing more to say to such an unnatural son, such an unnatural brother as you are." i bowed, pulled my jacket together with a shrug and buttoned it up. after all,--what mattered it? i was in the right and i knew it. "all right, father! some day, i know you will be sorry." i turned on my heel and left the armoury. the servants were clustering at the end of the corridor, with frightened eyes and pale faces. they opened up and shuffled uneasily as i passed through. "william," i said to the butler, "you had better go in there. you may be needed." "yes, sir! yes, sir!" he answered, and hurried to obey. upstairs, in my own room, my knapsack was lying in a corner, ready for my proposed week-end tour. beside it, stood my golf clubs. these will do, i found myself thinking: a knapsack with a change of linen and a bag of golf clubs,--not a bad outfit to start life with. i opened my purse:--fifty pounds and a few shillings. not much, but enough! in fact, nothing would have been plenty. suddenly i remembered that, before i went, i had a duty to perform. from my inside pocket, i took the letter which harry had written to little, forlorn peggy darrol. i went to my writing desk and addressed an envelope to lady rosemary granton. i inserted harry's letter and sealed the envelope. as to the bearer of my message, that was easy. i pushed the button at my bedside and, in a second, sweet little maisie brant came to the door. maisie always had been my special favourite, and, on account of my having pulled her out of the river when she was only seven years old, i was hers. she had never forgotten. i cried to her in an easy, bantering way in order to reassure her. "neat little maisie, sweet little maisie; only fifteen and as fresh as a daisy." she smiled, but behind her smile was a look of concern. "i am going away, maisie," i said. "going away, sir?" she repeated anxiously, as she came bashfully forward. "i won't be back again, maisie. i am going for good." she looked up at me in dumb disquiet. "maisie, lady rosemary granton will be here this week-end." "yes, sir!" she answered. "i am to have the honour of looking after her rooms." i laid my hand gently on her shoulder. "i want you to do something for me, maisie. i want you to give her this letter,--see that she gets it when she is alone. it is more important to her than you can ever dream of. she must have it within a few hours of her arrival. no one else must set eyes on it between now and then. do you understand, maisie?" "oh, yes, sir! you can trust me for that." "i know i can, maisie. you are a good girl." i gave her the letter and she placed it in the safest, the most secret, place she knew,--her bosom. then her eyes scanned me over. "oh! sir," she cried, in sudden alarm, "you are hurt. you are bleeding." i put my hand to my cheek, but then i remembered i had already wiped away the few drops of blood from there with my handkerchief. "your arm, sir," she pointed. "oh!--just a scratch, maisie." "won't you let me bind it for you, sir, before you go?" she pleaded. "it isn't worth the trouble, maisie." tears came to those pretty eyes of hers; so, to please her, i consented. "all right," i cried, "but hurry, for i have no more business in here now than a thief would have." she did not understand my meaning, but she left me and was back in a moment with a basin of hot water, a sponge, balsam and bandages. i slipped off my coat and rolled up my sleeve, then, as maisie's gentle fingers sponged away the congealed blood and soothed the throb, i began to discover, from the intense relief, how painful had been the hurt, mere superficial thing as it was. she poured on some balsam and bound up the cut; all gentleness, all tenderness, like a mother over her babe. "there is a little jag here, maisie, that aches outrageously now that the other has been lulled to sleep." i pointed to my breast. she undid my shirt, and, as she surveyed the damage, she cried out in anxiety. it was a raw, jagged, angry-looking wound, but nothing to occasion concern. she dealt with it as she had done the other, then she drew the edges of the cut together, binding them in place with strips of sticking plaster. when it was all over, i slipped into my jacket, swung my knapsack across my shoulders, took my golf-bag under my left arm,--and i was ready. maisie wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. "never mind, little woman," i sympathised. "must you really go away, sir?" she sobbed. "yes!--i must. good-bye, little girl." i kissed her on the trembling curve of her red, pouting lips, then i went down the stairs, leaving her weeping quietly on the landing. as i turned at the front door for one last look at the inside of the old home, which i might never see again, i saw the servants carrying harry from the armoury. i could hear his voice swearing and complaining in almost healthy vigour, so i was pleasantly confirmed in what i already had surmised,--his hurt was as temporary as the flat of a good, trusty, highland broad-sword could make it. chapter v tommy flynn, the harlford bruiser i hurried down the avenue to where it joined the dusty roadway. i stood for a few moments in indecision. to my left, down in the hollow, the way led through the village. to my right, it stretched far on the level until it narrowed to a grey point piercing a semi-circle of green; but i knew that miles beyond, at the end of that grey line, was the busy town of grangeborough, with its thronging people, its railways and its steamships. that was the direction for me. i waved my hand to sleepy little brammerton and i swung to the right, for grangeborough and the sea. soon the internal tumult, caused by what i had just gone through, began to subside, and my spirits rose attune to the glories of the afternoon. little i cared what my lot was destined to be--a prince in a palace or a tramp under a hedge. although, to say truth, the tramp's existence held for me the greater fascination. i was young, my lungs were sound and my heart beat well. i was big and endowed with greater strength than is allotted the average man. glad to be done with pomp, show and convention, my life was now my very own to plan and make, or to warp and spoil, as fancy, fortune and fate decreed. i hankered for the undisturbed quiet of some small village by the sea, with work enough,--but no more,--to keep body nourished and covered; with books in plenty and my pipe well filled; with an open door to welcome the sunshine, the scented breeze, the salted spray from the ocean and my congenial fellow-man. but, if i should be led in the paths of grubbing men, 'mid bustle, strife and quarrel, where the strong and the crafty alone survived, where the weaklings were thrust aside, i was ready and willing to take my place, to take my chance, to pit brawn against brawn, brain against brain, to strike blow for blow, to fail or to succeed, to live or die, as the gods might decree. as i filled my lungs, i felt as if i had relieved myself of some great burden in cutting myself adrift from brammerton,--dear old spot as it was. and i whistled and hummed as i trudged along, trying to reach the point of grey at the rim of the semi-circle of green. on, on i went, on my seemingly unending endeavour. but i knew that ultimately the road would end, although merely to open up another and yet another path over which i would have to travel in the long journey of life which lay before me. as i kept on, i saw the sun go down in a display of blood-red pyrotechnics. i heard the chatter of the birds in the hedgerows as they settled to rest. now and again, i passed a tired toiler, with bent head and dragging feet,--his drudgery over for the day, but weighted with the knowledge that it must begin all over again on the morrow and on each succeeding morrow till the crash of his doom. the night breeze came up and darkness gathered round me. a few hours more, and the twinkling lights of grangeborough came into view. they were welcome lights to me, for the pangs of a healthy hunger were clamouring to be appeased. as it had been with the country some hours before, so was it now with grangeborough. the town was settling down for the night. it was late. most of the shops were closing, or already closed. business was over for the day. people hurried homeward like shadows. i looked about me for a place to dine, but failed, at first, in my quest. down toward the docks there were brighter lights and correspondingly deeper darknesses. i went along a broad thoroughfare, turned down a narrower one until i found myself among lanes and alleys, jostled by drunken sailors and accosted by wanton women, as they staggered, blinking, from the brightly lighted saloons. my finer sensibilities rose and protested within me, but i had no choice. if i wished to quell my craving for food, there was nothing left for me to do but to brave the foul air and the rough element of one of these sawdust-floored, glass-ornamented whisky palaces, where a snack and a glass of ale, at least, could be purchased. i looked about me and pushed into what seemed the least disreputable one of its kind. i made through the haze of foul air and tobacco smoke to the counter, and stood idly by until the bar-tender should find it convenient to wait upon me. the place was crowded with sea-faring men and the human sediment that is found in and around the docks of all shipping cities; it resounded with a babel of coarse, discordant voices. the greater part of this coterie was gathered round a huge individual, with enormous hands and feet, a stubbly, blue chin,--set, round and aggressive; a nose with a broken bridge spoiled the balance of his podgy face. he had beady eyes and a big, ugly mouth with stained, irregular teeth. from time to time, he laughed boisterously, and his laugh had an echo of hell in it. he and his followers appeared to be enjoying some good joke. but whenever he spoke every one else became silent. each coarse jest he mouthed was laughed at long and uproariously. he had a hold on his fellows. even i was fascinated; but it was by the great similarity of some of the mannerisms of this uncouth man to those i had observed in the lower brute creation. my attention was withdrawn from him, however, by the sound of the rattling of tin cans in another corner which was partly partitioned from the main bar-room. i followed the new sound. a tattered individual was seated there, his feet among a cluster of pots and pans all strung together. his head was in his hands and his red-bearded face was a study of dejection and misery. there was something strangely familiar in the appearance of the man. suddenly i remembered, and i laughed. i went over and sat down opposite him, setting my golf clubs by my side. he ignored my arriving. that same old trick of his! "donald,--donald robertson!" i exclaimed, laughing again. still he did not look across. suddenly he spoke, and in a voice that knew neither hope nor gladness. "ye laugh,--ye name me by my christian name,--but ye don't say, 'donald, will ye taste?'" i leaned over and pulled his hands away from his head. he flopped forward, then glared at me. his eyes opened wide. "it's,--it's you,--is it? the second son come to me in my hour o' trial." "why! donald,--what's the trouble?" i asked. "trouble,--ye may well say trouble. have ye mind o' the sixpence ye gied me on the roadside this mornin'." "yes!" "for thirteen long, unlucky hours i saved that six-pence against my time o' need. i tied it in the tail o' my sark for safety. i came in here an hour ago. i ordered a glass o' whisky and a tumbler o' beer. i sat doon here for a while wi' them both before me, enjoying the sight o' them and indulgin' in the heavenly joy o' anteecipation. then i drank the speerits and was just settlin' doon to the beer,--tryin' to make it spin oot as long as i could; for, ye ken, it's comfortable in here,--when an emissary o' the deevil, wi' hands like shovels and a leer in his e'e, came in and picked up the tumbler frae under my very nose and swallowed the balance o' your six-pence before i could say squeak." i laughed at donald's rueful countenance and his more than rueful tale. "did the man have a broken nose and a heavy jaw?" i asked. "ay, ay!" said donald, lowering his voice. "do ye happen to ken him?" "no!--but he is still out there and he thinks it a fine joke that he played on you." "so would i," said donald, "if i had drunk his beer." "what did you do when he swallowed off your drink?" i asked. "do!--what do ye think i did? i remonstrated wi' a' the vehemence that a struan robertson in anger is capable o'. but the vehemence o' the lord himsel' couldna bring the beer back." "why didn't you fight, man? why didn't you knock the bully down?" i asked, pitying his wobegone appearance. "mister,--whatever your name is,--i'm a man o' peace; and, forby i'm auld enough to ken it's no' wise to fight on an empty stomach. i havena had a bite since i saw ye last." "never mind, donald,--cheer up. i am going to have some bread and cheese, and a glass of ale, so you can have some with me, at my expense." his face lit up like a roman candle. "man,--i'm wi' ye. you're a man o' substance, and i'm fonder o' substantial bread and cheese and beer than i am o' the metapheesical drinks i was indulgin' in for ten minutes before ye so providentially came." i could not help wondering at some of the remarks of this wise, yet good-for-little, old customer; but i did not press him for more enlightenment. i thumped the hand-bell on the table, and was successful in obtaining more prompt attention from the bar-tender than i had been able to do across the counter. when the food and drink were placed between us and paid for, donald stuffed all but one slice of his bread and cheese inside his waistcoat, and he sighed contentedly as he contemplated the sparkling ale. but, all at once, he startled me by springing to his feet, seizing his tumbler in his hand and emptying the contents down his gullet at two monstrous gulps. "no, no!--ye thievin' deevil," he shouted, as he regained his breath, "ye canna do that twice wi' donald robertson." i looked toward the opening in the partition. donald's recent enemy,--the man whom i had been studying at the other end of the bar-room,--was shouldering himself into our company. behind him, in a semi-circle, a dozen faces grinned in anticipation of some more fun at donald's expense. the big bully glared down at me as i sat. "that there is uncommon good beer, young un," he growled, "and that there is most uncommon good bread and cheese." i glanced at him with half-shut eyelids, then i broke off another piece of bread. "maybe you didn't 'ear me?" he shouted again, "i said that was uncommon good beer." "i shall be better able to judge of that, my man, after i have tasted it," i replied. "not that beer, little boy,--you ain't going to taste that," he thundered, "because i 'appens to want it,--see! i 'appens to 'ave a most aggrawating thirst in my gargler." a burst of laughter followed this ponderous attempt at humour. "'and it over, sonny,--i wants it." i merely raised my head and ran my eyes over him. he was an ugly brute, and no mistake. a man of tremendous girth. although i had no real fear of him,--for, already i had been schooled to the knowledge that fear and its twin brother worry are man's worst opponents.--i was a little uncertain as to what the outcome would be if i got him thoroughly angered. however, i was in no mind to be interfered with. he thumped his heavy fist on the table. "'and that over,--quick," he roared. his great jaws clamped together and his thick, discoloured lips became compressed. "why!--certainly, my friend," i remarked easily, rising with slow deliberation. "which will you have first:--the bread and cheese, or the ale?" "'twere the ale i arst and it's th' ale i wants,--and blamed quick about it or i'll know the reason w'y." "stupid of me!" i remarked. "i should have known you wanted the ale first. here you are, my good, genial, handsome fellow." i picked up the foaming tumbler and offered it to him. when he stretched out his great, grimy paw to take it, i tossed the stuff smack into his face, sending showers of the liquid into the gaping countenances of his supporters. he staggered back among them, momentarily blinded, and, as he staggered, i sent the tumbler on the same errand as the ale. it smashed in a hundred pieces on the side of his broken nose, opening up an old gash there and sending a stream of blood oozing down over his mouth. there was no more laughter, nor grinning. the place was as quiet as a church during prayer. i pushed into the open saloon, with the remonstrating donald at my heels. then the bull began to roar. he pulled off his coat, while half a dozen of his own kind endeavoured with dirty handkerchiefs and rags to mop the blood from his face. "shut the door. don't let 'im away from 'ere," he shouted. "i'll push his windpipe into his boots, i will. watch me!" as i stood with my back against the partition, the bar-tender slipped round the end of the counter. "look here, guv'nor," he whispered with good intent, "the back door's open,--run like the devil." i turned to him in mild surprise. "don't be an ijit," he went on. "git. why! he's tommy flynn, the champion rib cracker and face pusher of harlford, here on his holidays." "tommy flynn," i answered, "tommy rot fits him better." "you ain't a-going to stand up and get hit, are you?" "what else is there for me to do?" i asked. he threw up his arms despairingly. "lor' lumme!--then i bids you good-bye and washes my hands clean of you." and he went round behind the counter in disgust, spitting among the sawdust. by this time, tommy flynn, the champion rib cracker and face pusher, was rolling up his sleeves businesslike and thrusting off his numerous seconds in his anxiety to get at me. "'ere, splotch," he cried to a one-eyed bosom friend of his, "'old my watch, while i joggles the puddins out of this kid with a left 'ander. my heye!--'e won't be no blooming golfing swell in another 'alf minute." he grinned at me a few times in order to hypnotise me with his beauty and to instil in me the necessary amount of frightfulness, before he got to work in earnest. then, by way of invitation, he thrust forward his jaw almost into my face. i took advantage of his offer somewhat more quickly than he anticipated. i struck him on the chin with my left and drew my right to his body. but his chin was hard as flint and it bruised my knuckles; while his great body was podgy and of an india-rubberlike flexibility. for my pains, he brushed my ear and drew a little blood, with the grin of an ape on his brutish face. he threw up his arms to guard, feinted at me, and rushed in. i parried his blows successfully, much to his surprise, for i could see his eyes widening and a wrinkle in his brow. "careful, tommy!--careful," cautioned splotch of the one eye. "he's a likely looking young bloke." "likely be blowed," said tommy shortly, as he toyed with me. "watch this!" i saw that it would be for my own good, the less i let my antagonist know of my ability at his own game, and i knew also i would have to play caution with my strength all the way, owing to the trying ordeals i had already gone through that day. once, my antagonist tried to draw me as he would draw a novice. i ignored the body bait he opened up for me and, instead, i swung in quickly with my right on to his bruised nose, with all the energy i could muster. he staggered and reeled like a drunken man. in fact, had he not been half-besotted by dear-only-knows how many days of debauchery, it might have gone hard with me, but now he positively howled with pain. i had hit on his most vulnerable part, right at the beginning. something inside of me chuckled, for, if there was one special place in any man's anatomy that i always had been able to reach, it was his nose. flynn rushed on me again and again. i was lucky indeed in beating back his onslaughts. once, a spent blow got me on the cheek; yet, spent as it was, it made me numb and dizzy for the moment. once, he caught me squarely on the chest right over the wound my brother had given me. the pain of that was like the cut of a red-hot knife, but it passed quickly. i staggered and reeled several times, as flashes of weakness seemed to pass over me. i began to fear that my strength would give out. i pulled myself together with an effort. then, once,--twice,--thrice,--in a succession bewildering to myself, i smashed that broken nose of flynn's, sending him sick and wobbling among his following. he became maddened with rage. his companions commenced to voice cautions and instructions. he swore back at them in a muddy torrent of abuse. already, the fight was over;--i could feel it in my bones;--over, far sooner and more satisfactory to me than i had expected. and, more by good luck than by ability, i was, to all intents and purposes, unscathed. tommy flynn could fight. but he was not the fighter he would have been had he been away from drink and in strict training, as i was. it was my good fortune to meet him when he was out of condition. he spat out a mouthful of blood and returned to the conflict, defending his nose with all the ferocity of a lioness defending her whelps. "look out! take care!" a timely voice whispered on my left. something flashed in my opponent's hands in the gaslight. i backed to the partition. we had a terrible mix-up just then. blow and counterblow rained. he broke down my guard once and drove with fierce force for my face. i ducked, just in time, for he missed me by a mere hair's-breadth. his fist smashed into a metal bolt in the woodwork. sparks flew and there was a loud ring of metal against metal. "you cowardly brute!" i shouted, breaking away as it dawned on me that he had attacked me with heavy knuckle-dusters. my blood fairly danced with madness. i sprang in on him in a positive frenzy. he became a child in my hands. never had i been roused as i was then. i struck and struck again at his hideous face until it sagged away from me. he was blind with his own blood. i followed up, raining punch upon punch,--pitilessly,--relentlessly. his feet slipped in the slither of bloody sawdust. i struck again and he crashed to the floor, striking his head against the iron pedestal of a round table in the corner. he lay all limp and senseless, with his mouth wide open and his breath coming roaring and gurgling from his clotted throat. as his friends endeavoured to raise him, as i stood back against the counter, panting, i heard a battering at the main door of the saloon which had been closed at the commencement of the scuffle. "here, sir,--quick!" cried the sympathetic bartender to me. "the cops! out the back door like hell!" i had no desire to be mixed up in a police affair, especially in the company of such scum as i was then among. i picked up my golf bag and swung my knapsack on to my back once more. then i remembered about donald. i could not leave him. i searched in corners and under the tables. he was nowhere in sight. "is it the tinker?" asked the bar-tender excitedly. "yes, yes!" "he's gone. he slunk out with his tin cans, through the back way, as soon as you got started in this scrap." i did not wait for anything more, for some one was unlocking the front door. i darted out the back exit and into the lane. down the lane, in the darkness, i tore like a hurricane, then along the waterfront until there was a mile between me and the scene of my late encounter. i slowed up at a convenient horse-trough, splashed my hands and face in the cooling water and adjusted my clothing as best i could, then i strolled into the shipping shed, where stevedores and dock labourers were busy, by electric light, completing the loading of a smart-looking little cargo boat. a notion seized me. it was a coaster, so i knew i could not be going very far away. i walked up the gang-plank, and aboard. chapter vi aboard the coaster an ordinary seaman, then the second officer of the little steamer passed me on the deck, but both were busy and paid no more attention to my presence than if i had been one of themselves. i strolled down the narrow companionway, into a cosy, but somewhat cramped, saloon. after standing for a time in the hope of seeing some signs of life, i pushed open the door of a stateroom on the starboard side. the room had two berths. i tossed my knapsack and clubs into the lower one. as i turned to the door again, i espied a diminutive individual, no more than four and a half feet tall,--or, as i should say, small,--in the full, gold-braided uniform of a ship's chief steward. he was a queer-looking little customer, grizzled, weather-beaten and, apparently, as hard as nails. he was absolutely self-possessed and, despite his stature, there was "nothing small about him," as an american friend of mine used to put it. he touched his cap, and smiled. his smile told me at once that he was an irishman, for only an irishman could smile as he did. it was a smile with a joke, a drink, a kiss and a touch of the devil himself in it. "i saw ye come down, sor. ye'll be makin' for glasgow?" glasgow! i cogitated, yes!--glasgow as a starting point would suit me as well as anywhere else. "correct first guess," i answered. "but, tell me,--how did you know that that was my destination?" he showed his teeth. "och! because it's the only port we're callin' at, sor. looks like a fine trip north," he went on. "the weather's warm and there's just enough breeze to make it lively. nothin' like the sea, sor, for keepin' the stomach swate and the mind up to the knocker." i yawned, for i was dog-weary. "when ye get to glasgow, if ye are on the lookout for a place to slape,--try barney o'toole's in argyle street. the place is nothin' to look at, but it's a hummer inside, sor." i yawned drowsily once more, but the hint did not stop him. "if you'll excuse my inquisitiveness, sor,--or rather, what ye might call my natural insight,--i judge you're on either a moighty short tour, or a devil av a long one got up in a hurry." the little clatterbag's uncanny guessing harried me. "how do you arrive at your conclusions?" i asked, taking off my jacket and hanging it up. "och! shure it's by the size av your wardrobe. no man goes on a well-planned, long trip with a knapsack and a bag av golfsticks." "well,--it is likely to be long enough," i laughed ruefully. "had a row with the old man and clearin' out?" he sympathised. "well, good luck to yer enterprise. i did the same meself when i was thirteen; after gettin' a hidin' with a bit av harness for doin' somethin' i never did at all. i've never seen the old man since and never want to. bad cess to him. "would ye like a bite before ye turn in, sor? it's past supper-time, but i can find ye a scrapin' av something." "a bite and a bath,--if i may?" i put in. "i'm sticky all over." "a bath! right ye are. i knew ye was a toff the minute i clapped my blinkers on ye." in ten minutes my talkative friend announced that my bath was in readiness. for ten minutes more he rattled on to me at intervals, through the bathroom door, poking into my past and arranging my future like a clairvoyant. notwithstanding, he had a nice, steaming-hot supper waiting for me when i returned to my stateroom. as i fell-to, he stood by, enjoying the relish i displayed in the appeasing of my hunger. "if i was a young fellow av your age, strong build and qualities, do ye know where i would make for?" he ventured. "where?" i asked, uninterestedly. he lowered his eyebrows. "out west,--canada," he said, with a decided nod of his head. "and, the farther west the better. the pacific coast has a climate like home, only better. for the main part, ye're away from the long winters;--it's a new country;--a young man's country:--it's wild and free:--and,--it's about as far away as ye can get from--from,--the trouble ye're leavin' behind." i looked across at him. "oh! bhoy,--i've been there. i know what i'm talkin' about." he sighed. "but i'm gettin' old and i've been too long on the sea to give it up." he pulled himself together suddenly. owing to his stature, that was not a very difficult task. "man!--ye're tired. i'll be talkin' no more to you. tumble in and sleep till we get to glasgow." as he cleared away the dishes, i approached him regarding my fare. "look here, steward,--i had not time to book my berth or pay my passage. what's the damage?" "ten and six, sor, exclusive av meals," he answered, taking out his ticket book in a business-like way. "what name, sor?" "name!--oh, yes! name!" i stammered. "why!--george bremner." he looked at me and his face fell. i am sure his estimation of me fell with it. i was almost sorry i had not obliged him by calling myself algernon something-or-other. i paid him. "when do you expect to arrive in glasgow?" i asked. "eight o'clock to-morrow morning, sor. and," he added, "there's a boat leaves for canada to-morrow night." "the devil it does," i grunted. he gave me another of his infectious smiles. "would ye like another bath in the mornin', sor, before breakfast?" he inquired, as he was leaving. i could not bear to disappoint the little fellow any more. "yes," i replied. quarter of an hour later, i was lying on my back in the upper berth, gazing drowsily into the white-enamelled ceiling two feet overhead; happy in the reborn sensations of cleanliness, relaxation and satisfaction; loving my enemies as well, or almost as well, as i loved my friends. i could not get the little steward's advice out of my head. in a jumbled medley, "out west,--out west,--out west," kept floating before my brain. "the pacific coast.--home climate, only better.--a new country.--a young man's country.--wild and free.--it's about as far away as ye can get,--as ye can get,--can get,--can get." the rumbling of the cargo trucks, the hoarse "lower away" of the quartermaster, the whirr of the steam winch and the lapping of the water against the boat,--all intermingled, then died away and still farther away, until only the quietest of these sounds remained,--the lapping of the sea and "canada,--canada,--canada." they kept up their communications with me, sighing and singing, the merest murmurings of the wind in a sea shell:--soothing accompaniments to my unremembered dreams. chapter vii k. b. horsfal, millionaire when i awoke, the sun was streaming through the porthole upon my face. it was early morning,--saturday morning i remembered. from the thud, thud, of the engines and the steady rise and fall, i knew we were still at sea. i stretched my limbs, feeling as a god must feel balancing on the topmost point of a star; so refreshed, so invigorated, so buoyant, so much in harmony with the rising sun and the freshness of the early day, that, to be exact, i really had no feeling. i sprang to the floor of my cabin and dressed hurriedly in my anxiety to be on deck; but, at the door, i encountered my little irish steward. he eyed me suspiciously, as if i had had intentions of evading my morning ablution,--so i swallowed my impatience, grabbed a towel and made leisurely for the bathroom, where i laved my face and hands in the cold water, remained inside for a sufficiently respectable time, then ran off the water and, finally, made my exit and clambered on deck. as i paced up and down, enjoying the beauties of the fast narrowing firth, i no longer felt in doubt as to my ultimate destination. my subconscious self, aided and abetted by the irish steward, had already decided that for me:--it was canada, the west, the pacific. soon after i had breakfasted, we reached the tail of the bank, and so impatient was i to be on my long journey that i bade good-bye to my little irishman at greenock, leaving him grinning and happy in the knowledge that i was taking his advice and was bound for the pacific coast. in forty minutes more, i left the train at glasgow and started in to a hurried and moderate replenishing of my wardrobe, finishing up with the purchase of a travelling bag, a good second-hand rifle and a little ammunition. i dispensed with my knapsack by presenting it to a newsboy, who held it up in disgust as if it had been a dead cat. despite the fact that i was now on my own resources and would have to work, nothing could induce me to part with my golf clubs. they were old and valued friends. little did i imagine then how useful they would ultimately prove. at the head office of the steamship company, i inquired as to the best class of travelling when the traveller wished to combine cheapness with rough comfort; and i was treated to the cheering news that there was a rate war on between the rival trans-atlantic steamship companies and i could purchase a second-cabin steamboat ticket for six pounds, while a further eight pounds, thirteen shillings and four-pence would carry me by colonist, or third class, three thousand miles, from the east to the far west of canada. i paid for my ticket and booked my berth then and there, counted out my remaining wealth,--ten pounds and a few coppers,--and my destiny was settled. with so much to tell of what befell me later, i have neither the time nor the inclination to detail the pleasures and the discomforts of a twelve days' trip by slow steamer across a storm-swept atlantic, battened down for days on end, like cattle in the hold of a cross-channel tramp; of a six days' journey across prairie lands, in a railway car with its dreadful monotony of unupholstered wooden seats and sleeping boards, its stuffiness, its hourly disturbances in the night-time in the shape of noisy conductors demanding tickets, incoming and outgoing travellers and shrieking engines; its dollar meals in the dining car, which i envied but could not afford; its well-nigh unlightable cooking stoves and the canned beef and pork and beans with which i had to regale myself en route. jaded, travel-weary and grimy, i reached the end of my journey. it was late in the evening. i tumbled out of the train and into the first hotel bus that yawned for me, and not once did i look out of the window to see what kind of a city i had arrived at. i came to myself at the entrance to a magnificent and palatial hotel; too much so, by far, i fancied, for my scantily-filled purse. but i was past the minding stage, and i knew i could always make a change on the morrow, if so be it a change were necessary. and then i began to think,--what mattered it anyway? what were a few paltry sovereigns between one and poverty? comforting thought,--a man could not have anything less than nothing. i registered, ordered a bath, a shave, a haircut, a jolly good supper and a bed; and, oh! how i enjoyed them all! surely this was the most wonderful city in the world, for never did bath, or shave, or supper, or bed feel so delicious as these did. i swooned away at last from sheer pleasure. the recuperative powers of youth are marvellously quick. i was up and out to view the city almost as soon as the sun was touching the snow-tipped tops of the magnificent mountain peaks which were miles away yet seemed to stand sentinels at the end of the street down which i walked. i was up and out long ere the sun had gilded the waters of the broad inlet which separated vancouver from its baby sister to the north of it. the prospect pleased me; there was freedom in the air, expanse, vastness, but,--it was still a city with a city's artifices and, consequently, not what i was seeking. i desired the natural life; not the roughness, the struggle, the matching of crafty wits, the throbbing blood and the straining sinews,--but the solitude, the quiet, the chance for thought and observation, the wilds, the woods and the sea. as i returned to breakfast, i wondered if i should find them,--and where. in the dining-room, during the course of my breakfast,--the first real breakfast i had partaken of in canada,--my attention was diverted to a tall, well-groomed, muscular-looking man, who sat at a table nearby. he looked a considerable bit on the sunny side of fifty. he was clean shaven, his hair was black tinged with grey, and his eyes were keen and kindly. every time i glanced in his direction, i found him looking over at me in an amused sort of way. i began to wonder if i were making some breach of canadian etiquette of which i was ignorant. true, i had eaten my porridge and cream without sprinkling the dish with a surface of sugar as he had done; i had set aside the fried potatoes which had been served to me with my bacon and eggs;--but these, surely, were trivial things and of no interest to any one but myself. at last, he rose and walked out, sucking a wooden toothpick. with his departure, i forgot his existence. after i had breakfasted, i sought the lounge room in order to have a look at the morning paper and, if possible, determine what i was going to do for a living and how i was going to get what i wanted to do. i was buried in the advertisements, when a genial voice with a nasal intonation, at my elbow, unearthed me. it was my observer of the dining-room. he had seated himself in the chair next to mine. "say! young man,--you'll excuse me; but was it you i saw come in last night with the bag of golf clubs?" i acknowledged the crime. he laughed good-naturedly. "well,--you had courage anyway. to sport a golfing outfit here in the west is like venturing out with breeches, a walking cane and a monocle. nobody but an englishman would dare do it. here, they think golf and cricket should be bracketed along with hopscotch, dominoes and tiddly-winks; just as i used to fancy baseball was a glorified kids' game. i know better now." i looked at him rather darkly. "oh!--it's all right, friend,--it takes a man to play baseball, same as it takes a man to play golf and cricket. golfing is about the only vice i have left. why, now i come to think of it, my wife clipped a lot of my vices off years ago, and since that my daughter has succeeded in knocking off all the others,--all but my cigars, my cocktails and my golf. i'm just plumb crazy on the game and i play it whenever i can. maybe it's because i used to play it when i was a little chap, away back in england years and years ago." "i am glad you like the game," i put in. "it is a favourite of mine." "i play quite a bit back home in baltimore," he continued, "that's when i'm there. my clubs arrived here by express yesterday. you see, it's like this;--i'm off to australia at the end of the week, on a business trip,--that is, if i get things settled up here by that time. i am crossing over from there to england, where i shall be for several months. england is some place for golf, so i'm going to golf some, you bet. "i'm not boring you, young friend?" he asked suddenly. "not a bit," i laughed. "go on,--i am as interested as can be." "i believe there's a kind of a lay-out they call a golf course, in one of the outlying districts round here. what do you say to making the day of it? you aren't busy, are you?" he added. "no! no!--not particularly," i answered. i did not tell him that in a few days, if i did not get busy at something or other, i should starve. "good!" he cried. "go to your room and get your sticks. i'll find out all about the course and how to get to it." the brusk good-nature of the man hit me somehow; besides, i had not had a game for over three weeks. think of it--three weeks! and goodness only knew when i should have the chance of another after this one. as for looking for work;--work was never to be compared with golf. surely work could wait for one day! "all right!--i'm game," i said, jumping up and entering into the spirit of gaiety that lay so easily on my new acquaintance. "good boy!" he cried, getting up and holding out his hand. "my name's horsfal,--k. b. horsfal,--lumberman, meat-packer, and the man whose name is on every trouser-suspender worth wearing. what's yours?" "george bremner," i answered simply. "all right, george, my boy,--see you in ten minutes. but, remember, i called this tune, so i pay the piper." that was music in my ears and i readily agreed. "make it twenty minutes," i suggested. "i have a short letter to write." i wrote my letter, gave it to the boy to deliver for me and presented myself before my new friend right up to time. in the half hour's run we had in the electric tram, i learned a great deal about mr. k. b. horsfal. he had migrated from the midlands of england at the age of seventeen. he had kicked,--or had been kicked,--about the united states for some fifteen years, more or less up against it all the time, as he expressively put it; when, by a lucky chance, in a poverty-stricken endeavour to repair his broken braces, he hit upon a scheme that revolutionised the brace business: was quick enough to see its possibilities, patented his idea and became famous. not content to rest on his laurels,--or his braces,--he tackled the lumbering industry in the west and the meat-packing industry in the east, both with considerable success. now he had to sit down and do some figuring when he wished to find out how many millions of dollars he was worth. his wife had died years ago and his only daughter was at home in baltimore. altogether, he was a new and delightful type to one like me,--a young man fresh from his ancestral roof in the north of staid and conventional old england. he was healthy, vigorous, and as keen as the edge of a razor. on and on he talked, telling me of himself, his work and his projects. i got to wondering if he were merely setting the proverbial sprat; but the sprat in his case proved the whale. every moment i expected him to ask me for some confidences in return, but on this point mr. k. b. horsfal was silent. we discovered our golfing ground, which proved to be a fairly good, little, nine-holed country course, rough and full of natural hazards. k. b. horsfal could play golf, that i soon found out. he entered into his game with the enthusiasm and grim determination which i imagined he displayed in everything he took a hand in. he seldom spoke, so intent was he on the proper placing of his feet and the proper adjustment of his hands and his clubs. three times we went round that course and three times i had the pleasure of beating him by a margin. he envied me my full swing and my powerful and accurate driving; he studied me every time i approached a green and he scratched his head at some of my long putts; but, most of all, he rhapsodised on my manner of getting out of a hole. "man,--if i only had that trick of yours in handling the mashie and the niblick, i could do the round a stroke a hole better, for there isn't a rut, or a tuft, or a bunker in any course that i seem to be able to keep out of." i showed him the knack of it as it had been taught me by an old professional at saint andrews. k. b. horsfal was in ecstasies, if a two-hundred-pound, keen, brusk, american business man ever allows himself such liberties. nothing would please him but that we should go another round, just to test out his new acquisition and give him the hang of the thing. to his supreme satisfaction,--although i again beat him by the same small margin,--he reduced his score for the round by eight strokes. on our journey back to the city, he began to talk again, but on a different tack this time. "george,--you'll excuse me,--but, if i were you i would put that signet ring you are wearing in your pocket." i looked down at it and reddened, for my ring was manifestly old, as it was manifestly strange in design and workmanship, and apt to betray an identity. i slipped it off my little finger and placed it in my vest pocket. my companion laughed. "'no sooner said than done,'" he quoted. "you see, george,--any one who saw you come in to the hotel last night could tell you had not been travelling for pleasure. the marks of an uncomfortable train journey, in a colonist car, were sticking out all over you. now, golf clubs and a signet ring like that which you were sporting are enough to tell any man that you have been in the habit of travelling luxuriously and for the love of it." i could not help admiring my new friend's method of deduction, and i thanked him for his kindly interest. "not a bit," he continued, "so long as you don't mind. for, it's like this,--i take it you have left home for some personal reason,--no concern of mine,--you have come out here to start over, or rather, to make a start. good! you are right to start at the bottom of the hill. but, from the look of you, i fancy you won't stick at anything that doesn't suit you. you are the kind of a fellow who, if you felt like it, would tell a man to go to the devil, then walk off his premises. you see, i don't tab you as a milksop kind of englishman exactly. "well,--out here they don't like britishers who receive remittances every month from their mas or pas at home, for they have found that that kind is generally not much good. hope you're not one, george?" "no!" i laughed, rather ruefully, almost wishing i were. "with me, it is sink or swim. and, i do not mind telling you, mr. horsfal, that it will be necessary for me to leave the hotel to-morrow for less pretentious apartments and to start swimming for all i am worth." "good!" he cried, as if it were a good joke. "how do you propose starting in?" "i have already commenced keeping an eye on the advertisements, which seem to be chiefly for real estate salesmen and partners with a little capital," i said. "but, the fact is, i have made an application this morning for something i thought might suit me. but, even if i am lucky enough to be considered, the chances are there will be some flies in the ointment:--there always are." my friend looked at me, as i thought, curiously. "to-morrow morning," i went on, "it is my intention to begin with the near end of the business district and call on every business house, one after another, until i happen upon something that will provide a start. "i have no love for the grinding in an office, nor yet for the grubbing in a warehouse, but, for a bit, it will be a case of 'needs must when the devil drives,'--so i mean to take anything that i can get, to begin with, and leave the matter of choice to a more opportune time." "and what would be your choice, george?" he inquired. "choice! well, if you asked me what i thought i was adapted for, i would say, green-keeper and professional golfer; gymnastic instructor; athletic coach; policeman; or, with training and dieting, pugilist. at a pinch, i could teach school." k. b. horsfal grinned and looked out of the car window at the apparently never-ending sea of charred tree stumps through which we were passing. "not very ambitious, sonny!--eh!" "no,--that is the worst of it," i answered. "i do not seem to have been planned for anything ambitious. besides, i have no desire to amass millions at the sacrifice of my peace of mind. why!--a millionaire cannot call his life his own. he is at the beck and call of everybody. he is consulted here and harassed there. he is dunned, solicited and blackmailed; he is badgered and pestered until, i should fancy, he wished his millions were at the bottom of the deep, blue sea." "lord, man!" exclaimed mr. horsfal, "but you have hit it right. one would almost think you had been through it yourself." "i have not," i answered, "but i know most of the diseases that attack the man of wealth." "now, you have given me an idea of what you might _have_ to do. but to get back to desire or choice;--what would it be then?" he inquired, as the electric tram passed at last from the tree stumps and began to draw, through signs of habitation, toward the city. "if i had my desire and my choice, mr. horsfal, they would be: in such a climate as we have here but away somewhere up the coast, with the sea in front of me and the trees and the hills behind me; the open air, the sunlight; contending with the natural,--not the artificial,--obstacles of life; work, with a sufficiency of leisure; quiet, when quiet were desired; and, in the evening as the sun went down into the sea or behind the hills, a cosy fire, a good book and my pipe going good." k. b. horsfal, millionaire, patentee, lumberman and meat-packer, looked at me, sighed and nodded his head. "after all, my boy," he said, almost sadly, "i shouldn't wonder if that isn't better than all the hellish wealth-hunting that ever was or ever shall be. stick to your ideals. try them out if you can. as for me,--it's too late. i am saturated with the money-getting mania; i am in the maelstrom and i couldn't get out if i tried. i'm in it for good." our conversation was brought to an abrupt ending, as mr. horsfal had to make a short call at one of the newspaper offices, on some business matter. we got out of the tram together. i waited for him while he made his call, then we walked back leisurely to the hotel; happy, pleasantly tired and hungry as hunters. i was regaled in the dining-room as the guest of my american friend. "are you going to be in for the balance of the evening?" he asked, as i rose to leave him at the conclusion of our after-dinner smoke. "yes!" "good!" he ejaculated, rather abruptly. and why he should have thought it "good," puzzled me not a little as i went up in the elevator. chapter viii golden crescent i had been sitting in my room for two hours, reading, and once in a while, thinking over the strange adventures that had befallen me since i had started out from home some three short weeks before. i was trying to picture to myself how it had all gone in the old home; i was wondering if my father's heart had softened any to his absent son. i reasoned whether, after all, i had done right in interfering between my brother harry and his fiancee; but, when i thought of poor little peggy darrol and the righteous indignation and anger of her brother jim, i felt, that if i had to go through all of it again, i would do as i had done already. my telephone bell rang. i answered. it was the hotel exchange operator. "hello!--is that room ?" "yes!" i answered. "mr. george bremner?" "yes!" "a gentleman in room wishes to see you. right away, if you can, sir!" "what name?" i asked. "no name given, sir." "all right! i'll go down at once. thank you!" i laid aside my pipe and threw on my coat. on reaching the right landing, i made my way along an almost interminable corridor, until i stood before the mysterious room . as i entered, a respectably dressed, middle-aged man was coming out, hat in hand. two others were sitting inside, apparently waiting an interview, while a smart-looking young lady,--evidently a stenographer,--was showing a fourth into the room adjoining. it dawned on me that this request to call must be the outcome of the letter i had written that morning in answer to the newspaper advertisement. i immediately assumed what i thought to be the correct, meek expression of a man looking for work; with, i hope, becoming timidity and nervousness, i whispered my name to the young lady. then i took a seat alongside one of my fellow applicants, who eyed me askance and with what i took to be amused tolerance. five minutes, and the young lady ushered out the man who had been on the point of being interviewed as i had come in. "mr. monaghan?" queried the lady. mr. monaghan rose and followed her. an interval of ten minutes, and mr. monaghan went after his predecessor. "mr. rubenstein?" asked the lady. mr. rubenstein, who, every inch of him, looked the part, went through the routine of mr. monaghan, leaving me alone in the waiting room. at last my turn came and i was ushered into the "sanctum." i had put my head only inside the door, when the bluff voice i had learned that day to know shouted merrily: "hello! george. what do you know? come on in and sit down." and there was mr. horsfal, as large as life, sitting behind a desk with a pile of letters in front of him. i was keenly disappointed and i fear i showed it. only this,--after all my rising hopes,--the genial mr. horsfal wished to chat with me now that he had got his business worries over. "why!--what's the matter, son? you look crestfallen." "i am, too," i answered. "i was not aware which rooms you occupied and, when i received the telephone message to come here and saw those men waiting, i felt sure i had received an answer to my application for a position i saw in the papers this morning." mr. horsfal leaned back in his chair and surveyed me. "well,--no need to get crestfallen, george. when you had that thought, your thinking apparatus was in perfect working order." my eyes showed surprise. "you don't mean----" "yes! george." "what?--'wanted,--alert, strong, handy man, to supervise up-coast property. one who can run country store preferred. must be sober,'" i quoted. "the very same. i've been interviewing men for a week now and i'm sick of it. i got your letter this evening. but all day i have had it in my mind that you were the very man i wanted, sent from the clouds right to me." "but,--but," i exclaimed. "i am afraid i have not the experience a man requires for such a job." k. b. horsfal thumped his desk. "lord sakes! man,--don't start running yourself down. boost,--boost yourself for all you're worth." "oh, yes! i know," i said. "but this is different. i have become acquainted with you. i cannot sail under false colours. i have no experience. i am a simple baby when it comes to business." he banged his desk again. "george,--i'm the boss of this affair. you must just sit back quiet and listen, while i tell you about it; then you can talk as much as you want. "there's a thousand acres of property that i, or i should say, my daughter eileen owns some hundred miles up the coast from here. the place is called golden crescent bay. my wife took a fancy to it in the early days, when she came with me on a trip one time i was looking over a timber proposition. i bought it for her for an old song and she grew so fond of the place that she spent three months of every year, as long as she lived, right on that very land. she left it all to eileen when she died. "as a business man, i should sell it, for its value has gone away up; but, as a husband, as a father and as a sentimentalist, i just can't do it. it would be like desecration. "there's two miles of water frontage to it; there's the house we put up, also a little cabin where the present caretaker lives. the only other place within a couple of miles by water and four miles round by land through the bush, is a cottage that stands on the property abutting eileen's, and close to her bungalow. it has been boarded up and unoccupied for quite a while. of course, up behind, over the hills, there are ranches here and there, while, across the bay and all up the coast, there are squatters, settlers, fishermen and ranchers for a fare-you-well." "you say there is a caretaker there already?" i put in. "yes!--i was just getting to that. he's an old klondike miner; came out with a fortune. spent the most of it before he got sober. came to, just in time. now he hoards what's left like an old skinflint. won't spend a nickel, unless it's on booze. drinks like a drowning man and it never fizzes on him. a good enough man for what he's been doing, but no good for what i want now." "you don't want me to do him out of his place, mr. horsfal?" i asked. "i was coming to that, too,--only you're so darned speedy. "he's all right as a caretaker with little or nothing to do, and he will prove useful to you for odd jobs,--but, i have a salmon cannery some miles north of this place and i am going to have half a dozen lumber camps operating south, and further up, for the next few years. some of them are going full steam ahead now. "they require a convenient store, where they can get supplies; grub, oil, gasoline, hardware and such like. i need a man who could look after a proposition of that kind,--good. the settlers would find a store up there a perfect god-send. "the property at golden crescent is easily got at and is the most central to all my places. now, having an eye to business, and with eileen's consent, i have decided to convert the large front living-room of her bungalow into a store. it is plain, and can't be hurt. it's just suited for the purpose. i have had some carpenters up there this past week, putting in a counter and shelves and shutting the new store off completely from the rest of the house. "a stock of groceries, hardware, etc., has already been ordered from the wholesalers and should be up there in a few days. "steamers pass golden crescent twice a week. when they have anything for you, they whistle and stand by out in the bay; when you want them, you hoist a white flag on the pole, on the rock, at the end of the little wharf; then you row out and meet them. "these are the main features, george. oh, yes! i'm paying one hundred dollars a month and all-found to the right man." he stopped and looked over at me a little anxiously. "george!--will you take the job?" "what about those other poor beggars who have applied?" i asked. "there you are again," he exclaimed impatiently. "they had the same chance as you had. didn't i even keep you waiting out there till i had seen them in turn. not one of them has the qualifications you have. i want a man with a brain as well as a body." "but you don't know me, mr. horsfal. i have no friends, no testimonials; and i might be,--why! i might be the biggest criminal unhung." "testimonials be blowed! who wants testimonials? any dub can get them. as for the other part,--do you think k. b. horsfal of baltimore, u. s. a., by this time, doesn't know a man after he has been a whole day in his company? "sonny, take it from me,--there are mighty few american business men, who have topped a million dollars, who don't know a man through and through in less time than that, and without asking very many questions, either. why, man!--that's their business; that's what makes their millions." there was no resisting k. b. horsfal. "thanks! i'll take the job," i said. "and i'm mighty grateful to you." "good boy! you're all right. leave it there!" his two hands clasped over mine. "gee! but i'm glad that's over at last." "when do i start in?" i asked. "right now. i'll phone for a launch to be ready to start up with us to-morrow morning. i'll show you over the proposition and leave you there. phone for any little personal articles you may want. i'll attend to the bedding and all that sort of thing. have the boy call you at six a. m. sharp." nothing was overlooked by the masterly mind of my new, my first employer. we breakfasted early. an automobile was standing waiting for us at the hotel entrance; while, at a down-town slip, a trig little launch, already loaded up with our immediate necessities, was in readiness to shoot out through the narrows as soon as we got aboard. this launch was named the _edgar allan poe_, and, in consequence, i felt as if she were an old friend. as soon as the ropes were cast from the wharf, a glorious feeling of exhilaration started to run through me; for it seemed that i was being loosed from the old life and plunged into a new; a life i had been for so long hungering; the life of the woods, the hills and the sea, the quiet and freedom; the life of my dreams as well as of my waking fancies. whether or not it would come up to my expectations was a question of conjecture, but i was not in a mood to trouble conjecturing. the swift little boat fought the tide rip in the narrows like a lonely explorer defending his life against a horde of surging savages; and, gradually, she nosed her way through, past prospect point, then, inclining to the north shore, but heading forward all the time, past the lighthouse which stands sentinel on the rock at point atkinson; and away up the coast, leaving the city, with its dizzying and light-blotting sky-scrapers far and still farther behind, until nothing of that busy terminal remained to the observer but a distant haze. the _edgar allan poe_ threaded her way rapidly and confidently among the rocks and fertile little islands, up, up northward, ever northward, amid lessening signs of life and habitation; through the beautiful strait of georgia. from eight o'clock in the morning till three o'clock in the afternoon we sailed on, amid a prodigality of scenic beauty,--sea, mountains and islands; islands, mountains and sea,--enjoying every mile of that beautiful trip. we conversed seldom, although there was much to discuss and our time was short. at last, we sped past a great looming rock, which stood almost sheer out of the sea, then we ran into a glorious bay, where the sea danced and glanced in a fairy ecstasy. "golden crescent bay," broke in mr. horsfal. "how do you like it?" "it is paradise," i exclaimed, in breathless admiration. and never have i had reason to change that first impression and opinion. we ran alongside a rocky headland close to the shore, on which stood two little wooden sheds bearing the numbers one and two. we clambered up. "number one is for gasoline; two for oil," volunteered my ever informing employer. the rock was connected to the shore by a well-built, wooden wharf on piles, which ran directly into what i rightly guessed had been the summer home of mrs. horsfal. it was a plainly built cottage and trim as a warship. it bore signs of having been recently painted, while, all around, the grass was trim and tidy. on the right of this, about fifty yards across, on the same cleared area, but out on a separate rocky headland, stood another well-built cottage, the windows of which were boarded up. "my property starts ten yards to the south of the wharf here, george, and runs around the bay as far, almost, as it goes, and back to the hills quite a bit. that over there is the other house i spoke to you about. it, and the property to the south, is owned by some one in the western states. "but i wonder where the devil old jake meaghan is. folks could land here and walk away with the whole shebang and he would never know of it." as he spoke, however, a small boat crept out from some little cove about three hundred yards round the bay. it contained a man, who rowed it leisurely toward the wharf. we leaned over the wooden rail and waited. the man ran the boat into the shingly beach, pulled in his oars, climbed out and made toward us. an airedale dog, which had evidently been curled up in the bottom of the boat, sprang out after him, keeping close to him and eyeing us suspiciously and angrily. in appearance the man reminded me of one of r. l. stevenson's pirates, or one of jack london's 'longshoremen. he wore heavy logging boots, brown canvas trousers kept up by a belt, and a brown shirt, showing hairy brown arms and a bared, scraggy throat. a battered, sun-cast, felt hat lay on his head. his face was wrinkled and weather-beaten to the equivalent of tanned hide. he wore great, long, drooping moustaches snow white in colour. his eyes were limpid blue. "it's you, mr. horsfal," he mumbled rather thickly, in a voice that seemed to come from somewhere underground; "didn't know you in the distance." "jake,--shake with mr. george bremner;--he's going to supervise the place and the new store, same as i explained to you two weeks ago. hope you make friends. he's to be head boss man, and his word goes; but you'll find him twenty-four carat gold." "that's darned fine gold, boss," grunted jake. he held out his horny hand and grasped mine, exclaiming heartily enough: "glad to meet you, george." he pulled out a plug of tobacco from his hip pocket, brushed some of the most conspicuous dirt and grime from it, bit off what appeared to me to be a mouthful and began to look me over. "he's new," he grunted, as if to himself; "but he's young and big. he looks tough; he's got the right kind of jaw." then he turned to mr. horsfal. "guess, when he gets the edges rubbed off, he'll more than make it, boss," he said. k. b. horsfal laughed loudly. "that's just what i thought myself, jake. now, give us the keys to the oil barns and the new store. go and help unload that baggage and truck from the launch. you can follow your usual bent after that, for i'll be showing george over the place myself." i found the prospective store just as it had been described: a large, plain, front room, now fitted with shelves and a counter, and all freshly painted. everything was in readiness to accommodate the stock, most of which was due to arrive the next afternoon. where a door had been, leading into the other parts of the house, it was now solidly partitioned up, leaving only front and back entrances to the store. we spent the afternoon in the open air, inspecting the property, which was perfectly situated for scenic beauty, with plenty of cleared, fertile land near the shore and rich in giant timber behind. in the early part of the evening, after a cold lunch aboard the launch, we went back to the house and, for the first time, mr. horsfal inserted a key into the front door of the dwelling proper. i had been not a little curious regarding this place and i was still wondering where it was intended that i should take up my quarters. jake meaghan seemed all right in his own klondikish, pork-and-beans-and-a-blanket way, but i hardly fancied him as a rooming partner and a possible bedfellow. to be candid, i never had had a bedfellow in all my life and i had already made up my mind that, rather than suffer one now, i would fix up one of the several empty barns which were scattered here and there over the property, and thus retain my beloved privacy. my employer pushed his way into the house and invited me to follow him. i found myself in a small, front room, neatly but plainly furnished. the floor was varnished and two bearskin rugs supplied the only carpeting. it had a mahogany centre table, on which a large oil-burning reading lamp was set. three wicker chairs, designed solely for comfort, and a stove with an open front helped to complete its comfortable appearance. a number of framed photographs of golden crescent and some water colour paintings decorated the plain, wooden walls. in the far corner, beside a small side window, there stood a writing desk; while, all along that side of the wall, on a long curtain pole, there was hung, from brass rings, a heavy green curtain. i took in what i could in a cursory glance and i marvelled that there could be so much apparent concentrated comfort so far away from city civilisation; but, when my guide pulled aside the curtain on the wall and disclosed rows and rows of books behind a glass front, books ancient and modern, books of religion, philosophy, medicine, history, fiction and poetry,--at least a thousand of them,--i gave up trying any more to fathom what manner of a man he was. my eyes sparkled and explained to k. b. horsfal what my voice failed to utter. "well,--what d'ye think of it all?" he asked at last. "it is a delight,--a positive delight," i replied simply. as i walked over to the front window, i wondered little that mrs. horsfal should have loved the place; and, when i looked away out over the dancing waters, upon the beauties of the bay in the changing light of the lowering sun, upon the rocky, fir-dotted island a mile to sea, and upon the lonely-looking homes of the settlers over there two miles away on the far horn of golden crescent, with the great background of mountains in purple velvet,--i wondered less. "yes! george,--it's pretty near what heaven should be to look at. but i guess it's the same old story that the poet once sang: "'where every prospect pleases and only man is vile.' "that poet kind of forgot that, if what he said was true, it was only the vile man that the prospect could please, eh! "you notice the house has been cleaned from top to toe. i had that done last week. i see to that every time i come west." he put his hand on my shoulder. "george, boy,--no one but myself and eileen has slept under this roof since my wife died, but i want you to make it your home." i turned to remonstrate. "now,--don't say a word," he hurried on. "you can't bluff me with your self-defamatory remarks. you are not a jake meaghan, or one of his stamp. you are of the kind that appreciates a home like this to the extent of taking care of it. "come and have a look at the other apartments. "this is the kitchen. it has a pantry and a good cooking-stove. there are four bedrooms in the house. this can be yours;--it's the one i used to occupy. this is a spare one. this is eileen's. you won't require it; and one never knows when eileen might take it into her head to come up here and live. "this is my helen's room,--my wife's. it has not been changed since she died." he went in. i remained respectfully in the adjoining apartment. i waited for five minutes. when he returned, there were tears in his eyes. he locked the door with a sigh. "george,--here are the keys to the whole she-bang. there isn't much more to keep me here. you have signed the necessary papers in connection with the trust account for $ , in the commercial bank of canada in vancouver. draw your wages regularly. pay jake his fifty a month at the same time. we find his grub for him. "run things at a profit if you can, for that's business. stand strictly to the instructions i have given you regarding orders for supplies from the various camps and from the cannery. use your own judgment as to credit with the settlers. i leave you a free hand up here. "send your monthly reports, addressed to me care of my lawyers, dow, cross & sneddon of vancouver. they will forward them. "if any question should arise regarding the property itself, get in touch with the lawyers." i walked with him down to the launch as he talked. "thanks to you, george,--i'll get to vancouver in the small hours of the morning and i will be able to pull out for sydney in the afternoon of to-morrow. "good-bye, boy. all being well, i'll be back within a year." in parting with him, as he shook me by the hand, i experienced a tightening in my throat such as i had never felt when parting from any other man either before or since. yet, i had only known him for two days. i could see that he, also, was similarly affected. it was as if something above and beyond us were making our farewell singularly solemn. chapter ix the booze artist i stood watching until the tiny launch rounded the point; then, as the light was still fairly good,--it being the end of the month of may,--and as i had no inclination for sleep as yet, i got into the smallest of the rowing boats that were tied up alongside the wharf, loosed it and pulled leisurely up the bay, with the intention of making myself a little better acquainted with the only living soul with whom i was within hail,--jake meaghan. as i ran the boat into his cove, i could hear his dog bark warningly. the door of his barn,--for it was nothing else,--was closed, and it was some time before i heard meaghan's deep voice in answer to my knock, inviting me to come in and bidding his dog to lie down. meaghan was sitting, presumably reading a newspaper, which was the only kind of "literature" i ever saw him read. his attitude appeared to me to be assumed and i had a notion that, when the dog first barked at my approach, he had been busy with the contents of a brass-bound, wooden chest which now lay half under his bunk, in a recess in the far corner. "hello! thought you might come over. sit down," he greeted. "saw the boss pull out half an hour ago. i'm just sittin' down for my turn at the newspaper. they leave me a bundle off the steamer once in a while. this one's from the old country;--the _liverpool monitor_. it's two months old, but what's the dif,--the news is just as good as if it was yesterday's or to-morrow's." i looked round jake's shanty. considering it was a single-roomed place and used for cooking, washing, sleeping and everything else, it was wonderfully tidy, although, to say truth, there was little in it after all to occasion untidiness: a stove, a pot, a frying-pan, an enamelled tin teapot, some crockery, a table, an oil lamp, three chairs, the brass-bound trunk, two wheat-flake boxes and jake's bed,--with one other addition,--a fifteen-gallon keg with a stopcock in it and set on a wooden stand close to his bunk. an odour of shell-fish pervaded the atmosphere, coming from some kind of soup made from clams and milk, on which jake had evidently been dining. the residue of it still sat in a pot on the stove. this, i discovered, was jake's favourite dish. he rose, took two breakfast cups from a shelf and went over to the keg in the corner. he filled up both of them to the brim. "have a drink, george?" he invited, offering me one of the cups. "what is it?" i asked, thinking it might be a cider of some kind. "what d'ye suppose, man?--ginger beer? it's good rye whiskey." from the odour, i had ascertained this for myself before he spoke. "no, thanks, jake, i don't drink." "holy mackinaw!" he exclaimed, almost dropping the cups in his astonishment. "if you don't drink, how in the sam hill are you going to make it stick up here? why, man, you'll go batty in the winter time, for it's lonely as hell." "from all accounts, jake, hell is not a very lonely place," i laughed. "aw!--you know what i mean," he put in. "i'll have plenty of work to do in the store; enough to keep me from feeling lonely." "not you. once it's goin', it'll be easy's rollin' off'n a log. what'll you do o' nights, 'specially winter nights,--if you don't drink?" he sat down and began to empty his cup of liquor by the gulp. his dog, which had been lying sullenly on the floor near the stove, got up and ambled leisurely to jake's feet. it looked up at him as he drank, then it put its two front paws on jake's knees, as if to attract his attention. meaghan stopped his imbibing and stroked the dog's head. "well,--well--mike; and did i forget you?" he poured a little liquor in a saucer and set it down on the floor before the dog, who lapped it up with all the relish of a seasoned toper. then it put its paws back on jake's knees, as if asking for more. "no! mike. nothin' doin'. you've had your whack. too much ain't good for your complexion, old man." in a sort of dreamy, contemplative mood the dog sat down on its haunches between us. "what'll you do o' nights if you don't drink? you ain't told me that, george," reiterated jake, sucking some of the liquor from his drooping moustaches. "oh!" i replied, "i'll read, and sometimes i'll sit out and watch the stars and listen to the sea and the wind." "and what after that?" he queried. "i can always think, when i have nothing else to do." "and what after that?" he asked again. "nothing, jake,--nothing. that's all." "no it ain't. no it ain't, i tell you;--after that,--it's the bughouse for yours. it's the thinking,--it's the thinking that does it every time. it's the last stage, george. you'll be clean, plumb batty inside o' six months." the dog got up, after two unsuccessful attempts. never did i see such a strange sight in any animal. he put out one paw and staggered to the right. he put out another and staggered to the left. all the time, his eyes were half closed. he was quite insensible of our presence, for he was as drunk as any waterfront loafer. staggering, stumbling and balancing, he made his way back to his place beside the stove, where, in a moment more, he was in a deep sleep and snoring,--as a westerner would put it,--to beat the cars. meaghan noticed my interest in the phenomenon. "that's nothin'," he volunteered. "mike has his drink with me every night, for the sake o' company. why not? he doesn't see any fun in lookin' at the stars and watching the tide come up o' nights. worst is, he can't stand up to liquor. it kind o' gets his goat; yet he's been tipplin' for three years now." jake finished off his cup of whisky. "good heavens, man!" i exclaimed in disgust and dismay, "don't you know you will kill yourself drinking that stuff in that way?" "guess nit," he growled, but quite good-naturedly. "i ain't started. i've been drinkin' more'n that every night for ten years and i ain't dead yet,--not by a damn sight. no! nor i ain't never been drunk, neither." he took up the other cupful of whisky as he spoke and slowly drained it off before my eyes. he laid the empty cup on the table with a grunt of satisfaction, pulling at his long moustaches in lazy pleasure. "that's my nightcap, george. better'n seein' stars, too." i could see his end. "i'd much rather see stars than snakes," i remarked. but jake merely laughed it off. i rose in a kind of cold perspiration. to me, this was horrible;--drinking for no apparent reason. he came with me to the door. his voice was as steady as could be; so were his legs. the effects of the liquor he had consumed did not show on him except maybe for a bloodshot appearance in the whites of his baby-blue eyes. i was worried. i had known such another as jake in the little village of brammerton; and i knew what the inevitable end had been and what jake's would be also. "don't be sore at me, george," he pleaded. "it's the only friend i got now." "it is not any friend of yours, jake." "well,--maybe it ain't, but i think it is and that's about the only way we can reckon our friends. "when you find i ain't doin' my share o' the work because o' the booze or when you catch me drunk,--i'll quit it. good-night, george." i wished him good-night gruffly, hurried over the beach, scrambled into the boat and rowed quickly for my new home. and, as i stood on the veranda for a long time before turning in, i watched the moon rise and skim her way behind and above the clouds, throwing, as she did so, great dark shadows and eerie lights on the sea. in the vast, awesome stillness of the forest behind and the swishing and shuffling of the incoming tide on the shingles on the beach, i thought of what my good friend, k. b. horsfal, had quoted: "where every prospect pleases and only man is vile." chapter x rita of the spanish song next morning i was awakened bright and early by the singing of birds. for a few moments i imagined myself back in england; but the ceaseless beat of the sea and the sustained, woody-toned, chattering, chirruping squeak of an angry squirrel on my roof gave me my proper location. i had heard once, in a london drawing-room, that there were no singing birds in british columbia; that the songsters of the east were unable to get across the high, eternal cold and snow of the rockies. what a fallacy! they were everywhere around me, and in thousands. how they got there was of little moment to me. they were there, much to my joy; and the forests at my back door were alive with the sweetness of their melodies. early as i was, i could see a thin column of smoke rising from the cove where jake was. when i went to the woodpile at the rear of my bungalow, i found more evidence of his early morning diligence. a heap of dry, freshly cut kindling was set out, while the chickens had already been fed and let out to wander at their own sweet wills. for the first time in my very ordinary life, i investigated the eccentricities of a cook stove, overcame them and cooked myself a rousing breakfast of porridge and bacon and eggs with toast. how proud i felt of my achievement and how delicious the food tasted! never had woman cooked porridge and bacon and eggs to such a delightful turn. i laughed joyously, for i felt sure i had stumbled across an important truth that woman had religiously kept from the average man throughout all the bygone ages: the truth that any man, if he only sets his mind to it, can cook a meal perfectly satisfactory to himself. after washing up the breakfast dishes without smashing any, sweeping the kitchen floor and shovelling up--nothing; there was nothing left for me to do, for the north-going steamer was not due until early in the afternoon. when she should arrive and give me delivery of the freight which she was bringing, i knew i should have enough to occupy my attention for some days to come, getting the cases opened up and the goods checked over, priced and set out in the store; but, meantime, my time was my own. it was a glorious morning. the sun was shining and the air was balmy as a midsummer's day at home. i opened the front door and gazed on the loveliness; i stretched my arms and felt vigour running to my finger-tips. then i longed, how i longed, for a swim! and why not! i slipped out of my shirt and trousers and got into my bathing suit. i ran down to the end of the wharf and out on to the rocks. the water was calm, and deep, and of a pale green hue. i could see the rock cod and little shiners down there, darting about on a breakfast hunt. filling my lungs, i took a header in, coming up fifteen yards out and shaking my head with a gurgling cry of pleasure. i struck out, overhand, growing stronger and more vigorous each succeeding moment, as the refreshing sea played over my body. on, on i went, turning upon my breast sometimes, sometimes on my back, lashing the water into foam with my feet and blowing it far into the air from my mouth. half a mile out and i was as near to the island, in the middle of the bay, as i was to the wharf. i knew i could make it, although i had not been in the water for several weeks. i had an abundance of time, the sea was warm, the island looked pretty,--so on i went. i reached it at last, a trifle blown, but in good condition. it had not been by any means a record swim for me. i had not intended that it should. all the way, it had been a pleasure trip. i made for a sandy beach, between two rocky headlands. soon, i got my footing and waded ashore. after a short rest, i set out to survey the island. all the childhood visions i had stored in my memory of "coral island," "crusoe's island," and "treasure island" became visualised and merged into one,--the island i was exploring. it was of fairy concept; only some four hundred yards long and about a hundred yards in breadth, with rugged rocks and sandy beaches; secret caves and strange caverns; fertile over all with small fir and arbutus trees, shrubs, ferns and turfy patches of grass of the softest velvet pile. in the most unlikely places, i stumbled across bubbling springs of fresh water forcing its way through the rocks. how they originated, was a mystery to me, for the island was separated from the mainland by a mile, at least, of salt water. what an ideal spot, i thought, for a picnic! would not some of my eccentric acquaintances at home,--the duke of athlane, for instance,--dearly love to take the whole thing up by the roots and transplant it in the centre of some of the artificial lakes they had schemed and contrived, in wild attempts to make more beautiful the natural beauties of their estates? by this time, the warm air had dried my body. i climbed to the highest point of the island,--a small plateau, covered with short turf; a glorious place for the enjoyment of a sun bath. i lay down and stretched myself. my only regret then was that i did not have a book with me to complete my paradise. pillowed on a slight incline, i dreamily watched the scudding clouds, then my eyes travelled across to the mainland. i could see the smoke curl upward from my kitchen fire. i saw old jake get into his boat, followed by the drunken rascal of a dog, mike. all was still and quiet but for the seethe and shuffle of the sea. suddenly, on the other side of the water somewhere, but evidently far away, a voice, untrained, but of peculiar sweetness, broke into my drowsing. i listened for a time, trying to catch the refrain. as it grew clearer, i tried to pick up the words, but they were in a tongue foreign to me. they were not french, nor were they italian. at last, it struck me that they were spanish words; the words of a spanish dancing song, which, when i was a gadding-about college boy, had been popular among us. i recalled having heard that it was sung by the chorus of a famous spanish dancer, who, at one time, had been the rage of london and the provinces, but who had mysteriously vanished from the footlights with the same suddenness as she had appeared there. it was a haunting little melody, catchy and childishly simple; and it had remained in my memory all these years, as is so often the case with choruses that we hear in our babyhood. naturally, i was more than curious to see the singer, so i crept to the top of the grassy knoll and peered over, searching the far side of the island and over the water. away out, i discerned a small boat making in the direction of the island. the oars were being plied by a woman, or a girl,--i could not tell which, as her back was toward me and she was still a good way off. she handled her oars as if she were a part of the boat itself and the boat were a living thing. she stopped every now and then, rose from her seat and busied herself with something. i wondered what she was doing. i saw her haul something into the boat. as she examined it in her hand, the sun flashed upon it. i could hear her laugh happily as she tossed it into the bottom of the boat. she was trolling for fish and, evidently, getting a plentiful supply. she rowed in as if intent upon fishing round the island. but, all at once, she changed her mind, turned the boat, pulled in her fishing line and shot into a sandy beach, springing out and pulling the boat clear of the tide. she straightened herself as she turned and faced the plateau on the far incline of which i lay hidden. i saw at a glance that, though a mere girl in years,--somewhere between sixteen and eighteen,--yet she was a woman, maturing as a june rose, as a butterfly stretching its pretty wings for the first time in the ecstasy of its new birth. of medium height; her hair was the darkest shade of brown and hung in two long, thick braids down to her neat waist. she seemed not at all of the countrified type i might have expected to encounter so far in the wilds. she was dressed in a spotless white blouse, the sleeves of which were rolled back almost to her shoulders; with a dark-coloured, serviceable skirt, the hem of which hung high above a pair of small, bare feet and neat, supple-looking ankles. i could see her shoes and stockings, brown in colour, lying in the bow of the boat. she reached over, picked them up, then sat on a rock by the water's edge and pulled them on her feet. but, after all, it was not her dress that held my attention; although in the main this was pleasing to the eye, nor yet was it the girl's features, for she was still rather far off for me to observe these distinctly. what riveted me was the light, agile rapidity of her every action; and her evident abandonment of everything else for what, for the moment, absorbed her. as i watched, i became filled with conflicting thoughts. should i remain where i was, or should i at once betray my presence? i decided that the island was large enough for both of us. she was not interested in me, so why should i interrupt her in her lonely enjoyment? i was perplexed more than a little in trying to place where she rightfully belonged. naturally, i took her to be the daughter of one of the settlers on the far side of golden crescent. but there was a something in her entire appearance that seemed to place her on a different plane from that, a plane all by herself; while, again, there was the spanish song which i had heard her lilt out on the water. she brought my conjecturing to rather an abrupt conclusion, for, without any warning, she darted up over the rocks and through the ferns to where i lay, and she had almost trodden upon me before i had time to get out of her way. she stepped back with an exclamation of surprise, but gave no sign to indicate that she was afraid. i sprang to my feet. "i am very sorry,--miss," i said sincerely. "oh!--there ain't much to be sorry over. this ain't my island. still,--girls don't much care about men watching them from behind places," she replied, with a tone of displeasure. "and i am sorry,--again," i answered. "please forgive me, for i could hardly help it. i was lying here when i heard you sing. i became curious. when you landed, i intended making my presence known, but i said to myself just what you have said now:--'it is not my island.' however, i shall go now and leave you in possession." "where is your boat?" "didn't bring one with me." "how did you get here then?" her blunt questioning was rather disconcerting. "oh! i walked it," i answered lightly, with a grin. her voice changed. "you're trying to be smart," she reprimanded. "sorry," i said, in a tone of contrition, "for i am not a bit smart in spite of my trying. well,--i swam across from the wharf over there." she looked up. "being smart some more." "no!--it is true." she measured the distance from the island to the wharf with her eye. i remarked, some time ago, that her hair was of the darkest shade of brown. i was wrong;--there was a darker hue still, and that was in her eyes; while her skin was of that attractive combination, olive and pink. "gee!--that was some swim. "how are you going to get back?" she continued, in open friendliness. "swim!" "ain't you tired?" "i was winded a bit when i got here, but i am all right again," i answered. "you're an englishman?" "how did you guess it?" i asked, as if i were giving her credit for unearthing a great mystery. before answering, she sat down on the grass, clasping her hands over her knees. i squatted a short distance from her. "only englishmen go swimming hereabouts in the morning." "do you often stumble across stray, swimming englishmen?" i asked in banter. "no!--but three summers ago there were some english people staying in that house at the wharf that's now closed up:--the one next horsfal's, and they were in the water so much, they hardly gave the fish a chance. it was the worst year we ever had for fishing." i laughed, and she looked up in surprise. "then we had an english surveyor staying with us for a month last year. he was crazy for the water. he went in for half an hour every morning and before his breakfast, too. you don't find the loggers or any of the settlers doing silly stunts like that. no, siree. "guess you're a surveyor?" "no!" "or maybe a gentleman up for shooting and fishing? can't be though, for there ain't any launches in the bay. yes, you are, too, for i saw a launch in yesterday." "i hope i am always a gentleman," i said, "but i am not the kind of gentleman you mean. i have no launch and no money but what i can earn. i am the new man who is to look after mr. horsfal's golden crescent property. i shall be more or less of a common country storekeeper after to-day." "heard about that store from old jake. granddad over home was talking about it, too. it'll be convenient for the camps and a fine thing for the settlers up here." she jumped up. "well,--i guess i got to beat it, mister----" "george bremner," i put in. "my name's rita;--rita clark. i stay over at the ranch there, the one with the red-roofed houses. this island's named rita, too." "after you?" "ya!--guess so!" she did not venture any more. "been here long?" i asked. "long's i can remember," she answered. "like it?" "i love it. it's all i got. never been away from it more'n three times in my life." there was something akin to longing in her voice. "i love it all the same,--all but that over there." as she spoke, she shivered and pointed away out to the great perpendicular rock, with its jagged, devilish, shark-like teeth, which rose sheer out of the water and stood black, forbidding and snarling, even in the sunshine, to the right, at the entrance to the bay, a quarter of a mile or so from the far horn of golden crescent. "you don't like rocks?" "some rocks," she whispered, "but not 'the ghoul.'" "the ghoul," i repeated with a shudder. "ugh!--what a name. who on earth saddled it with such a horrible name?" "nobody on earth. guess it must have been the devil in hell, for it's a friend of his." her face grew pale and a nameless horror crept into her eyes. "it ain't nice to look on now,--is it?" "no!" i granted. "you want to see it in the winter, when there's a storm tearing in, with the sea crashing over it in a white foam and,--and,--people trying to hang on to it. oh!--i tell you what it is,--it's hellish, that's all. it's well named the ghoul,--it's a robber of the dead." "robber of the dead!--what do you mean?" "everybody but a stranger knows:--it robs them of a decent burial. heaps of men, and women too, have been wrecked out there, but only one was ever known to come off alive. never a body has ever been found afterwards." she shivered and turned her head away. for a while, i gazed at the horrible rock in fascination. what a reminder it was to the poor human that there is storm as well as calm; evil as well as good; that turmoil follows in the wake of quiet; that sorrow tumbles over joy; and savagery and death run riot among life and happiness and love! at last, i also turned my eyes away from the ghoul, with a strong feeling of anger and resentment toward it. already i loathed and hated the thing as i hated nothing else. i stood alongside the girl and we remained silent until the mood passed. then she raised her eyes to mine and smiled. in an endeavour to forget,--which, after all, was easy amid so much sunshine and beauty,--i reverted to our former conversation. "you said you were seldom away from here. don't you ever take a trip to vancouver?" "been twice. we're not strong on trips up here. grand-dad goes to vancouver and victoria once in a while. grandmother's been here twenty years and never been five miles from the ranch, 'cept once, and she's sorry now for that once. "joe's the one that gets all the trips. you ain't met joe. guess when you do you and him won't hit it. he always fights with men of your size and build." "who is this joe?" i asked. "he must be quite a man-eater." "i ain't going to tell you any more. you'll know him when you see him. "i'm going now. would you like some fish? the trout were biting good this morning. i've got more'n we need." we went down to the shore together. there were between thirty and forty beauties of sea-trout in the bottom of her boat. she handed me out a dozen. "guess that'll make a square meal for you and jake." then she looked at me and laughed, showing her teeth. "clean forgot," she said. "a swimming man ain't no good at carrying fish." "why not?" i asked. i picked up some loose cord from her boat, strung the trout by the gills and tied them securely round my waist. she watched me archly and a thought went flashing through my mind that it did not need the education of the city to school a woman in the art of using her eyes. "guess i'll see you off the premises first, before i go." "all right!" said i. we crossed the island once more, and i got on to a rock which dipped sheer and deep into the sea. she held out her hand and smiled in such a bewitching way that, had i not been a well-seasoned bachelor of almost twenty-five years' standing, i should have lost my heart to her completely. "good-bye! mister,--mister bremner. safe home." "good-bye! miss--rita." "sure you can make it?" she asked earnestly. "yes!" i cried, and plunged in. as i came up, i turned and waved my hand. she waved in answer, and when i looked again she was gone. i struck swiftly for the wharf, allowing for the incoming tide. when i was half-way across, i heard the sound of oars and, on taking a backward glance, i saw rita making toward me. "hello!" i cried, when she drew near. "what's the matter?" a little shame-faced, she bent over. "i got scared," she said timidly, "scared you mightn't make it. sure you don't want me to row you in?" the boat was alluring, but my pride was touched. "quite sure," i answered. "i'm as fresh as the trout round my waist. thanks all the same." "all right! guess i was foolish. you ain't a man; you're a porpoise." with this half-annoyed sally, she swung the bow of the boat and rowed away. chapter xi an informative visitor that afternoon, prompt at two o'clock, a whistle sounded beyond the point and, shortly afterwards, the steamboat _siwash_, north bound, entered the bay. jake and i were waiting at the end of the wharf, seated in a large, wide-beamed, four-oared boat, with mike, the dog,--still eyeing me suspiciously,--crouching between his master's feet. we had a raft and half a dozen small rowing boats of all shapes and conditions, strung out, indian file, from our stern. every available thing in golden crescent bay that could float, down to a canoe and an old indian dug-out, we borrowed or requisitioned for our work. and, with this long procession in tow, we pulled out and made for the steamer, which came to a standby in the deep water, three hundred yards from the shore. the merchandise was let down by slings from the lower deck, and we had to handle the freight as best we could, keeping closely alongside all the while. a dozen times, i thought one or another of the boats would be overturned and its contents emptied into the bay. but luck was with us. jake spat tobacco juice on his hands every few minutes and sailed in like a nigger. our clothes were soon moist through and through, and the perspiration was running over our noses long before our task was completed. but finally the last package was lowered and checked off by the mate and myself, a clear receipt given; and we (jake and i) pushed for the shore, landing exhausted in body but without mishap to the freight. jake fetched some fresh clams to my kitchen for convenience and, after slapping half a plug of tobacco in his cheek, he started in and cooked us a savoury concoction which he called "chowder," made with baked clams mixed in hot milk, with butter and crumbled toast; all duly seasoned:--while i smoked my pipe and washed enough dishes to hold our food, and set the table for our meal. already, i had discovered that dish-washing was the bugbear of a kitchen drudge's existence, be the kitchen drudge female or male. i had only done the job three or four times, but i had got to loathe and abhor the operation. not that i felt too proud to wash dishes, but it seemed such a useless, such an endless, task. however, i suppose everything in this old world carries with it more or less of these same annoyingly bad features. at any rate, i never could make up my mind to wash a dish until i required it for my next and immediate meal. we dined ravenously, and throughout the proceeding, mike sat in the doorway, keeping close watch that i did not interfere with the sacred person of his lord and master, jake meaghan. rested and reinvigorated, we set-to with box-openers, hammers and chisels, unpacking and unpacking until the thing became a boring monotony. canned milk, canned beef, canned beans, canned salmon, canned crabs, canned well-nigh-everything; bottled fruits, bottled pickles, bottled jams and jellies, everything bottled that was not canned; bags of sugar, flour, meal, potatoes, oats and chicken feed; hardware galore, axes, hammers, wedges, peevies, cant hoops, picks, shovels, nails, paints, brooms, brushes and a thousand other commodities and contrivances the like of which i never saw before and hope never to see again. never, in all my humble existence, did i feel so clerky as i did then. i checked the beastly stuff off as well as i could, taking the vancouver wholesalers' word for the names of half the things, for i was quite sure they knew better than i did about them. with the assistance of jake, as "hander-up," i set the goods in a semblance of order on the shelves and about the store. we worked and slaved as if it were the last day and our eternal happiness depended on our finishing the job before the last trump sounded its blast of dissolution. by the last stroke of twelve, midnight, we had the front veranda swept clean of straw, paper and excelsior, and all empty boxes cleared away; just in time to welcome the advent of my first sabbath day in the canadian west. throughout our arduous afternoon and evening, what a surprise old jake was to me! well i knew that he was hard and tough from years of strenuous battling with the northern elements; but that he, at his age and with his record for hard drinking, should be able to keep up the sustained effort against a young man in his prime and that he should do so cheerfully and without a word of complaint,--save an occasional grunt when the steel bands around some of the boxes proved recalcitrant, and an explosive, picturesque oath when the end of a large case dropped over on his toes,--was, to me, little short of marvellous. already, i was beginning to think that mr. k. b. horsfal had erred in regard to his man and that it was jake meaghan who was twenty-four carat gold. if any man ever did deserve two breakfast cups brimful of whisky, neat, before turning in, it was old, walrus-moustached, weather-battered, baby-eyed, sour-dough jake, in the small, early hours of that sabbath morning. i slept that night like a dead thing, and the sun was high in the heavens before i opened my eyes and became conscious again of my surroundings. i looked over at the clock. fifteen minutes past ten! i threw my legs over the side of the bed, ashamed of my sluggardliness. then i remembered,--it was sunday morning. oh! glorious remembering! sunday,---with nothing to do but attend to my own bodily comforts. i pulled my legs back into the bed in order to start the day correctly. i lay and stretched myself, then, very leisurely,--always remembering that it was the sabbath,--i put one foot out and then the other, until, at last, i stood on the floor, really and truly up and awake. jake had been around. i could see traces of him in the yard, though he was nowhere visible in the flesh. after i had breakfasted and made my bed (i know little maisie brant, who used to make my bed away back over in the old home--little maisie who had wept at my departure, would have laughed till she wept again, had she seen my woful endeavours to straighten out my sheets and smooth my pillow. but then, she was not there to see and laugh and--i was quite satisfied with my handiwork and satisfied that i would be able to sleep soundly in the bed when the night should come again)--i hunted the shelves for a book. stevenson, poe, scott, hugo, wells, barrie, dumas, twain, emerson, byron, longfellow, burns,--which should it be? back along the line i went, and chose--oh, well!--an old favourite i had read many times before. i hunted out a hammock and slung it comfortably from the posts on the front veranda, where i could lie and smoke and read; also where i could look away across the bay and rest my eyes on the quiet scene when they should grow weary. late in the afternoon, when i was beginning to grow tired of my indolence, i heard the thud, thud of a gasoline launch as it came up the bay. it passed between rita's isle and the wharf, and held on, turning in to jake meaghan's cove. i wondered who the visitor could be, then i went back to my reading. not long after, a shadow fell across my book and i jumped up. "pray, don't let me disturb you, my son," said a soft, well-modulated, masculine voice. "stay where you are. enjoy your well-earned rest." a little, frail-looking, pale-faced, elderly gentleman was at my elbow. he smiled at me with the smile of an angel, and my heart went out to him at once, so much so that i could have hugged him in my arms. "my name is william auld," he continued. "i am the medical missionary. what is yours, my son?" he held out his hand to me. "george bremner," i replied, gripping his. "let me bring you a chair." i went inside, and when i returned he was turning over the leaves of my book. "so you are a book lover?" he mused. "well, i would to god more men were book lovers, for then the world would be a better place to live in, or rather, the men in it would be better to live among. "victor hugo,--'les miserables'!--" he went on. "to my mind, the greatest of all novelists and the greatest of all novels." he laid the book aside, and sought my confidences, not as a preacher, not as a pedagog, but as a friend; making no effort to probe my past, seeking no secrets; but all anxiety for my welfare; keen to know my ambitions, my aspirations, my pastimes and my habits of living; open and frank in telling me of himself. he was a man's man, with the experience of men that one gets only by years of close contact. "for twenty years it has been god's will to allow me to travel up and down this beloved coast and minister to those who need me." "you must like the work, sir," i ventured. "like it!--oh! yes, yes,---i would not exchange my post for the city temple of london, england." "but such toil must be arduous, mr. auld, for you are not a young man and you do not look altogether a robust one." he paused in meditation. "it is arduous, sometimes;--to-day i have talked to the men at eight camps and i have visited fourteen families at different points on my journey. but, if i were to stop, who would look after my beloved people in the ranches all up the coast; who would care for my easily-led, simple-hearted brethren in the logging camps, every one of whom knows me, confides in me and looks forward to my coming; not one of whom but would part with his coat for me, not one who would harm a hair of my head. i shall not stop, mr. bremner,--i have no desire to stop, not till god calls me. "i see you have been making changes even in your short time here," he said, pointing to the store. "yes! i think jake and i did fairly well yesterday," i answered, not a little proudly. "splendidly, my boy! and, do you know,--your coming here means a great deal. it is the commencement of a new departure, for your store is going to prove a great boon to the settlers. they have been talking about it and looking forward to it ever since it was first mooted. "but it will not be altogether smooth sailing for you, for you must keep a close rein on your credit." it struck me, as he spoke, that he was the very man i was desirous of meeting regarding what i considered would prove my stumbling block. "can you spare me half an hour, sir, and have tea with me?" i asked. "yes! gladly, for my day's service is over,--all but one call, and a cup of tea is always refreshing." i showed him inside and set him in my cosiest chair. while i busied with the table things,--washing some dishes as a usual preliminary,--i approached the subject. "mr. auld,--i wished to ask your advice, for i am sure you can assist me. my employer, mr. horsfal, has given me a free hand regarding credit to the settlers. i know none of them and i am afraid that, without guidance, i may offend some or land the business in trouble with others. will you help me, sir?" "why--of course, i'll help." he took a sheet of paper from his pocket and commenced to write, talking to me as he did so. "you know, if times are at all good, you can trust the average man who owns the ranch he lives on to pay his grocery bills sooner or later. still, if i were you, i wouldn't let any of them get into debt more than sixty or seventy dollars, for they do not require to, and, once they get in arrears, they have difficulty in getting out. "it is the floating population,--the here-to-day-and-away-to-morrow people who should not be given credit. and,--mr. bremner, if you desire to act in kindness to the men themselves, do not allow the loggers, who come in here, to run up bills for themselves personally. not that they are more dishonest than other people,--far from it. i find it generally the other way round,--but they are notoriously improvident; inclined,--god bless them,--to live for the fleeting moment. "in many ways they are like children in their simplicity and their waywardness,--and their lot is not one of roses and honeysuckle. they make good money and can afford to pay as they go. if they cannot pay, they can easily wait for what they want until they can, for they are well fed and well housed while in the camps." we sat down at the table together. "there is a list, george. may i call you george? it is so much more friendly." i nodded in hearty approval. "it is not by any means complete, but it contains the principal people among your near-hand neighbours. you can trust them to pay their last cent: neil andrews, semple, smith, johannson, doolan, macallister and gourlay. "any others who may call,--make them pay; and i shall be glad to inform you about them when i am this way again." "how often do you come in here, mr. auld?" "i try to make it, at least, once in two weeks, but i am not always successful. i like to visit jake meaghan. poor, old, faithful, plodding jake,--how i tried, at first, to extract the thorn from his flesh--the accursed drink! i talked to him, i scolded him, i threatened him, but,--poor jake,--he and his whisky are one, and nothing but death will ever separate them." suddenly his face lit up and his eyes seemed to catch fire. "and who are we to judge?" he said, as if denying some inward question. "what right have we to think for a moment that this inherent weakness shall deprive jake meaghan of eternal happiness? he is honest; he does good in his own little sphere; he harms no one but himself, for he hasn't a dependent in the world. he fills a niche in god's plan; he is still god's child, no matter how erring he may be. he is some mother's son. george,--i am fully persuaded that my god, and your god, will not be hard on old jake when his time comes; and, do you know, sometimes i think that time is not very far off." we sat silent for a while, then the minister spoke again: "tell me, george,--have you met any of your neighbours yet?" "only two," i said, "jake, and rita clark." he raised his white, bushy eyebrows. "so you have met rita! she's a strange child; harboured in a strange home." he sighed at some passing thought. "it's a queer world,--or rather, it's a good world with queer people in it. one would expect to find love and harmony in the home every time away up here, but it does not always follow. old margaret clark is the gentlest, dearest, most patient soul living. andrew clark is a good man in every way but one,--but in that one he is the rock of gibraltar itself, or, to go nearer the place of his birth, ailsa craig, that old milestone that stands defiantly between scotland and ireland. andrew clark is immovable. he is hard, relentless, fanatical in his ideas of right and wrong; cruel to himself and to the woman he vowed to love and cherish. oh!--he sears my heart every time i think of him. yet, he is living up to his idea of what is right." the white-haired old gentleman,--bearer of the burdens of his fellows,--did not confide in me as to the nature of andrew clark's trouble, and it was not for me to probe. "as for rita," he pursued, "poor, little rita!--she is no relative of either margaret or andrew clark. she is a child of the sea. hers is a pitiful story, and i betray no confidences in telling you of it, for it is common property. "fourteen years ago a launch put into the bay and anchored at the entrance to jake's cove. there were several ladies and gentlemen in her, and one little girl. they picnicked on the beach and, in the evening, they dined aboard, singing and laughing until after midnight. jake was the only one who saw or heard them, and he swears they were not english-spoken. though they were gay and pleasure-loving, yet they seemed to be of a superior class of people. "he awoke before daylight, fancying he heard screams in the location of the ghoul rock. he got up and, so certain was he that he had not been mistaken, he got into his boat and rowed out and round the ghoul,--for the night was calm,--but everything was quiet and peaceful out there. "next morning, while joe clark was scampering along the shore, he came across the unconscious form of a little girl about four years old, clad only in a nightdress and roped roughly to an unmarked life-belt. joe carried her in to his grandfather, old andrew, who worked over her for more than an hour; and at last succeeded in bringing her round. "all she could say then was, "rita, rita, rita," although, about a year afterwards, she started to hum and sing a little spanish dancing song. a peculiar reversion of memory, for she certainly never heard such a song in golden crescent. "jake swears to this day that she belonged to the launch party, who must have run sheer into the ghoul rock and gone down. "little boy joe pleaded with his grandfather and grandmother to keep the tiny girl the sea had given them, and they did not need much coaxing, for she was pretty and attractive from the first. "inquiries were set afoot, but, from that day to this, not a clue has been found as to her identity; so, rita clark she is and rita clark she will remain until some fellow, worthy of her i hope, wins her and changes her name. "i thought at one time, joe clark would claim her and her name would not be changed after all, but since joe has seen some of the outside world and has been meeting with all kinds of people, he has grown patronising and changeable with women, as he is domineering and bullying with men. "he treats rita as if he expected her to be continually at his call should he desire her, and yet he were at liberty to choose when and where he please." "but, does rita care for him?" i asked. "seems so at times," he answered, "but of late i have noticed a coldness in her at the mention of his name; just as if she resented his airs of one-sided proprietorship and were trying to decide with herself to tolerate no more of it. "i tried to veer round to the subject with joe once, but he swore an oath and told me to mind my own affairs. what joe clark needs is opposition. yet joe is a good fellow, strong and daring as a lion and aggressive to a degree." i was deeply interested as the old minister told the story, and it was like bringing me up suddenly when he stopped. i had no idea how fast the time had been passing. well i could understand now why this rita clark intuitively hated the ghoul rock. who, in her place, would feel otherwise? the rev. william auld rose from the table. "i must go now, my son, for the way is long. thanks so much for the rest and for your hospitality. my only exhortation to you is, stand firm by all the principles you know to be true; never lose hold of the vital things because you are here in the wilds, for it is here the vital things count, more than in the whirr of civilisation." "thank you, sir. i'll try," i said. "you will come again, i hope." "certainly i shall. even if you did not ask me, for that is my duty. "if you accompany me as far as jake's cove, where my launch is, i think i can furnish you with a paper from your countryside. i have friends in the city, in the states and in england, who supply me, every week, with american and old country papers. there are so many men from both lands in the camps and settled along the coast and they all so dearly love a newspaper. i generally try to give them what has been issued nearest their own home towns." i rowed mr. auld over to his launch and wished him good-bye, receiving from his kindly old hands a copy of _the northern examiner_, dated three days after i had left brammerton. it was like meeting with an old friend, whom i had expected never to meet again. i put it in my inside pocket for consideration when i should get back to my bungalow with plenty of time to enjoy it. i dropped in to jake's shack, for i had not seen him all the sleepy day. i found him sitting in perfect content, buried up over the eyes in a current issue of _the northern lights_,--a dawson newspaper, which had been in existence since the old klondike days and was much relished by old-timers. the dog was curled up near the stove, sleeping off certain effects; jake was at his second cup of whisky. i left them to the peace and sanctity of their sabbath evening and rowed back to "paradise regained," as i had already christened my bungalow. i sat down on the steps of the veranda, to peruse the home paper which the minister had left with me, and it was not long before i was startled by a flaring headline. the blood rushed from my face to my heart and seemed as if it would burst that great, throbbing organ:-- "sudden death of the earl of brammerton and hazelmere." my eyes scanned the notice. "news has been telegraphed that the earl of brammerton and hazelmere died suddenly of heart failure at his country residence, hazelmere. his demise has caused a profound sensation, as it occurred on the eve of a house party, arranged in celebration of the engagement of his son, viscount harry brammerton, captain of the coldstream guards, to the beautiful lady rosemary granton, daughter of the late general frederick granton, who was the companion and dearest friend of the late earl of brammerton in the early days of their campaigning in the crimea and india." a long obituary notice followed, concluding with the following paragraph: "it is given out that the marriage of the present earl with lady granton has been postponed and that, after the necessary business formalities have been attended to, captain harry will join his regiment in egypt for a short term. "lady rosemary granton has gone to new york, at the cabled invitation of some old family friends." "it is understood that the hon. george brammerton, second and only other son of the late earl, is presently on a long walking tour in europe. his whereabouts are unknown and he is still in ignorance of his father's death." the pain of that sudden announcement, so soon after i had left home and right on the eve of my new endeavours, no one shall ever know. my dear old father! angry at my alleged eccentricities sometimes, but ever ready to forgive,--was gone: doubtless, passing away with a message of forgiveness to me on his lips. and,--after the pain of it, came the conflict. had what i had done caused or in any way hastened my father's death? admitting that harry's fault was great and unforgiveable, would it not have been better had i allowed it to remain in obscurity, at least for a time? was the keeping of the family name unsullied, was the untarnished honour of our ancient family motto, "clean,--within and without," of greater importance than my father's life? was it my duty to be an unintentional and silent partner to the keeping of vital intelligence from the fair lady rosemary? over all,--had i done right or wrong? what did duty now demand of me? should i hurry home and face the fresh problems there which were sure to arise now that harry had succeeded to the titles and estates? should i remain by the post i had accepted from the hands of mr. k. b. horsfal and test thoroughly this new and exhilarating life which, so far, i had merely tasted? i had no doubts as to what my inclinations and desires were. but it was not a question of inclinations and desires:--it was simply one of duty. all night long, i sat on the veranda steps with my elbows on my knees and my head in my upturned hands, fighting my battle; until, at last, when the grey was creeping up over the hills behind me and touching the dark surface of the sea in front here and there with mellow lights, i rose and went in to the house,--my conscience clear as the breaking day, my mind at rest like the rose-coloured tops of the mountains. i had no regrets. i had done as a true brammerton should. i had done the right. i would not go back;--not yet. i would remain here for a while in my obscurity, testing out the new life and executing as faithfully as i knew how the new duties i had voluntarily assumed. further,--for my peace of mind,--so long as i remained in golden crescent, i decided i would not cast my eyes over the columns of any newspaper coming from the british isles. if i were to be done with the old life, i must be done with it in every way. chapter xii joe clark, bully with the advent of monday morning, the golden crescent trading company, in charge of george bremner, handyman, store-clerk, bookkeeper, buyer and general superintendent,--opened its doors for business. i was not overburdened with customers, for which i was not sorry, as i had lots to do fixing the prices of my stock and setting it to rights. but the arrival of the mail by the tuesday steamer brought neil andrews, doolan, gourlay and the stern, but honest-faced old scot, andrew clark, all at different times during the afternoon. not one of them could resist the temptation and go away without making some substantial purchases. i held religiously to the rev. william auld's list, but i found, in most cases, that my customers were prepared to pay for their first orders, at any rate, in cash; and, of course, i did not discourage them. on wednesday, a launch, with three men in her, put in from no. camp at susquahamma, bearing an order as long as my arm, duly endorsed in a business-like way and all according to requirements. it took me most of the afternoon to put that order up. the men did not seem to mind, as they reckoned the going and returning to camp a well-nigh all-day job for them. they made jake's shack their headquarters, spending all of the last two hours of their time in his cabin. thursday brought another launch, this time from camp no. , and the same process was gone through as with no. , including the visit of the visitors to jake's shack. in an ordinary case, i would have been beginning to fear that that shack had become a common shebeen, but i knew jake was not the man to accept money from any of his fellow creatures in exchange for any hospitality it might be in his power to offer. a few days later came a repeat order from no. camp, then a request from the cannery, which i was able to fill only in part, as many things required by them had not been included in the original orders given to the vancouver wholesalers. i was beginning to wonder where camp no. was getting its supplies from, when, one day, about two weeks after my opening, they showed up. two men came over in a fast-moving launch of a much better type than those in use by the other camps. the men were big and burly fellows. one of them was unmistakably irish; the other looked of swedish extraction. "you the man that looks after this joint?" asked the swede. "i am," i answered. he looked me up and down, for i was on the same side of the counter as they. then he turned to his irish companion with a grin. "say, mister,--where's your hoss?" he asked, addressing me. both laughed loudly. at first i failed to see the point of hilarity. "what is the joke?" i asked. "guess you are!" said the swede. and the two men laughed louder than ever. "look here!" i cried, my blood getting up, "i want you two to understand, first go off, that i am not in the habit of standing up to be grinned at. what do you want? speak out your business or get out of here and tumble back into your boat." "ach!--it's all right, matey," put in the irishman. "just a bit av fun out av yer breeches and leggings. we canucks don't wear breeches and leggings in grocery stores. do we, jan?" "guess nit," said jan. and they both laughed again. i cooled down, thinking if that were all their joke they were welcome to it, for i had already found my breeches and leggings mighty handy for getting through the bush with and for tumbling in and out of leaky rowing boats. i grinned. "all right, fellows," i cried, "laugh all you want and i'll leave you a legging each as a legacy when i die." "say, sonny,--you're all right!" he exclaimed. good humour returned all round. "we're from no. camp at cromer bay and we want a bunch of stuff." "where is your list and i'll try to fill it?" i inquired. the swede handed over a long order, badly scrawled on the back of a paper bag. the order was unstamped and unsigned, and not on the company's order form. "this is not any good," i said. "where is the company's order?" the swede looked blankly at the irishman, and the irishman gazed dreamily at the swede. "guess that's good enough. ain't it, dan?" "shure!" seconded dan. "it can't be done, boys," i said. "sorry,--but i have my instructions and they must be followed out." i handed back the list. the swede stared at it and then over at me. "ain't you goin' to fill this?" "no!" "well, i'll be gosh-dinged! say! sonny,--there'll be a hearse here for you to-morrow. the boss wrote this." "how am i to know that?" i retorted. "damned if i know," he returned, scratching his forelock. "but it'll be merry hell to pay if we go back without this bunch of dope." "and it might be the devil to pay, if i gave you the goods without a proper order," i followed up. "some of this stuff's for to-morrow's grubstake," put in the swede, "and most of the hardware's wanted for a job first crack out of the box in the morning." "sorry to disoblige you, fellows," i said sincerely, "but your boss should not have run so close to the wind. further, i am going to work this store right and that from the very beginning." "and you're not goin' to fill the boss's own caligeography, or whatever you call it?" reiterated the irishman. "no!" "wouldn't that rattle ye?" exclaimed dan to his friend. "it do," conceded the swede, who put his hand into his pocket and tossed fifteen cents on to the counter. "well,--give us ten cents chewing tobacco, and a packet of gum." i filled this cash order and immediately thereafter the two walked out of the store and sailed away without another word or even a look behind them. i was worried over the incident, for i did not like to think myself in any way instrumental in depriving the men of anything they might require for their supper, and it was farthest from my desires to stop or even hamper the work at camp no. . but i had been warned that there was only one way to operate a business and that was on business lines, according to plan, so my conscience would not permit of any other course than the one i had taken. had the store been my own, i might have acted differently, but it was merely held by me in trust, which was quite another matter. next forenoon, a tug blew her whistle and put into the bay, coming-to on the far side of rita's isle. a little later, as i stood behind the counter writing up some fresh orders to the wholesalers, to replenish my dwindling stock, a dinghy, with one man at the oars and another sitting in the stern, appeared round the island and pointed straight for the wharf. the oarsman ran the nose of the boat on the beach and remained where he was. the man who had been sitting in the stern sprang out and came striding in the direction of the store. he stopped at the door and looked around him, ignoring my presence the while. what a magnificent specimen of a man he was! never in my life had i seen such a man, and, with all the sight-seeing i have done since, i have never met such another. i fancied, with my five feet eleven inches, that i was of a good height; but this giant stood six feet four inches, if he stood an inch. he looked quite boyish; not a day older than twenty-two. his hair was very fair and wavy, and he had plenty of it. he was cleanly shaven and cleanly and neatly dressed. his eyes were big and sky blue in colour. they were eyes that could be warm or cold at will. just then, they were passively cold. his was a good face, reflecting strength and determination, while honesty, straight-forwardness and absolute fearlessness lent a charm to it that it otherwise would have lacked. after all, it was the glory of his stature that attracted me, as he stood, framed by the door, dressed in his high logging boots, with khaki-coloured trousers and a shirt to match; a soft felt hat on the back of his head set a little sportily to one side. myself an admirer of the human form, a lover of muscle and sinew, strength, agility and virility, it always was the physique of a person that arrested my attention. what a man this was for a woman to love! flashed the thought through my mind. gazing at him, i could not help feeling my own insignificance in comparison, although, far down inside of me, there was a hungry kind of longing to match my agility and science against his tremendous brute strength, a wondering what the outcome would be. it was, however, merely a feeling of friendly antagonism. but this was the fancy of a passing moment, for i was waiting for the big fellow to speak. he did speak, and rather spoiled the impression. "what'n the hell kind of a dump is this anyway?" he exploded. i was hit as with a brickbat, but i tried not to show it. "this is the golden crescent trading company," i answered quietly and, if anything, with an assumption of meekness which i was far from feeling;--just to see how much rope this big fellow would take to hang himself with. i suppose my tone made him think that his verbal onslaught had been as effective as it had been short. he turned his eyes on me for the first time. they fixed on mine, and never once flickered. "you--don't--say!" he returned, in measured words. then he flared up again. "say!--who's the boss here?" "i am," i retorted, getting warm. he came over to the middle of the floor. "and where'n the hell do i come in?" he asked. "don't know, i'm sure, mister; and i don't care very much either. but i have an idea that you or i will go out, quick, if you don't cool down." "here!--you cut that stuff out." he came up to the counter, clenching his huge hands. "i'm joe clark,--see." "pleased to meet you, mr. clark. i'm george bremner." "who'n the hell's george bremner?" he burst out. "that's just what i was wondering in regard to joe clark," i retorted, returning glare for glare. "but look you here,--whoever you may be, you may get off with this sort of language elsewhere, but it doesn't have any effect on the man who is running the golden crescent trading company." he tried hard to hold himself together. "guess you're one of them new-broom-sweep-clean smart alicks," he said. "about as smart as you are civil, mr. clark." "well, mister man, supposin' you and me gets down to brass tacks, right now. i'm the superintendent of no. camp, with a say in the management of camps no. and no. . i own three tugs operatin' on the coast here." he thumped his fist on the counter,--"and anything i have a hand in, my word goes,--understand." "you are a lucky man," i answered. "but your word won't go here unless it coincides with mine, mister clark. "now," i added briskly, "tell me your business, or get out. i have other work to do." he raised his hand and leaned across the counter, as if to clutch me by the throat, and a terrible paw of a hand it was, too. but, evidently, he thought better of it. not that i fancied for a moment that he was afraid of me at all, because i knew quite well that he was not. he sat down on a box and watched me closely, sizing me up at every angle as i busied myself adjusting some tins on the shelves that were in no way in need of adjustment. "guess you think i pay men to take picnics for the good of their health down to this one-horse outfit." "i have not wasted any thoughts on you at all, so far, mr. clark," i replied. "why'n the hell didn't you fill my order yesterday?" "was it your order?" "'course it was. wrote it out myself, every bit of it." "well,--you're a rotten writer, mr. clark." "oh!--can it. what kind of a tin-pot way of doin' business was that? what was this damned place started for anyway, if not for the convenience of the camps?" "i suppose you think i ought to know your writing?" i asked. "well,--mr. clark, even if i had known it, i would not have accepted the order as it was. my positive instructions are that all camp orders have to be filled only on receipt of a stamped and signed document on the company's business form for that purpose. and that's the only way goods will go out from here, whether for joe clark or for any one else." "and what if i ain't got an order with me now? guess you'll turn me down same as you did the others yesterday?" "that is just what i would have to do." "the hell you would!" he put his hand into his pocket and brought out some papers, one of which he threw on the counter. "there's your blasted order. get a wiggle on, for i ain't here on a pleasure jaunt,--not by a damn sight. i'll be back in an hour for them goods." "better make it an hour and a half. it's a big order and it will not be ready a minute sooner." "gosh!" he growled, as he strode out, "some store-clerk,---i don't think." i filled the requirements of camp no. to the best of my ability, packing up the goods and making everything as secure as necessary for the boat trip. i had the stuff all piled nicely on the veranda and was sitting on the steps contemplating and admiring the job, when the dinghy came back with joe clark in the stern as before. "hi, there!--you with the breeches and the leggings,--ain't you got that order of mine ready yet?" "it is all here waiting for you," i shouted back, striking a match on my much maligned breeches and lighting my briar pipe leisurely. "well,--why'n the devil don't you bring it aboard?" "why don't you come and fetch it?" i cried. "i'm a store-keeper, mister joe clark,--not a delivery wagon. i sell f.o.b. the veranda." and i smoked on. he jumped out of the boat and rushed up the beach like a madman. i sat still, smoking away dreamily, but with a weather eye on him. he stood over me, rolled up his sleeves and contemplated me, then he turned and shouted to his man: "hi, plumbago! come on and lend a hand with this cargo. no use wasting any time on this tom-fool injun." to say i was surprised, was to put it mildly, for i was sure a quarrel was about to be precipitated. joe clark and his man set to, carrying the boxes, and bundles, and packages piecemeal from the veranda to the boat, while i smoked and smoked as if in complete ignorance of their presence. i knew i was acting aggravatingly, but then, i had been very much aggravated. in an ordinary circumstance i would have been only too pleased to lend a hand if asked and, possibly, without being asked,--although there was nothing calling for me to do so,--but when ordered,--well,--how would any other fellow with a little pride in him have acted? still, i must give joe clark his due. he made two trips to that dinghy against his helper's one and he always tackled the heaviest and the most unwieldy packages. when he came for the last box, i rose to go into the house. as i turned, he caught me by the arm. "here!" he shouted. i whipped round. "take your hands off me," i cried angrily, jerking my arm in an old wrestling trick and throwing my weight on him at an unbalanced angle, freeing myself and sending him back against the partition. he recovered himself and we stood facing each other defiantly. "god!" he growled, "but i'd like to kill you. you think you've won this time. maybe you have, but, by god! you won't be in this store a month from now. i'll hound you out, or kick you out,--take it from me." "and i'll stand by," i replied, "and take it all quietly like the simple little lamb i'm not." i went into the house and closed the door, and the last i saw of joe clark that day was through the window as he packed his last box and pushed off in the dinghy. chapter xiii a visit, a discovery and a kiss in the cool of the evening, i came to the conclusion that i had earned for myself the privilege of the enjoyment of a swim, so i threw my clothes on my bed, got into my costume, ran out on to the rocks, dived in and away. i did not go out into the bay this time, but kept leisurely along the beach fronting the neighbouring property, keeping at a safe distance from the tangle of seaweed, which, somehow, seemed to gather at that particular part of the crescent. i amused myself for half an hour, then i returned dripping and in splendid humour with myself, with my friends and even with joe clark. i did not notice an extra boat moored alongside the miscellaneous small craft at the wharf, so, when i stepped noiselessly into my front room, i was more than surprised to find rita clark standing there, in the fading light, looking over my book shelves. she turned with an exclamation, and her face lit up with a smile which was bewitching, although i fancied it just a little bit forced. "oh!--it's you," she cried. "i knew you wouldn't be very long away. been having another try to see whether you're a man or a fish? guess the fish will win out if you're not careful." she became solemn suddenly. "say!--you go in there and get dressed. i just got to talk to you about something." "gracious goodness! is it as serious as all that, miss clark?" i quizzed. "serious enough. you go in and hurry, anyway." "i won't be two minutes," i cried, going into my bedroom and dressing as quickly as possible, puzzling all the while as to what the girl had on her mind. something connected with joe,--i hadn't a doubt. "well,--what's the trouble?" i asked, as i returned and sat down in a wicker chair opposite her. she seemed more glum than ever. "what did you want to go and scrap with joe for?" she asked in a worried way. "i'm very sorry, miss clark----" "oh!--call me rita," she put in impatiently. "well,--i'm very sorry,--rita,--but i did not quarrel with joe. he quarrelled with me." "it's all the same," she replied. "takes two to do it. couldn't you find another way than that?" her eyes were bright and her bosom was disturbed. "i thought, maybe, you and him might be friends; but i might have known," she went on bitterly. "he only makes friends with the men who lay down to him. you ain't that sort." i threw out my hands helplessly. "well, rita, don't you worry your little head over it. it is all right." "oh, no, it ain't! don't fool yourself. you don't know joe." "i reckoned him a man who could keep his own counsel. how did you come to hear there had been any words?" "he was over home. he only comes once in a while now. he didn't do anything but talk about you. called you all kinds of things. says he'll fix you good;--and he will, too, or he ain't the joe clark everybody knows around here." her eyes became tender and moist as she held out her hands to me with an involuntary movement. "oh! what did you want to quarrel with him for, before you knew anything about him?" i rose and laid my hand lightly on her shoulder, as i would with a little sister,--had i had one,--for she seemed only a slip of a girl and it hurt me to see her so upset. "look here! little maid," i said, "you forget all about it. joe came in here and asked me to do what the man who employed me particularly instructed me against doing. i declined, and joe became foolish, losing his temper completely. this joe likes to trample on men. he grew angry because i would not let him do any trampling on me. no! rita, i am not a teeny-weeny little bit afraid of joe clark." she looked up at me in astonishment, then she sort of despaired again. "oh! that's 'cause you don't know him. everybody's got to do as joe says,--here and in the camps and pretty near all along the coast." i laughed easily; for what did i care? joe's worst, whatever it might be, could not hurt me very badly. i was not so deeply into anything yet for that. "he's a big man, and can hurt,--and he hurts everybody that runs up against him." i leaned over against the window ledge and surveyed rita. "well,--" i said, "i'm not as big as joe is, but i have been schooled to hold my own. joe shall have a good run for his money when he starts." "oh!--i know you're strong, and big, though not as big as him, and that you ain't afraid. maybe that's why i like joe sometimes,--he's never afraid. "still,--i don't like him half as much as i used to," she sighed. "but i didn't mean fighting when i talked of him being big and strong. joe's got influence, joe's got money, he's got tugs and he's superintendent of the camps. he says he's boss of the whole shootin' match, and you'll find it out soon." "he may be nearly all you say, but he has nothing to do with george bremner running this little trading company any more than being under the necessity of buying his supplies here. i was put in by mr. horsfal himself, to be under no one, and with the appointment of superintendent of his golden crescent property. so, here i am like to stay as long as i want to, or until mr. horsfal says differently." rita glanced up at me and her eyes brightened with a ray of hope. "and joe ain't got nothing to say about it?" "not a particle. if he had had, i would not be here now. he would have sacked me on the spot." "really and truly, he ain't?" she cried, with fresh anxiety. "really and truly," i repeated. "oh! goody, goody,--" poor little rita;--all sunshine and shower. she was as merry as a kitten for a time, then she dropped back into her serious mood. "what!--haven't all your worries gone yet?" i asked. "some," she said, "but not them all. do you know what joe is, george? he's a bully." "he is, undoubtedly," i agreed. "ya!--he is, all right. still,--it ain't all his fault either. he's handling rough men, and men that are bullies same as he is. he's got to get the work done and done quick. "joe ain't bad. no, siree. ask josh doogan, who was down and out with something in his inside last year. when the doctor told him an operation by a specialist in philadelphia was the only thing that would save him, and he hadn't a cent, joe fixed him up and josh is back working in the camps to-day. yes!--ask jem sullivan, who got into trouble with the police in vancouver. he's working for joe and he's making good, too. ask jenny daykin who it was that took care of her for a year, after her sam was drowned out at the ghoul there, until her young sam finished for a school teacher. ask,--oh! ask most anybody; grand-dad even, though he won't take a nickel from joe or anybody else except what he works for,--ask him. he's queer, is joe, and i ain't a bit struck on him,--not now,--i 'most hate him. but he ain't got a bad heart, all the same." "rita," i put in, "i believe every word of it, and, what is more, i am mighty glad to hear you say it, for the first impression i had of him was, 'here's a man with a good, open, honest face, and his body is a perfect working machine,--a real man after my own heart.' but he jumped on me with both hands and feet, as i might say;--i jumped back,--and, there we are. "i know what's wrong with him, rita. as far as i can see, he has been lucky,--luckier than most men. he has not had a single set-back. he has been what they call a success. he is younger than i am by a year or two, and he owns tugs and superintends camps, while i,--well, i am just starting in. but he has got to putting down all this progress to his own superior ability absolutely. he does not think that, maybe, circumstances have been kind to him." rita looked guardedly at me. "don't misunderstand me,--i'm not saying that he has not been clever and has not grasped every opportunity that came his way, worked hard and all that;--oh! you know what i mean. but he has got to thinking that joe clark is everything and no one else is anything. it is bad for any man when he gets that way. give joe clark a set-back or two and he will come out a bigger and a better man. "he is glutted and bloated with too much of his own way,--that's his trouble." rita sighed. "i guess you're right,--joe used to be good friends with me. when we were kids, joe said he was going to marry me when he got big. he don't say that any more though. guess he's got too big. tells me all about the fine ladies he meets in vancouver and victoria and up the coast. wouldn't ever give me a chance, though, to get to know how to talk good, and all that. oh!--i know i ain't good at grammar. i wanted to be. joe said schooling just spoiled girls, and i was best at home. still, he talks about the ones that has the schooling. "he started in telling me about his lady friends again, to-day. i didn't want to know about them, so i just told him. i was mad, anyway;--about him and you, i guess. he was mad, too. said i was fresh. grand-dad took your part against joe. said he liked you anyway. then he took my part. he knows joe,--you bet. "he says, 'that'll do, joe. you leave rita be. she's a good lass and you ain't playin' the game fair.' "i didn't hear any more, for i ran out. didn't go back either, till joe cleared out." "what relation is joe to the others, rita?" i asked in puzzlement. "joe's an orphan, same as me. his dad was grand-dad's only son, who got killed in a blasting accident up the coast. joe's mother was a swede. she died two months after joe was born. since joe got moving for himself, he don't stay around home very much. sleeps mostly at the camps or on the tugs. says grandmother and grand-dad make him tired; says they're silly fools,--because,--because,----" tears gathered in rita's eyes and she did not finish. i let her pent-up emotion have free run for a while; probably because i was ill at ease and knew i should look an idiot and talk like an imbecile if i tried to console her, although i recalled having heard somewhere that it is generally best to let a woman have her cry out once she gets started. at last rita wiped her eyes and looked over at me. "guess you think me a baby,--guess i am, too," she said. "never cried before that i have mind. never had anybody to cry to." i smiled. and rita smiled,--a moist and trembling sort of smile in return. "joe clark has been taking me, same as he takes most things, too much for granted. thinks i don't know nothing, because i'm up here at the crescent and not been educated any more'n grandmother and grand-dad could teach me. but i've got feelings and i ain't going to have anything more to do with him. well,--not till he knows how to treat me, same as i should be treated. guess not then either. i don't care now. i might not want him later,--might hate him. i believe i shall, too." there was nothing of the soft, weepy baby about this young lady, and i could see from the flash in her dark eyes and the set of her mouth that she meant every word of what she said. she was a dainty, pretty, and alluring little piece of femininity; and i could have taken her in my arms and hugged her, only i did not dare, for like as not she would have boxed my ears. all i could say was: "good for you, little girl. that's the way to talk." she smiled, and in little more than no time at all she was back into her merry mood. we chatted and laughed together at the window until the dusk had crept into darkness and rita's isle had become merely a heavy shadow among the mists. "i got to be getting back," she said at last. "can you fix up my groceries for me, if you please?" i went into the store and packed together the few humble necessities which had been rita's excuse for coming over, although, i discovered later, that rita was pretty much of a free agent and did not require an excuse to satisfy either her grandmother or her grandfather, both of whom trusted her implicitly. time went past quickly in there. "rita, it is almost dark. will you let me accompany you across the bay? i can fix a tow line behind for your little boat." "that would be nice," she answered simply. "but i can see in the dark near as well as in the day time. i could row across there blindfold." as i paddled her over, i thought what a pity it was she could not talk more correctly than she did. it was the one, the only jarring, note in her entire make-up. but for that, she was as perfect a little lady as i had ever met. why not offer to teach her english? came the question to me;--and i decided i would some day, but not just then. i would wait until i knew her a little better; i would wait until i had become better acquainted with her people; until the edge of my quarrel with joe had worn off. as we grounded on the shore, in front of rita's home, old andrew clark,--short and sturdy in appearance and dour as any scot could ever be,--was on the beach. he came down to meet us and invited me up for a cup of tea. i accepted the invitation, as i had a business project to discuss with the old man, something that should prove a benefit to the store and a financial benefit to him. he led me into the kitchen, where his wife,--a quiet, white-haired old lady with a loving face and great sad eyes,--was sitting in an armchair darning. she looked up as we entered. andrew clark did not seek to introduce me, which i thought unmannerly. i turned round for rita, but rita had not followed us in; so i went forward and held out my hand. the dear old woman took it and smiled as if to say, "how sensible of you." "sit down and make yourself at home," she said kindly. she spoke with the accent of an eastern canadian, although it was evident she had spent many years in the west. andrew clark still held to his mother tongue,--lowland scots. but his speech was also punctuated with western slang and dialect. every article of furniture in that kitchen was home-made:--chairs, table, picture frames, washstands,--everything, and good solid furniture it was too. the table was already set for tea. mrs. clark busied herself infusing the refreshment, then rita came in and we all sat down together. andrew clark's grace was quite an event,--as long as the ten commandments, sonorous, impressive and flowery. i found he could talk, and talk well; and of many out-of-the-common subjects he displayed considerably more than a passing knowledge. margaret clark,--for that was the lady's name,--was quiet and seemed docile and careworn. she impressed me as being the patient bearer of a hidden burden. there was something in the manner in which our conversation was conducted that i could not fathom. and i was set wondering wherein its strangeness lay. but, try as i liked, i could not reason it out. everybody was agreeable and pleasant; rita was almost gay. but at the back of it all, time and again it recurred to me,--what is wrong here? not until the tea was over and i was seated between andrew clark and margaret before the fire, did the mystery solve itself. i approached the business part of my visit. "mr. clark, you have two or three hundred chickens on the ranch here." "ay," he nodded reflectively, puffing at his pipe. "you send all your eggs to vancouver?" "ay!" "how many do you send per week, on an average?" "ask margaret,--she'll tell you." i turned and addressed mrs. clark, who looked over at her husband sadly. "when the season is good, maybe fifty dozen a week; sometimes more, sometimes not so many, mr. bremner. of course, in the winter, there's a falling off." "i understand, mrs. clark. "i have a big demand from the camps for eggs," i explained. "what i get, i have to order from vancouver. now, it costs you money to send your eggs to the market there, and it costs me money to bring mine from the market. why cannot we create a home exchange? i could afford to pay you at least five cents a dozen more than you are getting from the city dealers, save you and myself the freight charges, and still i could be money ahead and i would always be sure of having absolutely fresh stock. besides, i would pay cash for what i got." andrew clark nodded his head. "a capital plan, my boy,--a capital plan. man," he exclaimed testily, "joe, wi' all his smartness, would never have thought o' that in a thousand years." i laughed. "why!--there is no thinking to it, andrew. it is simply the a.b.c. of arithmetic. "what do you say to the arrangement then?" i asked. "better ask margaret,--she looks after the chickens. that's her affair." i turned to the quiet old woman, and she heartily agreed with the plan. "would you ask andrew, mr. bremner, if we had better not take supplies from your store in part payment for the eggs?" she inquired. i put the question to andrew as things began to dawn in my mind. "tell her it'll suit me all right," he agreed. and so--i acting as spokesman and go-between,--the arrangement was made that i should use all the output of the chicken-farm and pay a price of five cents per dozen in advance of the vancouver market price on the day of each delivery. i rose to go, bidding good-night to the old people. rita came down to the boat. her face was anxious and she was searching mine for something she feared to find. "poor little girl," i exclaimed, as i laid my hand on her head. "how long has this been going on between your grandmother and grand-dad?" her eyes filled. "oh! george,--it ain't grandmother's fault. she'd give her soul if grand-dad would only speak to her. it's killing her gradual, like a dry rot." "how long has it been going on?" i asked again. "oh!--long's i can remember; near about ten years. there was a quarrel about something. grandmother wanted to visit some one in vancouver. grand-dad didn't want her to go. at last he swore by the word of god if she went he'd never speak to her again. grandmother cried all night, and next day she went. when she came back, grand-dad wouldn't speak to her; and he ain't ever spoken to her since." "my god!" i exclaimed with a shudder. "that's why joe ain't struck on staying at the ranch. says it's like a deaf and dumb asylum." i didn't blame joe. good god! i thought. what a life! what an existence for this poor woman! what a hell on earth! i became madly enraged at that dour old rascal, who would dare to sour a home for ten years because of a vow made in a moment of temper. if any one deserved to be stricken dumb forever, surely he was that one! and saying a grace at the tea-table that would put a bishop to scorn,--all on top of this: oh! the devilish hypocrisy of it! rita came close to me and laid her head lightly on my shoulder. "don't be cross at grand-dad, george. he's a mighty good grand-dad. there ain't a better anywhere. in everything, but speaking to grandmother, he's a good grand-dad." i could not trust myself to say much. i climbed into the boat and made to push off. "a good grand-dad," i exclaimed bitterly; "good mule, you mean. "rita,--i know what would cure him." "no!--you don't, george,--for you don't know grand-dad." "yes!--i know what would cure him, rita." "what?" "a rope-end, well applied." and i pushed off. she ran into the water up to her knees and caught hold of the stern of my boat. "you ain't mad with me, george," she cried anxiously. "no, no! rita. poor little woman,--why should i be?" she pouted. "thought maybe you was. "well,--if you ain't, won't you kiss me before you go, george?" i leaned forward. she held up her face innocently and i kissed her lightly on the lips. and to me, the kiss was as sweet and fresh as a mountain dew-drop. she sighed as if satisfied that our friendship had held good, then she ran out of the water, up the beach and into the house. chapter xiv the coming of mary grant when first i arrived at golden crescent, i was not a little worried as to whether or not there would be sufficient work in the store and on the property to keep two men busy. it did not take me long to discover that there really was not; but then, few people in and around that easy-going little settlement cared about being very busy. still, when jake and i wished for work, there was always enough of it at hand; just as, when we felt inclined to be idle, there was no very special reason why we should not, for there seldom was anything calling for immediate accomplishment unless it were the transporting of goods from the up-going steamers to the store and the putting up of camp orders. i did not have to concern myself much over the fixing of leaky boats, the building and repairing of fences, the erection of any small sheds or buildings required, the felling of trees, the sawing and splitting up of our winter supply of fuel, the raising and feeding of our very small poultry family and the tending of the garden. these had been jake's departments before my coming, and, as he looked after them as no other man i knew could have done, they remained his especial cares. jake was never tremendously occupied, yet he always was doing something during the day time,--something worth while, something that showed. however, when there was a particularly big wash-up on the beach of stray timber logs from some of the booms travelling along the coast, both jake and i had to knuckle down with a will and an energy in order to push them off with the next out-going tide so as to prevent them jamming and piling on our tidy, clear and well-kept foreshore. outside of an almost unnecessary supervision, the store was my only care; consequently, once things were running properly, i had lots of time on my hands to fish over by rita's isle if i so desired, to shoot in the woods behind when the inclination seized me, to swim, to smoke, or read and daydream as fancy dictated. i thrived on the life. maybe, i grew lazy. anyway, i enjoyed every minute of it, working or idling, waking or sleeping. i soon got to know the men from the camps, and they me. with the knowledge of them came an ever-increasing regard and admiration for those simple, uncomplaining, hard-working, easily led world-wanderers, who, most of them, were ever ready to gamble all they had on the toss of a coin or the throw of a die and, if they lost, laugh, and start off afresh. that there were evilly disposed men among them,--men who would stop at nothing,--men who, already, had stopped at nothing,--i knew, but with most of them, their hearts were good. joe clark did not honour me with a visit for many a day after our first encounter. almost i had begun to congratulate myself that he had decided to let slumbering dogs lie, when, one afternoon, as i was sorting the newly arrived and scanty mail, i was surprised to find a letter bearing the name of dow, cross & sneddon of vancouver and addressed:-- mr. george bremner, superintendent, golden crescent trading co., golden crescent bay, b. c. hello! i thought; joe clark at last has been putting some of his threats into execution. now for the fireworks! i opened the envelope and found that my conjecture was a wrong one and that joe clark's knife for me,--if he had one,--was not yet sharpened. "dear sir," the letter ran, "we have received a letter from messrs. eldergrove & price, solicitors for the property adjoining that of the golden crescent co.'s, informing us that some friends of the owner have permission from him to occupy his house at golden crescent. this refers to the house in proximity to the wharf and the store. it is at present boarded up. "two japanese women will arrive by the steamer _cloochman_ at the end of the week to open up, air, clean out the house and put it in order. these cleaners will return to vancouver by the same steamer on her southward journey the following week. "this letter is written simply to inform you of the facts, so that you may know that nothing illegal is going on. "of course, we are in no way interested in this property. "yours truly, "dow, cross & sneddon." i showed the letter to jake, who expressed a fear that the bay was becoming "a damned pleasure resort," as this would make the second time in five years that visitors had been staying in that house. on the strength of the news, he drank an extra half-cup of whisky, then said, for decency's sake he would row out and bring the japs ashore when the _cloochman_ came in. two shy, pretty, little women they proved, who thanked jake with smiles and profuse bows, much to that old rascal's confusion. they were all bustle and work. they had the boards down from the windows and had the doors and windows wide open five minutes after they got ashore. morning, noon and night, they were scrubbing, washing, beating, dusting, polishing and airing, until i was more inquisitive than an old maid's cat to view the results of their labours. but my sense of propriety overcame my curiosity, and, for the time being, i remained in ignorance. one night, after the little workers had gone back to vancouver, i was lying in my bed enjoying robert louis stevenson's "virginibus puerisque," when i fancied i heard the throbbing of a gasoline launch. i rose and looked out at the open window; but it was one of those inky-black nights, without either moon or stars, a night when even the sea became invisible,--so i saw nothing. when the throbbing ceased, i heard the sound of oars and, as a small boat evidently neared the shore, there came a sound of voices, both male and female. two trips were made from the launch, one bearing the people, i presumed, the other conveying their baggage. i had no doubt in my mind that my new neighbours were arriving, although i might have been stone-blind so far as anything being visible was concerned. it was chilly standing there at the window, in the night air, in my pyjamas. the nights were always chilly at golden crescent. so i went back to bed, determined to wait and see what the morrow would disclose. my first glance out of doors, early next morning, materialised what i had a vague notion might have been a dream. there was no sign of any stir in the house across the little, wooden, rustic bridge that connected it, over a narrow creek, with the roadway leading to the store. that was only natural, as, in all probability, the travellers were journey-weary. but a freshly painted rowing boat, with light oars, was made fast to the off side of the wharf, while several leather travelling bags and other packages were piled on the veranda of that house over the way. i had shaved, parted my hair at its most becoming angle and dressed myself with particular care that morning, going to the extent of sewing a burst seam in my breeches and polishing my leggings; all in anticipation of a visit from the new arrivals, thinking they would be almost certain to call at the store that forenoon to arrange for their supplies. i dusted the shelves, polished the scales, put the sacks of potatoes where they belonged, mopped up some molasses that had escaped to the floor from a leaky can and swept out the store; then i waited in blissful anticipation for my new customers. i caught a glimpse of jake in the distance. in some strange, wireless-telepathic manner, he must have got wind of what had occurred during the night, for i noticed that he had been suddenly attacked by the same fever for cleanliness and smartness as i had been. he had turned his neckcloth, and the clean side of it was now trying to delude the innocent outside world that it (the neckcloth) had been freshly washed. mike,--bad luck to his drunken carcass,--looked sick and appeared to be slowly recovering from the evil effects of a bath. as the morning wore on i saw an elderly, rotund lady come out to the veranda and take the baggage inside. that was the only bit of excitement that happened, after all my preparations. later, a launch called from camp no. , with an order for a thousand and one different commodities, and all required right away. that put idle, inquisitive thoughts out of my head for the remainder of the forenoon. i got out of my best clothes, donned a half-dirty shirt, a suit of overalls and a pair of old boots, then got busy selecting, sorting and packing until my brow was moist and my hair was awry. i had just got rid of the men and was standing surveying my topsy-turvy store, with everything lying around in tremendous confusion and all requiring to be set to rights again before i would know where to lay my hands on a single article; when a melodious, but rather measured, feminine voice, in the vicinity of my left shoulder, startled me into consternation. a young lady, almost of a height with me, was standing by my side, while a stout, elderly lady,--the same lady i had seen on the veranda over the way,--was filling the doorway. i was messy all over with flour dust, brown earth from the potato sacks, grease and grime. i had slipped at the water edge while assisting the loggers to load their goods, and this did not contribute to the improvement of my personal appearance. i wiped my hands on my damp overalls, and my hands came out of the contact worse than before. "i wish to see the manager," demanded the melodious voice, its owner raising her skirts and displaying,--ah, well!--and stepping over some excelsior packing which lay in her way. "your wish is granted, lady," i answered. "are you the manager?" she asked, raising her eyebrows in unfeigned astonishment. "i have that honour, madam," i responded with a bow, but not daring to look at her face in my then dishevelled state. "i am miss grant," she said. "miss grant! pleased to meet you." i shoved out a grimy paw, like the fool i was. when it was too late, i remembered my position and brought the paw back to my side. the young lady had already drawn herself up with an undefinable dignity. it was a decided snub, and well merited, so i could hardly blame her. i saw, in the hurried glimpse i got of her then, that she was hatless and that her hair was a great crown of wavy, burnished gold, radiating in the sunlight that streamed through the doorway despite the obstruction of the young lady's companion. "it is our intention to live at golden crescent for some time, sir. i understand we may purchase our supplies here?" "yes! madam,--miss." i backed, in order to get round to my proper side of the counter. but, unfortunately, i backed without looking; i stumbled over an empty box and sprawled like a clown into the corner, landing incontinently among bundles of brooms and axe handles. never in all my life did i feel so insignificant or so foolish as then. the very devil himself seemed to have set his picked imps after me; for it was my habit, ordinarily, to be neither dirty as i was then, nor clownish as i must have appeared. to put it mildly, i was deeply embarrassed, and at a woman, too. oh! the degradation of it. as i rose, i fancied that my ears caught the faintest tinkle of a laugh. i turned my frowning eyes on the young lady, but she was a very owl for inscrutable solemnity. i looked over at the elderly person in the doorway; she was smiling upon me with a most exasperating benignity. "what kind of business do you run here?" asked the self-possessed young lady. "strictly cash, miss,--excepting the camps and the better class of settlers." "i did not inquire _how_ you ran your business, but what kind of business you ran," she retorted icily. "of course,--we shall pay as we purchase." i was hastening from bad to worse. i could have bitten my tongue out or kicked myself. with a tremendous effort, i pulled myself together and assumed as much dignity as was possible in my badly ruffled internal and external condition. "are there any men about the place?" she asked, changing the subject with disconcerting suddenness. i flushed slightly at the taunt. "n-no! miss," i replied, in my best shop-keeper tone, "sorry,--but we are completely out of them." she must have detected the flavour of sarcasm, for her lips relaxed for the briefest moment, and a smile was born which showed two rows of even white teeth. i ventured a smile in return, but it proved a sorry and an unfortunate one, for it killed hers ruthlessly and right at the second of its birth, too. i almost waited for her to tell me i was "too fresh," but she did not do so. she had a more telling way. she simply wilted me with a silent reserve that there was no combating. only on one or two occasions had i encountered that particular shade of reserve that adjusts everything around to its proper sphere and level without hurting, and it was always in elderly, aristocratic, british duchesses; never in a young lady with golden hair and eyes,--well! at that time, i could not tell the colour of her eyes, but there was something in them that completed a combination that i seemed to have been hunting for all my life and had never been able to find. "mr. store-keeper," she commenced again. i felt like tearing my hair and crying aloud. "mr. store-keeper," forsooth. "you appear anxious to misconstrue me. let me explain,--please." i bowed contritely. what else could i do? "this afternoon, i have a piano,--boxed,--coming by the steamer _siwash_. i would like if you could find me some assistance to get it ashore and placed in my house." she said it so easily and it sounded so simple. but what a poser it was! bring a full-fledged piano from a steamer three hundred yards out in the bay, land it and place it in a house on the top of a rock. heaven help the piano! i thought, as i gaped at her in bewilderment. "oh!--of course," she put in hurriedly, toying with the chain of her silver purse,--"if you are afraid to tackle it, why!--i'll--we shall do it ourselves." she turned on her heel. she looked so determined that i had not the least doubt but that she would have a go at it anyway. "not at all,--not at all. it will be a pleasure,--i am sure," i said quickly, as if i had been reared all my life on piano-moving. she turned and smiled; a real, full-grown, able-bodied, entrancing, mischievous smile, and all of it full on the dirty, grimy individual,--me. "it does not happen to be the kind of piano one can take to pieces, miss grant, is it?" i asked. "it is," she answered, "but that one might not be able to put it together again." it was another bull's eye for the lady. she went on. "i have never received a piano,--knocked down." something inside of me sniggered at the phrase, for it was purely a business one. but i was too busy just then figuring the ins and outs of the matter to give way to any hilarity. "thanks so much! what a relief!" she sighed, with a nod to her silent companion, who nodded in return. "oh!--may i have five cents' worth of pins,--mister, mister----" "mr. bremner," i added. "thank you!" "hair pins, hat pins, safety pins or clothes pins?" i queried. "just pins,--with points and heads on them,--if you don't mind." i bowed ceremoniously. "we shall be over this afternoon, when we have made a list of the supplies we require," she went on. as i hunted for the pins, she began to look in her purse for a five cent piece. "oh!--never mind," i said; "i can charge these to your bill in the afternoon." "no! thank you," she replied, airily and lightly;--oh! so very, very airily that i would not have been surprised had she flown away. "your terms are strictly cash;--i would not disturb your business routine for worlds." as i held out the package to her, i stopped and, for the first time, i felt really at ease and equal to her. "possibly you would prefer that i send this package round by the delivery wagon?" i said. she picked the paper package from between my fingers and her chin went into the air at a most dangerous elevation, while her eyelids closed over her eyes, allowing long, golden-brown lashes to brush her cheeks. then, without a word, she turned her back on me and passed through the doorway with her companion, or chaperon, or aunt, or whatever relation to her the elderly lady might be. "so foolish!" i heard her exclaim, under her breath, then she went over something on her fingers to the elderly lady, who laughed and started in to talk volubly. the mystery of that madam's benign smile solved itself: she was evidently talkative enough, but she was as deaf as a wooden block and used her smile to cover her deficiency. had i only known, how i could have defended myself against, and lashed out in return at, that tantalising, self-possessed, wit-battling, and, despite it all, extremely feminine young lady! they left my place and went over to their own bungalow. soon they reappeared with large sun-hats on their heads, for the sun was beautifully bright and exceedingly warm. they went down to the beach together. the elderly lady got into the rowing boat, while my late antagonist pushed it into the water and sprang into it with a most astounding agility. in a few moments, they were out on the bay. miss grant,--as i remembered her name was,--handled the oars like an oxford stroke and with that amazing ease, attained only after long practice, which makes the onlooker, viewing the finished article in operation, imagine that he can do it as well himself, if not a shade or so better,--yes! and standing on his head at that. for an hour, i worked in the store righting the wrongs that were visible everywhere, vowing to myself that never again would it be found in such a disgraceful condition; not even if the three camps should come down together and insist on immediate service. at high noon, i went over to jake's shack and found him preparing his usual clammy concoction. i broached the subject of the piano to him, putting it in such a way that i left him open to refuse to do the job if he felt so inclined. he did not speak for a minute or two, but i knew he was thinking hard. "well,--i'll be gol-darned," he said at last. "they'll be transporting skating rinks and picture shows up here next. it'll be me for the tall timbers then, you bet." a little later, he went on, "guess, george,--we got to do it, though. young ladies is young ladies these days, and we might as well be civil and give in right at the start, for we got to do it in the finish." i agreed. as we were in a hurry, i helped jake to eat his clam chowder. we went down to the beach to review the situation and inspect the apparatus we had to work with. i told jake the piano would probably weigh about five hundred pounds and that we would require to bolster up the raft sufficiently to carry some three hundred pounds more in order to be safe. as it stood, the raft was capable of carrying some four hundred pounds, so we had just to double its capacity. jake knew his business. he rowed along the beach, and picked out short logs to suit his needs. he lashed them together and completed a raft that looked formidable enough to carry the good ship _siwash_ herself across the bay to the shore. we put off with a rowing boat fore and aft, long before the _siwash_ whistle announced her coming. had the sea been otherwise than calm as a duck pond, we would have experienced all kinds of trouble, for our raft was nothing more or less than an unwieldy floating pier. when the steamer ran into the bay, i noticed miss grant put out alone and row toward us. "jake," i exclaimed somewhat hotly, "if that young lady interferes with the way we handle this job, by as much as a single word, we'll steer straight for the shore and leave the piano to sink or swim." "you bet!" agreed jake. "skirts is all right, but they ain't any good movin' pianners off'n steamers. guess we ain't proved ourselves much good neither, so far, george," he added with a grin. the _siwash_ came to a standstill and we threw our ropes aboard and were soon made fast alongside. everything there went like clockwork. the piano was on the lower deck and slings were already round it, so that all that was necessary to do was to get the steamer's winch going, hoist the instrument overboard and lower it on to the raft. the piano was set on a low truck with runners, contrived for the purpose of moving. i arranged that this truck be left with us and i would see to its return on the steamer's south-bound journey. our chiefest fear was that the piano might get badly placed or that the balance of the raft might prove untrue, the whole business would topple over and the piano would be dispensing nautical airs to the mermaids at the bottom of golden crescent bay. jake's work stood the test valiantly, and, with the hooks and rings he had fixed into the logs at convenient distances, we lashed the instrument so firmly and securely that nothing short of a hurricane or a collision could possibly have dislodged it. miss grant stood by some fifteen yards away, watching the proceedings interestedly, and anxiously as i thought; but not a word did she utter to show that she had anything but absolute confidence in our ability. finally, they cast our ropes off, and jake and i, with our four oars, manned our larger rowing boat and headed for shore. it was hard pulling, but we ran in on the off side of the wharf, directly in line with the rocks at the back of which miss grant's bungalow was built,--all without mishap. despite the great help of the piano-truck, jake and i, strive as we liked, were unable to move the heavy piece of furniture from the raft. we tugged, and pulled, and hoisted, but to no purpose, for the wheels of the truck got set continually between the logs. once, i went head over heels backward into the water; and once jake tripped over a cleat and did likewise. "all we need, jake," i remarked, "is about one hundred and fifty pounds more leverage." miss grant heard and jumped out of her boat. "mr.--mr. bremner,--could i lend you that extra hundred and fifty pounds or so?" i looked at her. she was all willingness and meekness; the latter a mood which i, even with my scant knowledge of her, did not altogether believe in. "sure, miss," put in jake. "come on, if you ain't skeered o' soilin' your glad rags." she waited for my word. "i am sure your help would be valuable, miss grant," i said. "it might just turn the trick in our favour." she scrambled up the rock and returned in half a minute with a pair of stout leather gloves on her hands. she jumped up on to the raft and lent her leverage, as jake and i got our shoulders under the lift. bravo! it lifted as easily as if it had been a toy. all it had required was that little extra aid. we three ran it clear of the raft, down on to the beach, over the pebbles and right under the rocks. i knew, in the ordinary course, that our troubles would only be beginning, but i had figured out that the only possible way to get over this difficulty of the rocks was to erect a block and tackle to the solid branch of a tree which, fortunately, overhung the face of the cliffs. in half an hour, we had all secure and ready for the attempt. i worked the gear, while jake did the guiding from below. when we had the piano safely swung, it took our combined strength and weight to bring it in on top of the rocks. after that, it was simply a matter of hard work. so, in three hours after receiving it from the steamer _siwash_, the piano was out of its casing and set safely, without a scratch on it, in a corner of miss grant's parlour. jake and i never could have done it ourselves. both of us knew that. it was miss grant's untiring assistance that pulled the matter to a successful conclusion. she thanked us without ostentation, as she would have thanked a piano-mover or the woodman in the city. it nettled me not a little, for, to say truth, i was half dead from the need of a cup of good strong tea and my appetite gnawed over the odour of home-made scones that the elderly, rotund lady was baking on miss grant's kitchen stove. all day i had been picturing visions of being invited to remain for tea, of my making witty remarks under jake's mono-syllabic applause, looking over the photo albums and listening in raptures to miss grant's playing and singing. and i was sour as old cider as i descended the veranda steps, soaking, as i was, with brine and perspiration. jake was perfectly happy, however, and all admiration over miss grant's physical demonstration. "gee! miss," he exclaimed, in a sort of klondike ecstasy, "but you're some class at heavin' cargo. guess, if you put on overalls and cut off your hair, you could get a fifty-cents-an-hour job at pretty near any wharf on the pacific seaboard." i could see that jake's doubtful compliment was not exactly relished by the lady. nevertheless, she smiled on him so sweetly that he stood grinning at her, and might still have been so standing had not i pulled him to earth by the sleeve, three steps at a time. chapter xv "music hath charms--" he left me at the wharf without a word. i went into the house, threw off my dirty overalls and indulged in the luxury of a bath. not a salt-water apology for one,--a real, live, remove-the-dirt, soapy, hot-water bath;--and it did me a world of good both mentally and bodily. i dressed myself in clean, fresh linen, donned my breeches, a pair of hand-knitted, old-country, heather hose and a pair of white canvas shoes. i shaved and brushed my hair to what, in my college days, i had considered its most elegant angle. the remainder of the afternoon and evening was my own. i was just at that agreeable stage of body-weariness where a book and a smoke seemed angels from heaven. i had the books,--lots of them,--i had tobacco and my pipe, i had a hammock to sling from the hooks on the front veranda,--so, what care had i? i chose a volume of "macaulay's essays" and, with a sigh,--the only articulate sign of an unutterable content,--i stretched myself in the hammock, blew clouds of smoke in the air and resigned myself to the soothing influences. i had lain thus for perhaps an hour, when a shadow intervened between the page i was reading and the glare of the sun. it was miss grant. she had come by the back path and, in her noiseless rubber shoes, i had not heard her. i sprang out of the hammock, loosed the ring from the hook and threw the canvas aside to make way for her. she appeared a perfect picture of glorious loveliness and contagious health. she did not speak for a moment, but her eyes took me in from head to heel. i felt confident in the knowledge that the figure i presented was decidedly more pleasing than when last she had seen me. i was glad, for i knew, even with my small acquaintance with the opposite sex, that the woman is not alive who does not prefer to see a man clean, tidy and neat. i pushed the store doors open and followed her in. again, that bewitching little uplifting of the eyebrows; again the alluring relaxation of her full lips; silent ways, apparently, of expressing her pleasure. the appearance of my store, on this occasion, met with her approval. she laid aside her sunshade and handed me a long, neatly written list of groceries which she required; not all, but most of which, i was able to fill. "make up the bill,--please. i wish to pay it now. i shall not wait until you make up the goods. if not too much trouble, would you----" i was listening to the soft cadences of her voice, when she stopped. she was leaning lightly with her elbow on the counter. i was on the inner side, bending over my order book. when her voice stopped, i felt that she was looking at the top of my head. i raised my face suddenly and, to her, unexpectedly. for the first time, i saw clearly into her eyes. my breath caught, as, like a flash, i saw myself standing in the doorway of modley farm, along with my old chum, tom tanner; his mother beside us, with her arms round our shoulders; and i remembered the flippant conversation we had at that time. the young lady before me had eyes of a liquid, golden-brown, lighter in colour than her hair, yet of wondrous depth and very attractive; inexpressibly attractive. i averted my gaze quickly, but not quickly enough for her to miss the admiration i had so openly shown. she picked up a tin from the counter and scanned the label. "the delivery wagon is at your service, my lady," i put in lightly. "thank you!" she answered in relief. i totted up the bill and handed it to her. "eight dollars and thirty-five cents," i said. "now, mr. bremner,--please add your charge for the conveying of my piano, so that i may pay my debts altogether." i gasped in amazement. i straightened myself indignantly, for the idea of making a charge for that work had never entered my head. and i knew jake had never thought of such a thing either. it had been simply a little neighbourly assistance. the mention of payment annoyed me. "there is no charge, miss grant," was all i could trust myself to say. "what do you mean?" she asked. "surely you must understand that it is not my habit to engage men to work for me without payment!" "we did not look upon it in the nature of ordinary work," i put in. "it was a pleasure, and we did it as any neighbours would do a favour." her eyes closed a little angrily. "i do not accept favours from men i am unacquainted with," she retorted unreasonably. "how much do i owe,--please?" "and i do not hire myself out, like a dock labourer or a mule, to any one who cares to demand my services," i replied, in equally cold tones. she stood in hesitation, then she stamped her rubber-soled foot petulantly. "but i will not have it. i insist on paying for that work." i shook my head. "if you wish to insult me, miss grant,--insist." i could see that she was suffering from conflicting lines of reasoning. her haughtiness changed and her eyes softened. "mr. bremner,--what do i owe for the work,--please?" she pleaded. "you are a gentleman,--you cannot hide that from me." discovered! i said to myself. "surely you understand my position? surely you do not wish to embarrass me?" ah, well! i thought. if it will please her, so be it. and i'll make it a stiff charge for spite. "thirty dollars!" i exclaimed, as if it had been three. "our labour was worth that much." i looked straight at her in a businesslike way. it was her turn to gasp, but she recovered herself quickly. "the cost of labour is, i presume, high, up here?" she commented. "yes!--very high,--sky-high! you see, i shall have to pay that old jew-rascal assistant of mine at least two and a half dollars for his share, so that it will not leave very much for the master-mind that engineered the project." she turned her eyes on me to ascertain if i were funning or in earnest, but my face betrayed nothing but the greatest seriousness. she counted out her grocery money and i gave her a receipt. then she laid three ten dollar bills on the counter to pay for the piano moving. "thank you!" i said, as i walked round the counter to a little box which was nailed on the wall near the door; a box which the rev. william auld had put up with my permission on the occasion of his last visit, a box which i never saw a logger pass without patronising if he noticed it. on the outside, it bore the words:--"sick children's aid." i folded the notes and inserted them in the aperture on top. miss grant watched me closely all the while. when i got back behind the counter, she went over to the box and read the label. she opened her purse, with calm deliberation, and poured all it contained into her hand. she then inserted the coins, one by one, in the opening of the box and, with honours still even, if not in her favour, she sailed out of the store. i was annoyed and chagrined at the turn of events, yet, when i came to consider her side of the argument, i could not blame her altogether for the stand she had taken. i put up her order in no very pleasant frame of mind. when i saw her and her chaperon row out from the wharf into the bay, i carried over the groceries, piecemeal, and placed them in a shady place on their veranda. i then turned back to the house and prepared my evening meal. when the sun had gone down and darkness had crept over golden crescent, i returned to my hammock and my reading, setting a small oil lamp on the window ledge behind me. it was agreeably cool then and all was peace and harmony. from where i lay, i could cast my eyes over the land and seascapes now and again. i commanded a good view of the house across the creek. the kitchen lamp was alight there and i could see figures passing backward and forward. suddenly an extra light travelled from the kitchen to the front parlour and, soon after, a ripple of music floated on the evening air. i listened. how i listened!--like a famished cougar at the sound of a deer. the music was sweet, delicious, full of fantastic melody. it was the light, airy music of sullivan; and not a halt, not even a falter did the player make as she tripped and waltzed through the opera. one picture after another rose before me and dissolved into still others, as the old, haunting tunes caught my ears, floating from that open window. i could see the lady under the soft glow of the lamp, sitting at the piano, smiling and all absorbed,--the light gleaming gold on her coils of luxuriant hair. after a time the mood of the pianist changed. she drifted into the deeper, the more sombre, more impressive "kamennoi-ostrow" of rubinstein. she played it softly, so softly, yet so expressively sadly, that i was drawn by its alluring to leave my veranda and cross over the wooden bridge, in order to be nearer and to hear better. quietly, but quite openly, i took the path by the house, on to the edge of the cliffs, where i could hear every note, every shade of expression; where i could follow the story:--the russian setting, the summer evening, the beautiful lady, the pealing of the bells calling the worshippers to the chapel for midnight mass; the whispered conversations, the organ in solemn chant, the priests intoning the service, the farewell, and, lastly, the lingering chords of the organ fading into the deep silence of slumber. just as i was about to sit down, i descried the solitary, shadowy outline of a figure seated a few yards away. it was jake,--poor, old, lonely, battle-scarred jake. his head was in his hands and he was gazing out to sea as if he were dreaming. i walked over to him and sat by his side. his blue eyes were filled with tears, tears that had not dimmed his eyes for years and years; tears in the eyes of that old klondike tough, calloused by privation and leather-hided by hard drinking; tears, and at music which he did not understand any more than that it was something outside of his body altogether, outside of the material world, something that spoke only to the soul of him. i did not speak,--i dared not speak, for the moment was too sacred. so we two sat thus, knowing of each other's presence, yet ignoring it, and listening, all absorbed, entranced, almost hypnotised by the subtleties of the most charming of all gifts, the perfect interpretation of a work of art. we listened on and on,--after the chilly night wind had come up from the sea, for we did not know of its coming until the music ceased and the light faded away from the parlour of the house behind us. "gee!" exclaimed jake at last, spitting his mouthful of tobacco over into the water and wiping his eyes with his coat sleeve, "but that dope pulls a gink's socks off,--you bet. "guess, if a no-gooder like me had of heard that stuff oftener when he was a kid, he wouldn't be such a no-gooder;--eh! george." i followed jake to his boat and, somewhere out of the darkness, mike the dog appeared and tailed off behind us. i accompanied the old fellow to his shack, for this love of music in him was a new phase of his temperament to me and somehow my heart went out to him in his loneliness, in his apparent heart-hunger for something he could hardly hope to find. we talked together for a long time, and as we talked i noticed that jake made no effort to start his usual drinking bout, although mike the dog reminded him of his neglect as plainly as dog could, by tugging at his trousers and going over to the whisky keg and whimpering. this sudden temperance in jake surprised me more than a little. i noticed also that the brass-bound chest still lay under jake's bunk. several times i had been going to speak to him about that trunk and its contents, and the questionable security of a shack like his, but i had always evaded the subject at the last minute as being one in which i was not concerned. but that night everything was different somehow. "look here, jake," i said, in one of the quiet spells, "don't you think this old shack of yours isn't a very safe place to keep your money in?" "how do you mean?" he asked suspiciously. "there are lots of strange boats put in here of a night; some of them containing beach-combers who do not care who they rob or what they do so long as they get a haul. besides, the loggers are not all angels and they generally pay you a visit every time they come in. some of the worst of them might get wind that you keep all your savings here and might take a fancy to some of it." "guess all i got wouldn't pay the cost of panning," grunted jake. "they ain't goin' to butt in on me. anyway,--i got a pair of good mits left yet." "yes!--that is all right, jake, but nowadays a man does not require to run the risk. the banks are ready and willing to take that responsibility, and to pay for the privilege, too. the few dollars i have are safely banked in vancouver." "banks be damned!" growled jake. "i ain't got no faith in banks,--no siree. first stake i made went into a bank, goodall-towser trust co. of 'frisco. 'four per cent interest guaranteed,' it said on the front of the bank book they gave me. that book was all they ever gave me; all i ever saw of my five thousand bucks. i thought because it said 'trust' on the window, it was right as rain. i ain't trustin' 'trust' any more. "i raised cain in that trust outfit. started shootin' up. didn't kill anything, but got three months in the coop. lost my five thousand plunks and got three months in the pen, all because i put my dough in the bank. "banks be damned, george. not for mine,--no siree." jake puffed his pipe reflectively, after his long tirade. "that's all very well, but there are good banks nowadays and good trust companies, too, although i prefer regular chartered banks every time. those banks are practically guaranteed by the country and the wealthiest men in canada use them. why!--mr. horsfal has thousands in the commercial bank of canada now. here is the bank book,--see for yourself! i send in a deposit every week for him." jake was impressed, but not unduly. he suddenly switched. "say, george,--who told you i had any dough?" "oh! i knew you had, jake. everybody in golden crescent knows. but, to be honest, the minister told me,--in the hope that i would be able to induce you to place it in safety somewhere." jake became confident, a most unusual condition for him. "well, george,--i can trust you,--you're straight. i got something near ten thousand bucks in that brass chest. i don't need it, but still i ain't givin' it away. i had to grub damned hard to get it. it's kind o' good to know you ain't ever likely to be a candidate for some old men's home." "it is indeed," i replied, "and i admire you for having saved so much. but won't you put it into the bank, where it is absolutely safe for you? it is a positive temptation to some men, lying around here. "the bank will give you a receipt for the money; you can draw on it when you wish and it will be earning three per cent or three hundred dollars a year for you all the time it is there." he pondered for a while, then he dismissed the subject. "no! guess i'll keep it by me. no more banks for mine. i ain't so strong as i used to be and i guess three months in the coop would just about make me cash in. i ain't takin' no more chances." jake's method of reasoning was amusing. after all, it was no affair of mine and, now that i had unburdened myself, i felt conscience clear. as i rose to leave, he started to talk again. "george,--guess you'll think i'm batty,--but i'm goin' to cut out the booze." "you are!" i exclaimed in astonishment. "ya! guess maybe you think i'll make a hell of a saint, but i ain't goin' to try to be no saint; just goin' to cut out the booze, that's all." "what has given you this notion?" i could not help inquiring. "oh! maybe one thing, maybe another. anyhow, i ain't had a lick to-night. my stomach's on fire and my head's givin' me hail columbia, but--i ain't had a drink to-night." "go easy with it, jake," i cautioned. "you know a hard drinker like you have been can't stop all at once without hurting himself." "i can. you just watch me," he said with determination. "well, then,--i think the best thing you can do in these circumstances is to take that keg in the corner there, roll it outside, pull out the stop-cock and pour the contents on to the beach." "no! i ain't spoilin' any booze,--george. if i can't stop it because a keg of whisky is sittin' under my nose, then i can't stop boozin' nohow. and, if i can't stop boozin' nohow, what's the good of throwin' away the good booze i already got, when i'd just have to order another keg and maybe have to go thirsty waitin' for it to come up." "all right, old man," i laughed, slapping him between the shoulders, "please yourself and good luck to your attempt, anyway." "say!--george." "yes!" "you won't say anything about this to the young lady that plays the pianner? because, you see, i might fall down." "i won't say a word, jake." "and--not to rita, neither?" he asked plaintively, "because rita's about the only gal cares two straws for me. she comes often when nobody knows about it. she brings cake and pie, and swell cooked meat sometimes. when i find anything on the table,--i know rita's been. i've knowed rita since she was a baby and i've always knowed her for a good gal." "well, jake;--i will keep your secret as if i had never heard it. but don't allow that drunken chum of yours, mike, to lead you astray." "guess nit! mike's got to sign the pledge same's me," he laughed in his guttural way. i stood at the door. "and you are not going to put that money of yours in the bank, jake?" he spat on the ground. "to hell with banks," he grunted and turned inside. chapter xvi the devil of the sea it was sunday morning, the first sunday morning after the arrival of the american ladies at the house over the way,--for i took them to be such, and, later, my conjecture proved not a very long way out. it had been a week of hard work, petty annoyances and unsatisfying little pleasures. when i got up that morning, i felt jaded. as i ate my breakfast, i became more so; but, as i went out on to the veranda to look upon the beauties of golden crescent,--as i did every morning,--i came to myself. this will never do, george bremner! what you need is a swim! i had hit it. why had not i thought of it sooner? i undressed, and in less time than it takes to retell it, i was in the water and striking straight for rita's isle. when i got there, i sunned myself on the rocks, as was my wont. i looked across towards clarks' farm, in the hope that i might espy rita somewhere between,--yet half hoping that i would not, for i was browsing in the changing delights and sensations of the thoughts which my solitariness engendered. for one thing;--i had made the discovery the night before that miss grant's christian name was mary. i had found a torn label on the beach; one, evidently, from a travelling bag. it read: miss mary grant, passenger to golden crescent bay, b. c. canada. ex san francisco, per p. c. s. s. co. to vancouver. that was all. i lay on my back on the rocks, turning the name over in my mind. mary.... it did not sound very musical. it was a plain-jane-and-no-nonsense kind of name. i started in to make excuses to myself for it. why i did so, i have no idea, but i discovered myself at it. mary was a bible name. yes!--it had that in its favour. famous queens had been called mary. yes! the lady who owned the world-famous "little lamb" was called mary. and there was "mary, mary, quite contrary." why, of course! there were plenty of wonderful marys. notwithstanding, i could not altogether shake off the feeling of regret that came to me with the discovery that the young lady over the way was called mary. had her name been marguerite, or dorothea, millicent or even rosemary, i would have been contented and would have considered the name a fitting one,--but to be common-or-garden mary! oh, well!--what mattered it anyway? the name did not detract from the attractiveness of her long, wavy, golden hair, nor did it change the colour or lessen the transparency of her eyes. it did not interfere with her deft fingers as they travelled so artistically over the keyboard of her piano; although i kept wishing, in a half-wishful way, that it could have changed her tantalising and exasperating demeanour toward me. from the beginning, we had played antagonists, and from the beginning this playing antagonists had been distasteful to me. what was it in me? i wondered,--what was it in her that caused the mental ferment? i had not the slightest notion, unless it were a resentfulness in me at being taken only for what i, myself, had chosen to become,--store-clerk in an out-of-the-way settlement; or an annoyance in her because one of my station should place himself on terms of social equality with every person he happened to meet. i was george bremner to her. true! then,--she was merely mary grant to me. mary grant she was and mary grant she would doubtless remain, until,--until somebody changed it to probably--mary-something-worse. as i day-dreamed, i felt the air about me more chilly than usual. all the previous night, the sea had been running into the bay choppy and white-tipped, but now it was as level as the face of a mirror, although everywhere on the surface of the water loose driftwood floated. i let myself go, down the smooth shelving rock upon which i had been lying. i dropped noiselessly far down into the deep water. i came up and struck out for home,--all my previous lassitude gone from me. i was swimming along leisurely, interested only in my thoughts and the water immediately around me, when something a bit ahead attracted my attention. i was half-way between rita's isle and the shore at the time. the object in front kept bobbing,--bobbing. at first, i took it to be part of a semi-submerged log, but as i drew nearer i was quite surprised to find that it was an early morning swimmer like myself. nearer still, and i discovered that the swimmer was a woman whose hair was bound securely by a multi-coloured, heavy, silk muffler, such as certain types of london johnnies affected for a time. whoever the swimmer was, she had already gone at least half a mile, for that was the distance to the nearest point of land and there was no boat of any kind in her tracks. half a mile!--and another half-mile to go! quite a swim for a lady! afraid lest it should prove more than enough for a member of what i had always been taught to recognise as the more delicately constituted of the sexes, i drew closer to the swimmer. when only a few yards behind, she turned round with a startled exclamation. it was mary grant. a chill ran along my spine. i became unreasonable immediately. what right had she to run risks of this nature? was there not plenty of water for her to swim in near the shore where she would be within easy hail of the land should she become exhausted? almost angrily, i narrowed the space between us. she had recognised me at her first glimpse. "are you not rather far from the shore, miss grant?" i inquired bruskly. "thank you! not a bit too far," she exclaimed, keeping up a steady progress through the water. she moved easily and did not betray any signs of weariness, except it were in a catching of her voice, which almost every one has who talks in the water after a long swim. i could not but admire the power of her swimming, despite the evident fact that she was not at all speedy. "but you have no right to risk your life out here, when you do not know the coast," i retorted. "what right have you to question my rights, sir?" she answered haughtily. "please go away." "i spoke for your own good," i continued. "there may be currents in the bay that you know nothing of. besides, the driftwood itself is dangerous this morning." she did not reply for a bit, but kept steadily on. when i took up my position a few yards to the left and on a level with her, she turned on me indignantly. "excuse me, sir impertinence,--but do you take me for a child or a fool? are you one of those inflated individuals who imagines that masculine man is the only animal that can do anything?" "far from it," i answered, "but as it so happens i am slightly better acquainted with the bay than you are and i merely wished you to benefit from my knowledge." "i am obliged to you for your interest, mr. bremner. however, i know my own capabilities in the water, just as you know yours. now,--if you do not desire to spoil what to me has been a pleasure so far, you will leave me." i fell back a few yards, feeling that it would have given me extreme pleasure to have had the pulling of her ears. and, more out of cussedness,--as jake would put it,--than anything else, i kept plodding along slowly, neither increasing nor diminishing the distance between us. she was well aware of my proximity, and, at last, when we were little more than a hundred yards from the point of the rock at the farthest out end of the wharf, she wheeled on me like the exasperated sea-nymph she was. "i told you the other day, mr. bremner, that you could not hide the fact that you were a gentleman. if you do not wish me to regret having said that,--you will go away. i am perfectly capable of looking after myself." that was the last straw for me. i could see that she was a splendid swimmer and that she was likely to make the shore without mishap, although i could also tell that she was tiring. "all right!--i'll go," i shouted. "but please be sensible,--there was a heavy drift of wood and seaweed last night. the seaweed always gathers in at your side of the wharf, and it is treacherous. come this way and land ashore from my side." "thank you! mr. bremner," she called back quite pleasantly, "but i came this way and saw very little seaweed, so i fancy i shall be able to get back." maddened at her for being so headstrong, i veered to the left of the rocks, while she held on to the right. i did not look in her direction again, but, with a fast, powerful side-stroke, i shot ahead and soon the rocks divided us. i was barely a hundred yards from the beach, when i heard, or fancied i heard, just the faintest of inarticulate cries. i listened, but it was not repeated. in the ordinary course, i would have paid no heed, but something above and beyond me prompted me to satisfy myself that all was right. i swung round and started quickly for the point of the rocks again. in a few seconds, i reached it and swam round to the other side. i scanned the water between me and the shore,--it was as smooth as glass, with only bobbing brown bulbs everywhere denoting the presence of the seaweed. i looked at the beach, and across to miss grant's house,--there was no one in sight. a feeling of horror crept over me. it was improbable,--impossible,--that she could have reached the shore and got inside the house so quickly. i glanced over the surface of the water again. good god!--what was that? not fifty yards from the beach, and just at the point where the bobbing brown bulbs were thickest, a small hand and an arm broke the surface of the water. the fingers of the hand closed convulsively and a ring glittered in the sunlight. then the hand vanished. with a vigorous crawl stroke,--keeping well on the surface for safety,--i tore through that intervening space. oh!--how i thanked god for my exceptional ability in diving and swimming under water. as i got over the spot where i reckoned the hand had appeared, i became cautious, for i knew the danger and i had no desire to get entangled and thus end the chances of both of us. i sank down, slowly and perpendicularly, keeping my knees bent and my feet together, feeling carefully with my hands the while. the water was clear, but i could see only a little way because of the seaweed. how thickly it had gathered! long, curling, tangling stuff! several times, i had to change my position quickly in order to avoid being caught among the great, waving tendrils which, lower down, interweaved like the meshes of a gigantic net. i stayed under water as long as i dared, then with lungs afire i had to come to the surface for air. desperately, i started again. i swam several yards nearer to the rocks and sank once more. this time, my groping hands found what they were seeking. far down, almost at the bottom of the sea, the body of miss grant lay. i passed my hands over her. her head and arms were clear of the awful tangle, but both her legs were enmeshed. fighting warily and working like one possessed, i tore at the slithering ropes and bands that bound her. i got one foot and leg clear, then, with bursting lungs i attacked the other. it seemed as if i should never get her free. how i fought and struggled with that damnable sea-growth! fearing and fearing afresh that i would have to make to the surface for air, or drown where i was. as i worked frantically, i grew defiant, and decided to drown rather than leave the girl who had already been far too long under water. my head throbbed and hammered. my senses reeled and rallied, and reeled again as i tore and struggled. then, when hope was leaving me, i felt something snap. i caught at the body beside me and i drifted upward, and upward;--i did not know how or where. the thought flashed through me;--this is the last. it is all over. i opened my throat to allow the useless carbonised air to escape. i was conscious of the act and knew its consequences:--a flood of salt water in my lungs, then suffocation and death. but i did not care now. my lungs deflated, then--oh! delicious ecstasy!--instead of water, i drew to my dying body,--air; reviving, life-giving, life-sustaining oxygen. i panted and gasped, as life ran through my veins. blood danced in my thumping heart. i caught at my reeling senses. i clutched, like a miser, at the body i held. i struggled, and opened my eyes. i was on the surface of the water,--afloat. in my arms, i held the lady i had wrested from the deadly seaweed. how well i knew, even in those awful moments, that i was not the cause of that wonderful rescue. i was present,--true,--but it was the decreeing of the great, living, but unseen power, who had further use for both of us in the bright old world, who had more work for us to perform ere he called us to our last accounting. well i knew then that every moment of time was more precious than ordinary hours of reckoning, yet i dared not hurry with my burden across that short strip of water, lest we should again become entangled. foot by foot, i worked my way, until i was clear of the seaweed, then i kicked forcefully for the shore, and with my unconscious, perhaps dead, burden in my arms, i scrambled up the face of the rocks and into the house. "quick! for god's sake! hot water,--blankets!" i cried to miss grant's semi-petrified companion. she stood and looked at me in horror and bewilderment. then i remembered that my shouting was in vain, for she was stone-deaf. but this good old lady's helplessness was short-lived. "lay her down," she cried; "i know how to handle this. if there's a spark of life in her i can bring her round." i laid the limp form on the bed, on top of the spotless linen. as i did so, i looked upon the pale face, with its eyes closed and the brine rolling in drops over those long, golden eyelashes; then upon the glorious sun-kissed hair now water-soaked and tangled. i cried in my soul, "oh, god!--is this the end and she so beautiful." already the elderly lady had commenced first aid, in a businesslike way. it was something i knew only a little about, so i went into the kitchen in a perspiring terror of suspense,--and i stood there by the stove, ready to be of assistance at any moment, should i be called. after what seemed hours of waiting, i heard a moan, and through the moaning came a voice, sweet but pitiful, and breathing of agony. "oh! why did you bring me back? why did you not let me die?" again followed a long waiting, with the soothing voice of miss grant's able companion talking to her patient as she wrought with her. there was a spell of dreadful nausea, but when it came i knew the worst was over. the elderly lady came to the door, with a request for a hot-water bottle, which i got for her with alacrity. at last she came out to me, and her kindly face was beaming. "my dear, good boy," she said, as tears trickled down her cheeks, "she is lying peacefully and much better. in an hour or two, she will be up and around. would you care to see her, just to put your mind at ease?" "indeed i would," i responded. she led the way into the room, and there on the bed lay miss grant,--breathing easily,--alive,--life athrob in her veins. a joyful reaction overwhelmed me, for, no matter how humble had been my part, i had been chosen to help to save her. as i stood by her, her eyes opened;--great, light-brown eyes, bright and agleam as of molten gold. they roved the room, then they rested on me. "what!" she groaned, "you still here? oh!--go away,--go away." my heart sank within me and my face flushed with confusion. i might have understood that what she said was merely the outpouring of an overpowering weakness which was mingling the mental pictures focussed on the young lady's mind;--but i failed to think anything but that she had a natural distaste for my presence and was not, even now, grateful for the assistance i had rendered. with my head bowed, i walked to the door. mrs. malmsbury,--for that was the elderly lady's name,--came to me. she had not heard, but she had surmised. "oh! mr. bremner,--if my dear mary has said anything amiss to you, do not be offended, for she is hardly herself yet. why!--she is only newly back from the dead." she held out her hand to me and i took it gratefully. but as i walked over to my quarters and dressed myself, the feeling of resentment in my heart did not abate; and i vowed then to myself that i would think of mary grant no more; that i would avoid her when i could and keep strictly to my own, beloved, masculine, bachelor pursuits and to the pathway i had mapped out for myself. chapter xvii good medicine the rev. william auld was due to visit golden crescent that afternoon. i almost wearied for his coming, for he was entertaining and uplifting. he, somehow, had the happy knack of instilling fresh energy, fresh ambition, fresh hope, into every one with whom he came in contact. his noisy launch at last came chug-chugging up the bay. he started with the far point of the crescent and called at every creek, cove and landing at which there was a home. then he crept along the shore-line to jake's place. my turn next,--i soliloquised. but, no!--he held out, waving his hand in salutation. it was evidently his intention to make a call on miss grant before finishing his sabbath labours at my bungalow. he stayed there a long time: so long, that i was beginning to give up hope of his ever getting my length; but, finally, his cheery voice hailed me from my doorway and roused my drooping spirits. his pale, gentle face was wreathed in smiles. "good boy! good boy!" he commented. "god bless you! he is blessing you,--eh, george!" "how is the lady?" i inquired. "almost as well as ever," he replied. "she has had a severe shake-up though. it must have been touch and go. "she was up, george, and talked to me. she told me everything she could remember; how she refused to take your well-intentioned advice, and suffered the consequences of her folly. she gave me this note for you." he held out an envelope and i took it and put it in my pocket. he raised his eyebrows, "read it, man;--read it." "it will do later, mr. auld;--there is no hurry." he shook his old, grey head in surprise. "well,--well,--well," he exclaimed. "have you visited the clarks yet, george?" he asked after a pause. "yes!" "and what did you find there?" "discord," i answered. "so you know all about it, eh!" "you are a minister of god, mr. auld; you have influence with such a man as andrew clark. surely you can move him from the damnable position he has taken up?" "i would to god i could," he said fervently. "for ten years, i have preached to him, scolded him, cajoled him, threatened him with hell-fire and ever-lasting torment; yes! i have even refused to dispense the sacrament to him unless he relented, but i might as well have expended my energies on the ghoul rock out there at the opening to the bay." "but he professes to be a good christian, mr. auld," i put in. "yes! and no man on the coast tries to live a good life more than he does. i am sure, every moment of his life he deeply regrets the rash vow he made, but he believes, in the sight of god, he is doing right in keeping to it. he is obsessed. "now, george,--what is there left for me to try?" "physical force," i exclaimed angrily. "george,--" he said, almost horrified, "it is not for a minister of the gospel to think of violence." "why not?" i went on. "andrew clark is slowly torturing his wife to death. surely, if there ever was an occasion,--this is it! a few days' violence may save years of torture to both and, maybe, save his eternal soul besides." he sat in silence for a while, then he startled me. "come, boy! you have a scheme in your head. tell me what it is, and,--may god forgive me if i do wrong,--but, if it appeals to me as likely to move that old, living block of aberdeen granite, or even to cause a few hours' joy to his dear, patient wife, margaret, i'll carry it through if i can." i unfolded what had been in my mind. "what do you think of it?" i asked. he shook his head dubiously. "it is dangerous; it is violent; it is not what a minister is expected to do to any of his flock;--and it is only a chance that it will effect its purpose." "where would you put him?" i asked, as if he had agreed. he smiled. "oh!--there is the log cabin at the back of the farm, where he keeps nothing but an incubator. it has a heavy door and only a small window. "man,--if we could inveigle him in there!" the rev. william auld positively chuckled as he thought of it. i knew then that he was not so very far away from his schoolboy days, despite his age and experiences. "when can we start in?" he thought a little. "the sooner the better," he said. "joe is busy towing booms this week and there is no possible chance of his coming home. i am not too busy and can spare the part of three or four consecutive days for the job. "if we can only get margaret and rita to agree." "i can guarantee rita," i said. "and i can coerce margaret," he put in. "we'll arrange with the women folks to-morrow sometime, and we'll tackle poor old andrew the following afternoon." the minister waited and had tea with me. it was late when he took his departure. just as i was tumbling into bed, i remembered mary grant's letter. i took it out of my coat pocket and opened it. it was not a letter, after all; merely a note. "please,--please forgive me," it read. "you are a brave and very gallant gentleman. "mary grant." "george, my boy!" i soliloquised, "that ought to satisfy you." but it did not. in the frame of mind i then was in, nothing could possibly have propitiated me. as i dropped to sleep, the phrase recurred again and again: "you are a brave and very gallant gentleman." that,--maybe,--but after all a poor and humble gentleman working for wages in a country store;--so, why worry? next morning, although it was not the day any steamer was due, i ran the white flag to the top of the pole at the point of the rocks, in the hope that rita would see it and take it as a signal that i wished to speak with her; and so save me a trip across, for i expected some of the men from the camps and i never liked to be absent or to keep them waiting. just before noon, rita presented herself. "say, george!--what's the rag up for? did you forget what day of the week it was, or is it your birthday? "i brought you a pie, in case it might be your anniversary. made it this morning." i laughed to the bright little lass who stood before me with eyes dancing mischievously, white teeth showing and the pink of her cheeks glowing through the olive tint of her skin. the more i saw of rita, the prettier she seemed in my eyes, for she was lively and agile, trim, neat and beautifully rounded, breathing always of fragrant and exuberant health. "sit down beside me on the steps here, rita," i said. "i want to talk to you. that is why i put the flag up. "rita,--what would you give to have your grand-dad renounce his vow some day and begin speaking to your grandmother as if nothing had ever been amiss?" she looked at me and her lips trembled. "say, george! don't fool me. i ain't myself on that subject." "what would you give, rita?" "i'd give anything. i'd pretty near give my life, george; for grandmother would be happier'n an angel." "would you help, if some one knew a way?" "george,--sure you ain't foolin'? true,--you ain't foolin'?" for answer, i plunged into the scheme. "now,--all we require of you and your grandmother is to sit tight and neither to say nor do anything that would interfere. leave it to--leave it to the minister. he is doing this, and he believes that it is the only way to bring your grand-dad to his senses. mr. auld has already tried everything else he can think of." "it won't kill grand-dad, though?" she inquired. "kill him,--no! why! it won't even hurt him, unless, maybe, his pride. "do you agree, rita?" "sure!" she said. "but--if you or mr. auld hurt my grand-dad, i guess i'll kill you both,--see." her eyes flashed for a second and i could tell she was in deadly earnest over it. but she soon laughed and became happy once more. "rita,--would you like to be able to talk english,--proper english,--just as it should be talked? would you care to learn english grammar?" i asked, changing the subject partly. she came close to me on the veranda steps with a jump. "say that over again, george. i want to get it right," she said plaintively. "would you like me to teach you english grammar, rita?" i repeated. "would i? oh! wouldn't i just!" she looked away quickly. "you wouldn't waste your time teachin' the likes of me." "i have been through college. i know something of english grammar and english literature. it would be the pleasure of my life to be permitted to impart some of what i know to you." "oh!--but it would take years, and years, and--then some," she put in. "not a bit of it! it would take an hour or two of an evening, maybe twice a week. that is all,--provided you went over and learned in between times all that was given you to master." "gee! i could do that. you just try me." "well, rita. here is your first lesson. "never say 'gee.' it is not good english." and i never heard rita use the expression again. i had expected to see her smile with happiness, but she was too tremendously in earnest about it. determination was written all over her sweet little face. "george,--i'll learn anything you tell me. i'll work hard and i'll learn terrible fast, for i know i ain't no good now at talking slick." "here is another for you, rita. never say 'ain't no good.' say, 'i am not any good.' 'ain't' is not a word; it does not appear in any standard dictionary of english. "well, little girl,--if your grand-dad is agreeable and will permit you to come over now and again of an evening, we can make a start as soon as i get the book i require from vancouver. "i would come over to your place, but it is quite a distance from the store and i do not like to be too long away, especially in the evenings; for i have seen chinese in their fishing boats around, and strange launches keep coming into the bay to anchor overnights. it does not do, you know, to neglect another man's property and goods when the other man pays me for looking after them." "oh! grand-dad won't mind me coming. he lets me do pretty near anything. besides, somebody's got to come over to the store now we're getting our groceries from you instead of ordering them from vancouver." i was not so sanguine as rita was, especially after what joe had probably said to andrew clark regarding me. "well!" i concluded, "that will be my excuse when i come over with the medicine for your grand-dad's chronic complaint,--dumbness. so, don't say a word about it until i get over." the rev. william auld ran in early that afternoon. he was all excitement. "george,--i saw margaret and i have fixed her. poor woman,--she is as nervous as a kitten and as worried as a mother cat, fearing we may hurt andrew. the old rascal;--he's not so easily hurt, eh, george? "you saw rita?" "yes! and she is like mrs. clark, but the prize looks too alluring for her to refrain from entering the gamble." "george! why should we leave this till to-morrow?" "i don't know why." "we could start in to-night, just as easily as to-morrow, and it will be over a day sooner. what do you say?" "i am ready when you are, mr. auld." "right! now, i am going to leave the conversation to you. you must work it round to fit in. i shall do the rest,--the dirty work, as the villain says in the dime novel." "what do you know about dime novels?" i laughed. "i am a minister of the gospel now, but ... i was a boy once." the rev. william auld had dinner with me, then he started out in his launch for clark's ranch. it was arranged that i follow immediately in a rowing boat, which would take me longer to get there and would thus disarm any suspicion of complicity. when i arrived at clark's, i could hear the minister talking and andrew clark laughing heartily. mr. auld was telling some interesting story and he had the old man in the best of humours. i was welcomed with cheerfulness, and the minister shook hands with me as if he had not seen me for a month of sundays. rita was a-missing. mrs. clark seemed nervous and ill-at-ease. andrew, however, was in his happiest of moods. "what special brought ye over, george?" he asked. i told him of rita's anxiety to be able to talk english properly and of my willingness to teach her if it could be arranged conveniently. the minister backed up the project with all his ministerial fluency, but andrew clark was not the man to agree to a thing immediately, no matter how well it appealed to him. "rita's a good lassie," he said, "and she hasna had schoolin' except what marget and me taught her, and that's little more than being able to read and add up a few lines o' figures. "george bremner,--you're an honest man and i like ye fine. you'll ha'e my answer by the end o' the week." "right you are!" i exclaimed. andrew then started in to tell mr. auld of the method he had adopted in regard to the disposition of his output of eggs, and that gave me just the opportunity i wanted. "how do you raise your chicks, mr. clark?" i asked. "do you use an incubator?" "sure thing! and a grand little incubator i ha'e too," he answered. "she takes two hundred and fifty eggs at a time and gives an average of eighty per cent chicks." i had lit on andrew clark's one and only hobby. he got up. "come and ha'e a look at it. it's called 'the every-egg-a-chick' incubator, and it nearly lives up to its name. "but it's a pity i ha'e nothin' in her at the minute. "come on, too, mr. auld. it'll do ye good to learn something aboot chickens, even if you are busy enough lookin' after the sheep." andrew took a huge key from a nail in the wall and we followed him out to the log cabin, both of us full of forced interest and bubbling over with pent-up excitement. old man clark talked all the way on his favourite topic; he talked while he inserted the key in the door and he kept on talking as he walked in, all intent on his wonderful egg-hatcher. he left the key in the door. just as i was due to enter, i stepped back. with a quick movement, the minister pulled the door to and turned the key, taking it out of the lock and putting it in his trouser pocket. "hey!--what's the matter?" came a voice from the inside. we did not answer. andrew clark battered on the door with his fists. "hey there! the door has snappit to. open it and come awa' in." the minister put his lips to the keyhole. "andrew clark,--that door is not going to be opened for some time to come." "toots! what are ye bletherin' aboot? what kind o' a schoolboy trick is this you're up to? open the door and none o' your nonsense." i chuckled with delight, as i ran off for some boards and nails which i hammered up against the small window for extra security. when i finished the job, the rev. william auld was getting through his lecture to andrew. "--and you won't step a foot out of this place, neither shall you eat, till you renounce your devilish vow and speak to the wife of your bosom, as a god-fearing man should." sonorously from behind the door came clark's voice. "willum auld!--are ye a meenister o' the gospel?" "yes!" "and ye would try to force a man to break a vow made before the lord?" "yes! andrew." "ye would starve a man to death,--murder him?" "no!--but i would make him very uncomfortable. i would make him so hungry that he would almost hear the gnawing in his internals for meat, if i thought good would come of it." the man behind the door became furious. "willum auld!" "yes! andrew." "if ye don't open that door at once, i'll write a complaint to the presbytery. i'll ha'e ye shorn o' your releegious orders and hunted frae the kirk o' god." "be silent! you blasphemer," commanded the frail but plucky old minister. "how dare you talk in that way? do you wish to bring down a judgment on yourself? good-night! andrew,--i'll be back to-morrow; and i would strongly recommend you, in the interval, to get down on your knees and pray to your maker." this proved almost too much for andrew. "willum!--willum!--come back," he cried through the door. "what is it?" asked the minister, returning. "there's neither light nor bed here, and i'm an ageing man." "darkness is better light and earthen floors are softer bedding than you will have in the place you are hastening to if you do not repent and talk to margaret." there was a spell of silence again. "willum!--willum! are ye there?" "yes! andrew." "could i ha'e my pipe and tobacco and a puckle matches? they're on the kitchen mantel-piece." "unless it is a drink of water, not a thing shall pass through this doorway to you till you pledge me that you will speak to margaret, as you did before you took your devil's vow." the dour old man, in his erstwhile prison, had the last word: "gang awa' wi' ye,--for it'll be a long time, willum auld. the snaw will be fallin' blue frae the heavens." we went back to the cottage and gave implicit instructions to margaret and rita how they were to handle the prisoner. neither of them was in an easy frame of mind, and i feared considerably for their ability to stand the test and keep away from the log hut. but the minister retained the key, so that nothing short of tearing the place down would let andrew clark out. next day, late in the afternoon, the minister called in for me and we sailed over to the ranch. margaret, though sorely tempted, had kept religiously away from her husband; but, already, she had a variety of foodstuffs cooked and waiting his anticipated release. we went over to the barn and the minister rapped on the door. "are you there, andrew?" no answer. "andrew clark,--are you there?" still no response. i looked though the boarded window. the old scot was standing with his back to us in a studied attitude. once more the minister spoke, but still he received no answer. the women folks were waiting anxiously, and keen was their disappointment when they heard that another day would have to pass ere the head of their house could be released. "god forgive me if i am doing wrong," exclaimed william auld to me, "but i am determined, now that i have put my hand to the plough, i shall not turn back." wednesday came, and we called again. "andrew," called the minister through the door, "will you relent and talk to margaret?" "give me a drink of water," came a husky voice from behind the door. a saucer of cold water was passed under the door to him and he seized it and drank of it eagerly. "will you talk to margaret, andrew?" "no!" snapped the old fellow. and back again he dropped into silence. still another day and the performance was repeated. still andrew clark remained adamant; still margaret clark begged and prayed on her knees for his release. "we will give him one more day," said the minister, "and then, if it is god's will, we will release him and take the consequences of our acts." on the friday afternoon, we made what we considered would be our last trip. dour, stubborn, old man! it looked as if he were about to beat us after all, for we could not afford to injure his health, no matter what the reason for it. as it was, we had broken the law of the land and we were liable to punishment at the hands of the law. the rev. william auld, suffering far more than the prisoner could have suffered during that trying time, knocked at the solid door once more. "andrew! andrew!" he cried, "for god's sake, be a man." he had the key to the door in his hand, ready to open it. suddenly, a broken voice came in answer: "bring me marget! bring me marget!" "do you wish to speak to her, andrew?" "bring me marget, won't you," came again the wavering voice. i brought the dear old woman from her kitchen. she was trembling with anxiety and suspense. william auld threw the door open. andrew clark was standing in the middle of the floor, with a look on his face that i had never seen there before,--a look of holy tenderness. he held out his arms to the white-haired old lady, who tottered forward to meet him. "marget! marget! my own lass, marget!" he cried huskily, as tears blinded his sight. he caught her and crushed her to him. margaret tried to speak, but her voice caught brokenly. "andrew! andrew!--don't, lad,--oh! don't." she laid her head on his breast and sobbed in utter content, as he stroked her hair. "it's been ten year o' hell for me, marget: ten year o' hell for us both," he went on, "but god has spoken to me in the darkness, in the quietness; through hunger and thirst. my lass, my lass;--my own, dear, patient lass." he was holding her tightly to him and did not seem to know of our presence. our hearts were too full to remain. we turned and left them in the joy of their reborn love. the minister, with face aglow, got into his launch, while i jumped into my rowing boat. when i was quite a long way from the shore, i looked back across the water to the cottage; and there, kneeling together on their veranda steps, their arms around each other, their heads bent in prayer, i saw andrew clark and margaret. the next afternoon, andrew called on me. he was waiting for me at the store, as jake and i returned with two boat-loads of fresh stock which we were out receiving from the _cloochman_. the old fellow took me by the hand and surprised me by his smile of open friendship. "i would ha'e come over sooner, george, but i couldna get away frae the ranch these last few days." his eyes turned humorously as he said it. "i might ha'e run over this mornin', but marget and me ha'e a lot o' leaway to make up. "say! man,--i'll be glad if you will do what ye can to help rita. make your ain arrangements;--for, what suits you, suits me and marget." chapter xviii a maid, a mood and a song in golden crescent bay things moved quietly, almost drowsily. there were the routine of hurried work and the long spells of comparative idleness. as for the people over the way, i saw little of them outside of business. i had not spoken to mary grant since the peremptory dismissal i had received from her during her recovery from the drowning accident. i had not acknowledged her note by a visit, as probably i should have done; but, then,--how was i to know but that the note had been sent merely as a matter of form and common courtesy? she had no reason to think me other than what i showed myself to be,--an ordinary store-clerk; and this being so she might have considered it presumptuous had i endeavoured in any way to avail myself of the advantage i had secured in being of service to her, for, despite her endeavours, she could not disguise from me,--who was in a position to judge in a moment,--that her upbringing and her education had been such as only the richest could afford and only the best families in america and europe could command. yet she had a dash and wayward individualism that were all her own;--savouring of the prairies and the wilder life of the west. to me, she was still an enigma. mrs. malmsbury had been making all the purchases at the store; and, naturally, conversation with her was of a strictly business order. she seldom had a word to say that was not absolutely necessary, because, from long experience, she had gathered wisdom and knew that talking begot answering and questioning, and when these answers and questions were unheard conversation was apt to become a monologue. she had no information to impart, no reminiscences to recount, no pet theories to voice on evolution or female suffrage, no confessions or professions to make, no prophecies to advance even regarding the weather. as for mary grant,--she was seldom idle. i had seen her make her own clothes, i had seen her over the washtub with her sleeves rolled up to her fair, white shoulders, i had seen her bake and houseclean; sharing the daily duties with her elderly companion. yet she enjoyed to the full the delights that golden crescent afforded. in her spare time, she rowed on the water, bathed, roved the forests behind for wild flowers and game, read in her hammock and revelled in her music. and she was not the only one who revelled in that glorious music, for, unknown to her, jake and i listened with delight to her uplifting entertainment; i from the confines of my front veranda and jake, night after night, from his favourite position on the cliffs. he confessed to me that it was a wonderful set-off to the cravings that often beset him for the liquor which he was still fighting so nobly and victoriously. poor old jake! more than once i had almost been tempted to coax him to go back to his nightly libations, for, since he had begun his fight for abstinence, he seemed to be gradually going down the hill; losing weight, losing strength, losing interest in his daily pursuits, and, with it all, ageing. the minister had noticed the change and had expressed his concern. rita also had talked of it to me; and her visits to the old man had become more frequent, her little attentions had grown in number and her solicitude for his bodily comfort had become almost motherly. rita always could manipulate jake round her little finger. he was clay in her hands, and obeyed her even to the putting of a stocking full of hot salt round his neck one night he had a hoarseness in his throat. "if she ever insists on me puttin' my feet in hot-water and mustard," he confessed to me once, "god knows how i shall muster up the courage to refuse." i had sent to vancouver for the grammar-book with which i intended starting rita's tuition, but it had only arrived,--its coming having been delayed on account of the book-sellers not having it in stock and having to fill my requirement from the east,--but i had promised rita, much to her pleasure, that we should start in in earnest the following evening. i had been reading in my hammock until the daylight had failed me. and now i was lying, resting and hoping that any moment miss grant would commence her nightly musicale. jake, and his dog mike, i presumed, were already in their accustomed places, jake smoking his pipe and mike biting at mosquitoes and other pestiferous insects which lodged and boarded about his warm, hairy person. the cottage door opened and our fair entertainer stepped out. she came across the rustic bridge and made straight for my place, humming softly to herself as she sauntered along. she was hatless as usual and her hair was done up in great, wavy coils on her well-poised head. her hands were jammed deep into the pockets of her pale-green, silk sweater-coat. she impressed me then as being at peace with the world and perfectly at ease; much more at ease than i was, for i was puzzling myself as to what her wish with me could be, unless it were regarding some groceries that she might have overlooked during the day. she smiled as she came forward. i rose from the hammock. "now, don't let me disturb you," she said. "lie where you are. "i shall do splendidly right here." she sat down on the top step of the veranda and turned half round to me. "do you ever feel lonely, mr. bremner?" "yes!--sometimes," i answered. "what do you do with yourself on such occasions?" "oh!--smoke and read chiefly." "but,--do you ever feel as if you had to speak to a member of the opposite sex near your own age,--or die?" she was quite solemn about this, and seemed to wait anxiously as if the whole world's welfare depended on my answer. "sometimes!" i replied again, with a laugh. "what do you do then?" "i lie down and try to die." "--and find you can't," she put in. "yes!" "just the same as i do. well!--" she sighed, "i have explored all the beauties of golden crescent; i have fished--and caught nothing. i have hunted,--and shot nothing. i have read,--and learned nothing, or next to it, until i have nothing left to read. so now,--i have come over to you. i want to be friends." "are we not friends already?" i asked, sitting on the side of my hammock and filling my vision with the charming picture she presented. she sighed and raised her eyebrows. "oh!--i don't know. you never let me know that you had forgiven me for my rudeness to you." "there was nothing to forgive, miss grant." "no! how kind of you to say so! and you are not angry with me any more?" "not a bit," i answered, wondering at the change which had come over this pretty but elusive young lady. "well, mr. bremner,--i see you reading very often. i came across to inquire if you could favour me with something in the book line to wile away an hour or so." "with pleasure," i answered. "mr. horsfal, my employer, has a well-stocked little library here and you are very welcome to read anything in it you may fancy. will you come inside?" she looked up shyly, then her curiosity got the mastery. "why, yes!" she cried, jumping up. "i shall be delighted." i led the way into the front room, fixing the lamp and causing a flood of mellow light to suffuse the darkness in there. i went over and threw aside the curtains that hid the book-shelves. "you have a lovely place here," she exclaimed, looking round in admiration. "i had no idea ... no idea----" "--that a bachelor could make himself so comfortable," i put in. "exactly! do you mind if i take a peek around?" she asked, laughing. "not a bit!" she "peeked around" and satisfied her curiosity to the full. "i am convinced," she said at last, "that in all this domestic artistry there is the touch of a feminine hand. who was, or who is,--the lady?" "i understand mrs. horsfal furnished and arranged this home. she lived here every summer before she died. that made it very easy for me. all i had to do was to keep everything in its place as she had left it." miss grant was enraptured with the library. i thought she would never finish scanning the titles and the authors. "this is a positive book-wormery," she exclaimed. she chose a volume which revealed her very masculine taste in literature, although, after all, it did not astonish me greatly but merely confirmed what i already had known to be so;--that, while boys and men scorn to read girls' and women's books, yet girls and women seem to prefer the books that are written more especially for boys and men and the more those books revel and riot in sword play, impossible adventure and intrigue, the more they like them. "might i ask if you would be so good as to return my visit?" said my visitor at last. "you saved my life, you know, and you have some right to take a small friendly interest in me. "if you could spare the time, i should be pleased to have you over for tea to-morrow evening and to spend a sociable hour with us afterwards;--that is, if you care for tea, sociability and--music." i looked across at her,--so straight, so ladylike, so beautiful; almost as tall as i and so full of bubbling mischief and virile charm. "i am a veritable drunkard with tea, and as for music--ask jake, out there sitting on the cliffs in the darkness, if i like music. he knows. ask me, as i lie in my hammock here, night after night, waiting for you to begin,--if jake likes music, and the answer will satisfy you just how much both of us appreciate it. "but, i am very sorry i shall be unable to avail myself of your kind invitation to come to-morrow evening." my new friend could not disguise her surprise. i almost fancied i traced a flush of embarrassment on her cheeks. "no!" was all she said, and she said it ever so quietly. "i have a pupil coming to-morrow evening for her first real lesson in english grammar. she has waited long for it. the book i desired to start her in with has only arrived. she would be terribly disappointed if i were now to postpone that lesson." "your pupil is a lady?" "yes!--a sweet little girl called rita clark, who lives at the ranch at the other side of the crescent. she comes here often. you must have noticed her." "what!--that pretty, olive-skinned girl, with the dark hair and dark eyes? "yes! i have noticed her and i have never since ceased to envy her complexion and her woodland beauty. i would give all i have to look as she does. "you are most fortunate in your choice of a pupil?" "yes! rita is a good-hearted little girl," i lauded unthinkingly. "i spoke to her once out on the island," said miss grant, "but she seemed shy. she looked me over from head to heel, then ran off without a word. "well,--mr. bremner, days and evenings are much alike to some of us in golden crescent. shall we say wednesday evening?" "i shall be more than pleased, miss grant," i exclaimed, betraying the boyish eagerness i felt, "if----?" "if?" she inquired. "if you will return the compliment by allowing me to take you out some evening in the boat to the end of rita's isle there, where the sea trout are,--or away out to the passage by the ghoul where the salmon are now running. i have seen you fishing very often and with the patience of job, yet not once have i seen you bring home a fish. now, rita clark can bring in twenty or thirty trout in less than an hour, any time she has a fancy to. "i should like to break your bad luck, for i think the trouble can only be with the tackle you use." mary grant's brown eyes danced with pleasure, and in the lamplight, i noticed for the first time, how very fair her skin was,--cream and pink roses,--tanned slightly where the sun had got at it, but without a blemish, without even a freckle, and this despite the fact that she seldom took any precautions against the depredations of old sol. "i shall be glad indeed. you are very kind; for what you propose will be a treat of treats, especially if we catch some fish." she held out her hand to me. mine touched hers and a thrill ran and sang through my fingers, through my body to my brain; the thrill of a strange sensation i had never before experienced. i gazed at her without speaking. she raised her eyes and mine held hers for the briefest of moments. to me it seemed as if a world of doubt and uncertainty were being swept away and i were looking into eyes i had known through all the ages. then her golden lashes dropped and hid those wonderful eyes from me. impulsively, yet fully knowing what i did, i raised her hand and touched the back of her fingers with my lips. she did not draw her hand away. she smiled across to me ever so sweetly and turned from me into the darkness. not for an hour did i wake from my reveries. the spell of new influences was upon me; the moon, climbing up among the scudding night-clouds, never seemed so bright before and the phosphorescent glow and silver streaks on the water never so beautiful. a light travelled across the parlour over the way. i saw miss grant seat herself by the piano, and soon the whole air became charged with the softest, sweetest cadences,--elusive, faint and fairylike. how i enjoyed them! how old jake on the cliffs must have enjoyed them! what an artist the lady was, and how she excelled herself that evening! i lay in a transport of pleasure, hoping that the music might never cease; but, alas for such vain hoping,--it whispered and died away, leaving behind it only the stillness of the night, the sighing of the wind in the tops of the tall creaking firs, the chirping of the crickets under the stones and the call of the night bird to her mate. i raised my eyes across to the cottage. in the lamplight, i could discern the figure of the musician. she was seated on the piano stool, with her hands clasped in front of her and gazing out through the window into the darkness of the night. surely it was a night when hypnotising influences were at work with all of us, for i had not yet seen jake return; he was evidently still somewhere out on the cliffs communing with the spirits that were in the air. suddenly i observed a movement in the room over the way. miss grant had roused herself from her dreaming. she raised her hand and put the fingers i had kissed to her own lips. then she kissed both her hands to the outside world. she lowered the light of the lamp until only the faintest glow was visible. she ran her fingers over the piano keys in a ripple of simple harmonies. sweet and clear came her voice in singing. i caught the lilt of the music and i caught the words of the song:-- a maid there was in the north coun-tree, a shy lit-tle, sweet lit-tle maid was she. she wished and she sighed for she knew-not-who, so long as he loved her ten-der-lee; and day by day as the long-ing grow, her spin-ning-wheel whirred and the threads wove through. it whirred, it whirred, it whirred and the threads wove through. [illustration: song fragment] a maid there was in the north countree; a gay little, blythe little maid was she. her dream of a gallant knight came true. he wooed her long and so tenderlee. and, day by day, as their fond love grew, her spinning wheel stood with its threads askew; it stood.--it stood.--it stood with its threads askew. a maid there was in the north countree; a sad little, lone little maid was she. her knight seemed fickle and all untrue as he rode to war at the drummer's dree. and, day by day, as her sorrow grew, her spinning wheel groaned and the threads wove through. it groaned.--it groaned.--it groaned and the threads wove through. a maid there is in the north countree; a coy little, glad little maid is she. her cheeks are aglow with a rosy hue, for her knight proved true, as good knights should be. and, day by day, as their vows renew, her spinning wheel purrs and the threads weave through; it purrs.--it purrs.--it purrs and the threads weave through. why she had not sung before, i could not understand, for a voice such as she had was a gift from heaven, and it was sinful to keep it hidden away. it betrayed training, but only in a slight degree; not sufficient to have spoiled the bewitching, vagrant plaintiveness which it possessed; an inexpressible allurement of tone which a few untrained singers have, trained singers never, for the rigours of the training steal away that peculiar charm as the great city does the bloom from the cheek of a country maiden. i listened for the verses of the song which i knew should follow, but the singer's voice was still and the faint glow of the lamp was extinguished. chapter xix the "green-eyed monster" awakes rita had just had her first real lesson in english. already,--but without giving her the reason why, except that it was incorrect,--i had taught her never to say "ain't" and "i seen"; also that "gee," "gosh" and "you bet your life" were hardly ladylike expressions. she now understood that two negatives made a positive and that she should govern her speech accordingly. she was an apt pupil; so anxious to improve her way of talking that mine was not a task, it was merely the setting of two little feet on a road and saying, "this is your way home," and those two little feet never deviated from that road for a single moment, never side-stepped, never turned back to pick up the useless but attractive words she had cast from her as she travelled. how i marvelled at the great difference the elimination of a few of the most common of her slangy and incorrect expressions and the substitution of plain phrases in their places made in her diction! already, it seemed to me as if she understood her english and had been studying it for years. how easy it was, after all, i fancied, as i followed my train of thought, for one, simply by elimination, to become almost learned in the sight of his fellow men! but now rita had been introduced to the whys and wherefores in their simplest forms, so that she should be able, finally, to construct her thoughts for herself, word by word and phrase by phrase, into rounded and completed sentences. at the outset, i had told her how the greatest writers in english were not above reading and re-reading plain little grammars such as she was then studying, also that the favourite book of some of the most famous men the world ever knew, a book which they perused from cover to cover, year in and year out, as they would their family bible,--was an ordinary standard dictionary. i gave rita her thin little grammar and a note book in which to copy her lessons, and she slipped these into her bosom, hugging them to her heart and laughing with pleasure. she put out her hands and grasped mine, then, in her sweet, unpremeditated way, she threw her arms round my neck and drew my lips to hers. dear little girl! how very like a child she was! a creature of impulse, a toy in the hands of her own fleeting emotions! "say! george,--i just got to hug you sometimes," she cried, "you are so good to me." she stood back and surveyed me as if she were trying to gauge my weight and strength. as it so happened, that was exactly what she was doing. "you aren't scared of our joe,--are you?" she asked. "no!" i laughed. "what put that funny question into your head?" she became serious. "well,--if i thought you were, i wouldn't come back for any more grammar." "why?" i asked. "joe's not very well pleased about it. guess he thinks nobody should be able to speak better'n he can." "oh!--never mind joe," i exclaimed. "he'll come round, and your grand-dad's consent is all you need anyway." "sure! but i know, all the same, that joe's got it in for you. he hasn't forgot the words you and he had." "when did you see him last, rita?" "he was in to-day. wanted to know where i was going. grand-dad told him, then joe got mad. says you're 'too damned interfering.' yes! joe said it. he said to grand-dad, 'you ain't got no right lettin' that kid go over there. girls ain't got any business learnin' lessons off'n men.' "grand-dad said, 'aw! forget it, joe. she's got my permission, so let that end it. george bremner's all right.' "the settlers are arranging for a teacher up here next summer. why can't she wait till then and get her lessons from a reg'lar professional, and no gol-durned amatoor,' said joe. "'see here, mister man!' i said, 'you're sore,--that's your trouble. but i'm not going to be bullied by you,--so there. i'm through with you, joe clark;--and, what's more, you needn't take any interest in me any more. i can look after myself.' "he gripped my arm. it's black and blue yet. see! "'you ain't goin',' said he, madder'n ever. "'yes! i am,' i said. "'if you go, by god, i'll kill that son-of-a-gun. watch me! i ain't forgot him, though maybe he's fool enough to think i have.' "then he got kind of soft. "'don't you go, rita.' "'why?' i asked. "'because i don't want you to.' "'that's no reason,' i said. "i'll send you to a school in vancouver this winter, if you'll wait,' he coaxed. "you see, george,--joe ain't half bad sometimes. but i was scared he might think i was givin' in. "'don't want your schooling. it's too late,' said i. 'i've arranged for myself, joe clark,--so there.' "i ran out and left him. "he's pretty mad, but i don't care any more, now you're goin' to help me with this grammar. "you're sure you're not scared of joe?" she repeated. "i have a strong right arm," i declared, "and i have been taught to look after myself." i went down to the boat with her, and as she was stepping in she caught me by the shirt sleeve. "you and joe aren't goin' to fight, george? promise me you won't fight." "i could not promise that, little girl, for i cannot control the future. but i promise you that i shall not seek any quarrel with joe. but, if he insulted you, for instance, or tried to commit a bodily violence on me, i would fight him without any hesitation. wouldn't that be the right thing to do, rita?" her head nodded wistfully. "yes! guess it would," she whispered, as i pushed her boat out into the water where the darkness swallowed it up. chapter xx fishing! in the fulfilling of a promise, i called the following evening on miss grant. it was the first of a number of such visits, for i found that the old feeling of antagonism between us had entirely disappeared and, consequently, i enjoyed the sociability refreshingly. our meetings, while not by any means of the 'friendly admiration' kind, were of a nature beneficial to both of us. she learned that i was an englishman of good family. i gathered, her mother had been a virginian and her father an englishman; that she loved the american continent and always considered the united states her country as her mother had done before her. but further than this we did not get, for we were both diffident in talking of our lives prior to our coming to golden crescent. still, we had many never-failing topics of conversation, many subjects to discuss in literature, music, philosophy and economics. we travelled along in our acquaintance easily,--leisurely,--as if time were eternal and the world were standing still awaiting our good pleasure. late one afternoon, when i was sitting out on the rocks, near the oil barns at the end of the wharf, enjoying the cooling breezes after the trying heat of that midsummer's day, i saw miss grant come down the path with her fishing lines in her hand and her sweater-coat over her arm. she went to her boat and started to pull it toward the water. i scrambled over and down the rocks, to lend a hand. "any room for me, miss grant?" i asked boldly. "why, yes!" she smiled eagerly, "if only you would come. you promised once, you know, but, somehow, that promise is still unfulfilled." i handed her into the boat, pushed off and leaped in beside her. she took the oars and, with the swift easy strokes, full of power and artistic grace, which i had noticed the first time i saw her on the water, she pulled out to the west of rita's isle. her hair was hanging negligently, in loose, wavy curls, over her shoulders. her dimpled arms and her neck were bared to the sunshine. her mouth was parted slightly and her teeth shone ivory-like, as she plied her oars. "let me take a turn now," i asked, "and run out your line." she did so, and i took her slowly round the island without her feeling so much as a tiny nibble. "how stupid!" i exclaimed. "what's the good of me coming out here, if i do not try to discover the cause of your continual non-success as a fisher? pull in your line and let me have a look at the spoon." i examined the sinker and found it of the proper weight and properly adjusted, fixed at the correct length from the bait. next, i took the spoon in my hand. it was a small nickel spinner,--the right thing for catching sea-trout round rita's isle. i was puzzled for a little, until i laid the spoon and the hook flat on the palm of my hand, then i knew where the trouble was. the barb of the hook hung fully an inch and a half too far from the spoon. i adjusted it and handed it back to my lady-companion. "try that," i said with a smile. in dropped the line and out it ran to its full length. miss grant held it taut. suddenly she gave it a jerk. she stopped in breathless excitement. then she jerked again. "oh, dear me!" she cried anxiously, "there's something on." "pull it in," i shouted, "steady,--not too quickly." immediately thereafter, a fine, two-pound trout lay flopping in the bottom of the boat. "just think of that," cried my fair troller, "my first fish! and all by moving up a foolish little hook an inch or so." her eyes were agleam. she chatted on and on almost without ceasing, almost without thinking, so excited and absorbed did she become in the sport. back went the line, and in it came again with another wriggling, shining trout. for an hour i rowed round the island, and, in that hour, mary grant had equalled rita's best that i knew of, for between thirty and forty fish fell a prey to the deadly bait and hook. "how would you like to try for a salmon?" i asked at last. "they are running better now than they have done all the year so far." "all right!" she agreed, with a sigh of pent-up excitement, pulling in her trout line and running out a thicker one with a large salmon spoon and a fairly heavy sinker. i rowed out to the mouth of the bay, keeping inside the ghoul rock; then i started crossways over to the far point. we were half-way across, when mary grant screamed. the line she was holding ran with tremendous rapidity through her fingers. i jammed my foot on the wooden frame lying in the bottom of the boat and to which the line was attached. i was just in time to save it from following the rest of the line overboard. i pulled in my oars and caught up the line. away, thirty yards off, a great salmon sprang out of the water high into the air, performing a half-circle and flopping back with a splash from its lashing tail. "she is yours," i cried. "come! play her for all you can." but, as i turned, i saw that miss grant's fingers were bleeding from the sudden running-out of the line when the salmon had struck; so i settled down to fight the fish myself. all at once, the line slacked. i hauled it in, feeling almost certain that i had lost my prize. but no! off she went again like a fury, rising out of the water in her wild endeavours to free herself. for a long time i played her. my companion took the oars quietly and was now doing all she could to assist me. next, the salmon sank sheer down and sulked far under the water. gradually, gradually i drew her in and not a struggle did she make. she simply lay, a dead thing at the end of my line. "she's played out, miss grant. she's ours," i cried gleefully, as i got a glint of her under the water as she came up at the end of my line. but, alas! for the luck of a fisherman. when the salmon was fifteen feet from the boat, she jerked and somersaulted most unexpectedly, with all the despair of a gambler making his last throw. she shot sheer out of the water and splashed in again almost under the boat. my line, minus the spoon and the hook, ran through my fingers. "damn!" i exclaimed, in the keenest disappointment. "and--that's--just--what--i--say--too," came my fair oars-woman's voice. "if that isn't the hardest kind of luck!" away out, we could see our salmon jump, and jump, and jump again, out of the water ten feet in the air, darting and plunging in wide circles, like the mad thing she probably was. "it serves me rightly, miss grant. i professed to be able to fix your tackle and yet i did not examine that spoon before putting it into use. it has probably been lying in a rusty condition for a year or so. "well,--we cannot try again to-night, unless we row in for a fresh spoon-hook." "oh!--let us stop now. we have more fish already than we really require." "shall i row you in?" i asked. "do you wish to go in?" "oh, dear, no! i could remain here forever,--at least until i get hungry and sleepy," i laughed. "all right!" she cried, "let us row up into the bay and watch the sun go down." i pulled along leisurely, facing my fair companion, who was now reclining in the stern, with the sinking sun shining in all its golden glory upon the golden glory of her. moment by moment, the changing colours in the sky were altering the colours on the smooth waters to harmonise: a lake of bright yellow gold, then the gold turned to red, a sea of blood; from red to purple, from purple to the palest shade of heliotrope; and, as the sun at last dipped in the far west, the distant mountains threw back that same attractive shade of colour. it was an evening for kind thoughts. we glided up the bay, past jake meaghan's little home; still further up, then into the lagoon, where not a ripple disturbed that placid sheet of water: where the trees and rocks smiled down upon their own mirrored reflections. we grew silent as the nature around us, awed by the splendours of the hushing universe upon which we had been gazing. "it is beautiful! oh, so beautiful!" said my companion at last, awaking from her dreaming. "let us stay here awhile. i cannot think to go home yet." she threw her sweater-coat round her shoulders, for, even in the height of summer, the air grows chilly on the west coast as the sun goes down. "you may smoke, mr. bremner. i know you are aching to do so." i thanked her, pulled in my oars and lighted my pipe. mary grant sat there, watching me in friendly interest, smiling in amusement in the charming way only she could smile. "do you know, i sometimes wonder," she said reflectively, "why it is that a man of your education, your prospective attainments, your ability, your physical strength and mental powers should keep to the bypaths of life, such as we find up here, when your fellows, with less intellect than you have, are in the cities, in the mining fields and on the prairies, battling with the world for power and fortune and getting, some of them, what they are battling for. "i am not trying to probe into your privacy, but what i have put into words has often recurred to me regarding you. somehow, you seem to have all the qualities that go to the making of a really successful business man." "do you really wonder why?" i smiled. "--and yet you profess to know me--a little." it was an evening for closer friendships. "if you promise for the future to call me george and permit me the privilege, when we are alone, of calling you mary, i shall answer your query." "all right,--george,--it's a bargain," she said. "go ahead." "well! in the first place, i know what money is; what it can bring and what it can cause. i never cared for money any more than what could provide the plain necessities of life. as for ambition to make and accumulate money;--god forbid that i should ever have it. i leave such ambitions to the grubs and leeches." mary listened in undisguised interest. "oh! i have had opportunities galore, but i always preferred the simpler way,--the open air, the sea and the quiet, the adventure of the day and the rest after a day well spent. "no man can eat more than three square meals a day and be happy; no man can lie upon more than one bed at a time;--so, what right have i, or any other man for the matter of that, to steal some other fellow's food and bedding?" "but some day you may wish to marry," she put in. "some day,--yes! maybe. and the lady i marry must also love the open air, away from the city turmoil; she must hanker after the glories of a place such as this; otherwise, we should not agree for long. "and,--mary,--" i continued, "the man you would marry,--what would you demand of him?" "the man i would marry may be a merchant prince or a humble tiller of the soil. a few things only i would demand of him, and these are:--that he love me with all his great loving heart; that he be honourable in all things and that his right arm be strong to protect his own and ever ready to assist his weaker brother. "marriages may be made in heaven, george, but they have to be lived on earth, and the one essential thing in every marriage is love." she sat for a while in thought, then she threw out her hands as if to ward off a danger. "of what use me talking in this way," she cried. "marriage, for me, with my foolish ideas, is impossible. i am destined to remain as i am." my pulse quickened as she spoke. "and why?" i asked;--for this evening of evenings was one for open hearts and tender feelings. "it was arranged for me that by this time i should be the wife of a man; and,--god knows,--though i did not love him, i meant to be a true and dutiful wife to him, even when i knew my eternal soul would be bruised in the effort. "this man was taller than you are, george. sometimes, in your devil-may-care moods, i seem to see him again in you. i am glad to say, though, the similarity ends there. "for all his protestations of love for me, for all his boasted ideals, his anxiety for the preservation of his honour as a gentleman, he proved himself not even faithful in that which every woman has a right to demand of the man she is about to marry, as he demands it of her. "i would not marry him then. i could not. i would sooner have died. "that was my reward for trying to do my duty." her voice broke. "sometimes, i wonder if any man is really true and honourable." she covered her face with her hands; she, who had always been so self-possessed. "the shame of it! the shame of it!" she sobbed. in my heart, i cursed the dishonour of men. would the dreadful procession of it never cease? deceit and dishonour! dishonour and deceit! here, there, everywhere,--and always the woman suffering while the man goes free! i moved over beside her in the stern of the boat. i laid my hand upon her shoulder. in my rough, untutored way, without breaking into the agony of her thoughts, i tried to comfort her with the knowledge of my sympathetic presence. for long we sat thus; but at last she turned to me and her hair brushed my cheek. she looked into my eyes and i know she read what was in my heart, for it was brimming over with a love for her that i had never known before, a love that overwhelmed me and left me dumb. "george!" she whispered softly, laying her hand upon mine, "you must not, you must not." then she became imperious and haughty once more. "back to your oars, sailorman," she cried, with an astonishing effort at gaiety. "the dark is closing in and mrs. malmsbury will be thinking all kinds of things she would not dare say, even if she were able." late that night, i heard the second verse of mary's little song. it was hardly sung; it was whispered, as if she feared that even the fairies and sprites might be eavesdropping; but, had she lilted it in her heart only, still, i think, i should have heard it. a maid there was in the north countree; a gay little, blythe little maid was she. her dream of a gallant knight came true. he wooed her long and so tenderlee. and, day by day, as their fond love grew, her spinning wheel stood with its threads askew; it stood.--it stood.--it stood with its threads askew. chapter xxi the beachcombers the autumn, with its shortening days and lengthening nights, was upon golden crescent, but still the charm and beauty of its surroundings were unimpaired. i never tired of the scenes, for they were kaleidoscopic in their changing. even in the night, when sleep was unable to bind me, i have risen and stood by my open window, in reverie and peaceful contemplation, and the dark has grown to dawn ere i turned back to bed. it was on such an occasion as i speak of. i was leaning on the window ledge, looking far across the bay. the sea was a mirror of oily calm. a crescent moon was shining fairly high in the south, laying a streak of silver along the face of the water near the far shore. it was a night when every dip of an oar would threaten to bring up the reflected moon from the liquid deep; a night of quiet when the winging of a sea-fowl, or the plop of a fish, could be heard a mile away. in the stillness could be heard the occasional tinkle, tinkle of a cow-bell from the grazing lands across the bay. as i listened to the night noises, i heard the distant throb of a launch out in the vicinity of the ghoul rock. suddenly, the throbbing stopped and i fancied i caught the sound of deep voices. all went still again, but, soon after, my ear detected the splashing of oars and the rattle of a badly fitting rowlock. i watched, peering out into the darkness. the moon shot swiftly from under a cloud and threw its white illuminant like a searchlight sheer upon a large rowing boat as it crept up past the wharf, some fifty yards out from the point. i counted five figures in the boat, which was heading up the bay. a cloud passed over the moon again and the picture of the boat and its occupants vanished from my sight. strange, i thought, why these men should arrive in a launch, leave it so far out and come in with a rowing boat of such dimensions, when there was good, safe and convenient anchorage almost anywhere close in! i listened again. the sound of the rattling row-lock ceased and i heard the grinding of a boat's bottom on the gravel somewhere in the vicinity of jake's cove. i stood in indecision for some minutes, then i decided that i would find out what these men were up to. i put on my clothes without haste, picked up a broken axe-handle that lay near the doorway and started noiselessly down the back path in the direction of meaghan's shack, reaching there about half an hour after i had first detected the boat. when i came to the clearing, i saw a light in the cabin. as i drew closer, i heard the sound of hoarse voices. stepping cautiously, i went up to the window and peered through. i saw four strange men there. the lower parts of their faces were masked by handkerchiefs in real highwaymen fashion. with a dirty neckcloth stuffed into his mouth, old jake was sitting on a chair and tied securely to it by ropes. mike, his faithful old dog, was lying at his feet in a puddle of blood. the liquor keg in the corner had been broached, and i could see that, already, the men had been drinking. jake's brass-bound chest had been dragged to the middle of the floor and the man who appeared to be the leader of the gang was sitting astride of it, with a cup of liquor in his hand, laughing boisterously. my anger rose furiously. "the low skunks," i growled, gripping my improvised club as i tip-toed quietly to the door, hoping to rush in, injure some of them and stampede the others before they would know by how many they were being attacked. i was gently turning the handle, when something crashed down on my head. i stumbled into the shack, sprawled upon the floor, strange voices sang in my ears and everything became blurred. it could have been only a few minutes later when i revived. i was in jake's cabin, and was trussed with ropes, hands and feet, to one of the wooden uprights of the old klondiker's home-made bed. i could feel something warm, oozy and clammy, making its way from my hair, down the back of my neck. i opened my eyes wide, and reason enough came to me to close them quickly again. then i opened them once more, cautiously and narrowly. five strange men were now in the cabin, which was cloudy with tobacco smoke. the carousal had increased rather than otherwise. the men were gathered round jake, laughing and cursing in wild derision. they were not interested in me at the moment, so i stayed quiet, making pretence that the unconsciousness was still upon me, whenever any of them turned in my direction. through my half-opened eyelids, i fancied i recognised the leader of the crowd as a black-haired, beady-eyed, surly dog of a logger who had come in several times from camp no. to help with the taking up of their supplies,--but of his identity i was not quite certain. as my scattered senses began to collect, i hoped against hope that these men would keep up their drinking bout until not one of them would be able to stand. but, while they drank long and drank deeply, they were too wise by far to overdo it. then i got to wondering what they were badgering old jake about, for i could hear him growl and curse, his gag having fallen to the floor. "go to hell and take the trunk, the booze and the whole caboose with you, if you want to. i don't want none of it. i ain't hoggin' booze any more." "ho, ho! hear that," yelled the big, black-haired individual, "he ain't boozin'! the old swiller ain't boozin' and him keeps a keg o' whisky under his nose. "ain't boozin' with common ginks like us,--that's what he means. "come on! we'll show him whether he ain't boozin' or not." he got a cupful of the raw spirits and stuck it to jake's mouth. but jake shook his head. "come on! drink it up or i'll sling it down your gullet." still jake refused. then my blood ran cold, and boiled again. the veins stood out on my forehead with rage. the foul-mouthed creature hit my old helper full across the mouth and a trickle of blood immediately began to flow down over jake's chin. i struggled silently with my ropes, but they were taut and merely cut into my flesh. but i made the discovery then, that my captors had failed to take into account that the bed to which they had tied me had been put up by jake and, at that, not any too securely. i felt that if i threw all my weight away from the stanchion to which i was bound, i might be able to pull the whole thing out bodily. but i knew that this was not the moment for such an attempt. they were five men to one; they had sticks and clubs, maybe revolvers, so what chance would i have? i decided to bear with the goading of jake as long as it were possible. "guess you'll drink it now,--you old, white-livered miser," cried the dark man. he dashed some of the liquor in jake's face. jake opened his mouth and gasped. the big bully then threw the remainder of the spirits, with a splash, sheer into jake's mouth. "he boozed that time, boys. you bet your socks!" he laughed uproariously. the others joined in the hilarity. the jake i looked upon after that was not the jake i had known for the past few months. he sat staring in front of him for a little while, then he exclaimed huskily, almost hungrily: "say, fellows! give us some more. it tastes pretty good to me." "thought he would come to it," shouted the black-haired man triumphantly. "we ain't refusin' no booze to-night. fetch a cup o' rye for jake." one of the others brought it, and it was held to the old man's lips. he let it over his throat almost at a single gulp. "more,--more!" more was brought, and again he drank. three times jake emptied that brimming cup of raw spirits. i shivered with abhorrence at the sight. "more?" queried the big man. "yep! more," craved jake. "nothin' doin'! you've had enough, you old booze-fighter. "say! how's that top-notcher swell bremner comin' on?" he turned to me. "let's fill him up, too." they came over to me, but i pretended still to be unconscious. my head was limply bent over my chest. they jerked it up by my forelock and looked into my face. the foulness of their breath almost nauseated me, but i stood the test, keeping my eyes tightly closed and allowing my head to flop forward the moment it was released from their clutch. "what in the hell did you hit him so hard for?" cried the leader, turning savagely to the man at his left elbow. "we ain't lookin' for any rope-collars over this. guess we'd better beat it. get busy with that chest some of you. come on!" they raised their masks from their mouths and had another drink all round, then two of them, under the big man's directions, caught up the chest, and they all crowded out and down toward their boat. the moment after they were gone i threw my weight and growing strength away from the upright to which i was bound. it creaked and groaned. i tried again, and still again. at the third attempt, the entire fixtures fell on top of me to the floor. i struggled clear of the débris, and the rest was easy. i slipped the ropes from the wooden post and, in their now loosened condition, i wriggled free. i did not wait to do anything for jake, nor yet to consider any plan of operation. my blood was up and that was all i knew. i picked my axe-handle from the floor and dashed out after the robbers. the five men were with the boat at the water's edge. two were sitting at the oars in readiness, two were on the beach raising jake's trunk to the fifth man who was standing in the stern of the boat. i sprang upon them. i hit one, with a sickening crash, over the head. he let go his hold of the trunk and toppled limply against the side of the boat, as the trunk splashed into the shallow water. i staggered with the impetus, and from the impact of my blow let my club drop from my jarred hand. before i could recover, the big man,--who had been helping to raise the trunk,--bore down on me. he caught me by the throat in a horrible grip, and tried to press me backward; but, with a short-arm blow, i smashed him over the mouth with telling force, cutting my knuckles in a splutter of blood and broken teeth. his grip loosened. he shouted to his fellows for assistance as he sprang at me once more. but, somewhere in the darkness behind me, a pistol-shot rang out and the big man staggered, letting out a howl of pain, as his arm dropped limp to his side. he darted for the boat and threw himself into it, seized a spare oar and pushed off frantically. "pull,--pull like hell," he yelled. they needed no second bidding, for they shot out into the bay as if a thousand devils were after them. i turned to ascertain who my deliverer could be; and there, on the beach, only a few yards away, stood mary grant with a serviceable-looking revolver held firmly in her right hand. "what? you! mary,--mary," i cried in an agony of thought at the awful risk she had run. "are you all right, george?" she inquired anxiously. "right as rain," i answered, hurrying to her side. "did they get jake's trunk away?" "no! the low thieves! it is lying there in the water. do you think you could help me up with it?" she caught up the trunk at one end, while i took the other. and we carried it back between us to jake's cabin. poor old jake! i could hardly smother a smile as i saw the dejected figure he presented. his grey hair was drooping over his forehead, every line in his face showed a droop, and his long, white moustache drooped like the tusks of a walrus, or like the american comic journals' representations of the whiskers of ancient and fossilised members of the british peerage. he was sitting bound, as the robbers had left him. i cut him free and he staggered to his feet. he was sober as a jail bird, and, excepting for his broken lip and chafed wrists, he was, to all appearances, none the worse for his experiences. it surprised me to notice how little he seemed interested in the recovery of his money. all his attention and sympathy were centred on the wretched dog, mike, who was slowly getting over the clubbing he had received and was whimpering like a discontented baby. mike had a long gash in his neck, evidently made by one of the robbers with jake's bread-knife. mary washed out the wound and i stitched it up with a needle and thread, so that, all things considered, mike was lucky in getting out of his encounter as easily as he did. as for the crack i had received over the head, it had made me bloody enough, but it was superficial and not worth worrying about. i decided i would not leave jake alone that night and that, as soon as i had seen mary safely home, i would return and sleep in his cabin till morning. "when you come back," said jake gruffly, "bring ink and paper with you. i want you to do some writin' for me, george." i laughed, for i knew what was in his mind. as mary and i wended our way back through the narrow path, in the dead of that moonlight night, the daring and bravery of her action caught me afresh. how i admired her! i could scarcely refrain from telling her of it, and of how i loved her. but it was neither the time nor the place for protestations of affection. "how in the world did you happen to get down there at the right moment?" i asked. she gave a quiet ripple of laughter. "i couldn't sleep and i was up and standing at the window----" "just as i was doing," i put in. "i saw that boat come up,--as you must have seen it, george,--i went to the door, and, in the moonlight, i saw you come out and take the back path. later still, i heard noises and the cursing of these men. "i became afraid that something was wrong, so i dressed, took up my little revolver and followed you. "i was at the window of jake's cabin all the time he was being forced to drink and while you were tied up. i had to get out of the way when they came out." at the door of mary's house i took her hand in mine. "we are quits now, mary. those blackguards certainly would have finished me off but for you. "where did you learn to shoot, you wild and woolly westerner?" i asked. "why! didn't i ever tell you? for quite a while, when i was a youngster, i lived on a ranch in the western states. everybody could shoot down there." "but, what would you have said had you killed that big black robber or winged me?" i asked. "we were all in a higgledy-piggledy mix-up when you fired." she smiled. "i can generally hit what i aim at." i nodded my head. "ay! and i think you can hit sometimes even when you don't aim." "george!" she admonished, "we were referring simply to shooting with a gun,--not with a bow and arrows." chapter xxii jake stops the drink for good by the time i got back to jake, he had his bed hammered up into position again. he insisted that i, as his guest, should occupy it, while he would enjoy nothing so well as being allowed to curl himself up in a blanket on the floor, in the company of the convalescing mike. "say, george!--before we turn in, i want you to write two letters for me. i ain't goin' to have no more hold-ups round this joint. them ten thousand bucks is goin' to your bank;--what do you call it?" "the commercial bank of canada," i answered. "write a letter to them and ask them to send somebody up to take this darned chest away. a receipt looks good enough to me after this scrap." he smoked his pipe reflectively as i wrote out the letter to the bank manager, asking him to send up two men to count over jake's hoard and take it back with them, giving him a receipt to cover. "know any good lawyers, george? most of them ginks are grafters from away back,--so i've heard,--but i guess maybe there's one or two could do a job on the level." "of course there are, jake. dow, cross & sneddon for instance. they are mr. horsfal's lawyers and solicitors. they are straight, honest business men, too." "guess they'll fill the bill, all right." "what is on your mind, jake?" i asked. "write them as well, george. tell them to send up a man who can draw up a will. i ain't dead yet,--not by a damn' sight,--but some day i'll be as dead as a smelt, and what's the good o' havin' dough if you ain't got nobody to leave it to?" "good boy!" i cried, and i wrote out letter number two, asking the lawyers, if possible, to send their representative along with the commercial bank men, so that we could get the whole business fixed up and off-hand at the one time. next morning when i awoke, although it was still early, i found jake already dressed. not only that, but he was at the whisky-keg in the corner, filling up a cup. "my god! jake,--you don't mean to tell me you are back to that stuff?" "yep! i ain't preachin' tee-total any more after this." my heart sank within me. this,--after all his fighting. i remonstrated with him all i could. "but, man alive!" i said, "this is the early morning. are you crazy? you never drank in the mornings before. wait till night time. give yourself a chance to get pulled together. you'll be feeling different after a while. "think! what will rita say? what will miss grant think? how will you be able to face mr. auld? they all know of the good fight you have been putting up. "jake,--jake,--for shame! throw the stuff out at the door." jake only shook his head more firmly. "it ain't no good preachin', george, or gettin' sore,--for i've quit tryin'. "what'n the hell's the good, anyway. the more you fight, the rawer a deal you get in the finish. forget it! i'm drinkin' now whenever i'm good and ready; any old time at all and as much as i want,--and more." i could do no more for him. it was jake for it. i stopped the southbound _cloochman_ that afternoon and put jake's letters aboard. two days later, two clerks from the commercial bank and a young lawyer from dow, cross & sneddon's came into golden crescent in a launch. i took them over to jake meaghan's. i introduced them, then busied myself outside while the necessary formalities were gone through, for i did not wish to be in any way connected with jake's settlements. at last, however, the old fellow came to the door. "george,--i guess you'd better take care o' them for me. that's my bank receipt. that's my death warrant," he grinned, "i mean my will. you're better'n me at lookin' after papers." we carried the brass-bound trunk to the launch and waved it a fond farewell, without tears or regrets. for two weeks, morning, noon and night, jake indulged in a horror of a drinking bout. the very thought of that orgy still sets my blood running cold. we pleaded, we threatened; but of no avail. the minister even closeted himself with jake for a whole afternoon without making the slightest impression on him. it was always the same old remark: "i've boozed for ten years and it ain't hurt me, so i guess i can booze some more." and the strange feature of it was that the more he drank the more sober he seemed to become. he did his work as well as ever. his eyes retained their same innocent, baby-blue expression and his brain was as clear as a summer sky. one sunday forenoon, i was busy in the yard taking down my saturday's washing from the clothes line, when jake's dog, mike, came tearing along the back path, making straight for me. that, in itself, was an unusual thing, for mike never showed any violent affection for any one but jake and he was more or less inclined to shun me altogether. now, he stood in front of me and barked. i kept on with my work. he followed every step i took and kept on barking and yelping excitedly, looking up into my face. "what the dickens is the matter, old man?" i asked. when he saw me interested in him, he turned and ran down toward the beach. i did not follow. he came back and went through the same performance. then he got angry and caught me by the foot of the overalls, trying to pull me in the direction he wanted. it struck me then that an old stager, like mike was, would not misbehave himself as he was doing for the mere fun of it. i left my newly dried clothes and followed him. he ran on ahead and into my boat, getting up on the side and barking toward jake's place. i became anxious. i pushed off hurriedly and rowed as hard as i could up the bay in the direction of the cove. as i was turning in at jake's landing, mike grew excited again, running to the right side of the stern and whining. "what on earth can the dog mean?" i soliloquised, making up my mind to call in at the shack first, at any rate, and investigate. but mike jumped out of the boat and swam off further up, turning back to me every few yards and yelping. the dog evidently knew more than i did, so i followed him. he led me to jake's favourite clam-hunting ground. as soon as i turned into that little cove, i saw my old helper lying on his back on the beach. i pulled in and hurried over to him. the dog was there before me, his tongue out and his tail wagging as if to say: "it is all right now." the old man's eyes were wide open and glazed. he was blowing stentoriously through his closed mouth and a white ooze was on the corners of his lips. his body was tense and rigid, as if it had been frozen solid in the arctic snows. poor old jake! i knew what had seized him. i had seen something of the trouble before. i lifted him gently and carried him into the boat, pushing off and rowing as quickly as possible for his home. i got him into bed, but it was an hour before he showed any signs of consciousness, for i could do nothing for him,--only sit and watch. at last he recognised me and tried to talk, but his speech was thick and nothing but a jabber of sounds. he cast his eyes down his right side as if to draw my attention to something. his eyes, somehow, seemed the only real live part of him. i examined him carefully and saw what he meant. poor fellow! tears ran down my cheeks in pity for him. his right side was numb and paralysed. i hurried over to mary's. she and mrs. malmsbury returned with me and attended him, hand and foot, until the minister came in late that afternoon. mr. auld was a medical missionary, and he confirmed what i had feared. jake had had a stroke. the only articulate words meaghan uttered in his mumblings were, "rita, rita, rita." again and again he came over the name. at last i promised him i would run over and bring her to him. that seemed to content him, but his eyes still kept roving round restlessly. mr. auld injected some morphine through jake's arm in order to give his brain the rest that it evidently sorely needed. "there is little we can do, george," said the minister. "he may be all right to-morrow, but for his physical helplessness;--and, even that may abate. between you and me, i pray to god he may not live." "but what can have caused it, mr. auld?" "if jake only could have been able to drink as other men do,--drink, get drunk and leave off,--he never would have come to this. his constitution was never made for such drinking as he has indulged in. no man's constitution is." "are you going to send him down to the city?" i asked. "not if you will bear with him here. it would do no good to move him. i would advise his remaining here. he will be happier, poor fellow. i shall run in early to-morrow." i fetched rita over that night and she remained with the old miner right along. her cheery presence brightened up the stricken man wonderfully. next day, he could talk more intelligibly and, with help, he got up and sat on a chair. the rev. william auld called and left a jar containing some hideous little leeches in water. he gave me instructions that, if jake took any sudden attack and the blood pressure in his head appeared great, i was to place two of these blood-sucking creatures on each of his temples, to relieve him. he showed me how to fix them to the flesh. "once they are on, do not endeavour to pull them off," he explained. "when they have gorged themselves, they will drop off. after that, they will die unless you place them upon a dish of salt, when they will sicken and disgorge the blood they have taken. then, if you put them back into a jar of fresh water, they will become lively as ever and will soon be ready for further use." "i hope to god i may not have to use them," i exclaimed fervently, shuddering at the gruesome thoughts the sight of the hideous little reptiles conjured up in me. and i was saved from having to participate in the disgusting operation, for, at the end of the week, jake was seized through the night for the second time. toward morning, he revived and spoke to rita and me like the dear old jake we used to know. "guess i got to pass in my checks, folks. i ain't been very good neither. but i ain't done nobody no harm as i can mind;--nobody, but maybe jake meaghan. "say, george! you like me,--don't you?" "i like you for the real gentleman you are, jake," i answered, laying my hand on his brow. "you like me too, rita,--don't you?" "you bet i do!" she replied, dropping back into the slang that jake best understood. he was happy after that and smiled crookedly. but, in the early morning, a violent fit of convulsions, in all its contorting agonies, caught hold of him. his head at last dropped back on rita's arm and jake meaghan was no more. i covered up his face with a sheet, and we closed the door, leaving the faithful mike alone by the bedside. i led the little, sorrowing rita down to her boat and kissed her as i sent her across the bay, home. then, with a leaden heart, i went back, to sit disconsolately in my own cottage, feeling as if i had lost a part of myself in losing my old, eccentric, simple-minded friend. i opened up the papers jake had left in my care and, as i read his will, it made me feel how little i knew of him after all and what a strange way he had of working out his ideas to what he considered their logical conclusion. his will was a short document, and quite clear. he wished to be buried in vancouver. all he possessed, he left to rita 'because rita was always a good girl.' if rita married george bremner, the ten thousand dollars lying in the bank was to become her own, under her immediate and full control; but, should she marry any other man, or should she remain unmarried for a period of three years from jake's death, this money was to be invested for her in the form of an annuity, in a reliable insurance company whose name was mentioned. he left mike, the dog, to the care of george bremner. the more i thought over that will, the more i cogitated over what was really at the back of jake's mind. did he think, in some way, that there was an understanding between rita and me? or, as probably was more likely, was it an unexpressed desire of his that rita,--my little, mercurial pupil, rita,--and i should marry and settle down somewhere at golden crescent? alas! for old jake. who knows what was in that big, wayward heart of his? mike kept faithful watch over jake's body, until they came to take it away. he neither ate nor slept. he just lay on the floor, with his head resting on his front paws and his eyes riveted on the bed where jake was. we had to throw a blanket over mike and hold him down bodily before the undertakers could remove his dead master. all the way out to the steamer, we could hear mike's dismal howling. never did such cries come from any dog. they did not seem the howls of a brute, but the wailings of a human soul that was slowly being torn to shreds. my heart ached more for that poor creature than it did even for jake. all afternoon, all through that first night and still in the early hours of the next morning, the dog sobbed and wailed as if its more-than-human heart were breaking. at last, i could stand the strain no longer. i went down with some food and drink for him and in the hope that i would be able to pacify him and comfort him in his loss. but the moment i opened the door, he tore out, as if possessed, down on to the beach and into the water. out, out he went, in the direction the steamer had gone the day before. i got into jake's boat and followed him as quickly as i could, but we were a long way out before i got up with him,--swimming strongly, gamely, almost viciously; on,--on,--heading for the ghoul rock and for the cross-currents at the open sea. i reached alongside him, but always he sheered away. i spoke to him kindly and coaxingly, but all i got from him in reply was a whimpering sob, as if to say:-- "oh! you are only a human: how can you understand?" i succeeded in catching hold of him and i lifted him into the boat. he struggled out of my grasp back into the water. three times i brought him in and three times he broke from me and plunged into the sea, swimming always out and out. i had not the heart to trouble him any more. after all, what right had i to interfere? what right had i to try to go between the soul of a man and the soul of a dog? "god speed!--you brave, old, lion-hearted mike. god speed!" i cried. "go to him. you were two of a kind. may you soon catch up with him, and may both of you be happy." chapter xxiii the fight in the woods i did not engage any one to fill jake's place, for i felt that no man really could fill it. in any case, with the approach of the wet, wintry weather, the work at golden crescent diminished. i did not have the continuous supplies to make ready for the camps, such as they demanded in the summer months. when they called, they generally took away enough to last them over several weeks. again, jake had cut, sawn and stacked all my winter supply of firewood long before he took sick. taking all these things into consideration, i decided i would go through the winter, at least, without fresh help. mary grant and mrs. malmsbury still remained at the cottage over the way. often i asked mary,--almost in dread,--if she were going away during the stormier months, but she always said she had not made any arrangements so far. not once, but many times, i tried to break through the reserve which she had hedged round herself ever since our evening in the lagoon after our first fishing experience when we had drawn so near in sympathy to each other. i felt afraid lest i should forget myself some time and tell her all that was in my heart craving to be told, for something kept whispering to me that, if i did, i might lose her altogether. rita's lessons went on apace. twice a week she came over in the evenings for instruction. she was quickly nearing the point where i would be of no further service, for i had imparted to her almost all i was capable of imparting in the way of actual grammar. i hoped to be able to complete her course before christmas came round. then it would be merely a question of selection of reading matter. rita's manner of speaking had undergone a wonderful change. there were no slangy expressions now; no "ain'ts" or "i guess"; no plural nouns with singular verbs; no past participles for the past tense; no split infinitives. to all intents and purposes, rita clark had taken a course of instruction at a good grammar school. and what a difference it made in her, generally! even her dress and her deportment seemed to have changed with her new manner of speaking. it is always so. the forward progress in any one direction means forward progress in almost every other. rita was a sweet, though still impetuous, little maiden that any cultured man might have been proud to have for a wife. one rainy night, she and i were sitting by the stove in my front room. i was in an easy chair, with a book in my hand, while rita was sitting in front of me on a small, carpet-covered stool, leaning sideways against my legs and supposedly doing some paraphrasing. a movement on her part caused me to glance at her. she had turned and was staring toward the window and her eyes were growing larger and larger every moment. her face grew pale, while her lips parted and an expression, akin to fear, began to creep into her eyes. i turned my head hurriedly to the window, but all was dark over there and the rain was pattering and splashing against the glass. still, rita sat staring, although the look of fear had gone. i laid my hand on her shoulder. "rita, rita!--what in the world is wrong?" "oh, george,--i,--i saw joe's face at the window. i never saw him look so angry before," she whispered nervously. i laughed. "why!--you foolish little woman, i looked over there almost as soon as you did, but i saw no one." "but he was there, i tell you," she repeated. i rose to go to the door. "no, no!" she cried. "don't go." but i went, nevertheless, throwing the door wide open and getting a gust of wind and rain in my face as i peered out into the night. i closed the door again and came back to rita. "why! silly little girl, you must have dreamed it. there is no one there." i tapped her on the cheek. "i did not know rita clark was nervous," i bandied. she looked dreamily into the fire for a while, then she turned round to me and laid her cheek against my knee. "george!--joe's been coming home more and more of late. he's been lots nicer to me than he used to be. he brought me a gold brooch with pearls in it, from vancouver, to-day." "good for him!" i remarked. "it was a lovely brooch," she went on. "i put it in my dress, it looked so pretty. then joe asked me to go with him along the beach. said he wanted to talk to me. i went with him, and he asked me if i would marry him. "marry him, mind you!--and i have known him all my life. "he said he didn't know he loved me till just a little while ago. said it was all a yarn about the other girls he met. "he was quiet, and soft as could be. i never saw joe just the way he was to-day. but i don't feel to joe as i used to. he has sort of killed the liking i once had for him. "i got angry about the brooch then. i took it off and handed it back to him. "'here's your brooch, joe,' i said. 'i didn't know you gave it to me just to make me marry you. i don't love you, joe, and i won't marry a man i don't love. you mustn't ask me again. you get somebody else.' "big joe was just like a baby. his face turned white. "'you're in love with bremner,' he said, catching me by the wrist. i drew myself away. "'i'm not,' i said. 'i like him better than i like any other man,--you included,--but i don't love him any more than he loves me.'" rita looked up at me and her eyes filled with tears. "'ain't bremner in love with you?' joe asked. "'no!' i said. "then joe got terribly mad. "'by god in heaven!' he cried, 'i'll kill that son-of-a-gun, if i hang for it!' "he meant you, george. he went off into the wood, leaving me standing like a silly. "say! george,--the way joe said that, makes me afraid that some day he will kill you." "don't you worry your little head about that, rita," i said. "oh!--that's all very well,--but joe clark's a big man. he's the strongest man on the coast. he's always in some mix-up and he always comes out on top. and i'm more afraid for you, because you are not afraid of him." i rowed rita across home that evening in order to reassure her, and, on our journey, neither sound nor sign did we experience of joe clark. when the time came again for her next lesson, rita seemed to have forgotten her former fears. i had fixed up a blind over the window and had drawn it down, so that no more imaginary peering faces would disturb the harmony of our lesson and our conversation. how long we sat there by the stove, i could not say; but rita was soft, and gentle, and tender that night,--sweet, suppliant and loving. she was all woman. when our lesson was over, she sat at my feet as usual. she crossed her fingers over my knee and rested her cheek there, with a sigh of contentment. i stroked her hair and passed my fingers through the long strands of its black, glossy darkness, and i watched the pretty curves of her red, sensitive lips. "rita! rita!" i questioned in my heart, as her big eyes searched mine, "i wonder, little maid, what this big world has in store for you? god grant that it be nothing but good." i bent down and kissed her once,--twice,--on those soft and yielding upturned lips. with terrifying suddenness, something crashed against my front window and broken glass clattered on the floor. a great hand and arm shot through the opening and tore my window blind in strips from its roller. and then the hand and arm were withdrawn. in the visual illusion caused by the strong light inside and the deep darkness without, we saw nothing but that great hand and arm. i sprang up and rushed to the door, followed by rita. there was no sign of any one about. i ran round the house, and scanned the bushes; i went down on to the beach, then across the bridge over the creek, but i failed to detect the presence of any man. i came back to rita to ease her mind, and found her anxious yet wonderfully calm. "george!--you need not tell me,--it was joe. i know his hand and arm when i see them. he is up to something. "oh! you must be careful. promise me you will be careful?" i gave her my word, then i set her in her boat for home, asking her to wait for a moment until i should return. before setting her out on her journey, i wished to make perfectly sure that there was no one about. i again crossed the creek, past mary's house, which was in complete darkness, and down on to her beach. there, hiding in the shelter of the rocks, was a launch, moored to one of the rings which jake had set in at convenient places just for the purpose it was now being used. i ran out and examined it. it was joe clark's. so!--i thought,--he is still on this side. i returned to rita, wished her good-night and pushed her out on the water. i came leisurely up the beach, keeping my eyes well skinned. but, after a bit, i began to laugh, chiding myself for my childish precautions. i went into the kitchen, took an empty bucket in each hand and set out along the back path for a fresh supply of water for my morning requirements, to the stream, fifty yards in the wood, where i had hollowed out a well and boarded it over. it was dark, gloomy and ghostly in the woods there, for the moon was stealing fitfully under the clouds and through the tall firs, throwing strange shadows about. i had almost reached the well, when i heard a crackling of dead wood to my right. a huge, agile-looking figure pushed its way through, and joe clark stood before me, blocking my path. he held two, roughly cut clubs, one in each hand. his sleeves were rolled up over his tremendous arms; his shirt was open at the neck, displaying, even in the uncertain moonlight, a great, hairy, massive chest over which muscles and sinews crawled. i scanned his face. his jaw was set, his lips were a thin line, his eyes were gleaming savagely and a mane of fair hair was falling in a clump over his brow. he looked dishevelled and was evidently labouring under badly suppressed excitement. "where's rita?" he growled. i put my buckets aside and took my pipe from between my teeth. "half-way home by this time, i hope," i said. "she is,--eh!" he cut in sarcastically. "guess so! look here, bremner,--what'n the hell's your game with rita, anyway?" i went straight up to him. i did not want to quarrel. not that i was afraid of him, even knowing, as i did, that i would be likely to get much the worse of any possible encounter;--but, for rita's sake, i preferred peace. "my good fellow," i said, "why in heaven's name can't you talk sense? i have no game, as you call it, with rita. "if you would only play straight with her, you might get her yourself. but i'll tell you this,--skulking around other people's property, after the skirts of a woman, never yet brought a man anything but rebuffs." "aw!--cut out your damned yapping, bremner," he yelled furiously. "who the hell wants any of your jaw? play straight the devil! you're some yellow cuss to talk to anybody about playin' straight." it was all i could do to keep my temper in check. "what d'ye bring her over to your place at night for, if you're playin' straight?" he continued. "to teach her grammar;--that's all," i exclaimed. "grammar be damned," he thundered. "what d'ye put up blinds for if you're playin' straight?" "to keep skulkers from seeing how respectable people spend their evenings," i shot at him. "you're a confounded liar," he yelled, beside himself. "i know what you're up to, with your oily tongue and your jim dandy style. "rita was mine before you ever set your damned dial in golden crescent. she'd 've been mine for keeps by this time, but you got her goin'. now you're usin' her to pass the time, keepin' men who want to from marryin' her." with a black madness inside me, i sprang in on him. he stepped aside. "no, you don't!" he cried. "take that." he threw one of his clubs at my feet. "fists ain't no good this trip, mister man. i was goin' to kill you, but i thought maybe it'd look better if we fight and let the best man win." i stood undecided, looking first at this great mountain of infuriated humanity and then at the club he had tossed to me;--while around us were the great trees, the streams of ghostly moonlight and the looming blacknesses. "come on!--damn you for a yellow-gut. take that up before i open your skull with this." he prodded me full in the chest with the end of his weapon. i needed no second bidding. evidently, it was he or i for it. in fact, since the moment we first met at golden crescent that had been the issue with which i had always been confronted. joe clark or george bremner!--one of us had to go down under the heel of the other. i grabbed up the club and stood on guard for the terrific onslaught joe immediately made on me. he threw his arm in the air and came in on me like a mad buffalo. had the blow he aimed ever fallen with all its original force, these lines never would have been written; but its strength was partly shorn by the club coming in contact with the overhanging branch of a tree. i parried that blow, but still it beat down my guard and the club grazed my head. i gave ground before clark, as i tried to find an opening. i soon discovered, however, that this was not a fight where one could wait for openings. openings had to be made, and made quickly. i threw caution to the winds. i drew myself together and rushed at him as he had rushed at me. his blow slanted off my left shoulder, numbing my arm to the finger-tips. mine got home on a more vital place: it caught him sheer on the top of the head. i thought, for sure, i had smashed his skull. but no such luck; joe clark's bones were too stoutly made and knit. he gasped and staggered back against a tree for a second, looking dazed as he wiped a flow of blood from his face. "for god's sake, man," i shouted, "let us quit this." he laughed derisively. "the hell you say! quit,--nothin'; not till one of us quits for keeps." he rallied and came at me once more, but with greater wariness than previously. he poked at me and jabbed at me. i warded him off, keeping on the move all the time. he swung sideways on me, but i parried easily; then, with a fierce oath, he caught his club with both hands, raised it high in the air and brought it down with all his sledge-hammer strength. this time, i was ready for joe clark. i was strong. oh!--i knew just how strong i was, and i gloried in my possession. i had a firmer grip of my cudgel than before. there was going to be no breaking through as he had done last time; not if george bremner's right arm was as good as he thought it was. i met that terrific crash at the place i knew would tell. with the crack of a gun-shot, his club shivered into a dozen splinters against mine, leaving him with nothing but a few inches of wood in his torn hands. he stood irresolute. "will you quit now?" i cried. but he was game. "not on your life," he shouted back. "we ain't started yet. try your damnedest." he tossed aside the remainder of his club and jumped at me with his great hands groping. i stepped back and threw my stick deliberately far into the forest, then i stopped and met him with his own weapons. after all, i was now on a more equal footing with him than i had been when both of us were armed. we clinched, and locked together. we turned, and twisted, and struggled. he had the advantage over me in weight and sheer brute strength, but i had him shaded when it came to knowing how to use the strength i possessed. we smashed at each other with our fists wherever and whenever we found an opening. our clothes were soon in ribbons. blood spurted from us as it would from stuck pigs. gasping for breath with roaring sounds,--choking,--half-blind, we staggered and swayed, smashing into trees and over bushes. at last i missed my footing and stumbled over a protruding log, falling backward. still riveted together,--joe clark came with me. the back of my head struck, with a sickening crash, into a tree and i knew no more. when consciousness came back to me, i groaned for a return of the blessed sleep from which i had awakened, for every inch of my poor body was a racking agony. a thousand noises drummed, and thumped, and roared in my head and the weight of the entire universe seemed to be lying across my chest. i struggled weakly to free myself, and, as i recollected gradually what had happened to me, i put out my hands. they came in contact with something cold and clammy. it was the bloody face of joe clark, who was lying on top of me. i wriggled and struggled with the cumbersome burden that had been strangling the flickering life in me. every effort, every turn was a new pain, but all my hope was in getting free. at last, i got from under him and staggered to my knees. i was a very babe for weakness then. i clutched at the tree-trunk for support and raised myself to my feet. i looked down on the pale face of joe clark, as he lay there, the moon on his face disclosing a great open gash on his forehead. evidently, he had struck the tree, face on, with the same impact as i had done backward. "oh, god!" i groaned. "he is dead, ... joe clark is..." then the blissful mists and darknesses came over me again and i crumpled to the earth. chapter xxiv two maids and a man when next i awoke, it was amid conflicting sensations of pains and pleasantnesses. my eyes gradually took in my surroundings. instead of being in heaven, or the other place of future abode as i fully expected to be, i was lying on my own bed, in my own room, in a semi-darkness. a quiet, shadowlike form was flitting about. i followed it with my eyes for a while, enjoying the fact that it did not know that i was watching it. then it tip-toed toward me and bent over me. all my doubts and fears departed. after all, i was in heaven; for mary,--the mary i so loved,--was bending over me, crooning to me, with her face so near, and placing her cooling, soothing hand on my hot brow. i must have tried to speak, for, as if far away, i could hear her enjoining me not to talk, but just lie quiet and i would soon be well. she put a spoon to my mouth and, sup by sup, something warm, good and reviving slowly found its way down my throat. what hard work it was opening my lips! what a dreadful task it was to swallow and how heavy my feet and hands seemed!--so heavy, i could not lift them. as the singing voice crooned and hushed me, i grew, oh! so weary of the labour of swallowing and breathing that i dropped away again into glorious slumberland. when again i opened my eyes, it was evening. my reading lamp was burning dimly on a table, near by. the air was warm from a crackling fire in the stove. some one was kneeling at my bedside. i looked along the sheets that covered me. it was mary. all i could see of her head were the coils of her golden hair, for she had my hand in both her own and her face was hidden on the bed-spread. i could hear her voice whispering softly. she was praying. she repeated my name ever so often. she was praying that i might be allowed to live. from that moment i lived and grew stronger. but i dared not move in case i might disturb her. she rose at last and bent over my bandaged head. she scrutinised my face. as she leaned closer, i caught the fragrance of her breath and the perfume of her hair. and then,--god forgive me for my deceit! although, for such an ecstasy i would go on being deceitful to the end of time,--she stooped lower and her full, soft, warm lips touched mine. i raised my eyelids to her blushing loveliness. i tried to smile, but she put her finger up demanding silence. she fed me again and new strength flowed through my veins. what questions i asked her then! how did i get here? what day of the week was it? was joe clark dead? "hush, hush!" she chided. "you must go on sleeping." "but i can't sleep forever. already i have been asleep for years," i complained feebly. "hush, then, and i will tell you." she sat down by my bedside and i lay still and quiet as she went over what she knew. "this is saturday evening. i found you, lying unconscious,--dead as i thought,--out on the path, as i went for fresh water yesterday morning. "i brought you here. i did not know what had befallen you. i was afraid you had been set upon by the thieves who tried to rob jake meaghan; but from what you have just said, it was superintendent clark who attacked you." i nodded. "was he not lying there beside me,--dead?" i asked. "hush! there was no one near you; but the place looked as if a herd of buffalo had thundered over it." i was puzzled, but i tried to laugh and the attempt hurt me. "how did you get me here?" i interrupted. "now!" she said, "if you speak again, i will tell you nothing. "i ran home for blankets. i got two poles and fixed the blankets to these. i rolled you over on to my improvised stretcher and trailed you here, indian fashion. it was easy as easy. mrs. malmsbury was abed and i did not wish to disturb her just then. later, when i got you here, she helped me to put you to bed. "oh! i am so glad that man did not murder you." "but it would not have been murder, mary," i put in. "it was a fair fight." "but why should two, strong, clean-living young men want to fight? don't answer me, george," she added quickly, "for i am merely cogitating. men seem such strange animals to us women." i smiled. other questions i asked, but mary declined to answer and i had, perforce, to lie still, with nothing to do but follow her with my eyes wherever she went. for one more day, she kept me on my back, bullying me and tyrannising over me, when i felt strong enough to be up and about my business. sometimes, when she came near enough, i would lay my hand over hers. she would permit the caress as if she were indulging a spoiled baby. sometimes, i would lie with my eyes closed in the hope that she might be tempted to kiss me, as she had done before; but mary grant saw through the pretence and declined to become a party to it. the rev. mr. auld came during the early afternoon of that sunday. he examined my bruises and contusions with professional brutality. he winked, and ordered me up, dressed and into a wicker chair,--for the lazy, good-for-nothing rascal that i was. and,--god bless his kindly old heart!--he told mary i might smoke, in moderation. he did not remain long, for he said he had been called to attend another and a very urgent case of a malady similar to mine, at camp no. . "why!--that's joe clark's camp," i said. "i am well aware of the fact," said he. "if you ask any more questions or venture any more information, i shall order you back to bed and i shall cancel your smoking permit." as he was going off, he came over to me and whispered in my ear:-- "man!--i would give something for the power of your right arm." all the remainder of that afternoon, mary read to me, as i browsed [transcriber's note: drowsed?] in an easy chair among cushions and rugs, stretching first one leg and then the other, testing my arms, trying every joint, every finger and toe, to satisfy myself that i was still george bremner, complete in every detail. just as mary was preparing to say good-bye to my little place, late that same day,--for her vigils over me were no longer necessary,--rita clark ran in, flushed with hurried rowing and labouring under a strong excitement. she flashed defiance at mary, then she threw herself at my feet and sobbed as if her little heart would break. i put my hand on her head and tried to comfort her, and, when i looked up again, she and i were alone. "rita, rita!" i admonished. "oh!--no one told me," she wailed. "and it was all my fault. i know i should not have come when joe was that way about it. "if he had killed you! oh! george,--if he had killed you!" her eyes were red from weeping and dread still showed in her expressive face. "there, there," i comforted. "he did not kill me, rita, so why worry? "i shall be back at work in the store to-morrow, same as before. cheer up, little girl!" "but nobody at the camp can understand it," she went on with more composure. "they all knew there had been a fight. they were sure you had been killed, for nobody ever stands up against joe without coming down harder than he does, and they say joe was pretty nearly done for." "how is he now?" i inquired, inquisitive to know if he were suffering at least some of what i had suffered. "mr. auld just came in as i left. joe's been unconscious for two days." "good!" i exclaimed, almost in delight. rita's face expressed a chiding her tongue refused to give. "he only came to, when the minister got there this afternoon. joe's arm is broken. two of his ribs are stove in. he's bruised and battered all over. mr. auld says the hole in his forehead is the serious one. thinks you must have uprooted a tree and hit him with it." i laughed. but rita was still all seriousness. "he'll pull through all right. minister says he'll be out in two or three weeks. says it's a miracle how joe ever got back to camp. must have crawled to the launch, looked after the engine and steered all the way himself, and him smashed up as he was. funny he didn't come over home. guess he didn't want any of us to know about it. "they found his boat run up on the beach at camp and him lying in the bottom of it, unconscious; engine of his boat still going full speed. "joe was delirious and muttering all the time: "'i killed that son-of-a-gun, bremner. i killed bremner.' "you know, george,--most of the men like joe; for he's good to them when they're down and out. but none of them has much sympathy for him this time. mr. auld says they have heard him talk about doing you up ever since you came to golden crescent. and now, joe's the man that's done up. "better for him if he had let you be. "but, maybe after all, it is the best thing that ever happened,--for joe, i mean. it will let him see that brute force isn't everything; that there never was a strong man but there was a stronger one still. eh! george." rita's mood changed. "but, if you and joe quarrel again, i'm going to run away. so there. "i'm not beholden to any one now,--thanks to dear old jake meaghan. i can get money,--all i want. then maybe joe'll be sorry. "you won't fight any more, george? say you won't!" she put her arm round my shoulder and her cheek against mine, in her old coaxing way. dear little woman! it was a shame to have worried her as joe and i had done. "well, rita," i laughed, "i promise you i won't fight if joe won't. and, anyway,--joe is not likely to seek another encounter till his arm and ribs are well; and that will take six weeks all told. so don't worry yourself any more about what is going to happen six weeks hence." as rita started out for home, i rose to accompany her to the boat. "no, no!" she cried. "why!--you are under doctor's orders." "i have to work to-morrow, rita, so i might as well try myself out now, as later." i was shaky at the knees, but, with rita's arm round my waist, i managed to make the journey with little trouble. as we got to her boat, rita pouted. "what's the matter now, little maid?" i asked. "i don't think you like me any more, george,--after bringing this on you. and we've been pretty good pals too, you and i." her eyes commenced to fill. "why, foolish! of course, we have been good pals and we are going to stay good pals right to the end; no matter what happens." "sure?" she asked, taking an upward, sidelong glance at me. "sure as that," i exclaimed. i put my hands round her trim waist, and, weak as i was, i lifted her up from the ground and kissed her laughing mouth. she struggled free, jumped into the boat and rowed away, with a laugh and a blown kiss to me from her finger tips. as i turned, i cast my eyes up along the wharf. a figure was standing there, motionless, as if hewn in stone. it was mary grant. her hands were pressed flat against her bosom as if she were trying to stifle something that should not have been there. her face wore a strange coldness that i had never seen in it before. i could not understand why it should be so,--unless,--unless she had misconstrued the good-bye of rita and me. but, surely,--surely not! slowly and laboriously, i made in her direction, but she sped away swiftly down the wharf, across the rustic bridge and into her cottage, closing the door behind her quickly. as i sat by the fireside, thinking over what possibly could have caused mary to behave so, something spoke to me again and again, saying:-- "go over and find out. go over and find out." but i did not obey. my conscience felt clear of all wrong intent and i decided it would be better to wait till morning, when i would be more fit for the ordeal and mary would have had time for second thoughts. had i only known what the decision meant to me; the hours of mental torment, the suspense, the dread loneliness, i would have obeyed the inner voice and hastened to mary's side that very moment, stripping all wrong ideas and wrong impressions of their deceitful garments, leaving them bare and cold and harmless. i did not know, and, for my lack of knowledge or intuition, i had to suffer the consequences. later in the evening, a yacht put into the bay. it carried some ladies and gentlemen who had been on a trip to alaska and were now returning south. they called in for a few supplies, the getting of which i merely supervised. they asked and obtained permission from me to tie up at the wharf for the night. after they had returned aboard and just as i was laboriously undressing, i heard music floating across from mary's. it was the same sweet, entrancing, will-o'-the wisp music that her touch always created. but to-night, she played the shadowy, mysterious, light and elusive ballade no. of chopin. how well i knew the story and how sympathetically mary followed it in her playing! till i could picture the scenes and the characters as if they were appearing before me on a cinema screen:--the palace, the forest and the beautiful lake; the knight and the strange, ethereal lady; the bewitchment; the promise; the new enchantress, the lure of the dance, the lady's flight and the knight's pursuit over the marshes and out on to the lake; the drowning of the unfaithful gallant and the mocking laugh of the triumphant siren. the music swelled and whispered, sobbed and laughed, thundered and sighed at the call of the wonderful musician who translated it. i was bewitched by the playing, almost as the knight had been by the ethereal lady of the music-story. suddenly the music ceased. i thought mary had retired to rest. but again, on the night air, came the introduction to the little ballad i had already heard her sing in part. her voice, with its plaintive sweetness, broke into melody. she lilted softly the first verse,--and i waited. she sang the second verse. again i waited, wondering, then hoping and longing that she would continue. the third verse came at last and--i regretted its coming. a maid there was in the north countree; a sad little, lone little maid was she. her knight seemed fickle and all untrue as he rode to war at the drummer's dree. and, day by day, as her sorrow grew, her spinning wheel groaned and the threads wove through; it groaned.--it groaned.--it groaned and the threads wove through. "what a stupid little song, after all!" i exclaimed. "surely there must be another verse to it? where does the happy ending come in?" but, though i listened eagerly, no further sounds broke the stillness of the night save the sobbing and moaning of the sea and the hooting of a friendly owl in the forest behind. chapter xxv the ghoul next morning, i looked out upon a wet mist that hung over golden crescent like a spider's gigantic web all a-drip with dew. my visitors of the previous night had gone three hours ago. i had heard them getting up steam, but i was still too weak and stiff to think of getting out of bed so early to see them off. i turned, as usual, to watch the upward, curling smoke from mary's kitchen fire. strange to say, this morning there _was_ no smoke. "taking a rest," i thought, "after her long watching and nursing over a good-for-nought like me! ah, well!--i shall breakfast first then i shall pay my respects and ask forgiveness of the lady for 'the things i have done that i ought not to have done,' and all will be well." i hurried over that porridge, and bacon and eggs. i dressed with scrupulous care, even to the donning of a soft, white, linen collar with a flowing tie. "surely," i reasoned, "she can never be cruel to me in this make-up." when i started out, all seemed quiet and still over there at mary grant's. with a feeling of disrupting foreboding, which dashed all my merriment aside, i quickened my footsteps. the windows were closed; the door was shut tight. i knocked, but no answer came. i tried the door:--it was locked. "why! what can it be?" i asked myself. my roving eyes lit on a piece of white paper pinned to the far post of the veranda. it was in pencil, in mary's handwriting. "george, "there is yet another battle for you to fight. i am going away. please do not try to find out where, either by word or by deed. "golden crescent will always be in my thoughts. some day, maybe, i will come back. "god bless you and keep you, and may you ever be my brave and very gallant gentleman. "mary grant." i read it over, and over again, but it seemed as if the words would never link themselves together in my brain and form anything tangible. gone away! oh, god! meaghan gone;--mary gone;--every one to whom my heart goes out leaves me the same way. what is it in me? oh, my god! my god! i staggered against the veranda rail for support, then, like a blind man groping for a path in a forest, i made my journey across the rustic bridge, and home. i am not ashamed to own it: in my anguish and my physical weakness, i threw myself upon my bed and sobbed; sobbed until my sorrow had spent itself, until my spirit had become numbed and well-nigh impervious to all feeling. in desperation, i threw myself into my work. never was store kept so clean nor in such a well-stocked condition as mine was; never was home so tidy. i sawed timber, when there were stacks of it cut, piled and dry in my wood sheds. i built rafts. i repaired the wharf. i added barns to my outhouses, when, already, i had barns lying empty. i insisted on delivering the requirements of every family in golden crescent, instead of having them take their goods from the store. with no object in view, other than the doing of it, i tackled the wintry winds and the white-tipped breakers, in my little rowing boat, when none other dared venture from the confines of his beach. when the sea came roaring into the bay, tumbling and foaming, boiling and crawling mountains high, breaking with all its elemental fury, i would dash recklessly into it and swim to rita's isle and back, with the carelessness and abandon of one who had nothing to live for. as i look back on it all now, i feel that death was really what i courted. remonstrances fell on deaf ears. my life was my own,--at least, i thought it was,--my own to do with as i chose. what mattered it to any one if the tiny spark went out? my books had little attraction for me during those wild, mad days. work, work, work and absorption were all my tireless body and wearied brain craved for; and work was the fuel with which i fed them. i was aware that the minister knew more of mary's going and her present whereabouts than i did, and, sometimes, i fancied he would gladly have told me what he knew. but he could find no opening in the armour of george bremner for the lodgment of such information. rita and he got to know, after a while, that the name of mary grant was a locked book and that mary grant alone held the key to it. christmas,--my first christmas from home;--christmas that might have been any other time of the year for all the difference it made to me, came and went; and the wild, blustering weather of january, with its bursts and blinks of sunshine, its high winds and angry seas, was well upon us. there had been little to do in and around the store, so i was taking the excuse to row over to clarks' with their supplies, intending to bring back any eggs they might have for my camp requirements. it was a cold, blustery morning, with a high, whistling wind coming in from the gulf. the sky was clear and blue as a mid-summer's day and the sun was shining as if it had never had a chance to shine before. it was with difficulty that i got into my boat without suffering a wetting, but i was soon bobbing on the crest of the waves or lying in the troughs of the pale-green, almost transparent sea, making my way across the bay, as the waves climbed higher and still higher, with white-maned horses racing in on top of the flowing tide. it was hard pulling, but i was strong and reckless, fearing neither man nor elements. every minute of that forenoon brought with it an increasing fury of the storm; every minute greater volumes of water lashed and dashed into the bay, until, away out, the ghoul looked more like a waterspout than a black, forbidding rock. rita was surprised and angry at my daring in crossing, yet she could not disguise her pleasure now i was with her, for she chafed with the restrictions of a stormy winter and craved, as all healthy people do, for the society of those of her own age. "seems as if it's goin' to be a hurricane," remarked old andrew clark, looking out across the upheaving waters. "never saw it so bad;--yet it's only comin' on. "guess you'll ha'e to stop wi' us the night, george." "--and welcome," put in his good lady. "there's always a spare bed for george bremner in this house. eh! andrew." "ay,--ay!" remarked the old man, reflectively. "we're no' havin' ye drooned goin' away frae this place,--that i'm tellin' ye." like me, rita was a child of stress and storm. she loved to feel the strong wind in her face and hair. she gloried in the taste of the salt spray. she thrived in the open and sported in the free play of her agile limbs. unafraid, and daring to recklessness, nothing seemed to daunt her; nothing, unless, maybe, it were the great, cruel, sharks' teeth of the ghoul over which the sea was now breaking, away out there at the entrance to the bay: that rock upon which she had been wrecked in her childhood; that relentless, devilish thing that had robbed her of her mother and of her birthright. even then, as she and i scampered and scrambled along the shore line, over the rocks and headlands,--whenever she gazed out there i fancied i detected a shudder passing over her. for an hour, with nothing to do but pass the time, we kept on and on, along the shore, until we reached neil andrews' little house on the far horn of the crescent, standing out on the cliffs. we stood on the highest rock, in front of the old fisherman's dwelling, watching the huge waves rolling in and breaking on the headlands with deafening thundering, showering us with rainbow sprays and swallowing up the sounds of our voices. rita kept her eyes away from the horrible rock, which seemed so much nearer to us now than when we were in the far back shelter of the bay. and, indeed, it was nearer, for barely a quarter of a mile divided it from neil's foreshore. but such a quarter of a mile of fury, i had never before seen. different from rita, i could hardly take my eyes away from that rock. to me, it seemed alive in its awful ferocity. it was the point of meeting of three different currents and it gave the impression to the onlooker that it was drawing and sucking everything to its own rapacious maw. old man andrews saw us from his window and came out to us, clad in oilskins and waders. "guess it's making for a hum-dinger, george," he roared into my ears. "ain't seen its like for a long time. god help anything in the shape of craft that gets caught in this. she's sprung up mighty quick, too. "got a nice cup of tea ready, rita. come on inside, both of you. it ain't often i see you up here. come on in!" but rita was standing apart, straining her eyes away far out into the gulf. "what is it, lass?" shouted the old fellow. "see something out there?" "it is a boat," she cried back anxiously. "yes!--it is a boat." old neil scanned the sea. "can't see nothing, lass. can you, george?" i followed the direction of rita's pointing. "i'm not quite sure," i answered at last, "but it looks to me as if there was something rising and falling away there to the right." neil ran into the house for his telescope. "by god!" he cried, "it's a tug. she's floundering like a duck on ice. steering gear gone, or something! hope they can keep heading out for the open, or it's all up with them," he said. we watched the boat for a while, then we turned into the house and partook of the old fellow's tea and hot rolls. in half an hour, we went out again. "george, george!" cried rita, with a voice of terror, looking back to us from her position on the high rock. "quick!--they are driving straight in shore." we ran up beside her and looked out. the tug,--for such it was,--was coming in at a great rate on the crest of the storm, beam on. water was breaking over her continuously as she drove, and drove,--a battered, beaten object,--straight for the ghoul. we could see three men clinging to the rails. rita was standing, transfixed with horror at the coming calamity which nothing on earth could avert. old man andrews closed his telescope with a snap. "guess you'd better go inside, rita," he spoke tenderly. "no, no!" she cried furiously, her lips white and her eyes dilated. "you can't fool me. that's joe's tug. give me that glass. let me see." "better not, rita. 'tain't for gals." "give it to me," she cried savagely. "give it to me." she snatched the instrument from him and fixed it on the vessel. then, with that awful pent-up emotion, which neither speaks nor weeps, she handed back the telescope to the fisherman. we stood there against the wind, as doomed and helpless joe clark's tug crashed on to the fatal ghoul. it clung there, as if trying to live. five,--ten,--fifteen minutes it clung, being beaten and ripped against the teeth of the rock; then suddenly it split and dissolved from view. neil had the telescope at his eye again. he handed it to me quickly. "george!--look and tell me. d'ye see anybody clinging there to the far tooth of the ghoul? my eyes ain't too good. but, if yon's a man, god rest his soul." i riveted my gaze on the point. there i could see as clearly as if it were only a few yards off. even the features of the man who clung there so tenaciously i could make out. "my god! it is joe clark," i exclaimed in excitement. with the cry of a mother robbed of her young, rita dashed down the rocks to the cove where neil andrews' boat lay. she pushed it into the water and sprang into it, pulling against the tide-rip like one possessed. i darted after her, but she was already ten yards out when the boat swamped and was thrown back on the beach. just as the undertow was sucking rita away, i grabbed at her and dragged her to safety. "let me go! let me go!" she screamed, battering my chest. "it's joe. it's my joe. he's drowning." i held her fast. she looked up at me suddenly with a strange quietness, as if she did not understand me and what i did. as she spoke, she forgot her king's english. "ain't you goin' to help him? it's joe. you ain't scared o' the sea. you can do it. get him to me, george. oh!--get me joe. i want him. i want him. he's mine." i grasped her by the arm and shook her, as i shouted in her ear: "do you love joe,--rita;--love him enough to marry him if i go out for him?" "oh, yes, yes! get him, george. i love joe. i always loved him." in that moment, i made up my mind. "if we come back, little woman," i cried, "it will be down there at the end of the island. run home;--get grand-dad and the others in some boats. it isn't so bad down there. watch out for us. "if i don't come back, rita,--dear, little rita----" i took her face in my hands and pressed my lips on hers. i ran from her, up over the cliffs, away to the far side of the horn, where the eddy made the sea quieter. i threw off my boots and superfluous clothing and sprang into the water. out, out i plunged, and plunged again, keeping under water most of the time, until at last i got caught in the terrible rush three hundred yards straight out from the point. i well knew the dreadful odds i was facing, yet i was unafraid. the sea was my home, almost as much as the land. i laughed at its buffeting. i defied it. what cared i? what had i to lose?--nothing! and,--i might win joe for rita, and make her happy. in the very spirit of my defiance, i was calling up forces to work and fight for me, forces that faint-heartedness and fear could never have conjured to their aid. on,--on i battled,--going with the rush,--holding back a little,--and easing out, and out, all the time toward the rock. half an hour passed;--perhaps an hour,--for i lost count of time and distance in my struggling. but, at last, battered and half-smothered, yet still crying defiance to everything, i found myself rising with a mountainous sea and bearing straight upon the ghoul. as i was lifted up, i strained my eyes toward the teeth of the rock. joe clark,--that hercules of men,--was still hanging on desperately:--no hope in his heart, but loth as ever to admit defeat, even to the elements. with tremendous force, i was thrown forward. as the wave broke, i flashed past joe in the mad rush of water. i grabbed blindly, feeling sure i should miss,--for it was a thousand chances to one,--but i was stopped up violently. i tightened my clutch in desperation. i pulled myself up, and clasped both hands round the ledge of the rock, clinging to it precariously, my nails torn almost from my fingers. my hands were touching joe's. my face came up close to his. almost he lost his hold at the suddenness of my uncanny appearing. he shouted to me in defiance, and it surprised me how easily i could hear him, despite the hiss and roar of the waters. i could hear him more easily than i had heard rita on the beach at neil andrews', so long, long ago. "my god! bremner,--where did you come from? what d'ye want?" he shouted. "i want you, joe," i cried, right into his ear. "rita sent me for you,--will you come?" "it ain't no good," he replied despairingly;--"nobody gets off'n this hell alive." "but we shall," i yelled. "rita wants you. she loves you, joe. isn't that worth a try, anyway?" "you bet!" he cried, as the water dashed over his face, "but how?" i screamed into his ear again. "let go when i shout. drop on your back. after that, don't move for your life. leave the rest to me. don't mind if you go under. it's our only chance." he nodded his head. i waited for an abatement of the surge. "now!" i yelled, as a great, unbroken swell came along. away we whirled on top of it; past the side of the ghoul like bobbing corks,--into the rip and race of the tide,--sometimes above the water, most of the time under it,--gasping,--choking,--fighting,--then away,--in great heaving throws, from that churning death. how brave joe was! and how trusting! not a struggle did he make in that awful ordeal. he lay pliable and lightly upon me, as i floated up the bay,--or wherever the current might be taking us. but there was only one direction with that flowing tide, after we had passed the ghoul, and i knew it was into the bay. so quiet did joe lie, that i began to think the life had gone out of him. but i could do nothing for him; nothing but try, whenever possible, to keep his head and my own out of the sea. how long i struggled, i cannot tell. my arms and legs moved mechanically. i took the battering and the submerging as a matter of course. a pleasing lethargy settled over my brain and the terror of it all went from me. when twenty minutes, or twenty years, might have flown, my head crashed against something hard. i turned quickly. i seized at the obstruction. it was a log from some broken boom. i threw my arm around it for support, then i caught joe up and pulled his hand over it. in a second, he was all life. he clutched the log tightly, and hung on. thus, he and i together,--enemies till then, but friends against our mutual foe, the storm,--floated to safety and life. i remember hearing voices on the waters and seeing, in a blur, joe's giant body being raised into a boat. but, of myself, i remember not a thing. later on, they told me that, as soon as they hoisted joe, i let go my hold on the log, as if i had no further interest in anything, no more use for life. but old andrew clark was too quick for me. he caught me by the arm and clung on, just as i was going down. and it was joe clark,--despite all he had gone through,--who carried me in his great strong arms from the beach to his grand-dad's cottage, crooning over me like a mother. it was joe who fed me with warm liquids. it was joe i saw when i opened my eyes once more to the material world. "shake hands, old man," he said brokenly, "if mine ain't too black. used to think i hated you, george. i ain't hatin' anything or anybody no more. you're the whitest man i know, bremner, and you got me beat six days for sunday." chapter xxvi "her knight proved true" i was leaning idly against a post on my front veranda, watching the sun dancing and scintillating on the sea; listening the while to the birds in the woods behind me as they quarrelled and fought over the choosing of their lady-loves for the coming spring. i was thinking of how the time had flown and of the many things that had happened since first i set foot in golden crescent, not so much as a short year ago. already a month had slipped by since i had wished good-bye to little rita,--happy, merry, little, laughing rita,--and her great, handsome giant of a husband, joe; holding the end of the rope ladder for them, from my rowing boat, as they clambered aboard the _siwash_, at the start of their six months' honeymoon trip of pleasure and sight-seeing. what an itinerary that big, boyish fellow had arranged for the sweet, little woman he had won!--vancouver, victoria, seattle, san francisco, los angeles, all the big cities in the states right through to new york, then back again over the great lakes, across the western prairies, up over the rockies and home:--home to the pretty bungalow that was already well on the way toward completion, out there on the promontory just below their grand-dad's place. a warning toot from the _cloochman_ awoke me from my reveries. i ran to my small boat and pulled out as she came speeding into the bay. there was little cargo, and less mail--one single letter. but what a wonder of wonders that letter was! it was for me, and, oh! how my heart beat! it was in the handwriting i had seen only a few months before but had learned to know so well. i tore the envelope into pieces in my haste to be at the contents. dear george, it ran, reta and joe (mr. & mrs. clark) called to see me. if you only could see the happiness of them, how you would rejoice! knowing that you had brought it all about. every day from now, look for me at the little cottage across the rustic bridge; for, some day, i shall be there. golden crescent is ever in my thoughts. good-bye for the present, my brave and very gallant gentleman. mary. in my little rowing boat, out there in the bay, i cried to god in thankfulness for all his goodness. every day i looked across to mary's bungalow, wondering if this would be the day. i was loth to sleep, lest she should arrive without my knowing of it. i could hardly bear to leave home for even an hour in case she should come when i was away. and yet,--so it happened. late one afternoon, i was standing on clark's veranda, chatting with margaret over a letter that had arrived from rita; when i noticed a fast-moving launch dart into the bay full speed, straight for my landing, lower a dinghy, land some people, then turn and speed out again almost before my brain could grasp the full purport. i dashed suddenly away from my old lady friend, without so much as a word of explanation. i tumbled into my boat and rowed furiously for home. how i railed at that long half-hour! to think of it,--mary in golden crescent half-an-hour and i had not yet spoken to her! i jumped ashore at last, ran up the rocks and into her house without ceremony. "mary, mary!" i called. "where are you?" and all i heard in answer, was a sigh. i pushed in to the front parlour, where mary,--my mary,--was. she was standing by the window and had been gazing dreamily out into the bay. she turned to me in all the charm of her golden loveliness, holding out her hands to me in silent welcome. i took her hands in mine and we looked into each other's eyes for just a moment, then i caught her to me and crushed her in my embrace. "mary,--mary,--mary!" i cried brokenly. "mary,--mary!" gently and shyly, but smiling in her gladness, she freed herself from my enfolding arms. "george,--sit down, dear. i have much to tell you before--before----" a blush spread over her cheeks and she turned away in embarrassment. "--before what, mary?" i craved. "before--i can listen to you. "george!--i love you with all my heart. i have always loved you,--i could not help myself. that, i think, is why i quarrelled with you so,--at first. but i was afraid that my loving would avail me little and would probably cause you pain, for i was pledged to marry a man i did not love; and, because of that pledge, i was not free to give my love to any other man. "george!--that man is dead now. he died a month ago in a street riot with some natives in cairo. "all his sins are covered up with him," she sighed. "and, after all, maybe harry brammerton was not----" "harry brammerton!--" i cried, springing up in a tremble of excitement. "my god! oh, my god! i thought,--i,--i understood,--i--i--oh, god!" i clutched at the table for support as the awful truth began to dawn on me. mary rose in alarm. "why! what is it? what have i said? george,--didn't you know? didn't i tell you before? you have heard of him?--you are acquainted with him,--viscount harry brammerton--" "oh! mary, mary," i cried huskily, "please,--please do not go on. it is more than i can bear now. "i didn't know. i,--i am that man's brother. i am george brammerton." she stood ever so quietly. "you!--you!" she whispered. and that was all. thus we stood,--stricken,--speechless,--under the cloud of the unexpected, the almost impossible that had come upon us. yet mary, or rather rosemary, was the first to regain her composure. kindly, sweetly, she came over to me and placed her hands on my shoulders. her brown eyes were wells of sympathy and tenderness. "george,--we each must fight this out alone. come back to me in the morning. i shall be waiting for you then." and i left her. but it seemed to me as if the morning would never come. unable to bear the burden of my thoughts longer amid the confines of my rooms, i went out at last into the moonlight, to wait the coming of the dawn. as i stood out on the cliffs,--where old jake meaghan so often used to sit listening to mary's music,--she came to me; fairylike, white-robed, all tenderness, all softness and palpitating womanliness. "george,--my george," she whispered, "i could not wait till morning either.--and why should we wait, when my father's and your father's pledge, the vow they made for you and for me,--although we have not known it till now,--need not be broken after all." i caught her up and kissed her lips, her eyes, her hair,--again and again,--until she gasped, thinking i should never cease. with our arms around each other, we waited on the cliffs for the sunrise. we watched it come up in all its rosy loveliness, paling the dying moon and setting the waters of the bay ablaze. "and we must leave all this, my lady rosemary?" i said, with a sigh of regret. "for a time,--yes! but not altogether, george; not always; for the little bungalow behind us is mine now,--ours; a gift last christmas to me from my father's dear american friend, my friend, colonel sol dorry, with whom, in wyoming, i spent the happiest of all my girlhood days." "mary,--rosemary," i exclaimed, as an unsatisfied little thought kept recurring to me, refusing to be set aside even in the midst of our great happiness,--"there is a little maid 'in the north countree' in whom i am deeply interested. the last i heard of her, she had been jilted by her lover. didn't he ever come back to her?" rosemary laughed. "it is getting near to breakfast-time; so, if george, earl of brammerton and hazelmere, storekeeper at golden crescent, runs over home and listens very attentively while he is burning his porridge and _boiling_ his tea,--he may hear of what happened to that sweet, little maid." and, sure enough, as i stood, with my sleeves rolled up, stirring oatmeal and water that threatened every minute to stick to the bottom of the pot; there came through my open window the sounds of the bewitching voice of rosemary,--my own, my charming lady rosemary:-- a maid there is in the north countree; a coy little, glad little maid is she. her cheeks are aglow with a rosy hue, for her knight proved true, as good knights should be. and, day by day, as their vows renew, her spinning wheel purrs and the threads weave through; it purrs. it purrs. it purrs and the threads weave through. the end catalogue of british columbia birds. provincial museum, victoria b. c. preface. the present list is intended to include all birds which have been so far proven to occur in british columbia. i am fully aware of its incompleteness, and very much regret much of its lack of more definite information regarding the distribution of certain species, and with regard to that portion of the province in north and northeastern interior, which, i have no doubt, is a valuable field for work. since the publication of the list of british columbia birds in by the late john fannin, which contained species and sub-species, and with the information to hand, enables me to add to this . i wish to extend my thanks especially to the following constant observers for more or less extended local lists, notes and specimens:--a. c. brooks, chilliwhack, okanagan and cariboo; rev. j. h. keen, queen charlotte islands and metlakatla; thos. kermode, william head quarantine station; e. p. venables, yernon; chas. de blois green, fairview and keremeos. i have also obtained valuable information from the check-list published by the late john fannin. francis kermode, _curator provincial museum_. _victoria, b. c., august, _. order pygopodes. diving birds. family podicipedidÆ. grebes. Æchmophorus coues. . western grebe. _Æchmophorus occidentalis_ (lawr.). a common winter resident along the coast of vancouver island and mainland. mr. brooks says a few remain all winter at okanagan lake. colymbus linnæus. . american red-necked grebe. "holboell's grebe." _colymbus holboelli_ (reinh.). a common winter resident along the coast of vancouver island and mainland. winter resident on okanagan lake. (_brooks_.) not common at metlakatla. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) breeds on many of the lakes along the cariboo road above clinton. (_fannin_.) . horned grebe. _colymbus auritus_ (linn.). a common winter resident on the coast, and very common in the straits near victoria, in april. brooks reports it at okanagan lake all winter. breeds on the lakes from okanagan to dense lake. (_fannin_.) rare at metlakatla. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) . american eared grebe. _colymbus nigricollis californicus_ (heerm.). taken at kamloops, june, . (_spreadborough_.) found breeding on lakes at kamloops; catalogue of canadian birds. (_macoun_.) podilymbus lesson. . pied-billed grebe. _podilymbus podiceps_ (linn.). common resident on vancouver island; it breeds on lakes close to victoria. common resident on island and mainland; breeds throughout its range. (_fannin_.) family gaviidÆ loons. gavia forster. . great northern diver. loon. _gavia imber_ (gunn.). common resident throughout the province; breeds on vancouver island and mainland. . black-throated loon. _gavia arcticus_ (linn.). taken at burrard inlet (_fannin_), and at dease lake, cassiar, by james porter. . pacific loon. _gavia pacificus_ (lawr.). not common; one specimen taken at comox by w. b. anderson, and at chilliwhack by brooks; victoria, may th, , by fred. foster. . red-throated loon. _gavia lumme_ (gunn.). i found this species quite common on barkley sound, v. i., april th, , and fairly common near esquimalt. mr. brooks reports it at chilliwhack. family alcidÆ. auks, murres and puffins. lunda pallas. . tufted puffin. _lunda cirrhata_ (pall.). common along the coast of vancouver island, queen charlotte islands and mainland; breeds on bare island, near sidney, b. c. fratercula brisson. . horned puffin. _fratercula corniculata_ (naum.). rare at massett, queen charlotte islands. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) cerorhinca bonaparte. . rhinoceros auklet. _cerorhinca monocerata_ (pall.). coasts of vancouver island and mainland. breeds on islands in gulf of georgia. ptychoramphus brandt. . cassin's auklet. _ptychorampus aleuticus_ (pall.). the entire coast line of the province and west coast of vancouver island. (_fannin_.) this species was seen in the gulf of georgia, between salt spring island and nanaimo, may th, . (_macoun_.) synthliborampus brandt. . ancient murrelet. _synthliborampus antiquus_ (gmel.). not common. west coast of vancouver island and taken in the straits, near victoria. rev. j. h. keen reports it rare on queen charlotte islands. brachyramphus brandt. . marbled murrelet. _brachyramphus marmoratus_ (gmel.). an abundant resident along the coast of british columbia; have taken it at skidegate, queen charlotte islands, in august, . rare at metlakatla. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) breeds on vancouver island, and on some of the smaller islands in the gulf of georgia, and along many of the inlets of the mainland. (_fannin_.) cepphus pallas. . pigeon guillemot. _cepphus columba_ (pall.). an abundant resident along the coast from race rocks to alaska, and quite common in skidegate inlet, q. c. i., august, . breeds throughout its range. uria brisson. . california murre, guillemot. _uria troile californica_ (bryant). a resident along the coast of vancouver island and mainland. breeds on west coast of vancouver island. order longipennes. long-winged swimmers. family stercorariidÆ. skuas and jaegers. stercorarius brisson. . pomarine jaeger. _stercorarius pomariuus_ (temm.). one specimen taken near victoria, october nd, . . parasitic jaeger. _stercorarius parasiticus_ (linn.). one specimen taken at victoria by wm. l. gilchrist, november, . another specimen was taken at comox by a. c. brooks, september th, . . long-tailed jaeger. _stercorarius longicaudus_ (vieill.). once shot and several times seen at sumas lake, september, . (_brooks_). family laridÆ. the gulls and terns. pagophila kaup. . ivory gull. snow gull. _pagophila alba_ (gunn.). one specimen shot at dease lake, cassiar, by james porter, september, . another specimen was shot at okanagan lake in november, , by mr. j. t. studley, and presented to the museum. mr. a. c. brooks also reports it from okanagan. rissa stephens. . pacific kittiwake. _rissa tridactyla pollicaris_ (ridgw.). taken near discovery island, january, , by w. lindley, and at queen charlotte islands by dr. c. f. newcombe, september, . larus linnæus. . glaucous-winged gull. _larus glaucesceus_ (naum.). an abundant resident on the coast; breeds on some of the islands in the gulf of georgia. mr. brooks reports it from okanagan lake. . western gull. _larus occidentalis_ (aud.). an abundant resident on the coast during the winter months. taken at chilliwhack. (_a. c. brooks_.) breeds in similkameen valley. (_fannin_.) . american herring gull. _larus argentatus smithsonianus_ (coues.). an abundant resident on the coast. it breeds on the coast and in the interior of mainland. common at metlakatla. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) chilliwhack and okanagan. (_brooks_.) . california gull. _larus californicus_ (lawr.). a common winter resident on the coast. common in the lower fraser valley and on the okanagan lake in winter. (_brooks_.) . ring-billed gull. _larus delawarensis_ (ord.). common along the coast of vancouver island and mainland. common in winter at okanagan lake and chilliwhack. (_brooks_.) breeds in the interior, especially to the northward. (_fannin_.) . short-billed gull. _larus brachyrhynchus_ (rich.). common winter resident along the coast of vancouver island and mainland. common in lower fraser valley. (_brooks_.) during the early part of may, , i saw quite a number on the lakes of the cariboo district, where it probably breeds. (_fannin_.) . heermann's gull. white-headed gull. _larus heermanni_ (cass.). common along the southern coast of vancouver island during july and august. taken at william head in full plumage, june th, , by thos. kermode. . bonaparte's gull. _larus philadelphia_ (ord.). an abundant resident throughout the province, and found in great numbers about the inlets and rivers in march and april; it breeds in the interior of the province. i have also seen it on the coast in june and july. xema leach. . sabine's gull. _xema sabinii_ (sab.). taken at okanagan lake, september th, . (_brooks_.) sterna linnæus. . common tern. _sterna hirundo_ (linn.). one specimen shot at cowichan gap by r. d. mcclure, september th, , and presented to the museum. . arctic tern. _sterna paradisæa_ (brunn.). from dease lake south, through the interior of the mainland to okanagan lake. two specimens--one taken at dease lake by james porter, and another shot at okanagan lake by a. c. brooks, september, . hydrochelidon boie. . black tern. _hydrochelidon nigra surinamensis_ (gmel.). not common. i observed it at okanagan, june, . taken at sumas and okanagan lake by a. c. brooks, burrard inlet, eraser river and interior of mainland. (_fannin_.) order tubinares. tube-nosed swimmers. family diomedeidÆ. albatrosses. diomedea linnæus. . black-footed albatross. _diomedea nigripes_ (aud.). west coast of vancouver island. (_fannin_.) rare at queen charlotte islands. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) one specimen taken near nanaimo, june th, . . short-tailed albatross. _diomedea albatrus_ (pall.) in april, , i found this species quite common in the pacific ocean, near cape beale. tolerably common on both coasts of vancouver island, but more abundant on the west coast; a few have been taken in the straits off victoria harbour. (_fannin_.) family procellariidÆ. fulmars & shearwaters. fulmarus stephens. . pacific fulmar. _fulmarus glacialis glupischa_ (stejn.). one specimen taken at chemainus, vancouver island, november, . (_fannin_.) puffinus brisson. . black-vented shearwater. _puffinus opisthomelas_ (coues). not common; four specimens taken off albert head, october th, . . dark-bodied shearwater. _puffinus griseus_ (gmel.). during the fall of dr. c. f. newcombe found this species common on the west coast of queen charlotte islands. since then one was picked up dead on the beach near victoria. . slender-billed shearwater. _puffinus tenuirostris_ (temm.). not common; one specimen shot at william head and presented to the museum by t. kermode, february rd, . oceanodroma reichenbach. . gray fork-tailed petrel. _oceanodroma furcata_ (gmel.). found along both coasts of vancouver island, but more common on the pacific coast; a few have been taken in the straits near victoria. very rare at metlakatla; one picked up exhausted. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) . leach's fork-tailed petrel. white-rumped petrel. _oceanodroma leucorrhoa_ (vieill.) coues. west coast of vancouver island. four specimens taken in hecate strait, july, . one specimen found dead on beach off beacon hill, victoria, november, . order steganopodes. totipalmate swimmers. family phalacrocoracidÆ. cormorants. phalacrocorax brisson. . white-crested cormorant. _phalacrocorax dilophus cincinnatus_ (brandt). common on both coasts of vancouver island and coast of mainland, from race rocks to alaska. . brandt's cormorant. pencilled cormorant. _phalacrocorax penicillatus_ (brandt). two specimens were killed in the straits, near victoria, by d. e. campbell, april th, . later in the month another specimen was found on the beach at beacon hill. . violet-green cormorant. _phalacrocorax pelagicus robustus_ (ridgw.). this is the most abundant cormorant in the province, and is found along both coasts of the island, and has been taken as far north as port simpson. breeds on islands close to sidney island. common at metlakatla. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) family pelecanidÆ. pelicans. pelecanus linnæus. . american white pelican. _pelecanus erythrorhynchos_ (gmel.). not common. four specimens taken--sicamous, october, ; alexandria bridge, september, ; tranquille, august, ; comox, september th, . mr. brooks reports it from chilliwhack and okanagan. said to breed in the chilcotin country. (_fannin_.) . california brown pelican. _pelecanus californicus_ (ridgw.). not common. one specimen in the museum killed at race rocks, january, . seen at sumas lake. (_brooks_.) order anseres. lamellirostral swimmers. family anatidÆ. mergansers, ducks, geese and swans. merganser brisson. . american merganser. _merganser americanus_ (cass.). found throughout the province, have taken it on west coast of vancouver island in may; also on queen charlotte islands in july, , i took four young birds. brooks reports it found on okanagan lake all winter. . red-breasted merganser. _menganser serrator_ (linn.). found distributed throughout the province. i saw them at sumas lake may th, . rev. j. h. keen says common at metlakahtla, chilliwhack and okanagan. (_brooks_.) lophodytes reichenbach. . hooded merganser. _lophodytes cucullatus_ (linn.). this species is common throughout the province and on the pacific coast. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. anas linnæus. . mallard. _anas boschas_ (linn.). an abundant resident throughout the province; breeds in suitable localities throughout its range. chaulelasmus bonaparte. . gadwall. gray duck. _chaulelasmus strepera_ (linn.). not common; a few have been taken near victoria. mr. brooks reports it from chilliwhack and okanagan. mareca stephens. . european widgeon. _mareca penelope_ (linn.). rare. two specimens, one taken near victoria february th, , and another near saanich. . american widgeon. baldpate. _mareca americana_ (gmel.). a common winter resident on the coast. brooks reports it from chilliwhack and okanagan. breeds on lakes on cariboo road above clinton. (_fannin_.) nettion kaup. . green-winged teal. _nettion carolinensis_ (gmel.). an abundant resident, breeds in the interior of the mainland. common on the coast throughout the winter. rare on queen charlotte islands. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) querquedula stephens. . blue-winged teal. _querquedula discors_ (linn.). not common on the coast; a few are taken every year. taken at chilliwhack. (_brooks_.) . cinnamon teal. _querquedula cyanoptera_ (vieill.). a summer visitor in the interior of the province. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. spatula boie. . shoveller. spoon-bill. _spatula clypeata_ (linn.). a common resident on the mainland, rarely met with on vancouver island. brooks says common resident in lower fraser valley about sumas lake, has also taken it on okanagan. dafila stephens. . pintail. sprigtail. _dafila acuta_ (linn.). an abundant winter resident on the coast. breeds in the interior of the mainland. aix boie. . wood duck. _aix spona_ (linn.). not common. a summer resident on island and mainland. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. aythya boie. . red-head. pochard. _aythya americana_ (eyt.). a winter resident on the coast, but nowhere common; a few are taken every season. fannin found it breeding on the lakes along the cariboo road. . canvas-back duck. _aythya vallisneria_ (wils.). a winter resident on the coast. brooks has taken it on okanagan lake. i found them in pairs on the lakes near -mile house, cariboo road, in april and may, , where i was told they breed. (_fannin_). . american scaup duck. blue-bill. _aythya marila_ (linn.). an abundant winter resident on the coast. breeds in the interior of mainland. . lesser scaup duck. _aythya affinis_ (eyt.). not common on the coast. fannin has taken it in may near ashcroft, and brooks has seen it all winter at okanagan. . ring-necked duck. _aythya collaris_ (donov.). not common. a few have been taken on vancouver island. mr. brooks says common in lower fraser valley, and is found all winter on okanagan lake. clangula leach. . american golden-eye. whistler. _clangula clangula americana_ (faxon.) a common winter resident on the coast. fannin says breeds in interior. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. . barrow's golden-eye. _clangula islandica_ (gmel.). not common. it winters on the coast; a few have been taken on vancouver island. brooks has taken it at okanagan. fannin found it plentiful on the lakes along the cariboo road, may, . charitonetta stejneger. . buffle-head. butter-ball. _charitonetta albeola_ (linn.). an abundant winter resident on the coast. breeds in the interior of the mainland. common at metlakatla. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) harelda stephens. . long-tailed duck. old squaw. _harelda hyemalis_ (linn.). common; the coasts of vancouver island and mainland. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack. rev. j. h. keen reports it common at metlakatla. histrionicus lesson. . harlequin duck. _histrionicus histrionicus_ (linn.). a common resident on the coast. i found it breeding at bear river, vancouver island, may, . brooks has taken it at chilliwhack. rare at queen charlotte islands. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) oidemia fleming. . american black scoter. _oidemia americana_ (swains.). not common; has been taken at victoria and port simpson. fannin saw a small flock on a lake near -mile house, cariboo road, th may, . fairly common at matlakatla. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) . white-winged scoter. _oidemia deglandi_ (bonap.). an abundant resident, and is found on the coast throughout the year. brooks reports it from chilliwhack and okanagan. rev. j. h. keen says is common at metlakatla. . surf scoter. sea coot. _oidemia perspicillata_ (linn.). abundant resident along the coasts of vancouver island and mainland. found at chilliwhack and okanagan. (_brooks_.) common at metlakatla. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) erismatura bonaparte. . ruddy duck. _erismatura jamaicensis_ (gmel.). not common on the coast; a few are taken in the winter. fannin found it breeding in the lakes along the cariboo road, may, . brooks has seen it at chilliwhack and okanagan. chen boie. . lesser snow goose. _chen hyperborea_ (pall.). a winter resident on the coast. brooks has seen it at chilliwhack. during some winters large numbers congregate off the mouth of fraser river. (_fannin_.) . ross's snow goose. _chen rossii_ (cassin.). this is a rare bird in b. c. one specimen taken at comox, january, ; another was taken at kuper island, april, . anser brisson. . american white-fronted goose. _anser albifrons gambeli_ (hartl.). abundant on the coast in winter. breeds both on island and mainland. the young have been taken on cowichan lake. (_fannin_.) brooks has taken it at sumas and okanagan lakes. common at metlakatla. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) branta scopoli. . canada goose. _branta canadensis_ (linn.). an abundant winter resident on the coast. breeds in the interior of the mainland; the eggs have been taken at penticton by c. deblois green. . hutchin's goose. _branta canadensis hutchinsii_ (rich.). abundant in the spring and fall migrations, and winters on the coast. . white-cheeked goose. _branta canadensis occidentalis_ (baird). taken at chilliwhack by a. c. brooks. . cackling goose. _branta canadensis minima_ (ridgw.). winter resident on the coast; has been taken at elk lake, near victoria. brooks reports it from chilliwhack and okanagan. . brant. _branta bernicla glaucogastra_ (brehm.). two specimens shot at comox by a. c. brooks, january th, . . black brant. _branta nigricans_ (lawr.). an abundant winter resident on the coast. in april, . i saw them in great numbers off barkley sound migrating north. philacte. . emperor goose. _philacate canagica_ (sevast.). one specimen shot at chemainus, december, . olor wagler. . whistling swan. _olor columbianus_ (ord.). a winter resident on vancouver island and southern mainland. mr. brooks records it from chilliwhack and okanagan. . trumpeter swan. _olor buccinator_ (rich.). i have only seen this bird at deaso lake, cassiar. (_fannin_.) mr. brooks has found it at sumas and okanagan. order herodiones. herons, ibises, etc. family ibididÆ. ibises. plegadis kaup. . white-faced glossy ibis. _plegadis guarauna_ (linn.). only two specimens known to be taken in the province, one on salt spring island, the other at mouth of fraser river. check list of b. c. birds, . (_fannin_.) family ardeidÆ. herons and bitterns. botaurus hermann. . american bittern. _botaurus lentiginosus_ (montag.). common throughout the greater portion of the province. breeds both east and west of cascades. ardea linnæus. . great blue heron. _ardea herodias_ (linn.). a common resident on the coast, and is quite common at sumas lake and okanagan. breeds throughout its range. . northwest coast heron. _ardea herodias fannini_ (chapman). in august, , i found this form, now named after the late john fannin by frank m. chapman, quite common at skidegate, queen charlotte islands. egretta forester. . snowy heron. _egretta candidissima_ (gmel.). rare in british columbia. two specimens collected at burrard inlet, may, . (_fannin_.) one specimen is in the museum. order paludicolÆ. cranes, rails, etc. family gruidÆ. cranes. grus pallas. . little brown crane. _grus canadensis_ (linn.). common, during migrations, throughout the province. . sandhill crane. _grus mexicana_ (mull.). common throughout the province; it breeds in the interior of mainland; numbers pass over victoria in the spring and autumn migrations. family rallidÆ. rails and coots. rallus linnæus. . virginia rail. _rallus virginianus_ (linn.). tolerably common on island and mainland; breeds close to victoria. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. porzana vieillot. . carolina rail. sora. _porzana carolina_ (linn.). found on vancouver island and mainland. rev. j. h. keen reports it very rare on queen charlotte islands. common east of cascades. (_fannin_.) fulica linnæus. . american coot. mud-hen. _fulica americana_ (gmel.). a common resident on island and mainland; breeds throughout its range. order limiciolÆ. shore birds. family phalaropodidÆ. phalaropes. crymophilus vieillot. . red phalarope. _crymophilus fulicarius_ (linn.). taken at clover point, near victoria, during migration. phalaropus brisson. . northern phalarope. _phalaropus lobatus_ (linn.). abundant along the coast of island and mainland in the spring and autumn. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. fannin has taken it at burrard inlet in july. steganopus. vieillot. . wilson's phalarope. _steganopus tricolor_ (vieill.). taken at chilliwhack by a. c. brooks. family scolopacidÆ. snipes, sand-pipers, etc. gallinago leach. . wilson's snipe. _gallinago delicata_ (ord.) common throughout the province on island and mainland; breeds in the interior. rev. j. h. keen reports it common at metlakatla. macrorhamphus leach. . long-billed dowitcher. red-breasted snipe. _macrorhamphus scolopaceus_ (say.). tolerably abundant throughout the province. i found it quite common at clayoquot, west coast vancouver island, in may, . fannin says breeds in the interior. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack. fairly common at metlakatla. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) micropalama baird. . stilt sandpiper. _micropalama himantopus_ (bonap.). taken at chilliwhack, august th, , by a. c. brooks. tringa linnæus. . knot. robin snipe. _tringa canutus_ (linn.). abundant during migrations, chiefly along the coast. (_fannin_.) taken at chilliwhack. (_brooks_.) actodromas kaup. . sharp-tailed sandpiper. _actodromas acuminata_ (horsf.). two specimens taken at massett, queen charlotte islands, december th, , by rev. j. h. keen. . pectoral sandpiper. _actodromas maculata_ (vieill.). not common; taken along the coast during migrations. brooks has taken it at chillihwack and okanagan. . baird's sandpiper. _actodromas bairdii_ (coues.). distributed along the coast of island and mainland, rev. j. h. keen reports it rare at metlakatla. taken at chilliwhack and okanagan (_brooks_); and at clover point, victoria (_e. m. anderson_). . least sandpiper. _actodromas minutilla_ (vieill.). common along the coast of island and mainland. i found it common at clayoquot in may, ; i have also taken it near victoria in july. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. fannin has taken it at -mile house, cariboo road, in may. pelidna cuvier. . red-backed sandpiper. _pelidna alpina sakhalina_ (vieillot). common in the spring and autumn migration along the coast of island and mainland. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack. ereunetes illiger. . semipalmated sandpiper. _ereunetes pusillus_ (linn.). not uncommon in migration along the coast. chilliwhack and okanagan. (_brooks_.) common at metlakatla. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) . western semipalmated sandpiper. _ereunetes pusillus occidenlcdis_ (lawr.). abundant in the fall along the coast. i also found it very common at clayoquot, may, , and have taken it near victoria in july. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack. calidris cuvier. . sanderling. _calidris arenaria_ (linn.). not common; several have been taken near victoria by a. h. maynard. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack. fairly common at metlakatla. (_rev j. h. keen_.) limosa brisson. . marbled godwit. _limosa fedoa_ (linn.). the whole of british columbia; breeds chiefly east of cascades. (_fannin_.) port simpson. (_w. b. anderson_.) totanus bechstein. . greater yellow-legs. _totanus melanoleucus_ (gmel.). common along the coast in winter; have taken it at clayoquot in may. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. i found it breeding around the lakes at clinton, may, . (_fannin_.) . lesser yellow-legs. _totanus flavipes_ (gmel.). tolerably common through the province; winters on the coast. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. helodromas kaup. . solitary sandpiper. _helodromas solitarius_ (wils.). found throughout the province. taken at chilliwhack and okanagan. (_brooks_). . western solitary sandpiper. _helodromas solitarius cinnamomeus_ (brewster). taken at chilliwhack and okanagan. (_brooks_). symphemia rafinesque. . western willet. _symphemia semipalmata inornata_ (brewster). one specimen shot at clover point, near victoria, august th, , by mr. j. henley. heteractitis stejneger. . wandering tatler. _heteractitis incanus_ (gmel.). tolerably common along the coast of island and mainland. i took it at clayoquot, may, , and at skidegate, queen charlotte islands, august th, . bartramia lesson. . bartramian sandpiper. _bartramia longicauda_ (bechst.). one specimen shot at comox, august th, , by w. b. anderson. another was taken at l -mile house, cariboo road, may th, , by a. c. brooks. tryngites cabanis. . buff-breasted sandpiper. _tryngites subruficollis_ (vieill.). not common. taken at chilliwhack by a. c. brooks. actitis illiger. . spotted sandpiper. _actitis macularia_ (linn.). this bird is found along the entire coast; i have taken it at clayoquot vancouver island, and at skidegate, queen charlotte islands, july th, . brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. numenius brisson. . long-billed curlew. _numenius longirostris_ (wils.). a few specimens have been taken on the coast, but is to be more frequently met with in the interior of the mainland, south through the okanagan. . hudsonian curlew. _numenius hudsonicus_ (lath.). not common, but distributed along the coast of island and mainland. i have taken it at clayoquot in may, . w. b. andersen has taken it at port simpson, and j. maynard at cadboro bay, near victoria. family charadriidÆ. plovers, etc. charadrius linnæus. . black-bellied plover. _charadrius squatarola_ (linn.). abundant during migrations along the coast. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. . american golden plover. _charadrius dominicus_ (mull.). common on the coast during migrations. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. rev. j. h. keen reports it common at metlakatla. w. b. anderson has taken it at port simpson. Ægialitis boie. . killdeer plover. _Ægialitis vocifera_ (linn.). found throughout the province; occasionally on the coast in winter. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. . semipalmated plover. _Ægialitis semipalmata_ (bonap.). not common. i took two specimens on the west coast, vancouver island--one at ucluelet, april th, , the other at clayoquot, may, . a. h. maynard shot one at cadboro bay, victoria. family aphrizidÆ. surf-birds and turnstones. aphriza audubon. . surf-bird. _aphriza virgata_ (gmel.). not uncommon along the entire coast line of the province. i found it quite common at clayoquot, may, . it has been taken at port simpson by w. b. anderson. arenaria brisson. . turnstone. _arenaria interpres_ (linn.). along the entire coast line, but not common. it has been taken at port simpson and sidney island. brooks has taken it at sumas lake. . black turnstone. _arenaria melanocephala_ (vig.). common along the entire coast of the province. i have taken it at clayquot in may, , and i found it very common at skidegate, queen charlotte islands, in july, , and it is found near victoria throughout the winter. family hÆmatopodidÆ. oyster-catchers. hÆmatopus linnæus. . black oyster-catcher. _hæmatopus bachmani_ (aud.). abundant along the entire coast of island and mainland. breeds throughout its range. common on queen charlotte islands, at skidegate. order gallinÆ. gallinaceous birds. family tetraonidÆ. grouse, partridges, etc. oreortyx baird. . mountain partridge. _oreortyx pictus_ (dougl.). common on vancouver island. introduced from california. lophortyx bonaparte. . california partridge. _lophortyx californicus_ (shaw.). common on vancouver island. introduced from california. dendragapus elliot. . sooty grouse. _dendragapus obscurus fuliginosus_ (ridgw.). abundant west of cascade mountains, including vancouver island, queen charlotte islands, and all the larger islands along the coast. . richardson's grouse. _dendragapus obscurus richardsonii_ (dougl.). an abundant resident east of cascade mountains to rocky mountains. canachites stejneger. . franklin's grouse. _canachites franklinii_ (dougl.). an abundant resident throughout the wooded portion of the interior east of the cascade mountains, from okanagan to cassiar. bonasa stephens. . canadian ruffed grouse. _bonasa umbellus togata_ (linn.). an abundant resident east of and including the cascade mountains. taken at chilliwhack by a. c. brooks. . gray ruffed grouse. _bonasa umbellus umbelloides_ (dougl.). rocky mountain district, soda creek and beaver pass. check list of b. c. birds, . (_fannin_.) okanagan, a. c. brooks. . oregon ruffed grouse. _bonasa umbellus sabini_ (dougl.). an abundant resident on vancouver island and all the larger islands of the coast, and on the mainland west of cascade mountains. lagopus brisson. . willow ptarmigan. _lagopus lagopus_ (linn.). northern portion of british columbia, dease lake, cassiar. (_james porter_.) log cabin, atlin. (_fletcher_ and _englehardt_.). . rock ptarmigan. _lagopus rupestris_ (gmel.). common on the summit of most of the mountains on the mainland and vancouver island. (_fannin_.) quite common at atlin. . white-tailed ptarmigan. _lagopus leucurus_ (swains. & rich.). found on the summit of most mountains on the mainland except the coast range. taken at okanagan. (_brooks_.) cassiar. (_james porter_.) pedioecetes baird. . columbian sharp-tailed grouse. prairie chicken. _pedioecetes phasianellus columbianus_ (ord.). an abundant resident east of cascade range through the southern portions of the province. e. p. venables reports it common near vernon. centrocercus swainson. . sage grouse. _centrocercus urophasianus_ (bonap.). three specimens taken by mr. g. b. martin at osoyoos lake in october, . (check list of b. c. birds, . _fannin_.) family phasianidÆ. pheasants. phasianus linnæus. . ring-necked pheasant. _phasianus torquatus_ (linn.). abundant on vancouver island and in the lower fraser river valley and other portions of the mainland. introduced from china; now thoroughly naturalised. order columbÆ. pigeons. family columbidÆ. pigeons. columba linnæus. . band-tailed pigeon. _columba fasciata_ (say.). a common summer resident in the south-western portions of the province including vancouver island. ectopistes swainson. . passenger pigeon. _ectopistes migratorius_ (linn.). mentioned in john keast lord's "naturalist in british columbia" ( ). if it ever did occur here, it is now, without doubt, extinct. (_fannin_.) zenaidura bonaparte. . mourning dove. _zenaidura macroura_ (linn.). not common on vancouver island. i found it quite common in the okanagan in june, . brooks has taken it at chilliwhack. rev. j. h. keen reports it rare at metlakatla. order raptores. birds of prey. family cathartidÆ. american vultures. gymnogyps lesson. . california vulture. _gymnogyps californianus_ (shaw.). in september, , i saw two of these birds at burrard inlet. it is more than probable they are accidental visitants here. lord says: mouth of fraser river; seldom visits the interior. (_fannin_.) cathartes illeger. . turkey vulture. _cathartes aura_ (linn.). tolerably common on vancouver island and portions of the mainland. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. family falconidÆ. falcons, hawks, eagles, etc. circus lacépède. . marsh hawk. _circus hudsonius_ (linn.). common on vancouver island and mainland. abundant on the mainland. partially migratory; a few are found throughout the winter at ladners. (_fannin_.) chilliwhack and okanagan. (_brooks_.) accipiter brisson. . sharp-shinned hawk. _accipiter velox_ (wils.). abundant on vancouver island and portions of the mainland. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. . cooper's hawk. _accipiter cooperii_ (bonap.). found on vancouver island and mainland; have taken it at sicamous. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. . american goshawk. _accipiter atricapillus_ (wils.). rather common in interior of province. a few have been taken on vancouver island. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. . western goshawk. _accipiter atricapillus striatulus_ (ridgw.). common throughout the province. i found it very common at skidegate, queen charlotte islands, in august, . buteo cuvier. . western red-tailed hawk. _buteo borealis calurus_ (cass.). an abundant resident on vancouver island and coast of mainland. taken at chilliwhack and okanagan. (_brooks_.) rare at massett, queen charlotte islands. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) . red-bellied hawk. _buteo lineatus elegans_ (cass.). not common. i have no record of it on vancouver island. it has been taken at burrard inlet by j. fannin, and at chilliwhack by a. c. brooks. . swainson's hawk. _buteo swainsoni_ (bonap.). not common on vancouver island; it has been taken at victoria and union. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. archibuteo brehm. . american rough-legged hawk. _archibuteo lagopus sancti-johannis_ (gmel.). not common. found on both vancouver island and mainland. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. aquila brisson. . golden eagle. _aquila chrysaetos_ (linn.). found throughout the entire province. rare on vancouver island. a resident. haliÆetus savigny. . bald eagle. _haliæetus leucocephalus alascanus_ (c. h. townsend). an abundant resident throughout the entire province, on island and mainland. breeds throughout its range. common on queen charlotte islands. falco linnæus. . gyrfalcon. _falco rusticolus gyrfalco_ (linn.). one specimen shot at comox, october, , by w. harvey. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack. . prairie falcon. _falco mexicanus _(schleg.). taken at chilliwhack by a. c. brooks, and at kamloops, november, , by w. fortune. . duck hawk. _falco peregrinus anatum_ (bonap.). apparently more common on the mainland than vancouver island. several have been taken in the okanagan country. . peale's falcon. _falco peregrinus pealei_ (ridgw.). found chiefly along the coasts of mainland and vancouver island. several specimens have been taken at cadbora bay, near victoria. mr. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack. rare at metlakatla. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) . pigeon hawk. _falco columbarius_ (linn.). apparently more common east of the coast range. a few have been taken on the coast. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. . black merlin. _falco columbarius suckleyi_ (ridgw.). abundant; summer resident on vancouver island and portions of mainland. mr. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. . richardson's merlin. _falco richardsonii_ (ridgw.). not common on vancouver island; a few specimens have been taken near victoria. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. . desert sparrow hawk. _falco spaverius phaloena_ (lesson). abundant throughout the southern portion of mainland, including vancouver island, from the coast to rocky mountains. pandion savigny. . american osprey. fish hawk. _pandion halioetus carolinensis_ (gmel.). common throughout the province, on mainland and island, including queen charlotte islands. their nest is a huge heap of sticks, usually on the broken top of a tree. family bubonidÆ. horned owls, etc. asio brisson. . american long-eared owl. _asio wilsonianus_ (less.). not common; a few have been taken on vancouver island. mr. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. . short-eared owl. _asio accipitrinus_ (pall.). common throughout the province, on island and mainland; rather common near victoria throughout the winter. syrnium sanigny. . northern spotted owl. _syrnium occidentale caurinum_ (merriam). rare resident at chilliwhack and mount lehman (_brooks_.) the late john fannin had this bird on his first list of b. c. birds, he having taken it at burrard inlet some years ago, but in his lists of and he dropped it. scotiaptex swainson. . great grey owl. _scotiaptex nebulosa_ (forster). a rare bird in this province; it has been taken at vernon and stewart's lake. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack. cryptoglaux richmond. . richardson's owl. _cryptoglaux tengmalmi richardsoni_ (bonaparte). taken at okanagan by a. c. brooks. . saw-whet owl. _cryptoglaux acadica_ (gmel.). not common on vancouver island; several have been taken near this city. tolerably at chilliwhack and common in winter at okanagan. (_brooks_.) a. north-west saw-whet owl. _cryptoglaux acadica scotæa_ (osgood). queen charlotte islands. megascops kaup. . kennicott's screech owl. _megascops asio kennicottii_ (elliot). an abundant resident throughout the province. breeds in the neighbourhood of victoria. . macfarlane's screech owl. _megascops asio macfarlanei_ (brewst.). southern portion of the province, east of cascade mountains. bubo dumeril. . great horned owl. _bubo virginianus_ (gmel.). taken at chilliwhack by a. c. brooks, and near victoria by john hall, november, . . western horned owl. _bubo virginianus pallescens_ (stone). common on vancouver island and mainland. taken at chilliwhack and okanagan. (_brooks_.) . arctic horned owl. _bubo virginianus arcticus_ (swains.). one specimen taken near victoria, november, , by a. h. maynard, and at chilliwhack by a. c. brooks. . dusky horned owl. _bubo virginianus saturatus_ (ridgw.). an abundant resident in this province; common on vancouver island. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. nyctea stephens. . snowy owl. _nyctea nyctea_ (linn.). a resident in the northern portions of the province, south in winter to mouth of fraser river, chilliwhack and okanagan, occasionally to vancouver island. rev. j. h. keen reports it rare at metlakahtla. surnia duméril. . american hawk owl. _surnia ulula caparoch_ (mull.). not common, but found throughout the southern part of the province from the coast to okanagan. rare on vancouver island. it has been taken at victoria, sardis, grand prairie and vernon. speotyto gloger. . burrowing owl. _speotyto cunicularia hypogæa_ (bonap.). not common, but is found in suitable localities in the southern portions of the province from chilliwhack to okanagan. mr. brooks has taken three specimens at chilliwhack. rare at vernon. (_e. p. venables_.) glaucidium boie. . pygmy owl. _glaucidium gnoma_ (wagl.). common throughout the province. (_fannin_.) . california pygmy owl. _glaucidium gnoma californicum_ (scl.). common throughout the southern portions of the province, including vancouver island. order coccyges. cuckoos and kingfishers. family cuculidÆ. cuckoos. coccyzus vieillot. . western yellow-billed cuckoo. california cuckoo. _coccyzus americanus occidentalis_ (ridgw.). a regular summer resident in the southwestern portions of the province. it breeds on vancouver island near victoria. mr. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack. family alcedinidÆ. kingfishers. ceryle boie. . belted kingfisher. _ceryle alcyon_ (linn.). an abundant resident throughout the province, breeds throughout its range. order pici. woodpeckers, wrynecks, etc. family picidÆ. woodpeckers. dryobates boie. . northern hairy woodpecker. _dryobates villosus leucomelas_ (bodd.). common resident on the mainland east of cascade mountains. i found it quite common at sicamous, may, . mr. brooks reports having taken it several times at chilliwhack. . harris's woodpecker. _dryobates villosus harrisii_ (aud.). a common resident west of coast range, including vancouver island. . cabanis's woodpecker. _dryobates villosus hyloscopus_ (cab.). rocky mountain district. taken at okanagan by a. c. brooks. . queen charlotte woodpecker. _dryobates villosus picoideus_ (osgood). queen charlotte islands. . gairdner's woodpecker. _dryobates pubescens gairdneri_ (aud.). a very common resident on vancouver island, coast of mainland and lower fraser valley. . batchelder's woodpecker. _dryobates pubescens homorus_ (cab.). common throughout the interior of the province, along the c. p. r., at ducks, and at vernon. mr. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. xenopicus baird. . white-headed woodpecker. _xenopicus albolarvatus_ (cass.). a rare bird in this province, found east of the coast range. museum specimen from similkameen valley, collected by r. v. griffin. picoides lacépède. . black-backed three-toed woodpecker. _picoides arcticus_ (swains.). found only east of coast range, where in some localities it is quite common. mr. brooks reports it from okanagan. . alaskan three-toed woodpecker. _picoides americanus fasciatus_ (bird). west of cascade mountains common. rare on vancouver island. brooks says common resident in the spruce zone on the coast range. . alpine three-toed woodpecker. _picoides americanus dorsalis_ (baird). mountains east of cascade mountains, north to cassiar. (_fannin_.) sphyrapicus baird. . red-naped sapsucker. _sphyrapicus varius nuchalis_ (baird). generally distributed east of cascade mountains throughout the province. it was quite common at duck's, may, . . red-breasted sapsucker. _sphyrapicus ruber notkensis_ (suckow.). generally distributed along the coast. not uncommon on vancouver island. mr. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack. . williamson's sapsucker. _sphyrapicus thyroideus_ (cass.). taken at similkameen, b. c., by r. v. griffin, june, , (check list of b. c. birds, --_fannin_.) ceophloeus cabanis. . northern pileated woodpecker. _ceophloeus pileatus abieticola_ (bangs.). common resident throughout the province, on vancouver island and mainland through the interior to okanagan. mr. brooks found it scarce in the cariboo district. asyndesmus (wils.) coues. . lewis's woodpecker. _asyndesmus torquatus_ (wils.). abundant through the interior of the province, at vernon and grand prairie. i found it quite common at chilliwhack this year. a summer resident on vancouver island. colaptes swainson. . northern flicker. _colaptes auratus luteus_ (bangs.). a rare bird of this province, but is found on vancouver island and east to the rocky mountains. . red-shafted flicker. _colaptes cafer collaris_ (vigors). common east of cascade mountains through the interior, at duck's, sicamous and okanagan. . north-western flicker. _colaptes cafer saturatior_ (ridgew.). abundant resident west of cascade mountains; very common on vancouver island. order macrochires. goatsuckers, swifts, etc. family caprimulgidÆ. goatsuckers. phalÆnoptilus ridgway. . poor-will. _phalænoptilis nuttallii_ (aud.). southern interior portions of province from kamloops through the okanagan. summer resident. chordeiles swainson. . nighthawk. _chordeiles virginianus_ (gmel.). an abundant summer resident east of cascade mountains. mr. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack. . western nighthawk. _chordeiles virginianus henryi_ (cass.). a summer resident west of cascade mountains. abundant on vancouver island. family micropodidÆ. swifts. cypseloides streubel. . black swift. _cypseloides niger borealis_ (ridgw.). common near victoria during migration. rev. j. h. keen says only pass over at metlakatla. said to breed in mountains back of chilliwhack and in the neighbourhood of comox. (_fannin_.) taken at chilliwhack and okanagan. (_brooks_.) chÆtura stephens. . vaux's swift. _chætura vauxii_ (towns.). a summer resident on vancouver island and mainland. i found it very common near sicamous, may th, . family trochilidÆ. hummingbirds. trochilus linnæus. . black-chinned hummingbird. _trochilus alexandri_ (bourc. & muls.). confined to the mainland. i have never seen it on vancouver island. mr. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. selasphorus swainson. . red-backed rufous hummingbird. _selasphorus rufus_ (gmel.). an abundant summer resident west of cascade mountains, including vancouver island. mr. brooks has taken it at okanagan. common at metlakatla (_rev. j. h. keen_.) . green-backed rufous hummingbird. allen's hummingbird. _selasphorus alleni_ (hensh.). eastern cascade and rocky mountain districts. (_fannin_.) stellula gould. . calliope hummingbird. _stellula calliope_ (gould). east and west of cascade mountains. (_fannin_.) order passeres. perching birds. family tyrannidÆ. tyrant flycatchers. tyrannus cuvier. . kingbird. _tyrannus tyrannus_ (linn.). a common summer resident on the mainland at chilliwhack, sardis, ducks and vernon, and has been taken as far north as port simpson. rare on vancouver island. . gray kingbird. _tyrannus dominicensis_ (gmel.). accidentally in b. c. one specimen taken at cape beale, october , , by miss cox, and presented to the museum. . arkansas kingbird. _tyrannus verticalis_ (say). a common summer resident on the mainland. i have found it quite common at chilliwhack, ducks and okanagan, rarely west to vancouver island. sayornis bonaparte. . say's phoebe. _sayornis saya_ (bonap.). a summer resident. not common on vancouver island, chiefly on mainland in the interior. mr. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. contopus cabanis. . olive-sided flycatcher. _contopus borealis_ (swains.). a summer resident on vancouver island and mainland. mr. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. . western wood pewee. _contopus richardsonii_ (swains.). a common summer resident on vancouver island and mainland. very common at sicamous, may, . empidonax cabanis. . western flycatcher. _empidonax difficilis_ (baird). a common summer resident west of cascade mountains on mainland and vancouver island. i also found it quite common at skidegate, queen charlotte islands, july, . . traill's flycatcher. _empidonax trailli_ (aud.). a summer resident. i have found it quite common on vancouver island and the mainland at sicamous and vernon. mr. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. . hammond's flycatcher. _empidonax hammondi_ (xantus.). summer resident. chiefly on the mainland, east and west of cascade mountains. a few have been taken on vancouver island. . wright's flycatcher. _empidonax wrightii_ (baird). summer resident. taken at chilliwhack and okanagan. (_brooks_.) family alaudidÆ. larks. otocoris bonaparte. . pallid horned lark. _otocoris alpestris leucoloema_ (coues.). common in spring and autumn on vancouver island. have taken it at clover point near victoria. mr. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. . streaked horned lark. _otocoris alpestris strigata_ (hensh.). spring and autumn migrant on vancouver island. have taken it near victoria in september. mr. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack. west of cascades; taken at burrard inlet and vancouver island (_fannin_). fort simpson by w. b. anderson. . dusky horned lark. _otocoris alpestris merrilli_ (dwight). chiefly east of cascades. i have never known it to be taken on vancouver island. mr. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. chas. de b. green has taken it at osoyoos. family corvidÆ. crows, jays, magpies. pica brisson. . american magpie. _pica pica hudsonica_ (sab.). a common resident on the mainland, rarely west to vancouver island. breeds in the interior of the mainland, east of cascade mountains. cyanocitta strickland. . steller's jay. _cyanocitta stelleri_ (gmel.). an abundant resident west of coast range on mainland and vancouver island throughout the year. . black-headed jay. _cyanocitta stelleri annectens_ (baird). this form is quite common in the interior from the cascades east down through the okanagan. mr. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack. . queen charlotte jay. _cyanocitta stelleri carlottæ_ (osgood). queen charlotte islands; not uncommon at skidegate, august, . perisoreus bonaparte. . rocky mountain jay. _perisoreus canadensis capitalis_ (ridgw.). east of cascade mountains. taken at okanagan and in the caribou district by a. c. brooks. . oregon jay. _perisoreus obscurus_ (ridgw.). an abundant resident west of cascades, on the mainland, but not so numerous on vancouver island. . gray jay. _perisoreus obscurus griseus_ (ridgw.). california to british columbia, east of the coast and cascade ranges. (_ridgway_.) corvus linnæus. . northern raven. _corvus corax principalis_ (ridgw.). a resident throughout the province; more common on the coast. i have seen it quite common at clayoquot, v. i., and in august, , it was very common at skidegate, queen charlotte islands. mr. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. common at metlakatla. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) . american crow. _corvus brachyrhynchos_ (brehm.) common east of coast range; common at sicamous, may, . mr. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. . northwest crow. _corvus caurinus_ (baird). an abundant resident west of cascade mountains, on mainland and vancouver island, and fairly common at skidegate, queen charlotte islands, july, . nucifraga brisson. . clarke's nutcracker. _nucifraga columbiana_ (wils.). a common resident on the mainland, chiefly east of the coast range. rare on vancouver island. cyanocephalus bonaparte. . blue crow. piñon jay. _cyanocephalus cyanocephalus_ (wied.). rocky mountain region to the pacific coast ranges, but rather more southerly; north to british columbia; south to lower california.--"key to n. a. birds (coues), fifth edition." family icteridÆ. blackbirds, orioles, etc. dolichonyx swainson. . bobolink. _dolichonyx oryzivorus_ (linn.) east and west of cascade mountains. taken at chilliwhack by a. c. brooks. molothrus swainson. . cowbird. _molothrus ater_ (bodd.). a summer resident. i have found it fairly common in the neighbourhood of ducks, on c. p. r., and okanagan. it is a rare straggler on vancouver island; it has been taken near victoria. mr. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack. rev. j. h. keen reports it rare at metlakatla. xanthocephalus bonaparte. . yellow-headed blackbird. _xanthocephalus xanthocephalus_ (bonap.). a rare summer resident on the mainland. i have heard of it at vernon. fannin has found it above clinton, on the cariboo road. brooks has taken it at chilliwhack. agelaius vieillot. . san diego redwing. _agelaius phoeniceus neutralis_ (ridgw.). breeding range north, to eastern british columbia. (_ridgway_.) east of cascades i found this form quite common near vernon, june, . . northwestern red-wing. _agelaius phoeniceus caurinus_ (ridgw.). common west of cascades, on mainland and vancouver island; it is found throughout the year near victoria. sturnella vieillot. . western meadowlark. _sturnella magna neglecta_ (aud.). abundant resident on mainland and vancouver island, east and west of cascades. icterus brisson. . bullock's oriole. _icterus bullocki_ (swains.). a fairly common summer resident, chiefly east of cascades. i found it breeding along the valley of the thompson and in the okanagan, near vernon, may and june, . mr. brooks has found it breeding at chilliwhack. euphagus cassin. . rusty blackbird. _euphagus carolinus_ (muller). rare. one specimen shot at metlakatla by rev. j. h. keen, november, th, , and presented by him to the museum. . brewer's blackbird. _euphagus cyanocephalus_ (wagler.). common, and generally distributed on the mainland; quite common in the lower fraser valley, grand prairie, south side of thompson river, down into the okanagan country. breeding in suitable localities. not common on vancouver island; a few have been taken near victoria. family fringillidÆ. finches, sparrows, etc. hesperiphona bonaparte. . western evening grosbeak. _hesperiphona vespertina montana_ (ridgw.). chiefly on the mainland. west in winter to vancouver island and lower fraser valley. taken at chilliwhack and okaiiagan by a. c. b. pinicola vieillot. . alaskan pine grosbeak. _pinicola enucleator alascensis_ (ridgw.). mainland east and west of cascade mountains. common in winter in the neighbourhood of clinton. mr. brooks reports it from chilliwhack and okanagan. rare at metlakatla. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) carpodacus kaup. . california purple finch. _carpodacus purpureus californicus_ (baird). an abundant summer resident west of cascades. quite a number winter on vancouver island. . cassin's purple finch. _carpodacus cassini_ (baird). east of cascades to rocky mountains. tolerably common. loxia linnæus. . american crossbill. _loxia curvirostra minor_ (brehm.). an abundant resident throughout the province, island and mainland. . white-winged crossbill. _loxia leucoptera_ (gmel.). an abundant resident chiefly on the mainland, occasionally west to vancouver island. leucosticte swainson. . gray-crowned leucosticte. _leucosticte tephrocotis_ (swains.). rocky mountain district. in winter, occasionally west to cascades. mr. brooks has taken it as far west as chilliwhack. . hepburn's leucosticte. _leucosticte tephrocotis littoralis_ (baird). common on the mainland from the coast to rocky mountains. breeds above timber line in the interior. acanthis bechstein. . hoary redpoll. _acanthis hornemannii exilipes_ (coues.). mouth of quesnelle, s. williams. chilliwhack, a. c. brooks. . redpoll. _acanthis linaria_ (linn.). the province at large, but more abundant in the rocky mountain district. west in winter to vancouver island. astragalinus cabanis. . american goldfinch. _astragalinus tristis_ (linn.). both slopes of cascades to rocky mountains on the mainland. taken at okanagan by a. c. brooks. . willow goldfinch. _astragalinus tristis salicamans_ (grinnell). taken at okanagan by a. c. brooks. spinus koch. . pine siskin. _spinus pinus_ (wils.). an abundant resident throughout the province. breeds throughout its range. passer brisson. . house sparrow. _passer domesticus_ (linn.). this bird has now become quite common in the cities along the coast. passerina (vieill). . snowflake. _passerina nivalis_ (linn.). not common on vancouver island. more abundant east of cascades on the mainland. calcarius bechstein. . lapland longspur. _calcarius lapponicus_ (linn.). the province at large, but nowhere common. it has been taken a victoria, chilliwhack, burrard inlet, okanagan, fort simpson and metlakatla. rhynchophanes baird. . mccown's longspur. _rhynchophanes mccownii_ (lawr.). taken at chilliwhack by a. c. brooks. pooecetes baird. . western vesper sparrow. _pooecetes gramineus confinis_ (baird). interior portions of the mainland east of cascades, and in the okanagan. . oregon vesper sparrow. _pooecetes gramineus affinis_ (miller). west of cascades, including vancouver island. passerculus bonaparte. . sandwich sparrow. _passerculus sandwichensis_ (gmel.). an abundant summer resident west of cascades on the mainland, including vancouver island. mr. brooks has taken it at okanagan. . western savanna sparrow. _passerculus sandwichensis alaudinus_ (bonaparte). a common summer resident on the coast, including vancouver island. coturniculus bonaparte. . western grasshopper sparrow. _coturniculus savannarum bimaculatus_ (swainson). a summer resident in the okanagan, near vernon. (_brooks_.) chondestes swainson. . western lark sparrow. _chondestes grammacus strigatus_ (swains.). interior southern portions of the mainland, from chilliwhack east through the okanagan. zonotrichia swainson. . harris's sparrow. _zonotrichia querula_ (nutt.). cadbora bay, near victoria, october, , a. h. maynard; comox, november, , w. b. anderson; sumas (lower fraser), th january, , a. c. brooks. . gambel's sparrow. _zonotrichia leucophrys gambelii_ (nutt.). mainland, east of coast range, east to okanagan. common. . nuttall's sparrow. _zonotrichia leucophrys nuttalli_ (ridgw.). an abundant summer resident on vancouver island and mainland, west of cascades. . golden-crowned sparrow. _zonotrichia coronata_ (pallas.). abundant during migrations on the coast; have also taken it at chilliwhack and okanagan. spizella bonaparte. . western tree sparrow. _spizella monticola ochracea_ (brewst.). chilliwhack and okanagan, a. c. brooks; victoria, a. h. maynard. . western chipping sparrow. _spizella socialis arizonæ_ (coues.). an abundant summer resident east and west of cascades. breeds in the neighbourhood of this city. also a number remain throughout the winter. . clay-coloured sparrow. _spizella pallida_ (swains.). carpenter's mountain, -mile house, cariboo, july rd, . (_brooks_.) . brewer's sparrow. _spizella breweri_ (cass.). eastern cascades and rocky mountains districts. similkameen, r. v. griffin; okanagan, a. c. brooks. junco wagler. . slate-coloured junco. _junco hyemalis_ (linn.). taken at chilliwhack by a. c. brooks. . oregon junco. _junco hyemalis oreganus_ (townsend). abundant resident west of cascades, including vancouver island. . shufeldt's junco. _junco hyemalis shufeldti_ (coale). breeding from interior british columbia (stuarts lake) east to rocky mountains, south to vancouver island. melosipza baird. . rusty song sparrow. _melosipza cinerea morphna_ (oberh.). an abundant resident throughout the province. breeds on vancouver island and mainland. . sooty song sparrow. _melosipza cinerea rufina_ (bonap.). an abundant resident, chiefly along the coast of mainland and vancouver island. i found it quite common at skidegate, queen charlotte islands, august, . . lincoln's sparrow. _melosipza lincolnii_ (aud.). not common. east and west of cascades; a few have been taken near victoria. mr. brooks has taken it at okanagan. . forbush's sparrow. _melosipza lincolnii striata_ (brewst.). collected at comox, september, , by e. h. forbush. taken at chilliwhack by a. c. brooks. passerella swainson. . townsend's sparrow. _passerella iliaca unalaschcensis_ (gmel.). a common summer resident west of cascades. a few remain throughout the winter on vancouver island; i have taken it in november and january. . slate-coloured sparrow. _passerella iliaca schistacea_ (baird). southern portions of mainland, east of cascades. sicamous, j. fannin, okanagan, a. c. brooks. pipilo vieillot. . spurred towhee. _pipilo maculatus megalonyx_ (baird). east of cascades, south through the okanagan. . oregon towhee. _pipilo maculatus oregonus_ (bell.). an abundant resident west of cascades. breeds on vancouver island and mainland. zamelodia coues. . black-headed grosbeak. _zamelodia melanocephala_ (swains). a summer resident on vancouver island. taken at chilliwhack. (_brooks_.) a summer resident east and west of cascades. (_fannin_.) cyanospiza baird. . lazuli bunting. _cyanospiza amoena_ (say.). a summer resident chiefly east of cascades. i have seen it at chilliwhack and near vernon. rare on vancouver island. family tanagridÆ. tanagers. piranga vieillot. . louisiana tanager. _piranga ludoviciana_ (wils.). an abundant summer resident throughout the province. vancouver island and mainland. family hirundinidÆ. swallows. progne boie. . purple martin. _progne subis_ (linn.). a common summer resident chiefly in the cities along the coast. west of cascades. petrochelidon cabanis. . cliff swallow. _petrochelidon lunifrons_ (say.). common summer resident on the mainland east and west of cascades, chilliwhack, okanagan and cariboo road. hirundo linn. . barn swallow. _hirundo erythrogastra_ (bodd). an abundant summer resident throughout the province, including vancouver island and queen charlotte islands. tachycineta cabanis. . white-bellied swallow. _tachycineta bicolor_ (vieill.). an abundant summer resident east and west of cascades. . northern violet-green swallow. _tachycineta thalassina lepida_ (mearns). an abundant summer resident throughout the province, east and west of cascades. riparia forester. . bank swallow. _riparia riparia_ (linn.). an abundant summer resident, chiefly east of cascades, north to cariboo district. very common from sicamous down through the okanagan. taken at chilliwhack by a. c. brooks. stelgidopteryx baird. . rough-winged swallow. _stelgidopteryx serripennis_ (aud.). a common summer resident throughout the province. vancouver island and mainland. family ampelidÆ. waxwings. ampelis linnæus. . bohemian waxwing. _ampelis garrulus_ (linn.). an abundant resident chiefly east of cascades. a winter visitant to the coast and vancouver island. . cedar bird. _ampelis cedrorum_ (vieill.). a common summer resident throughout the province. vancouver island and mainland. family laniidÆ. shrikes. lanius linnæus. . northern shrike. butcher-bird. _lanius borealis_ (vieill.). not common, but found distributed throughout the province. found throughout the winter on the coast. . white-rumped shrike. _lanis ludovicianus excubitorides_ (swains.). chilliwhack, a. c. brooks. victoria, a. h. maynard. family vireonidÆ. vireos. vireo vieillot. . red-eyed vireo. _vireo olivaceus_ (linn.). distributed over the southern portions of the province, including vancouver island. a summer resident. chilliwhack and okanagan, a. c. brooks. . western warbling vireo. _vireo gilvus swainsonii_ (baird). common summer resident, west of rocky mountains to pacific. mainland and vancouver island. . cassin's vireo. _vireo solitarius cassinii_ (xantus.). a summer resident east and west of cascades, including vancouver island. . anthony's vireo. _vireo huttoni obscurus_ (anthony). a summer resident on vancouver island. family mniotiltidÆ. wood warblers. helminthophila ridgway. . calaveras warbler. _helminthophila ruficapilla gutturalis_ (ridgw.). rocky mountains to pacific. a summer resident. common in the okanagan. (_brooks_.) . orange-crowned warbler. _helminthophila celata_ (say.). a common summer resident east and west of cascades. . lutescent warbler. _helminthophila celata lutescens_ (ridgw.). an abundant summer resident, chiefly west of cascades, along the coast of mainland and vancouver island. . tennessee warbler. _helminthophila peregrina_ (wils.). taken at -mile house, cariboo, by a. c. brooks. dendroica gray. . alaskan yellow warbler. _dendroica æstiva rubiginosa_ (pallas). an abundant summer resident throughout the province, from rocky mountains to the pacific. . myrtle warbler. _dendroica coronata_ (linn.). an abundant summer resident on vancouver island and mainland, chiefly west of cascades. rare at metlakatla. (_rev. j. h. keen_.) okanagan. (_brooks_). . audubon's warbler. _dendroica auduboni_ (towns.). an abundant summer resident throughout the province, vancouver island and mainland east to rocky mountains. . magnolia warbler. _dendroica maculosa_ (gmel.). okanagan, (_rhoads_). . black-throated gray warbler. _dendroica nigrescens_ (towns.). not common. a summer resident west of cascades, but chiefly along the coast. taken at chilliwhack (_brooks_). . townsend's warbler. _dendroica townsendi_ (townsend.). not common, but found distributed throughout the province, chiefly west of cascades, including vancouver island and queen charlotte islands. . hermit warbler. western warbler. _dendroica occidentalis_ (townsend). a summer resident, chiefly west of cascade range. seiurus swainson. . grinnell's water-thrush. _seiurus noveboracensis notabilis_ (ridgw.). taken at ducks, c. p. r., by clark p. streator, august th, . taken at quesnel, august th, , by a. c. brooks. geothlypis cabanis. . macgillivray's warbler. _geothlypis tolmiei_ (towns.). a common summer resident throughout the province, vancouver island and mainland. . western yellow-throat. _geothlypis trichas occidentalis_ (brewst.). a common summer resident throughout the province. . pacific yellow-throat. _geothlypis trichas arizela_ (oberh.) summer resident in the southern portion of mainland and vancouver island. icteria vieillot. . long-tailed chat. _icteria virens longicauda_ (lawr.). summer resident in the southern portions of the province, from sumas east to okanagan, south of ashcroft. wilsonia bonaparte. . wilson's warbler. _wilsonia pusilla_ (wils.). vancouver island and mainland, east and west of cascades. s. n. rhoads, (_fannin_.) . pileolated warbler. _wilsonia pusilla pileolata_ (pall.). a common summer resident on vancouver island and mainland. . golden pileolated warbler. _wilsonia pusilla chryseola_ (ridgw.). a summer resident, new westminster and mount lehman. setophaga swainson. . american redstart. _setophaga ruticilla_ (linn.). found through the interior of the province, from barkerville south to okanagan, chiefly east of, and accidentally west of, cascades. taken at chilliwhack by a. c. brooks. family motacillidÆ. wagtails and pipits. anthus bechstein. . american pipit. _anthus pensilvanicus_ (lath.). very abundant during migration, east and west of cascades. found throughout some winters on vancouver island. family cinclidÆ. dippers. cinclus bechstein. . american dipper. _cinclus mexicanus_ (swains.). common throughout the province in suitable localities. family troglodytidÆ. wrens. galeoscoptes cabanis. . catbird. _galeoscoptes carolinensis_ (linn.). a common summer resident east and west of cascades. rare on vancouver island. salpinctes cabanis. . rock wren. _salpinctes obsoletus_ (say.). common east of cascades, rarely west to the coast. chilliwhack. (_brooks_.) burrard inlet. (_fannin_.) thryomanes sclater. . vigor's wren. _thryomanes bewickii spilurus_ (vig.). a common summer resident west of cascades. found throughout the winter on vancouver island. troglodytes vieillot. . parkman's wren. _troglodytes aëdon parkmanii_ (aud.). a common summer resident east and west of cascades, including vancouver island. olbiorchilus oberholser. . western winter wren. _olbiorchilus hiemalis pacificus_ (baird). an abundant resident east and west of cascades, including vancouver island. telmatodytes cabanis. . tule wren. _telmatodytes palustris paludicola_ (baird). abundant east of cascades, from the lakes along the cariboo road, south through the okanagan. taken at chilliwhack by a. c. brooks. family certhiidÆ. creepers. certhia linnæus. . rocky mountain creeper. _certhia familiaris montana_ (ridgw.). southern portion of east of cascades. okanagan. . california creeper. _certhia familiaris occidentalis_ (ridgw.). common on vancouver island. east and west of cascades on the mainland. family sittidÆ. nuthatches. sitta linnæus. . slender-billed nuthatch. _sitta carolinensis aculeata_ (cass.). common east of cascades, from ashcroft south through the okanagan. i found it quite common near shuswap, may, . . red-breasted nuthatch. _sitta canadensis_ (linn.). common east and west of cascades. found throughout the winter on vancouver island. . pygmy nuthatch. _sitta pygmæa_ (vig.). east of cascades, in the south-eastern portions of the province. i found it fairly common at grand prairie, may, . family paridÆ. titmice or chickadees. parus linnæus. . long-tailed chickadee. _parus atricapillus septentrionalis_ (harris.). common east of cascades, from cornwall's south to okanagan. . oregon chickadee. _parus atricapillus occidentalis_ (baird.). a common resident west of cascades. . mountain chickadee. _parus gambeli_ (ridgw.). east of cascades to rocky mountains, and south through okanagan. . columbia chickadee. _parus hudsonicus columbianus_ (rhoads). east of cascades to rocky mountains, from cassiar district south to okanagan. . chestnut-backed chickadee. _parus rufescens_ (towns.). an abundant resident chiefly west of cascades. vancouver island and queen charlotte islands. taken at arrow lake by a. c. brooks. family chamÆidÆ. wren, tits and bush-tits. psaltriparus bonaparte. . least bush-tit. _psaltriparus minimus_ (towns.). rare. taken at sumas, november , , by a. c. brooks. family sylviidÆ. warblers. kinglets. regulus cuvier. . western golden-crowned kinglet. _regulus satrapa olivaceus_ (baird). abundant throughout the province. . ruby-crowned kinglet. _regulus calendula_ (linn.). abundant throughout the province. family turdidÆ. thrushes, solitaires and bluebirds. myadestes swainson. . townsend's solitaire. _myadestes townsendii_ (aud.). not common. found east and west of cascades, including vancouver island. hylocichla baird. . willow thrush. _hylocichla fuscescens salicicola_ (ridgw.). a common summer resident east of cascades. . russet-backed thrush. _hylocichla ustulata_ (nutt.). a common summer resident west of cascades. very common on queen charlotte islands, july, . . olive-backed thrush. _hylocichla ustulata swainsoni_ (cab.). southern portion of mainland east of cascades. . alaska hermit thrush. _hylocichla guttata_ (pallas). west of cascades, chiefly coastwise. common at skidegate, queen charlotte islands, august, . . audubon's hermit thrush. _hylocichla guttata auduboni_ (baird). southern portions of the province, east of cascades to rocky mountains. merula leach. . american robin. _merula migratoria_ (linn.). both forms are to be found on vancouver island. taken at chilliwhack by a. c. brooks. . western robin. _merula migratoria propinqua_ (ridgw.). an abundant resident throughout the province. ixoreus bonaparte. . varied thrush. _ixoreus nævius_ (gmel.). common throughout the province, east and west of cascades. sialia swainson. . western bluebird. _sialia mexicana occidentalis_ (towns.). a common summer resident east and west of cascades. a few winter on vancouver island. . mountain bluebird. _sialia arctica_ (swains.). a summer resident east and west of cascades, including vancouver island. index. a. no. albatross, black-footed albatross, short-tailed auklet, rhinoceros auklet, cassin's b. bittern, american blackbird, yellow-headed blackbird, san diego redwing blackbird, north-western blackbird, rusty blackbird, brewer's bluebird, western bluebird, mountain bobolink brant brant, black bunting, lazuli bush-tit, least c. catbird chat, long-tailed chickadee, long-tailed chickadee, oregon chickadee, mountain chickadee, columbia chickadee, chestnut-backed cormorant, white-crested cormorant, brandt's cormorant, violet-green cowbird coot, american crane, little brown crane, sandhill creeper, rocky mountain creeper, california crow, american crow, northwest crossbill, american crossbill, white-winged cuckoo, western yellow-billed curlew, long-billed curlew, hudsonian d. dipper, american dove, mourning dowitcher, long-billed duck, mallard duck, gadwall duck, european widgeon duck, american widgeon duck, green-winged teal duck, blue-winged teal duck, cinnamon teal duck, shoveller duck, pintail duck, wood duck, red-head duck, canvas-back duck, american scaup duck, lesser scaup duck, ring-necked duck, american golden-eye duck, barrow's golden-rye duck, buffle-head duck, long-tailed duck, harlequin duck, american black scoter duck, white-winged scoter duck, surf scoter duck, ruddy e. eagle, golden eagle, bald f. falcon, prairie falcon, peale's finch, california purple finch, cassin's purple flycatcher, olive-sided flycatcher, western flycatcher, traill's flycatcher, hammond's flycatcher, wright's flicker, northern flicker, red-shafted flicker, north-western fulmar, pacific g. godwit, marbled goose, lesser snow goose, ross's snow goose, american white-fronted goose, canada goose, hutchin's goose, white-cheeked goose, cackling goose, emperor goldfinch, american goldfinch, willow grebe, western grebe, american red-necked grebe, horned grebe, american eared grebe, pied-billed grouse, sooty grouse, richardson's grouse, franklin's grouse, canadian ruffed grouse, gray ruffed grouse, oregon ruffed grouse, columbian sharp-tailed grouse, sage grosbeak, western evening grosbeak, alaskan pine grosbeak, black-headed guillemot, pigeon gull, ivory gull, glaucous-winged gull, western gull, american gull, california gull, ring-billed gull, short-billed gull, heermann's gull, bonaparte's gull, sabine's gyrfalcon h. hawk, marsh hawk, sharp-shinned hawk, cooper's hawk, american goshawk hawk, western goshawk hawk, western red-tailed hawk, red-bellied hawk, swainson's hawk, american rough-legged hawk, duck hawk, pigeon hawk, desert sparrow heron, great blue heron, north-west coast heron, snowy hummingbird, black-chinned hummingbird, red-backed rufous hummingbird, green-backed rufous hummingbird, calliope i. ibis, white-faced glossy j. jaeger, parasitic jaeger, pomarine jaeger, long-tailed jay, steller's jay, black-headed jay, queen charlotte jay, rocky mountain jay, oregon jay, gray jay, piñon junco, slate-colored junco, oregon junco, shufeldt's k. kittiwake, pacific kingfisher, belted kingbird kingbird, gray kingbird, arkansas kinglet, western golden-crowned kinglet, ruby-crowned knot l. lark, pallid horned lark, streaked horned lark, dusky horned lencosticte, gray-crowned lencosticte, hepburn's longspur, lapland longspur, mccown's loon, great northern diver loon, black-throated loon, pacific loon, red-throated m. martin, purple magpie, american meadowlark, western merlin, black merlin, richardson's merganser, american merganser, red-breasted merganser, hooded murrelet, ancient murrelet, marbled murre, california n. nighthawk nighthawk, western nutcracker, clarke's nuthatch, slender-billed nuthatch, red-breasted nuthatch, pygmy o. oriele, bullock's osprey, american owl, american long-eared owl, short-eared owl, northern spotted owl, great gray owl, richardson's owl, saw-whet owl, north-west saw-whet a owl, kennicott's screech owl, macfarlane's screech owl, great horned owl, western horned owl, arctic horned owl, dusky horned owl, snowy owl, american hawk owl, burrowing owl, pygmy owl, california pygmy oyster-catcher, black p. partridge, mountain partridge, california pelican, american white pelican, california brown petrel, gray fork-tailed petrel, leach's pewee, western wood phalarope, red phalarope, northern phalarope, wilson's pheasant, ring-necked phoebe, say's pigeon, band-tailed pigeon, passenger pipit, american plover, american golden plover, black-bellied plover, killdeer plover, semipalmated poor-will ptarmigan, willow ptarmigan, rock ptarmigan, white-tailed puffin, tufted puffin, horned r. rail, virginia rail, carolina raven, northern redpoll, hoary redpoll redstart, american robin, american robin, western s. sanderling sandpiper, stilt sandpiper, sharp-tailed sandpiper, pectoral sandpiper, baird's sandpiper, least sandpiper, red-backed sandpiper, semipal mated sandpiper, western semipalmated sandpiper, solitary sandpiper, western solitary sandpiper, bartramian sandpiper, buff-breasted sandpiper, spotted sapsucker, red-naped sapsucker, red-breasted sapsucker, williamson's shrike, northern shrike, white-rumped shearwater, black-vented shearwater, dark-bodied shearwater, slender-billed siskin, pine snipe, wilson's snowflake solitaire, townsend's sparrow, house sparrow, western vesper sparrow, oregon vesper sparrow, sandwick sparrow, western savanna sparrow, western grasshopper sparrow, western lark sparrow, harris's sparrow, gambel's sparrow, nuttall's sparrow, golden-crowned sparrow, western tree sparrow, western chipping sparrow, clay-colored sparrow, brewer's sparrow, rusty song sparrow, sooty song sparrow, lincoln's sparrow, forbush's sparrow, townsend's sparrow, slate-coloured surf-bird swan, whistling swan, trumpeter swallow, cliff swallow, barn swallow, white-bellied swallow, northern violet-green swallow, bank swallow, rough-winged swift, black swift, vaux t. tanager, louisaria tatler, wandering tern, common tern, arctic tern, black thrush, willow thrush, russet-backed thrush, olive-backed thrush, alaska hermit thrush, audubon's thrush, varied towhee, spurred towhee, oregon turnstone turnstone, black v. vireo, red-eyed vireo, western warbling vireo, cassin's vireo, anthony's vulture, california vulture, turkey w. warbler, calaver's warbler, orange-crowned warbler, lutescent warbler, tennessee warbler, alaskan yellow warbler, myrtle warbler, audubon's warbler, magnolia warbler, black-throated gray warbler, townsend's warbler, macgillivray's warbler, hermit warbler, western yellow-throat warbler, pacific yellow-throat warbler, wilson's warbler, pileolated warbler, golden pileolated water-thrush, grinnell's waxwing, bohemian waxwing, cedar willett, western woodpecker, northern hairy woodpecker, harris's woodpecker, cabanis's woodpecker, queen charlotte woodpecker, gairdner's woodpecker, batchelder's woodpecker, white-headed woodpecker, black-backed three-toed woodpecker, alaskan three-toed woodpecker, alpine three-toed woodpecker, northern pileated woodpecker, lewis's wren, rock wren, vigor's wren, parkman's wren, western winter wren, tule y. yellow-legs, greater yellow-legs, lesser thrice armed by harold bindloss author of "winston of the prairie," "delilah of the snows," "by right of purchase," "lorimer of the northwest," etc. [illustration] new york frederick a. stokes company publishers copyright, , by frederick a. stokes company table of contents chapter page i. jimmy renounces his career ii. to windward iii. jimmy makes friends iv. in the toils v. valentine's paid hand vi. a vision of the sea vii. blown off viii. jimmy takes command ix. merril tightens the screw x. eleanor wheelock xi. at auction xii. the "shasta" shipping company xiii. the "shasta" goes to sea xiv. in distress xv. eleanor's bitterness xvi. under restraint xvii. the rancher's answer xviii. eleanor speaks her mind xix. wood pulp xx. anthea makes a discovery xxi. jimmy grows restless xxii. ashore xxiii. anthea grows anxious xxiv. jordan keeps his promise xxv. an understanding xxvi. eleanor holds the clue xxvii. jordan's scheme xxviii. disabled engines xxix. under compulsion xxx. an eye for an eye xxxi. merril capitulates xxxii. eleanor relents thrice armed chapter i jimmy renounces his career it was with somewhat mixed feelings, and a curious little smile in his eyes, that jim wheelock stood with a brown hand on the _tyee_'s wheel as the deep-loaded schooner slid out through vancouver narrows before a fresh easterly breeze. dim heights of snow rose faintly white against the creeping dusk above her starboard hand, and the busy british columbian city, girt with mazy wires and towering telegraph poles, was fading slowly amidst the great black pines astern. an aromatic smell of burning followed the schooner, and from the levels at the head of the inlet a long gray smear blew out across the water. a fire which had, as not infrequently happens, passed the bounds of somebody's clearing was eating its way into that part of the great coniferous forest that rolls north from oregon to alaska along the wet seaboard of the pacific slope. the schooner was making her six knots, with mainboom well out on her quarter and broad wisps of froth washing off beneath her bows, slanted until her leeward scuppers were close above the sliding foam. wheelock stood right aft, with his shoulders just above the roof of the little deckhouse, and, foreshortened as the vessel was, she seemed from that point of view a mere patch of scarred and somewhat uncleanly deck surmounted by a towering mass of sail. two partly seen figures were busy bending on a gaff-topsail about the foot of her foremast, and wheelock turned as one of them came slouching aft when the sail had been sent aloft. the man wore dungaree and jean, with a dilapidated oilskin coat over them, for the wind was keen. he appeared to be at least fifty years of age. leaning against the rail, he grinned at wheelock confidentially. "she'll make a short trip of it if this breeze holds," he said. "i guess you find things kind of different from what they were in the mail-boats?" jim wheelock nodded as he pulled up a spoke of his wheel, for it was that difference that had brought the smile to his eyes. it was several years now since he had touched a vessel's wheel, or done more than raise a directing hand to the trimly uniformed quartermaster who controlled the big liner's steering engine. he was twenty-eight years of age, and held an extra-master's certificate, and he had just completed the year's training in a big british warship which gave him his commission as a lieutenant r.n.r. it was certainly a distinct change to figure as supernumerary on board the canadian coasting schooner _tyee_, but he did not resent the fact that it was the grizzled, hard-faced man leaning on the rail beside him who had brought him there. "aren't you going to get the main gaff-topsail on to her? we'll carry smooth water with us 'most across the straits," he said. this was not to the purpose, as both of them felt, but it gave the other man the opening for which he had been looking. "no," he replied, "i guess not. we'll feel the wind fresher when she draws out from the land, and there's a streak of dry rot in her mainmast round the partners. that stick was sound right through when we put it into her, but it has stood the wind and weather quite a while, and i guess it's getting shaky, like its owner." now, the redwood logs hewn in the british columbian forest as a rule make excellent masts, but they naturally deteriorate with time, and in some of them there is hidden a latent cause of trouble which now and then leads to premature decay. jimmy was aware of this, and fancied that he knew why his companion had reminded him of it. it was scarcely two hours since he had arrived on board the _tyee_. he had made a long journey to join her, because his father's kinsman prescott, her mate, had sent for him; and now, though he almost shrank from asking for the information, there were points on which it was necessary that the latter should enlighten him. he leaned on his wheel in silence a minute or two and the smile died out of his eyes. prescott regarded him steadily. jim wheelock, who hitherto had taken life lightly, could bear inspection, for he was a personable man, as more than one of the young women who traveled in the big liner of which he had been mate had decided, and he had seldom experienced much difficulty in finding a pretty partner at any of the dances given to the warship's officers. he had whimsical blue eyes, and, though he was colonial-born, a face of the fair, clean-skinned english type, which had in it an occasional suggestion of latent force. he had a well-proportioned frame, and his life in the mail-boats, and the r.n.r. training, had set their stamp on him. just then he was attired incongruously in an old skin-cap, battered gum-boots which reached to his knees, trousers showing signs of wear, and a steamboat mate's jacket with gilt buttons on it, in much the same condition; but, in spite of that, he did not appear the kind of man one would have expected to come upon steering a coasting schooner. "what do you think about my father, bob?" he asked. "what i said in the letter," the other man replied. "i guess you ought to understand it, now you've seen him. tom's going to looard fast, 'most as fast"--and he seemed to search for a metaphor--"as a center-boarder when her board won't come down. it kind of struck me it was 'bout time you came home and looked after things and him. that's why i wrote you. he'd have never done it, anyway." jim wheelock knew this was true. prescott's letter, which had come to hand at portsmouth just after he had finished his navy training, had somewhat startled him, and, as the result of it, he had forthwith started for vancouver, traveling second-class and by colonist car, as one does not gain very much financially by serving in the r.n.r. on arriving there he had been further startled by the change in his father whom he had last seen several years earlier when tom wheelock was, apparently, at least, beyond the reach of adversity as the owner of several small coasting vessels, one of which he insisted on sailing personally, though this had not seemed needful at the time. it was evident to jimmy that he had been going to leeward very fast in several ways since then. "yes," he said, "that is a sure thing. when did the change begin? i mean, when did things first go wrong with him?" "when he lost the _fish-hawk_--that was 'most four years ago. anyway, that was when i began to notice it. then the cannery people put on their steamboat, and he couldn't keep the _eagle_ going without their trade. she lay ashore in a bad berth with a big load of wellington coal in her, and it cost him about a thousand dollars before she was fit for sea again. things were slack that season, and he gave merril a bond for the money. i guess that made the real trouble. merril's a mighty hard man, and he has been putting the screw on him." jim wheelock looked thoughtful. "a thousand dollars isn't such a great deal of money, after all. the old man seemed to have plenty of it when i left home." "well," said prescott dryly, "it's quite certain he hasn't got it now, and i've more than a notion that there's a big bond on the _tyee_. why did he bring your sister ellen back from toronto?" jim wheelock did not know. he had, in fact, once or twice asked himself the same question without finding an answer. his sister eleanor, who was an ambitious and capable young woman, was now earning a pittance by teaching at a ranch near new westminster; but she had never given him any reason in her letters for abandoning the studies she had gone east to pursue in toronto. "anyway," said prescott, "it's quite clear to me that your father needs a man with sense and snap to stand right behind him and see that he worries out of merril's clutches. i don't know whether you can do it--i can't--i'm no use at business. tom and i were always honest. then, supposing you can do that, you're 'bout half-way through with the thing." "only half-way?" "'bout that. tom's been drifting to looard. you want to brace him sharp up on the wind again." he broke off somewhat abruptly, for the scuttle slide in the deckhouse roof was flung back, and a man below lifted his head above it. "come right down and get your supper, jimmy. bob will take your wheel," he said. jimmy left the helm to prescott, and with an effort he braced himself for the interview before him as he descended to the little stuffy cabin. it was dimly lighted by an oil-lamp that creaked as it swung, though the _tyee_ was ploughing her way westward steadily as yet. a little stove made it almost intolerably hot, and the swirl of brine beneath the lee quarter filled it with a sound that was like the rattle of sliding gravel. jimmy sat down, and ate the pork, potatoes, fresh bread, and desiccated apples set before him, which he surmised might be considered somewhat of a banquet on board the _tyee_, and then he took out his pipe and turned toward his father as he filled his pannikin again with strong green tea. he had arrived in vancouver only that afternoon, and they had had no time for conversation in the hurry of getting to sea. "take some whisky in it?" asked tom wheelock. "it's not much of a supper after what you've been used to on board the liners." "no, thanks," said jimmy. "i'm glad i didn't miss you." "got your wire," said wheelock, who helped himself liberally to the whisky. "we weren't through with the loading until yesterday, and, though the folks want those sawmill fixings bad, i figured we could wait another twenty-four hours. it's good to see you sitting there; but i don't know yet what brought you over. it's quite a long way." jimmy spent some time in filling his pipe. he was a truthful person, and prescott, who wrote the letter, had pledged him to secrecy; then, too, he was by no means certain that his father would appreciate what either of them had done, or would consider it in any way necessary. he also had scarcely got used to the change in his circumstances and surroundings, and did not feel quite at ease. on the last liner he sailed in, the officers dined in the saloon, and, though the battleship's wardroom was less luxurious, it was, at least, very different from the _tyee_'s quarter-cabin. tin pannikins and plates of indurated ware lay on a soiled, uncovered table; a grimy brown blanket from the skipper's bunk trailed down across the locker that served as a settee; and the fish-oil lamp smelt horribly. then he glanced at his father, who sat silent, sipping his tea, which was freely laced with whisky. tom wheelock was by no means dressed as neatly as most of the vancouver wharf-hands, and he looked like a man who had lost heart, and pride as well. he was gaunt and big-boned, with a seaman's weather-darkened face, but there was weariness and something that suggested vacancy in its expression. he and jimmy had the same blue eyes, and they were kindly and honest in the case of each; but tom wheelock's were a trifle watery, and there was a certain bagginess under them, while his mouth was slack. in fact, the man, as his son recognized, appeared to have sunk into a state of limpness that was mental as well as physical. "well," said jimmy, with a little laugh, "i don't quite know. there were, you see, several reasons. to begin with, i had to come out of the mail-boat for my year's training, and when that was over there were a good many men on the company's list to be worked off before they wanted me again. trade is slack over there, and it seemed wiser to await my turn. after all, it doesn't cost so much to come across second-class and colonist; and i guessed you would be glad to see me." "so i am;" and there was no doubt that wheelock meant it. "i've been wanting you quite a while, jimmy. things aren't going well with me. take some whisky?" it was evident to jimmy that his father already had taken as much as was good for most men; and he did not often shrink from a responsibility, that is, when he recognized it as such, which is now and then a little difficult when one is young. "well," he said, "this time i guess i will." he took the bottle, and, after helping himself sparingly, contrived to slip it out of sight on the locker. "how's eleanor?" he asked. "quite well; but though she has her mother's grit, life's hard on the girl. ellen could have done 'most anything if she'd got her diplomas, or whatever they are, and i had figured i'd do something for one of my children when i sent her back east. it was your mother's brother--the brains come from that side of the family--did everything for you. a kind of pity you and he quarreled, jimmy!" jimmy smiled drily as he remembered the year he had spent in winnipeg with the grim business man before the call of the sea that he was born to listen to grew irresistible and the rupture came. young as he was then, he had proved himself equal in strength of purpose to the hard old man, and had gone to sea in an english ship. it cost his father fifty pounds for his outfit and premium, and that was all that tom wheelock had done for him. he had made his own way into the steamers, and the extra-master certificate and the commission in the r.n.r. he owed to himself. now it was evident that he must renounce all that they might bring him--at least, for a while. "i don't think we ever would have hit it off together; and i can't help a fancy that, after all, he didn't blame me very much for taking my own way in spite of him," he said. "still, it is a pity eleanor had to come back. i suppose keeping her in toronto was out of the question?" wheelock's eyes seemed to grow a trifle bloodshot, and his voice sank to a hoarser note. "quite. i might have done it but for the bond i gave merril when the _eagle_ went ashore. it wasn't that big a one, but he fixed up quite a lot of things i never figured on. i was to insure to full value, and have her repaired whenever his surveyor considered she wanted it. twice the man ran me up a big unnecessary bill, and i had to go to merril for the money. now the boat's his, and there's a bond on the _tyee_. when the old man goes under, you'll remember who it was squeezed the life out of him, jimmy. say, where d'you put that whisky?" "i'm not quite through with it yet;" and jimmy, who did not pass it to him, smiled reassuringly. "anyway, i wouldn't worry too much about merril. i've a few dollars laid by, and i'm going to stay right here and look after you. bob prescott tells me the siwash wants to go ashore, and that makes a berth for me. it's scarcely likely the company will want me for three months or more." the old man looked at him with a gleam of comprehension in his watery eyes. "jimmy," he said, "you have been a good son--and it wasn't quite my fault i never did anything for you. your mother was often ailing, and when i sent her east twice to the specialists the freights i was getting would scarcely foot the bill. oh, yes, things were generally tight with me. now they're tight again; but when merril wants my blood you've come back to see it out with me." he made a gesture of weariness. "well, i guess i'll turn in. i've been trailing round the city most of the day after a man who owes me forty dollars--and i'm 'way from being as young as i used to be." he climbed somewhat stiffly into his bunk, and jimmy went up on deck. it was dark now, and the _tyee_, leaning down until the foot of her lee bulwarks was almost in the foam, swept through the dark water with a leisurely dip and swing. a dim star or two hung over her mastheads, and the peak of the big gaff-topsail swung athwart them a little blacker than the night; but there was no shimmer of light on all the water, and the schooner swung out to westward, vague and shadowy, with one blurred shape gripping her straining wheel. it reminded jimmy of the sailing-ship days when he had set his teeth and borne what came to him--wet and cold, utter weariness, want of sleep, purposeless exactions, and brutal hazing. those black days had gone. he had lived through them, and had been about to reap his reward when the summons had come and he had gone back west to his duty. the broken-down man in the little cabin needed him, as jimmy, who tried not to admit the greatness of the change in him, realized. then he turned as prescott spoke to him from the wheel. "now you've had a talk to him, i guess you'll understand why i sent for you," he said. "you've got to take hold and straighten things. tom's been letting go fast." jimmy wheelock said nothing, but he knew that in the meanwhile he must put his career aside; and once more he set his lips and braced himself to face the task before him as he had done often in the sailing-ship days. chapter ii to windward two days had slipped away since jimmy joined the _tyee_, when, with her dew-wet canvas slatting at every roll, she crept out from the narrow waters into the pacific. astern of her the olympians towered high above the forests of washington, a great serrated ridge of frosted silver that cut coldly white against the blue of the morning sky. to starboard the shore of vancouver island rose, a faint blur of misty pines, and ahead the sea was dimmed by drifting vapors out of which the long swell swung glassily. at times a wandering zephyr crisped it with a darker smear, and the _tyee_ crawled ahead a little. then she stopped again, heaving her bows high out of the oily sea, while everything in her banged and rattled. there was nothing that any one on board her could do but wait for the breeze and wonder whether it would come from the right direction. jimmy sat on the deckhouse with his pipe in his hand, and tom wheelock, whose face looked careworn in the early light and showed pasty gray patches amidst its bronze, glanced westward a trifle anxiously as he held the jerking wheel. "it's a kind of pity we lost that breeze," he said. "the people up yonder want those sawmill fixings, and with the wind from the east we'd 'most have fetched the inlet to-night. there was talk of somebody putting a steamboat on, but the mill's a small one, and they figured they'd give me a show as long as i could keep them going. i've got to do it. there's a living in the contract." then his face hardened suddenly, and he sighed. "that is, there would have been if merril hadn't got his grip on me. that man wants everything." he appeared about to say something further, but just then prescott flung the scuttle slide back, and a smell of coffee and frizzling pork flowed out of it. "if you want your breakfast, tom, i guess you'd better get it," he said, and lumbered round the deckhouse toward the wheel. wheelock went below, and jimmy, who seemed to forget that he had meant to light his pipe, glanced thoughtfully at prescott. "who is this merril, bob?" he asked. prescott made a vague gesture. "i guess he's everything. he has a finger in most of what goes on in this province, and feels round with it for the money. calls himself general broker and ship-store dealer; but he has money in everything, from bush ranches to steamboats." "you mean he holds stock in them?" "no," said prescott, "i guess i don't. i'm not smart at business, and tom isn't either, or he'd never have let merril get his claws on him; but it's quite plain to me that stocks don't count along with mortgages and bonds. when you buy stock you take your chances, and quite often that's 'bout all; but when you hold a bond at a big interest you usually get the ship or mill. anyway, that's how merril fixes it." jimmy lighted his pipe, but he looked more thoughtful than ever, as, in fact, he was. hitherto, he had taken life lightly, for, after all, wet and cold, screaming gale and stinging spray, are things one gets used to and faces unconcernedly; but jimmy could recognize a responsibility, and he realized that there was now to be a change. tom wheelock was growing prematurely old and shaky, and it was, it seemed, his son's part to free him from the load of debt that was crushing him, if this by any means could be done; if not, at least to share it with him. he feared it would be the latter. hitherto he had waged only the clean, primitive strife with the restless sea; but he did not shrink from the prospect of the meaner and more arduous conflict with the wiles of man and the forces of capital, or consider that in renouncing his career he was doing a commendable thing. he was by no means brilliant intellectually, though he had a certain shrewdness and a ready wit; and it only occurred to him that the course he had decided on was the obvious one. he did not even think it worth while to mention that he had done so, which indeed would have been unnecessary, since prescott seemed to take it for granted. "i believe you had the wind from the east for several days," he said. "why didn't you run across before?" "well," replied prescott reflectively, "we might have done so, but tom didn't seem greatly stuck on trying it. took time over his loading when he got your wire. perhaps he didn't want to leave you hanging round vancouver until we got back again." jimmy said nothing--he had partly expected this; and while he smoked his second pipe, the vapors were rolled apart, and the breeze came down on them. unfortunately it came from the northwest, which, as the sawmill they were bound for stood at the head of a deep inlet on the west coast of vancouver island, was ahead of them; so for a while they let her stretch out into the pacific, close-hauled upon the starboard tack. the _tyee_ was comparatively fast, and, under all the sail they could pile on to her, excepting the main gaff-topsail, she drove along with a wide curl of foam under her lee bow and the froth lapping high and white on her side. then by degrees the long roll of the pacific heaved itself up into steep, blue-sided seas with tops of incandescent whiteness, and as she lurched over them the spray whirled in filmy clouds from her plunging bows. still the breeze freshened, and by noon they hove her to with jibs aback while they hauled two reefs down in her mainsail, and it became necessary for somebody to crawl out to the end of its tilting boom, which stretched a good fathom beyond her stern. prescott was a little too old for that work; tom wheelock held the wheel; and the siwash deck-hand was busy forward. jimmy laughed as he swung himself up to the footrope. "it's several years since i've done anything of this kind, but i dare say i can tie those after-points in," he said. he clawed his way out, and, as he hung with waist across the spar and both hands busy while the _tyee_, flinging the spray all over her, plunged upon the long, foam-tipped roll, a big empress liner came up from the eastward, white and majestic. she drove close by the schooner with a slow and stately dip and swing, and jimmy wheelock, clinging to the _tyee_'s reef-points, smiled somewhat curiously as he glanced up at her. her tall side rose above him like a wall, and he saw the cluster of saloon passengers beneath the tier of deckhouses move toward the rail to gaze down upon the little dingy vessel, and the two trim officers high above them in the sunshine on the slanting bridge. that was his world--one in which steam did the hard work, and man merely pressed the telegraph handle or laid a finger on a spoke of the little steering wheel; but it was a world on which he had turned his back, and there was nothing to be gained by repining. he broke two of his nails before he finished his task and dropped from the footrope to the _tyee_'s deck, and the liner had sunk to a gleaming white blur and a smoke-trail on the rim of the sea before they had reefed the foresail and once more got way on her. then prescott grinned at jimmy as he glanced toward the fading smear of vapor. "a head-wind's quite a little matter to that boat," he said. "i guess you'd feel more at home on board of her?" jimmy laughed good-humoredly. "perhaps i would, but after all i don't know that it counts for very much." they came round some hours later, and, heading her in for the land on the other tack, found how little they had made to windward, whereupon there followed a consultation. prescott was for running back and coming to an anchor in smooth water to wait for a shift of wind, but wheelock would go on. he blinked at the white sea to windward with watery eyes, while the _tyee_, putting her bows in, flung the spray all over her; but there was a certain grimness in tom wheelock's eyes, for, if he was not smart at business, he was at least a resolute seaman. "those sawmill people want their fixings, and if we're to hold on to their contract i guess they've got to have them," he said. "she should thrash down to the inlet by to-morrow night. i figure she'd go along a little easier without her staysail." they hauled it down; but the _tyee_, being loaded deep with heavy machinery, was not appreciably drier afterward, and by the time the angry, saffron sunset faded off the foam-crested sea, she put her bows in somewhat frequently. then there was a thud as she charged a big comber, and the frothy cataract that seethed in over her weather rail swirled aft a foot deep, while the spray blew all over her. jimmy, buttoned to the throat in oilskins, stood at her wheel dripping, through four hours of darkness; and then, crawling down into the little cabin, which was intolerably foul, flung himself into his bunk and incontinently fell asleep, with the thud and swish of falling water going on above him. when he awakened, his first proceeding was to grope for the button that would summon a steward boy to bring him his morning coffee, but as he could not find it he looked around and saw his wet oilskins, which had shaken off the hook, sliding amidst the water up and down the _tyee_'s cabin floor. then he remembered suddenly, and, dropping from his bunk, put on the oilskins and went up on deck. a sheet of spray temporarily blinded him as he crawled out of the scuttle, and then there was little to be seen but a haze of it flying athwart a gray sea lined by frothy ridges and smears of low-driving cloud. the _tyee_'s slanted mastheads seemed to rake through the latter, and she was wet everywhere; but she was still hammering to windward with bows that swung up streaming over the long seas. on the one hand, a dingy smear, that might have been a point with pines on it, lifted itself out of the grayness, and tom wheelock pointed to it as he swayed with his wheel. his wet face was almost gray, and jimmy could see the suggestive bagginess under his eyes. "i guess we should fetch the inlet by dark if it doesn't harden any more; but we'll have another reef down now you're up," he said. they got the reef in with some difficulty, for all of them were needed to haul the leech-earing down; and, because the siwash hand was a better boatman than sailor, jimmy went out to the end of the boom again to tie the after-points. when he came back the _tyee_ proceeded a little more dryly, with the big gray seas that were topped with livid froth and had deep hollows between them rolling up in long succession to meet her. she went through some of them, for the sawmill machinery was a dead-weight in her, and a white cataract foamed across her forward. when she plunged into one that was larger than usual, prescott, who now stood knee deep at her wheel, shook his head. "tom didn't ought to expect it of her," he said. "he wouldn't have held her at it if he hadn't been mighty afraid of losing that contract." jimmy made no answer. he understood by this time how his father was circumstanced, and had discovered already that the man who stands between the devil and the deep sea cannot afford to be particular. merril, who held a bond on the _tyee_, might, it seemed, very well stand for the devil. they thrashed her to windward most of that day. the sea got worse, and there was not a dry stitch on any of them; but just at sunset the clouds were rent apart, and wheelock, who was standing on the deckhouse, pointed to something that loomed amidst the vapor as they reeled inshore. "the head!" he said. "the inlet's about two miles beyond it." prescott glanced at jimmy as he pulled up the wheel. "with a blame ugly tide-rip setting dead to windward across the mouth of it!" jimmy said nothing, though naturally he was aware that when the ocean streams run against the breeze they are very apt to pile up whatever sea there is into curling, hollow-crested combers. a craft of the _tyee_'s size will often snugly ride out a hard gale--that is, if she is hove-to under a strip or two of canvas; but to drive her to windward when she must meet the onslaught of the seas, and go through them, is an altogether different matter, and it seemed to him that she was already doing as much as any one reasonably could expect from her. then his father came down from the deckhouse. "well," he said, "she has got to go through it; those people want their fixings. i guess we'll heave her round." the words were simple, but they implied a good deal. wheelock could have heaved his schooner to, or could have run away for shelter in another inlet down the coast; but, as he had said, the sawmill people wanted their machinery, and when he must choose between it and the devil he would sooner face his ancient enemy the sea. its attack was honest and open, and the man with nerve enough might meet and withstand the charge of its seething combers. quickness of hand and rude, primitive valor counted here, but it was otherwise in the insidious conflict with the human schemer. tom wheelock's eyes were watery, but there was a snap in them as he signed to prescott and laid his hands on the wheel. "get forward, jimmy, and tend your head-sheets," he said. "we'll have her round." she came round, but none too readily; and as they stretched out seaward jimmy had a brief vision of great rocks and hollows filled with pines that opened out and closed on one another. then as he glanced to windward he saw the seatops heave athwart a blaze of crimson and saffron low down under ragged wisps of cloud. they brought her round again presently, and she reeled in shoreward to weather the second head on that side of the inlet, with her little three-reefed mainsail wet to its peak and the two jibs above her bowsprit streaming at every plunge, while the big combers in the tideway smote her weather-bow and poured out to leeward in long wisps of brine. still, she was slowly opening up the sheltered inlet, and it was only a question whether she would go clear enough of the head on that tack. it was, however, a somewhat momentous question, for it seemed to jimmy very doubtful whether she would come round with them again. tom wheelock stayed at the helm, and the head that had grown dim again lifted its vast rock wall higher and higher out of the whirling vapors that streamed amid the shadowy pines. it grew very close to them, but the _tyee_ was half-buried forward most of the time, and the break beyond the crag, where smooth water lay, had crept a little forward instead of aft from under her lee-bow when a comber higher than the rest hove itself up to weather, and fell upon her. it foamed across her forward, and when it went seething aft as she swung her bows up there was a crash, and tom wheelock loosed the spinning wheel. jimmy saw him strike the bulwark and prescott clutch him; but, knowing that the plunge would probably make an end of the schooner if she rammed another sea, he sprang to the wheel. she was coming up when he seized it, which almost threw him over it, and there was a bang like a rifle-shot as one of her streaming jibs was blown away. the veins swelled on his forehead as he forced the helm up, and as the _tyee_ fell off on her course again he had a momentary vision of a great wall of rock that seemed to be creeping up on them. he also saw a man lying in the water that sluiced about her deck, while another who strove to hold him with one hand clung to a stanchion. then, while he set his teeth and braced himself against the drag of the wheel, he could discern nothing but a haze of flying brine, and could feel the hard-pressed vessel strain and tremble under him. he did not know how long the tension lasted, nor for a minute or two did he see much of prescott and his father; but at last the rocks seemed to slide away, and the _tyee_ drove through the furious turmoil in the mouth of the inlet. then the wind fell suddenly, and, rising upright, the dripping schooner slid forward beneath long ranks of misty pines. he left the helm to the siwash, and prescott and he between them got wheelock down into the little cabin. he gasped when they had put him into his bunk and poured a liberal measure of raw whisky down his throat. "well," he said faintly, "i guess we've saved that contract. you weathered the head?" "we did," answered prescott. "jimmy grabbed the wheel in time. seems to me we had 'bout twenty fathoms to spare. feel as if you'd broke anything inside you?" tom wheelock moved himself a little, and groaned. "no," he said, "i guess i haven't; but it hurt me considerably when i washed up against the rail. mightn't have felt it one time, but i'm getting old and shaky. anyway, you can light out and get your anchor clear. i'm feeling kind of dizzy." prescott went up the ladder, but jimmy stayed where he was, and did not go up on deck until his father's eyes closed. it was quite dark, and he could see only vague, shadowy mountains black against the sky. presently, a long siwash canoe with several men paddling hard on board her came sliding down the dim lane of water that seemed to wind into the heart of the forests. she stopped alongside, and a man climbed on board. "we've been expecting you the last two days, and i'm glad you got in now," he said. "merril, who talks of running a steamer up this coast, has been worrying our vancouver people to make him an offer for their carrying. it's quite likely they'd have made a deal with him if you'd kept us waiting." they made the canoe fast, and the _tyee_ slowly crept on beneath the shadowy mountains and the misty pines, for only a faint air of wind disturbed the deep stillness here. jim wheelock, however, noticed very little as he leaned on the rail with a vindictive hatred in his heart for the man who, it seemed, was bent upon his father's ruin. chapter iii jimmy makes friends they had landed the machinery, and partly loaded the _tyee_ with dressed lumber, when jimmy wheelock, who was aching in every limb after a day's arduous toil, sat, cigar in hand, in the office of the sawmill manager. it was singularly untidy as well as unclean, for few men in that country have time to consider their comfort. odd bottles of engine-oil and samples of belting lay amid the litter of sketches and specifications, while the plates and provision-cans on the table suggested that the manager and his guest had just finished their evening meal. the window was open wide, and a clean smell of freshly cut cedar drifted in with the aromatic fragrance of the pines. from where he sat wheelock could see them rolling up the steep hillside with the white mists streaming athwart them, and the narrow lane of clear, green water winding past their feet. there was deep stillness among them, for the mill was silent at last, and it was only now and then that a voice rose faintly from the little wooden settlement which straggled up the riverside. the manager, dressed in a store jacket and trousers of jean, lay upon what seemed to be a tool-chest, and he had, like wheelock, a cigar of exceptional flavor in his hand. he was a young, dark-eyed man, somewhat spare of frame, and when he spoke, his quick, nervous gestures rather than his accent, which was by no means marked, proclaimed him an american of the pacific slope. it was characteristic that wheelock, who had spent less than a week in his company, already felt on familiar terms with him. he had discovered that it is usually difficult to make the acquaintance of an insular englishman in anything like that time. "old man feeling any better this afternoon?" inquired his companion. "he says so;" and jimmy looked thoughtful, as he had done somewhat frequently of late, though this had not been a habit of his. "still, he was flung rather heavily against the rail, and, though he insisted on working, i'm not quite satisfied about him." the american nodded comprehendingly. "parents are a responsibility now and then. i lost mine, though. raised myself somehow down in washington. anyway, your father has been going down grade fast the two years i've known him, and i'm sorry. he's a straight man. i like him." a trace of darker color crept into jimmy's bronze, though he was aware that candor of that kind is usual on the pacific slope, and there was nothing he could resent in his companion's manner. however, he made no answer, and the american spoke again. "i'm glad you got in on time. as i told prescott, merril has a notion of going into the coasting trade, and wants our carrying. he has a pull on some of our stockholders, but i don't like the man, and you'll get our freight as long as you can keep us going. why did you let the old man borrow that money from merril?" "i wasn't here. in fact, it's only a few weeks since i left an english ship at portsmouth." "mail-boat?" "no," said jimmy; "a warship." the american looked at him hard a moment, and then made a little gesture with the hand that held the cigar. he had seen jimmy wheelock carrying boards on his shoulder all that day, and now he was dressed in the canadian wharf-hand's jean; but he had no difficulty in believing him. "lieutenant in your second fighting line? came back to look after the old man?" he said. "well, i guess he needs you. you want to keep your eye on merril, too. if you don't, he'll have the schooner. it's a sure thing." jimmy realized, without knowing exactly why, that he could give this man, whom he had met only a few days ago, his confidence. "the same thing has occurred to me," he said. "do you mind telling me what you know about merril?" "no; it's only what everybody else knows. merril's a machine for stamping money--out of anything. got a ship-supply store in vancouver, and is working himself into the general carrying business. lends money on vessels, and fits them out. he'll give you a long credit, at a blame long interest, and by and by he gets the vessel, or a controlling share in her. he can't touch the express freight and passenger traffic--knows too much to kick against the c.p.r. or the big sound steamers; but there's the general freight for the mines, sawmills and canneries up and down the coast, and his vessels won't cost him much the way he buys them. the trade's going to be a big one. if i'd forty thousand dollars i'd buy a steamer." jimmy's eyes twinkled. "a steamboat isn't a sawmill. would you know how to run her?" the american laughed. "if i didn't, i guess i could learn. it can't be harder than playing the fiddle, and i've worried into that." he stopped a moment, and then announced quietly with the almost dramatic abruptness which usually characterized him: "anyway we'd make something of it. i'd put you in command of her." "i wonder what leads you to believe i would suit you?" said jimmy reflectively. his companion waved his cigar. "saw you packing lumber. you stayed right with the contract, though you'd never done the thing before. know what the first few days are--i've been there. stacked two-inch planks in washington when i was seventeen and my strength hadn't quite come to me, and went home at nights walking double, with every joint in my body aching. then they started me log-wedging, and that's 'most enough to break a weak man's heart. still, i stayed with it, and now i'm drawing royalties on my swing-frame and gang-saw patents, and hold stock in several mills!" this was, perhaps, a trifle egotistical; but then it was, or would have been in most other countries, somewhat of an achievement for one, who had commenced with the lowest and most brutal labor, to make himself patentee, manager and stockholder, while still a very young man; and jimmy had met mail-boat officers who gave themselves a good many airs on the strength of possessing a refined taste in uniform tailoring and a prepossessing personality. individually, he felt it was more reasonable to be satisfied with one's ability to invent and run a mill. just then, however, the door opened, and another man came in. he wore a blue shirt which fell open at the neck for want of buttons, and jean trousers which were very old and torn, and there were smears of oil and paint on his hands. "i came to ask when you are going to saw me those fir frames, jordan?" he said. "take a cigar!" said the american, and turned to jimmy, with a grin. "ever heard of thoreau who lived at walden pond?" jimmy had, as it happened, read his book on board one of the mail-boats, though he scarcely would have fancied that jordan had done so. the latter indicated the newcomer with a wave of his hand. "well," he said, "that's another of them, though he lives in a yacht and his name is valentine. there are men--and they're not all cranks--who seem to think the life most other people lead isn't good enough for them." valentine, who looked very different from any of the yachtsmen jimmy had seen on the english coast or elsewhere, sat down, and the latter was a trifle astonished when he said, "that wasn't why thoreau went to walden. he was an abolitionist, and made walden a station for running niggers into canada. anyway, why does a man want to go into business and slave to pile up money, when he can have the greatest thing in nature for nothing at all?" "what's that?" asked jordan. "it's not the young woman one may take a fancy to; she usually costs a good deal." valentine laughed softly, and looked hard at jimmy. "though you earn your bread upon it, i think you know. there's nothing in this little world to compare with the sea!" then he stretched out his hand for the cigar-box. "i'll take two. it's the brand your directors use. saw those frames to-morrow, or i'll come round and raise the roof for you. in the meanwhile, if you'll come along, mr. wheelock, i'll show you my boat." jordan grinned at jimmy. "better go along. you'll have to see her, anyway." the two went out and left him, and as they paddled down the inlet past the endless ranks of climbing pines whose aromatic odors were heavy in the dew-chilled air, valentine glanced at his companion. "this world was made good, except the cities; but nothing was made much better than that smell," he said. "it doesn't put unrest and longing into you like the smell of the sea-grass and the sting of the powdered spray; there's tranquillity and sound sleep in it; and, too, it gives one comprehension." this was not what jimmy would have expected from his companion, but he understood. in that deep rift of the ranges where no wild wind ever entered, and the sunlight called up clean, healing savors from the solemn pines, one could realize that there was a beneficent purpose behind the scheme of things, and that the world was good. still, jimmy usually kept any fancies of that kind to himself. "the introduction seems familiar," he said. "i almost fancy i have heard something very much like it before." "it's quite likely;" and valentine laughed. "it has been said of several other things, including tobacco." "you come here often?" "usually to refit. it's quiet and clean; and i like jordan. he's a man with a mind, and straight, so far as it can be expected of any one in business." "you don't follow any?" valentine smiled somewhat curiously. "i'm a pariah. i take toll of the deer and halibut instead of my fellow-men--that is, except when i charter the boat now and then. still, it's only when money is scarce that i shoot and fish for the market. you see, i'm not in any sense of the word a yachtsman. i live at sea because i like it. the boat makes an economical home." jimmy felt that this was as much as he was intended to know, and he asked no more questions until presently they slid alongside a powerful cutter of some thirty tons, which lay moored with an anchor outshore and a breast-rope to the pines. valentine took him into the little plainly fitted forecastle where he lived, and afterwards led him through the ornate saloon and white-enameled after-cabin. "that," he said, as they went up the ladder again, "is for the charterers, though i'm by no means sure the next lot will be pleased. it's a little difficult to get the smell of halibut out of her." "you sail her alone?" asked jimmy, who sat down on the skylights. "generally. wages run high in this country. but i have to ship a man or two when any of the city people charter her. she's not so much of a handful when you get used to her." he did not seem to expect jimmy to talk, and they sat silent a while, the latter smoking thoughtfully as he looked about him. it was growing dark, and the lower pines were wrapped in fleecy mist, out of which a rigid branch rose raggedly here and there; but the heights of the range still cut hard and sharp against the cold blueness of the evening sky. westward, a soft smoky glow burned faintly behind a great hill shoulder, and, for no sound reached them from the little settlement, it was impressively still. jimmy felt the vague influence of the country creeping over him. it is a land of wild grandeur, empty for the most part as yet, though it is rich in coal and iron as well as in gold and silver, and its hillsides are draped with forests whose timber would supply the world. it is also, as he seemed to feel, for the bold man, a land of possibilities. enterprise, and even labor, is worth a good deal there; and jimmy felt that if his heart were stout enough such a land might have more to offer him than a mate's berth on a heavily mortgaged schooner. jordan evidently believed that one might achieve affluence by making the requisite effort, and jimmy considered himself equally as capable as the sawmiller. still, as he sat there in the dewy stillness breathing the clean scent of the pines, he realized that there was also something to be said for his companion's attitude. he asked and strove for nothing, but was content to live and enjoy what was so bountifully given him. perhaps valentine guessed where his thoughts were leading him, for once more he broke into his little soft laugh. "one is as well off here as in the cities," he said. "are you one of the hustlers like jordan yonder?" though it was growing dark, jimmy, disregarding the question, looked at him thoughtfully. "do you know? have you tried the other thing?" "oh, yes!" said valentine, with a wry smile in his eyes. "i have tried them both, and that is one reason why i'm here. you haven't answered me; though, after all, i guess it's an unnecessary question." this time jimmy laughed. "i don't know that i have any option. it seems that a life of the kind jordan leads will be forced on me. there are circumstances in which one's inclinations don't count for very much, you see. anyway, it's almost time i turned in; i've been loading lumber since early morning." valentine got into the dory, and paddled him to the little wharf where the _tyee_ was lying. "come off again, and any time you see the boat along the coast i'll expect you on board," he said. jimmy climbed on board the schooner, and, descending to the little cabin, found his father lying propped up in his bunk. his eyes were more watery than ever, and when he spoke his voice was a trifle thick. the light of the fish-oil lamp projected his worn face blackly in gaunt profile on the bulkhead. "been talking to jordan? he's a man to make friends with," he said. "guess he and the other young ones with blood and grit in them are going to set their mark on this country. it mayn't count against you if you leave the mail-boats, jimmy. manhood stands first here, though my day has gone. perhaps i fooled my chances, or didn't see them when they came. but you're going to be smarter; you have red blood and brains." jimmy said nothing. he had noticed already that tom wheelock had fallen into a habit of inconsequent rambling, and there were times when it pained him to listen. the old man, who did not seem to notice his silence, went on: "you got them from your mother, as eleanor has done. she died--and i'm often thankful--before the bad days came. guess it would break her heart if she could see her husband now, a played-out, broken man, with a bond on which he can't pay the interest on his last vessel. maybe things would have been different if she had lived. i was never smart at business--i am a sailorman--and it was your mother who showed me how to build the fleet up and save the money to buy each new boat. when you went to sea we had four of them. now they're all gone. the last was the _fish-hawk_, and she lies in six fathoms where she drove across the qualyclot reef with her starboard bilge ground in." "merril doesn't own the _tyee_ yet," said jimmy. "no," said wheelock drowsily; "but unless you know enough to stop him he's going to. you'll have nothing, jimmy, when i'm gone; but you'll remember it was that man squeezed the blood out of me. anyway, it won't be long. i'm played out, and kind of tired of it all. couldn't worry through without your mother. never was smart at business--i am a sailorman. it was she who made me boss of the wheelock fleet, and now i guess she's waiting for the old and broken man." his elbow slipped from under him, and, falling back, he lay inert and silent, with eyes that slowly closed, and his face showing very gaunt and unhealthily pallid in patches under the fish-oil lamp. there was no longer any suggestion of strength in it, for dejection had slackened his mental grip as indulgence had sapped the vigor of his body. jimmy wheelock, who remembered what his father had been, felt a haze creep across his eyes as he gazed at him, and then a sudden thrill of anger seemed to fill his blood with fire. merril, who held a bond on the _tyee_, had, it seemed, a good deal to answer for. chapter iv in the toils it was a month later when jimmy wheelock stood leaning on the _tyee_'s rail one morning, while she lay alongside a sawmill wharf at vancouver. the siwash deck-hand had left them, and jimmy, who had done his work, was very hot and grimy after trimming ballast in the hold. he and prescott were waiting for another few loads of it, and expected that the _tyee_ would go to sea shortly after they got them. this, however, was by no means certain, since a surveyor had come on board a few days ago, and tom wheelock, who had been summoned to merril's office, had not yet come back. it was then about eleven o'clock, and the broad inlet sparkled in a blaze of sunshine, with a fresh breeze that came off from the black pine forests crisping it into little splashing ripples. jimmy was glad of the chill of it on his dripping face, and as grateful for the respite from toil with the shovel, as he gazed at the climbing city. it rose with the dark pines creeping close up to it, ridged with mazy wires and towering poles, roof above roof, up the low rise, and the air was filled with the sound of its activity. a train of ponderous freight-cars rolled clanging along the wharf; a great locomotive with tolling bell was backing more cars in; and the scream of saws rang stridently through the clatter of the winches as empress liner and sound steamer hove their cargo in. jimmy wheelock had, of course, gazed upon a similar scene in other ports, but there was, he seemed to feel, a difference here. in this new land the toiler was not bound by iron laws of caste and custom forever to his toil. the mountain province was awakening to a recognition of its wealth, and there was room in it and to spare for men with brains as well as men with muscle. there were forests to be cleared, roads to be built, and mine adits to be driven, and nobody troubled himself greatly about the antecedents of his hired hand. if the latter professed himself able to do what was required of him, he was, as they say in that country, given a show. jimmy also knew that where all were ready to attempt the impossible, and toiled as, except in the new west, man has seldom toiled before, it was the english sailormen, runagates from their vessels, who had built the most perilous railroad trestles, and marched with the vanguard when the treasure-seekers pushed their way into the wilderness of rock and snow. he felt as he listened to the scream of the saws and the tolling of the locomotive bells that amid all that feverish activity there must be some scope for him, which was reassuring, since it was becoming clear that he would have to find some means of supporting himself and his father before very long. then he looked around as prescott, who touched his arm, pointed to a trim white cutter which was sliding through the flashing water with an inclined spire of sail above her and a swath of foam at her lee bow. "i guess that's valentine's _sorata_," he said. "got the biggest topsail on her, and she has a deck-plank in. if she'd only her lower canvas, most men would find her quite a big handful to sail alone. it's when he rounds up to his mooring the circus will begin." the _sorata_ came straight on toward them, close-hauled on the wind, until they could hear the hissing of the brine that swept a foot deep along her slanted deck; then there was a banging of canvas, and she swung as on a pivot, while a bent figure with its back against her tiller became furiously busy. slanting sharply, she drove away on the other tack, and shot in with canvas shaking between a great four-masted ship and a steamer with white tiers of decks. then her head-sails dropped, and she stopped with a big iron buoy which valentine seized with his boat-hook close beneath her bowsprit. after that there was a rattle of chain, and prescott made a gesture of approval. "smart," he said. "i guess there are not many men in this province who could have brought her up in that berth without another hand on board." valentine appeared to see them, for he waved his hand; but the next minute jimmy, who looked around, lost his interest in him, for tom wheelock was coming slowly across the wharf. he walked wearily, with head bent and dejection expressed in every languid movement. prescott's face grew troubled as he glanced at him. "i guess we're not going to sea to-day," he said. "your father has more to carry than he can stand. that--merril has been putting the screw on him." wheelock dropped somewhat heavily upon the _tyee_'s deck, and, though they looked at him questioningly, he said nothing to either of them as he made his way to the little after-cabin. when he reached it, he sat down and wiped his forehead before he poured himself out a stiff drink of whisky; then he made a little, hopeless gesture as he turned to jimmy, who stood at the foot of the ladder with prescott in the scuttle behind him. "you'll stop loading that ballast," he said. "i'm fixed this time. i guess merril has the ship. carpenters to come on board to-morrow, and as far as i can figure, eight hundred dollars won't see them clear. besides that, it's a sure thing we'll lose the coast mill contract." jimmy said nothing, but he set his lips tight, and tom wheelock had finished his whisky before he looked at him again. his eyes were half-closed, and he sat huddled and limp, with one hand trembling on his glass, a broken man. "carpenters will be here to-morrow. i guess there's no use stopping them--i've got to see the thing right out," he said. "still, you can tell the boys we don't want that ballast. i feel kind of shaky, and i'm going to lie down. not as strong as i used to be, jimmy, and i haven't quite got over that thump i got against the rail." jimmy made a sign to prescott and went up the ladder, and when he stood on deck the grizzled sailorman wondered at the change in him. there was no geniality in his blue eyes now, and his face was set and grim, for pity was struggling within him with a vindictive hatred of the man who had brought his father down. tom wheelock, it was evident, had been brought low in more ways than one. "if you'll see about that ballast, i'll go straight to merril's office. i want this thing made clear," he said. "well," advised prescott, "i'd walk round a few blocks first; you want to simmer down before you talk to a man like that. go slow, and get a round turn on your temper." jimmy, who made no answer, swung himself up on the wharf, and it was not until he had traversed part of the water-front that he remembered it might have been advisable to change his clothes. he was still clad in blue jean freely smeared with the red soil that he had been shoveling in the hold, and his face and hands were grimy and damp with perspiration. still, that did not seem to matter greatly, since, after all, it was a costume quite in accordance with his station. the days when he had worn a naval uniform had passed. striding into an office in a great stone building, he accosted a clerk, who said that mr. merril was busy, and then appeared to grow a trifle disconcerted under jimmy's gaze. the latter smiled at him grimly. "then it's probably fortunate that i'm not busy at all," he said. "in fact, i'm quite prepared to stay here until this evening; and since there seems to be only one door to the place it will perhaps save mr. merril inconvenience if he sees me now. you can explain that to him." the clerk, who grinned at one of his companions, disappeared, and, coming back, ushered the insistent visitor into a sumptuously furnished office; and, when the door closed behind him, jimmy was a little astonished to find himself as collected as he had ever been in his life. he was one of the men who do not quite realize their own capabilities until driven by necessity into strenuous action. an elderly gentleman with a pallid and somewhat expressionless face, dressed with a precision not altogether usual in that country, looked up at him. "well?" he said inquiringly. jimmy drew forward a chair, and sat down uninvited. "you know my name," he said. "i want to understand exactly why you are sending those carpenters on board the schooner?" merril looked at him gravely, but jimmy did not appear to find his gaze in any way troublesome. "i don't think you have anything to do with the matter," he said. "still, out of courtesy----" "no," interrupted jimmy; "i'm not asking a favor, only anticipating things a little. it is, i am afraid, quite likely that i shall have to take over the schooner before very long." "then, in accordance with a clause in the agreement, the vessel must be kept in efficient repair to the satisfaction of a qualified surveyor. the man i sent down reports that she needs a new mast, decks relaid, and a good deal of new planking about her water-line. your father has particulars." "i suppose," said jimmy very quietly, "there would be nothing gained by asking you to allow the repairs to stand over until we have brought down one or two more loads of lumber. i expect you know it will cost us the sawmill contract if we lay the schooner off now?" merril made a little gesture. "i'm afraid not. i can't afford to take the risk of having the schooner lost, to oblige you, and the fact that you may not carry out the sawmill contract naturally does not concern me." "has it occurred to you that we might question your surveyor's report? half the repairs are quite unnecessary, as you no doubt know. why the man recommended them is, of course, a question i'm not going into, though it wouldn't be very difficult to hit on the reason. there are, however, other men of his profession in this city." again merril looked at him steadily, with a faint, sardonic gleam, which was more galling than anger, in his eyes. "you will, of course, do what you consider advisable, but if the repairs are not made i shall apply for an injunction to stop you from going to sea; and the law is somewhat costly. the redemption instalment and interest are overdue, and if your father has any money with him, one would fancy it would be more prudent for him to settle his obligations than to give it to the lawyers." jimmy realized that this was incontrovertible. unless the arrears were paid within a fixed time, merril could foreclose on the vessel and sell her to somebody acting in concert with him, which was, no doubt, what he wished to do. there was, it seemed, no wriggling out of his grip; and, though he felt it would be useless, jimmy resolved to appeal to his sense of fairness. "so far as i can figure, you have been paid in interest and charges about forty cents on every dollar you lent; and you still hold a bond for the original amount," he said. "that would be enough to satisfy most men; and all we ask is a little time and consideration. you could let those repairs stand over, and could wait a while for your interest. it will most certainly be paid if we can keep hold of the sawmill contract." "i'm afraid you are wasting time;" and merril glanced at the papers before him. "there are several reasons which make it necessary for me to insist on your father's carrying out the conditions of his bond. he owes me a good deal of money now." a hard glint crept into jimmy's blue eyes, and there was a trace of hoarseness in his voice. "i want you to understand that it will crush him," he said. "he is an old and broken man, and you would lose nothing by a little clemency. i will take every dollar of his debts upon myself." "i'm sorry, but it can't be helped," said merril, with a shrug of his shoulders which seemed to suggest that his patience was becoming exhausted. "the conditions laid down must be carried out." jimmy rose slowly. every nerve in him tingled, though there was only the ominous scintillation in his eyes to indicate what he was feeling. laying one hand on merril's desk, he looked down at him, and they faced each other so for, perhaps, half a minute. the man who held in his grasp many a small industry in that province shrank inwardly beneath the sailor's gaze. "then," said jimmy, with a slow forcefulness that was the more impressive because of the restraint he put upon himself, "you shall have your money, and everything else that is due you. if i live long enough--all--my father's debt will certainly be paid." he went out; and merril, to whom an interview of this description was not exactly a novelty, was for once a little uneasy in his mind. there was a certain suggestion of steadfastness in the seafarer's manner that he did not like, and he felt that he could be relied on to keep his promise if the opportunity were afforded him. still, the bondholder fancied it would not be insuperably difficult to contrive that the occasion did not arise. next day the carpenters duly arrived on board the _tyee_, and when they took possession there was nothing for any one else to do, which was partly why it happened that jimmy sat smoking on the skylights of the _sorata_'s saloon one hot afternoon. he had told valentine, who lay near him on the warm deck, part of his troubles. there was scarcely a breath of air, and the smoke of the big mills hung in a long trail above the oily inlet and floated in a filmy cloud athwart the towering pines. the tapping of the carpenters' mallets on board the _tyee_ came faintly across the water. "it will be three weeks, anyway, before you get your new deck in, and it may be longer," said valentine. "all the carpenters on this coast are going up to the new railroad trestles, where they're getting almost any price they ask. what are you going to do in the meanwhile?" jimmy said he did not know, and was sorry this was the case. he had discovered that board costs a good deal in that country, and while the _tyee_ was practically gutted it would be necessary to live ashore. valentine appeared to ruminate, and then looked up at him. "well," he said reflectively, "i'm going up the coast, and i want an experienced skipper. that's easy, because i know too much about charterers to let them have my boat without taking me. yachting's just becoming popular here. next, there's to be a capable cook, and that could be contrived, because, although louis is about the worst cook i know, they needn't find it out until we're well away to sea. the third man is the difficulty. he's to be warranted sober, reliable, and intelligent, since he may be required to take the young ladies out fishing in the dory. all to be civil and clean, and provided with suitable uniform. it's in the charter. they appear to be particular people." jimmy laughed. "evidently. still, i don't quite see what it all has to do with me, since i'm not going. where's the man you had when you took the last party?" "on the wharf; he'll never come back again with me. he was a blue-water man, and one day he broke loose and got at the charterers' whisky. tried to kiss one of the young ladies as he was carrying her on board the dory, and, though i threw him in afterward, her father made considerable unpleasantness over the thing." he stopped a moment, and looked at jimmy with a whimsical twinkle in his eyes. "now, i don't know any reason why you shouldn't come if you feel like it. you seem reasonably sober, and i guess you could be civil. charterers aren't quite so trying here as one would fancy they are in the old country. i've been there; but on the pacific slope we haven't yet branded the people who work as quite outside the pale. you could put on the steamboat jacket, and i've an old man-o'-war cap with gold letters on it. the man who left it on board the _sorata_ privately discharged himself from one of the pacific squadron. it was a dark night, and he was almost drowned when i got him. well, it would bring you twelve dollars a week, all found--it's what i'd have to pay another man--besides being a favor to me." jimmy laughed outright. he had his cares just then, but he was, after all, a young man of somewhat whimsical temperament, and the prospect of the adventure appealed to him. the twelve dollars a week were more attractive still, since he had reasons for believing that the small sum he had brought with him to vancouver would be badly wanted before very long, and while the _tyee_ lay idle he could not trench upon his father's scanty store. "well," he said, "it sounds a crazy kind of thing, but that is, perhaps, why it attracts me. i'll come." valentine smiled. "then you'll come off early to-morrow, and try to remember you're a blue-water man who has hired out to me. you want to get yourself up kind of smartly. we'll go below and see what i've got. it's in the charter." half an hour later jimmy was rowed ashore, and he walked back to the wharf where the _tyee_ was lying with, for the first time during several weeks, a smile in his eyes. it would be a relief to forget his troubles for a week or two, and his father would not need him in the meanwhile. naturally he did not know that the crazy venture on which he had embarked was to have somewhat important results for him as well as for other people. chapter v valentine's paid hand it was about five o'clock in the evening when jimmy stood on the vancouver wharf beside an express wagon, from which the teamster had just flung down what appeared to him an inordinate quantity of baggage. he was then attired in a steamboat officer's jacket, from which he had removed a row of buttons as well as the braid on the cuffs, an old pair of valentine's white duck trousers carefully mended with sail-sewing twine, a pair of canvas shoes with a burst in one of them, and a somewhat dilapidated man-o'-war cap. in this get-up he expected to pass muster as a professional yacht-hand, though as yet there were very few men who followed that calling in vancouver or victoria. had he been brought up in england he might have felt a little more uncomfortable than he did, but the average westerner is troubled by no false pride, and is usually willing to earn the money he requires by any means available. still, jimmy was not altogether at ease, for he had, at least to some extent, become endued with his comrades' notions during the time he had spent in the mail-boats and the english warship. a little farther up the wharf valentine was talking to a gray-haired gentleman whose immaculate blue serge, level voice, and formal attitude seemed to stamp him as different from the men of the pacific slope, who have as a rule no time to waste in considering appearances. two young ladies stood not very far away, and, though the breeze was no more than pleasantly cool, one of them was wrapped in a long cloak and shawl. jimmy could not see the other very well because of the wagon, but when she moved across the wharf her lithe step and graceful carriage at least suggested vigorous health. by and by the rattle of a neighboring steamer's winch ceased suddenly, and he heard the voice of the elderly gentleman, who had been glancing in his direction. "i suppose that is your man," he said, with a clear english intonation. "couldn't you have got him up a little more smartly? that man-o'-war cap, for instance, is a little out of keeping with the rest of his things." jimmy saw valentine's badly suppressed smile, and caught his answer. "he was in one of the warships, sir, and is a reliable man. i can warrant him civil and sober." "well," said the other, "we may as well go off while he brings down the baggage." the party moved toward the _sorata_'s dory, and jimmy was not exactly pleased when he found himself left to carry their baggage, which appeared to be unusually heavy, down a flight of awkward steps. it was not very long since he had stood beside a mail-boat's hatch, and merely raised a hand now and then while her deck-hands stowed the baggage under his direction; but he found something faintly humorous in the situation until, hampered by an awkward load, he lost his balance and fell down the steps. still, he contrived to deposit the charterers' possessions at the water's edge, and when valentine came back he packed them into the dory, and about fifteen minutes later staggered into the little white ladies' cabin on board the _sorata_ with a big trunk in his arms. one of the girls was busy unstrapping a valise, but the other looked around as he came in. "put it there!" she said, with a swift glance at him, and then, though he noticed that apparently she had something in her hand, she seemed to change her mind and turned around again. jimmy went out backwards, with a faint warmth in his face, and when he had brought in the rest of the baggage he went up and assisted louis, their third hand, to break out the anchor and get the _sorata_ under way. she was sliding out through the narrows when he dropped through the scuttle into the forecastle, and found valentine filling a tray. "it's part of your business to carry the baggage," he said. "you want to remember they're particular people, and you're expected to make yourself generally useful and agreeable. still, i guess there's no need to talk as you would in a mail-boat's saloon." jimmy took the tray, but, as it happened, the _sorata_ lurched on the wash from a passing steamer as he went through the sliding door in the bulk-head, and, plunging into the saloon with arms stretched out, he fell against the table. it was a moment or two before he partly recovered his equanimity, and then, as he looked about him, a hoarse laugh fell through the open skylights. to make things worse, he fancied that the elderly gentleman cast a suspicious glance at him, while he was quite sure that there was a twinkle in one of the young ladies' eyes. she leaned back somewhat wearily upon a locker cushion, and her face was thin and fragile; but her companion sat upright, and jimmy saw that she also was regarding him. she was tall and somewhat large of frame, with a quiet face that had something patrician in it, and reposeful brown eyes. jimmy fancied that she and the others must have heard the laugh above. "it's only that idiot louis, sir," he said. "it's a habit he has. you'll hear him laugh to himself now and then when he's at the helm." then it occurred to him that he was speaking more familiarly than an englishman would probably expect a yacht-hand to do, and, pulling himself up abruptly, he commenced to lay out the table and pour the coffee. "you take sugar, miss?" he asked. "she does," said the man dryly. "when a spoon is not available she prefers her own fingers." the delicate girl laughed a little, and jimmy felt his face grow warm, for he was conscious that her companion was watching him with quiet amusement; but he contrived to find the spoons he had forgotten, and when he was about to withdraw the girl with the brown eyes made a little sign. "i suppose we are at liberty to read any of those books?" she asked, pointing to the hanging shelves. "they are the skipper's?" jimmy knew what she was thinking, because the works in question were by no means of the kind one would have expected a professional yacht-hirer to own or to appreciate. he also knew that the forecastle slide was open, and that valentine was probably listening. "of course, miss," he said; "take any of them, if you can understand them. i think it's more than the skipper does. still, he has a little education, and bought them cheap at book sales. they give a kind of tone to the boat." "i see," said the girl with the reposeful eyes, and jimmy backed out in haste. he fancied a little ripple of musical laughter broke out after he had closed the forecastle slide. then he glanced deprecatingly at valentine, who did not appear by any means pleased with him. "i didn't expect too much from you, but the last piece of gratuitous foolery might have been left out," he said. "did you ever come across a yacht steward who took passengers into his confidence in the casual way you do?" "no," said jimmy candidly, "i don't think i ever did. now, i don't in the least know what came over me, but i can't remember ever losing my head in quite the same way before. it must have been the way the girl with the brown eyes looked at me. in fact, she seemed to be looking right through me. who is she?" "miss merril." "ah!" said jimmy, a trifle sharply. "still, it doesn't seem to be an unusual name in this country, and, after all, one couldn't hold her responsible for her father's doings--if she is the one i mean. it's quite possible they wouldn't please her if she were acquainted with them. in fact, it's distinctly probable." "i wonder why you seem so sure of that? she is the one you mean." "from her face. you couldn't expect a girl with a face like that to approve of anything that was not----" he saw valentine's smile, and broke off abruptly. "anyway, it doesn't matter in the least to either of us. what is she doing here, and who are the others?" valentine laughed. "i don't think i suggested that it did. the man is austerly, of the crown-land offices, and english, as you can see--one of the men with a family pull on somebody in authority in the old country. i believe he was a yacht-club commodore at home. the delicate girl's his daughter. not enough blood in her--phthisis, too, i think--and it's quite likely she has been recommended a trip at sea. miss merril is, i understand, a friend of hers, and she evidently knows something of yachting too." "what do you know about phthisis?" a shadow suddenly crept into valentine's brown face. "well," he said quietly, "as it happens, i do know a little too much." jimmy asked no more questions, but got his supper, and contrived to keep out of the passengers' way until about ten o'clock that night, when he sat at the helm as the _sorata_ fled westward before a fresh breeze. to port, and very high above her, a cold white line of snow gleamed ethereally under the full moon. a long roll tipped by flashing froth came up behind her, and she swung over it with the foam boiling at her bows and her boom well off, rolling so that her topsail which cut black against the moonlight swung wildly athwart the softly luminous blue. jimmy was watching a long sea sweep by and break into a ridge of gleaming froth, when miss merril came out from the little companion and stood close beside him with the silvery light upon her. she had a soft wrap of some kind about her head and shoulders, and, though he could not at first see her face, the way the fleecy fabric hung emphasized her shapely figure. "i wonder whether you would let me steer?" she asked. for a moment or two jimmy hesitated. the _sorata_ was carrying a good deal of sail, and running rather wildly, while he knew that a very small blunder at the tiller would bring her big main-boom crashing over, the result of which might be disaster. still, there was something in the girl's manner which, for no reason that he could think of, impressed him with confidence. he felt that she would not have asked him for the helm merely out of caprice, or unless she could steer. "well," he said, remembering he was supposed to be a yacht-hand, "we will see what kind of a show you make at it, miss. take hold, and try to keep her bowsprit on the island. it's the little black smear in the moonlight yonder." the girl apparently had no difficulty in doing it, though for a while he crouched upon the side-deck with a brown hand close beside the ones she laid on the tiller. then as, feeling reassured, he relaxed his grasp, she appeared to indicate her hands with a glance. "they are really stronger than you seem to think," she said, "and i have sailed a yacht before." jimmy laughed. "i only thought they were very pretty." the girl looked around at him a moment, without indignation, but with a grave inquiry in her eyes which jimmy, who suddenly remembered the rôle he was expected to play, found curiously disconcerting. "what made you say that?" she asked. "i really don't know;" and jimmy had sense enough not to make matters worse by admitting that he had said anything unusual. "it seemed to come to me naturally. perhaps it was because they--are--pretty." this time miss merril laughed. "well," she said, "i should just as soon they were capable. but don't you think she would steer easier with the sheet slacked off a foot or two?" jimmy had thought so already, but while he let the sheet run around a cleat he asked himself whether this was intended as a tactful reminder that he was merely expected to do what was necessary on board the vessel. on the whole he did not think it was. one has, after all, a certain license at sea; and though he had naturally met young ladies on board the mail-boats who apparently found pleasure in treating every man not exactly of their own station with frigid discourtesy, he fancied that miss merril differed from them. however, he sat silent and out of the way upon the _sorata_'s counter, until presently a lordly, four-masted ship swept up out of the soft blueness of the night. she crossed the _sorata_'s bows, braced up on the wind, and, for she carried american cotton sailcloth, she gleamed majestically white, with four great spires of slanted canvas tapering from the great arch of her courses to the little royals that swayed high up athwart the blue above a long line of dusky hull. it was hove up on the side nearest the _sorata_, and the sea frothed white beneath her bows, which piled it high in a filmy, flashing cloud. miss merril could hear the roar of parted water, and, as the great vessel drove by, the refrain of a sighing chantey that fell amidst a sharp clanking from the black figures on her spray-drenched forecastle. "ah!" she said, "that is a picture to remember. i wonder what those men have undergone, and where they come from?" jimmy smiled, presuming that she was addressing him, though he could not be sure of it. "well," he said, "i should fancy they have borne 'most everything that a man could be expected to face, except want of food, while they thrashed her round the horn. she's american, and, if they drive men hard on board their ships, they at least usually feed them well." "you know what they have done?" jimmy laughed, and forgot his man-o'-war cap as he saw that she was interested. "i believe i do. they've crawled out on those long topsail yards probably once every watch by night and day, clawing at thundering folds of hard, drenched canvas, while the ship lay with her rail in the water when the cape horn squalls came down thick with blinding snow. then they've crawled down with bleeding hands and broken nails, and flung themselves, in their dripping oilskins, into a soddened bunk to snatch a couple of hours' sleep before they were roused to get sail on her again. they have lived for days on cold provisions soaked in brine when the galley fire was drowned out, and it is very likely have not stripped a long boot off for a week. she carries a high rail, but the icy sea that chilled them to the bone has poured across it at every roll." "ah!" said the girl; "going west it would be to windward. in one way it's almost an epic. i suppose it's always more or less like that?" "yes," said jimmy; "one of the epics nobody has ever written, perhaps because nobody really could. there are a good many of them. as you say, when one has to fight to windward, things generally happen more or less that way." miss merril turned and looked at him as he sat on the _sorata_'s counter in the navy cap, and a smile crept into her eyes. "still," she said, "perhaps it is, after all, worth while to face them." they both remembered that afterward, but in the meanwhile it did not strike jimmy as in any way incongruous that she should talk to him in such a fashion or credit him with more comprehension than one would expect from a professional yacht-hand. "i don't know," he said simply. "one's heart is apt to fail when one looks forward and sees only the snow-squalls to drive one back to leeward, and the steep head seas." then he stood up suddenly with a little laugh as louis came slouching aft from the forecastle scuttle. "i'm relieved, and i had better see whether they want anything in the saloon," he said. it appeared that they wanted nothing, and when he crawled into the forecastle valentine looked at him with evident curiosity. "you had apparently a good deal to say to miss merril," he observed. "might one ask what you found to talk about?" "the last topic was whether it is worth while to hang on and fight one's way to windward when the outlook is black. if i understood her correctly, she seems to believe it is." valentine grinned sardonically. "did you discuss it like a german philosopher, or as a forecastle hand? i suppose it never struck you that it's rather an unusual subject for a yachting roustabout to go into with a young lady passenger?" "it is," agreed jimmy, making a little deprecatory gesture. "i'm afraid i didn't remember that before; but it probably doesn't matter, since it's hardly likely that she did either." his comrade looked at him, and shook his head. "you can believe that--at your age?" he said. "my dear man, a young woman of miss merril's intelligence would notice anything that wasn't quite in character the moment you said it. still, that is your affair. it's the other one i'm worrying about." "the other one?" "miss austerly. the girl's very sick--probably worse than her father realizes--and it's rather on my conscience that i told them that louis could cook. anyway, if this breeze holds we'll bring up off victoria early to-morrow, and though we're not going in, i'll slip ashore before breakfast and see what one can pick up at the stores." jimmy asked him no more questions, but crept into his bunk. about nine o'clock on the morrow, when the _sorata_ was lying in a bight on the south coast of vancouver island, he was aroused by the dory bumping alongside, and he went out on deck. it was then raining hard, and all he could see was a stretch of gray sea and a strip of dripping boulder beach on which a little white surf was breaking. there was a good deal of water in the dory, and valentine's oilskins were dripping when he climbed out of her with several packages under his arm. stores open early in that country. "now," he said, "you can bail her out, and come down in half an hour when i've fixed up a breakfast that any one could eat." jimmy did so, but it was with some little diffidence that he carried the tray into the saloon. it occurred to him that miss merril might regret that she had unbent so far the previous night, and he wondered uneasily whether he had ventured further than was advisable. he was also conscious for the first time that the repairs valentine had made in his garments were less artistic than evident. the girl, however, looked up with a smile, which might have meant anything, and afterward confined her attention to the articles he was laying on the table. there were chinese preserved dainties and fruit from california, as well as the ordinary fare. "an unusually good breakfast," said austerly. "does your skipper always treat his charterers so well?" "yes, sir," said jimmy. "that is, when he can. you see, he couldn't get these things in vancouver; there isn't the same demand for them as there is in the capital." austerly did not appear altogether satisfied with the ingenious explanation, but he said nothing further. indeed, he was not a man who said very much on any occasion; and while he commenced his breakfast miss merril looked at jimmy with her little disconcerting smile. still, there was no malice in it. she was as fresh that morning as when she came off the previous evening, though both austerly and his daughter appeared a trifle the worse for the night's run. miss merril was wholly unostentatious in speech or bearing, and there was a certain gracious tranquillity about her which suggested latent vigor instead of languidness. she was then, he decided tolerably correctly, in her twenty-fifth year, brown-haired and brown-eyed, with broad, low forehead, unusually straight brows, and, in spite of her smile, a curiously steady gaze. her face was a full oval, her mouth by no means small, and, while he had seen women of a somewhat similar type whose vigor was tinged with coarseness or a hint of sensuality, there was about this girl a certain daintiness of thought and speech, and a quiet dignity. what she said was, however, sufficiently prosaic. "i presume that means he went to victoria for the extra stores this morning; but how did he get there? it must be some distance, from what i know of the coast, and he would have a head-wind all the way back." "he walked," said jimmy. "it's necessary for him. one doesn't get very much exercise of that kind at sea. in fact, he walks miles whenever he can." miss austerly appeared a trifle astonished, and her father looked up from his coffee. "it's a trifle difficult to understand how he manages it," he said. "one would consider the _sorata_ forty feet long." jimmy felt miss merril's gaze upon him, and, as had happened before, his ingenuity failed him. her smile vaguely suggested comprehension, and, for no ostensible reason, that disturbed him. he also saw louis grinning down at him through the skylights. "sugar, sir?" he said; and this was so evidently an inspiration that miss austerly laughed, and when her father said that he had been offered it twice already, jimmy went out with all the haste available. he closed the forecastle slide somewhat noisily, and then sat down and frowned at valentine. "well?" said the latter dryly. "been making an exhibition of yourself again?" "i'm afraid i have," said jimmy. "if it happens another time you can carry the things in yourself and see how nice it is. still, i don't quite know why i lost my head. i have naturally met quite a few young ladies in my time. i suppose it's wearing that confounded cap and these more confounded clothes." he kicked one foot out, and disgustedly contemplated a burst white shoe, while the duck trousers cracked. valentine leaned back against the bulkhead and laughed. "don't be rash, or they'll split; and the jacket's opening at a seam," he said. "it's rather a pity a man can't rise above his clothes. anyway, you may as well give louis a hand to get the mainsail on to her. as soon as they've finished breakfast we'll break out the anchor." chapter vi a vision of the sea there was rain and thick weather for several days, during which the _sorata_ crept northward slowly along the wild west vancouver coast. austerly, it appeared, had business with an indian agent who lived up an inlet near which the restless white prospectors were encroaching on a siwash reserve. the boat was wet and clammy everywhere, though a bark fire burned in the little saloon stove. miss austerly lay for the most part silent on the leeward settee with a certain wistful patience in her hollow face which roused jimmy's compassion. he noticed that valentine's voice was gentler than usual when he mentioned her, and wondered why it was so, though his comrade did not favor him with an adequate explanation then or afterward. at last one afternoon the drizzle ceased, and, during most of it, miss merril sat at the tiller with jimmy's oilskin jacket round her shoulders to shield her from the spray, while the _sorata_ drove northward, close-hauled, across the long gray roll of the pacific which was tipped with livid foam. sometimes she swung over it, with dripping jib hove high, but at least as often she dipped her bows in the creaming froth and flung the brine aft in showers, while all the time the half-seen shore unrolled itself to starboard in a majestic panorama. great surf-lapped rocks rose out of the grayness, and were lost in it again; forests athwart which the vapors streamed in smoky wisps rolled by; and at times there were brief entrancing visions of a towering range, phantoms of mountains that vanished and appeared again. there was water on the lee-deck; showers of it drove into the drenched mainsail's luff; but still miss merril sat at the tiller with her damp hair blown about her forehead, a patch of carmine in her cheeks, and a gleam in her eyes. she seemed, as she swung with the plunging fabric when the counter rose streaming high above the froth that swept astern, wholly in harmony with the motive of the scene; and at this jimmy wondered a little now and then, though he discovered afterward that anthea merril almost invariably fitted herself to her surroundings. there are men and women with that capacity, which is, perhaps, born of comprehension and sympathy. her grasp was firm and steady on the straining helm, her gaze quick to notice each gray comber that broke as it came down on them; but, when he looked at her, jimmy saw in her eyes something deeper than the thrill of the encounter with the winds of heaven and the restless sea. he could find no fitting name for it. it eluded definition, but it had its effect; and he felt that a man might go far and do more than thrash a yacht to windward with such a companion, though he also realized that this was, after all, no concern of his. apart from that, her quiet courage and readiness were noticeable, though it was, perhaps, her understanding that appealed most to him. anthea merril never asked an unnecessary question. she seemed able to grasp one's thoughts and motives in a fashion that set those with whom she conversed at their ease, and when in her company jimmy usually forgot his yacht-hand's garments and the man-o'-war cap. it was toward sunset that evening, and miss austerly was sitting well wrapped up on a locker in the cockpit, when the vapor melted and was blown away, as not infrequently happens about that time at sea. the dingy clouds that veiled the sky were rent, and a blaze of weird, coppery radiance smote the tumbling seas, which changed under it to smears of incandescent whiteness with ruddy gleams in them, and ridges of flashing green. it was sudden and bewildering, impelling one to hold one's breath. but a more glorious pageant leaped out of the dimness over the starboard hand. walls of rock that burned with many colors sprang into being, with somber pines streaming upward behind them, and far aloft there were lifted gleaming heights of never-trodden snow whose stainless purity was intensified by their gray and turquoise shadows. the vision was vouchsafed them, steeped in an immaterial splendor, for perhaps five minutes, and then it faded as though it had never been. miss austerly, who had gazed at it rapt and eager-eyed, drew in her breath. "ah!" she said; "if it was only to see that, i am glad i came--it may be the last time." jimmy, who was sitting on the skylights, saw the apprehension in anthea merril's eyes as she glanced down for a moment into the fragile face of her companion, and he fancied that valentine did so too; but the girl smiled wistfully. "still," she said, "it is a good deal to have seen the glory of this world, and one would almost fancy that other one--where the sea is glassy--could not be much more beautiful." there was a hint of reproach in anthea merril's quiet voice, which reached jimmy. "nellie," she said, "you have morbid fancies now and then. we brought you on this trip to make you cheerful and strong." the sick girl smiled again, and the pallor of her fragile face intensified the faint shining of her eyes. "i think you know that i shall never get strong again, and, after all, why should i wish to stay here when i may leave my pains and weaknesses behind me? you can't understand that. you have the vigor of the sea in you--and the world before you." it apparently occurred to valentine that he was hearing too much, for he stood up, swaying while the _sorata_ plunged, and called to austerly through one of the open skylights of the saloon. "we'll have the breeze down on us twice as hard in a few minutes, sir, and there's an inlet we could lie snug in not far astern," he said. "it's quite likely we might come across a siwash or two who would pole you up the river at the head of the inlet to within easy reach of the agent's place, to-morrow." "very well!" said austerly; "you can run her away." it appeared advisable, for the _sorata_ buried her bows in a smother of frothing brine and dipped her lee-deck deep, as a blast swept down. valentine glanced at miss merril somewhat dubiously. "do you think you could jibe her all standing?" he asked. jimmy almost expected anthea merril to say that she could not, for, unless the helmsman is skilful, when a cutter-rigged craft is brought round, stern to a fresh breeze, her great mainsail with the ponderous boom along the foot of it is apt to swing over with disastrous violence. there was, however, no hesitation in the girl's face, and valentine made a little gesture that implied rather more than resignation. "when you're ready!" he said. "stand by, jimmy!" they laid hands on the hard, wet sheet, and, while the girl swayed with the helm, and the _sorata_ came round, stern to sea, dragged the big mainboom in foot by foot until it hung over them, lifting, with the great bellying sail ready to swing. then, though nobody knew quite how it happened, jimmy got a loose turn of the rope about his arm as a sea washed in across the counter. in another second or two the boom would swing over, and it seemed very probable that his arm would at least be broken. while the tightening hemp ground into his flesh, he saw the color ebb in valentine's face, and then the girl's voice reached him sharp and insistent. "now!" was all she said. the _sorata_'s bows swung a trifle further, and no more. the boom went up with a jerk, and, while the blood started from jimmy's compressed arm, came down again. for a second the turn of rope slackened, and he shook it clear. then the sheet whirred through the quarter-blocks as the great sail swung over, and the _sorata_ rolled until one side of her was deep in the foam. she shook herself out of it, and jimmy, who forgot the man-o'-war cap and what he was supposed to be, saw the girl's eyes fixed on him with a faint smile in them, and made her a little inclination. he felt that she was asking him a question. "thank you!" he said simply. "i don't think i was unduly frightened. i seemed to know you would not fail me." anthea merril made no answer, but a slight flush crept into her cheek. she was very human, and it was in one sense an eloquent compliment. then jimmy went forward to haul the staysail down, though he found he had to do it with one hand, and he was kept busy until he went down with valentine into the little forecastle, when the _sorata_ lay snug in a strip of still green water close beneath the dusky pines. louis had just gone ashore with the dory to gather bark for fuel, and, for the scuttle was open, they could hear the splash of his oars through the deep stillness that was emphasized by the murmur of falling water. valentine sat on a locker with the lamplight on his bronzed face, which was a trifle grave. "rain again, and i'd sooner lose my next charter than have bad weather now," he said. "why?" asked jimmy. his comrade made a sign of impatience. "didn't you hear what that girl said--it was the last time? she knew that she was right, too, though it's probably only natural that her father wouldn't believe it. a last treat she's getting--and she's as fond of the sea as i am, or you are either." jimmy did not know why he smiled, but perhaps it was because he was stirred a little and did not wish to show it. in any case, valentine frowned at him. "oh, yes," he said, "i know. it's a dog's life, and other things; but you wouldn't quit it, anyway, and that's not the question. can't you understand what that sickly girl's life has been, with all that other women might expect to have denied her?" there was a certain hoarse insistence in valentine's inquiry, from which it seemed to jimmy, who had noticed the solicitude with which he had endeavored to minister in every way to the comfort or pleasure of their delicate passenger, that his companion had some special reason for understanding what the girl's lot had been. "well," he said reflectively, "one would suppose that to be born foredoomed is hard upon such as miss austerly." valentine made a little abrupt gesture. "it's evident they once had a yacht of their own. any one could see how fond of it she is; and i'm taking her father's money--he hasn't too much of it--like a--moneylender that she may have a last taste of the one thing she can take pleasure in. lord, when one has so much for nothing, what selfish hogs we are!" "it can't be helped, anyway. you couldn't offer a favor to a man like austerly." "no;" and valentine frowned. "he's a man with all the condemned prejudices of his class, and he would, naturally, sooner see his daughter's one wish ungratified. after all, women now and then rate the value of things more justly than we do. there's miss merril who came with them, and somehow it was she who brought this trip about. she has her pride, full measure of it, but she has sense as well, sense of proportion, and if we had only her to deal with we'd let every other charter slide and go south to-morrow to find the summer." jimmy was not in the least astonished. he had, of course, listened to a certain amount of forecastle ribaldry, though, after all, conversation and badinage of that nature is, at least, as frequent in a mail-boat's smoking-room; but he knew the ways of his fellows, and it seemed a very natural thing to him that valentine the pariah should in his own fashion reveal these depths of chivalrous compassion. he had seen hard-handed men of coarse fiber do many a gentle deed with a curse on their lips that was probably worth a good deal more than a conventional platitude. still, it would have been wholly extraordinary if he had mentioned anything of this. "one would fancy miss merril has a good deal of character," he said. "too much for the man she marries, if there's anything small and mean in him. that's a girl with a capacity for doing more than sail a boat to windward well, and she will probably expect a good deal. in one way there's something humorous in the fact that her father is one of the ----est rogues in this province, though there are naturally a good many people who look up to him. of course, she isn't aware of it yet. brought up back east, i believe, and somebody told me she had lived a good deal with her mother's people. it probably means trouble for her when she understands the reality." he rose with a little shrug of his shoulders. "i'm talking like an old woman, and these things have nothing to do with us. we have our wet watches to keep at sea, and perhaps we are better off than the rest of them because that is all. you can turn in if you want to; i'll wait for louis." five minutes later jimmy crawled into his bunk, and fell fast asleep. when he awakened, he found that the day had broken still and sunny. there was a siwash rancherie a mile or two up the inlet, and when an indian had been found who would carry a message through the forest, austerly, who never forgot what was due to a crown-land official, decided to stay where he was and allow the agent to visit him. he was not in any way an active man, and appeared quite content to sit in the cockpit reading, when valentine, who had procured a siwash river canoe--a long, light shell of cedar with some two feet beam--offered to take his daughter up the inlet to see the rancherie. miss austerly was pleased to go with him, and anthea merril, who watched the knife-edge craft slide away, turned to jimmy. "if you will get the trolling-spoon i will go fishing," she said. "yes, miss," said jimmy, touching his cap--a thing that is very seldom done in western canada. hauling the dory alongside, he handed her into it. then he dipped the oars, and they slid slowly up the inlet with the silver and vermilion spoon trailing astern. he had laid valentine's shot-gun across the thwarts. the lane of clear green water was, perhaps, two hundred yards wide, and the stately pines which shroud all that lonely coast rose in somber ranks on either side, distilling their drowsy fragrance as their motionless needles dried in the sun. there was not a sound when the splash of valentine's paddle died away, and jimmy dipped his oars leisurely, now and then venturing a glance at his companion. it seemed to him that the big white hat she wore became her wonderfully well, and it is possible that she guessed as much and did not resent it, for jimmy was, after all, a personable man. "your skipper is very good to nellie austerly," she said. "i am rather pleased with him because of it. there are, naturally, not many things in which she can take any great interest." "i suppose," said jimmy reflectively, "there are people who would consider it good of him, but, in one way, it really isn't. it doesn't cost him anything, and he can't help it. that man would do what he could for anybody who didn't want to take advantage of him. what's more, he would do it almost without realizing what he was about." "do you know why he lives as he does at sea?" "i don't. probably because he likes it." anthea merril smiled. "is that all? it has not occurred to you that there is, perhaps, a reason why he and nellie austerly understand each other?" "both fond of the sea?" "that mightn't go far enough. nellie has had to give up so much, or rather it has been taken away from her. you can understand that?" jimmy nodded assent. it had already occurred to him that his comrade was a man who had lost something he greatly valued, and it did not appear incongruous that miss merril should be speaking in this familiar fashion to him. in fact, she frequently contrived to make him forget that he was valentine's hired hand and wore the man-o'-war cap. "what would a boat like the _sorata_ cost to build?" she asked. "perhaps four thousand dollars in this country." "ah!" said the girl; "and with that sum one could probably set up a store, buy one of the little sawmills near a rising settlement, or start on one of the other paths that are supposed to lead to affluence." jimmy laughed. "supposing he owned the big hastings mill, what more could it offer a man with his views? as he will tell you, he gets what he likes almost for nothing. he may be right, too. after all, it is clean dirt one has to eat at sea." "there are not many men who could live as he does; the rest would go to pieces. and isn't it rather shirking a responsibility?" "you mean that one ought to make money?" "i think one ought to take one's part in the struggle that is going to make this the greatest province in the dominion; but not exactly for that reason." then miss merril apparently decided to change the subject. "you had a good halibut season?" jimmy saw the twinkle in her eyes, and understood it. "i hadn't. i'm afraid i wouldn't know a halibut when i saw it. there are, one believes, plenty of them, but so far very few people go fishing." "then you were probably killing the americans' seals?" "i wasn't. i am, i may mention, mate on board a lumber-carrying schooner." his companion's nod might have meant anything. "i fancied," she said, "you had not gone to sea very often as a yacht-hand." jimmy, who was uncertain what she wished him to understand, pulled on leisurely, until, as they crept along the shore, a widening ripple that spread from beyond a point caught his eye, and, laying down the oars, he reached for the gun. "i was told to bring back a duck for miss austerly if i could," he said. "you don't mind?" anthea merril made a sign of indifference, and the dory slid on, until, as they opened up a little bay, jimmy flung up the gun, for a slowly moving object swam in the midst of it. then he felt a hand on his arm, and a voice said sharply, "put it down!" jimmy did so before he saw the reason, and it was a moment later when he noticed a string of little fluffy bodies stretched out from the shore. the mother bird paddled toward them, and, disregarding her own danger, strove to drive them back among the boulders. then he saw the curious gleam that was half anger and half compassion in his companion's eyes, and felt his face grow a trifle hot. "i didn't know," he said. "it must be an unusually late brood. i never noticed them. i shouldn't like you to think i did." "open the gun, and take out the cartridges!" ordered his companion. "very well, miss," said jimmy, who could not resist the impulse of adding, with a whimsical twinkle in his eyes: "shall i take off the trolling-spoon?" anthea merril laughed. "no," she said. "still, i can't complain of the suggestion. head out from shore, and row faster." jimmy said nothing further, but busied himself with his oars. he had discovered by this time that he could talk more or less confidentially with anthea merril only when it was her pleasure that he should do so, and she was able to make it clear when that time had gone. still, he did not for a moment believe she would have been more gracious had her companion not happened to be the _sorata_'s paid hand. chapter vii blown off the evening was cool and clear. anthea merril and jimmy followed an indian path that wound through the primeval bush. on the one hand a great, smooth-scarped wall of rock ran up far above the trees that clung about its feet into the wondrous green transparency, but the light was dying out down in the hollow where towering fir and cedar clustered. they were great of girth and very old, and beneath them there was silence and solemnity. jimmy, who carried his companion's sketching materials, went first to clear the dew-wet fern away, and the girl walked behind him silently; but this was not because there had been any change in her attitude toward him. indeed, a certain camaraderie had grown up between them during the few days they had spent fishing and wandering in the bush, and there was, after all, nothing astonishing in this, for jimmy was guilty of no presumption, and social distinctions, which are, indeed, not very marked in that country, do not count for much in the wilderness. still, that camaraderie had been a revelation to him, and he was uneasily aware that during the rest of his life he would look back upon the time when he had been miss merril's guide and attendant. they had been up the bank of a river that afternoon, and the girl, who had spent an hour or two sketching a peak of the range, had remained behind with jimmy when the rest had retraced their steps to the inlet lest miss austerly should suffer from the chill of the dew. the two were accordingly coming back alone, which, indeed, had happened several times before. it was anthea who spoke at last. "it will be dark very soon, and it might have been wiser if we had gone back the way the others did," she said. "still, this trail looked nearer. i suppose it must come out at the inlet?" "oh, yes," said jimmy. "i can hear the river, though it doesn't seem to be quite where i expected. the others will be on the beach by now." "i shouldn't like to keep nellie there," said anthea. "still, i scarcely think they would wait long." "of course not," said jimmy. "tom is as careful of her as if she were his sister, and they wouldn't worry about our not turning up to go off with them. they're probably getting used to it by this time." he realized next moment that this was, perhaps, not a particularly tactful observation; but he could not see his companion's face, and, as had happened before, he had sense enough not to make things worse by any attempt to explain it, which anthea merril, who recognized that he had spoken unreflectively, of course, noticed. what she thought of him--and she had, naturally, formed certain opinions--did not appear until some time later. in a few minutes he stopped abruptly where the trail wound round a screen of salmon-berry, for a creek came splashing down across their way. it appeared to be at least two feet deep, and when his companion saw it she turned to him with a little exclamation. "oh!" she said, "how are we going to get across? we certainly can't go back." "i'm afraid not;" and jimmy glanced dubiously at the sliding water. "it will be dark in half an hour, and this bush is bad enough to get through in the daylight. i'll go in anyway, and see how deep it is." he plodded through rather above his knees in water, which was mostly freshly melted snow, and then turned and looked at the girl as she stood regarding him somewhat curiously from the opposite bank. the light had not quite gone yet, and he could see her standing, tall and supple and shapely, with her white serge skirt gathered in one hand, and a patch of crimson wine-berries at her feet. the great brown-and-gray trunk of a redwood behind her forced up the fine outline of her figure, and made a fitting background for the delicate coloring of the face that was turned toward him. then, as had happened once or twice before, a little thrill ran through the man, and he glanced down at the sliding water. "you can't wade through, and there's no use trying to look for a spot where it's not running quite so fast. i don't think a siwash could get through this bush," he said. he stopped somewhat abruptly, and was glad that the girl met his glance without wavering, as she said, "well?" jimmy's tone was deprecatory. "there's only one way, miss merril. i must carry you over." anthea laughed, though it cost her a slight effort. she was, at least, glad that he had addressed her unconcernedly, and as a yacht-hand would. she was also quite aware that young ladies who go rowing in small dories, or venture into the wilderness, have to submit to being carried occasionally; but, for all that, she would sooner the suggestion had been made by another man. "do you really think you could?" she asked. jimmy's eyes twinkled, which was more reassuring than any sign of embarrassment. "well," he said reflectively, and again she was pleased that he was very matter-of-fact, and had sense enough to drop back into his rôle, "i guess i'm used to carrying three-inch redwood planks." he came splashing through the water, though he did not look at her, and in a moment or two she felt his arms about her. she wondered vaguely whether he had often carried any one else, for it was, at least, evident that he knew exactly what he meant to do, and she recognized the strength the sea had given him, as he stepped down easily into the creek, holding her high above the water, with the loose folds of her skirt wrapped about her. anthea was reasonably substantial, as she was, of course, aware; but, though he twice floundered a little in the depths of a pool, he set her down safe on the other side and stood before her with flushed forehead, which was, as she promptly realized, in one respect a mistake. he said nothing, and did not, indeed, look at her; but as he drew in a deep breath from the physical effort she glanced at him, and saw something in his face that suggested restraint. that spoiled everything. "it is getting late," she said quietly. "doesn't the path go on again?" they turned away, jimmy walking first, for which she was thankful, because the moment or two when they had stood silent had been more than enough. there was nothing for which she could blame the man. his demeanor had been everything that one could have expected; but she had seen the momentary light in his eyes and the tightening of his lips, and knew that their relations could never be exactly what they had been. something had come about, for the fact that he had found it necessary to put a restraint upon himself had made a change. perhaps he felt that silence was inadvisable, and once more she appreciated the good sense that prompted him to talk, much as a seaman would have done, of the straightness of the shadowy redwoods they passed and their value as masts, though this was naturally not a subject that greatly interested her. when they reached the beach they found that valentine had left them the siwash canoe; and the rest, with the exception of nellie austerly, were sitting in the _sorata_'s cockpit when jimmy paddled alongside. miss merril furnished a suitable explanation of their delay, but she overlooked the fact that valentine was acquainted with the bush about that inlet. "you must have struck the creek," he said. "i should have remembered to tell you about it." he looked at jimmy, but the latter wisely decided to leave it to miss merril, and turned his attention to the canoe. he felt that she was competent to handle the matter. "i was almost waist-deep when i last went through," said valentine, who did not display his usual perspicacity. "how did you get across?" anthea dismissed the subject with perfect composure. "then there could not have been anything like so much water. jimmy helped me over." jimmy went forward, and disappeared through the scuttle into the forecastle, and some little while later valentine came down and looked at him with a dry smile. "i don't yet understand how miss merril got across that creek," he said. "i fancied she told you;" and jimmy felt his face grow warm. valentine laughed. "perhaps she did, but it seems to me that she wasn't remarkably explicit." jimmy said nothing, and presently climbed into his berth, where he lay for a while trying to recall every incident of the journey he and anthea merril had made through the shadowy bush, until it occurred to him that he was only preparing trouble for himself by doing so, and he went to sleep. it was raining when he awoke, and it rained for most of three days as hard as it often does on that coast, until the crystal depths of the inlet grew turbid, and it flowed seaward between its dripping walls of mountains like a river. at last one afternoon the clouds were rolled away, and when fierce, glaring sunshine beat down austerly decided that he would go ashore to fish. the men went with him, valentine to pull the dory into the swollen river, jimmy and louis in the siwash canoe to gather bark for fuel. when they approached the beach where they usually landed, jimmy glanced thoughtfully at the great torn-up pines that went sliding by. "if one of those logs drove across her it might start a plank," he said. "besides, there's every sign of a vicious breeze, and i think i'll go off by and by and swing her in behind the next point. she would lie snugger there out of the stream." valentine looked up at the hard blue sky across which ragged cloud-wisps were driving, and nodded. "it generally does blow quite fresh after rain like what we have had," he said. "you could break the anchor out yourself. i want louis to get a good load of bark." jimmy went ashore with louis, who carried a big axe, but by and by he left the latter busy, and wandered back to the beach. he did not like the angry glare of sunlight and the way the wind fell in whirling gusts down the steep hillside. as it happened, another big log drove by while he stood among the boulders, and remembering that the two girls were alone in the yacht, he launched the canoe, and sat still, just dipping the paddle, while the stream swept him down to the _sorata_. when he boarded her she was swinging uneasily in a swirl of muddy current, and anthea, who sat in the cockpit, appeared pleased to see him. "one would almost fancy it was going to blow very hard," she said. jimmy laughed. "i believe it is; but we should be snug against anything in the little cove yonder with a rope or two ashore. i wonder whether you could sheer her for me while i break out the anchor?" the girl went to the tiller, and while jimmy, standing forward, plied the little winch, the cable slowly rattled in. then he broke out the anchor, and the boat slid astern until a cove, where dark fir branches stretched out over the still, deep water, opened up. dropping the anchor, he turned to the girl. "starboard!" he said. anthea shoved over her tiller; but the _sorata_ did not swing into the cove as jimmy had expected her to do, for a blast that set the pines roaring fell from the hillside and drove her out from the shore. jimmy let more chain run, and stood still looking about him, when he felt the anchor grip. the sunlight had faded, obscured by ragged clouds, the tall pines swayed above him, and the _sorata_ had swung well out athwart the stream. "since i can't kedge her with this breeze, i'll take a line ashore and warp her in," he said. it appeared advisable, for there were more pine-logs coming down, and he pitched a coil of rope into the canoe; but the rest, as he discovered, was much more difficult. jimmy had been used to boats in which one could stand up and row, while a siwash river canoe is a very different kind of craft. as a result, he several times almost capsized her, and lost a good deal of ground when a gust struck her lifted prow; so that some time had passed when the line brought him up still a few yards from the beach. he looked around at the _sorata_ with a shout. "i want a few more fathoms," he called. "can you fasten on the other line, miss merril?" he saw the girl, who moved forward along the deck, stop and clutch at a shroud, but that was all, for just then the dark firs roared and the water seethed white about him as he plied the paddle. the canoe turned around in spite of him, drove out into the stream, and, while he strove desperately to steer her, struck the _sorata_ with a crash. the boat lifted her side a little as he swung himself on board, and there was a curious harsh grating forward. anthea, who stepped down into the cockpit, had lost her hat, and her hair whipped her face. "i think she has started her anchor," she said. jimmy was sure of it when he ran forward and let several fathoms of chain run without bringing her up, for the bottom was apparently shingle washed down from the hillside. "we'll have to get the kedge over," he said. he dropped unceremoniously into the saloon, where miss austerly lay on the settee, and tore up the floorings, beneath which, as space is valuable on board a craft of the _sorata_'s size, the smaller anchor is sometimes kept. he could not, however, find it anywhere, and when he swung himself, hot and breathless, out on deck, the yacht was driving seaward stern foremost, taking her anchor with her, while the whole inlet was ridged with lines of white. anthea merril looked at him with suppressed apprehension in her eyes. "we must get a warp ashore somehow," he said. "i might sheer her in under the staysail." the girl went forward with him, and gasped as they hauled together at the halyard which hoisted the sail; and when half of it was up, she sped aft to the tiller, and jimmy made desperate efforts to shorten in the cable. there was another cove not far astern into which he might work the boat. the anchor, however, came away before he expected it, and, though he did not think it was the girl's fault, the half-hoisted sail swung over, and the _sorata_, in place of creeping back toward the beach, drove away toward the opposite shore, where the stream swept over ragged rock. jimmy, jumping aft, seized the tiller, and while the inlet seethed into little splashing ridges the _sorata_ swept on seaward with the breeze astern. he stood still a moment, gasping, and then, while the girl looked at him with inquiring eyes, signed her to take the helm again. "i must get the trysail on her, and try to beat her back. we may be able to do it--i don't know," he said. "it's deep water along those rocks, and she'd chafe through and go down; otherwise i'd ram her ashore." he spent several arduous minutes tearing every spare sail out of the stern locker before he reached the one he wanted, and it was at least five minutes more before he had laced it to its gaff, while by then there were only jagged rocks, over which the sea that washed into the open entrance to the inlet seethed whitely, under the _sorata_'s lee. jimmy glanced at them, and quietly lashed the trysail gaff to the boom before he turned to anthea merril. "i'm sorry," he said. "we couldn't stay her under the trysail with the puffs twisting all ways flung back by the trees. besides, she'd probably drive down upon the reefs before i got it up. it's quite evident we can't go ashore there." the girl glanced ahead, and her heart sank a little as she saw the long pacific roll heave across the opening in big gray slopes that were ridged with froth. then she turned to jimmy, who stood regarding her gravely in the steamboat jacket, burst shoes, and man-o'-war cap, and a look of confidence crept into her eyes. she felt that this man could be depended on. "we shall have to run out to sea?" she asked. jimmy nodded, and she was glad that he answered frankly, as to one who was his equal in courage. "there is no help for it," he said. "still, she'll go clear of the shore as she is, and i don't think we need be anxious about her when she's under trysail in open water." anthea looked at him again, with a spot of color in her cheek. "it may blow for several days," she said. "if i can help in any way----" "you can," said jimmy abruptly. "go down now and fix miss austerly and yourself something to eat. you mightn't be able to do it afterwards. then you can bring me up some bread and coffee." anthea disappeared into the saloon with her cheeks tingling and a curious smile in her eyes. she understood what had happened. now that they were at close grip with the elements, jimmy had asserted himself in primitive fashion, and he could, she felt, be trusted to do his part. chapter viii jimmy takes command darkness was closing down on the waste of tumbling foam, and the _sorata_ was clear of the shore, when jimmy made shift to hoist the trysail reduced by two reefs to a narrow strip of drenched canvas. then, while anthea merril held the helm, he proceeded to set the little spitfire jib. however, he clung to the weather-shrouds, gasping and dripping with perspiration for the first few moments, because the struggle with the trysail had tried his strength. indeed, anthea, who stood bareheaded at the helm with her loosened hair whipping about her, wondered how he had contrived to do it alone in that strength of wind. his figure, shapeless in the streaming oilskins, cut darkly against the livid foam as the _sorata_ swung her bows high above the sea, and then was almost lost in a filmy cloud as she plunged and buried them in the breast of a big comber. suddenly, however, he dropped on hands and knees, and, crouching with one arm around the forestay, hauled the strip of canvas out along the bowsprit until once more a sea smote the _sorata_ and he sank into a rush of foam. the girl caught her breath as she waited until the boat swung her head out again, for it was very evident that the man alone stood between her and destruction. he swung into sight, clinging with an arm around jib and bowsprit until he staggered to his feet, and a strip of sailcloth that went aloft beat him with its wet folds amidst a frantic banging. anthea scarcely dared to look at him as he struggled with the rope that hoisted it, and she gasped with relief when at last he came scrambling back and pushed her from the tiller. "thanks!" he said. "go down and get miss austerly on to the leeward settee, and then try to sleep. the boat ought to lie-to dryly until the morning, but i can't leave the tiller." anthea just heard him through the turmoil of the sea, and did not resent the grasp he had laid on her shoulder. quietly imperious as she usually was, it seemed only fitting that she should obey him then. she went down through the little companion, and jimmy, pulling the slide to after her, settled himself for his long night-watch as darkness rolled down upon the sea. he was anxious, but not unduly so, for the boat was high of side and able; and a comparatively small craft will usually ride out a vicious breeze if one can keep her hove-to under a strip or two of sail, so as to meet the sea while not forging through it with her weather-bow. indeed, after the first half-hour he felt somewhat reassured, and his thoughts went back to a subject which had occupied them somewhat frequently of late, and that, not unnaturally, was anthea merril. she was, he knew, the daughter of the man who was ruining his father, but that was an incident and no fault of hers. it was, he fancied, clear that she knew nothing about merril's business operations, and was unacquainted with one aspect of his character. in fact, it seemed to him that there was a painful shock in store for her when she made the discovery. he had never met a woman with so much that compelled his appreciation besides her physical beauty. her quiet graciousness and courage had their effect on him, and he was sure, at least, that he would never feel quite the same regard for anybody else. indeed, he admitted that she was a woman with whom he might have fallen in love had circumstances been propitious, but, as they certainly were not, he strove to assure himself that he had sense and will enough to refrain from thinking more of her than was advisable. these reflections were, however, fragmentary, for the boat required attention, and he fancied that a good deal of water was finding its way into her. the _sorata_ would not lie-to without somebody at the helm, and he could only leave the tiller lashed for a few minutes now and then while he labored at the little rotary pump. once or twice when he did so, a foot of brine came frothing into the cockpit across the coaming, and he commenced to wonder how long the breeze would last, for he was becoming sensible that another twelve hours of it would probably be as much as he could stand. in the meanwhile the night was wearing through, and at last a faint light crept up from the east across the waste of tumbling seas. they were not by any means mountainous, for as a matter of fact it is very probable that the biggest ocean sea scarcely exceeds forty feet between its trough and summit, but they rolled up out of the northwest in a continuous phalanx of steep, gray ridges crested with spouting froth that looked quite big enough. the drift whirled across them, and now and then wrapped the craft in wisps of filmy smoke, while jimmy, with smarting and temporarily blinded eyes, trusted to the feel of the tiller. he was as wet as he could be, as well as stiff and cold, and it was with relief and some astonishment that he saw the saloon companion open, and miss merril appear with a plate and a jug of steaming coffee. her skirt was woefully bedraggled, from which he surmised that there was more water than there should be in the saloon, and her hair was promptly powdered with glistening spray; but her face was quiet, and she sat down collectedly, huddling herself on a locker, where the after bulkhead of the saloon partly sheltered her. jimmy dropped into the cockpit, and crouched there with the tiller against his shoulder, for nobody could have eaten in the face of that wind. then he stretched out a hand for the coffee. "i'm unusually glad to get it. it was very kind of you," he said. anthea smiled. "why?" she asked. "are you sure it wasn't selfishness? we couldn't take the boat home without you, and a man must eat if he has to go on with this kind of task." jimmy looked at her, and, finding no very apposite rejoinder, nodded. "well," he said, "i suppose he must; but did you get anything for yourself or miss austerly? you can't live on nothing any more than i can. at least, that's the conclusion i've come to after what i've noticed in the mail-boat's saloons." he was aware that he had made a slip, but fancied it had escaped his companion's attention, which, of course, displayed very little perspicacity. in the meanwhile, he got a turn of the weather tiller line round a cleat, and lowered himself further until he sat in the cockpit with several inches of water swishing about him. "nellie is asleep at last. i did not awaken her," said his companion. "that isn't all i asked. did you get anything yourself?" the girl said she had not done so, and for a moment there was the faintest suspicion of color in her face. "then you will share what you have brought with me," said jimmy. "there isn't a cup. i couldn't find one that wasn't broken. the forecastle shelf has torn away." "you couldn't have kept the coffee in it if you had. take what you want before it gets cold," and jimmy pointed to the jug. anthea raised it to her lips, and then pushed it back along the cockpit floor, while, though she had not meant to do so, she flashed a swift glance at her companion when he held it in his hand. as it happened, jimmy looked at her just then, and she saw the little glint in his eyes. he felt that she had done so, and, while he would not have had it happen, let his gaze rest on her steadily while he made her a little inclination. then he drank, and, after he had thrust the plate in her direction, broke off a portion of bread and canned meat; some of which crumbled and stuck to his wet oilskins. he was quite aware that neither his attitude nor manner of eating was especially graceful, but that could not be helped, and he laughed when his companion clutched at the remnant on the plate. she smiled at him too, and he wondered why they were both apparently so much at ease. still, it did not seem in any way an unusual or unfitting thing that he and this delicately brought up girl should make their meal as equals in the little dripping cockpit with a single plate and one drinking vessel between them. he felt that it was as a comrade she regarded him, in place of tolerating him from necessity, and he noticed that even under the very uncomfortable conditions she ate daintily. "where are we?" she asked at last. "about twenty miles to leeward of the inlet, and perhaps eight off the shore. at least, i should like to believe we are. how is it you look so fresh, instead of worn out? where did you learn to make yourself at home in a boat?" "in toronto," said anthea. "i was there two years, and they are fond of yachting in that city. i once did some sailing in england too. what do you think of their boats? it is, perhaps, fortunate valentine made the _sorata_ a cutter, as they generally do, instead of a sloop. you could hardly have handled her under the latter's single headsail last night." "no," said jimmy, "i don't think i could. if she had been rigged that way she would probably have gone under by now. still, i don't see why you should expect me to know anything about english boats." anthea smiled as she looked at him. "perhaps you don't, though you don't invariably express yourself as a man would who had never been away from the pacific slope." "well," said jimmy reflectively, "it's not quite a sure thing that the way they talk in an english ship's forecastle is very much nicer." "there are more places in a mail-boat than her forecastle." it seemed to jimmy advisable to change the subject, and he made a little grimace as he glanced at the plate. "i'm afraid i've cleaned up everything," he said. anthea laughed. "which is quite as it should be. i can get more, and you can't. still, perhaps you have left some coffee." jimmy was about to point out that there was no cup, but refrained, for it flashed on him that his companion was, of course, aware of this, and he gravely handed her the jug. what her purpose was he did not know, and indeed he was never clear on this point, though he fancied that she had one; but it was, at least, evident that she was damp and chilled, and needed the physical stimulant. the trifling act, it seemed, might equally be a pledge of camaraderie, or a recognition of the fact that they were for the time being no more than man and woman between whom all distinctions had vanished in the face of peril; but he seemed to feel it had a still deeper significance. he had once held her in his arms, and now they had shared the same plate and drunk from the same vessel. then the _sorata_ reminded him that she required attention, for a sea seethed on board her forward, and when it poured into the cockpit he swung himself back to the coaming. a minute or two later he stretched out his hand, and the girl drew in her breath as she glanced ahead, for a sail materialized suddenly out of the vapor. it was suggestively slanted, and a dusky strip that looked very small appeared beneath it when it swung high on the crest of a sea. "siwashes," said jimmy; "one of their sea canoes. they have to keep her running. she wouldn't lie-to." the craft drew abreast of them, traveling wonderfully fast, and anthea long remembered how she drove by the _sorata_, hove half her length out of water, riding on the ridge of a big gray sea. she was entirely open, a long, narrow, bird-headed thing, and the foam she flung off forward seemed to lap over her after-half. a little drenched spritsail was spread from an insignificant mast, and four crouching figures with dusky faces were partly visible amidst the wisps of spray that whirled about her. one of them held a long paddle, and looked fixedly ahead; the others gazed at the _sorata_ expressionlessly until the craft swooped down between two seas. jimmy saw his companion's hands clench on the coaming, and the color ebb from her face, and then she gasped as the little strip of canvas swung into sight again. "ah!" she said, "it's a trifle horrible to watch them; and what must it be to steer her? how many of us in the cities know what the struggle for existence really is?" jimmy nodded assent. "at least," he said, "the thing is tolerably clear to the men who live at sea. if that siwash lost his nerve for a moment the next comber would swallow the canoe. after all, the sea knows no distinctions; white men and red men alike must face the strain." "in the big mail-boats too?" "of course. i'm not sure it isn't a little heavier there. when you are traveling as fast as a freight train there is little time to decide how you will clear a crossing steamer, or to pick out green from yellow among a blink of sliding lights. the man who fails is very apt to hurl as much as fourteen thousand tons of hull and cargo into destruction, and, perhaps, two thousand passengers into another world, though some vessels now carry more than that. the owner seldom gets rich when he doesn't; and there is, after all, no very great difference between his lot and that of the siwash, who stakes his life against the value of a few salmon or halibut." he broke off with a laugh. "hadn't you better go back? you are getting very wet." anthea did so, and it was almost noon when she came up again. jimmy still sat at the tiller, and his wet face looked a trifle worn; but the breeze had softened, and as the girl glanced round her, a shaft of sunlight fell suddenly upon the foaming sea. "yes," said jimmy, "it's blowing itself out. i expect we'll be able to shake the reefs out of the trysail and beat up for the inlet before it's dark. if it were necessary i would run her before it now." "wouldn't there be shelter in one of the inlets to leeward?" asked the girl, with a very natural longing to escape from the strain and turmoil. "it's very probable," said jimmy. "i dare say i could make one. still, you see----" he stopped, and anthea flushed ever so slightly, for it was evident to her that she and her companion could not extend that cruise indefinitely in company with valentine's hired man. "of course!" she said. "austerly will be horribly anxious. well, if you think you could leave the tiller lashed, i have dinner ready." "i believe i could. still, it might be awkward to get back fast enough from the forecastle in case of necessity." "i wonder," said the girl, "whether you have any very decided objections to sitting down with us in the saloon? if you have, it would make it necessary for nellie or me to bring the things out to you." jimmy fancied that the last was an inspiration, and after a glance to windward went down into the saloon, which was very wet. miss austerly, who seemed to have stood the shaking better than he expected, reclined on one settee with her feet drawn up for the sake of dryness, and she smiled at him. he wondered when he saw how the little swing-table was set. miss merril, finding the crockery kept for charterers mostly smashed, had apparently come upon valentine's enameled and indurated ware. there was no restraint upon any of them during the meal. the fact that the breeze was undoubtedly falling would have been sufficient in itself to restore their cheerfulness, but jimmy was also sensible of a curious exhilaration, and discoursed whimsically upon various topics besides the sea. in fact, he was astonished to find that he had been away an hour when at last he went back to the cockpit. the breeze was falling rapidly, and before anthea prepared the supper, which was, as usual in that country, at about six o'clock, he had set the whole trysail, and soon afterward he got the reefed mainsail up. by midnight the _sorata_ was close in with the coast, working fast to windward through smooth water with her biggest topsail set, while a half-moon hung low in the western sky. the sea gleamed silver under it, and scarcely half a mile away dim hillsides and long ranks of somber pines half-veiled in fleecy mists went sliding by. the soft gleam of the swinging lamps in the saloon shone out in faint streams of colored radiance through the skylights, and, late as it was, nellie austerly nestled well wrapped up on a locker in the cockpit. she watched the long swell break away from beneath the bows in glittering cascades, and jimmy fancied he knew what she was thinking when she gazed aloft at the tall spire of canvas that shone in the moonlight as white as the peak ahead of them. it was a nocturne in blue and silver, and if sound were wanted, the splashing at the bows and the deep rumble of the surf emphasized the softer harmonies of the night. "you are not so very sorry we were blown off, after all?" he asked. the girl smiled. "no," she said; "i managed to sleep through a good deal of it, and now i feel almost as fresh as if i had stayed ashore. besides, this would make up for anything. one could almost wish we could sail south with the topsail up under the moonlight--forever. in spite of the bad weather, i have been so well since i came to sea." "just the three of us?" asked jimmy unguardedly. he saw the twinkle in the girl's eyes as she glanced at her companion, who sat close by. "i wonder," she said, "whether you would like that, anthea? i almost think i should." the moonlight sufficed to show the faint tinge of color in anthea's face, but she laughed. "and what about your father?" nellie austerly did not appear concerned. "it is very undutiful, for he must have been anxious; but i really can't help feeling amused when i think of him and mr. valentine being left on the beach to sleep in the siwash rancherie. one understands they are rather dreadful places, and he is so horribly particular, you know." anthea said nothing further, and presently the two girls went below, but they were about again when, soon after six o'clock next morning, jimmy beat the _sorata_ into the inlet. indeed, he left anthea at the tiller while he went into the saloon to look for a piece of spun yarn which valentine kept in one of the lockers. nellie austerly smiled at him as he opened it. "i suppose we shall be in very soon, and i want to thank you now for bringing me back safe," she said. "anthea, of course, can thank you for herself." jimmy felt a trifle embarrassed. "i really don't see why she should. i think the charter covers anything i have done." the girl made a little whimsical gesture. "does it? you are not a regular yacht-hand, really?" "i am, at least, mate of a lumber-carrying schooner, which comes to much the same thing." the twinkle in nellie austerly's eyes grew plainer. "i can be quite frank with mr. valentine and you, and perhaps it is because i like you both. you can make what you think fit of that. still, i haven't asked you how long you have been on board the schooner, and one understands there are a good many opportunities for men--like you and mr. valentine--in this country." jimmy was a little startled, for it almost seemed that she had guessed his thoughts, but he smiled. "valentine seems to have all he wants already. he is content with the sea." the girl laughed. "well," she said, "i don't think the sea would altogether satisfy him. but i must not keep you here; hadn't you better make sure anthea isn't running us ashore?" jimmy went up, and found the _sorata_ was smoothly slipping by the climbing pines; and a little later her dory with three white men in it came sliding toward them as he hauled the topsail down. chapter ix merril tightens the screw the _sorata_ went to sea again next morning, and one night a week later she bore up for vancouver before a westerly breeze. a thin crescent moon had just cleared the dim white line of the mainland snow, and the sea glittered faintly in her frothing wake under a vast sweep of dusky blue. the big topsail swayed across it, blotting out the stars, and there was a rhythmic splashing beneath the bows. anthea merril stood at the tiller outlined against the heave of sea, for the night was warm and she was dressed in white. nellie austerly sat on a locker in the cockpit, and her father on the saloon skylights with a cigar in his hand. valentine lay on the deck not far away, and jimmy a little further forward. "i suppose we will be in soon after daylight, and i'm sorry," said nellie austerly. "it has been an almost perfect cruise in spite of the bad weather. don't you wish we were going back again, instead of home, anthea?" jimmy roused himself to attention, for he would very much have liked to hear miss merril's real thoughts on the matter; but she laughed. "i don't think it would be very much use if i did," she said. "one can't go sailing always--and if you feel that that is a pity, you can think of the rain and the wind." "ah!" said nellie austerly, "one has to bear so much of them everywhere. sometimes one wonders whether life is all gray days and rain; but this trip has made me better, and, perhaps, if mr. valentine will take us, we will go back next year and revel once more in the sea and the sunshine--we really had a good deal of the latter." jimmy saw his comrade make a little abrupt movement, and guessed what he was thinking, for he too realized that before another year nellie austerly would in all probability have slipped away from the sad gray weather to the shores of the glassy sea where there is eternal radiance. then austerly looked around, and his observation was very matter-of-fact, as usual. "if circumstances are propitious, i should be glad to arrange it," he said. "i certainly think mr. valentine has done everything he could for us. indeed, we owe it largely to him that this has been such a pleasant trip." he appeared to expect some expression of approval, and anthea laughed. "of course. it's only unfortunate he couldn't arrange the weather." "i wonder," said nellie reflectively, "why you both leave jimmy out?" there was a certain suggestiveness in the girl's tone which jimmy noticed, though he did not think her father did, and he wished it had been light enough to see anthea merril's face; but unfortunately it was not. she appeared to disregard the question, and glanced in valentine's direction. "couldn't we have the big spinnaker up?" she asked. valentine hesitated a little. the breeze was moderately fresh and the _sorata_ traveling fast enough, while it is not a very easy thing to steer a craft running under the great three-cornered sail, which is apt to swing over in case of a blunder at the tiller. "you could hold her steady before the wind?" he asked. "if i don't, i will make my father buy you a new mast," said anthea. valentine made a little gesture which was expressive of resignation. it was, he had discovered, singularly hard to say no to anthea merril; but it seemed to him that the new mast might be needed if she ventured too far now. he and jimmy between them got the great sail up and its boom run out, though it cost them an effort; and then jimmy glanced aft with more than a trace of uneasiness at the white figure at the helm. the _sorata_ had now on each side of her a swelling mass of canvas that dwarfed the narrow strip of hull, and she swung each of them high in turn as she rolled viciously. still, as far as jimmy could see, the girl stood very composedly at the tiller. then, as the great mainboom went up high above the sea, valentine signed to him. "you had better get out and steady it," he said. "it wouldn't need much to bring that boom over." jimmy crawled out on the slippery spar, and sat astride near the end of it, while valentine made his way along the one beneath the spinnaker. their weight checked the lifting of the sails in some degree, but for the first few minutes it seemed to jimmy that they and their companions were hazarding a good deal. if the girl at the helm let the tiller swing a hand's-breadth too much when the _sorata_, piling the froth about her, rushed up a dim slope of water, either mainsail or spinnaker would swing over, and the men on the booms would have no opportunity for attempting to obviate the unpleasantness that would certainly succeed it. in all probability they would be flung off headlong into the sea. still, the sail did not come over, for the _sorata_ drove along straight before the wind, and once more jimmy paid silent homage to the girl at the tiller. he could see her only dimly, a blurred white shape against the dusky sea, but he could imagine the little glow in her eyes and the way in which her lips were pressed together. he had seen her look that way when she sat beside him in the cockpit one wild morning as the _sorata_ plunged over the great pacific combers, and it seemed to him that she was one who would face difficulties and perils of any kind as unwaveringly. indeed, he was angry with himself for having fancied there was any hazard at all in leaving her to steer the _sorata_ under spinnaker, for he felt that anthea merril must necessarily be capable of carrying out anything she had undertaken. so he swung contentedly with the lifting boom, now hove high above the dark water, now dropped down until his feet were almost in the streaming froth, while shadowy islets clothed with pines sprang out of the sea ahead, grew into solid blurs of blackness, and flitted by, until at last austerly said that his daughter must go below. then valentine and jimmy came in along the booms, stowed the spinnaker with some difficulty, and dropped the topsail too, for the dim mainland shore was black ahead when the rest left the deck to them. "that girl has quite excellent nerves," said valentine. "still, what i like about her is that she doesn't think it necessary to impress it on you. her husband won't have much to complain of if she ever marries anybody, though i'm not sure that's certain." "not certain?" said jimmy. "no," replied valentine reflectively. "a girl of her kind is apt to be particular. the man who pleases her would have to be quite straight, and it's scarcely likely he'd go to leeward either." jimmy fancied that his comrade was right, though he said nothing, for after all it was, as he compelled himself to admit, no concern of his. however, he sighed a little as he went down and crawled into his cot, leaving valentine to feel his way along the dusky shore. it was early next morning when they rowed austerly and his two companions ashore, and the man shook hands with them on the wharf. "i feel that i am indebted to both of you," he said with somewhat unusual diffidence. "in fact, i can't exactly consider that the attention you have shown my daughter is no more than one would expect--from the charter." he seemed to feel that he was becoming involved, and went on abruptly. "she desires me to say that it would be a pleasure should either of you care to call at any time." jimmy left him to valentine, and, when the latter had handed miss austerly into the waiting vehicle, saw that anthea merril was looking at him. "if you don't mind my saying so, i think that was rather good of austerly," she said. "you probably know his point of view, and i daresay it cost him an effort. i think your comrade should go. nellie finds him amusing, and there is naturally not very much in her life that pleases her." she stopped with a little soft laugh. "mr. wheelock--isn't it? i haven't the least difficulty in saying as much as austerly did. any time you or mr. valentine care to call i should be glad to receive you. our house is always open, and anybody will tell you where it is." jimmy once more remembered that he had on a pair of burst canvas shoes, as well as old duck trousers cobbled with sail twine, and a man-o'-war cap that had grown shapeless with the rain. he also realized that his companion was quite aware of it too. "i'm afraid it wouldn't be a very appropriate thing if i did," he said. anthea looked at him steadily. "pshaw!" she said. "still, you really can't expect me to urge you." perhaps it was a slight relief to both of them that valentine signed to jimmy just then. "they want this box," he said. "the rest of the things are to wait for the express wagon." jimmy, who turned away, heaved the box into the vehicle, and did not see the curious little smile in anthea merril's eyes. in a few minutes she had driven away, and, he fancied, had passed out of his life altogether. he stood still on the wharf and sighed. "well," said valentine, "where are you going now?" "straight back to the schooner," said jimmy. "i see her lying outside the steamboat yonder. you might bring my things across when you have straightened up the boat." valentine promised to do so, and jimmy, who strode away, met jordan, whom he had not expected to see there, on the water-front. "what are you doing in vancouver?" he asked. "looking after my patent rights--among other things," said jordan. "the mill's shut down for two or three weeks anyway. between the stone in the water and the new detergent the directors insisted on my using, the boiler has 'most turned herself inside out. our people have their office here, as you know, and my agreement with them only stands for another month, while it seems that merril has been buying up their stock. i'm not sure his notions are going to suit me. you heard we had to break off your father's contract?" "i hadn't, though i was afraid it would happen," said jimmy, whose face grew a trifle grim. "that was merril's doing?" "it was. i couldn't help the thing. but we can't talk here; won't you come along to my hotel?" jimmy glanced at his garments, and jordan grinned. "those things don't count for so much here," he said. "anyway, there was a time when i tramped into the wooden cities along puget sound looking way more like a dead-beat than you do now. still, if that's going to worry you, can't you get a boat and take me for a sail?" jimmy was sorry that it was out of the question. he had spent only a few evenings with jordan at the mill, but he liked the man, and was vaguely sensible that jordan liked him. "valentine and i have just run in, and i must see how the old man is getting along," he said. "after that i fancy i ought to go over to a ranch on the westminster road, and look up my sister. i haven't seen her since i came home." "well," said jordan, "i've nothing on hand until to-morrow. what's the matter with taking me? i'll hire a team somewhere and drive you. i can drop you at the ranch, and go on to westminster." they arranged it during the next few minutes, and then jimmy was rowed off to the _tyee_. prescott met him as he climbed on board, and a glance at his face showed jimmy that things had not been going well. "you will be wanted," he said. "your father has been getting very shaky since you went away, and i don't quite see how he's to hold on to the schooner, now that he has lost that lumber contract and has to face the carpenter's bill. guess he's worrying over it. hasn't got up the last three days, and the doctor don't seem to know what is wrong with him." jimmy went down into the little stern cabin with a sinking heart, and found tom wheelock lying propped up in his berth. he looked very old and haggard, and the perspiration stood beaded on his face, in which pale patches showed through the bronze. "glad you've got back, boy," he said. "you'll have to take hold soon--that is, if there's anything left to get a grip on. the old man's played out." this, it seemed to jimmy, was painfully evident, and though he contrived to hide it, a sense of dismay crept over him as he sat down. tom wheelock looked played out, and though his son was ready to take up his burden, he felt it would be heavy. he realized that through the compassion he felt, and then a sudden fit of anger against the man who had crushed his father came over him. the color darkened a trifle in his face, but he put a restraint upon himself. "you'll be about again in a day or two," he said cheerily. "now, tell me all about it. but first of all, what is the matter with you?" the old man looked at him with a curious little smile. "the doctor bob brought off didn't quite seem to know, but i could have told him. guess i'm done, boy. it's quite likely i'll crawl out on deck for a little while, but how's that going to count? nobody's going to have any more use for your father, jimmy, and when the month is up merril will take the schooner from him." jimmy clenched a big brown fist, but his voice was very quiet. "well," he said, "i want to understand what has happened since i went away." wheelock reached out for the pipe that lay near him, and fumbled with it, spilling the tobacco with shaky fingers, until jimmy quietly took it from him, and struck a match as he handed it back to him. the old man raised himself a trifle as he lighted it, and then laid a trembling hand on his son's arm. "i guess i've worked as hard as most other men, but somehow i don't seem to have gone to windward as the rest did," he said. "perhaps i was too easy with the money, and a little slack in other ways. still, your blood's red, jimmy, and there's a streak of hard sand in you. you got it from your mother; it was she who made me. hard work don't count, boy. you want to get your elbows into the other people who're standing in your way. well, i'm glad there's that streak of grit in you. you'll get those fingers on the throat of the man who brought your father down, and gripe the life out of him, some day." he broke off abruptly, and fumbled with his pipe, which had gone out again. "let that go; it's fool talk, jimmy. what do i want putting my trouble on to you? guess you'll have plenty of your own, boy." "i think i asked you to tell me what merril had done," said jimmy. "kept us here under repairs while the lumber was piling up on the sawmill wharf. i 'most guess he'd fixed the thing with the boss carpenter. i was to bring all that the people at the inlet cut for victoria or vancouver down fast as it was ready, or they were to let up on the contract; but jordan would have made things easy if merril hadn't bought their stock and put the screw on hard." "it wouldn't be worth his while to buy the stock for that." "the thing's quite plain. he's playing a bigger game. wants control of all that's going on along that coast, and its carrying. guess i can't stop his getting the _tyee_, and she's the second boat he has taken from me. well, i may get a freight of ore in a week or two, and, it's quite likely, a load from a cannery--go up light--freight one way. how's that going to count, though, when there's the carpenter's bill to meet, and a big instalment on the bond with interest due?" "how much?" jimmy asked, harshly. he sat silent a while, with a hard, set face, when his father told him. "then he must have the vessel. still, he'll have to sell her by auction," he said by and by. "that won't count. when i've nobody to run the price up against him, it's quite easy for a man like merril to fix the thing. he'll get one of his friends to buy her in at 'bout half her value, and the bond don't quite call for that. it isn't everybody wants a vessel, and the few men who do fix these things between them." jimmy set his lips, and once more there was silence for a while. then he looked up with a little abrupt movement. "there's a question in front of us to be faced--and i'm going to find the answer; but we won't talk any more about it now. i'm going over with jordan this afternoon to see eleanor. you can get along until to-night without me?" wheelock made a sign of concurrence. "i guess it's a thing you ought to do. got a letter from her yesterday, and she was asking about you. eleanor's like you. take after your mother, both of you, and, if anything, the harder grit's in her. you have to remember, jimmy, you can't afford to show a soft spot when you're fighting a man like merril." he stopped a moment, with a sigh. "guess he is too hard for your father. won't you light me this pipe again? my hand's shaky." chapter x eleanor wheelock jordan was driving a spirited team along the water-front when jimmy came up from the wharf, and he smiled when the latter swung himself up into the light, four-wheeled vehicle. jimmy was dressed tastefully in his english shore-going clothes, and now looked very much unlike a yacht-hand. he was well endued physically, and, though the bronze in his face and a certain steadiness of gaze betrayed his calling, there was an indefinite but unmistakable stamp upon him which he had acquired on board the big mail-boats, and perhaps also in a greater measure from his comrades on the battleship. jimmy had certainly not cultivated it, and was, in fact, not aware that he possessed it, but his companion had already recognized it. "take a cigar, and light it before i let the team out. they look as if they could go," he said. jimmy did so, and then found it somewhat difficult to keep his seat as his comrade sent the horses through the city as fast as they could lay hoof to the ground, and out of it past the clustering wooden hovels in its less reputable quarter, and up the slope that led into the shadowy bush. roads are not remarkable for their smoothness anywhere in that country, but it was evident that jordan liked fast traveling and could handle a team. he laughed when jimmy said so. "i come of farmer stock, and that's probably why i always had a notion of the sea," he said. "if you look at it in one way, the thing's quite natural." "i suppose it is," said jimmy. "why didn't you go to sea?" "it seemed to me one has mighty few chances of picking up money there, though i found out quite early that the poor man has no great show anywhere. it was a mortgage he couldn't pay off that broke up my father." he stopped for a moment, with a little confidential gesture. "i guess that's why i wanted to do what i could for your father. in one or two ways he's very much like the man i buried back in washington. he was straight--and it wasn't his fault if he didn't whale all the meanness out of me--but, when smartness means getting your grip on what belongs to somebody else, he was just a trifle slow. he worked hard, and gave every man a hundred cents' worth for his dollar--and that's quite likely why there was mighty little but a mortgage on the ranch when he died." jimmy was not astonished, in view of their short acquaintance, that his companion should tell him this. he was aware that reticence is not a prominent characteristic of the men of the pacific slope, and, besides this, there was a rapidly growing sympathy between himself and jordan. still, he sat silent, and his companion spoke again. "i was about sixteen then, and i saw i had to make out differently," he said. "well, somehow i've done it--looked on this life as a battle where the hurt man gets no mercy, and i've cleared quite a little money on my royalties--but now and then the memory of those old days on the ranch comes back to me. then i feel that if ever it's necessary for me to get my knife into any kind of mortgage man, it will be red right to the hilt when it comes out again." the snap in his companion's dark eyes and the hardening of his lips were comprehensible to jimmy, for he had once or twice been sensible of much the same feeling. jordan had, as is usual in the land to which he belonged, expressed himself frankly, and perhaps a trifle crudely; but jimmy recognized that it was with very genuine tenderness and regret he remembered the man he had buried long ago in washington. he asked an abrupt question, which did not, however, altogether change the subject. "will you be here any time?" he said. "i don't quite know. there's no reason i shouldn't tell you what i can, and i feel like talking now. i'm quite pleased to run that mill up the inlet for our people, that is, while they leave me to fix things as i like them; but as i told you, merril has been getting his grip on the stock lately, and his views about the royalties on my patents don't quite coincide with mine. i've a couple of other notions that will save labor which our company has not bought up, and it's quite likely i'll turn them over to the hastings people. in the meanwhile i'm not going to rush things, and it's probable i'll hang on until we've had the stockholders' meeting." "then it's merril who is standing in your way?" jordan smiled dryly. "now you understand the thing. seems to me neither of us has any great reason to like that man." nothing more was said on that point, and by and by they left the scented shadow of the pines, and clattered across a wooden bridge which spanned the turbid, green fraser, into a stretch of sunlit meadows and oatfields formed by the silt the great river had brought down. in due time they reached a wooden ranch flanked by shadowy bush, and jordan, pulling the team up before it, glanced down the long white road that leads to new westminster, a few miles away. "i guess i'll go on to town, and come back for you," he said. "still, you had better make sure you're at the right place first." jimmy got down, and a man who had apparently heard the beat of hoofs, commenced to throw down the split slip-rails which in western canada usually serve as gates. "yes," he said, when jimmy spoke to him, "this is forster's ranch. in fact, that is my name." he was dressed in the bush-rancher's jean, but he had a pleasant face with a certain hint of refinement in it, and smiled when jimmy told him who he was. "miss wheelock's brother? come right in and put your team up," he said. "it's not more than an hour or so until supper. your friend will come with you?" supper is usually served at six o'clock in that country, and in no way differs from the other meals of the day; while nobody acquainted with its customs would have considered it an unusual thing for the rancher to extend the invitation to jimmy's companion. jordan once more glanced down the road to new westminster, and, though none of them knew it, a good deal was to depend on the fact that he elected to stay. "well," he said, turning to jimmy, "i don't want to worry you, but the fact is, one of the lumber people yonder has been writing me about my gang-saw frame, and, after thinking the thing out last night, i'd sooner hold him off a while. i'd have to call on the man if i drove into town, and, after all, it might be wiser to keep clear of him." "then you had better get down," said forster. "while miss wheelock talks to her brother you can walk round the ranch with me. i don't see many strangers, and i'm by no means busy." jordan got down, and, after spending an hour with forster, was somewhat astonished when he was presented to miss wheelock in the big general room of the ranch. it was roughly paneled with cedar, very simply furnished, and had, as usual, an uncovered floor, while the sunlight that streamed through the uncurtained window fell upon the girl. she stood still a moment looking at him when she had acknowledged his greeting, and for once, at least, the sawmiller felt almost embarrassed, for eleanor wheelock possessed, as her brother did not, a somewhat striking personality. jimmy might have passed for a quiet englishman; but his sister was typically western in everything but speech--tall, wiry, and a trifle straight of figure, but with something that was almost imperious in her attitude. she had light hair like jimmy's, but there was a reddish gleam in it, and her eyes which had a glint in them were of a paler blue, while her skin was of a curious colorless purity. jordan could not analyze her features, but he felt that she was beautiful, and there was a suggestion of vigor about her that further attracted him. one would scarcely have called her domineering, but she had not, as her brother recognized, the quiet graciousness and composure which half-concealed anthea merril's strength of character. jordan, however, was not too discriminating. he liked vigor in any guise, and he noticed that one of the two little girls who had entered with her clung to her hand. "i think i passed you twice in vancouver one day a month or two ago," she said. jordan made her a little inclination, and his western candor was free alike from awkwardness or any hint of presumption. "then i didn't see you. if i had done so, i should certainly have remembered it." eleanor laughed, and turned to the others. "it's ten minutes since jake called you. will you sit here, jimmy, with mr. jordan next to you? mrs. forster is away just now." she moved to the head of the table, and the usual ranch supper of pork, potatoes, flapjacks, hot cakes, desiccated fruits, and green tea was brought in. forster, who appeared to be a man of education, made an excellent host, but it was eleanor and jordan who led most of the conversation, and there was delicacy as well as keenness in their badinage. almost an hour had passed before the party rose, which was a very unusual thing in that country, for the westerner seldom wastes much time over his meals. then, as it happened, it was jimmy who walked round the ranch with forster, while jordan sat on the veranda with eleanor and the little girls while the shadows of the firs crept slowly up to it. they talked about a good many things, while each felt that they were just skirting a confidence, until the little girl who sat next to jordan looked up at him gravely. "why don't you go and see the cows with father and the other man?" she asked. jordan laughed, but he looked at eleanor. "well," he said, "for one thing, i guess it's a good deal nicer here." miss wheelock met his glance with a directness which, had his disposition and training been different, he might have found disconcerting. she was, like himself, absolutely devoid of affectation, and he felt that she was quietly making an estimate of him. still, there was not a great deal in his character that he had occasion to hide from any one, and the evident sincerity of his observation was in itself an excuse for it. it was characteristic of the girl that she let it pass, not with the obvious intention of ignoring it because that appeared advisable, but as though she had never heard it. when a thing did not appeal to eleanor wheelock, she simply brushed it aside. "have you met the miss merril jimmy mentioned?" she asked. "i almost fancy she is the girl i used to see now and then when i was in toronto. what is she like?" jordan, who had met anthea merril in vancouver, told her as well as he was able, and eleanor's lips set in a straight line. "one could fancy you were not fond of miss merril," he said. "i have never spoken to her; but i have no great reason to feel well-disposed toward anybody of that family." "ah!" said jordan; "that means jimmy has told you what merril is doing. i'm no friend of that man's either, but i'm not quite sure one could reasonably hold the girl responsible for her father." "especially when she's pretty? still, she is his daughter, and must be like him in some respects." jordan's eyes twinkled. "do you consider yourself like your father?" eleanor flashed a swift glance at him. "you are keener than i expected. in reality i am not like him in the least, though i don't know why i should trouble to admit it. in any case, i think the rule generally holds good." she dismissed the subject abruptly, with a laugh. "after all, our affairs can't interest you. you can't have seen very much of my brother." jordan appeared to consider this. "i'm not sure that counts," he said. "i seem to have been a friend of jimmy's quite a long while. there are people who make you feel that, even when it isn't so, although they may not consciously want to. one can't tell how they do it--but i think you have the power in you." "i don't know," said eleanor. "i am, however, by no means certain that i was ever very anxious to make friends with anybody." "that's comprehensible. you would sooner they wanted to make friends with you, and if no one did, you would be sufficient for yourself." eleanor looked at him with a chilly smile. "you have a certain penetration, but i don't know that there is any reason why i should confess to you. how do you come to know anything about mr. merril?" jordan, who appeared to have no doubt as to her ability to understand him, in which he was warranted, told her. "well," she said, "suppose this man's influence is too strong for you, and you have to break your connection with the mill?" "there are two or three other things i could turn to." "one would suppose as much;" and jordan took it as a compliment, which perhaps it was, especially as the girl had not said it with the least desire to gratify him. "still, that is not what i mean. would you try to find any means of retaliating?" "if he afterward got in my way--that is, thrust himself between me and something i wanted to do--i would try all i could to get my foot on him, and then perhaps keep it there a little longer than was necessary." "you would go no further?" jordan knew what she meant, though he could not grasp her purpose in pressing the point. "it wouldn't be business if i did. when a man starts out to make money he can't afford to load himself up with purely personal grievances. if another man tries to get the things you want you naturally have to fight, but it's wiser to grin and bear it when he's too smart for you. still, there are cases when the feeling that you would like to get even afterward is apt to be 'most too much for human nature." "and in some respects you could be very human?" jordan turned to her with the twinkle still in his eyes. "well," he said, "if i let any weakness of that kind master me in the present case, i should be very much like the black-tail deer that turned around on the man with the rifle. still, one can't invariably be wise." his manner was whimsical, but it seemed to eleanor there was something behind it, for when he broke off a faint glint which she understood crept into his eyes. "sometimes accidents happen to the man with the rifle," she said. "in the meanwhile, i rather fancy jimmy is making signs to you." "then," said jordan gravely, "i'm not sure i'm much obliged to him. but before i go there's something i want to ask: would it be a liberty if i came back here with him some day?" "you would like to come?" "of course. why do i ask?" eleanor laughed. "that is what i was wondering. i almost think a man likely to get even with mr. merril would do what he wanted. anyway, you know the customs of the country as well as i do, and i scarcely think forster and his wife would mind." jordan rose, and kissed the child he picked up and held high in his arms. "well," he said, "since--forster and his wife--wouldn't mind, i shall very probably come along again by and by." he turned and went down the veranda stairway, while the little girl looked at her companion gravely. "i like that man. he's nice," she said. "you like him too, don't you?" eleanor was beckoning jimmy, but the child went on. "well," she said, "he thinks you nice, i know. i could tell it by the way he looked at you. perhaps you didn't see him, but i did." eleanor laughed, for she had naturally noticed every glance jordan had cast in her direction, and had understood it. that, however, did not count for very much with her. she recognized in jordan something that pleased her, and she had a vague fancy that there were things he might be able to do for jimmy and her father in the difficulties she foresaw. there was, she admitted reluctantly, after all, a good deal that a woman could not do; but in the meanwhile the feeling went no further. then while jordan and forster harnessed the team, jimmy joined her. "you will have to stay in the province, jimmy. you can't go back to sea," she said. "your father will need somebody beside him now." jimmy only smiled, but the girl made a little gesture of comprehension. "oh," she said, "i know how hard it is for you. you will have to give up your career." "it can't be helped," said the man simply, "and i may make another here." eleanor laid her hand on his arm, and pressed it. "i knew you would face it like that. there's just one other thing. hold on to that man jordan; i think he will make you a good friend." "you like him?" "that," said eleanor, "is quite another matter. anyway, he is a man who could be depended on--and i think he could be firm on points where you might waver. you are a little too good-natured, jimmy." jordan drove his team up before they had said much more, and forster shook hands with jimmy as he stood beside the vehicle. "from what your sister has told us, i dare say you are a trifle anxious about--things in general--just now," he said. "if it is any relief to you, i would like to say that mrs. forster and i think very highly of your sister, and that so long as she cares to stay with us we should be very glad to do what we can for her." jimmy thanked the rancher, and swung himself up into the vehicle, while jordan turned to him as they drove away. "they think very highly of her! they'd be--idiots if they didn't," he said. "of course, i don't know if that's quite the kind of thing you appreciate from me." jimmy said nothing, as was usual with him when he was not sure what he felt, but jordan went on. "i never expected to find you had a sister like that," he said. "she's very different from you in many ways. one feels that's a girl with 'most enough capacity for anything." jimmy looked at him with a whimsical smile, and jordan laughed. "now," he said, "i might have expressed myself differently. what i mean is that you're a good deal more like your father than she is." "ah!" said jimmy. "well, perhaps you're right. in fact, the same thing has struck me occasionally." chapter xi at auction jimmy went back to the ranch beside the fraser once, but jordan went without him several times, for forster apparently found his company congenial. it happened that he contrived to see a good deal of eleanor wheelock during his visits, but neither of them mentioned this to jimmy, who, indeed, would probably have concerned himself little about it had he heard of it, since he had other things to think about just then. merril had sent his father a formal notice that unless the money due should be paid by a certain time, the schooner would be sold as stipulated in the bond, and, though tom wheelock had expected nothing else, he apparently collapsed altogether under the final blow. jordan, who had just come back from forster's ranch, arrived on board the _tyee_ while the doctor was talking to jimmy, and, strolling forward, he sat down on the windlass and commenced a conversation with prescott, with whom he had promptly made friends. in the meanwhile, jimmy looked at the doctor a trifle wearily as he leaned on the rail. "perhaps my mind's not as clear as usual to-day, but these scientific terms don't convey very much to me," he said. "in plain english, then," said the doctor, "it is general break-down your father is suffering from, though it is intensified by a partial loss of control over the muscles on one side of him. the latter trouble is, perhaps, the result of what one might call constitutional causes, but, as you seem to fancy, worry and nervous strain, or a shock of any kind, may have accelerated it or brought about the climax." "well," said jimmy hoarsely, "the cure?" the doctor's tone was sympathetic. "to be quite frank, there is none. it is possible, even probable, that he may recover sufficiently to hobble about a little, but he will never be fit for any active occupation again." "ah!" said jimmy, with a little indrawing of his breath. "still, it is only what i expected, and i suppose i must face it. you are quite sure about that shock?" the doctor looked at him curiously. "i want you to understand that it probably brought about the climax, though such things don't often happen in the case of a vigorous man. your father has, i should fancy, in ordinary language, been losing his grip for several years. in his case the natural decline of physical strength has, perhaps, been accelerated by undue anxiety, and----" he hesitated, and jimmy made a quick sign of comprehension. "oh, yes," he said, "i know. still, i'm not sure that anybody could blame him, under the circumstances. well, i think the thing that brought about the climax has been steadily preparing him to break down under it; but, after all, that does not concern you." the doctor, who admitted this, gave him certain directions before he went away, and jimmy descended to the little cabin where tom wheelock lay. he looked up and nodded when his son came in. "well," he said, with a faint smile, "i guess by the names that doctor calls it, i've got enough to kill any man. wouldn't talk quite straight, but i know as well as he does that i'm not going to worry you very long, and that's just as it should be. merril takes the schooner, and you'll go back to the blue water. i was never good for very much, anyway, after your mother had gone. she stood behind me and kept things going." jimmy sat down, and, much as he desired it, could think of nothing apposite to say. he felt that there are occasions on which one should speak clearly, but, as not infrequently happens, it was just then that he was usually dumb. perhaps tom wheelock understood this, for once more he smiled as he looked at him. "i wouldn't worry about it, jimmy," he said. jimmy was still tongue-tied, but one result of his father's observations was that fierce anger commenced to mingle with his distress, and he felt his nature stir in protest. merril would take the _tyee_--that could not be helped--but it seemed an insufferable thing that for the paltry value of the schooner he should have crushed this frail and broken man. jimmy clenched a firm brown hand, and felt his fingers itch for a grip on the bondholder's throat. there was silence for a while, intensified by the soft splash of ripples against the _tyee_'s planking, and jimmy afterward remembered how his father's worn face showed up in the stream of light that shone down through the skylights into the shadowy cabin. he lay wrapped in old and dirty blankets, a worn-out and broken man who stood in the way of one who was stronger. he held an unlighted pipe in his limp and nerveless hand, and the cabin reeked with unsavory odors. it was unclean and wholly comfortless, and it seemed to jimmy, who was fresh from the luxury of the mail-boats, almost horrible that the man to whom he owed his being should lie there in sordid misery. at last he straightened himself resolutely. "there are several points to consider," he said. "the schooner will be sold--that's certain--and i must find a room for you ashore. it's fortunate that one difficulty can be got over. men who can work seem to be in demand here just now, and when merril sells the _tyee_ there ought to be a few dollars over." "there might be if we had anybody to bid against him and run the figure up, but we haven't. anyway, bob and i have been talking things over this morning. he has had 'most enough of the sea, and one of the c.p.r. men will put him on a soft thing on the wharf. well, we're going to take one of the little frame-houses just back of the town between us. not quite a mansion, jimmy, but there are four rooms in it." jimmy felt inclined to groan, for he had seen the very primitive and unattractive dwellings in question, but he knew that rents are high in that city and money somewhat hard to earn anywhere. still, it was in one way a relief to turn the conversation in this direction, and by and by he remembered that jordan was awaiting him and went up on deck. the latter sat down and pulled out his cigar-case. "take one, and then tell me what's troubling you," he said. "i'll own up that i got some notion out of prescott." jimmy found it a relief to comply, and talked for several minutes while jordan listened attentively. "you have got to stay here," said the latter. "that's a sure thing; but there's not much sense in your notion of track-grading for the railroad or wharf-laboring. you wait a week or two, and i fancy i can suggest something by then that will suit you." "i don't know why you should trouble about it," said jimmy. "we'll let that go;" and jordan looked at him with a smile in his keen dark eyes. "your sister and i have been talking about you. she feels that you ought to stay with the old man, too." it did not occur to jimmy that there was anything significant in this, for he was too anxious to concern himself about anything then except the question as to how he was to secure his father's comfort. "i've been thinking about the auction," he said. "so have i," said jordan. "now, i'm going to talk straight to you. i've invented one or two sawmill fixings; and they've brought me in some money, as you know; but i want considerably more, and i've always had a notion that it was business and not sawing redwood logs i was meant for. well, merril wants me out of that mill, and it seems to me there's room for a big extension of the coast-carrying trade of this country. that's merril's notion too. i once thought of buying this schooner--that is, wiping out your father's loan--and putting you in command of her. now, don't get hold of it the wrong way--it was the money there might be in it i was after." he smiled as he saw the faint flush on jimmy's face. "then i fancied there might be more in steam, and that since merril wants the _tyee_, i'd let him have her--at a figure. anything she brings over and above the bond goes to your father. well, i'll put on a broker to bid for her who knows his business. if i have to take her i guess i could get my money back by sailing her, and, anyway, the broker will run merril up. you couldn't do it, because you'd be asked for security that you could put up the money. now, that's about all, except that i want you not to take hold of anything that may be offered you until the auction's over and you have had a talk with me. i've got to go back to the mill to-morrow for a week or two." "i don't want to be ungracious, but there is no reason why you should burden yourself with my affairs." "no," said jordan dryly, "i guess there isn't. i'm out for money, and that's why i figure that a man who knows as much about the sea as you do might be of some use to me. you'll promise, anyway?" jimmy did so, and felt that he had done wisely when his comrade went away. there was, after all, no reason why jordan should not befriend him if he wished to, and he had a curious confidence in the man. it was, however, two or three weeks later, and only a few minutes before the auction which was to be held in a room ashore, when he saw him again. he did not know that jordan, who had arrived in the city two days ago, had spent most of one of them at forster's ranch. jimmy, who had promised tom wheelock to attend the sale, was walking up and down the street waiting for the time announced, when jordan strolled up to him with a cigar in his hand. "had to come down to see our people here," he said, which was, as it happened, correct enough. "went round this morning and saw that broker man. he's coming along, and if it will be any relief to you i'll hand you on his bill. of course, i could have made my own bid, but these fellows know the tricks of the game, and i'm not ready yet for a clean break with merril. now, we might as well walk in." they passed through part of a big stone building into a large room where a group of city men were talking together, for there were timber lands and ranching properties to be sold that afternoon as well as the schooner. it was very hot, and jimmy found the waiting difficult to bear as he listened to the hum of voices and glanced at his watch, until at last the auctioneer sat down at a raised table. he hastily read out particulars of the vessel as well as his authority to sell her, and then smiled at the assembly. "now," he said, "we'll get right down to business. most of you have seen the vessel, the rest of you have heard about her, and all you have to do is to make me a reasonable bid. there is no reserve on her." jimmy felt his face grow a trifle hot with anger. the _tyee_ had made his father's living, and, since anything she might bring in excess of the loan on her would belong to him, it did not seem fitting that she should be flung in this casual fashion on the hands of palpably indifferent purchasers. the result of that sale was of vital interest to him and thomas wheelock, and he glanced inquiringly at jordan. "my man has not come," said the latter tranquilly. "it's a game he's accustomed to, and when he's wanted he'll be here. that's one of the new cannery men starting the bidding. their inlet's a difficult place to make, and the steamboat men don't care about calling there except for big loads. it's significant that he should think of buying her." jimmy did not understand why it should be so, but his face grew hard at the laughter when the man made a nominal bid. there was silence for almost a minute, and he felt a little thrill of dismay run through him, for if the _tyee_ went at that figure it would leave his father still heavily in debt. "the anchors and cables are worth more," said the auctioneer. "is there nobody willing to raise him fifty dollars?" one of the men nodded. "i'll go that far," he said. "still, i don't know where i could get it back for her." somebody offered ten dollars more, another man twenty, and there was languid bidding until the price had almost doubled; but then it stopped for a few moments, and jimmy saw his companion glance somewhat uneasily toward the door. "i'm beginning to wonder what's keeping my man," he said. "if he doesn't come soon he might as well stay away altogether," said jimmy, who turned in tense suspense and watched the hot faces of the men about him. the price then offered would just clear the debt, but there were many things his father needed, and jimmy had then only a few dollars in his pocket, which he had earned by stacking dressed lumber at a sawmill. "gentlemen," said the auctioneer, "i don't feel warranted in letting her go at the figure. she'd bring you half as much again to-morrow if you sailed her over to victoria." "i'll raise it ten dollars," said somebody, and the bidding commenced again more indifferently than ever. five, ten, twenty dollars were offered, and then five again. jordan touched jimmy's arm. "that's merril's man--i've been trying to spot him--and i guess the cannery man would go up a hundred or two still, by the way he's watching him. nobody else seems to want her, and it's quite likely they'll crawl up by tens. sit still, while i run around and find out what's the matter with my broker." he slipped out, but he was back within a few minutes, flushed in face, and thrust a strip of paper into jimmy's hand. "i think that makes the thing quite plain," he said. jimmy glanced at the paper. "got a wire last minute, and sent over to your hotel, but didn't find you in," he read. "had to go out unexpectedly on the sound steamer." "he stopped your putting another man on?" he said. "yes," said jordan, with a snap in his dark eyes. "knew he was going all the while. played me for a sucker. well, i guess i was one, or i wouldn't have given him an option of selling me to merril." "selling you?" "exactly. i might have known it's quite hard for an outsider to kick against the people who boss these things. still, since merril knows, there's no reason why i should keep my knife in the sheath. raise them a hundred dollars. i'll stand sponsor." jimmy did not stop to consider. he knew that every dollar the schooner brought now would go into the pockets of his father, and that was enough for him. "i'll make the figure one hundred dollars more," he said. the man jordan had pointed out as merril's agent leaned forward and whispered something to the auctioneer, whereupon the latter turned to jimmy with a deprecatory air. "the terms are strictly cash," he said. "i presume you are in a position to put down the bills or a bank draft if you got her? i have, of course, the pleasure of these other gentlemen's acquaintance." jimmy felt jordan, whom he had seen take out a wallet and a fountain-pen, thrust something into his hand. he glanced at it before he faced the auctioneer. "i don't know how far that was admissible or inspired," he said. "anyway, it doesn't matter. this draft should, i think, speak for itself." the auctioneer apparently waited for him to take it across, but jimmy quietly sat down. "if you will send your clerk," he said. the clerk came forward, and a trace of amusement and awakening interest crept into the faces of the rest. "that's satisfactory," said the auctioneer. "the signature in question is quite sufficient. i'll record your bid. will anybody raise it?" then the men became intent, and two of them went up by forties. jimmy glanced at his companion, who nodded. "go right ahead. merril and the other man want her," he said. a few minutes later, to jimmy's astonishment, forster came in and stood beside them. "what's the figure?" he asked, and, when jordan told him, "is she worth it?" "yes," said jimmy; "you could go up at least five hundred dollars further." "ten advance," said forster to the auctioneer, and then turned to jordan. "i suppose you're not set on getting her?" jordan smiled, and forster made a little whimsical gesture. "i understand. doing much the same thing myself. miss wheelock and my wife are outside. i've been hanging round in the vestibule until it seemed convenient for me to take a hand in." jimmy said nothing, but when he looked around a few moments later he was somewhat astonished to see that jordan's place was empty. his comrade was, in fact, hastening down the street to where forster's light wagon stood outside a big dry-goods store. he went in and came upon eleanor wheelock, standing very straight and slim in her long white dress. she turned and looked at him with a curious little smile. "have you come to tell me that forster is taking unnecessary trouble in this affair?" she said. jordan was not readily disconcerted, but he showed a momentary trace of embarrassment. "no," he replied, "i haven't. i'm open to admit that i'm not quite as smart as i thought i was. my man didn't turn up. in fact, he sold me to merril." eleanor still looked at him, and his tone became deprecatory. "you're not pleased?" "no," said the girl, with a faint flush in her cheeks. "i like my friends to be successful." jordan winced perceptibly. "i won't fail next time." "are you warranted in thinking there will be another time?" "i guess so. i don't know that i deserve it, but you won't be too hard on me?" eleanor saw the gleam in his eyes. "it will depend. where is jimmy?" "bidding against forster and the rest for the _tyee_." "ah!" said. eleanor, and for a moment her face softened. "i don't know why you didn't tell me that earlier. hadn't you better go back and see that he doesn't get her?" "i don't care if he does," said jordan; "that is, as long as he gives me half an hour of your company." eleanor laughed. "leaving out the compliment, what would you do if jimmy bought her for you?" "run her against the first vessel merril put on a trip she was good for, if i had to carry freight for nothing." the girl turned and glanced at him again, and a hard glint crept into her eyes. she looked imperious, forceful, and vindictive then, but the man felt a thrill run through him, for he knew his answer had pleased her. "ah!" she said; "for that i could forgive you many a failure. still, you must go back and look after jimmy. we shall not go away until we hear what you have done." jordan reluctantly turned away, and, as it happened, met jimmy coming out of the auction-room with perfect satisfaction in his face. "i feel that i owe you a good deal. in fact, i'm afraid i can't express my gratitude as i ought," he said. "merril's man has got her, but i have a clear thousand dollars to hand over to my father. still, there's something that puzzles me. what brought forster here?" jordan laughed. "your sister." "eleanor?" "of course!" said jordan dryly. "no doubt, because she is your sister, you don't credit her with any useful capacity." "eleanor is clever," said jimmy reflectively. "still, there are subjects girls know nothing about--and, anyway, there was mrs. forster's attitude to consider. it's hardly in human nature that she should be pleased to see her husband staking his money to please her children's teacher." "exactly! that is what made the thing cleverer. she has mrs. forster's good-will too." "then," said jimmy decisively, "she must be a very kindly lady." "or your sister a very capable young woman. you seem to find it a little difficult to recognize that." jimmy dismissed the subject with a little gesture. "well," he said, "i'm almost bewildered. the thing was so simple. why didn't merril think of it?" "i have no doubt he did. still, you saw what the little man has to expect if he makes a bid. on thinking it over, it seems to me that merril trusted to my broker. he figured i'd back down once i realized that he knew my game and was a match for me. there are big men like him who live by bluff, and everybody makes way for them, but they're apt to show themselves very much the same as other people when you face them resolutely. it's just like putting a pin in a bubble." then forster joined them while his wife and eleanor came out of the store, and a few minutes later the girl and jordan walked behind the other three as they turned toward the hotel where the wagon had been sent. eleanor smiled at her companion. "we are indebted to you, after all," she said, and there was a faint but suggestive something in her voice which satisfied jordan. chapter xii the "shasta" shipping company two or three weeks had slipped away since the sale of the _tyee_, when jimmy wheelock, who had been specially requested to do so, called at forster's ranch. he did not know why his presence was required, and when he arrived was somewhat astonished to find jordan, valentine, and a man he had not met, sitting with his host about a little table in the big general room. a decanter and a box of cigars stood on the table, but the attitude of the men suggested that it was business that had brought them there. jordan, who was talking animatedly, looked up when jimmy came in. "you're not quite on time," he said. "for which i must make excuses;" and jimmy turned to forster. "the fact is, i might not have got here at all if the american skipper whose new mizzen-mast i'm helping to fit hadn't run out of wire-rigging. i couldn't well afford to offend a man who considers my services worth three dollars a day." the man he had not met made a little sign with his hand. "it's an excuse that will pass in this country. sit right down. jordan insisted on having you here. got any money to spare?" "about forty dollars," said jimmy. the other man smiled. "that won't go very far. well, we can consider ourselves a quorum, and mr. jordan will go ahead." "one moment," said forster. "mr. leeson, jimmy. help yourself--you see the cigars." jimmy sat down, and glanced at the gentleman who had previously addressed him. he fancied he had heard jordan mention him as one interested in the then somewhat decadent sealing industry, but there was not very much to be gathered from his appearance. he was plainly dressed, and elderly, and had a lean, expressionless face. it was seamed with little wrinkles, his figure was spare, and he leaned forward with an elbow on the table as if it were too much trouble to hold himself upright. in the meanwhile jordan recommenced. "i'll be quite frank with you as to how i'm fixed, because it will help you to understand how i got on the track of the notion," he said. "merril has now a controlling interest in the coast mill, and i walked out because i couldn't agree with him. well, i have some money laid by as well as my royalties, and i'm undertaking a few machinery agencies, and starting as mill expert in vancouver. in fact, i'll sell you an american stump-puller, mr. forster, that will save you about half you're spending on grubbing out those fir-roots by hand labor." "another time!" said leeson, with an appreciative grin. "keep to the shipping business." jordan made a little gesture of resignation. "well, as i told you already, there's a good deal of odd freight to be moved up and down this coast, and there would be more if there were better facilities. i hear of ships held up because the salmon-packers can't get their cases down, and men in vancouver island feeding fruit to hogs, and cutting good oats for green fodder because they couldn't put them on the market if they thrashed them. what's more, mr. merril has heard about it, too, and he's an enterprising man. ran me out of that west coast mill because i wouldn't come down on my royalties--him!" "off the track again!" said leeson. "merril has bounced a good many men out of things, but if i'm to put any money into this venture, i must have a better reason than that you want to get even." "you'll get it," and jordan's dark eyes snapped while his face grew animated. "what merril thinks safe is good enough for us. he has been working up a notion of a coast shipping combine, one that's to be all merril's, and he has two or three schooners and a big unhandy lump of a coal-eating steamer. he got her cheap, like the rest of them. some of us know how he did it." he glanced at jimmy sharply before he went on again. "now, i've been considering his programme, and he's taking hold the wrong way--screwing top freights out of everybody for a bad service, cutting down wages, and running his boats with cheap men who are going to learn to hate him. well, with a little handy steamboat that would crawl in wherever there was a beach the ranchers could haul their stuff down to, and a policy of general conciliation, one could cut the ground right from under him." "quite sure of that?" said leeson. "without his finding it out?" "without his finding it out--until we've got the trade;" and jordan's eyes snapped again. "we're going to oblige people, and make our connection with the ranchers and small cannery men a personal thing. when he offers a big rebate it will be a little too late; and, anyway, we can carry freight as cheap as merril." "how are you going to make it a personal connection?" asked forster. "the thing's quite easy. i'm going to send round a man who already knows most of those ranchers to take them up fruit packing-boxes and statistics of produce prices. he'll fix it up with them for the boat to crawl in anywhere for a few jumper loads. merril can't do it with his schooners or the big steamer. i guess a rancher would sooner face a high freight than feed the stuff to hogs, or haul it thirty miles over a bush-trail to the dunsmore road. then i'm going to have a good-humored skipper who'll bring the men off and make friends with them, but one with grit enough to shove the boat round on time when she has a perishable freight in a gale of wind. she's to be just the right size, and, to save us coal, a modern tri-compound." "the three things seem essential. the last two certainly are," said forster, with a suggestive smile. "i guess it's scarcely necessary to ask whether you have any idea how to obtain them?" jordan laughed, and proceeded to astonish his companions, which was, however, a habit of his. "got them all," he said. "the steamboat's lying down the sound, and i hold a week's option on her. jim wheelock would go in command of her, and mr. valentine can sail as soon as he's ready in the _sorata_, and crawl into every inlet from which he can reach half a dozen ranchers. i'll have ready for him four or five tons of cut box frames that will only want nailing, and they'll go into his saloon. he'll have everything fixed before merril knows we've despatched him." jimmy glanced at valentine's face, and broke into a soft laugh, though he had been at least as far from expecting this proposition as his companion seemed to be. jordan looked at them both, and nodded tranquilly. "you'll go?" he said, and then laid a sheet of paper on the table. "here's my notion of costs, capital, salaries, and general expenses. kind of prospectus. shows the usual twenty-per-cent. profit--only we're going to make it." it was quite clear that he meant it, for this was a man who had a full share of the optimism which characterizes most of the inhabitants of the pacific slope. he smiled reassuringly at his companions; but there was silence for several minutes while leeson examined the paper and then passed it to forster. jimmy, who felt that his opinion would not be particularly valuable, and had noticed the little smile in valentine's eyes, sat still, looking out through the open window at the shadowy bush beyond forster's orchard. it cut, vague and black and mysterious, against the wondrous green and saffron glow of the sunset, and the little trail that wound away into it had just then a curious interest for him. he wondered where it led, and how long it wandered through the dim shadow before it came out again into the garish brilliancy. the thing seemed an allegory, for when he came into that country and flung his career away he had felt lost and adrift, without a mark to guide him, while now jordan and those others were about to set his feet on the trail. it must lead somewhere, as all trails resolutely followed do, though now and then they plunge into tangles of morasses where the rotting pines fall or climb the snow-barred passes of towering ranges. he had a curious confidence in the daring american. still, he felt that in all probability there was a long and difficult march in front of him and the little party then sitting in the slowly darkening room of forster's ranch. it was leeson who spoke first. "there are men who would call the whole thing crazy, and they'd have some reason for doing so," he said. "most of us know what merril is." it was evident that his opinion carried weight, and jimmy, who felt a growing tension, saw the sudden, eagerness in jordan's face. "no," he said, "that's just where you're wrong. we know what he pretends to be; and if a man puts up a big enough bluff, most people back down and don't ask him to make it good. you see the point of it?" leeson made a little half-impatient gesture. "what d'you figure on putting in, mr. jordan?" "ten thousand dollars." leeson said nothing, but glanced at forster wrinkling his brows. "i might manage five thousand," said the rancher. "i haven't found clearing virgin bush a very profitable occupation, and i want more than the interest i'm getting from the bank. mr. jordan has naturally talked over the thing with me before, and i fancy his scheme is workable; but, as i don't know a great deal about these matters, i'd very much like to hear what your opinion of it is." he glanced inquiringly at leeson, and it was evident to jimmy that the success or failure of the project depended on what the latter said. he sat silent again for almost a minute, drumming on the table. "well," he said, "you'll be told it's a fool game. most of the men in vancouver city would consider that a sure thing--but i'm putting in fifteen thousand dollars." jimmy saw his comrade's face relax and a little exultant sparkle creep into his eyes, while he felt his own heart beat a trifle faster. then valentine, who had not spoken yet, turned to the rest. "in that case i guess we can consider the thing feasible," he said. "if the sum isn't beneath your notice, i'll venture a thousand dollars." "what has given you a hankering after twenty per cent.?" asked jordan. "it is not so very long since you told me that the sea, which cost nothing, was enough for you." valentine laughed. "i rather think it's the occupation that appeals to me. charterers have a trick of treading on one's toes occasionally, and i don't think i should take kindly to business as it appears to be carried on in the neighboring city. one can, however, talk to the bush-ranchers intelligently. in any case, i shouldn't regard that twenty per cent. as a certainty." jordan grinned good-humoredly, but there was a twinkle of keener appreciation in forster's eyes. "there is a good deal the bush can teach the man who wants to understand," he said. "i dare say you are right, mr. valentine." "well," said jordan dryly, "the only use i ever had for the bush was as a place for growing saw-logs; but while talk of this kind has nothing to do with business, there's something i want to mention. i met austerly not long ago, and he wants to see you and jim wheelock when you can make it convenient, valentine. now, if you'll keep quiet a few minutes, i'll get on a little." he went on for a considerable time, with features hardening into intentness and dark eyes scintillating, and when at last he stopped, leeson made a sign of concurrence. then questions were asked and answered, and afterward forster, who passed the decanter to his guests, stood up. "since mr. jordan fancies he can raise another few thousand dollars privately if it's wanted, we can consider the affair arranged," he said. "here's prosperity to the _shasta_ steam shipping company!" it was growing dusk when they drank the toast in the big shadowy room, and, as he glanced at his companions, jimmy was momentarily troubled with a sense of his and their insignificance. there were only four of them, and none of them, with the possible exception of old leeson, were men of capital, while he had an uneasy feeling that in view of merril's opposition it was a very big thing they had undertaken. leeson set his wine-glass down and shook his head. "we're going to have to fight for it," he said. then the group broke up, and jimmy, who strolled away to ask for mrs. forster, saw nothing of his sister or, as it happened, of jordan either, until the rancher's hired man brought his comrade's team up. jimmy drove home with him, but jordan was unusually silent as the team swung along the dim, white road. once, however, he appeared to rouse himself. "yes," he said, though jimmy had not spoken, "old man leeson is right; we will have to fight for it. still, i have put my pile in, and we have got to win." he glanced in jimmy's direction, but the latter said nothing and it was too dark to see his face. "just got to win," he said again, as he shook the reins. "it has been a pull up grade since i was sixteen, but somehow i got the things i set my mind on, one by one. perhaps valentine would tell you they weren't all worth while, and he might be right about some of them, but a man has to be what he was born to be--and now i know there's nothing on this earth worth quite so much as what i'm fighting for." still jimmy did not understand, and therefore, as was usual with him in such cases, made no observation, and his comrade laughed curiously when he complained of the jolting instead as he essayed to light a cigar. "well," said jordan, "you'll go down the sound and see about bringing the _shasta_ up just as soon as you're ready." jimmy went next day, and valentine, who went alone to austerly's, sailed for the west coast on the following day. it was two weeks later when jimmy came back with a little two-masted steamer of tons or so. she was not by any means a new boat, nor were her engines especially powerful, and, after finding out her various complaints during the sheltered voyage down the sound, jimmy had hoped to spend a week or two overhauling her before he went to sea. this, however, was not to be, for he had hardly brought her up near the wharf when jordan came off, and found him sitting wearily on the bridge, begrimed all over and heavy-eyed. "well," he said, "you look considerably more like the played-out mariner than the wedding guest. what has been worrying you? anything wrong with her?" "a good many things," said jimmy. "if i went through the list i should probably scare you. she has evidently been lying-up for a while, and that is apt to have its effect on any steamboat's constitution. i've had no sleep all the way up, and spent most of the time in manual labor when i wasn't at the helm. the men i have--and they're a tolerably decent crowd--naturally expected to rest now and then." "what's the matter with your engineer?" "nothing, except that he's played-out--and i don't wonder. he'll be fast asleep by now, and i don't think i'd worry him if i were you." jordan looked suddenly thoughtful. "now be quick. is this boat fit to go to sea, or has that blamed surveyor swindled you and me?" "she's sound. that is, she will be when we've had a month in which to straighten her up, or have had a carpenter and foundry gang sent on board her." jordan's face showed his relief. "well," he said, "you have got to take the month at sea. you start to-night, and can do what's wanted when you have the opportunity. there's another thing. we have arranged for a kind of inaugural banquet, and you'll have to straighten her up a little. i'll send you down some flowers and things." jimmy gazed at him in drowsy consternation. "if your guests expect anything fit to eat, you had better send the banquet too. who in the name of wonder are you bringing here?" "eleanor--that is, miss wheelock. austerly and his daughter. i believe valentine invited them. forster and mrs. forster, and old man leeson too. you have got to brace up and face the thing." "i'm going to sleep," said jimmy, with a gesture of resignation. "you'll take these papers to the respective offices, and i may be able to talk sensibly during the afternoon. but what made you want to bring eleanor and mrs. forster here?" jordan laughed, and laid his hand on his comrade's shoulder. "i'll tell you later; you're too sleepy now. in the meanwhile, i'll get round and fix things generally." he went away in a few minutes, and jimmy, dragging himself into the little room beneath the bridge, flung himself down in the skipper's berth, dressed as he was. chapter xiii the "shasta" goes to sea it was a still, clear evening when jimmy stood at the _shasta_'s gangway waiting to receive his guests. she lay out in the inlet, and he could see the two boats sliding across the smooth, green water with a measured splash of oars, while the voices of their occupants reached him faintly through the clatter of a c.p.r. liner's winches and the tolling of a locomotive bell ashore. a thin jet of steam simmered about the _shasta_'s rusty funnel, and she lay motionless on the glassy brine, with cracked and splintered decks, and what paint a long exposure to rain and sun had not removed peeling from her. jimmy had had no time to spare for any attempt at decoration during the voyage down puget sound. indeed, he and his engineer felt thankful they had succeeded in bringing her round at all. by and by the first boat ran alongside, and, because she belonged to the _shasta_, jimmy was relieved to see that there was, after all, not a very great deal of water in her, though his guests sat with their feet drawn up. there were several of them: jordan, who wore among other somewhat unusual garments a frock-coat, and was talking volubly; eleanor, in elaborate white dress and a very big white hat; old leeson, forster and his wife. jimmy helped them up with difficulty, for the _shasta_ was floating high and light and had not been provided with a passenger ladder. something in his sister's face perplexed him when at last they stood on deck. eleanor was quieter than usual, and when she looked at him there was a trace of color in her cheeks he could not quite account for. "you seem almost astonished to see me," she said. "even if i hadn't wanted to come, charley would have insisted on it." jimmy gazed hard at both her and jordan, and noticed that mrs. forster seemed a trifle amused. "charley?" he said. "of course. hasn't he told you?" said eleanor; and though she laughed, there was diffidence and pride in her eyes when she glanced at the man beside her. it was also, her brother felt, rather more than the pride of possession. "i must explain," said jordan. "when i came off this morning, jimmy was too sleepy to be entrusted with any information of the kind. still, i quite think i deserve a few congratulations." jimmy looked at him with a faint wrinkling of his brows, and then involuntarily turned toward the rest of the company. "well," he said, "i suppose it's only natural, though of course i never expected this." mrs. forster laughed outright. "then everybody else did, and ventured to approve of it." jimmy stretched his hand out, and grasped that of his comrade slowly and tenaciously. "after all, there is nobody i should sooner trust her to, and i don't think you could have got anybody more--capable, generally," he said. "eleanor, you see, is cleverer than i am." eleanor wheelock naturally understood her brother, and there was whimsical toleration in her smile, while the little twinkle grew more pronounced in jordan's eyes. he was a shrewd man, and had already formed a reasonably accurate notion of jimmy and eleanor wheelock's respective capabilities. "thank you!" he said. "the other boat should be almost alongside." he moved aft with eleanor and the rest of the guests, while jimmy, who had not quite recovered from his astonishment, was leaning on the rail when another boat slid around the _shasta_'s stern. he recognized austerly and his daughter on board her, and then felt his heart beat and the blood creep into his face, for anthea merril was sitting at miss austerly's side. he had not seen her since he stood one morning on the wharf in the man-o'-war cap, but he had thought of her often, and now, though his pleasure at seeing her almost drove out the other feeling, it seemed unfitting that she should be there to take her part in sending out the steamer that was, if the _shasta_ company could contrive it, to bring to nothing her father's scheme. the boat was alongside in a few moments, and when her occupants reached the deck austerly shook hands with jimmy. "i must offer you my congratulations on being in command," he said. "my daughter seemed to fancy we should be warranted in bringing miss merril." anthea smiled at jimmy. "yes," she said, "i wanted to come; but of course if it was presumptuous, you can send me back again." "i think you ought to know there is nobody i should sooner see;" and jimmy, who was not so alert as usual that evening, looked at her too steadily. anthea met his gaze for a moment, and then, considering that she was a young woman accustomed to hold her own in colonial society, it was, perhaps, a trifle curious that she slowly looked away. none of the others noticed this, except miss austerly, and she kept any conclusions she may have formed to herself. then, though it seemed to come about naturally without anybody's contrivance, austerly and his daughter joined jordan, and for a few minutes anthea and jimmy were left alone. the girl leaned on the rail looking across the shining water toward the great white hull of the empress boat lying, immaculate and beautiful in outline, beneath the climbing town. then she turned, and jimmy felt that he knew what she was thinking as her eyes wandered over the little rusty _shasta_. though he had not spoken, she smiled in a manner which seemed to imply comprehension when he looked at her. "yes," she said, "there has been a change since i last saw you--and i am glad you are in command. one can't help thinking that you must find this, at least, a trifle more familiar." "at least?" said jimmy. anthea nodded, and her eyes rested on the big white mail-boat again. "i think," she said, "you quite know what i mean." once more jimmy's prudence failed him. "well," he said, "it is rather a curious thing that even when you don't express it i generally seem to. i don't know"--and he added this reflectively--"why it should be so." "i think that is rather a difficult question--one, in fact, that we should gain nothing by going into. how long are you going to command the _shasta_?" "until----" and jimmy, who had not quite recovered from his exertions during the voyage, stopped abruptly. he could not tell his companion that he expected to sail the dilapidated steamer until she had wrested away a sufficient share of the trade her father was laying hands upon to enable jordan to buy a larger one. "i don't quite know," he added. "anyway, i was very glad to get her. it is pleasanter to take command than to carry planks about the hastings wharf ashore." "you were doing that?" and for no very ostensible reason a faint tinge of color crept into his companion's face. labor is held more or less honorable in that country, but, after all, anthea merril was a young woman of station. "it must have been a change," she said a moment later. "from the lumber schooner, or valentine's _sorata_?" anthea looked at him with a sparkle in her eyes. "pshaw!" she said. "are you going to masquerade always, or do you think i am quite without intelligence?" then she turned, and pointed to the beautiful white empress boat. "when are you going back again?" jimmy understood her, and made no further disclaimer. still, his face grew somewhat hard, and he moved abruptly. "i don't quite know," he said. "very likely i shall never go back at all. circumstances are rather against me." "and can't you alter them?" jimmy drew in his breath, and unconsciously straightened himself a trifle. the girl stood close beside him, looking at him--not as one who asked a question, but rather as though she had expressed her belief in his ability to do what he wished. the confidence this suggested sent a thrill through him, and her quiet graciousness--which, though she addressed him as one of her own world, was not without its trace of natural dignity--and her physical beauty set his heart beating. "i can try," he said simply. "there are, however, difficulties." "of course!" and anthea smiled. "there generally are. still, if one is resolute enough, they can usually be got over." jimmy said nothing. he was not, after all, especially apt at conversation, and he could not tell her that among all the difficulties he might have to grapple with, the greatest was probably her father. just then, as it happened, jordan turned and called to them, and, moving aft, they descended to the little stern cabin with the rest. it was draped with the least faded flags from the signal locker; the table glittered with glass and silver, and was set out with great bouquets of flowers. the ports were wide open, and the cool evening air, fragrant in spite of the city's propinquity with the smell of the stanley pines, flowed in. eleanor wheelock looked around with a smile of appreciation, and then turned to jordan. "oh," she said, "it's pretty! you have done it all. jimmy would never have thought of that. but why are both those flags there?" jordan glanced at the two big crossed flags that streamed down upon the settee in the vessel's counter. they were new, and athwart the broad red and white crosses gleamed the silver stars. "well," he said with a little smile, "i don't know any reason why they shouldn't be there side by side. it seems to me there'd be peace on earth right off if they always hung that way, if only because all the rest of the world would be afraid to break it. you have heard of the first message we sent your folks in the old country over the atlantic cable. besides, the thing's symbolical of another alliance that's not only to be wished for, but going to be consummated." eleanor blushed becomingly amidst the approving laughter, and, as she stood there in the gleaming white dress and big white hat, with the clear color in her cheeks, it seemed to jimmy that he had never seen his sister look half so captivating. in fact, he was almost astonished that it had not occurred to him before that eleanor was so exceptionally well-favored. the quiet and somewhat plain-featured mrs. forster, and austerly's sickly daughter, served as fitting foils for her somewhat imperious beauty. then, as she glanced in his direction, jimmy moved a pace or two, and anthea came out of the shadow. "my sister eleanor--miss merril," he said. there was a brief silence which jimmy, at least, found embarrassing, for it seemed to him that everybody was watching the two girls with sudden interest. he also felt that when anthea merril moved forward, eleanor, as it were, receded into second place against her will. his sister was wholly western, tall, and somewhat spare, with the suppleness of a finely tempered spring rather than that of the willow in her figure. her quick glance and almost incisive speech matched her bearing. one could see that she was optimistic, daring, strenuous; but with anthea merril it was different. there was a reserve about her, and a repose in voice and gesture which in some curious fashion made both more impressive. she was also a trifle warmer in coloring and fuller in outline, and stood for, or so it seemed to jimmy, cultivated ripeness as contrasted with his sister's vigorous and brilliant crudity. quite apart from this, he had noticed eleanor's brows straighten almost imperceptibly, and the slight hardness that crept into her eyes. the others apparently did not see it, but her brother understood those signs. "miss merril! what does she want here?" said old leeson, who usually spoke somewhat loudly, in what he evidently fancied was an aside, and it seemed to jimmy that his sister's eyes asked the same question. anthea, so far as he could see, did not notice this, and it was she who spoke first. "i almost fancy i have met you somewhere, miss wheelock, though i do not think it was in vancouver," she said. "toronto is rather a long way off--but i wonder whether you were ever there?" "i was," said eleanor. "i also saw you, though i never spoke to you. under the circumstances, it was, however, hardly to be expected." "no?" said anthea, with a note of inquiry in her voice; and, though eleanor smiled, there was no softening of her eyes. "i was being trained to earn my living, and my few friends belonged to a very different set from yours." jimmy was not pleased with his sister. she had spoken quietly, indeed more quietly and indifferently than she usually did, and anthea merril had not shown the least resentment; but he felt that there was a sudden antagonism between the two women. it was therefore a relief to him when the steward appeared with the dinner, most of which jordan had wisely had sent from a big hotel, and they sat down at the table. it was a convivial meal. jordan talked volubly, and there was a sparkle in most of what he said; forster and austerly were quietly jocular; and eleanor, who sat next their host at the head of the table as his bride-elect, played her part in a fashion that pleased them all. other things had also their effect upon the company. there was the love-match between the man who had staked every dollar he could raise to send out that little rusty steamer, and the beautiful penniless girl, as well as the presence of the daughter of the man who, they felt reasonably sure, would endeavor to crush him by any means available. as it happened, anthea merril talked quietly, and apparently confidentially, to jimmy most of the time, and even old leeson, who grinned at them sardonically, seemed to feel that the situation was rife with dramatic possibilities. by and by the light commenced to fade, but eleanor's white dress still gleamed against the dull blue and crimson of the crossed flags; and in after-days, when there was anger between them, jimmy liked to remember her sitting there at jordan's side to speed him on the _shasta_'s first voyage. she made a somewhat imposing figure in the little dusky cabin, and what she said struck the right note in the inauguration of that venture, for she was optimistic and forceful in speech and gesture--and anthea now sat in the shadow. at last old leeson rose with a little dry chuckle. "i don't know whether speeches are expected," he said. "still, i guess there's one toast we ought to honor, and that's the engaged pair. anyway, it's one that's especially fitting to-night, since it seems to me that if it hadn't been for miss wheelock we wouldn't have been here, with steam up, on board the _shasta_." there was a little good-humored laughter, but leeson, who appeared unconscious that his observations were open to misconception, proceeded calmly. "now," he said, "in a general way, the less women have to do with business the better; but in miss wheelock we have an exception. if it hadn't been for her, forster would not have put five thousand dollars into the _shasta_, and if he hadn't made the venture, it's quite likely i wouldn't either. it's quite a big one for people of our caliber, but we have a live man to run the thing, and he will have a wife as smart as he is standing right behind him. well, we'll wish the pair of them long life and happiness." jimmy rose with his companions, but he was conscious that anthea was regarding his sister with grave inquiry. then jordan made his reply conventionally, and afterward stood still a moment looking at his guests, until with a little abrupt gesture he commenced again. "mr. leeson's right: it is a big thing we have on hand," he said. "we're going to fight and break a monopoly, and, if all goes as we expect it, put money into our pockets. but in one way that's only half of it. i want you to think of the honest effort, the best thing a man has to offer, that is being wasted in this country. can't you picture the bush-ranchers hauling produce thirty miles over a trail a city man wouldn't ride a horse along to the railroad, and watching fruit 'most as good as we can raise in california rotting by the ton? i want you to think of the oat crops cut green and half-grown, and the men who raised them mending their clothes with flour-bags and measuring out their groceries by the cent's worth, after spending half a lifetime chopping out the ranch. it's wrong--clean against the economy of things. we want every pound of whatever they can send us. we have mines and mills and money, but in this province our food is bad and dear. while every man depends on his neighbor, the greatest thing in civilization is facility of transport." he stopped a moment for breath, and the keen sparkle in his dark eyes grew plainer. "well, we're going to provide it, and do what we can for the men with the axe and the grub-hoe. some day this great province will remember what it owes them. here it's man against nature, and the fight is hard, while we'll do more than put money in our pockets if we make it a little easier. we want a fair deal--and we'll get it somehow--but we want no more; and if we can hold on long enough, it won't be only those who sent her out who will say, 'speed the _shasta_!'" he stopped amidst acclamation, for his mobile face and snapping eyes had amplified his words, and, while he handled his theme clumsily, there was, at least, no mistaking the strident ring of the dominant note in it. in that country it was, for the most part, man against nature, and not man against man, and the recognition of the fact was in all who heard him. there men wrung their money from rocky hillside and shadowy forest with toil almost incredible, creating wealth, and not filching it from their fellows; but nature is grim and somewhat terrible in the land of rock and snow, and all down the great slope, from wrangel to shasta, the battle is a stern and arduous one. so there was a little kindling in the listeners' eyes, and the women also raised their glasses high as they said, "speed the _shasta_," knowing that this was in reality but a part of what they felt. then eleanor rose, and the company, scattering for the most part, went back on deck, where it once more happened by some means that anthea merril and jimmy found themselves some distance from any of the rest. the girl looked up at him with a little smile. "well," she said, "what did you think of mr. jordan's observations?" jimmy laughed. "my opinion wouldn't count. i couldn't make a speech for my life." "no?" said anthea. "still, you can hold a steamer's wheel, and perhaps under the circumstances that is quite as much to the purpose. in any case, while your comrade was a little flamboyant, which is much the same thing as western, i think he meant it. after all, if we parade our sentiments, we generally act up to them." "jordan," said jimmy, "seems to have quite a stock of them." "and i understand he has put every dollar he has into the venture. still, i suppose he did it cheerfully; and you may find it necessary to bring those bush-ranchers' produce down against a gale of wind." there was a smile in her eyes as she looked at him, but in spite of that jimmy felt his face grow slightly warm. it was not, however, altogether because anthea noticed it that she changed the subject. "there was one point that wasn't quite clear to me. why did he say you were going to break up a monopoly?" jimmy wished she had asked him anything else, for he had already decided that miss merril knew very little about her father's business. "well," he said awkwardly, "that's rather a difficult thing to answer. you see, he mentioned a monopoly----" "he certainly did." "then, to begin with, there is the dunsmore road. they naturally couldn't handle produce as cheaply as we could, and, anyway, it isn't of much benefit to the ranchers who can't get at it." "'to begin with?' that implies more than one, which is, one would fancy, the essential point of a monopoly." "perhaps it is," said jimmy vaguely. "still, when we get our hand in, there will be three." anthea may have had her reasons for not pressing the question then, for she laughed. "of course!" she said. "three monopolies. well, i suppose one must excuse you. you can hold a steamer's wheel." jimmy, on the whole, felt relieved when the others sauntered in their direction, and was less grieved than he might have been under different circumstances when austerly drew miss merril away. he had felt once or twice before, during discussions with his sister, that keen intelligence is not invariably a commendable thing in a woman. after that, jordan had a good many instructions to give him, and by the time they had been imparted the rest were clustering around the gangway; while five minutes later jimmy leaned on the rail watching the boats slide away toward the dusky city. then he climbed to his bridge, and the windlass commenced to rattle, but he did not know that anthea merril, who heard his farewell whistle, kept the others waiting on the wharf a moment or two while she watched the _shasta_ slowly steam out to sea. chapter xiv in distress the clear night was falling when jimmy leaned on the bridge-rails as the _shasta_ steamed out of the inlet beneath a black wall of pines. over her port quarter the pale lights of the climbing city twinkled tier on tier, with dim forest rolling away behind them into the creeping mist. beyond that, in turn, a faint blink of snow still gleamed against the dusky blueness of the east. all this was familiar, but he was leaving it behind, and ahead there lay an empty waste of darkening water, into which the _shasta_ pushed her way with thumping engines and a drowsy gurgle at the bows. it seemed to jimmy, in one sense, appropriate that it should be so. he had cut himself adrift from all that he had been accustomed to, and where the course he had launched upon would lead him he did not know. that, however, did not greatly trouble him. his character was by no means a complex one, and it was sufficient for him to do the obvious thing, which, after all, usually saves everybody trouble. it was clear that tom wheelock needed him, and he could, at least, look back a little, though this was an occupation to which he was not greatly addicted. he understood now how his father, who had perhaps never been a strong man, had slowly broken down under a load of debt that was too heavy for him, though the nature of the man who had with deliberate intent laid it on his shoulders was incomprehensible. jimmy, in fact, could scarcely conceive the possibility of any man scheming and plotting to ruin a fellow-being for the value of two old schooners. the apparently insufficient motive made the thing almost devilish. merril, he felt, was outside the pale of humanity, a noxious creature to be shunned or, on opportunity, crushed by honest men. then he wondered for a moment whether the bondholder's daughter had inherited any portion of her father's nature, and brushed the thought aside with a little involuntary shiver. the thing was out of the question. one could, he felt, perhaps illogically, be sure of that after a glance at her; and then he straightened himself with a little abrupt movement, for it was very clear that this was, after all, no concern of his. he had never met any woman who had made the same impression on him that anthea merril had done, but he had already decided that he had sense enough to prevent himself from thinking of her too frequently; and it was evident that if he had not he must endeavor to acquire it. he strove to divert his thoughts, and listened to the flow of language that rose through the open skylights from the _shasta_'s engine-room. taken together with the pungent smell of burning grease and a certain harsh thumping, it suggested that things were not going well down there. then, looking forward, he watched the black figure of the look-out on the forecastle cut sharp and clean against the pale gleaming of the western sky as the bows swung over the long heave with a rhythmic regularity, for the _shasta_ was drawing out into open water now. she was making eight knots, he fancied, with mastheads swaying athwart the stars, and a long smoke-trail that was a little more solid than the dusky blue transparency streaking the sea astern of her. jimmy pulled out his pipe when a faint cold breeze fanned his cheek, and lighted it contentedly, for a steamboat travels fastest in smooth water when what moving air there is blows against her, and there was every sign of fine weather. it lasted several days, and the _shasta_ stopped only twice at sea: once to cool a crank-pin, and again for a longer while because there was something wrong with her condenser. in due time she crept into a deep, mountain-walled inlet where the little white _sorata_ lay, and jimmy gazed in astonishment when he saw the piled-up produce on the strip of shingle beach between still, green water and climbing forest. he was even more astonished when certain bronzed men in battered wide hats and soil-stained jean came off, and conveyed him almost by force to the rude banquet laid out in a little frame hotel. hitherto they had hauled the few goods they put on the market rather more than eight leagues along an infamous trail which for a part of that distance led over a mountain range. jimmy feasted that day, for the banquet was repeated with very little variation three times over, and his last speech was very much to the purpose as well as characteristic of him. "boys," he said, "we've steam up, and in view of the freight we're charging you wellington coal is dear. besides, even to oblige you, i really couldn't eat anything more." they paddled him off in state in a big siwash canoe, and their shouts rang far across the silent pines when the little rusty _shasta_ crawled away into the evening mist; while long after it had hid her from their sight, jimmy, standing on his bridge, heard the faint wail of the pipes. there was, as usual, a north briton among them, and the wild music of another land of rock and pine and inlet six thousand miles away crept up the screw-torn wake in elfin fashion. jimmy, at least, knew the burden of it: "will ye no' come back again?" his blood tingled a little as he listened. they had held out their hands to him, and made him one of them, and it was, he vaguely felt, a thing to be proud of, for there was a certain greatness in these simple, all-enduring men. they grappled with giant forests and rent stubborn rocks, clearing the way for thousands yet to come, with limbs that ached from the axe stroke and hands that bled upon the drill. they feared nothing, and looked for nothing except the prosperity which they would hardly share, but which would surely come; and all down the long slope their kind are perfecting a manhood that is probably worth more than all the gold, silver, iron and wheat raised beneath the beaver or the stars. it was the same at the next inlet, for that trip was very much of the nature of a triumphal procession, only that as yet the battle was not won; and when at last the _shasta_ turned her bows southward, she was full to the hatches and deep in the water. as it happened, she met a strong southwester, which piled the long pacific heave upon the reefs to port in big foam-crested walls, and after the first twelve hours of it there was scarcely a dry inch on board her. she went into it with dipping forecastle that swung up again veiled in cataracts of white and green until her forefoot was clear, and, with complaining engines, made scarcely four knots an hour. there were inlets that offered her shelter, but hour by hour jimmy, clinging, battered by flying spray, to his reeling bridge, drove her ahead. the time for making speeches, at which he did not shine, had gone, and it was now his business to keep the promise he had made the ranchers, that he would not lose an hour in conveying their produce to the market. that, at least, was a thing he could do, and, though his drenched limbs grew stiff and his eyesight dim, he did it with the dogged thoroughness of his kind, standing high in the stinging drift as he drove her, swept and streaming, at the tumbling seas. he, too, was one of the enduring toilers, and, like the invincible men with the axes who had recognized the stamp he bore, he found a certain grim pleasure in the conflict. it was toward dusk on the second evening when they steamed into sight of a little schooner, which showed as a gray smear of slanted canvas scarcely distinguishable from the crag a couple of miles to lee of her. jimmy wondered what she was doing there in that weather with only one jib and a reefed boom foresail set, until his glasses showed him that her mainmast was broken off. that made the thing clearer, and in case more should be wanted, a flag fluttered aloft and blew out half-way up her foremast upside down. it was an appeal that is very seldom made in vain at sea, and meant in that particular case that she would be ashore in an hour or two unless somebody towed her off. jimmy closed his glasses with a snap, and hailing a very wet seaman sent him for the engineer. the latter climbed to the bridge, and nodded when he glanced at the vessel. "well," he said, "you'll have to take them off. she's not going to claw off shore without her mainsail. there would be a little money in the thing if we could tow her, but we can't. i'm taking steep chances of bringing the engines down about my head by shoving her into it as i'm doing." as though to give point to the speech, the _shasta_ flung her stern high just then, and shook in every plate as with a frantic clanging the engines ran away. then she put her bows in, and dim crag and wallowing schooner were blotted out by a cloud of spray. "we have got to try," said jimmy quietly. "there's a point that would give us shelter twenty miles away." "twenty miles!" and the engineer, from whose blackened singlet the water streamed, laughed scornfully. "it's 'bout as likely we'd tow her to honolulu. still, i guess you're skipper." jimmy nodded. he had not troubled to impress the fact upon his crew, but he invariably acted on it. "you had better raise a little more steam," he said; "it is very likely that we'll want it." then, as the dripping engineer vanished from the bridge, he seized the whistle lanyard, and signed to the man behind him who gripped the wheel. a deep blast rent the turmoil of the sea, and the _shasta_, swinging around a trifle, rolled away to the rescue. it was some twenty minutes later when she stopped, and lay plunging head to sea with the little wallowing schooner close to lee of her. the light was going, but jimmy could see a shapeless figure that clung to her rail gesticulating with flung-up arm. the wreck of a boat, apparently smashed by the falling mast, lay across her hatch, and there was another half-seen man at her wheel. jimmy stood still for a few moments with his hand on the telegraph, and he was glad to remember that there were several former sealing-schooner hands among his crew, for what they do not know about boat-work is worth no man's learning. he let the _shasta_ swing a little to give them a lee on one side of her, and while the sea smote and spouted in green cataracts across her weather-rail they swung a boat over, and two men, one of whom was a siwash, dropped into her. that was enough to steer her while she blew to windward, and jimmy dared risk no more. they got her away, apparently undamaged, and he sent the _shasta_ slowly ahead when she plunged over a seatop veiled in a cloud of spray. it would be beyond the power of flesh and blood to pull that boat back, and the _shasta_ swung in a wide half-circle to leeward of the schooner. her crew had evidently tried to heave her to, but without her after-canvas she had fallen off again, and was forging ahead with the _shasta_'s boat smothered in foam beneath her rail. she was going to leeward bodily, and jimmy fancied she was about a mile nearer the crag than when he had first seen her. it was evident to everybody that he had no time to lose. he shouted with arm flung up, and, though it was doubtful whether anybody heard him, the schooner's boom foresail came thrashing down, and two men who leapt upon her rail fell into the boat. then he thrust down his telegraph, and, as the _shasta_ forged by, the boat drove down on her. she struck the steamer's hove-up side with a crash that stove several strakes of planking in, and men jumped for the flung-down lines as she filled. they scrambled up them, four in all, and, for one of them had hooked on the davit falls, the _shasta_'s winch banged and rattled as they hove the boat in with the water streaming out through her shattered side at every roll. the men had, however, brought a rope with them, and the winch next hove the schooner's stoutest hawser off. it was made fast, and rose splashing from the sea when jimmy touched his telegraph again, while, when at last the schooner fell into line astern, a very wet man clambered to the bridge. "are you fit to pull her out?" he asked. "i don't know," said jimmy; "i'm going to try. how did you get so far inshore, and have you left anybody to steer her?" the man made a vague gesture. "mainmast went beneath the hounds. she's been driving to leeward since, and she'd have been ashore in another hour if we hadn't fallen in with you. the old man's at her wheel. built her himself 'most fifteen years ago, and nothing would shift him out of her." jimmy glanced astern, and for a few moments saw a gray face of rock loom out of the haze with the sea spouting dimly white at its feet. then a thicker fold of vapor rolled about it, and the daylight faded suddenly. he could scarcely see the schooner lurching along behind them with jib still set, though the sail thrashed now and then. indeed, his eyes were growing very heavy, and he realized that after forty-eight hours' continuous watching he could not keep himself awake much longer. a simple calculation showed him that it would be daylight again before he could put his helm up and run for shelter, when it would be imperatively necessary for him to be on his bridge; and calling his scandinavian mate, he left the _shasta_ in his charge. "keep her going as she's heading now," he said. "you'll see i've headed her up a few points to allow for the leeward drag of the tow. you can call me in a couple of hours, or earlier if there's any change in the weather." he clawed his way down from the bridge to the little room beneath it, and shed only his streaming oilskins before he flung himself into his bunk. he was asleep in two or three minutes, and slept soundly while the water oozed from his wet garments, until he was roused by a shouting. then his door was flung open, and a man thrust his head in. "mr. lindstrom figures you'd better get up," he said. "the tow has parted her hawser, and gone adrift." jimmy was out of his bunk in a moment, and in a few more had scrambled to his bridge. lindstrom, the scandinavian, shouted something he did not hear, but that did not very much matter, for the one question was, where was the schooner, and jimmy was tolerably certain that nobody knew. his light had been burning, and for the first few moments he could see nothing but blackness, out of which there drove continuous showers of stinging spray. then he made out the filmy cloud it sprang from at the _shasta_'s bows, and swept his gaze aloft toward the pale silver streak above her mastheads, which showed where the half-moon might come through. as he did so, the scandinavian gripped his shoulder, and he saw a red twinkle widen into a wind-blown flame low down upon the sea. now he could, at least, locate the tow. "did you get a sight of the beach? how far were we off?" he shouted. "a low point," said lindstrom, "which i do not know. one mile, i guess it, and we head her out more off shore." jimmy was a trifle startled. though the water is deep along that coast, a mile leaves very small margin for contingencies, and he fancied that the tow, blowing to leeward, would cover it in half an hour. in that case there was not the slightest doubt as to what would then happen to her. she might, perhaps, last five minutes as a vessel, for the reefs are hard and there is a tremendous striking force in the long pacific seas. another point was equally clear. he had some twenty minutes in which to overhaul the schooner and take her skipper off, and no boat to do the latter with. if he failed to accomplish it in the time, it was very probable that the _shasta_ would go ashore, and he did not think that any one would escape by swimming. still, he meant to do what he could, and once more he set the whistle shrieking as he shouted to the helmsman. the _shasta_ came round, and drove away into the darkness, for the light had died out again and there was nothing visible ahead but the dim white tops of frothing seas. five minutes passed, and jimmy felt the tension, for they were steaming toward destruction, and it was quite possible that they might run past the schooner or straight over her. then a shaft of moonlight struck the climbing pines high up in front of him, and it seemed to him that he was already almost under them. he set his lips, and clenched the hand he would not raise in warning to the helmsman while the pale watery moonlight crept lower and lower. it rested for a moment on a fringe of creaming foam where the rock met the water, and then a hoarse shout went up, for as it swept toward him they saw the schooner. she was not far ahead of them, with jib thrashed to ribands and the sea streaming from her swung-up side. jimmy thrust down his telegraph and shouted to lindstrom, who dropped from the bridge as they drove past her stern. then, as he raised his hand, the man behind him gasped as he struggled with his wheel, and the _shasta_, stopping, lay rolling wildly beneath the schooner's lee, while a shadowy figure gesticulated to those on board her from her spray-swept rail. jimmy glanced shoreward over his shoulder toward the tumbling surf, and decided that he had at most five minutes to take that man off. after that it would probably be too late for all of them. mercifully the moonlight still streamed down, and he waited with lips set and hands clenched on the telegraph while the schooner, being lighter, drove down upon the _shasta_. one blow might make an end of both of them, but something must be hazarded, and he spared a glance for the wet men who crouched upon the _shasta_'s rail with lines in their hands. he had smashed one boat not long ago, and the second and smaller one had been damaged a week earlier, bringing a siwash to take them up a certain inlet off an unsheltered beach. the schooner was very near them, and, if he stayed where he was, would come down on top of the steamer in another minute or so. then lindstrom sprang out of the galley with a blue light in his hand, and its radiance blazed wind-flung and intense on the narrowing gap of foam between the two wildly rolling hulls. there was a hoarse shouting, and, though he might not have heard the words, it was evident that the man on board the schooner realized what he was expected to do. jimmy set his lips tighter as he pressed down the telegraph to slow ahead. the _shasta_'s propeller thudded, and as the schooner reeled toward her she commenced to move, and a black figure plunged with flung-up hands from the latter's shrouds. it struck the seething water, and vanished for a moment or two, while men held their breath and strained their eyes. then there was a hoarse clamor, and lines went whirling down from the _shasta_'s rail. in the midst of it black darkness succeeded, as lindstrom's light went out. jimmy gasped, wondering when the schooner would strike them, while he clenched his hand on the telegraph. there was faint moonlight still, but it did not seem to touch the schooner, for his eyes were dazzled by the blaze of the blue light. a moment later another shout rang out. "he has hold! get down! can't you stop her, sir?" jimmy, knowing what the hazard was, pressed his telegraph, and held his breath until a harsh voice rose again. "i have a grip of him," it said. "heave! we've got him, sir. go ahead; she's coming down on the top of us!" jimmy moved his hand, and the gong clanged out "full-speed" this time, while, glancing to windward, he saw the black shape of the schooner hove-up apparently above him. still, quivering all through, the _shasta_ forged ahead, and he leaned on the rails, for now that the tension had slackened he felt curiously limp. "the man's all right?" he asked. lindstrom, who climbed half-way up the ladder, said that he did not seem to have suffered very much, and jimmy, looking around, saw nothing of the schooner, for there was sudden darkness as the moon went out. chapter xv eleanor's bitterness it was in a state of quiet contentment that jimmy stood on his bridge, as the _shasta_ steamed past the stanley pines into sight of the clustering roofs of vancouver. his first voyage had been an unqualified success in every respect, and it was clear that the _shasta_ had done considerably more than cover her working expenses. this was in several ways a great relief to him, since it promised to obviate any difficulty in providing for his father's comfort, and also opened up the prospect of a career for himself. jordan had assured him before he sailed that they would have no great trouble in raising funds to purchase another boat if the results of the venture warranted it. he had also said that since one thing led to another, there was no reason why the _shasta_ company should not run several steamers by and by, in which case jimmy would naturally become commodore-captain or general superintendent of the fleet. as it happened, jordan was the first person jimmy's eyes rested on when he rang off his engines as the _shasta_ slid in to the wharf, and he climbed on board while they made her fast. it, however, seemed to jimmy that his movements were less brisk than usual, and he was also dressed in black, which was a color he had once or twice expressed himself in his comrade's hearing as having no use for. he came up the bridge-ladder quietly, in place of scrambling up it in hot haste, which would have been much more characteristic, and jimmy noticed that there was a difference in his manner when he shook hands with him. the latter's satisfaction commenced to melt away, and a vague disquietude grew upon him in place of it. "everything straight here?" he asked, veiling his anxiety. "oh, yes," said jordan; "that is, in most respects. we have an outward freight--comox mines--for you. you'll take her up the straits that way when you go back again. you seem to have her full." "i had to leave a good many odds and ends behind, and the ranchers expect to have more produce for us in a month or two. one or two of them were talking about baling presses and a small thrashing mill. i've an inquiry for the plant, which you can attend to. another fellow was contemplating putting on some tenas siwash to see whether there was anything to be made out of hand-split shingles, and several more were going to plant every cleared acre with potatoes for victoria. i'm to take up two of your mechanical stump-grubbers as soon as you can get them. if we can keep them pleased, we'll get all their trade." jordan nodded, without, however, any sign of the eagerness jimmy had expected. "well," he said, "that's quite satisfactory so far as it goes. still, there are troubles that even the prospect of piling up money can't lift one over." "of course!" said jimmy, who looked at him with sudden sympathy. "still, i fancied you told me you had no near relatives. what are you wearing those clothes for?" his comrade laid a hand on his shoulder. "it's a thing i shouldn't have done on my own account. i did it--steady, jimmy, you have to face it--to please your sister." "ah!" said jimmy, with a sharp indrawing of his breath, and leaned on the bridge-rails for a moment or two. his lips quivered, and jordan saw him clench his hard brown hands. busy wharf and climbing city faded from before his eyes, and he was sensible only of a curious numbing stupor that for the time being banished grief. then he felt his comrade's grasp grow tighter. "brace up!" said jordan. "it's a thing we have, all of us, to stand up under." jimmy straightened himself slowly, while the color paled in his face. "when did it happen--and how?" he asked. "last night. the doctor had been round once or twice since you went away, and i understood from what prescott said that he was getting along satisfactorily--that is, physically." jimmy said nothing, but looked at him with hard, questioning eyes. "well, it appears he was worrying himself considerably. told prescott it was a pity he couldn't die right away. nobody had any use for him, and he didn't want to be a burden. seems he went over it quite often. the doctor had cut him off from the whisky." he stopped, with evident embarrassment and pain in his face; but jimmy's eyes never wavered, though a creeping horror came upon him. in spite of the difficulty he had in thinking, he felt that he had not yet heard all. "go on," he said in a low, harsh voice. "i don't think i could have told you, only it would have fallen on eleanor if i hadn't, and she has as much as she can bear. you'll keep that in mind, won't you, jimmy? he got some whisky--we don't know how--one of the wharf-hands who used to look in bought it for him, most probably. prescott had to go out now and then, you see." he stopped for a moment, and made a little gesture of sympathy before he went on again. "somehow he fell over the table, and the kerosene lamp went over with it too. when one of the neighbors who heard him call went in nobody could have done anything for him." the last trace of color ebbed from jimmy's face, and he stood very still, with set lips and tightly clenched hands. then he turned aside with a groan of horror. "lord!" he said hoarsely. "that, at least, might have been spared him." in another moment he swung around on his comrade almost savagely, with a bitter laugh. "and you want to marry my sister eleanor?" "yes," said jordan; "just as soon as it can decently be done. jimmy, you daren't blame him." "blame him!" and jimmy's voice was strained. "if i had had his load to carry and felt it as he did, i should probably have gone under long ago." he leaned heavily on the rail for a minute or two, and then, apparently rousing himself with an effort, turned toward his comrade. "as you say, i must stand up to it. how is eleanor bearing it?" "quietly--too quietly. i'm 'most afraid of her. she's here--i went over to forster's for her. insists on staying in the house. i'll send somebody around with your papers, and then go along with you." five minutes later they went ashore together, and it was falling dusk when they reached a little four-roomed frame-house which stood near a row of others of very much the same kind amidst the tall fir-stumps which straggled up a rise on the outskirts of the town. it was such a one as the few wharf and sawmill hands who were married usually lived in--comfortless, primitive, and rickety. jimmy remembered how he had determined when he sailed south with the _shasta_ full to the hatches that his father should not stay another month in it. he was almost startled when his sister led them into the little general room, for it was evident that there had been a great change in her. that, at least, was how he regarded it then, but afterward he understood that it was only something which had been in her nature all the time making itself apparent. he did not remember whether she kissed him, but she sat down and looked at him with the light of the lamp upon her, while jimmy, who could find nothing at all to say, gazed at her. eleanor had already provided herself with somber garments, and they emphasized the severity of contour of her supple figure. they also forced up the pallor of her face, which was relieved only by a faint blotch of color in either cheek, and, in spite of this, in a curious fashion made her beautiful. jimmy had hitherto admitted that his sister was pretty, but, as he recognized, that word was not the right one now. she was imperious, dominant, a force embodied in a woman's shape, and her brother was vaguely conscious that he shrank a little from her. eleanor did not seem to want his sympathy. the coldness of her face repelled him, the fastidious neatness of her gold-bronze hair appeared unnatural, and her pale-blue eyes had a hard glitter like that of a diamond in them. it was evident that in place of being crushed, she was filled with an intense suppressed virility. indeed, there was something in her appearance and manner that was suggestive of a beautifully tempered spring, one that would fly back the moment the strain slackened, and, perhaps, cut deep into the hand that compressed it. it was the girl who spoke first, and her voice had a certain incisive quality in its evenness. "charley has told you," she said; "i can see that by your face. he insisted on doing so to save me. well, i am grateful, charley--that is, as grateful as i am capable of being--but i will not keep you." jordan looked disconcerted. "can't you let me stay? there are one or two ways in which i could be of service." eleanor made a little imperious sign, and, though jimmy once more found it difficult to realize that this woman, whose coldness suggested a white-heat of passion, was his sister, he was not altogether astonished when jordan slowly rose. "then i'm going no farther than the first fir-stump that's low enough to make a seat," he said. "if i'm wanted, jimmy has only to come out and call." he went out, and eleanor turned to her brother. "i am afraid charley is going to be sorry i promised to marry him," she said. "still, i think i am fond of him, or i might have been, if this horrible thing hadn't come between us. it is horrible, jimmy--one of the things after which one can never be quite the same. i have a good deal to say to you--but you must see him." jimmy made a sign of concurrence, and his sister rose. "first of all, there is something else. it is a hard thing, but it must be done." she turned to a cupboard, and, taking out a bottle of corn whisky, laid it before him with a composure that jarred on the man. her portentous quietness troubled him far more than a flood of tears or a wild outbreak would have done. then she laid her finger on the outside of the bottle, as though to indicate how much had been taken out of it. "i think that accounts for everything," she said. "still, he was driven to it. i want you to remember that as long as you and the man who is responsible live. prescott knows, and charley--i had to tell him. but nobody else must ever dream of it." "of course you had to tell charley," said jimmy hoarsely. "still, the inquest?" a scornful glitter crept into eleanor's eyes. "that you will leave to me. i have been drilling prescott as to what he is to say, and if they question charley, who got here before the doctor when prescott sent for him, he will stand by me." jimmy looked somewhat startled; but when he strove to frame his thoughts the girl silenced him. "if it were necessary to corrupt everybody who had ever been acquainted with him, and i could do it--at any cost--it would be done. now"--and she quietly took up the lamp--"you will come with me." jimmy shivered a little as he went with her into the adjoining room, and set his lips tight when with a steady hand she drew the coverlet down. then, while his eyes grew a trifle hazy, he drew in a little breath of relief, for tom wheelock lay white and serene at last, with closed eyes and no sign of pain in his quiet face, from which all the weariness had vanished. only a clean linen bandage, which ran from one temple to behind the other ear, was laid upon it. there was nothing that one could shrink from, and jimmy made a gesture of protest when eleanor laid her hand on the bandage. she met his eyes with something that suggested contempt in hers, and quietly drew back the bandage, and then the soft white sheet from the shoulder of the rigid figure. jimmy sickened suddenly, and seized her arm in a constraining grasp. "put it back!" he said. "that is enough--enough, i tell you!" then, while the girl obeyed him, he turned from her with a groan, gasped once or twice, and sat down limply. he could not look around again until her task was concluded, and he would not look at her. it seemed an almost interminable time before she spoke. "still," she said, "you must look at him again; i should like you to remember him as he is now. perhaps you can, jimmy, but that relief is not for me." jimmy rose, and in another few moments turned his head away. he stood still, with a whirl of confused emotions that left him half-dazed rioting within him, while he glanced vacantly round the room. it was scantily furnished, and generally comfortless and mean. long smears of resinous matter exuded from the rough frame boarding of its walls, and there were shrinkage rents in part of it that let the cool night air in. in one place he could see where a drip from the shingle roof had spread into a wide damp patch on the uncovered floor, and it seemed an almost insufferable thing that his father should have spent his last days in such surroundings. then he glanced at eleanor, standing a rigid, somber figure with the lamp in her hand, and it seemed that she guessed what he was thinking. "it does not matter now--but he was once considered a prosperous man," she said. "the contrast was one of the things he never complained of; but i think he felt it." jimmy turned and went out with her, and, sitting down in the adjoining room, she looked at him with the quietness he was commencing to shrink from. she seemed to understand that, too. "you think i am unnatural," she said. "perhaps you are right--but even if you are, what does it matter? still, i believe i was fonder of him than you ever were. if i hadn't been, could i have done all this for you and him?" she stopped for a moment, and the hard gleam flashed back into her pale-blue eyes. "he was horribly burned, jimmy, and until the last few minutes crazed with drink and pain. still, he was driven to his death and degradation." jimmy only gazed at her with a tightening of his lips, and the girl went on in the clear, incisive tones that so jarred on him. "i think it was more than murder. can you remember him as anything but abstemious, and only unwise in his easy kindliness, until the man who crushed him held him in his clutches? weak! there are people who would tell you that, and perhaps he was. it was the load he had to bear made him so. try to remember him, jimmy, as he used to be--brave and gentle, devoted to your mother and mine; the man who, they said, never ran for shelter in the fiercest breeze of wind. try--i want you to." jimmy turned to her abruptly, moistening his dry lips with his tongue. "eleanor, have done; i can't stand any more." "you must;" and the girl laughed harshly. "i hold that he was murdered. is there any real distinction between the man who holds you up with a pistol and kills you for your money, suddenly and, in one way, mercifully, and the one who with cold cunning slowly sucks your blood until he has drained the last drop out of you? still, that is not all. if he had only died as most men die. you must remember the upset lamp and the whisky, jimmy." "stop!" said jimmy hoarsely, clenching a brown hand while the perspiration started from him. "i can't stand it! it is horrible, eleanor! you are a woman--you have promised to marry my comrade." the girl rose, and, crossing to where he sat, laid a hand on his shoulder as she looked down at him. "i feel all that you feel, with a greater intensity; but i can bear it, and you must bear it too. charley will not complain, and i would be his slave or mistress as long as he would stand by me until i carry out my purpose. he is only my lover, but you are tom wheelock's son. what are you going to do?" "what can i do?" and jimmy made a little hopeless gesture. "perhaps it would be only justice, but i can't waylay merril with a pistol. the man has no human nature in him. i couldn't even provoke him to strike me." "no," said eleanor, with a bitter laugh; "that would be foolishly theatrical, and in one way too easy. it would not satisfy me. you will wait, ever so long if it's necessary, and command the _shasta_ while you take his trade away. then we will find other means--business means; it can, i think, be done. he must be slowly drained and ruined, and flung aside, a broken man, as your father was. then it would not matter whether he dies or not." jimmy shrank from her a little, and she smiled as she noticed it. "there is a good deal of our mother's nature in both of us, and you cannot get away from it. it will make you a man, jimmy, in spite of all your amiable qualities." "still," said jimmy vaguely, "one has to be practical. i'm afraid it isn't easy to ruin a man like merril just because you would like to--i've met him, you see. the _shasta_ company was not started with that purpose either, and it was only because jordan is a friend of mine that i was put in as skipper." "didn't old leeson say that the _shasta_ company would never have been formed if it hadn't been for me? it is a struggling little company, and merril is a big man, and apparently rich; but there are often chances for the men with nerve enough." jimmy rose. "if one ever comes in my way, i shall try to profit by it. that is all i can say. i'm a little dazed, eleanor. i think i'll go out and try to clear my brain again. you won't mind? i hear prescott." he met prescott in the doorway, and walking past the few frame-houses found jordan sitting, cigar in hand, upon a big fir-stump. when jimmy stopped beside him he made a little sign of comprehension and sympathy. "i guess i know what eleanor has told you," he said. "in one way, it's not astonishing that she should feel what she does, and i can't blame her, though it's a little rough on me. this is a thing she'll never quite get over--while the other man lives prosperous, anyway--and, of course, i'm standing in with her." "but it's not your affair." "it's eleanor's, and that counts with me. besides, i'm not fond of merril either." jimmy was touched by the man's devotion, but once more he could find nothing apposite to say, and jordan went on: "sometimes, as i told you, i'm a little afraid of eleanor, and perhaps that's why i like her. it seems to me you never quite understood your sister. your mother made the wheelock fleet, and it's quite likely that eleanor's going to make the _shasta_ shipping company. i'm no slouch, but she has more brains than you and i and old leeson rolled together. now, you want to rouse yourself, and she has prescott with her. you'll walk down to the steamer with me." chapter xvi under restraint austerly, who was essentially english and a servant of the crown, somewhat naturally lived outside the boundaries of vancouver. he had the tastes and prejudices of his class, and did not like the life most men lead in the western cities, which is in some respects communistic and without privacy. even those of some standing, with a house of their own, not infrequently use it only to sleep in, and take their meals at a hotel, while, should they retire to their own dwelling in the evening, they are scarcely likely to enjoy the quietness the insular englishman as a rule delights in. people walk in and out casually until late at night, and a certain proportion of them are chronically thirsty. this, in case of a business man, has its advantages as well as its drawbacks, but austerly only recognized the latter. he said it was like living in the street, and he did not appreciate being called on at eleven o'clock at night by men of doubtful character whom he had met for the first time a few days before. he accordingly retired to a retreat that one of his predecessors had built outside the city, which shades off on that side from stone and steel through gradations of frame-houses and rickety shanties into a wilderness of blackened fir-stumps. the western cities lie open, and though the life in them is more suggestive of that of paris than the staidness of an english town, they have neither gate nor barrier, and are usually ready to welcome all who care to enter: strong-armed men who limp in, red with dust, in dilapidated shoes, as well as purchasers of land and commercial enterprise directors. they have, it frequently happens, need of the one, and a bonus instead of taxes to offer the other, who may purpose to set up mills and workshops within their borders. austerly, however, was not altogether a recluse, and it came about one evening that jimmy, who had arrived there with a few other guests, sat beside anthea merril in the garden of his house. the sunlight still shone upon the struggling grass, to which neither money nor labor could impart much resemblance to an english lawn, but great pines and cedars walled it in, and one caught entrancing vistas of shining water and coldly gleaming snow through the openings between their mighty trunks. the evening was hot and still, the air heavy with the ambrosial odors of the forest, and the dying roar of a great freight train that came throbbing out of its dim recesses emphasized the silence. the little house rose, gay with painted scroll-work and relieved by its trellises and wooden pillars, beneath the dark cedar branches across the lawn. jimmy had seen valentine and miss austerly sitting on the veranda a few minutes earlier. he was, however, just then looking at his companion, and wondering whether in spite of the pleasure it afforded him he had been wise in coming there at all. anthea was dressed richly, in a fashion which it seemed to him became her wonderfully well, and he was quite aware that the few minutes he had now spent in her company would be sufficient to render him restless during the remainder of the week. jimmy had discovered that while it was difficult to resolve that he would think no more of her, it was considerably harder to carry out the prudent decision. "it is some little time since i saw you last," she said. "four weeks," said jimmy promptly. "that is, it would be if this were to-morrow." anthea smiled, though she naturally noticed that there was a certain significance in this accuracy. jimmy realized it too, for he added a trifle hastily: "the fact that it was just before the _shasta_ went to sea fixed it in my mind." "of course!" and anthea laughed. "that would, no doubt, account for it. are your after-thoughts always as happy, captain wheelock?" jimmy felt a little uncomfortable. her good-humor, in which there was nothing incisive, was, he felt, in one way a sufficient rebuff, though he could not tell whether she had meant it as such. it was also disconcerting to discover that she had evidently followed the train of reasoning which had led to the remark, though this was a thing she seemed addicted to doing. after all, there are men who fail to understand that in certain circumstances it is not insuperably difficult for a woman to tell their thoughts before they express them. "i'm afraid i don't excel at that kind of thing," he said. "it's perhaps fortunate my friends realize it." anthea turned and looked at him with reposeful eyes. "well," she said reflectively, "i almost fancied you were not particularly pleased to see me. you had, at least, very little to say at dinner." jimmy, to his annoyance, felt the blood rise to his forehead. he had sense enough to see that his companion did not intend this to be what, in similar circumstances, is sometimes called encouraging. he was not a brilliant man; but it is, after all, very seldom that an extra-master's certificate or a naval reserve commission is held by a fool. anthea had, he felt, merely asked him a question, and he could not tell her that he would have avoided her only because he felt afraid that the delight he found in her company might prove too much for his self-restraint. "still," he said, somewhat inanely, "how could i? you were talking to that englishman all the time." "burnell?" said anthea. "yes, i suppose i was. he and his wife are rather old friends of mine. they have just come from honolulu, and talk about taking the yacht up to alaska. in that case, they want nellie and me to go with them." jimmy remembered the beautiful white steam-yacht which had passed the _shasta_ on her way to vancouver a day or two ago, and was sensible of a vague relief that was at the same time not quite free from concern. if anthea went to alaska, it was certain that he would have no opportunity for meeting her for a considerable time. that was, in one way, what he desired, but it by no means afforded him the satisfaction he felt it should have done. she did not, however, appear inclined to dwell upon the subject. "i think i ought to congratulate you on what you did a few weeks ago," she said. "i read the schooner-man's narrative in the paper." jimmy laughed. "if i had known he was going to tell that tale, i almost fancy i should have left him where he was; but, after all, i scarcely think he did. seas of the kind mentioned could exist only in a newspaperman's imagination." the girl smiled, for, though what she thought did not appear, she saw the shade of darker color in his face, and jimmy was very likeable in his momentary confusion. now and then his ingenuous nature revealed itself in spite of his restraint, but nobody ever shrank from a glimpse of it, for he had in him, as anthea had seen, something of the largeness and openness of the sea. "still," she said, "i heard one or two men who understand such things talking about it, and they seemed to agree that it needed nerve and courage to take the schooner skipper off without wrecking your vessel; but you are, perhaps, right about the imagination of the men who serve such papers." jimmy noticed the trace of half-contemptuous anger in her face and voice, and fancied he understood it. he had, of course, seen the issue of the paper in question, and had read close beneath the schooner-man's account of his rescue a bitter and plainly worded attack upon his companion's father. merril was a political as well as a commercial influence, and journalists in that country do not shrink from personalities. he felt, by the way she glanced at him, that she knew he had done so. "yes," she said, though he had not spoken, "you understand what i am alluding to. still, i suppose anybody who does all he can for the province must expect to be misrepresented." jimmy's face grew a trifle hard. he did not know exactly what she expected from him, but even to please her he would not admit that the man who had seized the _tyee_ could be misrepresented in any way, unless, indeed, somebody held him up as a pattern of virtue. "i suppose your father denied the statements?" he said. "i have, of course, been away." "no," replied anthea; "it was scarcely worth while. after all, very few people would consider the thing seriously." she turned to him again with an inquiring glance, and there was a certain insistency in her tone. "of course, that ought to be clear to anybody." jimmy met her glance steadily, and set his lips as he usually did when he was stirred, and he was stirred rather deeply then. still, nothing would have induced him to say a word in merril's favor. then it seemed to him that the girl's expression changed. he could almost have fancied there was a suggestion of appeal in her eyes, as though she would have liked him to constitute himself her ally, and, indeed, had half-expected it. it set his heart beating, and sent a little thrill through him, for in that moment it was clear that she wished to believe altogether in her father, and would value any support that he could offer her. in other circumstances it would have been a delight to take up the cause of any of her kin, whatever it might have cost him, but just then he was conscious of a bitter hatred of the man in question, and jimmy was in all things honest. "i'm afraid i don't know how people are likely to regard it," he said. "you see, i am almost a stranger in the province. i have been away so long." anthea appeared to assent to this, but jimmy realized that she felt that he had failed her. still, the thing was done, and he would not have done it differently had another opportunity been afforded him. "well," she said slowly, "there is something i want to mention. i fancy mr. burnell has a favor to ask of you this evening, and it might, perhaps, be wise to oblige him. he can be a very good friend, as i have reason to know, and though he may not mention this, he is, one understands, rather a prominent figure in the directorate of the ---- mail company." for a few moments jimmy was troubled by an unpleasant sense of confusion. the man's name was famous in the shipping world, and there were a good many aspiring steamboat officers who sought his good-will, while, since he could not have heard of jimmy until a day or two ago, it was evident that somebody in vancouver city had spoken in his favor. jimmy fancied he knew who this must be, and it was but a minute or two since he had turned a deaf ear to the girl's appeal. then he roused himself, as he saw her curious smile. "so that is the famous man?" he said. "i should never have imagined it." anthea laughed as she rose; but before she moved away, she turned to him confidentially. "i really think," she said, "you should do what he asks you." then she left him, and it was some minutes later when a little, quiet englishman strolled in that direction, cigar in hand. he sat down by jimmy. "i don't know whether i'm presuming, but i believe you are duly qualified to take command of a british steamer and are acquainted with the northwest coast?" he said. jimmy said he had not been far north; and burnell appeared to reflect for a moment or two. "after all," he said, "i don't suppose that matters so very much. i'm in rather a difficulty, and you may be able to do something for me. we lost our skipper, and my mate and several of the crew have taken leave of me here unceremoniously. i wish to ask if you would take the yacht up to alaska for me, and afterward home again. i should naturally be prepared to offer whatever salary is obtainable here by a duly qualified skipper, and as several of my friends are also yours, you would, of course, continue to meet them on that footing while you were on board." "there is one point," said jimmy. "the arrangement would necessarily be a temporary one." "i fancied you would raise it. well, it would perhaps be a little premature to say very much just now; but i did not come to vancouver entirely on pleasure. in fact, it is likely that we shall shortly attempt to cut into the american south-sea trade, in which case we should want commanders for a -ton boat or two from this city. if not, i almost think i can promise that you would not suffer from serving me. i may mention that your friends speak of you very favorably." jimmy thought hard for a minute or two. it was a very tempting offer, and wages out of that port were excellent just then. what was more to the purpose, it promised to send him back to the liners, where a commander was a person of some consequence, and, besides this, anthea had told him that she was in all probability going to alaska. then he reluctantly shook his head. "i'm afraid i can't close with you, sir," he said. "the fact is, i consider myself bound to the _shasta_ company." "ah!" said burnell; "their terms are still more favorable? one would scarcely have fancied it." "no," said jimmy, "that is certainly not the case. still, they put me into the little boat out of friendliness--and i'm not quite sure anybody else could do as much for them, or, at least, would make an equal effort in the somewhat curious circumstances. of course, that sounds a trifle egotistical; but still----" burnell signified comprehension. "it is not altogether a question of money." "i couldn't come if you offered me treble the usual thing," said jimmy gravely. the other man nodded. "well," he said, "i'm sorry, because after what you have told me i almost think we should have hit it tolerably well together. at any time you think i could be of service, you can write to me." he talked about other matters for a while, and it was half an hour after he went away when jimmy once more came face to face with anthea merril. she was walking slowly through the creeping shadow of the pines, and stopped when she saw him beside a barberry bush, among whose clustering blossoms jeweled humming-birds flitted. one of them that gleamed iridescent hovered on wings that moved invisibly close above her shoulder. "so," she said, "you have not done as i suggested?" jimmy looked at her gravely, and once more felt the blood creep into his face. she had told him she was going to alaska on board the yacht, and he almost ventured to fancy she had meant it as an inducement; but there was no trace of resentment in her voice. anthea was too proud for that. "i'm sorry," he said. "still, you see, i couldn't." there was no doubt that he was sorry, and a look that left him almost bewildered crept into the girl's eyes. "why?" she asked quietly. it was a somewhat unfortunate question, since it afforded an opening for two different answers, and jimmy, who fancied she wished to learn why the fact that he could not go should grieve him, lost his head. "why?" he said. "surely that can't be necessary. i think there is only one thing that could have stopped my going. if it hadn't been for that, i would have walked bare-foot across the province to join the ship." anthea looked up, and met his eyes steadily. it was clear that she understood him, but there was no reproof in her gaze, and for a moment the man felt the sudden passion seize and almost shake the self-restraint from him. the girl was very alluring, and just then her pride had gone, while it was vaguely borne in on him that he had but to ask, or rather take her masterfully. perhaps he was right, for there are moments when wealth and station do not seem to count, and an eager word or two, or a sudden compelling seizure of the white hand that hung so close beside him, might have been all that was needed. he looked at her with gleaming eyes, while a little quiver ran through him. still, he remembered suddenly whose daughter she was, and the bitter grievance he had against her father. the opposition merril would certainly offer and the stigma others might cast upon him if he wrested a promise from her then, also counted for something; and though neither of them made any sign, both knew when she spoke again that the moment had passed. "that," she said, "was not what i meant. why is it impossible for you to go?" jimmy was himself again, for her voice and look had swiftly changed. "i think it is only your due that i should tell you, since i know why burnell put the offer before me. well, i was glad to get the _shasta_, and it would hardly be the thing to leave her now. jordan and the others put money they could very hardly spare into the venture--and when they did it, they had confidence in me." "ah!" said anthea, and stood silent for a moment or two. then she smiled at him gravely. "perhaps you are right--and, at least, one could fancy that jordan and the others were warranted." jimmy, whose face once more grew a trifle flushed, raised a hand in protest. "i feel i have to thank you for sending burnell to me. it must have seemed very ungrateful that i didn't close with him; but, after all, that is only part of what i mean. you see----" the girl looked at him, still with the curious little smile. "you fancied i should feel hurt because you could not take a favor of that kind from me? well, perhaps i did, but, as you have said, you couldn't help it--and i don't think it matters, after all." her voice was quietly even, and there was certainly no suggestion in it that she resented what he had done; but jimmy knew that he was now expected to put on his reserve again, and he hastened to explain in conventional fashion that the way she might regard the matter was really a question of interest to him. then anthea looked at him, and they both laughed as they turned away, which, as it happened, very nearly led to jimmy's flinging prudence aside again, and he felt relieved when he saw austerly and his daughter approaching them. before the latter two joined them, anthea, however, once more turned to her companion. "there is still something i wish to say, and perhaps i should have mentioned it earlier; but in such cases one shrinks from causing pain," she said. "i should like you to believe that i was very sorry when i heard--about your father." jimmy only made her a grave inclination, for, though he could not blame her for it, his father's death was the most formidable of the barriers between them, and, recognizing it, he felt a little thrill of dismay as she turned off across the lawn toward where mrs. burnell was apparently awaiting her. it afterward cost him an effort to talk intelligently to austerly and his daughter; but since they betrayed no astonishment at his observations, he fancied that he had somehow accomplished it. chapter xvii the rancher's answer it was a saturday evening, and barbison, the fruit-tree drummer, felt that he had chosen a fitting time to introduce the business which had brought him there, as he sat amidst a cluster of bush-ranchers on the veranda of the little wooden hotel. it stood beside a crystal river in a lonely settlement, with the dark coniferous forest rolling close up to it. there were, however, wide gaps in the firs in front of the veranda, with tall, split fences, raised to keep the deer out, straggling athwart them amidst the pale-green of the oats, while here and there one could see an axe-built log-house embowered in young orchard trees. a trail led past the hotel, rutted by the wooden runners of jumper-sleds and ploughed up by the feet of toiling oxen and pack-horses. it led back in one direction through shadowy forest to the dunsmore railroad, thirty miles away, and in the other to the deep inlet where the _shasta_ lay. the ranchers, however, usually reached the latter by canoe, because the trail was as bad as most of the others are in that country. on the evening in question there was a little stir in the sleepy place, for the mounted mail-carrier, who accomplished the journey weekly, had come in, and hard-handed, jean-clad men had plodded down from lonely clearings among the enfolding hills to inquire for letters, purchase stores, and ask each other whether the government meant to make a wagon-road or do anything at all for them. the question was, however, not quite so important as usual just then, for private enterprise had, as not infrequently happens, undertaken the government's responsibilities, and the ranchers were conscious of a certain gratitude to the _shasta_ shipping company. thirty miles over mountains is rather a long way to convey one's produce and supplies. a select company of deeply bronzed and wiry men who had tried to do it with pack-horses as well as oxen and jumper-sledges sat listening to barbison, apparently with grave attention, while another entertainment was being prepared for them. two of their comrades, stripped to their blue shirts and old jean trousers, were then engaged in grubbing a very big fir-stump in front of the veranda--that is, clearing out the soil from beneath it, and cutting through the smaller roots with an instrument which much resembled a ship carpenter's adze. it is in general use on the pacific slope, where the process of making a bush-ranch seldom varies greatly. the rancher purchases the raw material, thin red soil covered with tremendous forest, as cheaply as he can, and at the cost of several years' strenuous toil hews down a few acres of the latter. then he proceeds to burn up the logs, and there are left rows of unsightly stumps rising four to six feet above the ground, which he laboriously ploughs around. when he has garnered a crop or two he usually attacks these in turn--that is, if they show no sign of rotting; and to grub out a big one and haul it clear with oxen frequently costs him at least a day. barbison, who watched the proceedings with the rest, was aware of this, but he did not know that the man who sat smoking on a big mechanical appliance of the screw-jack order was the _shasta_'s engineer. it was also somewhat curious, since he had contrived to mention her several times, that his companions had not thought it worth while to acquaint him with the fact, but left him to suppose the gentleman in question was traveling the country on behalf of the manufacturers of the american stump-grubber. in the meanwhile barbison discoursed glibly about fruit-trees and produce prices, and pointed now and then to a big tin case partly filled with desiccated fruits and pictures which lay on a chair beside him. he was a little, dapper man, evidently from the cities, and by no mean disingenuous, though he was apparently young. he turned when a big quiet rancher picked up and gravely munched a fine californian plum. "oh, let up!--that's the third," he said. "how can i sell trees on my samples when the boys have eaten them?" the man looked at him stolidly. "it's high-grade fruit," he said. "how'd you start those plum-trees bearing?--they're quite a long while showing a flower or two. cut them hard when the frost lets up in spring?" "quite hard!" said barbison, for one must make a venture now and then; and none of his companions showed any astonishment, though fruit is freely raised in that country, and the trees that grow the kind with stones in it resent the use of the pruning knife, as everybody who has much to do with them knows. "juss so!" said the rancher. "boys, you cut them--hard. now, those apples. s'pose you had good parent stocks, could you bud on to them--and how'd you do it? guess that would suit some sorts better than whip-grafting." one might have fancied that barbison was for a moment a trifle disconcerted, but he smiled airily. "just how you'd bud on anything else. i'd wax the thread." "you hear him, boys?" said the rancher. "what you want to do is to wax your thread." they were very quiet, but perhaps not unusually so, for the clearers of those forests are, except on occasion, generally silent men. barbison looked at them reflectively. "raising the fruit's only half the trouble, anyway," he said. "the big question everywhere is how to put it on the market; and if i can be of any use in that direction, you have only to command me. seems to me the government's tired of making roads." "what's the matter with the steamboat?" asked somebody. "never had no trouble since we hauled our stuff down to the _shasta_." barbison's smile was sympathetic now. "i guess you're not going to haul your stuff down to her very much longer. she's played out, and run by little, struggling men who can't get credit for the patching up that ought to be done on her, and who'll have nothing to meet claims with if she breaks down and spoils your freight some day. that's a sure thing. from what i heard in vancouver, the bottom's just ready to drop out of the concern. you want to think of that. creditors have a lien on freight, too, when a boat's held up for debt." "then if i sent down my potatoes or fat steers in her, somebody could seize them for the money the company owed?" asked another rancher. "that's the law," said barbison, and there was nothing in his companions' manner to suggest that they did not in the least believe him. "now, there's some talk about another firm putting a smart new boat on. plenty money behind that crowd, and when she comes round it might suit you considerably better to make a deal with them." "who's running the thing?" "man called merril. enterprising man. when he takes hold he makes things hum. if it were necessary to start a trade, he'd 'most carry your stuff for nothing." "juss so!" said the big rancher. "kind of philanthropist. i've heard of him." the man's face was vacantly expressionless, but barbison, who glanced at him sharply, fancied that he had said enough on the subject. he had visited most of the settlements that could be reached from the coast, and had never neglected an opportunity for dropping a word about the _shasta_ and the new boat. "where's that stump-grubber fellow from?" he asked. "don't quite know," said one of the others. "strikes me as an ontario scotchman. but the machine's an american notion; never saw one quite like it before." the man in question stood up just then. he was big and gaunt and pale, but he wore ordinary city clothes, and when he and the others had inserted the screw-jack contrivance on a strip of thick planking under the sawn-off tree, he turned to the assembly. "there are quite a few stump-pullers, and i've struck benighted men who used the chain-tackle tripod," he said. "i'm not saying it's inefficient, for when you put sufficient pressure upon the winch and it will not pull the stump up, it will pull the tripod down upon your head. this one pulls up all the time, and something has got to come if you work hard enough." then he raised his hand to his two companions. "you look fit and strong. show them you can heave." they drew the sliding bar up to the head of the thing, and pulled it toward them several times, while their faces grew suffused and the veins rose gorged on their foreheads, for men in that country are proud of their vigor. there was a slow cracking and tearing of roots, but the great stump still stood immovable. then the _shasta_'s engineer inquired what they fed upon, and their comrades flung them sardonic encouragement, while as they gasped and strained their muscles the screw slid slowly, turn by turn, through its socket. at last there was a sharp rending and a little murmur of applause as the big stump tilted and fell over on its side. then the big rancher stood up on the veranda. "it's smart work, but dave and charley are two of the smartest men round this settlement, and we want to test the thing in every way," he said. "there's another stump yonder, and i guess mr. fleming will put up a bottle of whisky for any three men who will knock five minutes off the record. we'll put mr. barbison and jasper in to show what men who don't grub stumps can do." there was a little laughter, for if jasper, who slowly took off his jacket, was not accustomed to stump-grubbing, he was at least a man of splendid physique, and barbison felt uneasy when he laid a great hand on his shoulder. "come right along," he said; "we've got to get that whisky." barbison's protests were not listened to, and, seeing no help for it, he also flung off his jacket, when the big rancher firmly led him down the stairway. then they gave him a shovel, and his two companions saw that he used it while they plied the grub-hoe. there are, however, probably very few men reared in the city who could work with the tireless axemen of the pacific slope, and in ten minutes barbison was visibly distressed. the perspiration dripped from his flushed face, and he gasped for breath, while his comrades inquired with ironical solicitude whether he were getting sleepy. when he had excavated enough to satisfy them, they made him crawl into the hole and claw out soil from among the roots with shortened shovel, most of the contents of which fell all over him. they kept him at it mercilessly for over half an hour, and when he crept out his hands were raw and he was aching in every limb. even then there was no respite, for the rest insisted on his participating in their labors at the lever, and contrived to allow him to do considerably more than his share. at last, however, the great stump rose and tilted, and he was escorted back to the hotel amidst acclamation. "well," said the big rancher, "if you can work like that, why in the name of thunder do you want to be a fruit-tree peddler? it's quite hard to believe you are one. you don't look like it, anyway." barbison certainly did not, for he had burst a seam of one of his garments during his efforts, while the red soil that had smeared them freely was on his dripping face and in his ruffled hair. he flung a swift glance at the man as he realized that his observation was apposite. there was, however, nothing suspicious in the rancher's attitude, and the others laughed in the soft fashion peculiar to the bushman. "anyway, he deserves the whisky," said one of them. it was duly brought, and, though those ranchers are for the most part abstemious men, other bottles made their appearance in turn, and barbison braced himself for an effort to maintain his credit as one of the boys. he had not found this very difficult in the city saloons, but the bushman who lives with spartan simplicity and toils amidst the life-giving fragrance of the pines twelve hours every day usually possesses a nerve and constitution that will withstand almost anything. besides, there was only one barbison and a good many of them. it was therefore not altogether astonishing that by and by the drummer's observations grew a trifle incoherent, until at last his companions grinned at one another when with a visible effort he raised himself shakily to his feet. "something wrong with that whisky, boys; i can't quite talk the way i want. guess i'll go to sleep," he said. "anyway, you stand by merril. he'll carry your freight for nothing, and run the _shasta_ men to----" after that he said nothing further, but lowered himself carefully into his chair, and collapsed with his arms flung out before him across the table. then the rest proceeded to hold a court-martial over him. "seems to me he knows a blame sight more about mr. merril and the _shasta_ than he does about fruit-trees," said the big rancher. "boys, you cut those plums--hard--and always put wax on the string. oh, yes, you're innocent bushmen being played for suckers by a smart city man! guess one would wonder when they took the long clothes off him. if that last advice he gave you wasn't quite enough, i see a book in his pocket with a silver-headed pencil strapped to it." one of them promptly took it out, and flicking over the pages, read, "'six fathoms right up to the old sawmill wharf. worth while to tow the schooner in and leave her to load. nothing to be had at trevor. siwash deck passengers at tyler's. sprotson men have odds and ends, but seem stuck on the _shasta_.'" he closed the book with a sharp snap, and grinned at the rest. "well," he said reflectively, "that's 'bout enough for me. i'm stuck on the _shasta_, too. seems to me the men who run her mean to do the straight thing by us." the rest concurred with this, and several of them instanced cases where carriers had in due time put the screw upon producers who had been supinely content to pocket a big rebate until there was no longer any competition. the rancher with the notebook smiled at them. "then we've no use round here for a man like mr. barbison," he said. "the one question is--what we're going to do with him before we start him back to the blame philanthropist who sent him?" they made ingenious suggestions, which varied from painting him with red-lead to teaching him to swim; but it was the one offered by fleming of the _shasta_ that most pleased them. "what he wants is exercise, and if you will bring him off to the steamer i'll see he gets it," he said. "i've quite a few tons of coal to trim, and there's a pile of old grease he could clean out of her bilges." "the blame insect will offer to pay his passage when he comes round," said one of the company. "that is easily fixed," said another, who had been rummaging barbison's pockets. "see this wallet, jake? well, you're going in to the railroad, and you'll express it to mr. merril, care of the fruit agency, with a line to say the gentleman was sick and left it behind him. that strike you all as workable? then all we have to do is to decorate him." they did it as well as they were able, and four of them afterward carried him to a siwash canoe. they had some difficulty in doing it, and fell down once or twice on the way; but just before the _shasta_ went to sea barbison was put aboard her, with his face rouged with red-lead and a garland of cedar sprays about his head. it was almost dark then. wheelock was on his bridge, the deck-hands were busy stowing the anchor, and as the two ranchers who brought the drummer laid him beneath a boat where he tranquilly resumed his sleep, some little time had passed before anybody concerned himself about him. then a grinning seaman brought jimmy down from his bridge, and held up a lantern while he gazed in blank astonishment at his prostrate passenger. "tell mr. fleming i want him. he was ashore," he said. the engineer came, and smiled when jimmy turned to him. "if you can tell me what the meaning of this is, i should be obliged," he said. "well," said fleming reflectively, "there are maybe two or three. for one thing, i'm thinking it's a hint that the boys ashore are standing by you. there's a note they sent off in your room." jimmy told the seaman to bring it, and, while the latter turned the light upon the strip of paper, read: "hasn't a dollar on him, and belongs to a man called merril, who's on your trail. we recommend a course of shoveling coal. all you have to do is to play a straight game with the boys, and they'll stand behind you all the time." then he turned to fleming. "i fancy you could give me an explanation, and i'd like to have it." fleming told him as much as it appeared desirable that he should know, and jimmy smiled grimly. "wake him up," he said. "there's a bucket yonder." the seaman made a vigorous use of it, and barbison raised himself on one elbow, drenched and spluttering. "throw any more water, and i'll kill somebody! i'm dangerous when i'm mad," he said. "get up!" said jimmy sharply. "what are you doing here?" barbison, who endeavored unsuccessfully to get up, did not seem to know, and apparently abandoned the attempt to think it out. his scattered senses, however, came back to him after the application of more cold water. "how much you want--take me to victoria?" he gasped. "one hundred dollars," said jimmy dryly. the passenger expostulated in a half-coherent fashion, and then, apparently realizing that it was useless, fumbled for his wallet. he clenched his fist when he could not find it. "stole it--and my tin case," he said. "ate up all my samples--must have ate the case, too, the--hungry hogs." "then you'll have to work your passage;" and jimmy turned to fleming. "you'll take care he earns it. don't quite kill the man." barbison, who seemed to understand this, at last got on his feet and unloosed a flood of invective which had no effect on any of his listeners. several deck-hands were, however, needed before he was conveyed into the stokehold and left in front of a bunker with a shovel in his hand. he assured fleming that nothing would induce him to work, and the engineer only grinned, because it was a long way to victoria, and the _shasta_ had several calls to make. barbison seemed to fancy that his firmness had proved sufficient, and, coiling himself up amidst the coal, once more went to sleep. he awakened hungry, and fleming smiled again when he demanded food. "if you'll lift those floor-plates you'll see the spaces between her frames choked with coal-grit and grease," he said. "it's possible you'll get some breakfast when you've scraped them clean. then it will depend on how much coal you trim out of that bunker whether you get any dinner." barbison looked hard at the man, and saw he meant what he said. then he pulled up a floor-plate and looked at the filthy mass of coagulated grease that had drained from the engine-room. "and how'm i to get it out?" he asked. "quite easy," said fleming dryly. "what's the matter with your hands?" then he went away and left barbison to his task. it was a particularly repulsive one, but he accomplished it, and spent most of the next few days trimming coal, waiting on the fireman, and cleaning out an empty coal-bunker on his hands and knees. it is probable that the sight of victoria filled him with ineffable relief, and it certainly was not fleming's fault if this were not the case. as they steamed into the harbor jimmy sent for him. "i think you have earned your passage, and we're straight," he said. "you can go ashore when we get in." barbison glanced down at his dilapidated attire. "can i go ashore this way? i'll ask you a favor. let me stay until it's dark." jimmy laughed. "well," he said, "as i scarcely think mr. merril will send you back again, you may." chapter xviii eleanor speaks her mind the afternoon was hot and drowsily still when merril drove his daughter down the dusty road which runs from new westminster through the fraser meadows. the team was a fast one, and the man, who had an appointment to keep in vancouver, did not spare them. there were also reasons why he found rapid motion and the attention the mettlesome horses required a welcome distraction, for just then he was troubled with a certain sense of irritation which was unusual with him. merril was not a hot-tempered man; in fact, he owed his commercial success largely to the dispassionate coolness which rarely permitted his feelings to influence his actions, and it was characteristic of him that while he had a finger in a good many schemes the man himself never figured prominently in connection with any of them. his influence was felt, but he was in one sense rather an abstract force than a dominant personality. it was said of him that he always worked underground, and he certainly never made political speeches or favored the newspapers with his views; while, when the results of his unostentatious efforts became apparent in disaster to somebody, as they usually did, it generally happened that other men incurred the odium. there are, of course, financiers whose enterprises benefit the whole community, since they create new corn-fields and open mines and mills, but merril's genius was rather of the destructive order, and it was not to anybody's advantage that he knew how to choose his time and instruments well. in person, he was little, somewhat portly, and very neatly dressed, a man who had never been known to lose his temper or force himself upon the citizens' attention. still, he was human, after all, and as he sat behind his costly team that afternoon he was thinking somewhat uneasily of the unexpected resistance certain land-jobbers in new westminster had shown to his demands, and the attack on him which had just appeared in a popular journal. it was the second time the thing had happened, and, though he was not directly mentioned and the statements could scarcely be considered libelous, it was evident that a continuance of them would have the effect of turning the attention of those who read them upon his doings, which was just then about the last thing that he desired. it accordingly happened that he drove a little faster than he generally did, until as the team swung out of a strip of shadowy bush he saw a jumper-sled loaded high with split-rails on the road close in front of him. he shouted to the man who walked beside the plodding oxen, never doubting that way would be made for him, especially as the teamster looked around. the oxen, however, went straight on down the middle of the road, and it was a trifle too late when merril laid both hands upon the reins. in another moment there was a crash, and anthea was almost shaken from her seat. when merril swung himself down he saw that one wheel had driven hard against the jumper load. then as he called to anthea to move the team a pace or two, the patent bushing squeaked and groaned, and the wheel, after making part of a revolution, skidded on the road. the man who drove the oxen turned and favored him with a little sardonic grin. "i hope the young lady's not shook too much," he said. anthea, who fancied it was with a purpose he confined this expression of regret, if, indeed, it could be considered such, to herself, was as a matter of fact considerably shaken and very angry. "why didn't you get out of the way when you heard my father shout?" she asked. it was merril at whom the man looked. "well," he said reflectively, "i guess that load is heavy, and the oxen have been hauling hard since sun-up, while there's no reason why a rancher shouldn't use the road as well as anybody from the city. you should have pulled up sooner. anyway, you're not going far like that." merril said nothing, though he could not very well have failed to notice the hint of satisfaction in the last remark. he very seldom put himself in the wrong by any ill-considered utterance, but anthea was a trifle puzzled when he quietly walked to the horses' heads. she knew that the small ranchers are, for the most part, good-humored and kindly men, while, although she could not be certain that the one before them had contrived the mishap, it was evident that he had done very little to avert it. he made no further observation, and when he led his oxen into a neighboring meadow merril told the girl to drive the horses slowly toward a ranch they could see ahead, and walked beside the wagon watching the wheel. it would turn once or twice and then stick fast and skid again; but they contrived to reach the ranch, and found a bronzed man in dusty jean leaning on the slip-rails. "have you a wagon-jack and a spanner?" asked merril. "i have," said the man, who made no sign of going for them. "then i should be obliged if you would lend me them," said merril. the man smiled dryly. "it can't be done. if that wheel won't turn, miss merril can come in and sit with my wife while you go somewhere and get it fixed. that's the most i can do for you." "i suppose the man who wouldn't let us pass back yonder is a friend of yours?" and merril looked hard at him. "that's so. runs this ranch with me. guess you've seen me once before, though it was your clerk i made the deal with. that's why we're here on rented land making 'bout enough to buy groceries and tobacco. you know how much the ranch you bounced us out of was worth to you. anyway, you can't have that jack and spanner." anthea flushed with anger, but she saw that her father was very quiet. "well," he said dryly, "they belong to you, but i'm not sure it wouldn't have been as wise to let me have them." the rancher laughed. "you don't hold our mortgage now, and if i could get hold of that newspaper-man i could give him a pointer or two. seems to me he's getting right down on to the trail of you. are you coming in out of the sun, miss merril?" "certainly not," said anthea; and the man took out his pipe and quietly filled it when merril told her to walk the horses on again. though she was a trifle perplexed by what she had heard, it seemed to her that her father's attitude was the correct one, and she seldom asked unnecessary questions. she had lived away from home a good deal since the death of her mother when she was very young, but her father had always been indulgent, and she had cherished an unquestioning confidence in him. it was also pleasant to know that he was a man of mark and influence, and one looked up to by the community. of late, however, several circumstances besides the newspaper attacks on him had seemed to cast a doubt upon the latter point, but she would not entertain it for a moment, or ask herself whether there was anything to warrant them. it was reassuring to remember her father's little smile when she had ventured to offer him her sympathy; but she could not help admitting that there must, at least, have been some cause for the rancher's rancor. the man, she felt, would not have displayed such vindictive bitterness without any reason at all. she, however, decided that he had no doubt made some imprudent bargain with her father, and was unwarrantedly blaming the latter for the unfortunate result of it. they went on in silence, and merril, who walked beside the wagon, shook the wheel loose now and then when the horses stopped, until they reached forster's homestead. the rancher greeted anthea pleasantly, but she felt that there was a subtle change in his manner when he turned to her father, who explained their difficulty. "the trouble is that i have rather an important appointment in vancouver this afternoon," said the latter. "my wife is there now with our only driving wagon, or i would offer to take you over," said forster. "i can, however, lend you a saddle-horse, and miss merril could stay with miss wheelock until we see what can be done with the wagon. if necessary, i will drive her across when my wife comes back." merril thanked him, and presently moved away toward the stable with the hired man while forster led anthea to the house, and left her in the big general room where, as it happened, eleanor wheelock sat sewing. the green lattices outside the open windows were partly drawn to, but the shadowy room was very hot, and the little air that entered brought the smell of the pines with it. it was not the aromatic scent they have at evening, but the almost overpowering smell filled with the clogging sweetness of honey the afternoon sun calls forth from them. the ranch was also very still, and for no evident reason anthea felt the drowsy quietness weigh upon her. her companion said nothing to break it, but sat near the window sewing quietly, and anthea became sensible of a faint shrinking from the girl, though she would have liked to overcome it for reasons she was not altogether willing to confess to herself. eleanor wheelock's face looked almost colorless by contrast with her somber dress, and there was a curious hardness in it, while anthea, who remembered leeson's speech in the _shasta_'s cabin, wondered whether she were making the very dainty garment for herself, since it was suggestive of wedding finery. "that should be very effective," she said at length. "you intend to wear it?" eleanor looked up from her sewing. "yes," she said, "i believe i shall." something in her voice struck anthea as out of place in the circumstances, for one does not sew bitterness into wedding attire, while the suggestion of uncertainty which the speech conveyed was more curious still. anthea felt there must be something more than the loss of her father to account for her companion's attitude; but that was naturally a thing she could not mention. "i think i could venture to offer you my sympathy in what you have had to bear," she said. "i was very distressed to see the brief account in the newspaper." eleanor laid down her sewing, and looked at her steadily. "why should you be?" it was a disconcerting question, and asked with a still more disconcerting insistency. anthea could not very well say that she did not know, nor yet admit that the news had grieved her because of her sympathy with jimmy. still, though she shrank from her, she desired this girl's good-will, and she compelled herself to an effort. "in any case, i was sincerely sorry," she said. "although i only met you that evening on board the _shasta_, one could say as much without presuming. besides, when we were away in the _sorata_ your brother did a good deal to make the cruise pleasant for nellie austerly and me." "when he was valentine's deck-hand?" and eleanor looked at her with a little sardonic smile. "you no doubt allowed him to forget it occasionally, and jimmy was grateful. in fact, he admitted as much to me. he was always foolishly impressionable." anthea felt her face grow warm, and though she was as a rule courageous, she was glad that she sat in the shadow. in several respects her companion's last suggestion appeared almost insufferable. "perhaps i laid myself open to this," she said. "it is seldom wise to make advances until one is reasonably sure of one's ground, but i do not understand why you should resent a few words spoken out of friendliness." the little hard glint grew plainer in eleanor's eyes. "then i think you should do so. there is a very convincing reason why friendliness--of any kind--would be very unfitting between you and me--or, for that matter, between you and jimmy." anthea would not ask the question that suggested itself, for it seemed to her, as, crushing down her anger, she sat and watched her companion, that the latter had been waiting for this opportunity. there was no mistaking the meaning of the thrill in her voice or the spot of color in her cheek, while the reference to jimmy had its significance. she felt that the girl wished to hurt her. "you admitted that you read the newspapers?" said eleanor abruptly. "ah!" said anthea; "i think i know what you mean by that. naturally, i cannot discuss those libels with you." "libels!" and eleanor laughed. "if you can believe them that, one would almost envy your credulity. presumably your father has never mentioned our name to you?" anthea was somewhat startled, for, though merril certainly had not done so, she remembered the momentary expression of his face when forster had mentioned miss wheelock. she also remembered jimmy's attitude on the evening she met him at austerly's, and the suggestion of distance in forster's manner to her father. it seemed that there were others as well as the rancher who did not believe the statements made in the paper to be libelous. "he has not," she said very quietly. "still, as i said, these are subjects i cannot discuss with everybody." "and yet you were anxious to know why friendliness was out of the question between you and me! well, i admit that i find a certain pleasure in telling you, and it isn't quite unnatural. you read how my father--jimmy's father--died, but you do not know how he came to be living in that sordid shanty, an infirm and nerveless man. your father slowly ruined him, wringing his few dollars out of him one by one, by practices no honorable man would condescend to, until there was nothing more he could lay his grasping hands upon. when that happened my father was broken in health and courage, and only wished to hide what he felt, most foolishly, was shameful poverty. there wore other things--things i cannot tell you of--but they make it clear that your father is directly responsible for my father's death." she stopped abruptly and took up her sewing, but her face looked very grim and vindictive in its dead pallor, for the spot of color had faded now, and presently she flung the dainty fabric down again and looked steadily at her companion. neither of them spoke for almost a minute, and once more anthea felt the stillness of the ranch-house and the heavy honey-like smell of the pines curiously oppressive. she believed in her father, or had made up her mind to do so, which was, however, perhaps not quite the same thing; but she could not doubt that eleanor wheelock was firmly persuaded of the accuracy of the indictment that she had made. the passionate vindictive thrill in her voice had been absolutely genuine, and anthea recognized that it could not have been so without some reason. then eleanor spoke again. "you may wonder why i have told you this--though i am not quite sure that you do," she said. "well, you at least understand why i resent your sympathy, and if i had any other purpose it may perhaps appear to you when you think over what you have heard." anthea rose at last, and turned toward her quietly, but with a certain rigidity of pose which had its significance. she stood very straight and looked at her companion with big, grave eyes. "you have, at least, said all i care to listen to," she said. "and i think sufficient," said eleanor, with a bitter smile. then, and it was a relief to anthea, forster came in, and dropped into a chair. "i fancy jake will fix that wheel; but he may be an hour yet, and it's very hot," he said. "i don't want to break off your talk, but perhaps you could make us some tea, miss wheelock. i don't feel like waiting until supper." eleanor went out, and anthea found it cost her an effort to talk tranquilly to forster. she liked the man, but her mind was busy, and had there been any means available she would gladly have escaped from him. it was evident that eleanor wheelock believed what she had told her. the rancher who had kept his jumper in the way was as clearly persuaded that merril had injured him, and it was conceivable that the newspaper-man also believed his statements warranted. if they were right, her father must have treated several people with considerable harshness, but she could not bring herself to admit that--at least, just then. she naturally did not know eleanor wheelock had foreseen that once her doubts were aroused, enlightenment would presently follow. then there was the latter's veiled suggestion that she was attracted by jimmy wheelock, and had condescended to cajole or encourage him. had she been alone, her cheeks would have tingled at the thought of it, for in one respect the notion was intolerable. still, though it cost her an effort, she contrived to discourse with forster, until at last the hired man announced that the wheel was fixed, and, thanking the rancher for his offer to accompany her, she drove on to vancouver alone. chapter xix wood pulp the fresh northwest breeze that crisped the inlet swept in through the open ports and set the cigar smoke eddying about the table, when jimmy sat with jordan and another man in the _shasta_'s little stern cabin. looking forward through the hooked-back door, he could see the lower yards and serried shrouds of a big iron ship that was lying half-loaded on the _shasta_'s starboard side. beyond her there rode a little schooner with reefed mainsail and boom foresail thrashing, while the musical clinketty-clank of her windlass betokened that she was just going to sea. jimmy's face grew a trifle hard as he heard it, for she was the _tyee_. jordan sprawled on a settee not far away, and a burly, red-faced briton who commanded the iron ship sat opposite to jimmy, cigar in hand. the latter had the faculty some people possess of making friends, and, though they had after all seen very little of him, the shipmaster's manner was confidential. "if the canners who are loading me had kept their promise i'd be driving south with the royals on her before this breeze instead of lying here," he said. "my broker doesn't know when they mean to send the rest of the cases down either, and it seems it's only now and then a mail goes up that coast. in fact, i've almost made up my mind to run round to the columbia. i believe the packers would load me there." "port charges and tugs are expensive items," said jordan thoughtfully. "vancouver freights are tolerably good, and it might pay you to wait a week or so. you see that schooner on your quarter? she's going up to the cannery now." the skipper made a little impatient gesture. "how long's she going to be getting there with a head-wind? besides, all she could bring down would be nothing to me. i wouldn't have stayed so long, only that confounded broker told me a man called merril was sending a steamer up." "then, since the schooner belongs to him, i guess he has changed his mind. how long would you wait for a steamboat load?" "a week," said the skipper--"not a day more. i believe i could fill up on the columbia, and, as there's not another vessel offering for the united kingdom here, it would please me to feel that the canners would have to keep their salmon." jordan flashed a warning glance at jimmy. "well," he said, "it seems to me that if you will wait the week, you are going to get your freight. i can't tell you exactly why, but i wouldn't break out my anchor for another eight days if i were you." "i can take a hint as well as another man;" and the skipper rose. "in the meanwhile, i'll go ashore and stir up that broker again. you'll have a head-wind if you're going north, mr. wheelock. expect you to come off and feed with me when you're back again. good luck!" jordan went with him to the gangway, and then came back and smiled at jimmy. "it's just as well you made the new cannery people a half-promise you'd call this trip," he said. "now i guess you've got to keep it. things fit in. merril, as usual, hasn't played a straight game with those packers. took their transport contract, and when that headed off anybody else from going there, he sends the _tyee_ up instead of the steamboat. you'll be at the cannery two days ahead of her, anyway, and there's no reason why you shouldn't get every case they have on hand." jimmy made a sign of comprehension, and jordan lighted another cigar before he opened the paper he had brought with him. "now and then the little man gets a show, though it's usually when the big one isn't quite awake," he said. "you sit still there, and listen to this. 'the provincial legislature at length appears to recognize that its responsibilities are not confined to fostering the progress of the bush districts, and one contemplates with satisfaction a change in the policy which has hitherto incurred a heavy expenditure upon roads and bridges for the exclusive benefit of the ranchers. now that retrenchment in this direction appears to be contemplated, there should be money to spare for equally desirable purposes.'" he threw down the paper. "i guess that's going to cost merril a pile, especially as the member for the district in which he is starting his wood-pulp mill shows signs of going back on him. from what the boys are saying, merril has a pull on the man, but it seems his party has a stronger one." "i don't quite understand," said jimmy. jordan laughed softly. "it's interesting. shows how things are run. merril bought up a mortgage on a half-built wood-pulp mill which the men who began it couldn't finish, and fixed things so that by and by it belonged to him and two or three of his friends. well, that mill was put where it is because they've a head of water that will give them power for nothing, and spruce fit for making high-grade pulp, but it's not on the railroad and not near the coast. the question is how to get their product out. there are big mills between them and the lake they could put a steamer on, and they'll have to lay down a wagon-road, underpinning a good deal of it on the mountain-side, and cutting odd half-miles of it out. that's going to cost them more than putting up their mill." "then how did they expect to hold their own with the mills now running?" jordan chuckled. "by getting the province to make their road for them. merril has influential friends, and one of them who went up not long ago discovered that there was a high-class ranching district behind the mill; it only wanted roads to bring the settlers in." then his face grew grave, and he sat silent a minute, or two before he spoke again. "jimmy," he said, with a very unusual diffidence, "there's a thing that is worrying me. it doesn't strike me as quite fitting that eleanor should see so much of that blame ontario man in merril's office. he has been over twice in the last fortnight to forster's ranch." "do you expect me to tell her so?" "i do not. guess she'd make you feel mean for a month after if you did. i want you to remember, all the time, that i'm sure of your sister--but i don't like the man. he had to get out of toronto--and they're talking about him already in the saloons. seems to me she's playing a dangerous game in fooling him." "fooling him?" "that's so. he put some money into merril's business, and it's quite likely he knows a little of his hand. eleanor has made up her mind to know it, too." jimmy flushed. "the thing must be stopped." "well," said jordan ruefully, "that's how i feel, but the trouble is i don't quite know how it can be done. for one thing, i'm going to run up against that toronto man, though i don't expect eleanor to be nice to me after it." "you can't think she has any liking for him?" jordan turned on him with a snap in his eyes. "i don't. if i did, i should not have mentioned it to you. guess i'd stake my life any time on eleanor's doing the straight thing by me. it's what those--hotel slouches will say about her i don't like to think of; and you have to remember she'd go through fire to bring down the man who ruined your father. in one way, that's natural--but the thing has been worrying me." just then there was a splash of approaching oars, and jordan rose. "that's the mate with your papers, and i guess i'll go," he said. "get every case of that salmon--and remember what i've told you if you hear of any trouble between eleanor and me. it won't be due to jealousy, but because i've spoiled her hand." he left jimmy, who remembered what he had seen in eleanor's face the night she had talked to him of merril, thoughtful when he rowed away. it appeared very probable that she would make things distinctly unpleasant for her suitor if he rashly ventured to interfere with any project she might have in view. jimmy, in fact, felt tempted to sympathize with jordan. in a few minutes, however, he proceeded to take the _shasta_ out, and drove her hard all that night into a short head-sea. she had left the comparative shelter of vancouver island behind, and was rolling out with whirling propeller flung clear every now and then, head on to the big, white-topped combers, when as he stood dripping on his bridge a schooner running hard materialized out of the rain and spray. jimmy pulled the whistle lanyard, and the man behind him hauled his wheel over a spoke or two; but the schooner came on heading almost for him, and rolling until her mastheads swung over the froth to weather. her mainboom was down on her quarter, and she had only her foresail set and a little streaming jib. she drove the latter into the back of a big gray-and-white sea as she went by, and when she hove it high once more while the water sluiced along her deck, jimmy, who could look down at her from his bridge, recognized her as a vessel that had once belonged to his father. she drove past with a drenched object clinging desperately to her wheel, and jimmy smiled as she vanished into the rain again, for it seemed to him that, as his comrade had said, fortune favored the little man now and then. merril had evidently sent two schooners up to the cannery, but the _tyee_ was some sixty miles astern of the _shasta_, and it was clear that the skipper of the other vessel could no longer thrash her to windward in that weather. there was, he believed, a good deal of salmon at the cannery, and all he had to do was to take the _shasta_ there. it was, however, not particularly easy. the breeze freshened steadily, until she put her forecastle under and hove her stern out at every plunge, while her propeller shook her in every plate as it whirred in empty air. a man could scarcely venture forward along her brine-swept deck, and at times when jimmy had to cling to the bridge-rails for his life she rolled until all her rail was in the sea. he was battered and blinded by flying spray, and when the black night came he could not see an arm's-length in front of him; but the telegraph still stood at full-speed, and the _shasta_ resolutely butted the big foaming seas. at last she ran in among the islands, where there was smoother water, and jimmy was rowed ashore, red-eyed, half-asleep, and aching in every limb, when he had brought her up off a certain icy, green-stained river. as it happened, the man in charge of the cannery on its bank was unusually pleased to see him, though he did not say so. he gave jimmy a cigar in his office, and when they sat down looked at him thoughtfully. "it's rather a long way up here, and it will cost you a little in coal if you mean to make your usual trip," he said. "i don't think i made you any definite promise." jimmy smiled. "still, i said i would call." "then i wish some of the other people with whom we trade were as punctilious. i suppose you expect something now you're here?" "i do," said jimmy. "in fact, i almost fancy it's going to suit you to fill me up." "i think i mentioned we had a standing arrangement with mr. merril." "you did," said jimmy cheerfully. "he's sending you up two schooners. it will be a week before they are here. i passed one of them yesterday running back for shelter, and the other's--anyway--sixty miles astern of her." "the wind may change, and they wouldn't be long getting here with sheets slacked away." "it won't change," said jimmy. "look at your glass. that rise means northerly weather." the canner appeared to consider. "well," he said, "i gave you a few cases once or twice, and, though we have an arrangement with merril, i can fill you up one hatch now at the rate you fixed." "i can't trade on those terms. the rate in question was a special cut. we made it to get in ahead of merril; but when the time came, you didn't give us an opportunity for tendering for your carrying. in fact, i hear he's getting more than i did. that, however, does not directly concern me, and you no doubt understand your own business; but i should like to mention that the _agapomene_'s skipper will not wait a day longer than next thursday." the canner looked hard at him. "you will excuse my asking if that is a sure thing?" "you mean am i talking quite straight?" and a suggestive dryness crept into jimmy's tone. "i can only say that the man, who did not know i was coming here, assured me of it just before i went to sea. it would, of course, be easy for you to wait and find out whether you could believe me. only the fact that you had done so would naturally place you in a difficulty, since the _agapomene_ would have gone to sea, and there isn't another vessel offering." "well?" said the canner. jimmy smiled at him. "i want two things--every case you have ready, and a rate equal to what you're giving merril. it is not very much, after all. as you know, since merril's schooners can't get here until there is a change of wind, i could strike you for double." the canner sat silent a moment or two, and then laughed good-humoredly. "to be quite straight, the last was what i expected. now, i'm not the only man in this concern, and the people who have the most say are, as usual, in victoria. i know why they made the deal with merril, and while, as you say, that does not concern you, it didn't quite please me. anyway, he hasn't kept his arrangement, and has put the screw on us in several ways; so if you'll warp your boat in we'll heave the cases into her. there's just another thing. come back when you lighten her, and if this run of fish lasts i'll do what i can to make it worth your while." jimmy thanked him, and went out to bring the _shasta_ alongside the little wharf, after which he went to sleep, though almost every other man on board was kept busy stowing salmon-cases all that night. it happened that during the earlier hours of it several irate gentlemen who had the control of a good deal of money sat in conclave in merril's house, which stood just outside the city limits of vancouver. it was a tastefully furnished room in which they sat, and nobody could have found fault with the wine and cigars on the table, but as it happened both these facts irritated one of the gentlemen. "i feel tempted to talk quite straight, and i expect you'll understand me, merril, when i say that you don't seem to have had your usual luck over this wood-pulp deal," he said. "in a general way, it's the other people who take a hand in your ventures who feel the pinch when things don't quite work out right, but in this case you have got to bear it with the rest of us." merril, who lay in a big lounge chair, little, portly, and immaculately dressed, looked up at him quietly. "if it's any consolation to you, i'm holding as much stock as the rest of you put together. the thing hits me rather hard, but, as you say, we can only stand up under it--that is, if the appropriation grants are thrown out by the house." "they will be," said another man. "anyway, the road-making in which we are interested comes under a clause that will be struck off in committee. it's a sure thing. i can't quite blame the legislature, either, after the admissions made by the district member. he has gone back on you, merril. you told us you were sure of him." merril smiled curiously. "well," he said, "it's a little difficult to be sure of anything, and as the man will be here very shortly you can talk to him yourself. that, however, will not straighten anything out. the question is, what is to be done about the wagon-road?" "build it ourselves," said another man. "it's either that or let the mill go, and, considering the money i've put in, i'm for holding on. still, it will practically mean doubling our capital." merril nodded quietly, and nobody could have told that to raise the sum required would be singularly inconvenient to him. "at least!" he said. "you can't get it from outsiders, either. all the money in this province is in mines and mills; and bank interest's ruinous." "well," said one of the others, "i guess you don't expect us to feel obliged to you. there isn't any probability of those road-making appropriations getting passed." "you'll know when shafleton comes," said merril dryly. "somebody was to wire him as soon as the result was known in the house. he came across from victoria this afternoon, and should be on his way from westminster now." they discussed the wagon-road, growing more and more impatient all the time, while an hour dragged by, and then two of them rose to their feet as a man, who appeared somewhat ill at ease, was shown in. the rest, including merril, sat still and looked at him. he waved one hand as though disclaiming all responsibility and laid a telegram on the table. "that's all i can tell you, gentlemen. i'm sorry, but it can't be helped," he said. one of them took up the message, and when he passed it to his comrades the storm broke. "you practically asked them to vote no more money, in your last speech," said merril. "played us for--suckers!" said another man, while a third struck the table with his clenched fist. "leslie's right. the straight fact is that we're fooled," he said. it was significant that nobody had asked the member of the provincial legislature to sit down, and he leaned on the arm of a big lounge as though he required support, and blinked at them. "well," he said, "when i first saw you about it i was willing to do what i could, but on going further into the thing i found it couldn't be considered quite in line with the interests of the country." one of them laughed aloud, sardonically, and merril's face contorted into an unpleasant smile. "it's rather a pity you didn't make sure of that before you took what we offered you," he said. the baited man turned to them appealingly. "you know what i promised. i would support the bridge-building and road-making policy as long as i considered it in line with the interests of the country." the man who had struck the table shook his fist at him. "---- the interests of the country. you know what you meant, and you got your price," he said. "that remark," said merril, "is quite warranted. mr. shafleton made a perfectly understood bargain--and he got his price. it is also likely that he would never have been elected if we had not set certain influences to work. owing to the government's finding a change of policy convenient, he has not kept his bargain. the question, however, is how----" one of the men who was standing up looked around just then. "i guess it might be as well to have that door shut," he said. "if you wish," said merril. "still, there is nobody in this part of the house." "well," said the other man, who crossed the room, "i fancied i heard somebody a moment or two ago." he closed the door, and when he sat down merril commenced again, and the member of the provincial legislature had to listen to a good many things that did not please him. the rest also spoke bitterly, in lower tones now; but it was in one respect unfortunate they had not displayed that caution earlier, for the man who had fancied he heard a footstep was, as it happened, not mistaken. chapter xx anthea makes a discovery while merril discussed the prospects of the pulp-mill with his companions, anthea sat by the open window of an upper room. there was an open book on her knee, but it lay face downward, and she leaned back in a cane chair, looking out upon the inlet across the clustering roofs of the city. the still water lay shining under the evening light, with a broad smear of smoke trailing athwart it from the steamer which had just vanished behind the dark pines that overhang the narrows. it drifted across the tall spars of the _agapomene_, and through it a big passenger boat's tier of deck-houses showed dimly white. further up the inlet another dingy cloud drifted out from behind the piles of stacked lumber about the hastings mill, while the clatter of an empress liner's winches came up through the clear evening air with the tolling of locomotive bells and the grind of freight-car wheels. all this had a certain interest as well as a significance for anthea merril. in england the business man, as a rule, endeavors to leave his commercial affairs behind him when he turns his back on the city; but it is different in the west, where he has no privacy and his calling is his life. mills and mines, freight rates and timber rights, are seldom debarred as topics at social functions, and anthea had acquired a considerable knowledge of these things, though she had not lived very long in that city. it was, of course, also evident to her that her father was regarded as a man of influence and one who had a share in directing the activities of the province, and this afforded her a certain pleasure. several expressions overheard and facts that had lately been forced on her attention might, perhaps, have rudely dissipated that satisfaction had she not resolutely endeavored to attach a more favorable meaning to them than a good many people would have considered justifiable. she had spent most of her life with her mother's relatives in the east, and it was not altogether astonishing that there was a good deal in her father's character with which she was unacquainted. merril had a desire to stand well with his daughter, and he had sufficient ability to accomplish what he wished, in most cases. by and by, as she glanced at the shining inlet, the fading smoke-trail led anthea's thoughts away to the man who was then doubtless standing on the _shasta_'s bridge, and her eyes softened curiously. she could now admit that she knew what he felt for her, because, although he had never told her, there had been occasions when his face had, perhaps against his will, made it very plain. what the result of it would be, she did not know, but she could wait, and be sure of his steadfastness, in the meanwhile, for circumstances which were unpropitious now might change, as, indeed, they were rather apt to do with almost disconcerting suddenness in that country. then she tried to reconstruct the interview she had had with his sister, an occupation in which she had indulged somewhat frequently of late, although it troubled her; and that, by a natural transition, once more led her thoughts back to her father. it was impossible to doubt that eleanor wheelock believed she had grounds for bitterness against him, and a curious something in her brother's manner had once or twice suggested that he shared it too; but anthea endeavored to assure herself that they had merely adopted their father's views without sufficient investigation. she was aware that men who failed were frequently apt to blame somebody else for it instead of their own supineness, while it was clear that both parties could not always expect a bargain to be advantageous. for all that, the girl's assertions had been startling, and once more anthea wished that she had not heard them. they vaguely troubled her, since she would not have her father's probity left open to doubt. then, rising somewhat abruptly, she flung the book aside, and went down the wide cedar stairway to search for another that might, perhaps, hold her attention more firmly. when she reached the foot of it she turned into a corridor, and stopped a moment when she heard a murmur of angry voices. she was aware that a member of the provincial legislature had reached the house not long ago, and that the rest of her father's guests had come there to discuss something with him, while as the door of the room reserved for them had been left open a foot or so she could see within from where she stood. the house stood high, and the sunlight still streamed into the room, while there was something in the pose of the men that seized and held her attention. she had heard nothing clearly yet, but the strung-up attitudes and intent faces had their dramatic suggestiveness, and she lingered. she could see her father sitting at the head of the table with one hand closed hard on the edge of it, and a grim smile that was quite new to her in his eyes; the member supporting himself by the big lounge and apparently shrinking from his gaze; and one of the others leaning forward in his seat with his fist clenched. in fact, the scene burned itself into her memory, and she never forgot the look in her father's face. then the voices suddenly became intelligible, and she heard merril say, "it's rather a pity you didn't make sure of that before you took what we offered you." she caught the legislator's answer, and saw the man who leaned forward shake his fist at him, while the latter's exclamation sent a little thrill of dismay through her. "you know what you meant, and you got your price," he said. this was sufficiently plain in connection with what had gone before it, and she waited in tense suspense to see whether her father would discountenance it, though she felt that he would not do so. she saw him make a little sign of concurrence, and once more was sensible of an enervating dismay when he flung his answer at the shrinking member of the legislature. "a perfectly understood bargain, and he got his price," he said. "he would never have been elected if we had not set certain influences to work." then she roused herself with an effort, and, thinking no more of the book she had come for, turned softly and flitted back up the stairway to the room she had left. she made sure the door was fast, with a vague, instinctive feeling that she must be quite alone, then sat down by the window again, a trifle colorless in face, with both hands clenched. she was a woman of keen intelligence, and realized that there was no room for doubt. her father, the man she had endeavored to look up to, had openly condemned himself. it was perhaps strange, considering that she was his daughter, that she had wholesome thoughts as well as mental ability, and that honesty formed a prominent part of her morality. the fact made the blow more cruel, for it was clear that her father and his associates had been engaged in an infamous conspiracy. they had bought a member of the legislature--bribed him to betray the confidence the people had placed in him; and though she did not know whether the bribe had been actual money, that, as she recognized, scarcely affected the question. he had, at least, promised to do something that was against the interests of the country, for which, as one had declared, they cared nothing, and would evidently have kept his promise if circumstances had not been too strong for him. anthea had sense enough to attach as little credence to his assertions as the others had done. she supposed that things of the kind were sometimes done, but only by men without morality, and it was almost intolerable to realize that her father had been the instigator of one of them. the fact seemed to bear out all the newspaper had charged him with, and made it more than probable that eleanor wheelock's assertions, too, had been well-founded. it was with a little shiver that anthea realized that in such a case the father of the man who loved her had in all probability been ruined by a nefarious conspiracy. his daughter had told her plainly that his death was the direct result of it, and if that were so, jimmy must hold her father accountable. the thing was becoming altogether horrible. she did not know how long she sat there after she heard the guests take their leave, but at last she realized that since she must meet him on the morrow there was little to be gained by keeping out of her father's sight that night. she was not deficient in courage, but it was with an effort that she nerved herself to go down, knowing that she could not meet him as though nothing unusual had come to her knowledge. he was still sitting in the room where he had spoken with his guests, with a litter of papers in front of him, when she went in, but on hearing the rustle of her dress he looked up. the lamps were lighted now, and he started slightly when he saw her face. then he brushed aside the papers, and sat still, looking at her with a little grim smile. anthea felt her heart beat, for she saw that he understood. "ah!" he said. "sprotson fancied he heard somebody. it was you?" anthea nodded, standing very straight in the middle of the big room and wondering, with a fierce desire that he should do so, whether he would offer any explanation in which she could place a little credence. almost a minute passed, and the man never took his eyes off her. she longed that he would speak, for the tension was growing unendurable. "you heard--something--at least?" he said. "yes," replied anthea, with a cold quietness at which she almost wondered. "enough, i think, to make me understand the rest." again merril said nothing for a while, though he still kept his keen eyes fixed on her face, and at last it was without any sign of anger, and in a tone of grave inquiry, he broke the silence. "well?" he said. there was an appeal in anthea's voice. "can't you say anything that will drive out what i think?" she asked. "i want to believe that i could not have heard or understood aright." merril raised one hand, and for a moment she could have fancied that there was pain in his face. "i almost think you are too clever, and, perhaps, i am too wise. by and by you would not believe me. i have known this moment would come since i brought you to vancouver, and--though you may scarcely credit this--almost dreaded it. the thing has to be faced now." this time it was anthea who said nothing, and merril went on again. "you might never have had to face it had you been a pretty fool, but that could hardly have been expected. you are my daughter. still, intelligence, as other people have no doubt discovered, is not always a blessing to a woman." again he made a little abrupt movement. "you see, i offer no palliation. the one question is simply--do you mean to turn your back on me?" anthea looked at him steadily. "no," she said, "i could never do that. still, must you continue what you are doing? can't you give it up?" "sit down," said merril quietly, and, rising, drew her a chair. "i think we must understand each other now and altogether. to commence with, i should have liked you to continue to think well of me, though, considering what you are, i knew the thing was hardly likely. now you have made a discovery that hurts you." he stopped a moment, and though there had been a certain elusive gentleness in his voice, the girl was sensible that she shrank from him. he was, she realized, without compunction, and had no regret for what he had done. indeed, his passionless quietness conveyed the impression that some of the usual attributes of humanity had been left out of him. a trace of confusion or anger would have appeared more natural, and invective would have been easier to bear than this suggestive tranquillity. "well," he said, "you asked a very natural question. what i am doing--my view of life, in fact--displeases you. you ask, can't i give it up? i ask why? can you offer me any reason?" anthea said nothing. reasons occurred to her, but they were rather felt than concretely formulated, and, as she realized, would suffer from being forced into shallow and inadequate expression. she also naturally shrank from an unsuccessful attempt to play the teacher to her father, and had sense enough to know that trite maxims and virtuous platitudes would have very small effect on such a man. it was, perhaps, not an unusual feeling in one respect, for the deep optimistic faith of the wise cannot be rashly formulated without its suffering in the process. it is, as a rule, the people with shallow beliefs who have the ready tongues, and the result of their well-meaning efforts is seldom the one they desire. anthea, at least, recognized her disabilities, and kept silence. she also saw that her father understood her, for he nodded. "it is clear that you are not a fool," he said. "if you had been, the thing would have been easier for both of us. i allowed you to be brought up in the conventional morality, knowing that you would grow above what was spurious in it, and cling to what you felt was real. if you felt that, it would be sufficient for you. still, that morality was never mine. i had to face life as i found it, without the money that might have made it easier to regard it virtuously, and scruples would have insufferably handicapped me. as a matter of fact, i do not think i ever had any. this existence is a struggle, as no doubt you have heard often without realizing it, and it is the strong and cunning who get out of it what is worth having. that, at least, is my point of view. it may be the wrong one, but i am satisfied with it, and, what is more to the purpose, quite content to leave you yours." he broke off once more, and smiled before he went on. "we have done with that subject. i would not influence you against your belief--which is the prettier one--if i could, and i do not think you could influence me. in fact, one feels diffident about having said so much. well, it is the days to come we have to consider. i am not likely to change my code, and you do not wish to leave me?" again, for just a moment, the faint tenderness crept into his voice, and the girl's nature stirred in answer. "no," she said, "there is nothing that could make me wish to do that." "well," said the man, with a dry smile, "we will try to avoid offending each other, and i should have been sorry had you gone away. in fact, it is a relief to know that you will be with me. my affairs have not been going well lately." this was sufficiently matter-of-fact, but in spite of the vague shrinking from him of which she was still sensible, anthea was touched. she could not, however, concretely realize what she felt, and wisely made no attempt to express it. instead, she spoke of something else, seizing on an immaterial point that casually occurred to her. "i fancied you were a prosperous man," she said. "so do many people," said merril dryly. "it was by leading them to believe it that i've done what i have done. my operations are for the most part conducted with other people's money. still, one has to face reverses now and then, and when two or three of them come together the people who support one commence to doubt their wisdom. then they are apt to back down and become virtuously scrupulous, while the men with a grudge against one waken up and fancy their turn has come. in my case there are evidently quite a few of them." he laughed softly, but in a fashion that jarred on the girl. "still, it is very probable that i shall keep ahead of them, after all. in any case, i won't offend you by suggesting that the odd chance of your having to dispense with what i have been able to offer you so far would count for very much." "thank you for that," said anthea softly. merril turned to the papers before him. "well," he said, "now we understand, and, as you see, i am busy." anthea went out, not reassured, but more tranquil. she realized what her duty was, and purposed to do it; but while there was still a tenderness for the man in her, there was also something about him besides his avowed point of view and the actions it led to, that repelled her. he had, it seemed, an intellect that was unhampered by the usual passions and affections of humanity. chapter xxi jimmy grows restless the city was almost insufferably hot, and jimmy, who had time on his hands that afternoon, found it pleasant to saunter through the dim green shadow among the stanley pines which crowd close up to its western boundary. they rose about him, old and great of girth, a tremendous colonnade of towering trunks, two hundred feet above the narrow riband of driving road which was further walled in by tall green fern. there was drowsy silence in those dim recesses, and a solemnity which the occasional faint hoot of a whistle or tolling of a locomotive bell did not seem to dissipate, for the civic authorities had, up to that time, at least, with somewhat unusual wisdom made no attempt to improve on what nature had done for them. here they cut a little foot-path, there a wavy driving road, but except for that they left the stanley park a beautiful strip of primeval wilderness. jimmy had arrived in vancouver a few hours earlier with the _shasta_ loaded deep, but, although affairs had been going tolerably well with the company, this fact afforded him no very great satisfaction. he liked the sea, and had succeeded in making firm friends of most of the ranchers and salmon-packers whose produce he carried; but there was ambition in him, and of late he had been growing vaguely restless. after all, the command of a boat like the _shasta_, with some two hundred and fifty odd tons of carrying capacity, could not be expected to prove a very lucrative occupation, and jimmy now and then remembered regretfully that he might have had a commission in the navy. he had also an incentive for desiring advancement, upon which, however, he seldom permitted himself to dwell, since on two occasions he and anthea merril had read in each other's eyes a fact that had a vital significance to both of them. jimmy scarcely dared remember it, but he felt that the girl would listen when he thought it fit to speak. that, however, was in the meanwhile out of the question. he must by some means first make his mark, and, as happens not infrequently in similar circumstances to other men, he did not know how it was to be done. one thing, at least, was clear: he could not expect to advance himself very much by commanding the _shasta_. there was also, in any case, merril's opposition to count on, while the bitterness eleanor had endued him with against the man she held responsible for the death of his father had its effect, and it was in an unusually somber mood that jimmy strolled through the shadow of the pines that hot afternoon. by and by he heard a soft thud of hoofs, and, looking up, felt the blood creep into his face. he recognized the costly team that swung out of the shadow, and the girl in the white dress who held the reins in the vehicle behind them. he also recognized the lady beside her, for her husband was an englishman who held high office under the crown in victoria. the fact that she was sitting by anthea merril's side suggested how far circumstances held the latter apart from the _shasta_'s skipper. silver-mounted harness and splendid horses had the same effect, and, since these things also reminded him of something else, jimmy unfortunately lost his head. a sudden vindictive anger came upon him as he remembered that the money that provided them and stood as a barrier between him and the girl had been wrung from struggling men, and that some of it at least was the result of his father's ruin. it was, of course, not reasonable to blame anthea for this, but jimmy was scarcely in a mood just then to make any very nice distinction, and, straightening himself a trifle, he stood still a moment looking at the girl. he saw the little friendly smile fade out of her face and a look of perplexity take its place, and then, while his heart thumped furiously, he turned and stepped aside into a little trail that led into the shadow of the bush. in another moment the team swept past, and he was left uncomfortably conscious that he had made a fool of himself. the feeling, while far from pleasant, is no doubt wholesome, which is fortunate, since there are probably very few men who are not now and then sensible of it. it was half an hour later when anthea came up with him again. the road was narrow and crossed a little bridge near where he was standing. as it happened, another lady was then driving a pair of ponies over it. anthea pulled up her team close behind jimmy, and when the impatient horses moved and drew the vehicle partly across the road, he turned and seized the head of the nearest. he did not know much about horses, but he contrived to back the team sufficiently to leave a passage, and was unpleasantly sensible that anthea was watching him with a little smile. it brought a tinge of darker color to her face, and hurt him considerably more than if she had shown resentment of his previous attitude by any suggestion of distance. there is, after all, a certain vague consolation in feeling that one is able to offend a person whose good-will is valuable. anthea perhaps realized this, for when the other team had gone by she made a sign to him. jimmy, who felt far from comfortable, approached the vehicle, and the girl looked down at him, with the twinkle still in her eyes. "thank you! that is permissible?" she said. jimmy flushed again. "in any case, i'm not sure it's exactly what i deserve." "well," said anthea reflectively, "i really was wondering whether you saw us a little while ago." "i did," said jimmy, meeting her inquiring gaze. "still, perhaps there were excuses for me." there was a scarcely perceptible change in anthea's expression, but jimmy noticed it, though he did not know that she was thinking of what his sister had told her. next moment she smiled at him again. "i scarcely think it would be worth while to make them," she said. then she shook the reins, and left him standing in the road. when they were out of earshot her companion turned to her. "who is that young man?" she asked. "captain wheelock of the _shasta_." "ah!" said the other; "i remember hearing about him. the man who took off the schooner's skipper? but what did he mean by saying that there were excuses for his not seeing you?" "i don't know," said anthea, who contrived to smile, though she was rather more thoughtful than usual. "i don't mind admitting that the question has a certain interest. still, one cannot always demand an explanation." her companion flashed a keen glance at her. "well," she said, "i almost fancy it would have been a sufficient one if you had heard it. in fact, i think i should like that man. after all, honesty is a quality that wears well. but what is a man of his description doing in that very little and somewhat dirty _shasta_? i made somebody point her out to me one day in victoria." "i don't know," said anthea; "that is, i know why he went on board her in the first case, but not why he seems content to stay there altogether. still, it naturally isn't a matter of any particular consequence." then they spoke of other things, while jimmy, who suddenly remembered that he was standing vacantly in the road, turned toward the city, wondering as anthea had done why he had remained so long the _shasta_'s skipper. now that the trade jordan and his associates had inaugurated had been well established in spite of merril's opposition, he felt that they had no longer any particular need of him. the city was unusually hot when he reached it, but he fancied that alone did not account for the crowded state of the saloons he passed. it also seemed to him that the groups of men who stood here and there on the sidewalks talking animatedly must have found some unusually interesting topic; but he had his own affairs to think of, and, as they appeared sufficient for him just then, he walked on quietly until he reached jordan's office. it was not elaborately furnished. in fact, there was very little in it besides a table, a safe, a chair or two, and an american stump-puller standing against one wall. jordan sat reading a newspaper, with a cigar, which had gone out, in his hand, but he looked up and threw the paper on the table when jimmy came in. "read that. they've struck it rich at last," he said. "guess there are men who have believed in that gold ever since we bought alaska from the russians. ran across one of them, 'most eight years ago, commercial company man, and he told me it was a sure thing there was gold up the yukon. odd prospectors had struck a pocket here and there, but though they brought a few ounces out, nobody seemed inclined to take up the thing. practically every white man in that country was connected with the indian trade in furs, and i'm not sure they were anxious to see an army of diggers marching in. anyway, the few men who believed in the gold couldn't put up the money to prove their confidence warranted. now, as you see, they've found it, and before long the whole slope will be humming from wrangel to lower california." jimmy read a column of the paper with almost breathless interest, as many another man had done that day in every seaboard city and lonely wooden settlement to which the news had spread. then he looked at jordan. "the thing appears almost incredible," he said. "it isn't," said his companion. "i know what the alaska commercial old-timer told me quite a while ago. it's going leagues ahead of caribou. they'll be going up in their thousands in a month or two. now, you sit still a minute, and listen to me. this is a thing i believe in, and i'll tell you what i know." he spoke for ten minutes with dark eyes snapping, and jimmy's blood tingled as he listened. jordan's faith, the all-daring optimism of the pacific slope of which many men have died in the wilderness, was infectious, and something in jimmy's nature responded. he had fought with bitter gales and frothing seas, and it seemed to him that the struggle with ice and frost, rock and snow, could not be harder. he was also, though he had not quite realized it until that moment, one of those who are born to play their part in the forefront of the battle between man and nature--and nature is not beneficent, but very grim and terrible until she is subdued, as everybody who has seen that strife knows. then jimmy stood up and slowly straightened himself, with a quiet smile. "you'll have to get a new skipper for the _shasta_--i'm going north," he said. jordan gazed at him a moment in amazement, and then laughed in a fashion which suggested that comprehension had dawned on him. "sit down again," he said. "i begin to understand how it is with you. still, you can't afford to do the thing you want to. it quite often happens that way." "i fancy that what i can't afford is to remain on board the _shasta_," said jimmy dryly. "sit down," said jordan; "we'll talk out this thing. now, why do you want to go up there?" jimmy did as he was bidden, though there was a significant gleam in his eyes. "well," he said, "perhaps it's your due that i should tell you. for one thing, because i feel that i must. i'm not sure you'll understand me, but i feel it's what i was made for. there are half-frozen swamps to be crossed, leagues of forest, cañons, melting snow to be floundered through. that kind of thing gets hold of some of us. i feel i have to go. secondly, there seems to be gold up there. i want the money." jordan noisily thrust back his chair, and then took up a pen and, apparently without recognizing what he was doing, snapped it across. "stop right there! i can't stand too much--and there's eleanor," he said, and broke into a harsh laugh as he glanced down at the pen. "in one way, it's significant that i've broken the--thing." he said nothing for the next moment or two, and appeared to be putting a restraint upon himself, but there was longing in his voice when he went on again. "lord! i guess it's in us. when we'd only the wagons and axes we worried right across the continent. there was always something that drew us to the place we didn't know. the harder the way was the more the longing grew. i was up in the selkirks on the gold-trail once, and i'm never going to work something that life left behind right out of me." "come!" said jimmy simply. the veins rose swollen on jordan's forehead, but he struck the table with a clenched fist and gazed at his comrade with hot anger in his eyes. "will you stop, you--fool?" he said. "don't you know how i want to go? stop, or i'll throw you out right now!" he sat still, looking at jimmy for perhaps half a minute, and each was conscious of the same longing in his heart and the same tingling of his blood, for that is a country where men still feel the lust of the primeval conflict and the allurements of the wilderness. then jordan appeared to recover himself. "i guess we'll be ashamed of this afterwards, but i have got to talk," he said. "anyway, we can't all get right in with the axe and shovel. my work's here, and i've just sense enough to stay with it. besides, it's a sure thing that everybody who goes north won't rake out money. now, you want the snow and the cañons? you can't have them; but i'll give you drift-ice, blinding fog, reefs and breaking surf instead. you want money? well, we'll try to meet your views on that point, and by and by we'll double what you're getting." jimmy gazed at him in evident bewilderment, and his comrade waved his hand. "you're going to take the first of the crowd to st. michael's in the _shasta_, and the man who can run a -ton boat there and back again will have all the excitement he has any use for. half the reefs aren't charted, the tides run any way, and when the gale drops, the fog shuts down thicker than a blanket. you can't pound a rock-drill or swing the shovel, but you can hold a steamer's wheel. get hold of that, and try to understand it. it's the whole point of the thing." he stopped a moment as if for breath, and then went on again, hurling out his words incisively while his eyes snapped. "it's st. michaels now, but by and by they'll find a way in from the pan-handle or over british soil. the c.p.r. will put big boats on, and they'll run everything that will float up from 'frisco and portland; but we'll be in first and take hold with the _shasta_. the men you're going to carry would go in a canoe. she has built up the coast trade enough to make it easy for us to raise the money to buy another boat--i'm hanging right on to that trade too--and i know of a handy steamer. i'll get an option on her now. she'll be worth considerably more in a week or two. you stand by the _shasta_ company, and do your part in the rush that's coming in the way you know, and you'll rake in more money than you ever would mining. we'll put a thousand-ton boat on before long if you play our hand well. i want your answer right off: are you hanging on to us?" "yes," said jimmy quietly. "after all, your point of view is no doubt the right one. if the boat were only fifty tons i'd start as soon as she was ready." jordan rose and grabbed his hat before he flung a letter across the table. "then i'm going for old leeson now. hustle, and wire those people that we want an option on that steamboat firm until to-morrow." he strode out of the office, and when jimmy reached the street a minute later he saw him running hard in the direction of leeson's house. chapter xxii ashore it was summer in the north, and now that the bitter wind which had blown thick rain before it had dropped, the clammy fog shut the _shasta_ in like a wall. she crept through it with engines pounding steadily, swinging to the slow heave of the swell, while jimmy stood, chilled to the backbone, on his bridge, as he had done for most of the last forty-eight hours. a chart in a glass case was clamped to the rail in front of him, and lindstrom, the mate, stooped over it with the moisture trickling from his oilskins. "this thing is not much good," he said. "the stream moves a different way with the change of wind. also there is discrepancy in the depth of water." "there is. if i knew how much to mark off for leeway in that last breeze i'd feel a good deal easier," said jimmy, who turned to fling a disgusted glance at the chart, upon which little arrows, that indicated the general drifts of the currents, had apparently been scattered promiscuously. then he raised his voice. "forward there! see you have a good arming on your lead, and stand by to let go when i take the way off her!" he pressed down his telegraph and a curious silence followed the clang of the gong when the engines stopped. the _shasta_ lurched on more slowly into the fog, and when jimmy swung up his hand a man on the half-seen forecastle loosed the deep-sea lead, while another, perched in the mainmast shrouds, stood intent with a coil of slack line in his hand. there was a splash, the line ran out, and when a sing-song cry came up jimmy made a little impatient gesture as he turned to the chart. "a fathom less than we ought to have," he said, and raised his voice. "what bottom have you got?" a couple of men were busy hauling in the ponderous lead, and one of them who lifted it turned to the bridge. "mud, sir," he said. "soft at that." jimmy looked at lindstrom. "that, at least, is what this thing says. i suppose one ought to bring her up, and wait for a sight, but we can't stay here a week on the odd chance of a blink of clear weather. anyway, there's plenty water under us, and we'll try the lead again presently." the mate made a sign of concurrence as jimmy pressed down his telegraph. "i was at kenai four year ago. for two weeks we see nothing. how we get there i cannot tell you, but i think it is by good fortune. also the skipper come there often for the commercial company. you do a thing several times, then you shut your eye, and perhaps you do it again." he went down the ladder, and jimmy was left alone except for the silent, shapeless figure in trickling oilskins at the steering wheel. how he had groped his way to st. michael's near the tremendous desolation of willow swamps about the yukon mouth he did not exactly know, but he had accomplished it in spite of screaming gale and blinding fog, and the treasure-seekers he had taken up had duly presented him with a written testimonial, which was all they had to give. a few days of clear weather had permitted him to steam across to one of the commercial company's factories, but since he left it he had held southward at a venture through thick rain and fog without a single glimpse of any celestial body. that would not have mattered so much had the sea been still as a lake is, for then he could have steered by dead reckoning; but that sea is swept by currents which run for the most part in guessed-at and variable directions, and it was impossible to calculate how far they might have deflected his course for him. in fact, for all he knew, they might have deflected it several times and set it right again. he had cable enough to anchor, but, as he had said, he could not stay there for a week or two on the odd chance of getting an hour's clear weather. so, since the chart suggested that he was clear of the shore, he went on leisurely, leaning on his bridge-rails chilled in every limb, with the damp trickling off him, while the _shasta_ bored her way through the woolly vapor, until a little while after the lead had given him a reassuring depth of water she stopped suddenly. jimmy was flung against the wheel with a violence that drove all the breath out of him, but the next moment he had jumped for his telegraph while everything in the vessel banged and rattled, and the gong clanged out his orders, "stop her!" and "hard astern!" then while the smooth swell lapped level with one depressed rail the _shasta_ shook in every plate, and the men who came scrambling to her slanted deck looked at him anxiously. there was, however, no clamor or any sign of undue consternation. the men had almost expected this, and the energy, which for want of direction now and then in such cases leads to purposeless and unreasoning scurry, had been washed out of them. jimmy leaned quietly on the rails, and nodded in answer to their glances. "yes," he said, "we're hard on. if the propeller won't shake her loose in the next ten minutes, we'll see about laying out an anchor. mr. lindstrom, will you clear the two boats ready, and ask fleming if there's any more water in his bilges?" it was twenty minutes before the pounding engines stopped, but the _shasta_ had not moved an inch astern. the lower side of her lifted as the long gray swell lapped gurgling to her rail, and then came down again; but that was all. in the meanwhile the hand-lead armed with tallow had shown the bottom to be soft, and fleming quietly reported that there was no sign of any water coming in. then jimmy turned to lindstrom, who once more had climbed to the bridge. "if this fog lifts and the breeze gets up as usual, she'll certainly break up," he said. "if it doesn't, i don't think there's any reason why we shouldn't heave her off. we'll try it first with the coal in. it's a long way to wellington, and i don't want to dump a ton if i can help it." the big scandinavian went down the ladder, and by and by half the men on board the _shasta_ were engaged under his direction in lashing a platform of hatch-planks between the two boats that lay beneath the forecastle. the long heave drove them banging against the _shasta_'s side, and jerked the planks loose as they strove to lash them fast; but at last they accomplished it, and, while the dimness that stands for the northern summer night crept into the fog, the men on the forecastle head lowered the anchor down. it was of the old, stocked pattern, and though the _shasta_ was not a large vessel, they found it and the cable which came down after it sufficiently difficult to handle upon a slippery platform that heaved and slanted under them. still, the thing was done because it was necessary; and with oars splashing clumsily, because there was little space for the men who pulled them, they paddled off into the fog. when they came back the cable was unshackled and the end of it led in through the mooring half-moon on the vessel's stern, and there then remained the second anchor to lay out. the cable of this one was unshackled too, but wire-rope purchases were rigged to the end of it from the after winch, and by the time all was ready it was six o'clock in the morning. the men were worn out, and jimmy's eyes were heavy with want of sleep, but nobody made any demur about facing the further work before him. they knew what would happen if the fog lifted and the breeze that rolled it back should find the _shasta_ there. jimmy pressed down the telegraph on his bridge. winch and windlass groaned and rattled, the wire-rope screamed, and the clanking cable tightened suddenly. then the thudding propeller shook the ship until she quivered like a thing in pain each time the smooth swell lifted one side of her. steam drifted about her, wire and cable were drawn rigid, but she would not budge an inch in spite of them, and jimmy's face was a trifle grim when he flung up his hand. the thud of the propeller slackened, and there was a silence that was almost oppressive when winch and windlass stopped. the gurgle of the gray swell about the steamer's plates and the drip of moisture from the slanted shrouds emphasized it. then jimmy signed to one of the men. "send mr. fleming here," he said. the man disappeared, and the engineer looked grave when he climbed to the bridge. "you'll be wanting to dump my coal now?" he asked. "how are you going to take her home without it?" "there is a good deal of heavy timber right down the west coast," said jimmy dryly. "there are also quite a few inlets into which one could take a steamer." "you can't feed a boiler furnace with four-foot-diameter pines." "they can be sawn and split. besides, there are probably smaller ones among those four-foot pines. they don't grow that size in a year or two." the engineer made a last protest. "i'm aware that it won't be much use, but it's my duty to point out the difficulties. you can't saw those trees without a big cross-cut, and i'm not sure what my boiler tubes will do under a stream of resinous flame." "well," said jimmy thoughtfully, "i think i could make some kind of cross-cut out of a thin plate if i were an engineer. in fact, i'd make two, and keep a man filing up one of them while i used the other. then i'd pump my feed-water rather higher than usual about those tubes." "you can't pump water round the back-end," said the engineer. "you're going to see that resin flame make a hole in the back plate of the combustion chamber." he stopped, and smiled when jimmy looked at him. "well, now that i've told you, i'll start every man to dumping the coal over." worn out as they were, the men worked feverishly until noon. some panted at the ash-hoist, some standing on slippery iron ladders passed the heavy baskets from one to another, and the rest toiled amidst the stifling dust that streamed from the bunkers. those who could see it were sincerely glad that the fog still hung about them--clammy, impenetrable, and apparently as solid as a wall. then it commenced to stir a little and slide past the vessel in filmy wisps, and it seemed to jimmy that the smooth gray swell which lapped about her was getting steeper. once or twice, indeed, it overlapped her depressed rail, and poured on board in a long green cascade. he knew that meant the breeze had already awakened somewhere not far away, and that when the sea that it was stirring up came down on them it would not take it very long to knock the bottom out of the _shasta_. so did the men, and they toiled the harder, until when the bunkers were almost empty jimmy once more stopped them. "stand by winch and windlass. we have to heave her off inside the next hour," he said. "tell mr. fleming to shake her with the propeller, and give you all the steam he can." the engines pounded, the sea boiled white beneath the _shasta_'s stern, and wire and studded cable screamed and groaned above the clamor of the winch and the thudding of the screw. for thirty long minutes, during which the uproar ceased for a moment or two once or twice, the _shasta_ did not move at all, and jimmy felt his heart thump under the tension, while a cold breeze whipped his face. then he thrust down his telegraph, and his voice reached the men on the forecastle harshly when the engines stopped. "you have to do it now, or tear the windlass out. i'll give you all the steam," he said. the men understood why haste was necessary. the fog no longer slid past them but whirled by in ragged streaks, and the wind that drove it came up out of the wastes of the pacific. already the long swell was flecked with little frothing ridges, and there was no need to tell any of those who glanced at it anxiously that it would break across the stranded vessel in an hour or two. some of them stood by clanking windlass and banging winch, while the rest swabbed the creaking wire with grease and rubbed engine tallow on guide and block where it would ease the strain. for five minutes they worked in silence, and then a shout went up as the winch-drum that had spun beneath the wire took hold and reeled off a foot or two of it. the _shasta_ swung herself upright as a big gray heave capped with livid white rolled in, and a curious quiver ran through her before she came down on one side again. the roar of the jet of steam that rushed aloft from beside her funnel grew almost deafening, but jimmy's voice broke faintly through the din. "lindstrom," he said, "tell mr. fleming he can turn the steam he daren't bottle down on to his engines." then a sonorous pounding, and the thud of the screw joined in; and by the time the jet of steam had died away, the _shasta_ was quivering all through, while her masts stood upright and did not slant back again. her windlass was also slowly gathering the clanking cable in, until at last it rattled furiously as she leaped astern. then a hoarse shout of exultation went up, and jimmy drew in a deep breath of relief as he strode across his bridge. "heave right up to your kedge and break it out," he said. "then we'll let her swing, and get the stream anchor when she rides to it ahead." it meant an hour's brutal labor overhauling hard wire tackles and leading forward ponderous chain, but they undertook it light-heartedly, with bleeding hands and broken nails, while the _shasta_ heaved and rolled viciously under them. then, when they broke out the stream anchor under her bows, jimmy sighed from sheer satisfaction as he pressed down his telegraph to "half-speed ahead." "we wouldn't have done it in another hour, lindstrom," he said. "we'll drive her west a while to make sure of things before we put her on her course again; and in the meanwhile you'll keep the hand-lead going." it gave them steadily deepening water, until the sea piled up and the _shasta_ rolled her rail under, so that the man strapped outside the bridge could do no more than guess at the soundings; and jimmy told him to come in. then he turned to lindstrom. "i'll have to let up now," he said; "i can't keep my eyes open." he lowered himself down the ladder circumspectly, and found it somewhat difficult to reach the room beneath the bridge; but five minutes after he got there he was sleeping heavily. they made some four knots in each of the next thirty hours, with the gale on their starboard bow. when at last it broke, jimmy, who got an observation, headed the _shasta_ southeastward, and a day or two later ran her in behind an island. then two boats pulled ashore across a sluice of tide, and came back some hours later when it had slackened a little, loaded rather deeper than was safe with sawn-up pines. fleming also brought two very rude saws with him, and invited jimmy's attention to one of them. "saws," he said, "are in a general way made of steel, and you can't expect too much from soft plate-iron. the boys did well; there's not a man among the crowd of them can get his back straight. you'd understand the reason if you had tried to cut down big trees with an instrument that has an edge like a nutmeg-grater." jimmy smiled, for he considered it very likely. "well," he said, "what are you going to do to make them serviceable?" "sit up all night re-gulletting them with a file. i want four loads of billets before we start again; but we'll take another axe ashore in the morning." they went off early, when the tide was slack, taking an extra axe along, while it was noon when they came back, with one man who had badly cut his leg lying upon the billets. fleming, however, insisted on his four loads, and it was evening when he brought the last two off. the men were almost too wearied to pull across the tide, and only the handles attached to them suggested that the two worn strips of iron they passed up had been meant for saws. "that," said fleming, who held one up before jimmy, "says a good deal for the boys; but if i drove them the same way any longer there would be a mutiny." jimmy laughed, and told him to raise steam enough to take the _shasta_ to sea. she made six knots most of that night; and two days later the men went ashore again. fleming, at least, never forgot the rest of that trip down the wild west coast. he mixed his resinous billets with saturated coal-dust and broken hemlock bark, but in spite of it he stopped the _shasta_ every now and then when his boilers gave him water instead of steam. still, she crept on south, and at last all of them were sincerely glad when the pithead gear of the dunsmore mines rose up against the forests of vancouver island over the starboard hand. an hour or two later fleming stood blackened all over amidst a gritty cloud while the coal that was to free him from his cares clattered into the _shasta_'s bunkers, and jimmy sat in the room beneath her bridge with one of the coaling clerks writing out a telegram. "i'll get it sent off for you right away," said the coaling man. "guess it will be a big relief to somebody. it seems they've 'most given you up in vancouver." jimmy laughed. "well," he said, "we have brought her here. still, i think there were times when my engineer felt that the contract was almost too big for him." chapter xxiii anthea grows anxious the afternoon was hot, but jordan failed to notice it as he swung along, as fast as he could go without actually running, down a street in vancouver. he walked in the glaring sunlight, because there was more room there, as everybody else was glad to seek the shadow cast across one sidewalk by the tall stores and offices, and he appeared unconscious of the remarks flung after him by the irate driver of an express wagon which had almost run over him. jordan was one of the men who are always desperately busy, but there were reasons why his activity was a little more evident than usual just then. his associates had contrived to raise sufficient money to purchase a boat to take up the _shasta_'s usual trip, but the finances of the company were in a somewhat straitened condition as the result of it, and he was beset with a good many other difficulties of the kind the struggling man has to grapple with. for all that, he stopped abruptly when he saw forster's driving-wagon, a light four-wheeled vehicle, standing outside a big dry-goods store. he was aware that mrs. forster seldom went to vancouver without taking eleanor with her, which appeared sufficient reason for believing that the girl was then inside the store. if anything further were needed to indicate the probability of this, there was a well-favored and very smartly-dressed man standing beside the wagon, and jordan's face grew suddenly hard as he looked at him. as it happened, the man glanced in his direction just then, and jordan found it difficult to keep a due restraint upon himself when he saw the sardonic twinkle in his eyes. it was more expressive than a good many words would have been. jordan had for some time desired an interview with him, but, warm-blooded and somewhat primitive in his notions upon certain points as he was, he had sense enough to realize that he was not likely to gain anything by an altercation in a busy street, which would certainly not advance him in eleanor's favor. besides this, it was probable that somebody would interfere if he found it necessary to resort to physical force. jordan, who was by no means perfect in character, had, like a good many other men brought up as he had been in the forests of the pacific slope, no great aversion to resorting to the latter when he considered that the occasion warranted it. still, he held himself in hand, and strode into the store where, as it happened, he came upon mrs. forster. there was a faint smile in her eyes when she turned to him, for she was a lady of considerable discernment; but she held out her hand graciously. she liked the impulsive man. "it is some time since we have seen anything of you," she said. "that," said jordan, "is just what i was thinking, though it's quite likely there are people who wouldn't let it grieve them. in fact, i was wondering whether you would mind if i asked myself over to supper with your husband this evening?" mrs. forster laughed. "i really don't think it would trouble me very much, and i have no doubt that forster would enjoy a talk with you," she said. "i wonder whether you know that mr. carnforth is coming?" "i do;" and jordan looked at her steadily with a trace of concern in his manner. "in fact, that was one of my reasons for asking you." the lady shook her head. "so i supposed," she said. "still, while everybody is expected to know his own business best, i'm not sure you're wise. you see, i really don't think eleanor is very much denser than i am, though you can tell her you have my invitation to supper." jordan, who expressed his thanks, strode across the store and came upon eleanor standing by a counter with several small parcels before her. she turned at his approach, and he found it difficult to believe that his appearance afforded her any great pleasure. while he gathered up the parcels, she made him a little imperious gesture, and they moved away toward a quieter part of the big store. then she turned to him again. "charley," she said sharply, "what are you doing here?" "i saw forster's wagon outside, and that reminded me that it was at least a week since i had seen you." eleanor smiled somewhat curiously, for it was, of course, clear to her that he could not have seen the wagon without seeing carnforth too. "and?" she said. "i'm coming over to supper with forster. you don't look by any means as pleased as one would think you ought to be." the girl appeared disconcerted. "i should sooner you didn't come to-night." "of course!" said jordan. "i can quite believe it." a tinge of color crept into eleanor's face, and there was now nothing that suggested a smile in the sparkle in her eyes. "pshaw!" she said. "charley, don't be a fool!" "i'm not," said jordan slowly. "that is, i don't think i am, in the way you mean. in fact, though it shouldn't be necessary, i want to say right now that i have every confidence in you." "thanks! there are various ways of showing it. you haven't chosen one that appeals to me." jordan flung out one hand. "after all, i'm human--and i don't like that man." "you are. now and then you are also a little crude, which is probably what you mean. still, that's not the question. i think i mentioned that i should sooner you didn't come to supper this evening." the gleam in her pale-blue eyes grew plainer, and it said a good deal for jordan's courage that he persisted, since most of eleanor's acquaintances had discovered that it was not wise to thwart her when she looked as she did then. "i'm afraid i can't allow that to influence me, especially as mrs. forster expects me." "very well!" and eleanor's tone was dry. "you may carry those parcels to the wagon." jordan did so, and felt his blood tingle when carnforth favored him with a glance of unconcerned inquiry. there was a suggestive complacency in his faint smile that was, in the circumstances, intensely provocative, but jordan contrived to restrain himself. then mrs. forster and eleanor came out, and the latter took the parcels from him. "four of them?" she said. "you haven't dropped any?" jordan did not think he had, and the girl pressed one or two of the parcels between her fingers. "then i wonder where the muslin is?" "i guess they can tell me in the store," said jordan. he swung around, and in a moment or two was back at the counter. the clerk there, however, had to refer to one of her companions, and, as the latter was busy, jordan had to wait a minute or two. "i wrapped up the muslin with the trimming," she said at last. "miss wheelock had four parcels, and i saw you take up all of them." jordan turned away with an unpleasant thought in his mind, and was out of the store in a moment. there was, however, no wagon in the street, and after running down most of it he stopped with a harsh laugh. forster's team was a fast one, and jordan realized that it was very unlikely that he could overtake it, especially when eleanor, who usually drove, did not wish him to. after all, her quickness and resolution in one way appealed to him, and he remembered that he had promised to dine with austerly that evening. still, he went back to his business feeling a trifle sore, and one or two of the men who called on him noticed that his temper was considerably shorter than usual. he had, in fact, not altogether recovered his customary good-humor when he sat on the veranda of austerly's house some hours later. the meal which austerly insisted on calling dinner, though he had found it impossible to get anybody to prepare it later than seven o'clock in the evening, was over, and the rest of the few guests were scattered about the garden. valentine, who had arrived in the _sorata_ a day or two earlier, sat at the foot of the short veranda stairway close by the lounge chair where nellie austerly lay looking unusually fragile, but listening to the bronzed man with a quiet smile. austerly leaned on the balustrade, and anthea sat not far from jordan. she was, as it happened, looking out through a gap in the firs which afforded her a glimpse of the shining inlet. a schooner crept slowly across the strip of water, on her way to the frozen north with treasure-seekers. "she seems very little," said anthea. "one wonders whether she will get there, and whether the men on board her will ever come back again." "the chances are against it," said austerly. "it is a long way to st. michael's, and one understands that those northern waters are either wrapped in fog or swept by sudden gales. besides that, it must be a tremendous march or canoe trip inland, and before they reach the gold region the summer will be over. one would scarcely fancy that many of them could live out the winter. in fact, it seems to me scarcely probable that the yukon basin will ever become a mining district. nature is apparently too much for the white man there. what is your opinion, jordan?" jordan smiled, though there was a snap in his eyes. "it seems to me you don't quite understand what kind of men we raise on the slope," he said. "once it's made clear that the gold is there, there's no snow and ice between st. michael's and the pole that would stop their getting in. when they take the trail those men will go right on in spite of everything. you have heard what their fathers did here in british columbia when there was gold in caribou? they hadn't the c.p.r. then to take them up the fraser, and there wasn't a wagon-road. they made a trail through the wildest cañons there are on this earth, and blazed a way afterward, over range and through the rivers, across the trackless wilderness. it was too big a contract for some of them, but they stayed with it, going on until they died. the others got the gold. it was a sure thing that they would get it. they had to." "just so!" said austerly, with a smile. "still, if i remember correctly, they were not all born on the pacific slope. some of them, i almost think, came from england." "they did," said jordan, who for no very evident reason glanced in anthea's direction. "the ones who got there were for the most part sailormen. they and our bushmen are much of a kind, though i'm not quite sure that the hardest hoeing didn't fall to the sailor. he hadn't been taught to face the forest with nothing but an axe, build a fire of wet wood, or make a pack-horse bridge; but he started with the old-time prospectors, and he went right in with them. it's much the same now--steam can't spoil him. when a big risky thing is to be done anywhere right down the slope, that's where you'll come across the man from the blue water." he stopped a moment as if for breath, with a deprecatory gesture. "there are one or two things that sure start me talking. it's a kind of useless habit in a man who's shackled down to his work in the city, but i can't help it. anyway, the men who are going north won't head for st. michael's and the yukon marshes much longer. they'll blaze a shorter trail in from somewhere farther south right over the coast range. it won't matter that they'll have to face ten feet of snow." neither of the other two answered him, but the fact that they watched the fading white sails of the little schooner had its significance. there was scarcely a man on the pacific slope whose thoughts did not turn toward the golden north just then, and one could notice signs of tense anticipation in all the wooden cities. the army of treasure-seekers had not set out yet, but big detachments had started, and the rest were making ready. so far there was little certain news, but rumors and surmises flew from mouth to mouth in busy streets and crowded saloons. it was known that the way was perilous and many would leave their bones beside it, and though, as jordan had said, that would not count if there were gold in the land to which it led, men waited a little, feverishly, until they should feel more sure about the latter point. by and by austerly, who spoke to valentine, went down the stairway, and anthea smiled when the latter, after walking a few paces with him, turned back again to where nellie austerly was lying. "there are things it is a little difficult to understand," she said. "valentine has, perhaps, seen nellie three or four times since she left the _sorata_, and yet, as no doubt you have noticed, he will scarcely leave her. she would evidently be quite content to have him beside her all evening, too." "you didn't say all you thought," and jordan looked at her gravely. "you mean that the usual explanation wouldn't fit their case. that, of course, is clear, since both of them must realize that she can't expect to live more than another year or so. i naturally don't know why she should take to valentine; but i have a fancy from what jimmy said that she reminded him of somebody. what is perhaps more curious still, i think she recognizes it, and doesn't in the least mind it." "somebody he was fond of long ago?" jordan appeared to consider. "that seems to make the thing more difficult to understand? still, i'm not sure it does in reality. he is one of the men who remember always, too. he would not want to marry her if she were growing strong instead of slowly fading. it would somehow spoil things if he did." "of course!" said anthea slowly. "in any case, as you mentioned, it would be out of the question. but how----" jordan checked her, with a smile this time. "how do i understand? i don't think i do altogether; i only guess. a man who lived alone at sea or on a ranch in the shadowy bush might be capable of an attachment of that kind, but not one who makes his living in the cities. one can't get away from the material point of view there." he broke off, and sat still for a minute or two, for though it was clear that anthea had no wish to discuss that topic further, he felt that she had something to say to him. "mr. jordan," she asked at last, "have you had any news about the _shasta_?" jordan's face clouded, but he did not turn in her direction, for which the girl was grateful. "no," he said, "i have none. as perhaps you know, she should have turned up two or three weeks ago." it was a moment or two before he glanced around, and then anthea met his gaze, in which, however, there was no trace of inquiry. "you are anxious about her?" she asked. "i am, a little. it is a wild coast up yonder, and they have wilder weather. the charts don't tell you very much about those narrow seas. one must trust to good fortune and one's nerve when the fog shuts down. that," and he smiled reassuringly, "was why i sent jimmy." anthea felt her face grow warm, but she looked at him steadily. "ah!" she said, "you believe in him. still, skill and nerve will not do everything." "they will do a great deal, and what flesh and blood can do, one can count on getting from the _shasta_'s skipper. i believe"--and he lowered his voice confidentially--"jimmy will bring her back again. that's why i sent her up there less than half-insured. premiums were heavy, and we wanted all our money. still, if he does not, i know he will have made the toughest fight--and that will be some relief to me. you see, i'm fond of jimmy--and i'm talking quite straight with you." there was a hint of pain in the girl's face, and she realized that it was there, but his frankness had had its effect on her. it suggested a sympathy she did not resent, and she smiled at him gravely. "thank you!" she said. "there is another thing i want to ask, mr. jordan. if you get any news of the _shasta_, will you come and tell me?" "within the hour," said jordan, and anthea, who thanked him, rose and turned away. jordan, however, sat still, gazing straight in front of him thoughtfully, for, though she had perhaps not intended this, the girl's manner had impressed him. he fancied that he knew what she was feeling, and that she had in a fashion taken him into her confidence. it was also a confidence that he would at any cost have held inviolable. then he rose with a little dry smile. "she is clear grit all through," he said. "and her father is the ------ rogue in all this province." chapter xxiv jordan keeps his promise right sunshine streamed down on the inlet, and there was an exhilarating freshness in the morning air; but anthea merril sat somewhat listlessly on the veranda outside her father's house, looking across the sparkling water toward the snows of the north. she had done the same thing somewhat frequently of late, and, as had happened on each occasion, her thoughts were fixed on the little vessel that had apparently vanished in the fog-wrapped sea. anthea had grown weary of waiting for news of her. hitherto very little that she desired had been denied her, and though that had not been sufficient to pervert her nature, it naturally made the suspense she had to face a little harder to bear, since the money before which other difficulties had melted was in this case of no avail. the commander of the _shasta_ had passed far beyond her power to recall him; and, if he still lived, of which she was far from certain, it was only the primitive courage and stubborn endurance which are not confined to men of wealth and station that could bring him back to her in spite of blinding fog and icy seas. anthea had no longer any hesitation in admitting that this was what she greatly desired. now that he had--it appeared more than possible--sailed out of her life altogether into the unknown haven that awaits the souls of the sailormen, she knew how she longed for him. still, the days had slipped by, and there was no word from the silent north which has been for many a sailorman and sealer the fairway to the tideless sea. at last she started a little as a man came up the drive toward the house. he appeared to be a city clerk, but, though merril had not yet gone out, she did not recognize him as one of those in her father's service. he turned when he saw her and came straight across the lawn, and anthea felt a thrill run through her as she noticed that he had an envelope in his hand. "miss merril?" he said. "mr. jordan sent this with his compliments." anthea thanked him, but did not open the envelope until he turned away. even then she almost felt her courage fail as she tore it apart and took out a strip of paper that appeared to be a telegraphic message addressed to jordan. "held up by fog and got ashore, but arrived here undamaged. clearing again morning," it read, and the blood crept into her face as she saw that it was signed, "wheelock shasta." for the next five minutes she sat perfectly still, conscious only of a great relief, and then she roused herself with an effort as merril came out of the house. "a telegram!" he said, with a smile. "who has been wiring you? have you been speculating?" "in that case, don't you think i should have come to you for information?" asked anthea, who was mistress of herself again. "i'm not sure that you would have been wise if you had," said merril, with a whimsical grimace. "i don't seem to have been very successful with my own affairs of late. anyway, you haven't told me what i asked." anthea was never quite sure why she placed the message in his hand. she was aware that he was not interested in the subject, and would certainly not have pressed her for an answer. in fact, he very seldom inquired as to what she did, and had never attempted to place any restraint upon her. he glanced at the message, and then turned to her again. "wheelock to jordan. friends of yours?" he said. "you would probably meet them at austerly's." "yes," said anthea, "i think i may say they are." it was essentially characteristic of merril that he showed no displeasure. he was indulgent to his daughter, and one who very seldom allowed himself to be led away by either personal liking or rancor. for a moment he stood still looking down at her with a dry smile, and, because no father and daughter can be wholly dissimilar, anthea bore his scrutiny with perfect composure. "well," he said, "they're both men of some ability, with signs of grit in them, though i don't know that it would have troubled me if i had heard no more of the _shasta_. now i'm a little late, and it will be to-night before i'm back from the city." he turned away, and once more anthea became sensible of a faint repulsion for her father. every word eleanor wheelock had uttered in forster's ranch had impressed itself on her memory, and she knew now that his interests clashed with those of the _shasta_ company. it would not have astonished her if he had shown some sign of resentment, but this complete indifference appeared unnatural, and troubled her. he was, it seemed, as devoid of anger as he was, if eleanor wheelock and several others were to be believed, of pity. then she felt that she must, to a certain extent, at least, confide in some one, and she set out to call on nellie austerly. it happened that morning that jimmy stood on the _shasta_'s bridge as she steamed up the softly gleaming straits. ahead a dingy smoke-cloud was moving on toward him, and he took his glasses from the box when the black shape of a steamer grew out of it. she rose rapidly higher, and jimmy guessed that she was considerably larger than the _shasta_ and steaming three or four knots faster. then he made out that her deck was crowded with passengers, and, though the beaver ensign floated over her stern, their destination was evident when he glanced at the flag at the fore. the only american soil north of them was alaska. she drew abreast, a beautiful vessel of old and almost obsolete model, with the clear green water frothing high beneath her outward curve of prow. there was no forecastle forward to break the sweeping line of rail, and the broad quarter-deck that overhung her slender stern had also its suggestiveness to a seaman's eye. the smoke-cloud at her funnel further hinted that her speed was purchased by a consumption of coal that would have been considered intolerable in a modern boat. then the strip of bunting at her mainmast head fixed jimmy's attention. "merril's hard on our trail," he said. "she's taking a big crowd of miners north. that's his flag." fleming, who stood beneath the bridge, looked up with a little nod. "i would not compliment him on his sense," he said. "a beautiful boat, but the man who runs her will want a coal-mine of his own. got her cheap, i figure, but it's only at top-freights she could make a living. guess merril's screwing all he can out of those miners, but those rates won't last when the c.p.r. and the americans cut in, and if i had a boat of that kind i'd put up a big insurance and then scuttle her." then one of the two or three bronzed prospectors who had come down with the _shasta_ approached the bridge. "can't you let the boys who are going up know we've been there?" he said. "it might encourage them to see that somebody has come out alive." jimmy called to his quartermaster before he answered the man. "well," he said, "in a general way the signal wouldn't quite mean that, but it's very likely they'll understand it." merril's boat was almost alongside, when the quartermaster broke out the stars and stripes at the _shasta_'s masthead. a roar of voices greeted the snapping flag, and the heads grew thick as cedar twigs in the shadowy bush along the stranger's rail; while the men who stood higher aft upon her ample quarter-deck flung their hats and arms aloft. jimmy could see them plainly, and their faces and garments proclaimed that most of them were from the cities. there were others whose skin was darkened and who wore older clothes; but these did not shout, for they were men who had been at close grips with savage nature already, and had some notion of what was before them. jimmy blew his whistle and dipped the beaver flag, while a curious little thrill ran through him as the sonorous blast hurled his greeting across the clear green water. he knew what these men would have to face who were going up, the vanguard of a great army, to grapple with the wilderness, and it was clear that nature would prove too terrible for many of them who would never drag their bones out of it again. once more the voices answered him with a storm of hopeful cries, for the soft-handed men of the cities had also the courage of their breed. it was the careless, optimistic courage of the pacific slope, and store-clerk and hotel-lounger cheered the _shasta_ gaily as, reckless of what was before them, they went by. when the time came to face screaming blizzard and awful cold they would, for the most part, do it willingly, and go on unflinching in spite of flood and frost until they dropped beside the trail. jimmy, who realized this vaguely, felt the thrill again, and was glad that he had sped them on their way with a message of good-will; but there was no roar from their steamer's whistle, and the beaver flag blew out undipped at her stern. then, as she drew away from him, his face hardened, and the engineer looked at him with a grin. "merril's skipper's like him, and that's 'most as mean as he could be," he said. jimmy glanced toward his masthead. "if there were many of his kind among my countrymen, i'd feel tempted to shift that flag aft, and keep it there," he said. "the boys from puget sound could cheer." one of the prospectors who stood below broke into a little soft laugh. "oh, yes," he said, "it's in them, and all the snow up yonder won't melt it out. still, it's your quiet bushmen and ours who'll do the getting there. guess they could raise a smile for you--and they did; but when it comes to shouting, they haven't breath to spare." he turned and looked after the steamer growing smaller to the northward amidst her smoke-cloud. "one in every twenty may bottom on paying gold, and you might figure on three or four more making grub and a few ounces on a hired man's share. the snow and the river will get the rest." then he strolled away, and when jimmy looked around again there was only a smoke-trail on the water, for the steamer had sunk beneath the verge of the sea. his attention also was occupied by other things that concerned him more than the steamer, for another two or three hours would bring him to vancouver inlet, which he duly reached that afternoon, and found jordan and a crowd through which the latter could scarcely struggle awaiting him on the wharf. still, he got on board, and poured out tumultuous questions while he wrung jimmy's hand, and it was twenty minutes at least before jimmy had supplied him with the information he desired. then he sat down and smiled. "well," he said, "we'll go into the other points to-morrow, and to-night you're coming to austerly's with me. got word from miss nellie that i was to bring you sure. she wanted me to send a team over for eleanor." "then why didn't you?" asked jimmy. jordan's manner became confidential. "nellie austerly contrived to mention that miss merril would be there too, and it seemed to me that eleanor mightn't quite fit in. she has her notions, and when she gets her program fixed i just stand clear of her and let her go ahead. it's generally wiser. anyway, i felt that i could afford to do the straight thing by you and austerly." "thanks!" said jimmy, with a dry smile. "of course, there is nothing to be gained by pretending that eleanor is fond of miss merril." jordan sighed. "well, i guess other men's sisters have their little fancies now and then, and though she has scared me once or twice, eleanor's probably not very different from the rest of them. i was a trifle played out--driven too hard and anxious--while you were away, and she was awfully good to me--gentle as an angel; but for all that, i feel one couldn't trust her alone with miss merril on a dark night if she had a sharp hatpin or anything of that kind. and as for merril, i believe she wouldn't raise any objections if it were in our power to have him skinned alive. now, i like a girl with grit in her." "still, eleanor goes a little further than you care about at times?" jordan laid a hand on his companion's arm. "jimmy," he said, "there's a thing you haven't mentioned to either of us--and i didn't expect you to--but i feel that by and by your sister is going to make trouble for you." jimmy looked at him steadily, and jordan smiled. "you needn't trouble about making any disclaimer. i see how it is. somehow you're going to get her. merril's not likely to run us off. i guess there's no reason to worry about him. still, i want you to understand that if i can't put a check on your sister--and that's quite likely--i'm going to stand by her. i just have to." "of course!" said jimmy gravely. "nobody would expect anything else from you. i don't mind admitting that i have been a little anxious about what eleanor might do--but we'll change the subject. you suggested that merril was getting into trouble?" "he is," said jordan, with evident relief. "they're making the road to the pulp-mill, and i don't quite know where he raised his share of the money, especially as he has just taken over a big old-type steamer. had to face a high figure, played out as she is. ships are in demand. now, there are men like merril whose money isn't their own; that is, they can get it from other people to make a profit on, as a general thing. but these aren't ordinary times; any man with money can make good interest on it himself just now, and i've more than a fancy that merril's handing out instead of raking in. he has been at the banks lately, and when there's a demand for money everywhere you can figure what they're going to charge him. anyway, we won't worry about him in the meanwhile. get on your shore-clothes. as soon as you're ready you're coming up-town with me." chapter xxv an understanding jimmy went to austerly's, and during the evening related his adventures in the north to a sympathetic audience. his companions insisted on this, and though there was one fact he would rather not have mentioned he complied good-humoredly with their request. the narrative was essentially matter-of-fact, but he had sufficient sense to avoid any affectation of undue diffidence, and the others appeared to find it interesting. indeed, nellie austerly, at least, noticed the faint sparkle which now and then crept into anthea's eyes as he told them how, in order to keep his promise to the miners that there should be no delay, he had come out of a snug anchorage and groped his way northward through a bewildering smother of unlifting fog. he also told them simply, but, though he was not aware of the latter fact, with a certain dramatic force, how, straining every nerve and muscle in tense suspense, they hove the steamer off just before the gale broke, and of the strenuous labor cutting wood for fuel on the southward voyage. when he stopped, nellie austerly looked up with a little nod. "yes," she said, "you took those miners in as you had promised, in spite of the fog, and you brought the _shasta_ down all that way with only a few tons of coal. still, i don't think you should expect any particular commendation. there are men who can't help doing things of that kind." jimmy laughed, though his face grew slightly flushed. "i'm afraid i also put her ashore. one can't get over that." then he looked at jordan. "in fact, i scarcely think i'm out of the wood yet. there will be an inquiry." "purely formal," said his comrade. "they'll have a special whitewash brush made for you. nautical assessors have some conscience, after all. besides, it depends largely on the facts you supply them whether they consider it worth while to have one." austerly had a few questions to ask, and then the conversation drifted away to other topics, until some little time later jimmy found himself sitting alone beside nellie austerly. she lay wrapped in fleecy shawls in a big chair near the foot of the veranda stairway, looking very frail, but she smiled at him benevolently. "i am glad they have gone," she said. "you see, i wanted to talk to you, but the dew is commencing to settle and i must go in soon. that is insisted on, though i don't think it matters." she smiled again. "it is a beautiful world, jimmy, isn't it?" jimmy drew in his breath as he glanced about him, for he guessed part of what she was thinking, and it hurt him. he could see the dark pines towering against the wondrous green transparency which follows hard upon the sunset splendors in that country. the inlet shone in the gaps amid that stately colonnade, and far off beyond it there was a faint ethereal gleam of snow. to him, filled as he was with the clean vigor of the sea, it seemed too beautiful a world to leave. "still," said his companion, "it has had very little to offer me, and perhaps that is why i feel one should never stand by and let any good thing it holds out go; that is, of course, when one has the strength to grasp it. it usually needs some courage, too." "i'm afraid it does;" and jimmy looked down at her gravely, for since this was not quite the first time she had suggested the same thing he commenced to understand where she was leading him. "one might, perhaps, manage to muster enough if one could only be sure----" he stopped somewhat awkwardly, and the girl laughed. "one very seldom can. you have to reach out boldly and clutch before the opportunity has gone." "in the dark?" "of course! one can't always expect to see one's way. you were not afraid of the fog, jimmy?" "i was. it got hold of my nerves and shook all the stiffening out of me. in fact, in the sense you mean, i'm afraid of it still." he checked himself for a moment, and his face was furrowed when he turned to her again. "you understand, of course. the clogging smother of uncertainty now and then gets intolerable when a man wants to do the right thing. he can't see where he is going. there is nothing to steer by." "if you had sat down and tried to think of every reef and shoal, and what would become of the _shasta_ if she struck them, would you ever have reached your destination when the fog shut down?" "no," said jimmy; "i should in all probability have turned her round, and steamed south again." nellie austerly laughed. "instead of that you went on--and got there--as they say in this country. that, as i think you will recognize, is the point of it all." "i also got ashore." "in spite of the lead. it wasn't much service, jimmy. it really seems that one is just as safe when going full-speed ahead. besides, you got off again, and brought the _shasta_ back undamaged. well, perhaps it may occur to you by and by that there must always be a little uncertainty, and in the meanwhile i dare say you won't mind giving me your arm. i must go in, and these steps seem to be getting steeper lately." jimmy gravely held out his arm, and when he handed her one of the shawls as they reached the veranda, she smiled at him again. "now you are released, and i see anthea is all alone," she said. she disappeared into the house, and jimmy's heart beat a good deal faster than usual when he went down the stairway. though he did not know what he would say to her, he had been longing all evening for a word or two with anthea, and now the desire was almost overwhelming. he had, of course, seen the drift of nellie austerly's observations, and it scarcely seemed likely that she would have offered him the veiled encouragement unless she had had some ground for believing that it was warranted. he also remembered what he had twice seen in anthea's face; but he was a steamboat skipper with no means worth mentioning, and she the daughter of a man who was in one sense responsible for his father's death. that was certainly not her fault, but jimmy felt that even if she would listen to him, of which he was far from certain, he could not expose her to her father's ill-will and the scornful pity of her friends. still, nellie austerly's words had had their effect, and he strode straight across the lawn, with the same curious little thrill running through him of which he had been sensible when he drove the _shasta_ full-speed into the fog. anthea stood waiting for him beneath the dark firs, very much as she had done when he had last seen her, with a smile in her eyes. "i suppose it is nellie's fault, but i was commencing to wonder whether you wished to avoid me," she said. jimmy stood silent a moment, trying to impose a due restraint upon himself, until she lifted her eyes and looked at him. then he knew the attempt was useless, and abandoned it. "the fault was not exactly mine," he said, with a faint hoarseness in his voice. "for one thing, how could i know that you would be pleased to see me?" "still," said anthea quietly, "i really think you did. were your other reasons for staying away more convincing?" then jimmy flung prudence to the winds. the fog of which he had declared himself afraid was thicker than ever, but that fact had suddenly ceased to trouble him. again he felt, as he had done when he crouched in the _sorata_'s cockpit one wild morning, that he and anthea merril were merely man and woman, and that she was the one he wanted for his wife. that was sufficient, for the time being, to drive out every other consideration; but he answered her quietly. "a little while ago i believed they were, but i can't quite think that now," he said. "something seems to have happened in the meanwhile--and they don't appear to count." they had as if by mutual consent turned and followed a path that led into the scented shadow of the firs, but when a great columnar trunk hid them from the house jimmy stopped again. "yes," he said, "after that morning when we watched the big combers from the _sorata_'s cockpit, i think i should have known you were glad to see the _shasta_ back; but the trouble was that i dared not let myself be sure of it. there were, as you said, reasons for that. i suppose i should be strong enough to recognize and yield to them still, but--while you may blame me afterward for not doing so--i can't." he moved a pace forward, and laid a hand on her shoulder, holding her back from him, unresisting, while he looked down at her. "since i carried you through the creek that evening up in the bush i have thought of nothing, longed for nothing, but you. it has been one long effort to hold the folly in check; but it has suddenly grown too hard for me--i can't keep it up. now, at least, you know." he let his hand drop to his side, and stood still with his eyes fixed on her. anthea looked up at him with a smile. "ah!" she said, "i knew it all long ago. was it very hard, jimmy--and are you sure it was necessary?" the blood surged to the man's forehead, but there was trouble as well as exultation in his face, for his senses were coming back, and it seemed to him that he must somehow muster wisdom to choose for both of them. "my dear," he said a trifle hoarsely, "i think it was. i am a struggling steamboat skipper, and you a lady of station in this province. that was a sufficient reason, as things go." "if you had been the director of a steamship company, and i a girl without a dollar, would that have influenced you?" "it would have made it easier. i should have claimed you on board the _sorata_. lord"--and jimmy made a little forceful gesture--"how i wish you were!" anthea smiled at him curiously. "well," she said, "i may not have very much money, after all--and, if i had, is there any reason why you should be willing to give up more than i would? does it matter so very much that i may, perhaps, be a little richer than you are?" the veins showed swollen on the man's forehead, and again he struggled with the impulses that had carried him away, for the discrepancy in wealth was, after all, only a minor obstacle. anthea, too, clearly realized that, and she roused herself for an effort. "jimmy," she said, while he stood silent, "would it hurt you very much if i admitted that you were right, and sent you away? after all, you have scarcely said anything that could make one think you would feel it very keenly." the man stooped a little, and seized one of her hands. "dear, you are all i want, and to go would be the hardest thing i ever did; but there is your father's opposition to consider, and, if to stay would bring you trouble, i might compel myself." "ah!" said anthea softly, "the trouble would come if you went away." then with a little resolute movement she drew herself away from him, and looked up with a flush in her face and a quickening of her breath, for there was something of moment to be said. "there is a reason you haven't mentioned yet, though your sister did. does that count for so very much with you?" "eleanor!" said jimmy, while a thrill of anger ran through him. "i might have known she would do this." he stood quite still for several moments with a hand clenched at his side and his face furrowed, and when he spoke again it was hoarsely. "what did she tell you?" he asked. "i think she told me all that she knew about your father's ruin, and his death. it was very hard to listen to, jimmy--but did it really happen that way?" she stopped a moment, and cast a little glance of appeal at him. "i have tried to think that she must have distorted things. it would have been no more than natural. if i had borne what she has i would have done the same. one could not regard them correctly. bitterness and grief must influence one's point of view." the man turned his face from her, and moved away a pace or two as if in pain. then once more he turned toward her with a compassionate gesture, for he knew that the blow would be a heavy one to her, and it was almost insufferable that his hand should be the one to deal it. "then anything i could say would not be more reliable. my views would as naturally be distorted too." "still, i should have an answer. you must realize that, and if it is one that hurts i should sooner it came from you than anybody else." jimmy drew in his breath. "then, while i don't know exactly what eleanor has said, or whether i can forgive her that cruelty, i think you could believe every word of it." the color faded from anthea's face, and she looked at him with a faint horror in her eyes and her lips tight set. she could not doubt him. if there had been no other reason, the pity she saw he had for her was proof enough, and for a moment or two she forgot everything but the grim fact to which eleanor wheelock had forced her to listen. she could make no excuses for her father now. she saw him suddenly as she felt that he was a creature of insatiable greed, cunning, unscrupulous, and without pity, and then she commenced to feel intolerably lonely. it was almost as though he had died, and the longing for the love of the man who stood watching her with grave sympathy in his eyes grew so strong that for the moment she was sensible of nothing else. there was nobody but him to whom she could turn. it was, she felt, his part to comfort her; and then she shivered as she remembered that circumstances had placed that out of the question. the injury her father had done him must, it seemed, always stand between them, and she shrank back a pace from him. "ah!" she said, "you must hate me for that, jimmy." it was half an assertion, and, though she had perhaps not consciously intended the latter, half a question, and the man recognized the dismay in it. he strode forward, and seizing both her hands laid them on his shoulders, and drew her to him masterfully. for a moment he used compulsion, and then she clung to him quivering with her head on his breast. "dear," he said, "it is not your fault. you had no part in it, and, even had it been so, i think i could not have helped loving you. as it is, there is nothing in this world could make me hate you." anthea made him no answer, and jimmy drew her closer still. he had flung prudence and restraint away. what he had said and done was irrevocable, and he was glad that it was so. at last the girl looked up at him again. "jimmy," she said, "if you can thrust into the background all that eleanor told me, you cannot let money come between us. besides, i haven't any now. could i lavish money that had been wrung from your father and other struggling men upon my pleasures--or dare to bring it to you? can't you understand, dear? i am as poor as you are." then she suddenly shook herself free from his grasp, and seemed to shiver. "but you can't forgive him--it will be war between you?" "yes," said jimmy slowly, "i am afraid that must be so. if there were no other reason, i cannot desert the men who befriended me, and your father will do all he can to crush them." "ah!" said the girl, "it is going to be very hard. still, i cannot turn against him; he has, at least, been kind to me. i have never had a wish he has not gratified." jimmy slowly shook his head. "no," he said; "that is out of the question--i could not ask it of you. there is also this to recognize: your father is a man of station, and would never permit you to marry a steamboat skipper. he will make every effort to keep you away from me." just then austerly's voice reached them from the house, and anthea turned to the man again. "jimmy," she said, "i know that you belong to me, and i to you; but that must be sufficient in the meanwhile. we can neither of us be a traitor. you must wait and say nothing, dear." then she turned and, slipping by him swiftly, moved across the lawn toward the house, while jimmy stood where he was, exultant, but realizing that the struggle before them would tax all the courage that was in him and the girl. before he left the house, nellie austerly contrived to draw him to her side when there was nobody else near the chair in which she lay. "well?" she said inquiringly. jimmy looked at her with a little grave smile. "i have rung for full-speed," he said. "still, the fog is thicker than ever, and, when i dare to listen, i can hear breakers on the bow." chapter xxvi eleanor holds the clue mrs. forster had gone out with her daughters, and there was just then nobody else in the ranch, when eleanor wheelock and carnforth sat talking in the big general room. this was satisfactory to the girl, for she desired to have the next half-hour free from interruption. she was aware that mrs. forster might come back before that time had elapsed; but, although she had a purpose to accomplish, any appearance of haste would spoil everything, for it was, as she recognized, advisable that carnforth should be permitted to take her into his confidence in his own time and way, without her doing anything to suggest that she was encouraging him. he had not been very long in vancouver, and though he had placed a good deal of money in merril's hands, and was associated with him in some of his business ventures, she had reasons for believing that he did not know exactly what her relations with jordan were, or that she had a brother in command of the _shasta_. carnforth, as it happened, had also come there with a purpose in his mind. indeed, it was one he had been considering for some little time, though he had at length decided that it would have to be modified. this did not exactly please him, but he was prepared to make a sacrifice in case of necessity. he was a tall, well-favored man, and his tight-fitting clothes displayed the straightness of his limbs as he leaned back in his chair, with his eyes which had a suggestive sparkle in them fixed on the girl. the fashion in which he regarded her would, in different circumstances, have aroused eleanor's resentment, but she was quite aware that there were certain defects in his character, and she had taken some trouble to discover why he had left toronto somewhat hastily. she sat in a canvas chair opposite him across the room, and, since she had expected him that afternoon, she was conscious that everything she wore became her well. the long, light-tinted skirt was no fuller than was necessary, but eleanor could afford to wear it so, for both in man and woman the average western figure is modeled in long sweeping lines, and the soft fabric emphasized her dainty slenderness. the pale-blue blouse that hung in filmy, lace-like folds heightened the color of her eyes and the clear pallor of her ivory complexion. eleanor was, in fact, quite satisfied with her appearance, and aware that it suggested a puritanical simplicity, which was in one respect, at least, not altogether misleading. there is a certain absence of grossness in the men and women of the west, and even their vices are characterized rather by daring than by materialistic sensuality. she felt that she loathed the man and the part circumstances had forced on her while she dressed herself in expectation of his visit; but, for all that, she was prepared to undertake it. "and you are really thinking of going away?" she asked. carnforth did not answer hastily, but looked at her with the little sparkle growing plainer in his eyes while he appeared to reflect; and, though there was nothing to suggest that she was doing so, eleanor listened intently as she marshaled all her forces for the task she had in hand. the afternoon was hot and still, and she could hear forster and his hired man chopping in the bush. the thud of their axes came faintly out of the shadowy woods, but there was no other sound, and the house was very quiet. this was reassuring, for she had no wish to hear mrs. forster's footsteps just then. at last her companion spoke. "yes," he said, "i have been thinking over it for some time. in fact, i should have gone before, only i couldn't quite nerve myself to it. i guess i needn't tell you why i found that difficult." eleanor laughed. "then if you don't wish to, why go away at all?" "i think it would be nicer to tell you why i wish to stay." "well," said eleanor thoughtfully, "i almost fancy you have suggested your reasons once or twice already. still, it's evident they can't have very much weight with you, or you wouldn't go." carnforth leaned forward. "anyway, my reasons for going would have some weight with most men." "then until i hear what they are, you are on your defense," said eleanor, with a smile that set his blood tingling. "in the meanwhile, i am far from pleased with you. it is not flattering to find one of my friends so anxious to get away from me." "that was by no means what i was contemplating," said the man, and there were signs of strain in his voice, while a trace of darker color crept into his face. "i guess you know it, too." "ah!" said eleanor, "why should you expect me to? it wouldn't be reasonable in the circumstances. i was willing to allow you to excuse yourself for wishing to go away, and you don't seem at all anxious to profit by my generosity." "you mightn't find my reasons--they're rather material ones--interesting." "then you are still on your defense, and far from being forgiven. as a matter of fact, i am interested in almost everything, as you ought to know by this time." "i believe you are," and carnforth made her a little inclination. "i guess you understand almost everything, too. well, it seems i have to tell you." eleanor displayed no eagerness, though she was sensible of a little thrill of satisfaction, for the thing was becoming easier than she had expected. instead, she moved with a slow gracefulness in her low chair, so that the narrow ray of sunlight which shone in between the half-closed shutters fell on one cheek and delicate ear. she knew that the pose she had fallen into was one that became her well, and would in all probability have its effect on her companion, and she meant to make the utmost of her physical attractiveness, though such a course was foreign to her nature. eleanor wheelock was imperious, and it pleased her to command instead of allure; but she could on due occasion hold her pride in check, and she would not have disdained to use any wile just then. it was with perfect composure that she watched the little glow kindle in carnforth's eyes, though she could have struck him for it. "there is no compulsion," she said indifferently. "it rests with yourself." carnforth laughed in a fashion that jarred on her. "the fact that you wish it goes a long way with me. well, i am a man with somewhat luxurious tastes, which the money i possess would unfortunately not continue to gratify unless i keep it earning something. that is what induced me to take a share in one or two of merril's ventures, and now makes it advisable for me to leave him. if i elect to remain, i must put more money into the concern than i consider wise." "then merril's affairs are not prospering?" "no," said the man, with a keen glance at her. "i believe you are as aware of that as i am. one way or another you have extracted a good deal of information out of me--the kind in which women aren't generally interested. i don't know why you have done so." "i think i told you that i am interested in everything. you don't feel warranted in handing the money over to merril?" carnforth shook his head. "the pulp-mill hit us hard; but before he quite knew that we would have to make the wagon-road, he had bound himself to take over the steamer we are sending up with the miners," he said. "she cost him a good deal." "still, freights and passage to the north are high." "they won't continue to be when the c.p.r. and other people put on modern and economical boats. it is quite clear to me that merril's boat can't make a living when she has to run against them." eleanor decided to change the subject for a while, though she had not done with it yet. "well," she said languidly, "i really don't think it matters to me whether she does or not. what i gave you permission to do was to defend yourself for wishing to go away." "haven't i done it?" asked the man. "when i break with merril i shall naturally have to discover a new field for my abilities. i think it will be in california." "you are going to break with him because he is saddled with an unprofitable vessel? now, there are tides, and fogs, and reefs up there in the north; don't they sometimes lose a well-insured steamer?" carnforth laughed, but the girl had seen him start. "well," he said, "i don't mind admitting that if the one in question went north some day and didn't come back again, it would be a relief to one or two of us. still, i'm 'most afraid that's too fortunate a thing to happen." "of course! there would always be a probability of the skipper's demanding money afterward? besides, a mate or quartermaster or somebody who hadn't a hand in it might have his suspicions." the man gazed at her, and this time his astonishment at her perspicacity was very evident for a moment. "a wise man wouldn't tamper with the skipper. anyway, the people who try to get their money back by means of that kind 'most always involve themselves in difficulties." it cost eleanor an effort to conceal her satisfaction. little by little she had, to an extent her companion did not realize, extracted from him information that enabled her to understand the state of merril's affairs tolerably accurately, and she had decided that he would attempt some daring and drastic remedy. now her purpose was accomplished, for she knew what that remedy would be, and it only remained for her to determine whether carnforth could be used as a weapon against his associate or must be flung aside. the latter course was the one she would prefer, and she decided on it since he had practically answered the question. "so you are going to leave him now that he is in difficulties?" she said with a sardonic smile. "it isn't very generous, but i suppose it's wise, and i almost think you have cleared yourself. would you mind looking whether you can see mrs. forster?" he had served his purpose, and she was anxious to get rid of him; but the man made no sign of moving. "i would mind just now, and i hope she'll stay away," he said. "the fact is i have something to say to you, and don't know why i let you switch me off on to merril. his affairs can't concern you." "then why did you tell me so much about them?" the man gazed hard at her in evident bewilderment, and then rose to his feet with a little air of resolution. "i'm not to be driven away from the point again. i told you why i have to go, but that is less than half of it. i can't go alone; i want you to come with me." "ah!" said the girl very quietly, though a red spot which her brother and jordan would have recognized as a warning showed in each cheek. "this is unexpected." carnforth crossed the room and leaned on a table not far from her chair, looking down at her with a look from which she shrank. "no," he said, "i don't think it's unexpected; you knew what i meant from the beginning." this was, as a matter of fact, correct, but the color grew plainer in eleanor's cheek. she had known exactly what her companion's advances were worth, and at times it had cost her a strenuous effort to hold her anger in check. it was, however, characteristic of her that she had made the effort. "after that, i think it would save both of us trouble if you understood once for all that i will not go," she said. carnforth laughed harshly, while his face flushed with ill-suppressed passion. "pshaw! you don't mean it. for several months you have led me on, and now that i'm yours altogether, i'm not going to california without you. you know that, too; you have to go." "you have had your answer," and eleanor rose and faced him with portentous quietness. "don't make me say anything more." the man moved forward suddenly, and laid a hot grasp on her wrist. there was as yet no dismay in his face, and it was very evident that he would not believe her. there were excuses for him, and the fact that it was so roused the girl, who remembered what her part had been, to almost uncontrollable anger. "you are going to say that you are willing and coming with me, if i have to make you," he said fiercely. "i mean just that, and i am not afraid of you, though at times one can see something in your eyes that would scare off most men. it's there now, but it's one of the things that make me want you. eleanor, put an end to this. you know you have me altogether--isn't that enough? do you want to drive me mad?" he stopped a moment, and broke into a harsh laugh as the girl, with a strength he had not looked for, shook off his grasp. "oh," he said, "it seems i've gone on too fast. i'll fix about the wedding soon as i break with merril." there was certainly something in eleanor wheelock's eyes just then that few people would have cared to face. the vindictive hatred she bore merril had for the time being driven every womanly attribute out of her, but she remembered how she had loathed this man's advances and endured them. to carry out her purpose she would, indeed, have stooped to anything, for her hatred had possessed her wholly and altogether. now it was momentarily turned on her companion. "it would have been wiser if you had made that clear first," she said, with a slow incisiveness that made the words cut like the lash of a whip. "still, i suppose, the offer is generous, in view of the trouble you would very probably bring on yourself by attempting to carry it out." the man appeared staggered for a moment, but he recovered himself. "well," he said, with a little forceful gesture, "there are parts of my record i can't boast about, but there are points on which you'd go 'way beyond me. that, i guess, is what got hold of me and won't let me go. by the lord, eleanor, nothing would be impossible to you and me if we pulled together." "that will never happen," said the girl, still with a very significant quietness. "don't force me to speak too plainly." carnforth appeared bewildered, for at last he was compelled to recognize that she meant what she said, but there was anger in his eyes. "well," he said stupidly, "what in the name of wonder did you want? you know you led me on." "perhaps i did. now that i know what you are, i tell you to go. had you been any other man i might have felt some slight compunction, or, at least, a little kindliness toward you. as it is, i am only longing to shake off the contamination you have brought upon me." she broke off with a little gesture of relief, and moving toward the window flung the shutters back. "they have finished chopping, and i hear the ox-team in the bush," she said. "forster will be here in a minute or two." carnforth stood still, irresolute, though his face was darkly flushed; and eleanor felt the silence become oppressive as she wondered whether the rancher would come back to the house or lead his team on into the bush. then the trample of the slowly moving oxen's feet apparently reached her companion, for with a little abrupt movement he took up his wide hat from the table. he waited a few moments, however, crumpling the brim of it in one hand, while eleanor was conscious that her heart was beating unpleasantly fast as she watched for the first sign of forster or his hired man among the dark fir-trunks. at last she heard her companion move toward the door, and when it swung to behind him she drew in her breath with a gasp of relief. chapter xxvii jordan's scheme carnforth had been gone some twenty minutes when eleanor stood among the orchard grass, from which the ranks of blackened fir-stumps rose outside the ranch. she had recovered her composure, and was looking toward the dusty road which wound, a sinuous white ribbon, between the somber firs. jordan, whom she had not expected to see just then, was walking along it with forster, and, since it was evident that he must have met carnforth, she was wondering, with a somewhat natural shrinking from doing so, how far it would be necessary to take him into her confidence. this, as she recognized, must be done eventually; but she was not sure that her legitimate lover would be in a mood to understand or appreciate her course of action when fresh from a meeting with the one she had discarded. jordan had laid very little restraint upon her, but he was, after all, human and had a temper. she lost sight of the two men for a few minutes when they passed behind a great colonnade of fir-trunks that partly obscured her view of the road, but she could see them plainly when they emerged again from the shadow. instead of turning toward the house they came toward her, and there was, she noticed, a curious red mark on jordan's cheek, as well as a broad smear of dust on his soft hat, which appeared somewhat crushed. his attire was also disordered, and his face was darker in color than usual. forster, who walked a pace or two behind him, because the path through the grass was narrow, also appeared disturbed in mind, and when they stopped close by the girl it was he who spoke first. "i had gone down the road to see whether there was any sign of mrs. forster when i came upon mr. jordan; and, considering how he was engaged, it is perhaps fortunate that i did," he said. "although it is not exactly my business, i can't help fancying that you have something to say to him." he went on, but he had said enough to leave eleanor with a tolerably accurate notion of what had happened, and to make it clear that he was not altogether pleased. the rancher and his wife were easy-going, kindly people, with liberal views, but it was evident that their toleration would not cover everything. then she turned to jordan, who stood looking at her steadily with a certain hardness in his face, and the red mark showing very plainly on his cheek. "well," she said, "how did you get here?" "on my feet," said jordan. "there was little to do this afternoon in the city, and two or three things were worrying me. it struck me that i'd walk it off, and i'm glad i did." "ah!" said eleanor, "won't you go on a little?'" "it's what i mean to do. i met carnforth driving away from here, and since the fact that he has been here quite often has been troubling me lately, i invited him to pull up right away. when he didn't do it i managed to get hold of the horses' heads, and went right across the road with them. still, i stopped the team, and i was getting up to talk to carnforth when forster came along. i hated to see him then." somewhat to his astonishment, eleanor laughed softly. "forster persuaded you to abandon the--discussion?" "he did. if there's a split up the back of my jacket, as i believe there is, he made it. anyway, he wasn't quite pleased, and i don't blame him. he and his wife have let you do 'most whatever you like, but, after all, you couldn't expect them to put up with everything." "or expect too much from you? you feel you have borne a good deal, charley? well, forster was right in one respect. we have something to say to each other, and it may take a little time. there is a big fir he has just chopped yonder." she walked slowly toward the fallen tree, and seated herself on a great branch before she turned to the man who was about to take a place beside her. "no," she said, "you can stand there, charley, where i can see you. to commence with, how much confidence have you in me?" "all that a man could have;" and there was no doubt about jordan's sincerity. "still, i don't like carnforth. he's not fit for you to talk to, and i can't have him coming here. in fact, i'll see that he doesn't. i've wanted to say this for quite a while, but it would have pleased me better to say it first to him. that's one reason why i feel it's particularly unfortunate forster didn't stay away a minute or two longer." a faint tinge of color crept into eleanor's cheek, but she looked at him with a smile. "charley," she said, "i am a little sorry too that forster came along when he did. i don't know that it's what every girl would say, but i think if you had thrashed that man to within an inch of his life it would have pleased me." she stopped for a moment, and the color grew a trifle plainer in her face, though there was no wavering in her gaze. "i want you to understand that i knew just what that man was--and still i led him on. it is a little hard to speak of; but one has to be honest, and when it is necessary i think both of us can face an unpleasant thing. well, i encouraged him because i couldn't see how i was to attain my object any other way. still, you mustn't suppose it cost me nothing. it hurt all the time--hurt me horribly--and now i almost feel that i shall never shake off the contamination." the man, who did not know yet what her purpose was, realized that the task she had undertaken must have heavily taxed her strength and courage. he knew that she was vindictive, and one who was not addicted to counting the cost, but he also knew that there was a certain puritanical pride in her which must have rendered the part she had played almost insufferably repulsive. his face burned as he thought of it, and he drew in his breath with a curious little gasp while he gazed at her with a look in his eyes that sent a thrill of dismay through her. "oh!" she said, "don't ask, charley. i couldn't bear that from you. i--i kept him at a due distance all the time." jordan's tense face relaxed. "i can't forgive forster for coming along when he did," he said. "eleanor, you have courage enough for anything. in one way, it isn't natural." "you have felt that now and then?" the man said nothing for almost a minute, for he was still a little shaken by what she had told him. it had roused him to fierce resentment and brought the blood to his face, but he now recognized that there were respects in which the momentary dismay of which he had been sensible was groundless. she had given him sympathy and encouragement freely, and at times had shown him a certain half-reserved tenderness, but very little more, and he felt that it should have been quite clear to him that she had unbent no further toward the stranger. then he straightened himself as he looked at her. "my dear," he said, "i needn't tell you there is nobody on this earth i would place beside you." eleanor smiled wistfully. "ah!" she said, "i like to hear you say that, though it is, of course, foolish of you; and perhaps i shall change and be gentler and more like other women some day. still, that wouldn't be advisable just now. we must wait, and in the meanwhile there are other things to think of. listen for a minute, and you will understand why i led carnforth on. he is, of course, never coming here again." she told him quietly all she had heard respecting merril's affairs, and when at last she stopped, jordan made an abrupt gesture. "it's a pity i can't act upon what you have told me," he said. "you can't act upon it?" "no," said jordan firmly. "you should never have done it--it cost you too much. oh, i know the shame and humiliation it must have brought you. you can't make things like these counters in a business deal." "you must;" and eleanor's eyes grew suddenly hard again. "is all i have gained by doing what i loathed to be thrown away? listen, charley. i loved my father, and looked up to him until merril laid a trap for him. then he went downhill, and i had to watch his courage and control being sapped away. he lost it all, and his manhood, too, and died crazed with rank whisky." she rose, and stood very straight, pale in face and quivering a little. "could anything ever drive out the memory of that horrible night? you could hardly bear what had to be done, and you can fancy what it must have been to me--who loved him. can i forgive the man who brought that on him?" jordan shivered a little with pity and horror, as the scene in the room where the burned man gasped out his life in an extremity of pain rose up before him. then he was conscious that eleanor had recovered herself and was looking at him steadily. "charley," she said, "you must stand by me in this, or go away and never speak to me again. there is no alternative. only support me now, and afterward i will obey you for the rest of our lives." the man realized that she meant it, and though it cost him an effort, he made a sign of resignation. "then," he said, "it must be as you wish. and i guess, after what you have told me, we hold merril in our hand. that is, if jimmy and i can do our part." both of them had felt the tension, and now that it had slackened they said nothing for several minutes as they walked toward the house. then eleanor turned to her companion. "i am glad i can depend on you," she said. "when the pinch comes jimmy will fail us." "jimmy," said jordan quietly, "is your brother as well as my friend." "ah!" said eleanor, "don't misunderstand. jimmy would flinch from nothing on a steamer's bridge. still, it isn't nerve of that kind that will be needed, and miss merril has a hold on him." jordan saw the faint sparkle in her eyes. "after all, you can't hold the girl responsible for her father?" "i do," said eleanor, with a curious bitter smile. "at least, i would keep her away from jimmy." jordan said nothing, but there was trouble in his face, for he had seen how things were going, and though he was eleanor's lover he was jimmy's friend. when they reached the ranch they found that mrs. forster had come back, and she glanced at jordan with a smile in her eyes when he crossed the room. "do you know that you have split your jacket up the back?" she asked. jordan looked reproachfully at forster. "well," he said, "i almost think that your husband does." "then he will lend you another one while i sew it for you." "one would fancy that eleanor would prefer to do it," said the rancher dryly. his wife pursed up her face. "it is possible that she may bring herself to do such things by and by. still, i can't quite imagine eleanor quietly sitting down and mending a man's clothes." jordan laughed. "it's quite likely that she'll have to. it depends on how the _shasta_ pleases the miners. forster, i'll trouble you to lend me a jacket. i guess you owe it to me." forster promised to get him the garment, and when they went away together his wife asked eleanor a plain question or two. it was some time before she said anything to her husband about that interview, but she appeared somewhat thoughtful until supper was brought in. shortly after it was over jordan, who borrowed a horse from forster, rode away, and the rancher, who was sitting on the veranda, smiled at his wife when eleanor walked back from the slip-rails toward the house. "well," he said reflectively, "though i'm rather fond of miss wheelock, i can't help thinking that jordan is an unusually courageous man. it is fortunate that he is so, considering everything." mrs. forster flashed a keen glance at him, but it said a good deal for her capability of keeping a promise that she contented herself with a simple question. "why?" she asked. "he expects to marry her," said forster dryly. in the meanwhile jordan was riding down the dusty road, and thinking out a scheme which, though he had been reluctant to adopt it in the first case, was now commencing to compel his attention. as the result of this, he spent most of the evening in certain second-rate saloons where sailormen and wharf-hands congregated, which, though he had been well acquainted with such places in his struggling days, was a thing he had not done for several years. however, he came across one or two men there who, while they were probably not aware of it, gave him a little useful information, and he had a project in his mind when he went on board the _shasta_ on the following morning. she was then in the hands of the ship-carpenters, for, although the treasure-seekers in their haste to reach the auriferous north would if necessary have gone in a canoe, it was evident that the _shasta_ company must offer them at least some kind of shelter in view of the opposition of larger vessels. jordan also knew that niggardliness is not always profitable, and the new passenger deck that was being laid along the beams was well planned and comfortable. he drew jimmy into the room beneath the bridge, and taking out his cigar-case laid it on the table. "take one. we have got to talk," he said. "now, the _shasta_'s out after money, and it 'most seems to me that merril is going to have an opportunity for providing some of it. you don't know any reason why you shouldn't get what he screwed out of your father, and, perhaps, a little more, out of him?" "no," said jimmy grimly, though there was a shadow on his face; "i could find a certain pleasure in making him feel the screw in turn." "then i'll show you how it can be done. but first of all we'll go back a little. merril has had to make the road to his pulp-mill, and it's costing him and the other men a lot of money. his particular share is quite a big one. then he's saddled with an old-type steamer that can't be run economically, and, as you know, we'll have to come down in freight and passage rates now that the other people are putting on new boats. besides, carnforth, who was to take a big share in the concern, is going to leave him." "how do you know that?" jordan hesitated for a moment. "well," he said, "i do, and that's about all i mean to tell you. anyway, i've cause for believing that merril is tightly fixed for money, and can't lay his hands on it. there are reasons why he couldn't let up on the pulp-mill if he wanted. still, there is one way he could get the money, and that is by making the underwriters, who hold the steamboat covered, provide it." "ah!" said jimmy, "it wouldn't be very difficult either." his companion smiled dryly. "i have a notion how she is insured, and, so far as i can gather, it's under an economical policy. underwriters face total constructive loss, but don't stand in for minor damage or salvage. well, i've ground for believing the thing is to be done by the engineer, and he is a man who has to do just what merril tells him. you and fleming could figure out how he will probably manage. but one thing is clear: when that steamboat's engines give out you have got to be somewhere round to salve her." "you are sure of this?" asked jimmy. "what makes you so?" jordan did not answer him for a moment, and once more there was hesitation in his manner. "well," he said, "that is my affair, and i've been worrying over it quite a while now. anyway, i think it's a sure thing." "what do you purpose if i salve that steamer and we find anything wrong on board her?" "in that case i'm not sure the salvage will content the _shasta_ company. it's admissible to break your trading opponent. as i tried to show you, merril's tightly fixed, and while the man's quite clever enough to wriggle loose, it will be our business to see that he doesn't." jimmy sat still for a few moments with trouble in his face, which was hard and grim, until his comrade turned to him again. "jimmy," he said quietly, "that man had no pity on your father. the thing has to be done, and the _shasta_ company stood by you. we have got to have that salvage, and you're not going to go back on us now." jimmy stood up and straightened himself in a curious slow fashion. "no," he said, "i'm with you. as you say, the thing has to be done--and it naturally falls to me. well, though it'll probably cost me a good deal, i'm ready. when do you expect him to try it?" "i don't quite know--you couldn't expect me to. still, i should figure it won't be until she goes north, after the lay-off, in spring. guess he'll hold on as long as he can. freights won't drop much before then." he rose and laid his hand on his comrade's shoulder as they went out. "i think i understand how you are fixed, but you have to face it," he went on. "there's another thing i want to mention. if you can, get hold of merril's engineer, and scare him into some admission." chapter xxviii disabled engines spring had come, and all down the wild west coast the tall pines had shaken off their load of snow and the rivers were thundering in their misty cañons, but there was very little sign of it at sea when one bitter morning a cluster of deeply bronzed men hung about the _adelaide_'s engine-room skylights. they were lean and somewhat grim of face, as well as ragged and suggestively spare of frame, for they had borne all that man may bear and live through during the winter they had spent in the ice-bound wilderness. now they were going back to civilization with many ounces of gold, and papers relating to auriferous claims, to invoke the aid of capital before they once more turned their faces toward the frozen north. it was noticeable that although they were of widely different birth and upbringing there was the same stamp which revealed itself in a certain quietness of manner and steadiness of gaze upon them all, for these were the pick of the mining community, men who had grappled with the wilderness in its most savage moods long before they blazed a new trail south from the wilds of the yukon. they had proved their manhood by coming back at all, for that winter the unfit had died. still, though they had endured things beyond the comprehension of the average city man, they were glad of the shelter of the tall skylights, because the _adelaide_'s flush deck was swept by a stinging wind and little showers of bitter spray blew all over it. she was rolling viciously across a waste of gray-blue sea which was flecked by livid froth, and her mastheads swung in a wide sweep athwart a sky of curious dingy blue. there was no warmth anywhere in the picture, and apparently very little light; but for all that, every sea stood out from its fellows, and those back in the clear distance were etched upon the indented horizon with harsh distinctness. one of the men shook his head as he gazed at them. "they look like the pines on the ridge did the day the blizzard struck us down on the assiniboia creek," he said. "it was a full-powered one. the boys who'd camped ahead of us were frozen stiff by morning. the two we scraped the snow off were sitting there like statues, and we didn't worry 'bout the others. there was ten feet over them, anyway. i've no use for this kind of weather." one of his companions swept his glance astern toward the smear of smoke on the serrated skyline, which was blotted out next moment when the _adelaide_ swung her stern aloft. "if you're right in your figuring, i'm glad i came along in this boat," he said. "anyway, she's bigger, though i 'most took my berth in the _shasta_. seems to me we're quite a long while getting away from her." the others agreed with him, for they had seen that smear of smoke on the skyline since early morning. then they turned to watch the engineer, who came out of a door close by, and glanced up to weather, blinking in the bitter wind. he was a big loosely-built man in dungarees, with the pallid face of one accustomed to the half-light and heat of the engine-room, but in his case it was also unhealthily puffy. then he slouched right aft, and stood still again looking down at the dial of the taffrail log which records the distance run, while he fumbled in a curious aimless fashion with the blackened rag in his hand. "that," said one of the miners, "is a man i'm no way stuck on. now, you'll most times find hard grit in an engineer, but this one kind of strikes me as feeling that there was something after him he was scared of." "well," said one of the others reflectively, "it's not an uncommon thing. there was a man down on the flat where we struck it who had a kind of notion that there were three big timber wolves on his trail. kept his rifle clean with the magazine ram full for them, but one night they got him. a sure thing. tom was there." the man at whom he glanced nodded. "now and then i wish i hadn't been," he said. "lister was sitting very sick beside his fire that night. said he heard those wolves pattering in the bush--there were thick pines all round us--'most made me think i did." "well?" said one of his companions. the miner made a little expressive grimace. "longest night i ever put in. sat there and kept them off him. anyway, i tried, but he was dead at sun-up." none of the others showed any astonishment, and the man who had asked the question glanced back toward the engineer. "guess the man who runs this steamboat should be getting rich by the way they strike you for a drink," he said. "i'm bringing down 'most two hundred ounces, but i wouldn't like to fill that engineer up at the tariff." "never saw him making a traverse, anyway. he walks quite straight," said a comrade. "well," said the other, "i've seen his eyes." just then the man they were discussing turned toward the bridge, from which the skipper was beckoning him. a minute or two later they went into the room beneath it, and the engineer sat down looking at the man in front of him with narrow, half-open eyes. the latter was young and spruce in trim uniform, a man of no great education, who had a favorable opinion of himself. "can't you shove her along a little faster, robertson?" he said. "we'll be thirty knots behind our usual run at noon." "no," said the engineer, in a curious listless drawl. "i've been letting the revolutions down. that high-pressure piston's getting on my nerves again." "shouldn't have thought you had any worth speaking of," said the skipper, with a quick sign of impatience. "you give one the impression that they've gone to pieces long ago. take a drink, and tone them up." he flung a bottle on the table, and watched his companion's long greasy fingers fumble at it with a look of disgust. robertson half-filled his glass with the yellow spirit, and drained it with slow enjoyment. then he breathed hard, and, leaning his elbows on the table, looked at the skipper heavily. "well," he said, "you want something?" "i do," said the skipper, and taking down a chart unrolled one part of it. "i want to shake her up until we get away from the _shasta_, for one thing. wheelock has been hanging on to us as far as his boat's speed will allow it the last two or three runs. i can't quite figure what he's after." robertson looked almost startled for a moment as though an unpleasant thought had occurred to him, but his heavy, puffy face sank into its usual lethargicness again. "wants to scoop your passengers. done it once or twice," he said. "well?" "for another thing, i want to get round this nest of islands before the breeze that's brewing comes down on us. it will be a snorter. if i were surer of your--old engines, i'd try the inside passage, though the tides run strong. now, if i head her up well clear of the islands i'm throwing miles away, and letting the _shasta_ in ahead of me. wheelock has apparently an engineer who will stand by him." again a curious furtive look that suggested uneasiness crept into robertson's eyes. "he's always just ahead or just astern, and we've altered our sailing bill twice," he said, as if communing with himself. "i guess you dropped on the reason. anyway, if you can give me a little more steam, we'll be clear of this unhallowed conglomeration of reefs and tides by this time to-morrow. if it's necessary, you can run her easier afterward." robertson laid a grimy finger on the chart. "she'll be feeling the indraught now--it's running ebb," he said. "if i can read the weather, you'll soon have the breeze strong on your starboard bow." the skipper flung a swift glance at him, in which there was a trace of astonishment. "how'd you come to know just where she is?" "taffrail log," said robertson. "i generally run a rough reckoning in my head. well, you want another knot or two out of her until you have the big bight to lee of you? see what i can do, though i'd sooner take a knot off her. that high-press piston's worrying me." he jerked himself heavily to his feet, and when he shambled out of the room the skipper, who made a little gesture of relief, took up his dividers and laid their points on the chart. one of them rested in the middle of the mark left by the engineer's greasy finger. after that he rolled the chart up and stowed it away from the others in a drawer beneath his berth, and the look of annoyance in his face had its significance. he did not like his engineer, and although he had no particular reason for distrusting him he remembered that when the latter had found it necessary to stop his engines at sea, as he had done once or twice during the last trip or two, it had generally been in the last spot a nervous skipper would have desired. then he went out, and climbed to his bridge. "you can head her out two points more to westward," he said to the mate. "very good!" said the latter. "still, we decided that the course she was on would keep her off the land." "we did," said the skipper dryly. "anyway, you'll head her out. we're going to have a wicked breeze from the west before this time to-night." in the meanwhile the second engineer was leaning out from a slippery platform that swung and slanted as the _adelaide_ lurched over the long gray seas, listening to the dull pounding of the high-pressure engine. his face was as near as he could get it to the big cylinder, and after glancing at a little glass tube he looked down at a man with a tallow swab who clung to the iron ladder beneath him. "i don't like the way she's slamming, jake," he said. "there's mighty little oil going into her, either. who's been throttling up the feed?" "the chief," said the man on the ladder. "he was slinging it red-hot at charley 'bout heaving oil away. guess i'd have fed it to her by the gallon after seeing that new piston-ring sprung on." the second pursed up his face, for there is an etiquette in these affairs at sea which the man, who had come there fresh from a sawmill, apparently did not understand. "well," he said, "i guess mr. robertson bossed the putting in of that ring, and he knows his business. anyway, if he tells you you will run her dry." then a big, loosely-hung figure came shambling down the ladder, and the second withdrew. however, he stood among the columns below, and watched his superior stop and glance at the tube through which the oil flowed before he went about his work again. robertson was apparently satisfied, and after slouching round the engine-room and unscrewing a little further the throttle valve which turns steam on to the engines, he crawled back to his greasy room. he sloughed off his jacket and boots, and drawing a bottle from beneath the mattress of his bunk poured himself a stiff drink of whisky before he stretched himself out. he slept soundly, and did not hear the roar of the engines below him when the _adelaide_ flung her stern out and the lifted screw whirred madly in the air. the thud of green water on her deck passed unheeded too, though the second heard it as he watched the maze of clanking, banging steel, until the young third relieved him. the latter came down dripping, and shook a little shower of brine off him when he stopped beside his superior. "it's blowing quite fresh, and she seems to be plugging it mighty hard since you shook her up," he said. "the chief must have given up worrying about that piston, or he wouldn't have had you take the extra knot or two out of her." "keep your eye on the--thing," said the second. "it's going to make us trouble yet. if i were boss of this job, i'd slow her down right now instead of pressing her." he went up and also went to sleep, and, since the telegraph stood at full-speed ahead, the young third clung to a greasy rail, all eyes and ears, with one hand on the gear that would throttle down the steam, while the rolling grew more vicious and the plunges steeper. quick as he was, there was a thunderous clamor every now and then as the big compound engines, which were twice the size of those of a modern boat of equal tonnage, ran away, and he commenced to long for the close of his watch while the perspiration dripped from him. he had not been very long at sea, and there is a responsibility upon the man on watch when the whirring screw swings clear. at last there was a heavier plunge than usual, and, though the third did all he could, the big engines span and clamored furiously as the stern went up. then there was a harsh, grinding scream, and a crash. after that came sudden stillness, and the third frantically span the wheel that cut off the steam, while grimy men went sliding and floundering over the slippery plates and platforms toward the high-pressure engine. the sudden portentous silence and the roar of blown-off steam that followed it roused every man on board the ship, and robertson crawled sluggishly out of his berth. he had reasons for knowing exactly what had happened, and he showed no sign of haste, but there was a furtive look in his eyes, and he sat on the ledge of the bunk shivering a little while he thrust his hand beneath the mattress again. he felt that he needed bracing, for he had once spent several anxious hours in a half-swamped lifeboat after the steamer to which it belonged had gone ashore, and he was aware that somebody is usually held accountable for mishaps at sea. there was not very much left in the whiskey-bottle when he thrust it out of sight again, and shambled out of his room. the _adelaide_ was rolling viciously, and when he reached the engine-room he came near falling down the slippery ladder. indeed, most men would have gone down it headlong if they had braced themselves as he had done, but habitual caution made him feel for a good hold, and he descended safely to where his subordinates were clustered beneath the high-pressure cylinder. their faces showed tense and anxious in the flickering light of the lamps which swung wildly as the steamer rolled, and the young third engineer hastily related what had brought about the stoppage. "rig the lifting tackles while she cools," said robertson. "get the stud-nuts loose. we'll have the cover off soon as we can." then he turned and saw, as he had partly expected, a quartermaster standing just inside the door above him, and with a word or two to his second he crawled back up the ladder and went with the man to the room beneath the bridge. the young skipper who stood there with a furrowed face regarded him grimly. "how long are you going to be before you start her again?" he asked. robertson blinked at him with furtive, half-open eyes. "i don't quite know--it's a heavy job. we have to heave the piston up," he said. "besides that, she has knocked things loose below." the skipper appeared to have some difficulty in restraining himself. "unless you can get steam on her in the next few hours she'll be breaking up by morning. the reefs to lee of us are not the kind of ones i'd like to put a steamer ashore on, either." then he took a bottle from a drawer with a little grimace of disgust, for he remembered that skippers are comparatively plentiful, and the man he could scarcely keep his hands off was for some reason apparently a favorite with his employer. "oh, take a drink, and hump yourself," he said. "i guess that's the only thing to put a move on you." robertson hesitated for a moment, for he realized that he had still a part to play. then it occurred to him that his companion might draw his own conclusions as to his reasons for any unusual abstemiousness, and he helped himself liberally. "well," he said when he had drained his glass, "i'll be getting back again. do what i can--but it's a heavy job." he shuffled out, but his potations were commencing to have their effect, and when he reached the top platform in the engine-room he felt carefully for the rail that sloped as a guide to the ladder. it was as usual greasy and robertson's grip not particularly sure, while the _adelaide_ rolled wickedly to lee just then. as the result of it, her engineer went down the ladder much as a sack of coal would have done, and fell in a limp heap on the floor-plates with a red gash on his head. the second stooped down and shook him before he turned to the other men. "heave him on to the tool locker, one or two of you," he said. "we can't pack him up to his room with this job in front of us. see if you can fix that cut for him, varney, and then go up and tell the skipper." a man went up the ladder, and the skipper, who sent an urgent message back with him, turned to the little cluster of miners who were waiting about his room. "something wrong with the engines?" asked one. "there is," said the skipper, who knew his men and would not have admitted to the ordinary run of passengers what he did to them. "it will probably be some hours before they start again, and the shore's not very far away to lee. if you feel inclined to lend a hand at getting sail on her i guess it would be advisable." the miners were willing, and set about it cheerfully, though it was blowing hard now and the long deck heaved and slanted under them. there is very seldom an unnecessary man on board a steamer, and the _adelaide_'s mate was glad of a few extra strong arms just then. that they were drenched with bitter spray and occasionally flung against winch and bulwarks did not greatly trouble them. things of that kind did not count after facing the wild turmoil of northern rivers and living through destroying hazes of blizzard-driven snow. so they got the canvas on her, forestaysail, gaff-headed foresail, mainstaysail, and a blackened three-cornered strip abaft the mainmast, and the skipper felt a trifle easier when he found that he could steer her. she crawled through the water at perhaps two knots an hour, dragging her idle screw, but she also drove to leeward nearer the deadly reefs. chapter xxix under compulsion it was in the gray of the morning when jimmy saw her, a dim patch of hull and four strips of sail that heaved and dipped between the seas. he also saw the faint loom of land behind her, and turned to lindstrom, who stood beside him, with a grim smile. "i think we can make our own terms to-day," he said. "she wouldn't be there with those reefs to lee of her if her engines hadn't broken down. will you ask the bos'n to have a board ready and a brushful of white lead?" then he turned to the man in oilskins who held the steering wheel. "hard over. run her right down on them." the _shasta_'s bows came round, and the light was growing clearer when she lay with engines stopped as close to windward of the _adelaide_ as jimmy dared venture. the latter crawled ahead sluggishly, heaving her bows up streaming out of the long seas that fell away beneath a high wall of slanted iron hull until the blackened strips of sailcloth swung wildly back again. then her tall side sank down until the line of rail was level with the brine. a couple of shapeless, oilskinned figures clung to her slanted bridge with the spray whirling about them, and ragged wisps of cloud drove fast across the low and dingy sky overhead. jimmy watched her with eyes half-closed to keep the spray out, which had a portentous glint in them. this was a moment for which he had waited long months, and now his turn had come. if jordan were right--and the fact that the _adelaide_ was there to leeward of him with engines useless certainly suggested it--he had only to play his cards well and deal the man who had ruined his father a crushing blow. he set his lips tight as he remembered that when it fell the man's daughter must bear it too, for he was bound by every honorable tie to do what he could for the men who had entrusted him with the _shasta_. that fact, he felt, must stand first with him; but he was also a seaman, and could not stand by while a costly vessel drove ashore as the result of an infamous conspiracy. while he waited, grim-faced, with his wet hand clenched on the telegraph, a string of flags fluttered up between the other steamer's masts, and he laughed harshly as he turned to lindstrom, who had come up again with a brush and a strip of board. "that's quite plain without the code," he said. "engines given out, and he's open for a tow. well, he shall have it, on conditions. closer, quartermaster. lindstrom, hold the board for me." he painted his answer neatly in big bold letters, and when he had pressed down his telegraph flung up an arm for a sign to the cluster of very wet men below. "look at this thing, and remember it," he shouted. "hold it up before you hang it out, lindstrom." the mate did as he was bidden, and one or two of the men made a sign of comprehension, for, as all on board share in salvage, they were keenly interested too. then the quartermaster pulled over his wheel, and the _shasta_ crept ahead a little with a message hung outside her bridge rails. "half your appraised value, or the court's award." there was no answer for several minutes, though the flags came fluttering down, and then a thing happened that apparently strengthened jimmy's hand, which was, as he alone knew, a particularly strong one already. a white streak appeared to leeward, perhaps two miles away beneath the gray loom of land, and it was evident that the _adelaide_'s skipper knew it was the filmy spray flung up by crumbling breakers. two or three colored strips ran up between her masts again, and the hard smile crept back into jimmy's eyes. "seems to fancy he'll get off easier through the court," he said to lindstrom. "well, he's wrong; but the first thing is to get their rope on board. strip your lifeboat, and get her clear." lindstrom bustled down the ladder, and a handful of drenched men set about getting the boat out. it was not an easy task, for there were times when the _shasta_ rolled her rail in, and the boat swung in upon her deck as often as over the sea. then she drove against the streaming plates with a crash, and a big gray comber that swept round the _shasta_'s stern half-filled her as they lowered her with a run, but the men dropped into her, and she reeled clear with the oars splashing any way on the back of the next one. jimmy set his lips as he watched her, and pressing down his telegraph sent the _shasta_ half-speed ahead in a big sweep, until she came up steaming dead slow once more under the _adelaide_'s lee. he waited there ten anxious minutes until the boat drove down on him bringing a line with her. somehow they hove her in not greatly damaged, and the rattling winch afterward hauled a big steel hawser across; but the land was clearly visible, a dark streak of rock that rose above a haze of flying spray, when jimmy rang for full-speed again. he knew by the chart that it was an island of some extent with a wide sound between it and the next one where he might find shelter, provided he could hold the _adelaide_ off the rocks that long. this, however, appeared very doubtful in the meanwhile, for it was evident that the larger vessel was rapidly dragging him to leeward. it was simply a question whether she would drive ashore before he towed her around the point he could dimly see on the contracted horizon, but it was a somewhat momentous one. if he failed, the sea that spouted on the shoals would make short work of her. it became evident that there was a capable helmsman at the _adelaide_'s wheel, for she crawled along well in line astern, with but little of the wild sheering from the course which in such cases is apt to part the stoutest hawser; but jimmy grew tensely anxious as the next hour slipped by. the beach was rapidly growing plainer, but the head beyond which there was shelter was still apparently a long way off, and it was not an inviting prospect that unrolled itself to lee. the gray rock, smeared by the whiteness of flung-up spray, dropped sharply to the wide line of tumbling foam, and above it low-flying shreds of cloud blurred the wisps of climbing trees. still, the head was rising all the time, and the _shasta_'s engines pounding steadily, except when her screw shot clear, as it frequently did. another hour went by, and the tension grew worse to bear when a jagged and fissured slope of rock rose under their lee-bow scarcely half a mile away. beyond it stretched a dim vista of more rock and reedy pines that shut in the sound. "we could swing her in if there were no tide," said jimmy harshly. "as it is, the stream is setting us down on the point together, but i'll hold on until she strikes. there's no use worrying fleming. he can't do any more." lindstrom, who glanced at the streak of flame in the dingy cloud that blew down from the slanted funnel, made a sign of concurrence, and jimmy gripped the bridge rails hard as he gazed ahead. he could see the white smear of tideway that streamed around the head, and the gray wall of rock seemed forging back toward him through the midst of it. the sea hurled itself against its feet and crumbled into a white spouting and streaky wisps of foam that the stream swept away. then he signed to the quartermaster, and gripping the whistle-lanyard flung out a sonorous blast of warning. the _shasta_'s bows swung seaward a little further, and both vessels swept up the tideway toward the deadly slope of stone. it crept a trifle aft from the lee-bow while a narrow strip of water opened up ahead, and then jimmy held his breath as the _adelaide_ took a sheer. she swung off at a tangent, rolling until a great slanted slope of rusty iron was clear on that side of her, while the _shasta_'s poop was held down by the strain on the hawser. a sea smote her on the weather side and veiled her in a cloud of flying spray, but jimmy could dimly see a man flounder aft up to his knees in water with an axe on his shoulder. it was not the instrument an engineer would have chosen for cutting hard steel wire, but the axe is wonderfully effective in the hands of a canadian, and the strain would part the rope if one strand were nicked. this was also in accordance with lindstrom's instructions, but jimmy flung up a restraining hand. "hold on!" he hurled his voice through hollowed hands. "drop the--thing! if we can't swing her clear we're going ashore with her." he forgot what he owed the _shasta_ company and what anthea merril had said to him, for the primitive man had come uppermost under the stress of conflict. twining his hands in the whistle-lanyard, he hurled out a great blast that the rocks flung back through the turmoil of the tide, and then once more gripped the bridge rails hard, standing rigidly still, with grim wet face and a light in his eyes. for two more minutes the issue hung in the balance, and then, while a wider gap of water opened up ahead, the _adelaide_ swung back astern. in a few moments there was a hoarse, exultant clamor from both vessels, and the froth-swept rock slid away behind her. in front lay a stretch of less troubled water. half an hour later the _shasta_ came around again in a big sweep, and when the anchors went down the two vessels lay rolling uneasily in comparative shelter. another hour had passed when jimmy went off in the lifeboat, and was greeted by a cluster of bronzed men who stood about the _adelaide_'s gangway and insisted on shaking hands with him. some of them also pounded his shoulders with hard fists, and though none of them expressed themselves very artistically, jimmy understood what was implied by the offers of whisky that were thrust upon him. the genuine prospector, the man who, as they say in that country, gets there when he takes the gold-trail, is as a matter of fact usually a somewhat abstemious person and particular as to whom he drinks with; but these miners had made the _shasta_'s commander one of them and presented him with the freedom of the guild. it was in some respects as great a cause for gratification as if he had been made companion of an ancient order, for no man is admitted to that one who cannot prove that he possesses, among other qualifications, high courage and stubborn endurance. their codes are not nicely formulated in the frozen wastes and the silent woods of the north, but it is as a rule the great primitive essentials that advance a man in his comrades' estimation there. jimmy, however, waved the miners back. "it ought to be quite clear, boys, that i can't drink with you all, especially as i've business with the skipper," he said. "anyway, i'm pleased to feel i have your good-will." they still hovered about him until the _adelaide_'s skipper drew him into his room, and gravely shook hands with him. "it's not often boys of their kind make a fuss over any one, but in this case the thing's quite natural," he said. "i want to say first of all that we're much obliged." then he emptied the contents of a locker on the table, and they included a cigar-case and a couple of glasses, which he filled. "well, in one way, you made a hard bargain with us, but i'm not going to complain of that. it was made, and, though i felt tolerably sure we were both going up on the head yonder, you carried it out. we owe you a little for hanging on to us." jimmy, who sat down and took a cigar, regarded him thoughtfully. the man was, he fancied, opinionated and somewhat assertive; but there was something in his manner which suggested that he was honest, and therefore likely to resent having been unwittingly made merril's accomplice. jimmy was far from being a genius, but like a good many other quiet men whose conversation contains no hint of brilliancy, he was at least as far from being a fool. "how did you come to be where you were when we fell in with you?" he asked. "that is very much the same thing as i meant to ask you." "well," said jimmy dryly, "i can account for it; but i'll hear what happened to you first." his companion told him, and jimmy, who watched him closely, made up his mind as to the course he should adopt. "has it struck you that your engines couldn't well have given out at a more inconvenient time?" he asked. "it naturally has;" and the skipper's disgust and bitterness against his engineer were stronger than his prudence. "still, what could you expect with a whisky-tank of the kind i've got in charge below? the thing has happened before." "when there was a reef or a shoal close to lee?" the sudden change in his companion's expression had its significance, and jimmy smiled suggestively. "now you were a little astonished to see me turn up just when i was wanted, and you have probably noticed that i have been on your trail lately? well, supposing we put the two together, what do you make of it?" it had been little more than a chance shot, for jimmy had clearly recognized that there was a certain probability of merril's skipper having acted in collusion with him; but it reached its mark. his companion's face flushed darkly, and he laid a clenched hand on the table. "now," he said sharply, "you have got to talk quite straight." "i think i have done so. do you suppose i should have lost a day or two every now and then and gone to sea before i was quite ready to keep close on your track, without a reason?" jimmy's last uncertainty vanished as he watched his companion, and he saw that the course he had taken was fully warranted. merril, it was evident, had considered it safer not to tamper with his skipper, perhaps because he shrank from giving two men a hold on him when the thing could be done by one who was in all probability to some extent already in his hands. in any case, the skipper's face was hard with vindictiveness, and a very unpleasant look crept into his eyes. he was young and opinionated, and he saw the pitfall that had been dug for him. "i guess you're right," he said hoarsely. "it's not the first time my engineer has tried it. he and the other--hog would have broken me." "it's scarcely likely they could have blamed--you--at the inquiry. in fact, i fancy merril would have liked you held clear. it would have made the thing look straighter." the skipper's laugh was very grim. "it wouldn't have counted if they hadn't. one thing would have been certain--i was in command, and that would have been quite enough to stop my getting another steamer. it's always somebody else's fault when you get a boat ashore." jimmy knew that his companion had reached the point to which he had been leading him. "well," he said quietly, "the question is, what do you purpose to do now?" "i mean to get even with the man who meant to break me, back you up in all you say when you send in your salvage claim, and in the meanwhile wring the whole thing out of that--whisky-tank below." he stopped a moment. "first of all, i want to say i'm sorry i went by that day without answering your whistle. merril had worked me up against you, and since i get a bonus on results, every dollar's worth of freight you picked up was so much out of my pocket. still, you're not going to remember that against me now. we both earn our bread at sea, and you have to stand by me." jimmy nodded. "i'm willing," he said. "hadn't you better send for your engineer?" the skipper rose and opening the door called to a man outside. "i want mr. robertson here," he said. "if he isn't willing or fit to come, you can drag him." the engineer arrived on his own feet, and stood still, leaning somewhat heavily on the table with one hand, when the skipper closed the door behind him. a curious furtive look of apprehension crept into his eyes when he heard the snap, and jimmy glanced at him with a sense of disgust. there was a dirty bandage around his head, and his face showed baggy and pallid under it, while his loosely-hung figure draped in greasy serge seemed disproportionately large and clumsy in the little trim room. there was also something in his attitude that vaguely suggested the viciousness of a rat in a trap, and it was evident that he had been drinking hard of late. "well," he asked harshly, "what do you want?" the _adelaide_'s skipper turned to jimmy. "this is captain wheelock of the _shasta_. he and i have been comparing notes, and the game you have been playing is quite clear to me. if you're wise you'll own up to it before we go any further. in the first place, what were you to get for casting this ship away?" the man showed more courage than jimmy had expected from his appearance, though it was clearly the courage of desperation. he braced himself stiffly, and his laugh was contemptuous. "i guess you're going to be sorry for this. you've said it before a third party." "i'll say it before a magistrate in vancouver," broke in the skipper; but jimmy stopped him with a sign. "i don't think what you asked him is very material," he said reflectively. "in any case, he wouldn't get very much. mr. merril is not the man to hand over money when it isn't necessary." he watched the man closely, and it became evident to him that jordan had been warranted in the construction he had put on certain scraps of information picked up on the wharf and in the saloons of vancouver. "i don't quite understand," said the skipper. "i think mr. robertson does. of course, he couldn't well drop his name without invalidating his papers, and after all it was probably safe to keep it, since there are a good many robertsons, and everybody would expect him to change it. still, i scarcely fancy he is aware that there are two men in vancouver who would swear to him with pleasure. they're firing sawmill boilers." the engineer's jaw dropped and there was craven fear in his face, but he seemed to pull himself together, though jimmy noticed his glance toward the door. "i dare say you can recall the _oleander_ case," he said. "she was a british ship, and i don't know how mr. robertson was able to slip out of portland quietly; though since the fireman who was done to death on board her belonged to that city, the boys along the wharves would have drowned him if they had got their hands on him." "good lord!" said the skipper, with a little gasp; "the man was slowly roasted." then he swung around toward the engineer. "this is the--brute who did it?" "if you're not sure, you can look at him." a glance was sufficient, and the skipper had no time for another. robertson turned swiftly in a frenzy of drink-begotten rage and crazing fear, and flung open the door. then he stooped, and before they quite realized his purpose whipped up the poker from the little stove and struck furiously at jimmy's head. jimmy, throwing himself backward, flung up his forearm and broke the full weight of the blow; but it left him dazed and sick for a second or two, and before the skipper could get around the little table robertson had swung out of the door. a clamor broke out, and men ran aft along the deck as he headed for the rail; but as he laid his hands on it jimmy reeled out of the room beneath the bridge with the blood trickling down his face. the engineer swung himself over, and jimmy, who shook off the skipper's grasp, sped aft with uneven strides and leaped from the taffrail. the cold of that icy water steadied him when he came up again, and he saw that the stream of tide was carrying the other man down toward the _shasta_ and strained every muscle to come up with him. it was, however, five or six minutes before he did it, and when robertson grappled with him they both went under. jimmy waited, knowing that they must come up again, and when that happened there was a splash of oars close by. then he struck with all his strength at a livid face, and just as he felt himself being drawn down once more an oar grazed his head and a hand grabbed his shoulder. "lay hold of him!" he gasped, and the boat swayed down level with the water while he and robertson were dragged on board. "keep still!" said somebody, who struck the latter hard with the pommel of an oar. then jimmy scrambled to his feet with the water draining from him. "back to the _adelaide_," he said, "as fast as you can." it was, however, half an hour later when robertson was once more thrust into the skipper's room, and collapsed, with all the fight gone out of him, on a settee. he seemed to have fallen to pieces physically, but it was evident that his mind was clear, though there was now only abject fear in his eyes. "well," he said, "what do you want from me?" jimmy still felt a trifle dazed, and his head was throbbing painfully, but he roused himself with an effort. "i'll tell you in a minute; but first of all i should like you to realize how you stand," he said. "the _oleander_ is a british ship, vancouver is a canadian town, and if i put the police on to the two men i mentioned they will have a tolerably clear case against you. you needn't expect anything from merril; he will certainly go back on you." robertson's face grew vindictive. "he held the thing over me, but we never meant to kill the man. he tried to knife one of us, and, anyway, it was his heart that made an end of him. we didn't know until afterward that it was wrong. but go on." "well," said jimmy dryly, "i'm not going to make a bargain with you, but at the same time i'm not quite sure how far it's my duty to work the case up for the police. in the meanwhile, i want a plain written statement as to your connection with merril." the man made a sign of acquiescence, though there was malice in his eyes. "i can get even with him, anyway, and it's a sure thing he'd have sent me up out of the way if he could. get me some paper." jimmy turned to the skipper. "call one of the prospectors. we want an outsider to hear the thing." a miner was led in, and robertson, who had been handed pen and paper, commenced to write. the skipper read aloud what he had written, and all of them signed it. then jimmy put the document into his pocket, and two seamen led the engineer to his room. early next morning, when the breeze had fallen, a steward roused the skipper. "i took in mr. robertson's coffee, but his room was empty," he said. the skipper was on deck in a few minutes, but there was nothing to show what had become of the engineer. the _adelaide_ had, however, now swung with her stern somewhat near the shore, and a man who had kept anchor watch remembered having seen a big siwash canoe slipping out to sea a few hours earlier. "there was a man in her who didn't look quite like an indian," he said. "well," said the skipper dryly, "if he's drowned it won't matter. anyway, i'm not going to worry." chapter xxx an eye for an eye the _shasta_ lay safely tied up to a buoy in vancouver inlet, and a quartermaster stood at her gangway with instructions to see that no stranger got on board, when jimmy sat talking to his sister and jordan in the room beneath her bridge. it was an hour since she had steamed in, and except for an occasional clinking in her engine-room, where fleming was still busy, there was silence on board her, though the scream of saws and the rattle of freight-car wheels came off faintly across the still water. the two ports were open wide, but none of those who sat in the little room noticed that the light was fading. jordan and eleanor were listening with close attention while jimmy concisely related how he had fallen in with and towed merril's steamer. at last he broke off with an abrupt movement when a splash of oars grew louder. "another boat!" he said. "we'll have every curious loafer in the city pulling off by and by." then the voice of the quartermaster reached them as he answered somebody who called to him from the approaching boat. "no," he said, "you can't see captain wheelock--he's busy. keep her off that ladder." there was evidently another question asked, and the man answered impatiently: "i can't tell you anything about the _adelaide_ 'cept that she's coming along under easy steam. should be here in a day or two." jordan glanced at jimmy. "the men you brought down are talking already, and we haven't much time for fixing our program. when do you expect her?" "i don't exactly know. we came away before she did when the breeze fell, but her second engineer seemed quite confident he could bring her along at seven or eight knots. he wasn't sure whether his high-pressure engine would stand anything more." then it was significant that both of them looked at eleanor, who had insisted on coming with jordan, and who was apparently waiting to take her part in the discussion. one could have fancied from their faces that they would have preferred to be alone just then and were a trifle uneasy concerning the course their companion might think fit to pursue. she leaned back in her chair watching them, with a little hard smile which seemed to suggest that she knew what they were thinking. still, she said nothing, and jordan spoke again. "you are sure of the _adelaide_'s skipper and that miner fellow?" he asked. "they wouldn't go back on you if merril tried to buy them off?" "i think i can be sure of them," said jimmy reflectively. "the skipper is not the kind of man i would take to, but, in some respects, at least, he's straight; and, anyway, he's bitter enough against merril to back us in anything we may decide to do. you see, the man who gets his boat ashore is practically done for nowadays, whether it's his own fault or not; and i fancy we can count on the miner, too. after what those fellows had to go through to get the gold they were bringing home, they're not likely to have much sympathy with merril. in fact, if the others understood how near they came to seeing it go down in the _adelaide_, it would be a little difficult to keep them from laying hands on him. in any case, there's the engineer's statement--one can't get over that." eleanor stretched out her hand for the paper, and there was a vindictive sparkle in her eyes as she glanced at it. "charley," she said with portentous quietness, "it seems to me that the possession of this document places merril absolutely in your hands. you are not afraid to make the utmost use of it?" jordan glanced at jimmy in a fashion the latter understood. there was something deprecatory in it, and it appeared to suggest that he wished his comrade to realize that he was under compulsion and could not help himself. then he turned to the girl with a certain air of resolution. "no," he said, "i don't think i am afraid, but i want you to understand that i am manager of the _shasta_ company, and have first of all to consider the interests of my associates, the men who put their money into the concern. there is jimmy, too." "jimmy!" and eleanor laughed a little, bitter laugh, which had a trace of contempt in it. "pshaw! jimmy's love affairs don't count now. i think he feels that, too. after all, there is a trace of our mother's temper in him if one can awaken it." she turned and looked at her brother, who closed one hand tightly. "oh, i know; the girl has graciously condescended to smile on you, and no doubt you are almost astonished, as well as grateful, that she should go so far. still, where did the money that made her a dainty lady of station come from? must i tell you that a second time, jimmy?" she stopped a moment, and gripped the paper hard in firm white fingers. "this is mine. i bought it. you know what it cost me, charley; and what has jimmy done in comparison with that? do you think anything would induce me to spare merril now that i have this in my hands?" jimmy looked up sharply, and saw the flush of color in her cheek, and that the blood had crept into his comrade's face. his own grew suddenly hot. "ah!" he said, with a thrill of anger in his voice, "i begin to understand. she got the information you acted on out of that brute, carnforth. you knew that, charley, and you--you countenanced it." he half rose from his seat with a brown hand stretched out as if to tear the paper from the girl, but while jordan swung around toward him eleanor laughed. "sit down," she said imperiously, "you simple-minded fool! do you think i would let charley's opinion influence me in an affair of this kind?" jordan made a gesture of resignation. "she would not," he said. "that's the simple fact. but go on, eleanor--or shall i tell him? anyway, it must be done." the girl silenced him, and though the next two or three minutes were, perhaps, as unpleasant as any jimmy had ever spent in his life, it was with a certain deep relief that he heard his sister out. before she stopped she held up a white hand. "once," she said, "once only, he held my wrist. that was all, jimmy; but i feel it left a mark. if it could be removed that way, i would burn it out. now you know what the thing cost me--but i did it." the men would not look at each other, and if eleanor had left them then it would have been a relief to both. her suppressed passion had stirred and shaken them, and they realized that the efforts they had made were, after all, not to be counted in comparison with what the girl had done. it was jordan who spoke first. "well," he said, with the air of one anxious to get away from a painful subject, "we have got to be practical. the question is, how are we to strike merril? seems to me, in the first case, we'll hand him a salvage claim. i'll fix it at half her value, anyway, and he'll never fight us when he hears of the engineer's statement. so far as i know, he can't recover under his policy, and we could head him off from going to the underwriters if he can. the next point is--are the miner fellow and the _adelaide_'s skipper likely to take any independent action on their own account? i don't think that's very probable." "nor do i," said jimmy. "it isn't wise of a skipper to turn around on a man like merril, unless it's in a court where he has the law behind him, and the prospector would scarcely attempt to do anything alone. besides, without the document to produce, they would have very little to go upon--and what is more to the purpose, both of them promised to let me handle the thing." jordan nodded as if satisfied. "that," he said, "makes it easier. we're going to collect our money on the salvage claim, and when merril has raised it he'll have strained his resources, so he won't count very much as an opponent of the _shasta_ company. the man's crippled already." the fact that his comrade was apparently not desirous of proceeding to extremities afforded jimmy a vast relief, but it vanished suddenly when eleanor broke in. "can't you understand that the affair must be looked at from another point of view as well as the commercial one?" she asked. it was a difficult question, and when neither of them answered her the girl went on: "it doesn't seem to occur to you that what you suggest amounts to covering up a conspiracy and allowing a scoundrel to escape his deserts," she said. "there is another point, too. you will have to inform the police about the robertson affair, jimmy, and his connection with merril is bound to appear when they lay hands on him." "that," said jimmy, with a trace of dryness, "is hardly likely. the man will be heading for the diggings by this time if he isn't drowned, and there's very little probability of the police getting hold of him there." eleanor laughed, a very bitter laugh, as she fixed her eyes on him. "so you are quite content with charley's plan--to extort so many dollars from merril?" she said. "it has one fatal defect; it does not satisfy me." "now----" commenced jordan, but the girl checked him with a gesture. "i want him crushed, disgraced, imprisoned, ruined altogether." "anyway, i owe it to my associates to make sure of the money first." "and after that you feel you have to stand by jimmy?" the man winced when she flung the question at him; but when he did not answer she appeared to rouse herself for an effort, leaning forward a trifle with a gleam in her eyes and the red flush plainer in her cheek. "still," she said, "if jimmy is what i think him, he will not ask it of you. i want him to go back six years to the time he came home--from portland, wasn't it, jimmy?--and stayed a few weeks with us. was there any shadow upon us then, though your father was getting old? i want you to remember him as he was when you went away, a simple, kindly, abstemious, and fearless man. it surely can't be very hard." jimmy face grew furrowed, and he set his lips tight; but he said nothing, and the girl went on: "it was not so the next time you came back. something had happened in the meanwhile. the bondholder had laid his grasp on him. he was weakening under it, and the lust of drink was crushing the courage out of him. still, you must remember that it was his one consolation. then came the awful climax of the closing scene. i had to face it with charley--you were away--but you must realize the horror it brought me." jordan turned toward her abruptly. "eleanor," he said, with a trace of hoarseness in his voice, "let it drop. you can't bear the thing a second time." she stopped him with a frown. "i want you to picture him deluding prescott with one of the pitiful, cunning excuses that drunkards make. wasn't it horrible in itself that he should have sunk to that? then it shouldn't be very hard to imagine him bribing a lounger outside to buy him the whisky, and the carousal afterward with a stranger, a dead-beat and outcast low enough to profit by his evident weakness. still, he was your father, jimmy. then there was the groping for matches and the upsetting of the lamp. somebody brought charley, and when he came your father lay with the clothes charred upon his burned limbs, still half-crazed with drink and mad with pain. must i tell you once more what i saw when charley brought me? i am willing, if there is nothing else that will rouse you. you have heard it before, but i want to burn it into your brain, so that however hard you try you can't blot out that scene." jimmy's face was grim and white, but while he sat very still his comrade rose resolutely. "eleanor," he said, "if you attempt to recall another incident of that horrible night i shall carry you by main force out of the room." the girl turned to him with a little gesture. "then i suppose i must submit. you have a man's strength and courage in you--or i think you would be afraid to marry me; but one could fancy that jimmy has none. the daughter of the man who ruined his father has condescended to be gracious to him. still, i have a little more to say. she is his daughter, his flesh and blood, jimmy, and his pitiless, hateful nature is in her. that is the woman you wish to marry. the mere notion of it is horrible. still, you can't marry her, jimmy. you must crush her father, and drag him to his ruin. after all, there is a little manhood somewhere in you. you will take the engineer's statement to the underwriters and the police. you must--you have to." jimmy stood up slowly, with the veins swollen on his forehead and a gray patch in his cheek. "eleanor," he said hoarsely, "i believe there is a devil in you; but i think you are right in this. jordan, will you hand me that paper?" he stood still for at least a minute when his comrade passed it to him, and the girl watched him with a little gleam in her eyes. his face was furrowed, and looked worn as well as very hard. there was not a sound in the little room, and the splash of the ripples on the _shasta_'s plates outside came in through the open ports with a startling distinctness. jordan felt that the tension was becoming almost unendurable. then jimmy turned slowly toward his sister, and though the pain was still in his face it had curiously changed. there was a look in his blue eyes that sent a thrill of consternation through her. they were very steady, and she knew that she had failed. "i can't do it. it was not the girl's fault, and she shall not be dragged through the mire," he said. then he looked at his comrade. "what i am going to do may cost you a good deal of money, and my appointment to the _shasta_ is, of course, in your hands. i am going straight from here to merril's house." "well," said jordan simply, "it may cost us both a good deal, but i guess i must face it. if i were fixed as you are, that is just what i should do." jimmy said nothing, but he went out swiftly, and eleanor turned to her companion with a very bitter smile when the door closed behind him. "ah!" she said, "has that girl beguiled you too? you had merril in your hands, and instead of crushing him you are going to smooth his troubles away." "no," said jordan dryly, "i don't quite think jimmy will do that. in some respects, i understand him better than you do. he wants to save the girl all the sorrow and disgrace he can, but he is going to run her father out of this city. jimmy's not exactly clever, and it's quite likely he'll mix up things when he meets merril; but, for all that, i guess he'll carry out just what he means to do. somehow, he generally does. that's the kind of man he is." he stopped a moment, and a smile crept into his eyes. "i don't know what the result will be, and it may be the break-up of the _shasta_ company; but i can't blame jimmy." "ah!" said eleanor, "you, the man i counted on, are turning against me as well as my brother." then the sustaining purpose seemed to die out of her, and she sank back suddenly in her chair with her face hidden from him. jordan crossed the little room, and stooping beside her slipped an arm about her. "my dear," he said, "you can count on me always and in everything but this. it's because of what you are to me that i'm standing by jimmy." chapter xxxi merril capitulates merril was not in his house when jimmy reached it, but it appeared that he was expected shortly, and the latter, who resolved to wait for him, was shown into a big artistically furnished room. he sat there at least ten minutes, alone and grim in face, with a growing disquietude, for his surroundings had their effect on him. the house was built of wood, but expense had not been spared, and those who have visited the western cities know how beautiful a wooden dwelling can be made. jimmy looked out through the open windows on to a wide veranda framed with a slender colonnade of wooden pillars supporting fretted arches of lace-like delicacy. the floor of the room, which was choicely parquetted in cunningly contrasted wood, also caught his eye, and there were indian-sewn rugs of furs on it of a kind that he knew was rarely purchased in the north, except on behalf of russian princes and american railroad kings. the furniture, he fancied by the timber, was canadian-made, but it had evidently been copied from artistic european models; and though he was far from being a connoisseur in such things, they had all a painful significance to him just then. they suggested wealth and taste and luxury; and it seemed only fitting that the woman he loved should have such a dwelling, while he realized that it was his hand which must deprive her of all the artistic daintiness to which she had grown accustomed and no doubt valued. he, a steamboat skipper of low degree, had, like blind samson, laid a brutal grasp upon the pillars of the house, and he could feel the trembling of the beautiful edifice. this would have afforded him a certain grim satisfaction, had it not been for the fact that it was impossible to tell whether the woman he would have spared every pain might not be overwhelmed amid the ruin when he exerted his strength. it must be exerted. in that he could not help himself. while he sat there with a hard, set face, she came in, dressed, as he realized, in harmony with her surroundings. her gracious patrician quietness and her rich attire troubled him, and he felt, in spite of all eleanor had said, that it would be a vast relief if he could abandon altogether the purpose that had brought him there, though to do so would, it was evident, set the girl further apart from him than ever, since her father's station naturally stood as a barrier between them. still, he remembered what he owed the men who had sent him on board the _shasta_--jordan, forster, old leeson, and two or three more; he could not turn against them now. anthea stood still just inside the door, looking at him half-expectant, but with something that was suggestive of apprehension in her manner, and jimmy felt the hot blood creep into his face when he moved quietly forward and kissed her. in view of what he had to do, it would, he felt, have been more natural if she had shrunk from him in place of submitting to his caress. she appeared to recognize the constraint that was upon him, for she turned away and sat down a little distance from him. "jimmy," she said, "i'm glad to see you back. i have been lonely without you--and a little uneasy. indeed, though i don't know exactly why, i am anxious now." then she looked at him steadily. "it is the first time you have been here. something unusual must have brought you. jimmy, is it war?" the man made a deprecatory gesture. "i'm afraid it is," he said. "i don't think there can be any compromise." "ah!" said the girl, with a start, "you don't look like a man who has come to offer terms." jimmy was still standing, and he leaned somewhat heavily on the back of a chair. "i have to do something that i shrink from, but it must be done. if there were no other reason, i daren't go back on the men who have confidence in me; that is--not altogether, though in a way--i am now betraying them. anthea, you will not let this thing stand between us?" "no;" and the girl's voice was steady, though a trifle strained. "at least, not always. still, i have felt that some day i should have to choose whom i should hold to--my father or you. it is very hard to face that question, jimmy." "yes," said jimmy gravely; "i am afraid you must choose to-night. you know how much i want you, but i have sense enough to recognize that i may bring trouble on both of us if i urge you to do what you might afterward regret." anthea said nothing for almost a minute, and because of the restraint he had laid upon himself jimmy understood the cost of her quietness. it seemed necessary that both should hold themselves in hand. then she turned to him again. "you are quite sure there can be no compromise?" "it is for many reasons out of the question. in fact, i think the decisive battle will be fought to-night. i have strained every point to make it easier for you, or i should not have come at all, and it is very likely that my comrades will discard me when they hear what i have done. i am willing to face their anger, but, to some extent, at least, i must keep my bargain with them." he moved a pace or two, and stood close by her chair looking down at her. "if you understood everything, you would not blame me." anthea glanced at him a moment, and he fancied that a shiver ran through her. "i do not blame you now, though it is all a little horrible. i cannot plead with you, and if i did i see that you would not listen. you must do what you feel you have to." neither of them spoke for a while, though jimmy felt the tension was almost unendurable. it was evident that the girl felt it too, for he could see the signs of strain in her face. so intent were they that neither heard the door open, and jimmy turned with a little start when the sound of a footstep reached them. merril was standing not far away, little, portly, and immaculately dressed, regarding them with an inscrutable face. "i understand you wish to see me, mr. wheelock," he said. "anthea, you will no doubt allow us a few minutes." the girl rose and moved toward the door, but before she went out she turned for a moment and glanced at jimmy. then it closed softly, and he saw that merril was regarding him with a sardonic smile. "i heard that you had made my daughter's acquaintance, but i was not aware that it had gone as far as i have some grounds for supposing now," he said. "that," said jimmy quietly, "is a subject i may mention by and by. in the meanwhile i have something to say that concerns you at least as closely. as it has a bearing on the other question, we might discuss it first." "i am at your service for ten minutes;" and merril pointed to a chair. jimmy sat down, but said nothing for a few moments. apart from the trouble that he must bring upon anthea, he felt that it was a big and difficult thing he had undertaken. he was a steamboat skipper, and the man in front of him one skilled in every art of commercial trickery whose ability was recognized in that city. still, he felt curiously steady and sure of himself, for jimmy, like other simple-minded men, as a rule appeared to advantage when forced suddenly to face a crisis. he felt, in fact, much as he had done when he stood grimly resolute on the _shasta_'s bridge while the _adelaide_, sheering wildly, dragged her toward the spouting surf. then he turned to merril. "i called on you once before to make a request," he said. "and your errand is much the same now, though one could fancy that you feel you have something to back it?" his companion suggested dryly. "no," said jimmy, "i have nothing to ask you for this time. instead, i am simply going to mention certain facts, and leave you to act on the information in the only way open to you; that is, to get out of vancouver as soon as possible. i am giving you the opportunity in order to save miss merril the pain of seeing you prosecuted. you are in our hands now." merril scarcely moved a muscle. "you are prepared to make that assurance good?" "i am;" and jimmy's voice had a little ring in it. "if you will give me your attention i'll try to do it. you have no news of the _adelaide_ yet, and, to commence with, you will have to face the fact that she is not on the rocks. she was just ready to steam south with a derangement of her high-pressure engine when i last saw her." though his companion's face was almost expressionless, jimmy fancied that this shot had reached its mark, and he proceeded to relate what had happened since he fell in with the _adelaide_. he did it with some skill, for this was a subject with which he was at home, and he made the feelings of her skipper and second engineer perfectly clear. then, though he had not mentioned robertson's confession, he sat still, wondering at merril's composure. "it sounds probable," said the latter, with a little smile. "you expect the skipper and the second engineer to bear you out? no doubt they promised, but when they get here the thing will wear another aspect. in fact, in all probability it will look too big for them. you see, they have merely put a certain construction upon one or two occurrences. it's quite likely they will be willing to admit that it is, after all, the wrong one." "since we intend to claim half the value of the _adelaide_, they would have to answer on their oath in court." merril shook his head. "half her value! i commence to understand," he said. "an appeal to the court is, as a rule, expensive, as i guess you know. it is generally wiser to be reasonable and make a compromise." the suggestion was so characteristic of the man that jimmy lost a little of his self-restraint. "there will be no compromise in this case," he said. "if it were necessary we would drag you through every court in the land; but, as a matter of fact, there will be no need for that. you made a mistake in your opinion of the courage of your skipper and your second engineer. you also made a more serious one in putting the screw too hard on robertson.". "ah!" said merril sharply, at last, "there is something more?" jimmy took a paper from his pocket, and gravely handed it to him. "i am quite safe in allowing you to look at it. it wouldn't be advisable for you to make any attempt to destroy it. you will excuse my mentioning that." merril unfolded the document, and jimmy noticed that the half-contemptuous toleration died out of his face as he read it. then he quietly handed it back, and sat very still for at least a minute before he turned to his companion again. "that rather alters the case. you have something to go upon. do you mind telling me what course you purpose to take?" "as i mentioned, i don't purpose to take any. still, the _shasta_ company will send in a claim for salvage to-morrow, and afterward sue you--or whoever you entrust with your affairs--unless it is met. the _adelaide_ should also be here in the course of the next day or two, and you will have your skipper and second engineer, as well as the miner who witnessed the statement, to face. they appear determined on raising as much unpleasantness as possible, though they were willing to hold back until i had taken the first steps." he stopped a moment, and then leaned forward in his chair with a little forceful gesture. "though it would please me to see you prosecuted and disgraced, i will at least take no steps to prevent your getting out of this city quietly." "ah!" said merril, "you no doubt expect something for that concession?" "no," and jimmy stood up, "i expect nothing. it would hurt me to make a bargain of any kind with you, and it would, i think, be illegal. still, i have the honor of informing you that i purpose to marry miss merril as soon as it appears convenient to her, in spite of any opposition that you may think fit to offer." merril showed neither astonishment nor anger. instead he smiled quietly, and his companion surmised that he had already with characteristic promptness decided on his course of action. "you have no objections to my sending for her?" jimmy said he had none, and five minutes later anthea appeared. she stood near the door looking at the men, and saw that jimmy's face was darkly flushed. her father, however, appeared almost as composed as usual. jimmy felt that he dare not look at her, and the tense silence, which lasted a few moments, tried his courage hard. it cost him an effort to hold himself in hand when merril turned to the girl. "i understand from mr. wheelock that you are willing to marry him. is that the case?" he said. "yes," replied anthea simply, while the blood crept into her cheeks. "that is, i shall be willing when circumstances permit." "then, in the meanwhile, at least, you would consider my wishes?" anthea glanced at jimmy. "i think he understands that." merril said nothing for almost half a minute, and sat still regarding them with a sardonic smile, though his eyes were gentler than usual. "well," he said at last, "that is no more than one would have expected from you. mr. wheelock is, however, quite prepared to disregard my opposition. in fact, one could almost fancy that he will be a little grieved when i say that i do not mean to offer any." jimmy was certainly astonished, for he had at least expected that the man would make an attempt to play upon the girl's feelings. however, he said nothing, and merril turned to her again. "well, i fancy that he has shown himself capable of looking after you, and there is a certain forceful simplicity in his character that, when i consider him as my daughter's husband, somewhat pleases me. with moderate good fortune it may carry him a long way." it seemed an almost incomprehensible thing to jimmy that the man should show no trace of vindictiveness, and perhaps the latter guessed it, for he laughed softly. "mr. wheelock," he said, "as you have no doubt guessed, i never had much faith in the conventional code of morality, but since you seem determined to marry anthea, i am in one respect glad that you evidently have, though that is perhaps not a very logical admission. i was out after money, and allowed no other consideration to influence me. it is probable that i should have accumulated a good deal of it had not everything gone against me lately. well, if i showed no pity, i at least seldom allowed any rancor to betray me into injudicious action when other people treated me as i should have treated them; but, after all, that is not the question, and we will be practical. you will not see or write to anthea for six months from to-day, and then if neither of you has changed your mind you can understand that you have my good-will. she will advise you of her address--in toronto--in the meanwhile. it is not a great deal to promise." jimmy glanced at the girl, and turned again to merril when she nodded. "i pledge myself to that," he said. "then," said merril, "you will leave us now. i have a good deal to say to anthea." jimmy moved away without a word, and went down the corridor with every nerve in him tingling. chapter xxxii eleanor relents jordan, who waited some time on board the _shasta_, saw no more of jimmy that night. this was, however, in one respect a relief to him, since eleanor, who was evidently very angry with her brother, insisted on remaining as long as possible in the expectation that he would come back again. it was, in fact, only when the hour at which she had arranged to meet mrs. forster arrived that she very reluctantly permitted jordan to take her ashore, and he felt easier when he handed her into forster's wagon. it did not seem to him that a further meeting between her and her brother would be likely to afford much pleasure to anybody. he had been at work some little time in his office next morning when jimmy walked in, and, sitting down, looked at him quietly. "i have no doubt that you know why i have kept out of your way so long," he said. "well," replied jordan dryly, "i can guess. what did you say to merril?" "i told him what had happened, and left him to act upon it. now i'm quite prepared to resign the command of the _shasta_." "if it's necessary, we'll talk about that later. in the meanwhile we'll get our salvage claim in. leeson should be here at any moment. i saw him last night." he set to work, but there were two or three points it was necessary to discuss with jimmy, and he was still busy when there was a rattle of wheels in the street outside, which was followed by the sound of voices on the stairway. jordan laid down his pen with a gesture of embarrassment and dismay. "it's forster, and he has brought eleanor along," he said. "i'm 'most afraid you're going to have trouble, jimmy." "it's more than probable," and jimmy smiled somewhat grimly. "i'm quite prepared for it." then the door opened, and eleanor, forster and leeson came in. the girl sat down without a glance at her brother, and the rancher turned to jordan. "miss wheelock has acquainted me with the substance of what jimmy told you yesterday, and i came to ask what course you expect to take," he said. "i may say that she seems as anxious to hear it as i am." eleanor smiled. "it is not exactly mr. forster's fault that i am here," she said. "the fact is, i insisted on coming. he was perfectly willing to leave me behind." jordan's face was more expressive of resignation than pleasure, but he took up his pen again. "this is a statement of the services rendered the _adelaide_, and a claim in respect of them," he said. "i am going to take it along to merril's office in a few minutes, and one or more of you can come with me." they went out together, but when they reached merril's office jordan and jimmy alone went in. they found a good many other people waiting there, and had some little difficulty in securing attention, while the clerk to whom jordan spoke appeared anxious and embarrassed. "mr. merril is not here," he said. "he went out of town last night, and executed a trust deed before he left. mr. cathcart, one of the trustees, is now inside." jordan looked at jimmy. "i don't mind admitting that i expected this," he said. then he turned to the clerk: "take our names in." they were shown into the inner office, where a gray-haired gentleman listened gravely to what they had to say. then he took the salvage claim from jordan, and laid it beneath a pile of other papers. "it will be considered in its turn," he said. "i do not know whether we shall attempt to contest it, or whether there will be funds to meet it, but i may be able to tell you more to-morrow, and would ask you to take no further steps until you have seen me. i am at liberty to say that mr. merril's affairs appear to be considerably involved." jordan promised to wait, and when he turned toward the door, the trustee, who took up an envelope, made a sign to jimmy. "i was instructed to hand you this, captain wheelock, and to tell you that miss merril leaves for toronto by to-day's express, on the understanding that you make no attempt to communicate with her. it contains her address." jimmy went out with his thoughts confused. all that had come about was, he felt, the result of his action, but he realized that in any case the crisis could not have been much longer delayed. they found the others awaiting them, and when forster had quietly but firmly insisted on escorting eleanor into a dry-goods store and leaving her there, they went back together to jordan's office, where the latter related what he had heard. "to be quite straight, i must admit that i had a notion of what jimmy meant to do last night, and took no steps to restrain him," he said. "if i had done so, merril would not have got away. we are both in your hands, but, while you may think differently, i am not sure that what has happened is a serious misfortune from a business point of view." forster said nothing, and there was a few moments' awkward silence until old leeson spoke. "considering everything, i guess you're right," he said. "cathcart's a straight man, and as they can't sell the _adelaide_ without permission from us, we'll get some of our money, although it's hardly likely the estate will realize enough to go around. seems to me that's more than we should have done if merril had kept hold. well, it's not my proposition that we turn you out." he stopped a moment, and glanced at jimmy with a little dry smile. "captain wheelock has gone 'way further than he should have done without our sanction, but i guess it will meet the case if we leave him to his sister. it's a sure thing miss wheelock is far from pleased with him. now, there's a point or two i want to mention." the others seemed relieved at this, and when leeson had said his say forster went away with him. then jordan glanced at jimmy with apprehension in his eyes as eleanor came in. she stood still, looking at them with the portentous red flush burning in her cheek. "what i foresaw all along has happened. jimmy has betrayed you to save that girl," she said. then she turned to jimmy, flicking her glove in her hand as though she would have struck him with it. "jimmy," she said incisively, "you are no longer a brother of mine. neither charley nor i will speak to you again." jordan straightened himself resolutely. "stop there, eleanor!" he said. "if you won't speak to him i can't compel you to, but, in this one thing, at least, you can't compel me. jimmy was my friend before i met you, and i'm standing by him now. anyway, what has he done?" "ah!" said the girl, with an audible indrawing of her breath, "he has spoiled everything. if he hadn't played the traitor merril would never have got away. oh!" and her anger shook her, "i can never forgive him!" once more she turned to her brother. "there is no longer any tie between us. you have broken it, and that is the last and only thing i have to say to you." jimmy rose, and quietly reached for his hat. "then," he said, "there is nothing to be gained by pointing out what my views are. we can only wait until you see things differently." he went out, and eleanor sank somewhat limply into a chair. "charley," she said, "it's a little horrible, but he is a weak coward, and i hate him. you had better break off our engagement; i'm not fit to marry anybody." "that's the one thing that holds in spite of everything," and jordan looked at her gravely with trouble in his face. "go quietly, eleanor. it will straighten out in time." the girl sat still for a while saying nothing, and then she rose with a little shiver. "find forster, and if he is not going back, get a team," she said. "i want mrs. forster. i can't stay in the city." jordan went out with her, and, though he had a good deal to do, was not sorry when he failed to find forster and it became necessary for him to drive her back to the ranch. eleanor, however, said very little to him during the journey, and he had sense enough to confine his attention to his team. he had also little time to think of anything that did not concern his business when he returned to the city, for the _shasta_ had to be got ready to go back to sea, and the _adelaide_ arrived early on the following day. the skipper went with him to interview merril's trustee, and the latter announced that no steps would be taken to contest the salvage claim when he heard what he had to say. however, he added dryly that it would probably be advisable for the _shasta_ company to consider the compromise proposition he would shortly make. jordan, who fancied he was right in this, went away without having found it necessary to hand him the engineer's confession, and was glad he had not offered to produce it when he ransacked his office for it a few days later. "i certainly had the thing the morning forster and eleanor were here," he said. "jimmy laid it down, and i don't remember having seen him take it up again. still, i suppose he must have done so." jimmy had, however, gone north again by that time, and the compromise had been agreed to before he came back again. the _shasta_ had also made several other successful trips when he had occasion to call at victoria on his southward run, and seeing the _sorata_ in the harbor rowed off to her. he spent that evening in her little forecastle with valentine, who was busy with deep-water fishing-lines. the latter wore an old blue shirt and canvas trousers stained with paint and grease, and he laid down a big hank of line when at length jimmy, who had been whipping on hooks for him, inquired what plans he had. "so you're not going back to the west coast to drum up cargo for us?" he said. "no," said valentine. "although they didn't intimate it, i don't think your people have any more use for me. they have the trade in their hands, and the boat they put on instead of yours is coming down full every time. in fact, i believe they're buying another one, as well as a big passenger carrier for your northern trip." jimmy looked astonished. "it's the first i've heard of it--but, of course, it's a little while since i was in vancouver. where did they raise the money?" "i believe they got some of it from cathcart on the salvage claim, and leeson and two or three of his friends raised the rest. the _adelaide_ and merril's house were sold at auction. i heard it from jordan, who was over here a week ago, and it's scarcely necessary to say that he's going to send you in the new boat. he seems to have some notion of trying to get into the south sea trade, too, and i shouldn't wonder if eventually you're made general supervisor of the _shasta_ company's growing fleet." jimmy was sensible of a thrill of satisfaction, but he changed the subject. "you have given up your chartering?" "i have," said valentine, with a curious smile. "the people who hired my boat had an unsettling effect on me, and now i'm going to try the halibut fishing with a couple of siwash hands. austerly's was my last charter--i don't think i shall ever take another." jimmy nodded, for he felt that he understood. "well," he said, "in one way it wouldn't be nice to see anybody else occupying that after-cabin. of course, the notion is a fanciful one, but i shouldn't like to think of it myself." again the curious little smile flickered into valentine's eyes. "it is scarcely likely to happen. i think you will understand my views when i show you the room." jimmy went aft with him through the saloon, and valentine, unlocking a door beneath the companion slide, opened it gently. the fashion in which he did it had its significance, and jimmy understood altogether as he looked into the little room. it was immaculate. bulkhead and paneling gleamed with snowy paint, the berths with their varnished ledges were filled with spotless linen, and there was not a speck on the deck beneath. a few fresh sprays of balsam that hung beneath the beams diffused a faint aromatic fragrance. "those," said valentine gravely, "are to keep out the smell of the halibut. i shouldn't like it to come in here. she had the lower berth. the top one was miss merril's." jimmy felt the blood rise to his face. valentine's manner was very quiet, and there was not the slightest trace of sentimentality in it, but jimmy felt that he knew what he was thinking. besides, anthea had slept in that little snowy berth. they turned away without a word, when valentine carefully fastened the door, and the latter had sat down again in the forecastle before jimmy spoke. "have you heard anything of miss austerly lately?" he asked. valentine lighted the lamp beneath the beams, for it was growing dark, and taking something from a box in the upper berth stood still a moment with it in his hands. they were scarred and hardened by physical toil, and the man was big and bronzed and very quiet, though every line of his face and figure was stamped with the wholesome vigor of the sea. "i see you do not know," he said. "this is the letter austerly sent me. as you will notice, it was at her request. she would not have minded your reading it." jimmy started as he saw that the envelope had a broad black edge, and his companion nodded gravely. "yes," he said, "there is neither tide nor fog where she has gone. there, at least, we are told, the sea is glassy." jimmy took the letter out of the envelope, and once or twice his eyes grew a trifle hazy as he read. then he handed it back to valentine, almost reverently. "i am sorry," was all he said. valentine looked at him with the little grave smile still in his eyes. "i do not think there is any need for that. what had this world but pain to offer her? she has slipped away, but she has left something behind--something one can hold on by. what there is out yonder we do not know--but perhaps we shall not be sorry when we slip out beyond the shrouding mists some day." neither of them said much more, and shortly afterward jimmy went back to the _shasta_. next morning he stood on his bridge watching the _sorata_ slide out of harbor. valentine, sitting at her tiller, waved his hat to him, and jimmy was glad that he had hurled a blast of the whistle after him when some months later he heard that the _sorata_ and her skipper had gone down together in a wild westerly gale. in the meanwhile he proceeded to vancouver, and after an interview with jordan, who formally offered him command of the big new boat, took the first east-going train and reached toronto five days later. an hour after he got there he hired a pulling skiff at the water-front, and drove her out with sturdy strokes into the blue lake across which a little cutter was creeping a mile or so away. he came up with her, hot and breathless, and the girl at the tiller rose quietly when he swung himself on deck, though there was a depth of tenderness in her eyes. "jimmy!" she said, "why didn't you tell me?" jimmy laughed. "you should have expected me," he said. "the six months are up." anthea turned to the young man and the girl who were sitting in the cockpit. "captain wheelock. my cousin muriel, and graham hoyle." the young man smiled at jimmy, who was, however, conscious that the girl was surveying him with critical curiosity. then she asked him a question concerning his journey, and they discussed the canadian railroads for the next ten minutes, until she flashed a suggestive glance at the young man. "what a beautiful morning for a row!" she said. hoyle rose to his feet. "i dare say i could pull you ashore in captain wheelock's boat," he said. "there's just wind enough to bring the yacht after us if he gets the topsail up." jimmy did not get the topsail up when they rowed away, but sat down on the coaming with his arm around anthea's shoulder. "i have just two weeks before i go north in our big new boat," he said. "it isn't very long, but i want to take you with me." he was some little time overruling anthea's objections one by one, and then she turned and looked up at him with a flush in her face. "jimmy," she said, "i suppose you realize that i haven't a dollar. some provision was to have been made for me--but i felt i couldn't profit by the arrangement." jimmy laughed. "if it's any consolation to you, i haven't very much, either. still, i think i'm going to get it. i was creeping through the blinding fog six months ago, but the mists have blown away and the sky is brightening to windward now." then he turned and pointed to the strip of dusky blue that moved across the gleaming lake. "if anything more is wanted, there's the fair wind." they ran back before it under a blaze of sunshine with the little frothy ripples splashing merrily after them, and then jimmy had to exert himself again before he could induce anthea's aunt to believe that it was possible for her niece to be married at two weeks' notice. still, he accomplished it, and on the fifteenth day he and anthea wheelock stood on the platform of a big dusty car as the pacific express ran slowly into the station at vancouver. leeson stood waiting with forster, and jordan was already running toward the car, but jimmy's lips set tight when he saw eleanor with mrs. forster. in a moment or two jordan handed anthea down, and then stood aside as eleanor came impulsively forward. to her brother's astonishment, she laid her hand on anthea's shoulder and kissed her on each cheek. "now," she said, "you will have to forgive me." jimmy did not hear what his wife said, for mrs. forster was greeting him, and then leeson and the rancher seized him; but five minutes later eleanor stood at his side. "yes," she said, "anthea and i are going to be friends, and you daren't be angry any longer, jimmy." they had dropped a little behind the others, who were moving along the wharf, and jimmy looked at her with a dry smile. "i'm not," he said. "in fact, i don't think it was my temper that made things unpleasant all the time. still----" "you didn't expect me to change?" her brother said nothing, and she looked up at him with a softness in her eyes he never remembered seeing there. "i'm going to marry charley very soon," she said. "i couldn't have done that while i hated anybody, and, after all, it was merril who roused--the wild cat--in me, and we have done with him altogether. they wouldn't have him back in vancouver, but there's a land-boom somewhere in california, and charley hears that he is already piling up money." she stopped a moment, and thrust a folded paper into his hand. "that's yours, but anthea must never see it. charley didn't know i had it, and i meant to keep it in case merril got rich again; but i don't want it now. please destroy it, jimmy." jimmy glanced at the paper, and his expression changed when he saw that it was the engineer's confession; but he laid his hand on his sister's arm and pressed it, for he understood what the fact that she had parted with that document signified. then leeson, who was a few paces in front of them, turned and pointed to a big steamer with a tier of white deck-houses lying out in the inlet. "the boat's waiting at the landing, and we'll go off," he said. "there's a kind of wedding-lunch ready on board her." jimmy said they had purposed going straight to the house he had commissioned jordan to take for him, but the latter laughed, and leeson chuckled dryly. "we held a meeting over the question, and fixed it up that the house you wanted hadn't quite tone enough for the man who's to be commodore of the _shasta_ fleet very soon," he said. "that's why we decided to put you into my big one on the rise. guess there's not a prettier house around this city, but it has never been really lived in. i'm out most of every day, and only want two rooms. now, there's no use protesting; it's all fixed ready, and you're going right in." he turned, and touched anthea's arm. "you'll stand by me. you can't afford to have your husband kick against the man with the most money in the _shasta_ company." jimmy's protests were very feeble. it had been his one trouble that anthea would have to live in a very different fashion from the one she had been accustomed to, and he was relieved when she thanked the old man. leeson smiled at her in a very kindly fashion. "well," he said, "i've been lonely for the last eight years since the boy who should have had that house went down with my smartest boat, and i want to feel that there's somebody under the same roof with me who will keep me from growing too hard and old." then he stopped, and chuckled in his usual dry manner. "i was going to make jordan the proposition--only i got to thinking and my nerve failed me. guess i made my money hard in the free sealing days when we had trouble with everybody all the time, but i felt i'd sooner not offend mrs. jordan, and i might do it if i didn't fix things just as she told me. she's a clever woman--but i don't want to have her on my trail." eleanor only glanced at him in whimsical reproach, and they moved on, laughing, toward the waiting boat. end transcriber's note: the following typographical errors present in the original edition have been corrected. in chapter ii, =the tyee slowly crept on= was changed to =the _tyee_ slowly crept on=. in chapter viii, a missing quotation mark was added before =i was there two years=, and =the others gazed at the sorata expressionlessly= was changed to =the others gazed at the _sorata_ expressionlessly=. in chapter xiv, a quotation mark was deleted after =heave!=. in chapter xxii, =the shasta did not move at all= was changed to =the _shasta_ did not move at all=, and =the shasta heaved and rolled viciously= was changed to =the _shasta_ heaved and rolled viciously=. in chapter xxviii, a duplicate quotation mark was removed after =that's the only thing to put a move on you.= in chapter xxx, =then i suppose i must sumbit= was changed to =then i suppose i must submit=. [illustration: the lone indian] indian legends of vancouver island text by alfred carmichael illustrated by j. semeyn by way of introduction the unsophisticated aboriginal of british columbia is almost a memory of the past. he leaves no permanent monument, no ruins of former greatness. his original habitation has long given place to the frame house of sawn timber, and with the exception of the carvings in black slate made by the hydah indians of the queen charlotte islands, and the stone hammers, spear and arrow points, fashioned in the days before the coming of the white man, the mementos of his sojourn in british columbia are only relics in wood, bark or reeds. in the alberni district of vancouver island there are two tribes of indians, the seshaht and the opitchesaht. during the winter season the seshahts live in a village which occupies a beautiful and commanding site on the west bank of the somass river. some thirty years ago when i first knew the seshahts, they still celebrated the great lokwana dance or wolf ritual on the occasion of an important potlatch, and i remember well the din made by the blowing of horns, the shaking of rattles, and the beating of sticks on the roof boards of big tom's great potlatch house, when the indians sighted the suppositional wolves on the river bank opposite the village. in those days we were permitted to attend the potlatches and witness the animal and other dances, among which were the "panther," "red headed woodpecker," "wild swan" and the "sawbill duck." generally we were welcome at the festivals, provided we did not laugh or show sign of any feeling save that of grave interest. among my indian acquaintances of those days was ka-coop-et, better known in the district as mr. bill. bill is a fine type of seshaht, quite intelligent and with a fund of humour. having made friends, he told me in a mixture of broken english and chinook some of the old folk lore of his tribe. of these stories i have selected for publication "how shewish became a great whale hunter" and "the finding of the tsomass." this latter story as i present it, is a composite of three versions of the same tale, as received, by gilbert malcolm sproat about the year ; by myself from "bill" in , and by charles a. cox, indian agent, resident at alberni, from an old indian called ka-kay-un, in september . ka-kay-un credits his great great grandfather with being the father of the two young indians who with the slave see-na-ulth discovered the valley now known as alberni, while "bill" gave the credit to the sons of "wick-in-in-ish." the framework for "the legend of eut-le-ten," was related to me by rev. m. swartout in the year . mr. swartout was a missionary to the west coast indian tribes. he spoke the language of the natives fluently, and took great pains to get the story with as much accuracy as possible. a few years later, mr. swartout was drowned during a heavy storm while crossing in an open boat from the islands in barkley sound to ucluelet. in the making of the stories into english, i have worked in what knowledge i have of the customs and habits of the west coast indians of vancouver island. in a few instances, due to a lack of refinement of thought in the original stories, i have taken some license in their transcription. the legends indicate the poetry that lies hidden in the folk lore of the british columbia coast indian tribes. for place names and other valuable information i am indebted to the kindness of mr. cox. the illustrations are original and are the work of mr. j. semeyn of victoria. alfred carmichael, victoria, b.c. contents by way of introduction a pen picture of barkley sound the summer home of the seshahts the legend of the thunder birds how shewish became a great whale hunter the finding of the tsomass the legend of eut-le-ten--in the following parts:-- the witch e-ish-so-oolth the birth of eut-le-ten the quest the death of e-ish-so-oolth the ogre the destruction of the ogre the release of the children further adventures of eut-le-ten including:-- the arrow chain to heaven the two blind squaws the four terrors guarding the house of nas-nas-shup the trial by fire astronomy according to eut-el-ten illustrations the lone indian on jutting rocks the black klap-poose, the shag in silence sits a west coast indian wearing the kut-sack a pictographic painting--the coat of arms of shewish, seshaht chief the bark gives way and comes in strips from off the trees we dance round our fires and sing again next day e're mid-day came they had set sail brushing the hemlock boughs, he walked stealthily ka-koop-et stone hammer used by the indians of barkley sound he shot an arrow straight above his head then eut-le-ten stood within the fire a pen picture of barkley sound the ancient home of the seshahts to the lone indian, who slowly paddles his canoe upon the waters of this western sound, each tree of different kind by shade of green and shape of crown is known; the toh-a-mupt or sitca spruce with scaley bark and prickly spine; the feathery foliage of the quilth-kla-mupt, the western hemlock, relieved in spring by the light green of tender shoots. the frond-like branches and aromatic scent betray to him the much-prized hohm-ess, the giant cedar tree, from which he carves his staunch canoe. these form the woods which sweep from rocky shore to topmost hill. small bays with sandy beaches white with broken clam shells mark the shore, and if across the beach a stream of crystal water rippled to the sea, one indian lodge or more was sure to be erected on the rising land behind; for indians always choose to build their homes on sheltered sandy bays where pure fresh water runs, and so in years which are among those past and gone one could not fail to see the blue wood smoke of indian fires hanging like gauze above the little bays; but most are now deserted and corner posts of old time houses alone are seen, and beds of stinging nettle cover ancient kitchen middens, and spirea and elderberry strive for space where once red strips of salmon hung in the smoke of punk-wood fires, and stillness reigns where once the indians' mournful song was heard. between the bays are rugged rocky points, where, by the constant wash of winter waves the rocks are carved in shapes uncouth and weird--giants in stone, whose heads are crowned with scrubby conifers, upon whose feet the wild seas break, or in the summer time the gentle wavelets lap. on jutting rocks the black klap-poose, the shag, in silence sits, while circling overhead the keen eyed gulls watch for the shoals of fry on which they feed. [illustration: on jutting rocks the black klap-poose, the shag in silence sits] come now with me and i will guide you to some beauty spots, unknown, unguessed except to those who have explored the sea creeks and sheltered passage ways abounding on that western coast. perhaps between two rugged rocks we may find an opening where it cuts its way deep into the land. in many parts, the lichen-covered canyon walls approach so close together that our canoe can scarcely pass, and more than likely we shall find the passage bridged by some old fallen tree, its ancient trunk enveloped in soft moss and seedling forest trees. reflected in the water's surface are flowering berry shrubs, which adorn the banks on either side. we see the glossy-leaved shalal, the fruit of which the indians gather to dry for winter use, and clumps of maiden hair and other ferns rooted in old tree trunks and rocky crevices. such is the picture of many a salt sea creek found in the regions round fair barkley sound. perhaps our fancy leads among the islands of the sound. it may be that a storm has lately spent itself, and long deep swells are rolling in from the wide ocean lying to the west. our staunch canoe is lost in the deep green waters of the heaving main. it climbs only to descend and climb once more, and thus we slowly cross the middle channel and reach calm water. soon what at first appeared to be unbroken shore breaks up into many passage ways. by one of these we enter, to find ourselves among a hundred isles. each one is wooded to the water's edge, which often the trees overspread with outstretched boughs. entranced, we paddle on until we leave behind all trace of ocean swell, and if the tide be low so that old sea-soaked snags are seen upon the shore, and boulders thick with barnacles and varied coloured sea-weeds in shades of brown and red, and here and there great clusters of blue mussel shells, these all, if the water be calm and undisturbed by wind, are mirrored on the surface of the stream, forming pictures most rare and beautiful. thus for hours with ever fresh delight we thread the calm passage-ways between those isles. beachlets of white sand and powdered shells are found where ocean swells at times may reach. on these we stroll and gather abalone shells and empty sea eggs and other relics up-thrown by winter storms. at evening we may reach a sheltered nook where years ago indians built a little shelter in which to sit and watch the sun descend into the western sea. perhaps we may conjure up the indian's thought, who built that little shelter, and night on night in glorious summer time, squatted and watched the sun go down. such is the setting for the following tales. amid such scenes as these, the indians lived and died. [illustration: a west coast indian wearing the kut-sack] the summer home of the seshahts there is an island larger than the rest, called ho-moh-ah, where once the tribe of seshahts made their summer home. it lies well out to sea, and on the sheltered side the seshahts lived. the chief of the tribe was shewish. his house was large, so large that when he called his people to a great potlatch, they all could find within its walls an ample space to feast and dance. his house like all the old time dwellings was built on simple lines, the three great roof-logs each of single trees, upheld by posts of ample girth. the sides and roof of wide-split cedar boards were adzed to lie close, and fastened into place by twisted cedar rope. within, on either side was raised a wooden platform two feet high. this platform and a portion of the floor adjoining it in sections was partitioned off by screens of cedar mats. each section was the home of such as claimed close kinship with the chief. the centre of the lodge for its whole length was common to all who lived therein. the people cooked their food upon the common fire, the smoke of which curled up and found an exit through the smoke hole in the roof. the section tenanted by the family of shewish lay furthest from the door. no feature except one marked it as different from the homes of lesser men. a pictographic painting--the coat of arms of the great family of shewish hung upon the wall. the picture told in graphic form how came the name of shewish to be famed among the hunters of the whale. it also told the legend of the thunder birds. [illustration: hand adze made and used by indians of barkley sound] the legend of the thunder birds names occurring in "the legend of the thunder birds" kulakula is the [ ]chinook word for bird. tee-tse-kin or tootooch is the name given by the barkley sound indians to the thunder bird, a mighty supernatural bird in indian mythology. howchulis, the land of the howchucklesahts, is better known by the name uchucklesit, a safe harbour on the west side of the alberni canal at its junction with barkley sound. uchucklesit is now the centre of an important fishing industry. quawteaht, is a great personage in indian mythology, a beneficent being, and considered by many to be the progenitor of their race. [ ] chinook, is a jargon or trade language still used on the coast of british columbia both by the white men in conversing with the indians, also by the latter when talking to members of a tribe speaking a different dialect. chinook is a combination of english, french and indian words. the legend of the thunder birds the figure at the base of the pictographic painting represents the mammoth whale upon whose back the whole creation rests. above the whale are seen the head and wings of the giant kulakula the tee-tse-kin the thunder bird which dwells aloft. when he flaps his wings or even moves a quill the thunder peals. when he blinks his eyes the lightning strikes. upon his back a lake of large dimensions lies, from which the water pours in thunder storms. he is the lone survivor of four great thunder birds which dwelt upon the mountains of uchucklesit. these mighty birds sustained themselves on whales, which they would carry to the mountain peaks, where indians say, the bones of many whales have been found. one time the "great one," quawteaht desiring to destroy the mighty thunder birds, entered the body of a whale, and swimming slowly approached howchulis shore. the thunder birds espied it from their high retreat, and sweeping down made ready for the fray. first one attacked and drove his talons deep into the whale's back, then spreading his broad wings he tried to rise. then quawteaht gave strength to the great whale, which sounded, dragging the tee-tse-kin beneath the waves. up came the whale; a second thunder bird with all his force drove his strong claws deep into the quivering flesh. then quawteaht a second time gave strength and down the mammal plunged dragging with him the second thunder bird. a third was drowned in manner similar. thereat the fourth and last tootooch took wing and fled to distant heights, where he has ever since remained. this is the story of the thunder birds. [illustration: wooden scoop for baling the water out of a canoe] how shewish became a great whale hunter names occurring in the legend of shewish the killer whale or ka-kow-in has a large dorsal fin shown in a conventional manner in the pictograph between the thunder bird and the face of the indian girl, sister to shewish. the killer whale was often used as a family emblem or crest and as a source from which personal names were derived. klootsmah or kloots-a-mah plural klootsmuk the indian word for "married woman" but used in the legends for girls as well as women. according to gilbert malcolm sproat who lived in alberni in the early "sixties" the term used for a young girl or daughter was "ha-quitl-is" and for an unmarried woman "ha-quatl." toquaht--the home of the toquaht tribe of indians, an old settlement on the north shore of barkley sound between ucluelet and pipestem inlet. the kutsack, or kats-hek is a loose cloak or mantle woven from the soft inner bark of the yellow cedar tree. indian mats were made from the inner bark of the red cedar. [illustration: pictographic painting, the coat of arms of shewish, seshaht chief (drawn by j. semeyn from original sketch by the author)] how shewish became a great whale hunter the centre figure in the pictographic painting is a wolf grotesquely drawn. within her body four young wolves are seen. above the wolf is a killer whale surmounted by a second picture of the thunder bird, and in the left top corner of the pictograph is seen the face of a young klootsmah or indian girl. how strangely are her features pictured. with upturned hands she gazes in a blank unvarying stare. she holds the key to this old tale which the great scroll perpetuates. one time this indian maiden, daughter of a chief of great renown, with her two sisters left their home on village island. they went in search of yellow cedar bark which grew in quantity upon the mountain top above the village, of toquaht. the cedar bark is highly prized, and when the sap ascends in may to feed the new born green, the bark is loose and easily removed, and when the klootsmah cuts the bark through to the sap half round the tree and pulls with all her strength, it comes in strips from off the tree till the first branch is reached, and then it breaks and falls obedient at her dark feet. the klootsmah rolls it up and puts it in the basket on her back, and when she reaches home she splits the bark, and pounds it between stones, with water softening it, and after long and tedious work the fibres being separated, she cleanses them and weaves them into cloaks, and then with true artistic taste, trims them with pretty fur. [illustration: the bark gives way and comes in strips from off the trees] the daughters of the village island chief took with them food to last for three whole suns. they started early, for many miles of paddling lay between them and the toquaht shore. at length they reached the beach, and hiding their canoe beneath a giant spruce, they followed where a little trail beckoned them on and up the mountain side. for hours they climbed, wending their way through lonely, silent woods, the twittering wren the only life they saw or heard. at times they lost the trail, as it was overgrown with fern and berry bush. but once the leading klootsmah stopped and signed to her companions to keep still. halting, they waited while she pointed to the root fangs of a cedar tree, where well within the hollow butt a western timber wolf had made her lair. gone was the mother, perhaps in quest of deer with which to feed her four young pups who calmly slept within that sheltered cave, awaiting her return. the indians are a superstitious race, and one of the old fetishes was this: that if by chance they could secure the young of a wolf from which to take some precious inner part, to rub upon the outer side of their canoes, it gave great luck in whaling, and thus it came to pass that when the klootsmuk found the she wolf's lair, they formed the plan of taking to their brother the four wolf pups, in order that he might become the chief of all whale hunters. cautiously they placed them in the baskets on their backs and then retraced their steps. in time they reached the beach, and entered their canoe, when just as they pushed off, with giant springs and angry howl leapt the great mother wolf from the woods, but the klootsmuk were safe with their strange prizes, and soon their canoe cut gleefully through the waves, while their songs were wafted landward by the western breeze. upon an isle not far from home they hid the young wolf pups. this done, they squatted on the shore, and thought how best they might inform their brother of their lucky find. they were puzzled as to how this might be managed without awakening jealousies among the other members of the tribe, and they were fearful to face their father's wrath who surely would expect their craft well laden with the cedar bark. they reasoned long and then decided on a stratagem. one of the three would cut her foot with a mussel shell, and mark her tunic with the blood, and tell the story, that when they landed on the toquaht shore an open mussel shell had cut her foot, therefore they could not go for cedar bark. they carried out this plan, and paddled slowly to ho-moh-ah. the people saw them come, and wondered much what evil had befallen them, but when they saw the blood upon the kutsack of the youngest girl and saw her bound up foot, they guessed the trouble. before the sun had set, the brother had been told of the wolf pups, and secretly that night he had taken from them the precious parts, and when he went hunting, he rubbed the medicine on his canoe, and had such wondrous luck he soon became the chief of all whale hunters. such is the story told by that weird painting, which could be seen some years ago adorning the dark walls of the great potlatch house of shewish, seshaht chief on ho-moh-ah but better known as village island, barkley sound. [illustration: halibut hook and club for stunning fish] the finding of the tsomass names and words occurring in the legend "the finding of the tsomass" alberni, the valley at the head of the alberni canal, a wonderful cleft or fjord which almost splits vancouver island in two. this fjord has its outlet in barkley sound on the west side of the island. the alberni canal was named by the spaniards after don pedro alberni, captain of infantry in charge of soldiers stationed at nootka sound, vancouver island, during the spanish occupation. tsomass river--spelt and pronounced by the "whites" somass, a fine river formed by the confluence of the stamps and sproat or klee-coot rivers, draining great central lake and sproat or klee-coot lake respectively. the tsomass river flows through the alberni valley into the alberni canal. the e-coulth-aht, is one of the many divisions of what gilbert malcolm sproat called "the aht tribes" inhabiting the west coast of vancouver island. po-po-moh-ah, is now known by the spanish name "san mateo bay" situated on the east side of barkley sound, not far from the entrance to the alberni canal. u-chuck-le-sit, is a small but safe harbour on the north side and near to the entrance to the alberni canal. the cannery, cold storage plant and village of kildonan are built on the harbour. klu-quilth-soh, is the indian name for a rather forbidding passage in the alberni canal, and known for strong winds and choppy seas. it is named by the white people "hell's gate." chehahs were supernatural spirits or influences; there were good and bad chehahs. she-she-took-a-muck was a ferocious whale supposed to have lived at hell's gate, and to have swallowed indians and their canoes. the whale was killed by the aid of quawteaht. kah-oots was supposed to be one of the deities of seshaht mythology. tsa-a-toos,--(copper island) is a large island situated in barkley sound and near to the entrance to the alberni canal. toosh-ko, hy-wach-es, wak-ah-nit, (copper mountain) tin-nim-ah, and klu-quilth-koose (now known as coos creek) are place names on the alberni canal. u-ah-tee--the north wind, yuk-stees--the south wind. o-lil-lie and il-la-hie, are chinook for berries and land or country respectively. ah-tooch is the indian name for deer. lup-se-kup-se or nooh-see-cupis, is a small piece of cleared land on the left bank of the tsomass river and about half way between the towns of port alberni and alberni. kleet-sa, is a high mountain rising from the waters of taylor arm, sproat lake, so named because of its white or chalky appearance. kuth-kah-chulth, is the indian name for mount arrowsmith, a splendid peak rising directly east of the town of port alberni. mount arrowsmith is one of the highest mountains of vancouver island; it is feet in elevation. toh-a-muk-is, is the land fronting on the little bay just north of the foot of argyle street, port alberni. kok-a-mah-kook, is a place close to the stream known as dry creek, and near to the railway round house, port alberni. kwa-nis, kam-mass or gam-mas as it is variously known, is a species of lily which comes into flower about the middle of april and remains in flower till june. it is gathered, roasted and preserved whole in bags for winter use. the finding of the tsomass near thirty miles from where alberni pours her crystal stream out to the mighty fjord that cleaves vancouver's island nigh in twain, a tribe of indians lived. their village nestled at the foot of wooded hills, which everywhere on this indented coastline, rise straight up from out the north pacific. they were a powerful tribe, e-coulth-aht by name; seven hundred strong, with many fighting men, and many children who played upon that shore. i think even now i hear the echo of their voices round the bay, and how marvelously clear an echo may be, among the inlets of that rockbound coast! i have heard my call flung back from side to side alternately, till it was lost among the rocky heights and ceased to be. across the bay from where the indians lived, ran a stream, called po-po-moh-ah. here every autumn, when the salmon came, they stayed and caught the fish for winter use. yet strange to say these ancient e-coulth-ahts seemed unaware that at their very doors, a nature hewn canal had its entrance. one fine september morning ha-houlth-thuk-amik and han-ah-kut-ish, the sons of wick-in-in-ish or, as some say ka-kay-un, accompanied by their father's slave see-na-ulth were paddling slowly to po-po-moh-ah, when half across and near to tsa-a-toos they saw dead salmon floating on the tide. the salmon had spawned, and is it not strange to think that this, the king of fish should struggle up the rapid tumbling streams for many miles, against strong currents, over falls where the water breaks the least, perchance to fall within the wicker purse of indian traps placed there so cunningly to catch them if they should fall back; and even if they escape the indian traps and find the gravel bar where they four years before, began their life, and having spent themselves in giving life, sicken and die, their bodies even in death give sustenance to gulls and eagles circling round those haunts. "these fish have come from where fresh water flows, so let us follow up from whence they come. let quawteaht direct our course, and we shall find new streams where salmon are in plenty and win great glory in our tribe." thus spake the sons of wick-in-in-ish, and they turned the prow of their canoe upstream, and followed where the trail of salmon led, to the broad entrance of that splendid fjord. soon they paddled by the harbour u-chuck-le-sit, long famed for its safe anchorage and quiet retreat, when winter storms lash the waters of the sound. leaving this quiet harbour on the left, they followed where the wider channel led to klu-quilth-soh, that dark and stormy gate, where indians say the dreaded chehahs dwell among the rocky heights--"the gates of hell," and when men seek to pass those gates the chehahs blow upon them winds of evil fates from north and south and east and west. the water boils in that great witches pot, while indians seek a sheltered beach in vain--no beach is there, no shelter from the storm. the mighty cliffs frown down relentlessly; the whale she-she-took-a-muck opens his great jaws and swallows voyagers, at which the chehahs laugh, and their wild laughter, klu-quilth-soh's heights re-echo far away. on this eventful day the evil chehahs were absent from their home and the yuk-stees wind blew not too strong to cause the waves to dash along in wild commotion, and after paddling uneventfully through klu-quilth-soh, the three e-coulth-ahts stopped beside toosh-ko. looking back they could not see nob point which hid their home from view,--it was as if the mountains which formed those stormy gates, had closed and barred them in. "what chehah" they cried, "has lured us within this inland sea and shut those gates? a-ha a-ha!" they called with anxious cry, and prayed kah-oots to save them from all dangers. to the saghalie tyee, the chief above, they also prayed to potlach kloshe to them, and guard them from the evil chehahs hovering round. after the relief of prayer, their spirits rose, and once again the splashing of their paddles marked their onward progress. soon they glided by hy-wach-es creek and rounding wak-ah-nit they came in view of the great valley where the tsomass flows. at once they ceased from paddling to gaze with pleasure on that favoured land, and as they looked they heard the sound of song from up the river valley. the evening fell, the pleasant yuk-stees wind blew more faintly, and as it passed away, over those calm inland waters swelled again the sound of many voices chanting indian songs. "there are people dwelling there," they said. "it would be well if we delayed until morning." agreeing to this plan they crossed the channel and camped at klu-quilth-coose. next morning while the grass was damp with dew, and long before the u-ah-tee wind had ceased, the sons of wick-in-in-ish, hearing again the quaint alluring song, took their canoe and paddled on, to where between two grassy slopes, the tsomass ends. when they approached the river mouth, they saw extending from the bank a salmon trap, and even to-day, the indians will show at lup-se-kup-se some old rotten sticks, which they affirm formed part of that same trap. the land was green, the wild duck's quack was heard among the reeds which edged the river bank, while flocks of geese were feeding on the grass which grows thickly upon the tidal flats, the flats the indians call kwi-chuc-a-nit. upon the eastern bank the young men saw a wondrous house, which far surpassed their father's lodge at home beyond the hills in rainy bay, in size of beams and boards. the sons of wick-in-in-ish were afraid and would have turned the bow of their canoe home-bound, but that from the house they heard a woman call. "oh come and stay with us, go not away. our land is full of all the riches nature gives; our woods are bright with o-lil-lie most luscious to the taste; on yonder hill the nimble ah-tooch feed; in every stream the silver salmon swim so come within our lodge with us and stay awhile." ha-houlth-thuk-amik was mesmerized by the sweet welcoming and entered in, whereat the klootsmah said to him, "we welcome thee strange one unto our lodge, for we have never seen a man before. come and join us in our song and dance, for when above great kuth-kah-chulth the morning sun in glory rises, we chant this song." [illustration: the indian maiden's song] and when he sets over kleetsa's snow white crown, we dance around our fires, and sing again, and our hearts are happy in this our land." [illustration: "we dance round our fires and sing again"] now han-ah-kut-ish was alarmed and much afraid that if his brother listened to the klootsmah and was attentive to her blandishments, he would forget the mission in which they were engaged, therefore he called to him to come, and after much persuasion the elder brother left the lodge and joined the younger and the slave see-na-ulth, and together they paddled up the stream to ok-sock-tis opposite the present village of o-pit-ches-aht. across the river there were houses in which more klootsmuk lived, but at this time they were employed in gathering kwanis in the land behind, and when the young men sought them out they were afraid and all but one took flight escaping to the woods. this one had no fear but coming near to ha-houlth-thuk-amik besought him with favour to look on her, but han-ah-kut-ish again reminded him that they had not as yet attained the object of their quest. still further up the stream they went, until they came to where they found the ty-ee salmon spawning on the gravel bars. believing they had found the object of their search they camped the night at sah-ah-hie. all through the darkness they listened to the rushing of the fish, when the gaunt and savage males with flattened heads and upper jaws curved like a hook about the lower, and armed with dog-like teeth, fought for the females of their choice. with great satisfaction they heard the wallowing of the fish, as, with their heads and tails, they formed the elongated cavities in the gravel in which to lay their eggs. then ha-houlth-thuk-amik declared that this the tsomass river was the source from which the dead fish came which they had seen when paddling to po-po-moh-ah. to lup-se-kup-se they returned next day, and there they saw, among the women in the lodge, the girl who spoke to them, when they had landed on the river bank opposite ok-sock-tis. then ha-houlth-thuk-amik, desiring to convey her home with him, took her aside and said, "if thou wilt come with me, say not a word, but unbeknown make haste and leave the house, and run across the point which forms the eastern bank where this the tsomass river joins the inland sea, then hide thyself until we take thee in, as we are paddling home." the klootsmah did as she was told and as the young men passed she jumped within the canoe, and was away with them. that night they stayed at chis-toh-nit not far from coleman creek, so named because in later days a white man of that name took up some land and dwelt there some little while. next morning the klootsmah said to ha-houlth-thuk-amik, "i am kla-kla-as-suks and i am now thy rightful wife and therefore i desire to make of thee a famous hunter of the whale, so come with me and climb the mountain called kuk-a-ma-com-ulth where high above the timber line the green grass grows, and i will get for thee an ow-yie medicine." they climbed the mountain and she secured for him the medicine so desired by all who hunt the whale, and early next morning, blown by a strong u-ah-tee wind they started for po-mo-moh-ah and when they came to klu-quilth-soh they found the gates wide open and passed safely through between the frowning cliffs, arriving home before the break of day. then ha-houlth-thuk-amik aroused his father who was still asleep, and bade him light a fire, and when the fire was lit he told him how they ventured up the unknown way, between high cliffs, where they had lost all sight and sound of rainy bay. he told of the tsomass land, and the salmon stream which far eclipsed their own po-po-moh-ah, and then described the great and wondrous house, where the klootsmuk dwelt, and how they sang to him "yah-hin-in-ay." he told him also of kla-kla-as-suks, the klootsmah who had left her home to be his rightful wife. [illustration: next day e're midday came they had set sail] then wick-in-in-ish sent for all the tribe, and when they were assembled in his lodge, he told to them the story of the tsomass land. among the braves was much talking; and after speeches from the lesser chiefs, it was decided that next day before the sun had cast his shadow north and south, with yuk-stees wind, they would set sail for tsomass land. that day in every house, in varied occupation, each family was busied. the cedar boards, which form the sides and roof of all their homes, were piled upon canoes. atop of these were set their household goods, the mats of cedar bark, the wooden tubs in which they boiled their fish, the spears of flint, their hooks of bone, their fishing lines of kelp, and mattresses of water reeds. large quantities of clams and mussels, also salmon cured by smoke they took with them, for wick-in-in-ish planned to give a great potlatch to the strange tribe of indian girls, from which his eldest son had chosen one to be his wife. next morning long before the sun had reached the zenith they had set sail for tsomass land. it truly must have been a sight to see that fleet of dark canoes, piled high with all the wealth of that great tribe, as with the sails of cedar bark filled with the yuk-stees wind, they glided by the green or rocky shores which led them inland to the pleasant tsomass land. before the shadows of the night had spread among the gloomy conifers, the dark canoes had rounded wak-a-nit, when, taking down their sails of cedar bark, they paddled silently close to the shore. when near tin-nim-ah, where the indians say they find good stone for sharpening arrow points, they rested on their paddles, and first heard the women singing in their cedar lodge. then wick-in-in-ish addressed his tribe. "my children we have sailed for many miles, and our little ones are hungry and weary. let us sojourn near this old spruce." thus they encamped near the conifer, and called the place toha-a-muk-is after the spruce they were afraid to touch. water they carried from near kak-a-mak-kook, named from the alders growing round the stream. all through the night they heard the salmon splash to free themselves, so many indians say, from sea lice clinging to their silver sides, and their hearts were happy with that refrain, which spoke to them of great supplies of food. early next day, before the forest trees were gilded by the glorious rising sun, the people heard the call of many birds, and looking northward where the tsomass flows, forth from the mist, which in the early morning hangs like a veil of gauze among the trees, they saw a flock of sand hill cranes appear. they flew far above their heads and gradually ascending to the sky, vanished from their sight. these were the maidens, so the indians say, who left behind them all this lovely land for regions unexplored, taking with them both clams and mussels. this is the reason indians give for the lack of these shell-fish now, upon the shores of the great inland sea. the maidens also took the kwa-nis bulbs, but as they flew they dropt a few upon the ground, hence the kwa-nis bulb is still found in tsomass land. wick-in-in-ish, with his sons, now made haste to paddle to the river mouth, but lo, the house was gone, no sign of it was left, and with it all the klootsmah tribe had fled. then he turned to ha-houlth-thuk-amik and said, "this is thy land, and this thy future home shall be; thou and thy chosen one kla-kla-as-suks shall dwell therein, and may thy children be many." the legend of eut-le-ten explanation of "the legend of eut-le-ten" as stated in the introduction, the details for this story were given by the late indian missionary, mr. m. swartout, who received them direct from the indians of dodger's cove, barkley sound, in the year . the reader will recognize in this legend the indian equivalent for hansel and gretel, jack the giant killer, jack and the bean stalk, and other stories of childhood days. it is not likely that the exploits of eut-le-ten were considered by the older indians to be the product of imagination, and most probably they believed that some time in the distant past, a supernatural being called eut-le-ten was born and lived and performed extraordinary feats and taught them wonderful things. this is an ohyaht indian story. the chief village of the ohyahts was at a bay called keeh-him between bamfield and cape beale, barkley sound. the legend of eut-le-ten the witch e-ish-so-oolth long, long ago, in the gloom of deep and silent woods there lived a witch or evil chehah. the indians called her e-ish-so-oolth. so tall was she that, stalking through the forest, her head would brush the lower branches of the giant fir. she dwelt in a huge lodge, the walls of which were built of cedar logs as thick as men are high. this evil chehah was the dread of young and old alike, for all believed that boys and girls and even men and women, who left their homes, not to return again, were taken to her lodge, there to be devoured at leisure. therefore mothers often said, when children misbehaved, "be good or i will call e-ish-so-oolth." one day some keeh-hin village children paddled from their home and landed on a nearby shore. then something happened causing one to cry, and all the others scolding, threatened to call e-ish-so-oolth. the threat had no effect and the child cried on, till one in teasing spirit called loudly, "e-ish-so-oolth! e-ish-so-oolth! oh come e-ish-so-oolth!" then forth from the woods a figure stalked, a tall gaunt form of terrible aspect. she leaned upon a gnarled and knotty stick and scanning the beach with cruel eyes she cried, "who called me by my name e-ish-so-oolth?" the children screamed and tried to run away; the chehah laughed one awful fiendish laugh, then caught them one by one with her lean hands. with the sticky gum of douglas fir, she sealed their little jet black eyes so that they could not see which way led left or right, and threw them in the basket on her back, starting for home along the lonely forest trail. as i have said, e-ish-so-oolth was tall, and many times bent her head to pass beneath low and spreading branches, and so it happened when stooping under a tree which brushed the basket top, four little hands gripped tightly hold of a kindly branch and held on fast. when e-ish-so-oolth had gone on further not missing the two children, they clambered down, and partly freed their eyes from the vile pitch, running for home as fast as they could go. to their mothers they told the story, and how their playmates of that very morning, were now perchance within the witch's lodge, and no help to save them from a bloody fate. then all the mothers of the kidnapped girls chanted the weird and doleful death lament. four days and nights the dismal song was heard, beyond the blue wood smoke of indian fires. weeks of mourning passed, and all but one were comforted, but she sat all alone, and every morning she squatted on the sea grass at the shore, chanting that drear and mournful song. the birth of eut-le-ten early one morning as she sat and cried, her tears flowed down and formed a little pool, a very little pool among the grass, the lank sea grass stems on which she crouched. surprised, she saw a movement in the sand, the pool of tears was being changed into a child, a very little child, so small that when the mother picked up a mussel shell, she could cradle the small form within its pearly curve. gently she carried it to her dark lodge, and set it in a safe and quiet place. next day within the shell, there lay a wonder-child, in face and form most beautiful. the little creature grew so fast that every day his mother went out to find new shells and larger shells in which to cradle him. she called him by the name of eut-le-ten, and in all the village there was none so fair; in wisdom and in beauty none excelled. the child was observing beyond his years, and felt deepest sorrow at his mother's constant weeping. one day he inquired in tender tones, full of love and sympathy. "my mother, tell me why you cry so much; why unconsoled you chant the death lament?" then the mother drawing him to her side told him of the tragedy which had befallen his sister. "the chehah came and carried off my girl, carried away your little sister to the woods, the dark and gloomy woods, and since that day her shadow has not crossed my mournful path," she said. then up spake eut-le-ten and bravely said, "my mother, i will seek your daughter, my little sister. i will save her from that awful fate you fear. direct me now upon the lonesome road the dread witch took and i will seek her out." and the mother knowing him to be a spirit-child, rejoiced and blessed his errand. they next sought out the little ones who saved themselves by clinging to the low branched tree, and from them they learned the trail the old witch took. then sallied forth brave eut-le-ten alone, off to give battle to e-ish-so-oolth. the quest [illustration: brushing the hemlock boughs, he walked stealthily] eut-le-ten started with no arms but his courage, to face the dread witch who had spirited away the children. the trail lay long, unknown and untrodden, save by the timber wolf, panther and black bear. it was feared by the indians for dangers most dreadful--the greatest of all the chehah e-ish-so-oolth. he broke through dense shalal, fringing the green woods, making the shore line all but impenetrable. into the thick woods, under the silvery spruce, brushing the hemlock boughs he walked stealthily. salmon berry thickets impeded his progress, scratched his round limbs with the thorns on their canes. he passed white helebore, so tall and so handsome. he saw how the black bear had fed on swamp lily, tramping the glossy leaves into the black mud. he spurned the devil's club with berries so red and with poisonous thorns on stem and on leaf. such was the trail as it led him far inland, inland away from his home by the sea. at last by a cool stream, the path lay before him. hard by the stream a lodge was erected, a house of such size the boy stood dumbfounded, and he knew that this must be the dwelling of the children's dread captor. night time had come, the shadows had fallen and eut-le-ten was tired with the long weary trail. should he proceed or wait until morning? he climbed a tree which grew by the water, and hid in the branches to keep vigil, there to crave strength from the saghalie spirit, the hyas tyee who dwells in the heavens, to grant him the strength, the wisdom, the courage to kill the dread witch. the night was long and the vigil lone, soundless except for the night hawk on wing, or the howl of the wolf in the quest of the red deer, or the splash of the salmon in the stream underneath. early next morning, before he descended, he plainly saw the form of the witch, coming to wash in the stream just below him. the water was clear reflecting her visage, fearsome in its hideous detail. up in the tree brave eut-le-ten saw her, he thought himself safe from her fierce prying eyes; he forgot that he too was mirrored below in the still water which lay at her feet. when she had finished her morning ablutions, she filled her vessel with water and turned to depart, when she saw just below her, the features of eut-le-ten in the still water. upturning her eyes to the branches above her, she saw there the boy half concealed in the foliage, and she smiled with a smile triumphant and cruel, thinking once more her fortune had found her, and brought to her lodge the boy she was wanting. she greeted him, "come, why tarriest up there? come to my lodge, perchance thou art hungry; the fire has been kindled, the water is boiling, a welcome awaits thee, why tarriest longer? descend from the tree and let me behold thee". down climbed eut-le-ten nothing affrighted, but filled with the knowledge no harm could befall him. "why hast thou come, and whence dost thou go? why didst thou leave thy home by the sea?" such were the questions e-ish-so-oolth asked him. then struck by his fairness and beauty of limb, she questioned him thus, "why is thy skin so fair, and why are thy limbs so beautiful?" then eut-le-ten answered her, "when i was a boy my mother laid me upon the bare ground with my head on a stone, my father placed a large rock on my forehead. thus i was given the gift of the fair." e-ish-so-oolth was envious of eut-le-ten and much desired to look as young as he, so that with face so comely and so fair, she could entice the children to her lodge, wherefore she asked with evil ill concealed, "can i by any means obtain this gift?" then eut-le-ten divining her base thought and much desiring to make an end of her, declared that if she would lie down, and on the stone which lay beside the creek recline her head, he would place upon her forehead the stone which would both mould her features like to his, and make her skin as fair. the witch determined to try the charm at once, stretching her great length upon the ground, placed her head upon the stone. then eut-le-ten lifted a great rock and hurled it down upon the witches head. "die dread e-ish-so-oolth," he cried. "no more with evil charms wilt thou entice the children to thy lonely forest home." so died the witch, and nevermore do mothers say when children misbehave. "be good or i will call e-ish-so-oolth." the ogre e-ish-so-oolth's husband was a mighty man, greater than any indian on the coast. his limbs were rugged as the wind-swept fir which grows upon the stormy outer shores. his thick and matted hair fell in tangles over his great shoulders, and his sullen eyes looked from out his forehead with angry stare. cruel as the gaunt and hungry timber wolf, such was the mate of dread e-ish-so-oolth. beside him, eut-le-ten had no length of arm or strength of limb with which to fend himself, still less attack this giant of the gloomy forest track, but he possessed weapons more potent than the brutal strength of this vile chehah man. a spirit child he was, a heaven sent boy, whom no evil ever could destroy. the destruction of the ogre the ogre was at work cleaving a fallen tree, using wedges formed from the hardest, toughest wood the indians know. it was the kla-to-mupt, the western yew. with mighty blows of his stone hammer, he sunk a wedge deep in the log, rending it open, split to the centre of its giant heart. the thunderous blows were heard by eut-le-ten, who with fine courage followed up the sound, until he came in view of where the huge man worked with all his might. blow upon blow fell upon the wedge, deeper it sank into the log. the split grew wider. the sides of the great rent pressed hard upon the wedge, so hard that if the wedge were hit a glancing blow, it would fly out. thus it was, when the ogre saw the wonder boy approach, and his great frame was filled with rage, because the boy betrayed no fear of him, that his dark face lit up as with a flame. [illustration: this is not the ogre, but a portrait of ka-koop-et (mr. bill) drawn by j semeyn from photograph by joseph clegg of port alberni] taking his sledge of stone he struck a blow, as if upon the wedge, but let it drop; deep in the crack it fell far out of reach. "come here my boy," he called, "i crave your help, i have lost my hammer within this mighty tree, i cannot reach it, so, jump in and get it, for i want it back." eut-le-ten climbed upon the log, and dropt within the split as he was bid; the ogre gave the wedge a sudden jog and out it sprang, and the sides came together like the jaws of some great trap. "ha! ha!" the ogre cried, "oh! what a joke! with but a single stroke i have ground him small. e-ish-so-oolth that gentle little fey, will dine on mince-meat." the ugly ogre made his clumsy jest, little knowing of the fate his spouse had met, when suddenly he saw upon the ground before him, an awesome thing, a little pool of water from which there came a quite unearthly sound. then from the pool, with fear and awe, the ogre saw brave eut-le-ten uprise. nothing could lay low this boy of wondrous parts, who could resolve himself to mother earth, and from the primal pool of tears arise to save the helpless and destroy their foes. "most wondrous boy, i feared that when the wedge slipt out you died; instead, my heart is filled with joy to see you live when i had thought you killed. tell me from whence you draw your mystic power, and i will seek the place this very day. when i have found it out, i will repay you in ways more certain than i can now command." thus spake the ogre, and eut-le-ten replied, "'tis easy done. this gift is yours as well as mine. test it but once, and you will see that you have powers as great as i." the giant's bulky frame was filled with pride. "you're right," he swore, "the thing that you can do, by all the tyee salmon, so can i." once more the wedge was driven to the heart, until again the sides were spread a-gape. in climbed the giant,--he did not think the fit would be so tight. "are you all ready?" eut-le-ten called out. "yes!" roared the giant, with a thunderous shout. "die then!" cried eut-le-ten, as he took the hammer up, and struck upon the side the great yew wedge. out sprung the wedge, the sides snapped together, crushing within the ogre's ponderous frame. ignoring his wild shouts they crunched to powder all his giant bones. the ogre and his mate were thus destroyed, and never more have children been led astray by e-ish-so-oolth's dread and magic craft, to suffer death in ways too sad to tell. [illustration: stone hammer used by the indians of barkley sound] the release of the children then to the lodge sped brave eut-le-ten to that great lodge of giant cedar logs, the home of the dead witch e-ish-so-oolth. the house was dark, for only through the door and the great smoke hole in the roof, did the pale light find its dim way. it was gloomy, and for the full time it takes a man to wake from a deep sleep, eut-le-ten saw nothing but just the darkness of a moonless night, then slowly as if the day was dawning, objects were seen within the hall. in the centre was a smouldering fire, and in the hot ashes, some heated stones with which to boil the water in the wooden box in which the food was cooked. there beside the wooden box he saw two little forms, prepared by that old witch to satisfy her cruel appetite, and that of her bad chehah man. then eut-le-ten was very sad indeed, to think that he had come too late to save the little girls from such an awful fate, and as he looked and moaned within himself believing that his sister lay there dead, he heard a sound which seemed to come from the further end of the dark lodge, and turning round he saw some children imprisoned in a wicker cage. then he spoke and told them to be brave, that he had come to save them from the witch; but they were frightened at the very sound of his strange voice, and cried aloud with fear. eut-le-ten whispered softly, and with grease from the great whale he rubbed their eyes free from the pitch with which e-ish-so-oolth had closed them. afterward he told them that his name was eut-le-ten, who had killed e-ish-so-oolth, and how he had crushed the ogre within the log. the frightened children were much comforted and followed eut-le-ten from out of the lodge away from the dark house of e-ish-so-oolth into the sunlit woods, along the trail which led for many miles to the small bay. then there was much rejoicing in the homes of all the children saved by eut-le-ten, and joy unspeakable in his own lodge, when he gently led to his sorrowing mother the little sister, safe from the clutches of e-ish-so-oolth. then all the tribe did honor to eut-le-ten. he was found in the councils of the chiefs, and tribes with homes on distant shores heard the great news--the news of how this wonder boy had killed the ogre and his dreaded wife, e-ish-so-oolth. further adventures of eut-le-ten the arrow chain to heaven some time passed by, and eut-le-ten conceived a plan to reach the land above the sky, which he believed, like all the indian race, to be the roof of this our world, and hiding from our view the illahie where the great chief--the sagh-al-lie tyee, nas-nas-shup, the chief of all the chiefs abode. nas-nas-shup had a daughter, far famed for her exceeding beauty, and the tales of her attractions were often related among the younger braves, and eut-le-ten became enamoured of the thought of winning her, although the stories also told of dangers and death most terrible to him who strove to undergo the tests the old chief set for all who would desire his daughter's love. now eut-le-ten was skillful with the bow, for many times he had brought down the deer as they were bounding through the forest glade, and with his arrow he had often pierced the silver salmon when they jumped from out the rushing waters of his native stream, and he had shot down from off the tallest tree, golden eagles or the great fish hawk. eut-le-ten called the men together, for he was highly favoured in his tribe, and counted as a chief because he killed the evil chehah, dread e-ish-so-oolth, and he directed them to make a multitude of arrows, straight and strong, and have them ready by a day he named to them. forthwith they followed his instructions, and fashioned many arrows, long and straight and strong, and each one tipped with bone or flint, so sharp that it would pierce the thickest hide of the great elk which roamed in bands among the hills and in the open lands. [illustration: "he shot the arrow straight above his head"] the arrows were completed in four suns, when eut-le-ten went out upon the beach taking with him his strongest bow of yew, and shot an arrow straight above his head, high into the vault of heaven, far out of sight. again he shot, and again, until at last an arrow line was formed from the earth beneath to heaven above, for his first shaft had fixed itself into the roof of this old world of ours, and the second arrow aimed with such great skill, had caught the end of it. the third, the fourth, and each succeeding one had attached itself, until a rope of shafts was made, for eut-le-ten to climb into the world above--the illahie, where nas-nas-shup, the sagh-al-lie tyee, the chief of chiefs, and his fair daughter dwelt. then eut-le-ten took leave of all the tribe and climbed the rope of arrows to the sky, beyond the peoples' sight, until at last he reached the portals of the land above. the two blind squaws first, eut-le-ten saw two blind and ancient squaws preparing simple food for their repast, and when it was all ready they began to help each other to the food, not hearing eut-le-ten who quietly watched until impelled by thoughts of mischief or of jest, took the food away from them. soon each old squaw accused the other of taking all the food and giving none, and angrily they talked and quarrelled much, each upbraiding the other for a misdeed of which neither was guilty, while eut-le-ten stood by enjoying their discomfiture. presently he spoke however, and at the sound of his young voice they stopped their noise, and ceased to wrangle more about the food. instead they asked him to tell from whence he came, and who he was, and what had brought him there. "i am a being from the lower world, and i have come to ask from nas-nas-shup, the love of one, of whose great charms long tales are told among the young men of the world below." thus eut-le-ten answered the questions put by the old squaws, and when they heard his words, they were alarmed, and warned him to desist from his bold quest which was full of peril, as many men had found before, for none had yet returned who dared essay to win the daughter of nas-nas-shup. eut-le-ten would not be turned away from his resolve by any craven fear of perils or of dire calamity. had he not killed the witch e-ish-so-oolth, and also her much dreaded chehah man? but before he left to go upon his quest, he asked the aged squaws what he could do to make amends for playing tricks at their expense. "oh stranger, give us sight, that we may see," they said, "for we have long been blind." eut-le-ten then bored a little hole into each eye of both the ancient squaws, and when they saw the pure white light of day after their long darkness, they were overjoyed, and thanking eut-le-ten, they told to him the secrets of the house of nas-nas-shup. they gave him charms to overcome the fire, in which he would be made to stand alone, and last, a stone of wondrous power to break the spikes which were set round the resting place of her he sought to win. the four terrors guarding the house of nas-nas-shup before the house of nas-nas-shup there was a lake in which there lived great demon frogs, which croaked loud warnings when any dared approach. inside the outer door a codfish lay, of size enormous, ready to devour the bold intruder who might gain entrance there, and if the stranger safely passed the cod, his body would be entered by two snakes which waiting, sought to kill the fearless one. all these were safely passed by eut-le-ten, who changed himself, when danger pressed too close, to that small primal pool of tears from which he sprang. within the house he saw chief nas-nas-shup clothed in his robe of prime sea otter skins. he also saw the spikes which surrounded the sacred place where lay the daughter of the chief. the spikes were hidden in the ground, just where a stranger would be asked to rest awhile, but eut-le-ten remembered what the old squaws said to him, and taking the stone charm he broke them down. the chief was astonished to see the power of eut-le-ten, and forthwith asked of him from whence he came and what his errand was. then eut-le-ten declared himself and said, "i come from that great world beneath the sky where many people live who do not know the land where dwells the tyee nas-nas-shup. i come to see the wonders of his lodge, and learn the many secrets hid from man, so that returning to my home below, i may be able so to teach the tribes, that many things of which they do not dream, may be revealed, and made as plain as day. but there is one of whom great tales are told among the young men of the world below, it is of her that i would speak to thee. thy daughter, chief, i come to ask of thee, to be the mother of my little ones." the trial by fire [illustration: then eut-le-ten stood within the fire] then nas-nas-shup gathered many sticks of wood and built a fire so blazing hot that none could bear the heat, and turned to eut-le-ten, "stand in the fire that i may see if you are brave and strong enough to be worthy of her, my daughter." so eut-le-ten stood within the fire, and with the charms provided him by the old squaws, reduced the heat, and came thereout alive and none the worse. now nas-nas-shup proposed that they should seek some firewood upon the steep hill-side close by. eut-le-ten consented, and next morning they went to gather firewood. while thus engaged nas-nas-shup rolled a giant log down the steep hill toward eut-le-ten, who never moved or sought to escape. the log rolled over him, but once again he turned into the pool of tears and sprang to life when danger passed away. thereat the chief became convinced that he was more than mortal man, and gave his leave. thus eut-le-ten was wed, and lived sometime within the higher realms, until one day he thought to visit those he left below. then down the rope of arrow shafts he climbed, until he found himself upon the earth among his people, and to them he told wonderful things of the world above. astronomy according to eut-le-ten the sun and moon emerge from out the house of nas-nas-shup. the giant codfish guarding the entrance to the house, attempts to catch them passing. he often fails, but there are times when he succeeds, then there is darkness--an eclipse of the sun or moon the white men say, but that is false, it is the cod. the many stars which sparkle in the skies are indians, who dwell above the earth. such things and many more were told by him, and eut-le-ten was counted as a chief more learned than any that had ever been. team. [illustration: he was leaning forward, aware of nothing in the world but the forthcoming crisis. frontispiece.] the sky line of spruce by edison marshall author of "the voice of the pack," "the strength of the pines," "the snowshoe trail," "shepherds of the wild," etc. contents part one the wakening part two the wolf-man part three the taming part one the wakening i the convict gang had a pleasant place to work to-day. their road building had taken them some miles from the scattered outskirts of walla walla, among fields green with growing barley. the air was fresh and sweet; the western meadow larks, newly come, seemed in imminent danger of splitting their own throats through the exuberance of their song. even the steel rails of the northern pacific, running parallel to the stretch of new road, gleamed pleasantly in the spring sun. the convicts themselves were in a genial mood, easily moved to wide grins; and with a single exception they looked much like any other road gang at work anywhere in the land. an expert might have recognized purely criminal types among them: to a layman they suggested merely the lower grades of unskilled labor. some of the faces were distinctly brutal; there was the sullen visage of a powerful negro who, with different environment, might have been a congo prince; but the face of "plug" spanos, a notorious gunman who was by far the worst character in the gang, might have been that of an artless plow-boy in a distant land under a warm sun. there remained, however, the "exception." curiously enough, whenever the warden's thought dwelt upon the inmates of his prison, classifying them into various groups, there was always one wind-tanned, vivid face, one brawny, towering form that seemed to demand individual consideration. the man who was listed on the records as ben kinney was distinctly an individual. he some way failed to classify among the groups of his fellows. because he had been sent out to-day with the road gang the two armed guards had an interesting subject of conversation. in the first place he habitually did two men's work. he did not do it with any idea of trying to ingratiate himself with his keepers: no inmate of the institution at walla walla made any such mistake as that. he did it purely because he could not tone down his mighty strength and energy to stay even with his fellows. to-day sprigley, the guard in first command of the gang, had placed him opposite judy, the burly negro, but the latter was being driven straight toward absolute exhaustion. yet kinney at least knew how to subdue and direct the pouring fountain of his vitality and energy, for the robust blows of his pick fell with the regularity of a tireless machine. it was as if a wild stallion, off the plains, had been trained to draw the plow. his great muscles moved with marvelous precision; but for all the monotony and rhythm of his motions he conveyed no image of stolidity and dullness. he was a great, dark man, his skin darkly brown from exposure; his straight hair showed almost coal black in spite of the fact that it had but recently been clipped close; his eyebrows were similarly black; and black hairs spread down his hands almost to the finger nails and cropped up from his chest at his open throat. it was a mighty, deep, full chest, the chest of a runner and a fighter, sustained by a strong, flat abdomen and by powerful, sturdy legs. yet physical might and development were not all of ben kinney. the image conveyed was never one of sheer brutality. for all their black hair, the large, brawny hands were well-shaped and sensitive; he had a healthy, good-humored mouth that could evidently, on occasion, be the seat of a most pleasant, boyish smile. he had a straight, good nose, rather high cheek bones, and a broad, brown forehead, straight rather than sloping swiftly like that of the negro opposite. but none of his features, nor yet his brawny form, caught and held the attention as did his vivid, dark-gray eyes. they were deeply dark, even against his deeply tanned face, yet now and then one caught distinct surface lights, denoting the presence of unmeasured animal spirits, and perhaps, too, the surprising health and vitality of the engine of his life. they were keen eyes, alert, fiery with a zealot's fire: evidently the eyes of a steadfast, headstrong, purposeful man. some complexity of lines about them, hard to trace, indicated a recklessness, too; a willingness to risk all that he had for his convictions. "that's the queerest case we ever had here at walla walla," sprigley told his fellow guard, as they watched the man's pick swing in the air. "sometimes i wonder whether he ought to be here or not. look at that face--he hasn't any more of a criminal face than i have." the other guard, howard, scanned his companion's face with mock care. "that ain't sayin' so much for him," he observed. but at once he began to evince real interest. "i maintain you can't tell anything from their faces," he answered seriously. "there's nothin' in it. the man's a crook, isn't he? wasn't he caught red-handed?" "let me tell you about it. i was interested in the case and found out all i could concerning it. he apparently showed up in seattle some time during the summer of , a crook of the crooks, as you say. no one knows where he came from--and that's queer in itself. you know very well that his face and form are going to be remembered and noticed, yet he wasn't in any rogue's gallery, in any city. desperate crook though he was, no one had ever heard of him before he showed up in seattle. "the crooks down there called him 'wild' kinney, and were pretty well scared of him. swanson, one of the lieutenants of the seattle force, whom i know well as i know you, told me that he was a power, sort of a king in the underworld from the very first, largely because he was afraid of nothing, absolutely desperate, and willing to take any chance. he wasn't a hop-head, yet they all looked at him as sort of queer; though ready to follow him to the last ditch, yet some way they thought him off his head. and swanson believes that his career of crime started _after_ he reached seattle, not before--that he hadn't grown up to crime like most of the men in his gang. he didn't know anything about the 'profession'--as far as skill went he was a rank amateur, but he made it up with daring and cunning. once or twice he got in a fight down there, and they all agree he fought like a mad man, the most terrible fighter in the whole district, and it took about a half dozen to stop him." "you don't have to tell me that. anybody who can swing a pick like that--" "now let me tell you how they happened to catch him. maybe you heard--he and dago frank were in the act of breaking into the western-danish bank. part of this i'm giving you now came straight from frank himself. he says that they were in the alley, in the act of jimmying a window, and all at once kinney straightened up as if something had hit him and let the jimmy fall with a thump to the pavement. frank said he thought that the man had 'gone off his nut,' but it's my private opinion that he had been somewhat deranged all the time he was in seattle, and he just came to, more or less, that minute. the man hardly seemed to know what he was doing. 'have you lost your guts, kinney?' frank asked him; and kinney stood there, staring like he didn't know he was being spoken to. he put his hands to his head, then, like a man with a headache. and the next instant a cop came running from the mouth of the alley. "kinney was heeled, but he didn't even pull his gun. he still stood with his hands to his head. all his pards in the underworld always said he'd die before he'd give up, but he let the cop take him like he was a baby. frank got away, but they got him, you remember, three weeks later. after some kind of a trial kinney was sent down here." sprigley paused and shifted his gun from his right to his left shoulder. "you'll say that's all common enough," he went on. "now let me tell you another queer thing. you know, the chief has started a system here to keep track of all the prisoners, with the idea of making them good citizens when they get out. he has them all fill out a card. well, when this man kinney turned in his card, he had written 'ben' on it, but the rest was absolutely blank. "mr. mitchell thought at first that the man couldn't write. it turned out, though, that he can write--an intelligent hand, and spell good too. then mitchell decided he was just sulking. but his second guess was no better than his first. i haven't got mitchell persuaded yet, and maybe never will have him persuaded, but i'm confident i know the answer. the reason he didn't fill out that card was because he couldn't remember. "he couldn't remember where or when he was born, or who were his folks, or where he had come from, or how he had spent his life. he knew that 'ben,' his first name, sounded right to him, but 'kinney' didn't--the reason likely being that kinney was an alias adopted during his life as a criminal. i suppose you've noticed that queer, bewildered look he has when any one calls him kinney. what his real name is he doesn't know. he can't even remember that. and the explanation is--complete loss of memory. "you mark my words, howard--that man hasn't been a criminal always. something got wrong with his head, and he turned crook--you might say that the criminal side that all of us has simply took possession of him. that night in the alley he came to himself--only his mind was left a blank not only in regard to his life as a criminal, but all that had gone before." "then why don't you do something about it--besides talk? mitchell says you're gettin' so you talk of nothin' else." "it's not for me to do anything about it. the man was a criminal. the state can't go any further than that. i suppose if every man was set free who wasn't, in the last analysis, responsible for his crimes, we wouldn't have anybody left in the penitentiary. he's in for five years--considering what he'll pick up here, it might as well be for life. amnesia--that's what the doctors call it--amnesia following some sort of a mental trouble. in the end you'll see that i'm right." sprigley was right. to ben kinney life was like a single pale light in a long, dark street. complete loss of memory prevented him from looking backward. complete loss of hope kept him from looking ahead. it had been this way for months now--ever since the night the policeman had found him, the "jimmy" dropped from his hands, in the alley. heaven knows what he had done, what madness had been upon him, before that time. but as sprigley had said, that night had marked a change. it was true that so far as facts went he was no better off: when he had come to himself he had found his mind a blank regarding not only his career of crime, but all the years that had gone before. even his own name eluded him. that of kinney had an alien sound in his ears. the past had simply ceased to exist for him; and because it is some way the key to the future, the latter seemed likewise blank,--a toneless gray that did not in the least waken his interest. indeed the only light that flung into the unfathomable darkness of his forgetfulness was that which played in his dreams at night. sometimes these were inordinately vivid, quite in contrast to the routine of prison life. he felt if he could only recall these dreams clearly they would interpret for him the mystery of his own life. he wakened, again and again, with the consciousness of having dreamed the most stirring, amazing dreams, but what they were he couldn't tell. he could only remember fragments, such as a picture of rushing waters recurring again and again--and sometimes an amazing horizon, a dark line curiously notched against a pale green background. they were not all bad dreams: in reality many of them stirred him and moved him happily, and he would waken to find the mighty tides of his blood surging fiercely through the avenues of veins. evidently they recalled some happiness that was forgotten. and there was one phase, at least, of this work in the road gangs that brought him moving, intense delight. it was merely the sight of the bird life, abounding in the fields and meadows about the towns. there had been quite a northern migration lately, these late spring days. the lesser songsters were already mating and nesting, and he found secret pleasure in their cheery calls and bustling activity. but they didn't begin to move him as did the waterfowl, passing in long v-shaped flocks. that strange, wild wanderer's greeting that the gray geese called down to their lesser brethren in the meadows had a really extraordinary effect upon him. it always caught him up and held him, stirring some deep, strange part of him that he hardly knew existed. sometimes the weird, wailing sound brought him quite to the edge of a profound discovery, but always the flocks sped on and out of hearing before he could quite grasp it. when the moon looked down, through the barred window of his cell, he sometimes felt the same way. a great, white mysterious moon that he had known long ago. it was queer that there should be a relationship between the gray geese and the cold, white satellite that rode in the sky. ben kinney never tried to puzzle out what it was; but he always knew it with a knowledge not to be denied. the last of the waterfowl had passed by now, but the northern migration was not yet done. the sun still moved north; warm, north-blowing winds blew the last of the lowering, wintry clouds back to the arctic seas whence they had come. and because the road work the convicts were doing brought them, this afternoon, in sight of the railroad right-of-way, ben now and then caught sight of other wayfarers moving slowly, but no less steadily, toward the north. the open road beckoned northward, these full, balmy, late-april days, and various tattered men, mostly vagabonds and tramps, passed the gang from time to time on this same, northern quest. ben thought about them as birds of passage, and the thought amused him. and at the sight of a small, stooped figure advancing toward him up the railroad right-of-way he paused, leaning on his pick. because ben had paused, for the first time in an hour, his two guards looked up to see what had attracted his attention. they saw what seemed to them a white-haired old wanderer of sixty years or more; but at first they were wholly at a loss to explain ben's fascinated look of growing interest. it was true that the old man scarcely represented the usual worthless, criminal type that took to vagabondage. as he paused to scrutinize the convict gang neither insolence nor fear, one of which was certainly to be expected, became manifest in his face. they had anticipated certain words in greeting, a certain look out of bleary, shifty eyes, but neither materialized. true, the old man was following the cinder trail northward, but plainly he did not belong to the brotherhood of tramps. they saw that he was white-haired and withered, but upright; and that undying youth dwelt in his twinkling blue eyes and the complexity of little, good-natured lines about his mouth. poverty, age, the hardships of the cinder trail had not conquered him in the least. he was small physically, but his skinny arms and legs looked as if they were made of high-tension wire. his face was shrewd, but also kindly, and the gray stubble on his cheeks and chin did not in the least hide a smile that was surprisingly boyish and winning. and when he spoke his cracked good-natured voice was perfectly in character, evidently that of a man possessing full self-respect and confidence, yet brimming over with easy kindliness and humor. both guards would have felt instantly, instinctively friendly toward him if they had been free to feel at all. instead they were held and amazed by the apparent fact that at the first scrutiny of the man's outline, his carriage and his droll, wrinkled face, the prisoner kinney was moved and stirred as if confronted by the risen dead. the old man himself halted, returning kinney's stare. the moment had, still half concealed, an unmistakable quality of drama. in the contagion of suppressed excitement, the other prisoners paused, their tools held stiffly in their hands. kinney's mind seemed to be reaching, groping for some astonishing truth that eluded him. the old man ran, in great strides, toward him. "my god, aren't you ben darby?" he demanded. the convict answered him as from a great distance, his voice cool and calm with an infinite certainty. "of course," he said. "of course i'm darby." ii for the moment that chance meeting thrilled all the spectators with the sense of monumental drama. the convicts stared; howard, the second guard, forgot his vigilance and stared with open mouth. he started absurdly, rather guiltily, when the old man whirled toward him. "what are you doing with ben darby in a convict gang?" the old wanderer demanded. "what am i doin'?" howard's astonishment gave way to righteous indignation. "i'm guardin' convicts, that's what i'm a-doin'." he composed himself then and shifted his gun from his left to his right shoulder. "he's here in this gang because he's a convict. ask my friend, here, if you want to know the details. and who might you be?" there was no immediate answer to that question. the old man had turned his eyes again to the tall, trembling figure of ben, trying to find further proof of his identity. to ezra melville there could no longer be any shadow of doubt as to the truth: even that he had found the young man working in a gang of convicts could not impugn the fact that the dark-gray vivid eyes, set in the vivid face under dark, beetling brows, were unquestionably those of the boy he had seen grow to manhood's years, ben darby. it was true that he had changed. his face was more deeply lined, his eyes more bright and nervous; there was a long, dark scar just under the short hair at his temple that melville had never seen before. and the finality of despair seemed to settle over the droll features as he walked nearer and took darby's hand. "ben, ben!" he said, evidently struggling with deep emotion. "what are you doing here?" the younger man gave him his hand, but continued to stare at him in growing bewilderment. "five years--for burglary," he answered simply. "guilty, too--i don't know anything more. and i can't remember--who you are." "you don't know me?" some of ben's own bewilderment seemed to pass to him. "you know ezra melville--" sprigley, whose beliefs in regard to ben had been strengthened by the little episode, stepped quickly to melville's side. "he's suffering loss of memory," he explained swiftly. "at least, he's either lost his memory or he's doing a powerful lot of faking. this is the first time he ever recalled his own name." "i'm not faking," ben told them quietly. "i honestly don't remember you--i feel that i ought to, but i don't. i honestly didn't remember my name was darby until a minute ago--then just as soon as you spoke it, i knew the truth. nothing can surprise me, any more. i suppose you're kin of mine--?" melville gazed at him in incredulous astonishment, then turned to sprigley. "may i talk to you about this case?" he asked quietly. "if not to you, who can i talk to? there are a few points that might help to clear up--" ordering his men to their work, melville and sprigley stood apart, and for nearly an hour engaged in the most earnest conversation. the afternoon was shadow-flaked and paling when they had finished, and before sprigley led his men back within the gray walls he had arranged for melville to come to the prison after the dinner hour and confer with mitchell, the warden. many and important were the developments arising from this latter conference. one of the least of them was that melville's northward journey was postponed for some days, and that within a week this same white-haired, lean old man, dressed in the garb of the cinder trail, was pleading his case to no less a personage than the governor of the state of washington in whom authority for dealing with ben's case was absolutely vested. it came about, from the same cause, that a noted alienist, forest, of seattle, visited ben darby in his cell; and finally that the prisoner himself, under the strict guard of sprigley, was taken to the capital at olympia. the brief inquisition that followed, changing the entire current of ben darby's life, occurred in the private office of mcnamara, the governor. mcnamara himself stood up to greet them when they entered, the guard and the convict. ezra melville and forest, the alienist from seattle, were already in session. the latter conducted the examination. he tried his subject first on some of the most simple tests for sanity. it became evident at once, however, that except for his amnesia ben's mind was perfectly sound: he passed all general intelligence tests with a high score, he conversed easily, he talked frankly of his symptoms. he had perfect understanding of the general sweep of events in the past twenty years: his amnesia seemed confined to his own activities and the activities of those intimately connected with him. where he had been, what he had done, all the events of his life up to the night of his arrest remained, for all his effort to remember them, absolutely in darkness. "you don't remember this man?" forest asked him quietly, indicating ezra melville. again ben's eyes studied the droll, gray face. "with the vaguest kind of memory. i know i've seen him before--often. i can't tell anything else." "he's a good friend of your family. he knew your folks. i should say he was a _very_ good friend, to take the trouble and time he has, in your behalf." ben nodded. he did not have to be told that fact. the explanation, however, was beyond him. forest leaned forward. "you remember the saskatchewan river?" ben straightened, but the dim images in his mind were not clear enough for him to answer in the affirmative. "i'm afraid not." melville leaned forward in his chair. "ask him if he remembers winning the canoe race at lodge pole--or the time he shot the athabaska rapids." ben turned brightly to him, but slowly shook his head. "i can't remember ever hearing of them before." "i think you would, in time," forest remarked. "they must have been interesting experiences. now what do these mean to you?--thunder lake--abner darby--edith darby--maclean's college----" ben relaxed, focusing his attention on the names. for the instant the scene about him, the anxious, interested faces, faded from his consciousness. thunder lake! somewhere, some time, thunder lake had had the most intimate associations with his life. the name stirred him and moved him; dim voices whispered in his ears about it, but he couldn't quite catch what they said. he groped and reached in vain. there was no doubt but that an under-consciousness had full knowledge of the name and all that it meant. but it simply could not reach that knowledge up into his conscious mind. abner darby! it was curious what a flood of tenderness swept through him as, whispering, he repeated the name. some one old and white-haired had been named abner darby: some one whom he had once worshipped with the fervor of boyhood, but who had leaned on his own, strong shoulders in latter years. since his own name was darby, abner darby was, in all probability, his father; but his reasoning intelligence, rather than his memory, told him so. the name of edith darby conjured up in his mind a childhood playmate,--a girl with towzled yellow curls and chubby, confiding little hands.... but these dim memory-pictures went no further: there were no later visions of edith as a young woman, blossoming with virgin beauty. they stopped short, and he had a deep, compelling sense of grief. the child, unquestionably a sister, had likely died in early years. the third name of the three, maclean's college, called up no memories whatever. "i can hardly say that i remember much about them," he responded at last. "i think they'll come plainer, though, the more i think about them. i just get the barest, vague ideas." "they'll strengthen in time, i'm sure," forest told him. "put them out of your mind, for now. let it be blank." the alienist again leaned toward him, his eyes searching. there ensued an instant's pause, possessing a certain quality of suspense. then forest spoke quickly, sharply. "_wolf_ darby!" in response a curious tremor passed over ben's frame, giving in some degree the effect of a violent start. "_wolf_ darby," he repeated hesitantly. "why do you call me that?" "the very fact that you know the name refers to you, not some one else, shows that that blunted memory of yours has begun to function in some degree. now think. what do you know about 'wolf' darby?" ben tried in vain to find an answer. a whole world of meaning lingered just beyond the reach of his groping mind; but always it eluded him. it was true, however, that the name gave him a certain sense of pleasure and pride, as if it had been used in compliment to some of his own traits. far away and long ago, men had called _him_ "wolf" darby: he felt that perhaps the name had carried far, through many sparsely settled districts. but what had been the occasion for it he did not know. he described these dim memory pictures; and forest's air of satisfaction seemed to imply that his own theories in regard to ben's case were receiving justification. he appeared quite a little flushed, deeply intent, when he turned to the next feature of the examination. he suddenly spoke quietly to old ezra melville; and the latter put a small, cardboard box into his hands. "i want you to see what i have here," forest told ben. "they were your own possessions once--you sent them yourself to abner darby, your late father--and i want you to see if you remember them." ben's eyes fastened on the box; and the others saw a queer drawing of the lines of his face, a curious tightening and clasping of his fingers. there was little doubt but that his subconsciousness had full cognizance of the contents of that box. he was trembling slightly, too--in excitement and expectation--and ezra melville, suddenly standing erect, was trembling too. the moment was charged with the uttermost suspense. evidently this was the climax in the examination. even mcnamara, the governor, was breathless with interest in his chair; forest had the rapt look of a scientist in some engrossing experiment. he opened the box, taking therefrom a roll of white cotton. this he slowly unrolled, revealing two small, ribboned ornaments of gold or bronze. ben's starting eyes fastened on them. no doubt he recognized them. a look of veritable anguish swept his brown face, and all at once small drops of moisture appeared on his brow and through the short hairs at his temples. the dark scar at his temple was suddenly brightly red from the pounding blood beneath. "the victoria cross, of course," he said slowly, brokenly. "i won it, didn't i--the day--that day at ypres--the day my men were trapped--" his words faltered then. the wheels of _his_ memory, starting into motion, were stilled once more. again the great darkness dropped over him; there were only the medals left in their roll of cotton, and the broken fragments of a story--of some wild, stirring event of the war just gone--remaining in his mind. yet to forest the experiment was an unqualified success. "there's no doubt of it!" he exclaimed. he turned to mcnamara, the governor. "his brain is just as sound as yours or mine. with the right environment, the right treatment, he'd be on the straight road to recovery. in a general way of speaking he has recovered now, largely, from the purely temporary trouble that he had before." mcnamara focused an intent gaze first on ben, then on the alienist. "it is, then--as you guessed." "absolutely. the night of his arrest marked the end of his trouble; you might say that his brain simply snapped back into health and began to function normally again, after a period of temporary mania from shell-shock. it is true that his memory was left blank, but there doesn't seem to be any organic reason for it to be blank--other than lack of incentive to remember. catch me up, if you don't follow me. in other words, he has been slowly convalescing since that night: under the proper stimuli i have no doubt that everything would come back to him." "and our friend here--melville--offers to supply those stimuli." "exactly. and it's up to you to say whether he gets a chance." thoughtfully the executive drummed his desk with his pencil. presently a smile, markedly boyish and pleasant, broke over his face. more than once, in the line of duty imposed by his high office, he had been obliged to make decisions contrary to every dictate of mercy. he was all the more pleased at this opportunity to do, with a clear conscience, the thing that his kindness prompted. he turned slowly in his chair. "darby, i suppose you followed what the doctor said?" he asked easily. "fairly well, i think." "i'll review it, if i may. it seems, ben, that you have been the victim of a strange set of unfortunate circumstances. due to the efforts of an old family friend--a most devoted and earnest friend if i may say so--we've looked up your record, and now we know more about you than you know about yourself. you served in france with canadian troops and there, you will be proud to know, you won among other honors the highest honor that the government of england can award a hero. there you were shell-shocked, in the last months of the war. "you did not return to your home. shell-shock, forest tells me, is a curious thing, resulting in many forms of mania. yours led you into crime. for some months you lived as a desperate criminal in seattle. you came to yourself in the act of breaking into a bank, only to find that your memory of not only your days of crime but all that had gone before was left a blank. that night, as you know, marked your arrest. "forest has just explained that you are organically sound--that the recovery of your memory is just a matter of time and the proper stimuli. now, ben, it isn't the purpose of this state to punish men when they are not responsible for their deeds. melville tells me that your record, in your own home, was the best; your war record alone, i believe, would entitle you to the limit of mercy from the state. i don't see how we can hold you responsible for deeds done while you were mentally disabled from shell-shock. "all you need for complete recovery, to call everything back in your mind, is the proper stimuli. at least that is the opinion of doctor forest. what those proper stimuli are of course no one knows for sure--but doctor forest has a theory; and i think he will tell you that he will share the credit for it with the same man who has been your friend all the way through. they think they know what is best for you. the final decision has been put up to me as to whether or not they shall be permitted to give it a trial. "this good friend of yours has offered to try to put it through. he has a plan outlined that he'll tell you of later, that will not only be the best possible influence toward recalling your memory, but will also give you a clean, new start in life. a chance for every success. "so you needn't return to walla walla, darby. i'm going to parole you--under the charge of your benefactor. melville, from now on it's up to you." the little, withered gray man looked very solemn as he rose. the others were stricken instantly solemn too, surprised that the droll smile they were so used to seeing had died on the homely, kindly face. even his twinkling eyes were sobered too. vaguely amused, yet without scorn, mcnamara and forest got up to shake his hand. "i'll look after him," melville assured them. "never fear for that." slight as he was, wasted by the years, his was a figure of unmistakable dignity as he thanked them, gravely and earnestly, for their kindness in ben's behalf. soon after he and his young charge went out together. iii there was a great house-cleaning in the dome of the heavens one memorable night that flashed like a jewel from the murky desolation of a rainy spring. the little winds came in troops, some from the sea, some with loads of balsam from the great forests of the olympic peninsula, and some, quite tired out, from the stretching sage plains to the east, and they swept the sky of clouds as a housekeeper sweeps the ceiling of cobwebs. not a wisp, not one trailing streamer remained. the seattle citizenry, for the first time in some weeks, recalled the existence of the stars. these emerged in legions and armies, all the way from the finest diamond dust to great, white spheres that seemed near enough to reach up and touch. little forgotten stars that had hidden away since heaven knows when in the deepest recesses of the skies came out to join in the celebration. aged men, half blind, beheld so many that they thought their sight was returning to them, and youths saw whole constellations that they had never beheld before. they continued their high revels until a magnificent moon rose in the east, too big and too bright to compete with. it was not just a crescent moon, about to fade away, or even a rain moon--one of those standing straight up in the sky so that water can run out as out of a dipper. it was almost at its full, large and nearly round, and it made the whole city, which is rather like other cities in the daylight, seem a place of enchantment. it was so bright that the electric signs along second avenue were not even counter-attractions. no living creature who saw it remained wholly unmoved by it. wary young men, crafty and slick as foxes, found themselves proposing to their sweethearts before they could catch themselves; and maidens who had looked forward to some years yet of independent gaiety found themselves accepting. old tom-cats went wooing; old spinsters got out old letters; old husbands thought to return and kiss their wives before venturing down to old, moth-eaten clubs. old dogs, too well-bred to howl, were lost and absent-minded with dreams that were older than all the rest of these things put together. but to no one in the city was the influence of the moon more potent than to ben darby, once known as "wolf" darby through certain far-spreading districts, and now newly come from the state capital, walking seattle's streets with his ward and benefactor, ezra melville. no matter how faltering was his memory in other regards, the moon, at least, was an old acquaintance. he had known it in the nights when its light had probed into his barred cell; but his intimate acquaintance with it had begun long, long before that. not even the names that the alienist, forest, had spoken--the names of places and people close to his own heart--stirred his memory like the sight of the mysterious sphere rolling through the empty places of the sky. it recalled, clearer than any other one thing, the time and place of his early years. he could not put into words just how it affected him. from first to last, even through his days of crime, it had been the one thing constant--the unchanging symbol--that in any manner connected his present with his shadowed past. it had served to recall in him, more than any other one thing, the fact that there was a past to look for--the assurance that somewhere, far away, he had been something more than a reckless criminal in city slums. the love he had for it was an old love, proving to him conclusively that his past life had been intimately associated, some way, with moonlight falling in open places. yet the mood that was wakened in him went even farther. it was as if the sight of the argent satellite stirred and moved deep-buried instincts innate in him, in no way connected with any experience of his immediate life. rather it was as if his love for it were a racial love, reaching back beyond his own life: something inborn in him. it was as if he were recalling it, not alone from his own past, but from a racial existence a thousand-thousand years before his own birth. his memory was strangely stifled, but, oh, he remembered the moon! forest had spoken of stimuli! the mere sight of the blue-white beams was the best possible stimulus to call him to himself. ezra melville and he walked under it, talking little at first, and mostly the old, blue twinkling eyes watched his face. seemingly with no other purpose than to escape the bright glare of the street lights they walked northward along the docks, below queen anne hill, passed old rope walk, through the suburb of ballard, finally emerging on the great northern railroad tracks heading toward vancouver and the canadian border. for all that ben's long legs had set a fast pace melville kept cheerfully beside him throughout the long walk, seemingly without trace of fatigue. they paused at last at a crossing, and ben faced the open fields. evidently, before crime had claimed him, he had been deeply sensitive to nature's beauty. ezra saw him straighten, his dark, vivid face rise; his quiet talk died on his lips. evidently the peaceful scene before him went home to him very straight. he was very near thralldom from some quality of beauty that dwelt here, some strange, deep appeal that the moonlit realm made to his heart. for the moment ben had forgotten the old, tried companion at his side. vague memories stirred him, trying to convey him an urgent message. he could all but hear: the sight of the meadows, ensilvered under the moon, were making many things plain to him which before were shadowed and vague. the steel rails gleamed like platinum, the tree tops seemed to have white, molten metal poured on them. it was hard to take his eyes off those moonlit trees. they got to him, deep inside; thrilling to him, stirring. perhaps in his lost land the moon shone on the trees this same way. there were no prison walls around him to-night. the high buildings behind him, pressing one upon another, had gone to sustain the feeling of imprisonment, but it had quite left him now. there were no cold, watchful lights,--only the moon and the stars and an occasional mellow gleam from the window of a home. there was scarcely any sound at all; not even a stir--as of prisoners tossing and uneasy in their cells. his whole body felt rested. the air was marvelously sweet. clover was likely in blossom in nearby fields. he breathed deep, an unknown delight stealing over him. he stole on farther, into the mystery of the night--ravished, tingling and almost breathless from an inner and inexplicable excitement. melville walked quietly beside him. forest had given over the case: it was melville's time for experiments to-night. all the way out he had watched his patient, sounding him, studying his reactions and all that he had beheld had gone to strengthen his own convictions. and now, after this moment in the meadows, the old man was ready to go on with his plan. "let's set down here," he invited casually. ben started, emerging from his revery. the old man's cheery smile had returned, in its full charm, to his droll face. "you'll want to know what it's all about--and what i have in mind. and i sure think you've done mighty well to hold onto your patience this long." he sat himself on the rail, and ben quietly took a seat beside him. "there are plenty of things i'd like to know," he admitted. "and plenty of things i ain't goin' to tell you, neither--for the reason that forest advised against it," ezra went on. "i don't understand it--but he says you've got a lot better chance to get your memory workin' clear again if things are recalled to you by the aid of 'stimuli' instead of having any one tell you. i've agreed to supply the 'stimuli.' "i don't see any harm in tellin' you that the guesses you've already made are right. your name is ben darby--and you used to be known as 'wolf' darby--for reasons that sooner or later you may know. abner darby was your father. edith darby was your sister that ain't no more. you went awhile to maclean's college, in ontario. "now, ben, i'm going to put a proposition up to you. i'm hoping you'll see fit to accept it. and i might as well say right here, that while it's the best plan possible to bring you back your memory, and that while it offers just the kind of 'stimuli' you're supposed to need, neither 'stimuli' nor stimulus or stimulum has got very much to do with it. i argued that point mighty strong because i knew it would appeal to forest, and through him, to the governor. i don't see it makes a whale of a lot of difference whether you get your memory back or not. "maybe you don't foller me. but you know and i know you're all right now, remembering clear enough everything that happened since you was arrested, and i don't see what difference it makes whether or not you remember who your great-aunt was, and the scrapes you got in as a kid. you can talk and walk and figger, get by in any comp'ny, and you suit me for a buddy just as you are. however, forest seemed to think it was mighty important--and it may be. "the reason i'm goin' to take you where i'm goin' to take you is for your own good. i'm sort of responsible for you, bein' your folks are dead. i know you from head to heel, and i think i know what's good for you, what you can do and what you can't do and where you succeed and where you fail. and i'll say right here you wasn't born to be no gangman in a big city like seattle. you'll find that isn't your line at all." "i'm willing to take your word for that, mr. melville," ben interposed quietly. "and i might say, now a good time as any, to let up on the '_mister_.' my name is ezra melville, and i've been known as 'ezram' as long as i can remember, to my friends. the darbys in particular called me that, and you're a darby. "i'll say in the beginning i can't do for you all i'd like to do, simply because i haven't the means. the first time you saw me i was walkin' ties, and you'll see me walkin' some more of 'em before you're done. i know you ain't got any money, and due to the poker habit i ain't got much either--in spite of the fact i've done two men's work for something over forty years. on this expedition to come we'll have to go on the cheaps. no pullmans, no hotels--sleeping out the hay when we're caught out at night. maybe ridin' the blinds, whenever we can. i'm awful sorry, but it jest can't be helped. but i will say--when it comes to work i can do my full share, without kickin'." ben stared in amazement. it was almost as if the old man were pleading a case, rather than giving glorious alms to one to whom hope had seemed dead. ben tried to cut in, to ask questions, but the old man's words swept his own away. "to begin at the beginning, i've got a brother--leastwise i had him a few weeks ago--hiram melville by name," ezram went on. "you'd remember him well enough. he was a prospector up to a place called snowy gulch--a town way up in the caribou mountains, in canada. some weeks ago, herdin' cattle in eastern oregon, i got a letter from him, and started north, runnin' into you on the way up. the letter's right here." he drew a white envelope from his coat pocket, opening it slowly. "this is a real proposition, son," he went on in a sobered voice. "i'm mighty glad that i've got something, at least worth lookin' into, to let you in on. i only wish it was more." "why should you want to let me in on anything?" ben asked clearly. the direct question received only a stare of blank amazement from ezram. "why should i--" he repeated, seemingly surprised out of his life by the question. "shucks, and quit interruptin' me. but i'll say right here i've got my own ideas, if you must know. didn't i hear that while you was rampin' around the underworld, you showed yourself a mighty good fighter? well, there's likely to be some fightin' where we're goin', and i want some one to do it besides myself. if there ain't fightin', at least they'll be worklots of work. maybe i'm gettin' a little too old to do much of it. i want a buddy--some one who will go halfway with me." "therefore i suppose you go to the 'pen' to find one," ben commented, wholly unconvinced. "i'm going to make this proposition good," ezram went on as if he had not heard, "probably a fourth--maybe even a third--to you. and i ain't such a fool as i look, neither. i know the chances of comin' out right on it are twice as good if somebody young and strong, and who can fight, is in on it with me. listen to this." opening the letter, he read laboriously: snowy gulch, b.c. dear brother ezra:-- i rite this with what i think is my dying hand. it's my will too. i'm at the hotel at snowy gulch--and not much more time. you know i've been hunting a claim. well, i found it--rich a pocket as any body want, worth a quarter million any how and in a district where the snowy gulch folks believe there ain't a grain of gold. it's yours. come up and get it quick before some thieves up hear jump it. lookout for jeffery neilson and his gang they seen some of my dust. i'm too sick to go to recorder in bradleyburg and record claim. get copy of this letter to carry, put this in some safe place. the only condition is you take good care of fenris, the pet i raised from a pup. you'll find him and my gun at steve morris's. i felt myself going and just did get hear. you get supplies horses at snowy gulch go up poor man creek through spruce pass over to yuga river. go down yuga river past first rapids along still place to first creek you'll know it cause there's an old cabin just below and my canoe landing. half mile up, in creek bed, is the pocket and new cabin. and don't tell no one in snowy gulch who you are and where you going. go quick brother ez and put up a stone for me at snowy gulch. your brother hiram melville. there was a long pause after ezram's voice had died away. ben's eyes glowed in the moonlight. "and you haven't heard--whether your brother is still alive?" "i got a wire the hotel man sent me. it reached me weeks before the letter came, and i guess he must have died soon after he wrote it. i suppose you see what he means when he says to carry a copy of this letter, instead of the original." "of course--because it constitutes his will, your legal claim. just the fact that you are his brother would be claim enough, i should think, but since the claim isn't recorded, this simplifies matters for you. you'd better make a copy of it and you can leave it in some safe place. and of course this claim is what you offered to let me in on." "that's it. not much, but all what i got. what i want to know is--if it's a go." "wait just a minute. you've asked me to go in with you on a scheme that looks like a clear quarter of a million, even though i can't give anything except my time and my work. you found me in a penitentiary, busted and all in--a thief and a gangster. before we go any further, tell me what service i've done you, what obligation you're under to me, that gives me a right to accept so much from you?" it might have been in the moonlight that ezram's eyes glittered perceptibly. "you're in my charge," he grinned. "i guess you ain't got any say comin'." "wait--wait." ben sprang to his feet, and caught by his earnestness, ezram got up too. "i sure--i sure appreciate the trust you put in me," ben went on slowly. "for my own part i'd give everything i've got and all i'd hope to ever get to go with you. it's a chance such as i never dared believe would come to me again--a chance for big success--a chance to go away and get a new start in a country where i feel, instinctively, that i'd make good. but that's only the beginning of it." the dark vivid eyes seemed to glow in the soft light. "forgive me if i talk frank; and if it sounds silly i can't help it," ben continued. "you've never been in prison--with a five-year sentence hanging over you--and nobody giving a damn. for some reason i can't guess you've already done more for me than i can ever hope to repay. you got me out of prison, you wakened hope and self-respect in me when i thought they were dead, and you've proved a friend when i'd given up any thought of ever knowing human friendship again. i was down and out, ezram. anything you want me to do i'll do to the last ditch. you know i can fight--you know how a man can fight if it's his last chance. i've got some bonus money coming to me from the canadian government--and i'll put that in too, because we'll be needing horses and supplies and things that cost money. but i can't take all that from a stranger. you must know how it is. a man can't, while he's young and strong, accept charity--" "good lord, it ain't charity!" the old man shouted, drowning him out. "i'm gettin' as much pleasure out of it as you." his voice sank again; and there was no line of mirth in his face. "it was long ago, in montreal," ezram went on, after a pause. "i knew your mother, as a girl. she married a better man, but i told her that every wish of hers was law to me. you're her son." iv night is always a time of mystery in snowy gulch--that little cluster of frame shacks lost and far in the northern reaches of the caribou range. shadows lie deep, pale lights spring up here and there in windows, with gaping, cavernous darkness between; a wet mist is clammy on the face. at such times one forgets that here is a town, an enduring outpost of civilization, and can remember only the forests that stretch so heavy and dark on every side. indeed the town seems simply swallowed up in these forests, immersed in their silence, overspread by their gloom, and the red gods themselves walk like sentries in the main street. the breath that is so fragrant and strange between the fronting rows of shacks is simply that of the forest: inept the woodsman who would not recognize it at once. the silence is a forest silence, and if the air is tense and electric, it is because certain wilderness forces that no white man can name but which surely dwell in the darker thickets have risen and are in possession. it is not a time when human beings are at their best and strongest. there is an instinctive, haunting feeling which, though not fear, wakens a feeling of inadequacy and meekness. only a few--those who have given their love and their lives to the wild places--have any idea of sympathetic understanding with it. among these was beatrice neilson, and she herself did not fully understand the dreams and longings that swept her ever at the fall of the mysterious wilderness night. the forest had never grown old to her. its mystery was undying. born in its shadow, her love had gone out to it in her earliest years, and it held her just as fast to-day. all her dreams--the natural longings of an imaginative girl born to live in an uninhabited portion of the earth--were inextricably bound up in it; whatever plans she had for the future always included it. not that she was blind to its more terrible qualities: its might and its utter remorselessness that all foresters, sooner or later, come to recognize. her thews were strong, and she loved it all the more for the tests that it put to its children. she was a daughter of the forests, and its mark was on her. to-night the same moon that, a thousand miles to the south, was lighting the way for ben and ezram on their northern journey, shone on her as she hastened down the long, shadowed street toward her father's shack, revealing her forest parentage for all to see. the quality could be discerned in her very carriage--swift and graceful and silent--vaguely suggesting that of the wild creatures themselves. but there was no coarseness or ruggedness about her face and form such as superficial observation might have expected. physically she was like a deer, strong, straight-limbed, graceful, slender rather than buxom, dainty of hands and feet. a perfect constitution and healthful surroundings had done all this. and good fairies had worked further magic: as she passed beneath the light at the door of the rude hotel there was revealed an unquestioned and rather startling facial beauty. it seemed hardly fitting in this stern, rough land--the soft contour and delicacy of the girl's features. it had come straight from her mother, a woman who, in gold-rush days, had been the acknowledged beauty of the province. nor was it merely the attractive, animal beauty that is so often seen in healthy, rural girls. rather its loveliness was of a mysterious, haunting kind that one associates with old legends and far distant lands. perhaps its particular appeal lay in her eyes. they seemed to be quite marvelously deep and clear, so darkly gray that they looked black in certain lights, and they were so shadowed and pensive that sometimes they gave the image of actual sadness. for all the isolation of her home she was no stranger to romance; but the romance that was to be seen, like a gentleness, in her face was that of the great, shadowed forest in which she dwelt. pensive, wistful, enthralled in a dreamy sadness,--what could be nearer the tone and pitch of the northern forest itself? there might have been also depths of latent passion such as is known to all who live the full, strong life of the woods. the lines were soft about her lips and eyes, indicating a marked sweetness and tenderness of nature; but these traits did not in the least deny her parentage. no one but the woodsman knows how gentle, how hospitably tender, the forest may be at times. she had fine, dark straight brows that served to darken her eyes, dark brown hair waving enough to soften every line of her face, a girlish throat and a red mouth surprisingly tender and childish. as might have been expected her garb was neither rich nor smart, but it was pretty and well made and evidently fitted for her life: a loose "middy," blue skirt, woolen stockings and rather solid little boots. as she passed the door of the hotel one of the younger men who had been lounging about the stove strode out and accosted her. she half-turned, recognized his face in the lamplight, and frankly recoiled. she had been lost in dreams before, vaguely pensive, for beatrice had been watching the darkness overspread and encompass the dark fringe of the spruce forest that enclosed the town. now, because she recognized the man and knew his type--born of the wild places even as herself, but a bastard breed--the tender, wistful half-smile sped from her childish mouth and her eyes grew alert and widened as if with actual fear. she halted, evidently in doubt as to her course. "going home?" the man asked. "i'm going up to see your pop, and i'll see you there, if you don't mind." ray brent's voice had an undeniable ring of power. it was deeply bass, evidently the voice of a passionate, reckless, brutal man. the covetous caress of his thick hand upon her arm indicated that he was wholly sure of himself in regard to her. she stared with growing apprehension into his even-featured, not unhandsome face. evidently she found it hard to meet his eyes,--eyes wholly lacking in humor and kindliness, but unquestionably vivid and compelling under his heavy, dark brows. "i'm going home," she told him at last. "i guess, if you're going up to see pop, you can walk along too." the man fell in beside her, his powerful frame overshadowing hers. it was plain at once that the manner of her consent did not in the least disturb him. "you're just letting me because i'm going up there anyway, eh?" he asked. "i'll walk along further than that with you before i'm done." the girl paused, as if in appeal. "ray, we've thrashed that out long ago," she responded. "i wish you wouldn't keep talking about it. if you want to walk with me--" "all right, but you'll be changing your mind one of these days." ray's voice rang in the silence, indicating utter indifference to the fact that many of the loungers on the street were listening to the little scene. "i've never seen anything i wanted yet that i didn't get--and i want you. why don't you believe what your pop says about me? he thinks ray brent is the goods." "i'm not going to talk about it any more. i've already given you my answer--twenty times." the man talked on, but the girl walked with lifted chin, apparently not hearing. they followed the board sidewalk into the shadows, finally turning in at a ramshackle, three-room house that was perched on the hillside almost at the end of the street at the outer limits of the village. the girl turned to go in, but the man held fast to her arm. "wait just a minute, bee," he urged. "i've got one thing more to say to you." the girl looked into his face, now faintly illumined by the full moon that was rising, incredibly large and white, above the dark line of the spruce tops. for all the regularity of his rather handsome features, his was never an attractive face to her, even in first, susceptible girlhood; and in the moonlight it suddenly filled her with dread. ray brent was a dangerous type: imperious willed, slave to his most degenerate instincts, reckless, as free from moral restraint as the most savage creatures that roamed his native wilds. now his facial lines appeared noticeably deep, dark like scars, and curious little flakes of iniquitous fire danced in his sunken eyes. "just one minute, bee," he went on, wholly rapt in his own, devouring desires. the dark passions of the man, always just under the skin, seemed to be getting out of bounds. "when i want something, i don't know how to quit till i get it. it's part of my nature. your pop knows that--and that's why he's made me his pardner in a big deal." "if my father wants men like you--for his pardners, i can't speak for his judgment." "wait just a minute. he's told me--and i know he's told you too--that i'd suit him all right for a son-in-law. he and i agree on that. and this country ain't like the places you read about in your story books--it's a man's country. oh, i know you well enough. it's time you got down to brass tacks. if you're going to be a northern woman, you've got to be content with the kind of men that grow up here. up here, the best man wins, the hardest, strongest man. that's why i'm going to win you." because he was secretly attacking her dreams, the dearest part of her being, she felt the first surge of rising anger. "you're not the best man here," she told him, straightening. "if you were, i'd move out. you may be the strongest in your body, and certainly the hardest, going further to get your own way--but a real man would break you in two in a minute. some one more than a brute to beat horses to death and jump claims. i'm going in now. please take away your hand." "one thing more. this is the north. we do things in a man's way up here--not a story-book way. the strong man gets what he wants--and i want you. and i'll get you, too--just like i get this kiss." he suddenly snatched her toward him. a powerful man; she was wholly helpless in his grasp. his arms went about her and he pressed his lips to hers--three times. then he released her, his eyes glowing like red coals. but she was a northern girl, trained to self-defense. as he freed her, her strong, slender arm swung out and up--with really startling force. her half-closed hand struck with a sharp, drawing motion across his lips, a blow that extinguished his laughter as the wind extinguishes a match-blaze. "you little--devil!" the tempest of the forest was upon her, and her eyes blazed as she hastened around the house. v jeffery neilson and chan heminway were already in session when ray brent, his face flushed and his eyes still angry and red, joined them. neilson was a tall, gaunt man, well past fifty--from his manner evidently the leader of the three. he had heavy, grizzled brows and rather quiet eyes, a man of deep passions and great resolve. yet his lean face had nothing of the wickedness of brent's. there had evidently been some gentling, redeeming influence in his life, and although it was not in the ascendancy, it had softened his smile and the hard lines about his lips. notorious as he was through the northern provinces he was infinitely to be preferred to chan heminway, who sat at his left who, a weaker man than either ray or neilson, was simply a tool in the latter's hand,--a smashing sledge or a cruel blade as his master wished. he was vicious without strength, brutal without self-control. locks of his blond hair, unkempt, dropped over his low forehead into his eyes. "where's beatrice?" neilson asked at once. "i thought i heard her voice." ray searched for a reply, and in the silence all three heard the girl's tread as she went around the house. "she's going in the back door. likely she didn't want to disturb us." ray looked up to find neilson's eyes firmly fixed upon his face. try hard as he might he couldn't restrain a surge of color in his cheeks. "yes, and what's the rest of it?" neilson asked. "nothing--i know of." "you've got some white marks on your cheeks--where it ain't red. the kid can slap, can't she--" ray flushed deeper, but the lines of neilson's face began to deepen and draw. then his voice broke in a great, hearty chuckle. he had evidently tried to restrain it--but it got away from him at last. no man could look at him, his twinkling eyes and his joyous face, and doubt but that this soft-eyed, strong-handed daughter of his was the joy and pride of his life. he had heard the ringing slap through the ramshackle walls of the house, and for all that he favored ray as his daughter's suitor, the independence and spirit behind the action had delighted him to the core. but ray's sense of humor did not run along these lines. the first danger signal of rising anger leaped like a little, hot spark into his eyes. many times before ray had been obliged to curb his wrath against neilson: to-night he found it more difficult than ever. the time would come, he felt, when he would no longer be obliged to submit to neilson's dictation. sometime the situation would be reversed; he would be leader instead of underling, taking the lion's share of the profit of their enterprises instead of the left-overs, and when that time came he would not be obliged to endure neilson's jests in silence. neilson himself, as he eyed the stiffening figure, had no realization of ray's true attitude toward him. he thought him a willing helper, a loyal partner, and he would not have sat with such content in his chair if he could have beheld the smoldering fires of jealousy and ambition in the other's breasts the time would come when ray would assert himself, he thought--when beatrice was safe in his hands. "it may seem like a joke to you, but it doesn't to me," he answered shortly. nor was he able to keep his anger entirely from his voice. "everything that girl does you think is perfect. instead of encouraging her in her meanness you ought to help me out." his tones harshened, and he lost the fine edge of his self-control. "i've stood enough nonsense from that little--" seemingly, neilson made no perceptible movement in his chair. what change there was showed merely in the lines of his face, and particularly in the light that dwelt in the gray, straightforward eyes. "don't finish it," he ordered simply. for an instant eyes met eyes in bitter hatred--and chan heminway began to wonder just where he would seek cover in case matters got to a shooting stage. but ray's gaze broke before that of his leader. "i'm not going to say anything i shouldn't," he protested sullenly. "but this doesn't look like you're helping out my case any. you told me you'd do everything you could for me. you even went so far as to say you'd take matters in your own hands--" "and i will, in reason. i'm keeping away the rest of the boys so you can have a chance. but if you think i'm going to tie her up to anybody against her will, you're barking up the wrong tree. she's my daughter, and her happiness happens to be my first object." then his voice changed, good-humored again. "but cool down, boy--wait till you hear everything i've got to tell you, and you'll feel better. of course, you know what it's about--" "i suppose--hiram melville's claim." "that's it. of course we don't know that he had a claim--but he had a pocket full of the most beautiful nuggets you ever want to see. no one knows that fact but me--i saw 'em by accident--and i got 'em now. you know he's always had an idea that the yuga country was worth prospecting, but we always laughed at him. of course it is a pocket country; but it's my opinion he found a pocket that would make many a placer look sick, before he died." "but he might have got the nuggets somewheres else--" "hold your horses. where would he get 'em? there's something else suspicious too. he wrote a letter, the day before he died, and addressed it to ezra melville, somewhere in oregon. he must just about got it by now--maybe a few days ago. he had the clerk mail it for him, and got him to witness it, saying it was his will--and what did that old hound have to will except a mine? next day he wrote another letter somewhere too--but i didn't find out who it was to. if i'd had any gumption i'd got ahold of 'em both. the point is--i'm convinced it's worth a trip, at least." "i should say it was worth a trip," ray agreed. "and a fast one, too. there might be some competition--" "there won't be a rush, if that's what you mean. everybody knows it's a pocket country, and the men in this town wouldn't any more get excited about the yuga river--" "true enough--but that ezra melville will be showin' up one of these days. we want to be settin' pretty when he comes." "you've got the idea. it ought to be the easiest job we ever did. it's my idea he had his claim all laid out, monuments up and everything, and was on his way down to bradleyburg to record it when he died. he just went out before he could make the rest of the trip. all we'll have to do is go up there, locate in his cabin, and sit tight." "wait just a second." ray was lost in thought. "there's an old cabin up that way somewhere--along that still place--on the river. it was a trapping cabin belonging to old bill foulks." "that's true enough--but it likely ain't near his mine. boys, it's a clean, open-and-shut job--with absolutely nothing to interfere. if his brother does come up, he'll find us in possession--and nothing to do but go back. so to-morrow we'll load up and pack horses and light out." "up poor man creek, through spruce pass--" "sure. then over to the yuga. old hiram was hunting down some kind of a scent in the vicinity of that old cabin you speak of, last heard of him. and i wouldn't be surprised, on second thought, if it wasn't his base of operations." "all easy enough," ray agreed. he paused, and a queer, speculative look came into his wild-beast's eyes. "but what i don't see--how you can figure all this is going to help me out with beatrice." jeffery neilson turned in his chair. "you can't, eh? you need spectacles. just think a minute--say you had fifty or sixty thousand all your own--to spend on a wife and buy her clothes and automobiles. don't you think that would make you more attractive to the feminine eye?" at first ray made no apparent answer. he merely sat staring ahead. but plainly the words had wakened riot in his imagination. such a sum meant _wealth_, the power his ambitious nature had always craved, idleness and the gratification of all his lusts. he was no stranger to greed, this degenerate son of the north. "it'd help some," he admitted in a low voice. "but what makes you think it would be worth that much?" "because old hiram talked a little, half-delirious, before he died. 'a quarter of a million,' he kept saying. 'right there in sight--a quarter of a million.' if he really found that much stowed away in the rocks, that's fifty or sixty apiece for you and chan." ray's mind worked swiftly. sixty thousand apiece--and that left one hundred and thirty thousand for their leader's portion. the old rage and jealousy that had preyed upon his mind so long swept over him, more compelling than ever. "go on," he urged. "what's the rest of it?" "the second thing is--we'll need some one to cook, and look after us, when we get up there. who should it be but beatrice? she wouldn't want to stay here; you know how she loves the woods. and if you know anything about girls, you know that nothing counts like having 'em alone. there wouldn't be any of the other boys up there to trouble you. you'd have a clear field." ray's dark eyes shone. "it'd help some," he admitted. "that means--hunt up an extra horse for her to-morrow." "no. i don't intend she should come up now. not till we're settled." "why not?" "think a minute, and you'll see why not. you know how she regards this business of jumping claims. she's dead against it if any one could be--bless her heart!" "don't go getting sentimental, neilson." "and don't let that mouth of yours get you into trouble, either." once more their eyes locked: once more ray looked away. "i hope she'll always stay that way, too. as i say, she's dead against it, and she's been a little suspicious ever since that jenkins deal. besides, it wouldn't be any pleasure for her until we find a claim and get settled. when she comes up we'll be established in a couple of cabins--one for her and me and one for you two--and she won't know but that we made the original find." "how will she know just where to find us?" "we're bound to be somewhere near that old cabin on the yuga. we'll set a date for her to come, and i can meet her there." it was, ray was forced to admit, a highly commendable scheme. he sat back, contemplating all its phases. "it's slick enough," he agreed. "it ought to do the trick." but if he had known the girl's thoughts, as she sat alone in the back part of the house, he wouldn't have felt so confident. she was watching the moon over the spruce forest, and she was thinking, with repugnance in her heart, of the indignity to which she had been subjected at her father's door. yet the kisses ray had forced on her were no worse than his blasphemy of her dreams. the spirit of romance was abroad to-night--in the enchantment of the moon--and she was wistful and imaginative as never before. this was just the normal expression of her starved girlhood--the same childlike wistfulness with which a cinderella might long for her prince--just as natural and as wholesome and as much a part of youth as laughter and happiness. "i won't believe him, i won't believe him," she told herself. her thought turned to other channels, and her heart spoke its wish. "wherever he is--sometime he'll come to me." vi at a little town at the end of steel ben and ezram ended the first lap of their journey. they had had good traveling these past days. steadily they had gone north, through the tilled lands of northern washington, through the fertile valleys of lower british columbia, traversing great mountain ranges and penetrating gloomy forests, and now had come to the bank of a north-flowing river,--a veritable flood and one of the monarch rivers of the north. every hour their companionship had been more close and their hopes higher. every waking moment ben had been swept with thankfulness for the chance that had come to him. they had worked for their meals and passage--hard, manual toil--but it had seemed only play to them both. sometimes they mended fence, sometimes helped at farm labor, and one gala morning, with entire good will and cheer, they beat into cleanliness every carpet in a widow's cottage. and the sign of the outcast was fading from ben's flesh. the change was marked in his face. his eye seemed more clear and steadfast, his lips more firm, the lines of his face were not so hard and deep. his fellows of the underworld would have scarcely known him now,--his lips and chin darkening with beard and this new air of self-respect upon him. perhaps they had forgotten him, but it was no less than he had done to them. the prison walls seemed already as if they hadn't been true. he loved every minute of the journey, freshness instead of filth, freedom instead of confinement, fragrant fields and blossoming flowers. ever the stars and the moon, remembered of old, yielded him a peace and happiness beyond his power to tell. and his gratitude to ezram grew apace. besides self-confidence and the constant, slow unraveling of his memory problems, each day yielded rich gifts: no less than added trust in each other. always they found each other steadfast, utterly to be relied upon. ezram never regretted for a moment his offer to ben. the young man had seemingly developed under his eye and was a real aid to him in all the problems of the journey. as the days passed, the whole tone and key of the land had seemed to change. they were full in the mountains now, snow gleaming on the heights, forests blue-black on the slopes; and ben's response was a growing excitement that at first he could not analyze. the air was sweeter, more bracing, and sometimes he discerned a fleeting, delicate odor that drew him up short in his talk and held him entranced. there was a sparkle and stir in the air, unknown in the cities he had left; and to breathe it deeply thrilled him with an unexplainable happiness. some way it was all familiar, all dear to him as if it had once been close to his life. the sparkle in the air was not new, only recalled: long and long ago he had wakened to find just such a delicate fragrance in his nostrils. but the key hadn't come to him yet. his memory pictures were ever stronger of outline, clearer in his mind's eye, yet they were still too dim for him to interpret them. in these days ezram watched him closely, with a curious, intense interest. it was no longer pleasant to sleep out in the hay. for the sake of warmth alone they were obliged to hire their night's lodging at cheap hotels. spring was full in the land they had left: it was just beginning here. the mountains, visible from the village of saltsville where they left the railroad, were still swept with snow. ben felt that he would have liked to take a day off at this point and venture with his companion into the high, wooded hills that fronted the town, but he agreed with ezram that they could not spare the time. they swiftly made preparations for their journey down-river. a canoe was bought for a reasonable sum--they were told they had a good chance of selling it again when they left the river near snowy gulch--and at the general store they bought an axe, rudimentary fishing tackle, tobacco, blankets, and all manner of simpler provisions, such as flour, rice, bacon, coffee, canned milk, and sugar. and for a ridiculously small sum which he mysteriously produced from the pocket of his faded jeans ezram bought a second-hand rifle--an ancient gun of large caliber but of enduring quality--and a box of shells to match. "old hiram left me a gun, but we'll each need one," ezram explained. "and they tell me there's a chance to pick up game, like as not, goin' down the river." they would have need of good canoe-craft before the journey's end, the villagers told them. ezram had not boasted of any such ability, and at first ben regarded the plan with considerable misgivings. and it was with the most profound amazement that, when they pushed off, he saw ezram deliberately seat himself in the bow, leaving the more important place to his young companion. "good heavens, i'll capsize you in a minute," ben said. "how do you dare risk it----" "push off and stop botherin' me," ezram answered. "there's a paddle--go ahead and shoot 'er." the waters caught the canoe, speeding it downstream; and in apprehension of immediate disaster ben seized the paddle. swiftly he thrust it into the streaming water at his side. he was not further aware of ezram's searching gaze. he did not know of the old man's delight at the entire incident--first the anxious, hurried stroke of the paddle, then the movement of ben's long fingers as he caught a new hold, finally the white flame of exultation that came into his face. for himself, ben instantly knew that this was his own sphere. he suddenly found himself an absolute master of his craft: at the touch of the paddle controlling it as a master mechanic controls a delicate machine. the white waters were no more to be feared. he found that he knew, as if by instinct, every trick of the riverman's trade,--the slow stroke, the fast stroke, the best stroke for a long day's sail, the little half-turn in his hands that put the blade on edge in the water and gave him the finest control. it was all so familiar, so unspeakably dear to him. clear, bright memories hovered close to him, almost within his grasp. "do you remember when you shot the athabaska rapids?" ezram had asked. it was all clear enough. in that life that was forgotten he had evidently lived much in a canoe, knowing every detail of river life. perhaps he had been a master canoeist; at least he felt a strange, surging sense of self-confidence and power. he understood, now, why the image of rushing waters had come so often into his dreams. dim pictures of river scenes--cataracts white with foam, rapids with thunderous voices, perilous eddies, and then, just beyond, glassy waters where the shadow of the canoe was unbroken in the blue depths--streamed through his mind, but they were not yet bright enough for him to seize and hold. he enjoyed the first few hours of paddling, but in the long, warm afternoon came indolence, and they were both willing to glide with the current and watch the ever-changing vista of the shore. for the first time since they had come into the real north, ben found opportunity to observe and study the country. already they were out of sight of the last vestige of a habitation; and the evergreen forests pushed down to the water's edge. from the middle of the stream the woods appeared only as a dark wall, but this was immeasurably fascinating to ben. it suggested mystery, adventure; yet its deeper appeal, the thing that stirred him and thrilled him to the quick, he could neither understand nor analyze. sometimes a little clump of trees stood apart, and from their shape he identified them as the incomparable spruce, perhaps the most distinguished and beautiful of all the evergreens. he marked their great height, their slender forms, their dark foliage that ever seemed to be silvered with frost; and they seemed to him to answer, to the fullest extent, some vague expectation of which he had scarcely been aware. the wild life of the river filled him with speechless delight. sometimes he saw the waters break and gleam at the leap of a mighty salmon--the king fish of the north on his spring rush to the headwaters where he would spawn and die--and often the canoe sent flocks of waterfowl into flight. ben dimly felt that on the tree-clad shores larger, more glorious living creatures were standing, hiding, watching the canoe glide past. the thought thrilled him. late afternoon, and they worked closer to the shore. they were watching for a place to land. but because the shadows of twilight were already falling, the forest itself was hardly more vivid to their eyes. once it seemed to ben that he saw the underbrush move and waver at the water's edge, and his heart leaped; but whatever stirred kept itself concealed. and now, in the gray of twilight, ezram saw the place to land. it was a small lagoon into which a creek emptied, and beyond was an open meadow, found so often and so unexpectedly in the north woods. swiftly ben turned the canoe into shore. ezram climbed out and made fast, and so busy was he with his work that he did not glance at ben, otherwise he might have beheld a phenomenon that would have been of keen interest to the alienist, forest. his young charge had suddenly grown quite pale. ben himself was neither aware of this nor of the fact that his heart was hammering wildly in his breast and his blood racing, like wild rivers, through his veins: he was only thrilled and held by a sense of vast, impending developments. every nerve tingled and thrilled, and why he did not know. ezram began to unload; but now, his blue eyes shining, he began a covert watch of his young companion. he saw the man from prison suddenly catch his breath in inexpressible awe and his eye kindle with a light of unknown source. a great question was shaping itself in ben's mind, but as yet he could not find the answer. all at once ben knew this place. here was nothing strange or new: it was all as he had known it would be in his inmost heart. all of it spoke to him with familiar voice, seemingly to welcome him as a son is welcomed after long absence. there was nothing here that had not been known and beloved of old. vivid memories, bright as lightning, swept through him. he had always known this wholesome, sweet breath that swept into his face. it was merely that of the outdoors, the open places that were his own haunts. it was wholly fitting and true that the silence should lie over the dark spruce that ringed about him, a silence that, in its infinite harmony with some queer mood of silence in his own heart, was more moving than any voice. all was as he had secretly known: the hushed tree aisles, the gray radiance--soft as a hand upon the brow--of the afterglow; the all-pervading health and peace of the wilderness. except for an old and trusted companion, he was alone with it all, and that too was as it should be. just he and the forest, his companion and the gliding river. he didn't try to understand, at first, the joy and the wonder that thrilled him, nor could he speak aloud the thoughts that came to him. ravished and mystified, he walked softly to the dark, still edge of the forest, penetrated it a distance, then sat down to wait. for the first time in years, it seemed to him, he was at peace. a strange sense of self-realization--lost to him in his years of exile--climbed like fire through him; and with it the return of a lost virility, a supreme vigor tingling each little nerve; a sense of strength and power that was almost blinding. he sat still. he saw the twilight descending, ever heavier, over the forest. the sharp edges of the individual trees faded and blended, the trunks blurred. he turned one fleeting glance of infinite, inexpressible gratitude toward ezram--the man who had brought him here and who now was busily engaged in unpacking the canoe and making camp--then looked back to his forests. the wind brought the wood smells,--spruce and moldering earth and a thousand more no man could name. the great, watchful, brooding spirit of the forest went in to him. all at once his heart seemed to pause in his breast. he was listening,--for what he did not know. his eyes strained into the shadows. brush wavered, a twig cracked with a miniature explosion. and then two figures emerged into the beaver meadow opposite him. they were only creatures of the wild, an old cow moose, black and ungainly, and her long-legged, awkward calf. yet they supplied the detail that was missing. they were the one thing needed to complete the picture--the crowning touch that revealed this land as it was--the virgin wilderness where the creatures of the wild still held full sway. but it did more. all at once a great clarity seemed to take possession of his mind. here, in these dark forests, were the _stimuli_ of which forest, the alienist, had spoken; and his brain seemed to leap, as in one impulse, to the truth. suddenly he knew the answer to all the questions and problems that had troubled him so long. many times, in the past years, he had seen logs jammed in the water, a veritable labyrinth that defied dissolution. suddenly, as if by magic, the key log would be ejected, and the whole jam would break, shatter down in one stupendous crash, settle and dissolve, leaving at last only drift logs floating quietly in the river. thus it was with the confusion in his brain. all at once it seemed to dissolve, the tangled skeins straightened out, the association areas of his mind stirred full into life once more. as he sat there, pale as the twilight sky, the mists of amnesia lifted from him. he was cured as if by the touch of a holy man. no wonder these forests depths were familiar. his boyhood and early manhood, clear until the vortex of war had engulfed him, had been spent amid just such surroundings, in just such silences, on the banks of just such wilderness rivers. the same sky line of dark, heaven-reaching spruce had fronted him of old. he sprang up, his eyes blazing. "i remember everything," an inaudible voice spoke within him. then he whispered, fervently, to his familiar wilds. "and i have come home." vii everything was as it should be, as he and ezram made the camp. he himself cut the boughs for their beds, laid them with his remembered skill, spread the blankets, and kept the fire blazing while ezram cooked; afterwards he knew the indescribable peace of a pipe smoke beside the glowing coals. he saw the moon come up at last, translating the spruce forest into a fairy land. of course he had remembered the moon. how many times had he watched for its argent gleam on the sky line, the vivid, detailed silhouette of the spruce against it; and then its slow-spreading glory through the still, dark forests! the spires of the trees grew ensilvered, as always; immense nebulous patches lay between the trunks, shadows stole mysteriously, phantoms met, lingered, and vanished. this was his own north! the stir and vigor in the very air told him that. this was the land he had dreamed of, under the moon; the primeval forests that had tried him, tested him, staked their cruel might against him, but yet had blessed him with their infinite beneficence and hospitality. it was ever somber, yet its dusky beauty stirred him more than any richness he had seen in bright cities. he knew its every mood: ecstasy in spring; gentleness in summer; brooding melancholy in the gray days of fall; remorseless, savage, but unspeakably beautiful in the winter. he felt his old pity for the spring flowers, blossoming so hopefully in this gentle season. how soon they would be covered with many feet of snow! "it's all come clear again," he told ezram. and the two men talked over, quietly and happily, old days at thunder lake. he remembered now that ezram had always been the most intimate friend of his own family: a spry old godfather to himself and young sister, a boon companion to his once successful rival, ben's father. ben did not wonder, now, at his own perplexity when forest had spoken of "wolf" darby. that was his own name known throughout hundreds of square miles of forest and in dozens of little river hamlets in an eastern province. partly the name was in token of his skill as a woodsman and frontiersman, partly in recognition of certain traits that his fellow woodsmen had seen and wondered at in him. it was not an empty nickname, in his case. it was simply that the name suited him. "the boys had reason a-plenty for callin' you that," ezram told him. "up here, as you know, men don't get no complimentary epithets unless they deserve 'em. some men, ben, are like weasels. you've seen 'em. you've seen human rats, too. as if the souls they carried around with 'em was the souls of rats. of course you remember 'grizzly' silverdale? did you ever see any one who in disposition and looks and walk and everything reminded you so much of a grizzly bear? i've known men like sheep, and men with the faithful souls of dogs. you remember when you got in the big fight in the le perray bar?" "i don't think i'll ever forget it again." "that's the night the name came on you, to stay. you remember how you'd drive into one of them, leap away, then tear into another. like a wolf for all the world! you was always hard to get into a fight, but you know as well as i do, and i ain't salvin' you when i say it, that you're the most terrible, ferocious fighter, forgettin' everything but blood, that ever paddled a canoe on the athabaska. some men, ben, seem to have the spirit of the wolf right under their skins, a sort of a wild instinct that might have come straight down from the stone age, for all i know. you happen to be one of 'em, the worst i ever saw. maybe you don't remember, but you took your bull moose before you was thirteen years old." ben sat dreaming. the athabaska rapids was not an empty name to him now. he remembered the day he had won the canoe race at lodge pole. other exploits occurred to him,--of brutal, savage brawls in river taverns, of adventures on the trail, of struggling with wild rivers when his canoe capsized, of running the great logs down through white waters. it was his world, these far-stretching wildernesses. and he blessed, with all the fervency of his heart, the man who had brought him home. he went to his bed, but sleep did not at once come to him. he lay with hushed breathing, listening to the little, secret noises, known so well, of the wilderness night. he heard the wild creatures start forth on their midnight journeys. once a lynx mewed at the edge of the forest; and he laughed aloud when some large creature--probably a moose--grunted and splashed water in the near-by beaver meadow. thus ended the first of a brilliant succession of joyous days, descending the stream in the daylight hours and camping on the bank at night. every day they plunged deeper into the heart of the wilderness, and every hour ben felt more at home. it was only play for him,--to meet and shoot successfully the rapids of the river. in the long stillnesses he paddled hour upon hour, not only to make time but to find an outlet for his surging energy. his old-time woodsman's pleasures were recalled again: shooting waterfowl for their mess in the still dawns, racing the swimming moose when they ran on him in the water. one day, fish hungry, he rigged up the elementary fishing tackle that they had brought from saltsville and tried for a salmon. to a long, tough rod cut on the river bank he attached thirty feet of cheap, white cord, and to the cord he fastened a bright spoon hook--the spinner that salmon fishers know. he had no leader, no reel, no delicately balanced salmon rod--and ezram was full of scorn for the whole proceeding. and it was certainly true that, by all the rules of angling, ben had no chance whatever to get a bite. the cord was visible in the clear water, and the spoon itself was scarcely more than twenty feet from the rear of the boat. but this northern stream was not at all like the famous salmon rivers known to sportsmen. in years to come, when the lines of communication are better and tourist hotels are established on its banks, the river may then begin to conform to the qualifications of a conventional fishing stream, and then ben's crude tackle will be unavailing. but at present the salmon were not so particular. as fishermen came but rarely, the fish were in countless numbers; and in such a galaxy there were bound to be few misguided fish that did not know a sportsman's tackle from a dub's. the joy of angling, once known, dwells in the body until death, and ben was a born fisherman. the old delight that can never die crept back to him the instant he felt the clumsy rod in his hands and the faint throb of the line through the delicate mechanism of his nerves. and apparently for no other reason than that the river hordes wished to welcome him home, almost at once a gigantic bull salmon took his spoon. ezram's first knowledge of it was a wild yell that almost startled him over the side--the same violent outcry that old anglers still can not restrain when the fish takes hold, even after a lifetime of angling. when he recovered himself he looked to see ben kneeling frantically in the stern, hanging for dear life to his rod and seemingly in grave danger of being pulled overboard. no man who has felt that first, overpowering jolt of a striking salmon can question the rapture of that first moment. the jolt carried through all the intricacies of the nerves, jarred the soul within the man, and seemingly registered in the germ plasm itself an impression that could be recalled, in dreams, ten generations hence. fortunately the pole withstood that first, frantic rush, and then things began to happen in earnest. the great trout seemed to dance on the surface of the water. he tugged, he swam in frantic circles, he flopped and darted and sulked and rushed and leaped. if he hadn't been securely hooked, and if it had not been for a skill earned in a hundred such battles, ben would not have held him a moment. but the time came at last, after a sublime half-hour, when his steam began to die. his rushes were less powerful, and often he hung like a dead weight on the line. slowly ben worked him in, not daring to believe that he was conquering, willing to sell his soul for the privilege of seeing the great fish safe in the boat. his eyes protruded, perspiration gleamed on his brow, he talked foolishly and incessantly to ezram, the fish, the river-gods, and himself. ezram, something of an old isaac walton himself, managed the canoe with unusual dexterity and chuckled in the contagion of ben's delight. and lo--in a moment more the thing was done. "you'd think you never had a rod in your hand before," ezram commented in mock disgust. "such hollerin' and whoopin' i never heard." ben grinned widely. "that's fishing--the sport that keeps a man an amateur all his days--with an amateur's delight." his vivid smile quivered at his lips and was still. "that's why i love the north; it can never, never grow old. you're just as excited at the close as at the beginning. ezram, old man, it's life!" ezram nodded. perhaps, in the moment's fire, ben had touched at the truth. perhaps _life_, in its fullest sense, is something more than being born, breathing air, consuming food, and moving the lips in speech. _life_ is a thing that wilderness creatures know, realized only when the blood, leaping red, sweeps away lifeless and palsied tissue and builds a more sentient structure in its place; invoked by such forces as adventure and danger and battle and triumph. for the past half-hour ben had lived in the fullest sense, and ezram was a little touched by the look of unspeakable gratitude with which his young companion regarded him. but the journey ended at last. they saw the white peak they had been told to watch for, and soon after they came to a green bank from which the forest had been cut away. softly, rather regretfully, they pushed up and made landing on the banks of a small stream, tributary to the great river, that marked the end of the water route. this stream, ezram knew, was poor man's creek, the stream of which his brother had written and which they must ascend to reach spruce pass. only five miles distant, in a quartering direction from the river, was snowy gulch, the village where they were to secure supplies and, from steve morris, the late hiram's gun and his pet, fenris. for a time, at least, they had left the utter solitudes of the wild. men had cut away the forest and had built a crude wagon road to snowy gulch. and before they were fully unpacked they made out the figure of a middle-aged frontiersman, his back loaded, advancing up the road toward them. both men knew something of the ways of the frontier and turned in greeting. "howdy," ezram began pleasantly. "howdy," the stranger replied. "how was goin'?" "oh, good enough." "come all the way from saltsville?" "yes. goin' to snowy gulch." "it's only five miles, up this road," the stranger ventured. "i'm goin' up saltsville way myself, but i won't have no river to tow me. i've got to do my own paddlin'. thank the lord i'm only goin' a small part of the way." "you ain't goin' to swim, are you? where's your boat." "my pard's got an old craft, and he and i are goin' to pack it out next trip." the stranger paused, blinking his eyes. "say, partners--you don't want to sell your boat, do you?" ben started to speak, but the doubtful look on ezram's face checked him. "oh, i don't know," the old man replied, in the discouraging tones of a born tradesman. in reality the old shylock's heart was leaping gayly in his breast. this was almost too good to be true: a purchaser for the boat in the first hour. "yet we might," he went on. "we was countin' on goin' back in it soon." "i'd just as leave buy it, if you want to sell it. in this jerked-off town there ain't a fit canoe to be had. our boat is the worst tub you ever seen. how much you want for it?" ezram stated his figure, and ben was prone to believe that he had adopted a highwayman for a buddy. the amount named was nearly twice that which they had paid. and to his vast amazement the stranger accepted the offer in his next breath. "it's worth something to bring it up here, you dub," ezram informed his young partner, when the latter accused him of profiteering. after the sale was made ezram and the stranger soon got on the intimate terms that almost invariably follow a mutually satisfactory business deal, and in the talk that ensued the old man learned a fact of the most vital importance to their venture. and it came like a bolt from the blue. "so you don't know any folks in snowy gulch, then?" the stranger had asked politely. "but you'll get acquainted soon enough--" "i've got a letter to a feller named morris," ezram replied. "and i've heard of one or two more men too--jeffery neilson was one of 'em--" "you'll find morris in town all right," the stranger ventured to assure him. "he lives right next to neilson's. and--say--what do you know about this man neilson?" "oh, nothin' at all. why?" "if you fellows is prospectin', jeffery neilson is a first-class man to stay away from--and his understrapers, too--ray brent and chan heminway. but they're out of town right now. they skinned out all in a bunch a few weeks ago--and i can't tell you what kind of a scent they got." ezram felt cold to the marrow of his bones. he glanced covertly at ben; fortunately his partner was busy among the supplies and was not listening to this conversation. yet likely enough it was a false alarm! doubtless the ugly possibility that occurred to him had no justification whatever in fact. nevertheless, he couldn't restrain the question that was at his lips. "you don't know where they went, do you?" he asked. "not exactly. they took up this creek here a ways, through spruce pass, and over to yuga river--the country that kind of a crazy old chap named hiram melville, who died here a few weeks ago, has always prospected." the stranger marvelled that his old listener should have suddenly gone quite pale. viii ezram had only a moment's further conversation with his new friend. he put two or three questions--in a rather curious, hushed voice--and got his answer. yes, it was true that the shortest way to go to the yuga river was to follow up the creek by which he was now standing. it was only out of the way to go into snowy gulch: they would have to come back to this very point. and yes, a pedestrian, carrying a light pack, could make much better time than a horseman with pack animals. the horses could go no faster than a walk, and the time required to sling packs and care for the animals cut down the day's march by half. these things learned, ezram strolled over to his young partner. and at that moment he revealed the possession of a talent that neither he nor any of his friends had ever suspected. the stage had lost an artist of no mean ability when ezra melville had taken to the cattle business. outwardly, to the last, little lines about his lips and eyes, he was his genial, optimistic, droll old self. his eye twinkled, his face beamed in the gray stubble, his voice was rollicking with the fun of life the same as ever. and like pagliacci in his masque there was not the slightest exterior sign of the fear and despair that chilled his heart. "what have you and your poor victim been talking about, all this time?" ben asked. "oh, just a gab-fest--a tat-i-tat as you'd call it. but you know, ben, i've got a idea all a-sudden." ben straightened, lighted his pipe, and prepared to listen. "this old boy tells me that we'd save just twelve miles by striking off front here, instead of goin' into town. snowy gulch is six miles, and we have to come back to this very place. what's the use of goin' into town at all?" "good heavens, ez? have you forgotten we've got to get supplies? and your brother's gun--and his dog?" "how do you know he's got a dog?" "he said a pup, didn't he? but it may be an elephant for all i know. of course, we've got to go on in." "yes, i know--one of us has. but, ben, it seems to me that one of us ought to strike off now and figure out the way and sort of get located. one of us could take a little food and a couple of blankets and make it through in less than a day. half a day, almost. then we could have the cabin all ready, and everything laid out for to begin work. he could blaze any dim spots in the trail and save time for the other feller, comin' with the horses." "oh, it would be all right," ben began rather doubtfully. "i don't see that much is to be gained by it. but i'll strike off on foot, if you want me to." ezram's mind was flashing with thoughts like lightning, and his answer was ready. "ben, if you don't mind, i'll do that," he said. "i can get along without gazin' at the sky-scrapers of snowy gulch, and to tell the truth, that twelve miles of extra walkin' don't appeal to me one bit. i'd as soon have you tend to all the things in town." "but you'd get a ride, if you waited--" "i hate a horse, anyway--" "you've surely changed a lot since the war." "i was thrown off not long ago--and have been leery of the dum things ever since. i'd walk, sooner than ride, even if i did have a horse. so you roll me that big hudson bay blanket and give me a couple of day's rations. i'll make a pack for my back that i can't feel. then you strike off into town." without especial enthusiasm ben agreed. ezram gave a great sigh of satisfaction. he had put through the deal: ben's secret thought was that ezram's curiosity--always a pronounced trait with the old--had mastered him, and he could not wait longer to explore the mine. not one glimpse of the truth as to ezram's real reason for desiring to push on alone as much as occurred to him. ezram was wholly deliberate. he knew what waited him on arrival at his brother's claim. jeffery neilson and his gang had assembled there, had already jumped the claim just as his brother had warned him that they would do; and coolly and quietly he had resolved to face them alone. they were desperate men, not likely to be driven from the gold by threats or persuasion only. but there was no law in his life, no precept in his code, whereby he could subject his young partner to the risk. it was true that the desire to arrive on the scene at the earliest possible moment had been a factor in his decision. one of them could hurry on, unimpeded by the pack animals, and the other must linger to secure their supplies; and there could really be no question, in ezram's mind, which should go and which should stay. he had known perfectly that if ben had realized the true need for haste, he would never have submitted so tamely to ezram's will. the old man knew wolf darby. the strong dark eyes in the lean, raw-boned face reassured him as to this knowledge. ben would go too, if he knew the truth. likely he would insist on going alone. ezram had decided the whole thing in a flash, realizing that a lone pedestrian would be practically as effective in dealing with the usurpers as two horsemen, impeded by the pack animals. if they didn't shoot to kill at first sight of him ezram would have time in plenty to seek refuge in the forest and do a sharpshooter's business that would fill his old heart with joy. and there really wasn't any question as to which of the two should go. their partnership was of long duration; their comradeship was deep; ben was young, and ezram himself was old! ezram made his decision entirely casually, and he would have been surprised out of his wits if any one had expressed wonder of it. he knew no self-pity or sentimentality, only the knowledge that he did not desire that his young buddy should be shot full of holes in the first moment of play. the only fear that had visited him was that ben might catch on and not let him go. and now he could scarcely restrain his triumphant chuckles in ben's hearing. he made his pack--a few simple provisions wrapped in his blanket--and a knife and camp axe swung on his belt. he took his trusted pipe--because he knew well that he could never acquit himself creditably in a fight without a few lungfuls of tobacco smoke first--and he also took his rifle. "you'll be gettin' my brother's gun when you get to snowy gulch," he explained, "and i may see game on the way out. and you keep this copy of the letter." he handed ben the copy he had made of hiram's will. "i'm the worst hand for losin' things you ever seen." "you're sure you've got the directions straight?" "sure.--and i guess that's all." they said their simple good-bys, shaking hands over a pile of stores. "i've only got one decent place to keep things safe," ezra confided, "and that ain't so all-fired decent, either. when i get any papers that are extra precious, i always stick 'em down the leg of these high old boots, between the sock and the leather. but it's too much work to take the boot off now, so you keep the letter." "i suppose you've got a million-dollar bank note hidden down there now," ben remarked. "no, not a cent. just the same, if ever i get shuffled off all of a sudden--rollin' down one of these mountains, say--i want you to look there mighty careful. there may be a document or two of importance--letter to my old home, and all that." "i won't forget," ben promised. "see that you don't." they shook hands again, lightly and happily. "so good-by, son, and--'_take keer of yerself_!'" the old man turned away, and soon his withered figure vanished into the thickets farther up the river. he was following a fairly well-worn moose trail, and he went swiftly. soon he was out of hearing of the sound of the great river. then the little woods people--marten and ermine and rodent and such other small forest creatures that--who can say?--might watch with exceeding interest the travelers on the trails, could have thought that old ezram was already fatigued. he sat down beside a tree and drew a soiled sheet of paper from his pocket. searching further he found then the stub of a pencil. then he wrote. having written he unlaced his boot on the right foot, folded the paper, and thrust it into the bootleg. then, relacing the shoe, he arose and journeyed blithely on. ix on arriving in snowy gulch, ben's first efforts were to inquire in regard to horses. both pack and saddle animals, he learned, were to be hired of sandy mcclurg, the owner of the general store and leading citizen of the village; and at once he made his way to confer with him. "most of my mustangs are rented out," the merchant informed him when they met in the rear of the general store, "but if you can get along with three, i guess i can fix you up. you can pack two of 'em, and ride the third." "good enough," ben agreed. "and after i once get in, i'd like to turn back two of them, and maybe all three--to save the hire and the bother of taking care of them. i suppose, after the fashion of cayuses, they'll leg it right home." "just a little faster than a dog. horses don't much care to grub their food out of them spruce forests. they're good plugs, so of course i don't want to rent 'em to any one who'll abuse 'em, or take 'em on too hard trips. where are you heading, if the question's fair?" "through spruce pass and down into the yuga river." "prospecting, eh? there's been quite a movement down that way lately, considering it never was anything but a pocket country. by starting early you can make it through in a day. and you said your name was--" "darby. ben darby." the merchant opened his eyes. "not the ben darby that took all the prizes at the meet at lodge pole--" ben's rugged face lit with the brilliancy of his smile. "the same darby," he admitted. "well, well! i hope you'll excuse them remarks about abusing the horses. if i had known who you was, 'wolf' darby, i'd have known you knew how to take care of cayuses. take 'em for as long as you want, or where you want. and when did you say you was going?" "first thing to-morrow." "well, you're pretty likely to have companionship on the road, too. there is another party that is going up that way either to-morrow or the day after. pretty lucky for you." "i'm glad of it, if he isn't a tenderfoot. that must be a pretty thickly settled region--where i'm heading." "on the contrary, there's only three human beings in the whole district--and there's a thousand of square miles back of it without even one. these three are some men that went up that way prospecting some time ago, and this other party will make four." he paused, smiling. "yes, i think you will enjoy this trip to-morrow, after you see who it is. i'd enjoy it, and i'm thirty years older than you are." ben's thought was elsewhere, and he only half heard. "all right--i'll be here before dawn to-morrow and get the horses. and now will you tell me--where steve morris lives? i've got some business with him." "right up the street--clear to the end of the row." mcclurg's humor had quite engulfed him by now, and he chuckled again. "and if i was you, i'd stop in the door just this side--and get acquainted with your fellow traveler." "what's his name?" ben asked. "the party is named neilson." unfortunately the name had no mental associations for ben. it wakened no interest or stirred no memories. he had read the letter the copy of which he carried but once, and evidently the name of the man ezram had been warned against had made no lasting impression on ben's mind. "all right. maybe i'll look him up." ben turned, then made his way up the long, straggly row of unpainted shacks that marked the village street. a few moments later he was standing in the morris home, facing the one friend that hiram melville had possessed on earth. ben stated his case simply. he was the partner of hiram's brother, he said, and he had been designated to take care of fenris and such other belongings as hiram had left. morris studied his face with the quiet, far-seeing eyes of a woodsman. "you've got means of identification?" he asked. ben realized with something of a shock that he had none at all. the letter he carried was merely a copy without hiram's signature; besides, he had no desire to reveal its contents. for an instant he was considerably embarrassed. but morris smiled quietly. "i guess i won't ask you for any," he said. "hiram didn't leave anything, far as i know, except his old gun and his pet. lord knows, i'd let anybody take that pet of his that's fool enough to say he's got any claim to him, and you can be sure i ain't going to dispute his claim." "fenris, then, is,--something of a problem?" "the worst i ever had. his old gun is a good enough weapon, but i'm willing to trust you with it to get rid of fenris. if you don't turn out to be the right man, i'll dig up for the gun--and feel lucky at that. i won't be able to furnish another fenris, though, and i guess nobody'll be sorry. and if i was you--i'd take him out in a nice quiet place and shoot him." he turned, with the intention of securing the gun from an inner room. he did not even reach the door. it was as if both of them were struck motionless, frozen in odd, fixed attitudes, by a shrill scream for help that penetrated like a bullet the thin walls of the house. instinctively both of them recognized it, unmistakably, as the piercing cry of a woman in great distress and terror. it rose surprisingly high, hovered a ghastly instant, and then was almost drowned out and obliterated by another sound, such a sound as left ben only wondering and appalled. the sound was in the range between a growl and a bay, instantly identifying itself as the utterance of an animal, rather than a human being. and it was savage and ferocious simply beyond power of words to tell. ben's first thought was of some enormous, vicious dog, and yet his wood's sense told him that the utterance was not that of a dog. rather it contained that incredible fierceness and savagery that marks the killing cries of the creatures of the wild. he heard it even as he leaped through the door in answer to the scream for aid. his muscles gathered with that mysterious power that had always sustained him in his moments of crisis. he took the steps in one leap, morris immediately behind him. "fenris is loose," he heard the man say. "he'll kill some one----!" ben could still hear the savage cries of the animal, seemingly from just behind the adjoining house. a girl's terrified voice still called for help. and deeply appalled by the sounds, ben wished that the rifle, such a weapon as had been his trust since early boyhood, was ready and loaded in his hands. he raced about the house; and at once the scene, in every vivid detail, was revealed to him. pressed back against the wall of a little woodshed that stood behind her house a girl stood at bay,--a dark-eyed girl whose beautiful face was drawn and stark-white with horror. she was screaming for aid, her fascinated gaze held by a gray-black, houndlike creature that crouched, snarling, twenty yards distant. evidently the creature was stealing toward her in stealthy advance more like a stalking cat than a frenzied hound. nor was this creature a hound, in spite of the similarity of outline. such fearful, lurid surface-lights as all of them saw in its fierce eyes are not characteristic of the soft, brown orbs of the dog, ancient friend to man, but are ever the mark of the wild beast of the forest. the fangs were bared, gleaming in foam, the hair stood erect on the powerful shoulders; and instantly ben recognized its breed. it was a magnificent specimen of that huge, gaunt runner of the forests, the northern wolf. evidently from the black shades of his fur he was partly of the siberian breed of wolves that beforetime have migrated down on the north american side of bering sea. a chain was attached to the animal's collar, and this in turn to a stake that had been freshly pulled from the ground. this beast was fenris,--the woods creature that old hiram melville had raised from cubdom. there could be no doubt as to the reality of the girl's peril. the animal was insane with the hunting madness, and he was plainly stalking her, just as his fierce mother might have stalked a fawn, across the young grass. already he was almost near enough to leap, and the girl's young, strong body could be no defense against the hundred and fifty pounds of wire sinew and lightning muscle that constituted the wolf. the bared fangs need flash but once for such game as this. and yet, after the first, startled glance, ben darby felt himself complete master of the situation. no man could tell him why. no fact of his life would have been harder to explain, no impulse in all his days had had a more inscrutable origin. the realization seemed to spring from some cool, sequestered knowledge hidden deep in his spirit. he knew, in one breathless instant, that he was the master--and that the girl was safe. he seemed to know, again, that he had found his ordained sphere. he knew this breed,--this savage, blood-mad, fierce-eyed creature that turned, snarling, at his approach. he had something in common with the breed, knowing their blood-lusts and their mighty moods; and dim, dreamlike memory reminded him that he had mastered them in a long war that went down to the roots of time. fenris was only a fellow wilderness creature, a pack brother of the dark forests, and he had no further cause for fear. "fenris!" he ordered sharply. "come here!" his voice was commanding and clear above the animal's snarls. there followed a curious, long instant of utter silence and infinite suspense. the girl's scream died on her lips: the wolf stood tense, wholly motionless. morris, who had drawn his knife and had prepared to leap with magnificent daring upon the wolf, turned with widening eyes, instinctively aware of impending miracle. ben's eyes met those of the wolf, commanding and unafraid. "down, fenris," ben said again. "down!" then slowly, steadily, ben moved toward him. watching unbelieving, morris saw the fierce eyes begin to lose their fire. the stiff hair on the shoulders fell into place, tense muscle relaxed. he saw in wonder that the animal was trembling all over. ben stood beside him now, his hand reaching. "down, down," he cautioned quietly. suddenly the wolf crouched, cowering, at his feet. x ben straightened to find himself under a wondering scrutiny by both morris and the girl. "good lord, darby!" the former exclaimed. "how did you do it--" now that the suspense was over, ben himself stood smiling, quite at ease. "can't say just how. i just felt that i could--i've always been able to handle animals. he's tame, anyway." "tame, is he? you ought to have had to care for him the last few weeks, and you'd think tame. not once have i dared go in reach of his rope. and there he is, crouched at your feet! i was always dreading he'd get away--" morris paused, evidently remembering the girl. "beatrice, are you hurt?" the girl moved toward them. "no. he didn't touch me. but you came just in time--" the girl's voice wavered; and ben stepped to her side. "i'm all right now--" "but you'd better sit down," ben advised quietly. "it was enough to scare any one to death--" "any one--but you--" the girl replied, her voice still unsteady. but she paused when she saw the warm color spread over ben's rugged, brown face. and his embarrassment was real. naturally shy and unassuming, such effusive praise as this always disturbed him--just as it would have embarrassed any really masculine man alive. women, more extravagant in speech and loving flattery with a higher ardor, would have found it hard to believe how really distressed he was; but morris, an outdoor man to the core, understood completely. besides, ben knew that the praise was not deserved. excessive bravery had played no part in the scene of a moment before. he had been brave just as far as morris was brave, leaping freely in response to a call for help: the same degree of bravery that can be counted on in most men, over the face of the earth. bravery does not lie alone in facing danger: there must also be the consciousness of danger, the conquest of fear. in this case ben had felt no fear. he knew with a sure, true knowledge that he was master of the wolf. he knew the wolf's response to his words before ever he spoke. and now all the words in the language could not convey to these others whence that knowledge had come. he vaguely realized that this had always been some way part of his destiny,--the imposition of his will over the beasts of the forest. he had never tried to puzzle out why, knowing that such trial would be unavailing. he had instinctively understood such creatures as these. to-day he felt that he knew the wild, fierce heart beating in the lean breast as a man might know his brother's heart. the bond between them was hidden from his sight, something back of him, beyond him, enfolded within a secret self that was mysterious as a dream, and it reached into the countless years; yet it was real, an ancient relationship that was no less intimate because it could not be named. in turn, the wolf had seemed to know that this tall form was a born habitant of the forests, even as himself, one that would kill him as unmercifully as he himself would kill a fall, and whose dark eyes, swept with fire, and whose cool, strong words must never be disobeyed. "you never seen this wolf before?" morris asked him, calling him from his revery. "never." "then you must be old hiram's brother himself, to control him like you did. lord, look at him. crouching at your feet." suddenly ben reached and took the wolf's head between his hands. slowly he lifted the savage face till their eyes met. the wolf growled, then, whimpering, tried to avert its gaze. then a rough tongue lapped at the man's hand. "there's nothing to be afraid of, now," he told the girl. "he's right, beatrice," morris agreed. "he's tamed him. even i can see that much. and i never saw anything like it, since the day i was born." it was true: as far as ben was concerned, the terrible fenris--named by a swedish trapper, acquaintance of hiram melville's, for the dreadful wolf of scandinavian legend--was tamed. he had found a new master; ben had won a servant and friend whose loyalty would never waver as long as blood flowed in his veins and breath surged in his lungs. "lay still, now, fenris," he ordered. "don't get up till i tell you." it seems to be true that as a rule the lower animals catch the meaning of but few words; usually the tone of the voice and the gesture that accompanies it interpret a spoken order in a dog's brain. on this occasion, it was as if fenris had read his master's thought. he lay supine, his eyes intent on ben's rugged face. and now, for the first time, ben found himself regarding beatrice. he could scarcely take his eyes from her face. he knew perfectly that he was staring rudely, but he was without the power to turn his eyes. her dark eyes fell under his gaze. the truth was that ben's life had been singularly untouched by the influence of women. mostly his life had been spent in the unpeopled forest, away from women of all kinds; and such creatures as had admired him in seattle's underworld had never got close to him. he had had many dreams; but some way it had never been credible to him that he should ever know womanhood as a source of comradeship and happiness. love and marriage had always seemed infinitely apart from his wild, adventurous life. in his days in prison he had given up all dream of this happiness; but now he could begin to dream again. everything was changed now that he had come home. the girl's regard for him was friendly, even somewhat admiring, and the speculations of ripening womanhood were in her eyes. he returned her gaze with frankest interest and admiration. his senses had been made sharp in his wilderness life; and his respect for her grew apace. she was not only innocent and girlish; she had those traits, innate, that a strong man loves in women: such worth and depth of character as he wishes bequeathed to his children. ben drew a long breath. it was good to be home. he had not only found his forests, just as he had left them, but now again he was among the forest people. this girl was of his own breed, not a stranger; her standards were his; she was a woods girl no less than he was a woodsman. it is good to be among one's own people, those who can follow through and understand. she too knew the urge of unbridled vitality and spirit, common to all the woods children; and life's vivid meaning was her inheritance, no less than his. her arms and lips were warm from fast-flowing blood, her nerves were vibrant and singing like his own. a virgin still, her eyes were tender with the warmheartedness that is such a dominant trait of frontier peoples; but what fire, what passion might burn in them to-morrow! they were dark, lovely eyes, rather somber now in their earnestness, seeming shadowed by the dark shadows of the spruce themselves. no human face had ever given him such an image of beauty as that of this dark-eyed forest child before him. yet she was not piquant, demure, like the girls he had met in france; not stylish and sophisticated like those of the great cities he had visited since his return. her garb became her: simple, not holding the eye in itself but calling attention to the brunette beauty of her throat and face, the warm redness of her childish mouth, and the brown, warm color of her arms. she had dark, waving hair, lovely to touch, wistful red lips. because he was the woodsman, now and always, he marked with pleasure that there was no indication of ill-health or physical weakness about her. her body was lithe and strong, with the grace of the wild creatures. it would be good to know her, and walk beside her in the tree aisles. all manner of delectable possibilities occurred to him. but all at once he checked his dreams with an iron will. there must be no thought of women in his life--for now. he still had his way to make. a few hours more would find him plunging deeper into the forest, perhaps never to see her again. he felt an all-pervading sense of regret. "there's nothing i can say--to thank you," the girl was murmuring. "i never saw anything like it; it was just as if the wolf understood every word you said." "old hiram had him pretty well trained, i suspect." the man's eyes fell to the shaggy form at his feet. "i'm glad i happened along miss--" "miss neilson," the girl prompted him. "beatrice neilson. i live here." neilson! his mind seemed to leap and catch at the name. just that day he had heard it from the lips of the merchant. and this was the house next door where dwelt his fellow traveler for the morrow. "then it's your father--or brother--who's going to the yuga--" "no," the girl answered doubtfully. "my father is already there. i'm here alone--" then the gray eyes lighted and a smile broke about ben's lips. few times in his life had he smiled in quite this vivid way. "then it's you," he exulted, "who is going to be my fellow traveler to-morrow!" xi ben found, rather as he had expected, that the girl was not at all embarrassed by the knowledge that they were to have a lonely all-day ride together. she looked at the matter from a perfectly natural and wholesome point of view, and she could see nothing in it amiss or improper. the girls of the frontier rarely feel the need of chaperones. their womanhood comes early, and the open places and the fresh-life-giving air they breathe give them a healthy confidence in their ability to take care of themselves. beatrice had a pistol, and she could shoot it like a man. she loved the solitude of the forest, but she also knew it was good to hear the sound of a human voice when journeying the lonely trails. the frontier had also taught her to judge men. here foregathered many types, strong-thewed frontiersmen whose reverence for women surpassed, perhaps, that of any other class of men on earth, as well as the most villainous renegades, brutish offspring of the wilds, but she knew them apart. she realized from the first that this tall woodsman would have only kindness and respect for her; and that he was to be trusted even in those lonely forest depths beyond spruce pass. ben knew the wild beasts of the field better than he knew women, so her actual reception of the plan was lost to him. he felt that she was not displeased: in reality the delight and anticipation she felt were beyond any power of hers to tell. she had been tremendously thrilled and impressed by his dominance over the wolf. she liked his bright, steady, friendly eyes; because she was a woods girl her heart leaped at the sight of his upright, powerful body; but most of all she felt that he was very near indeed to an ideal come true, a man of terrific strength and prowess yet not without those traits that women love best in men,--courage and character and gentleness. "i'm surely glad i'm going to have a companion," he told her. "i won't miss ez--" but just then remembrance came to him, cutting the word off short. the letter he carried in his pocket contained certain advice in regard to silence, and perhaps now was a good time to follow it. there was no need to tell the people of snowy gulch about ezram and the claim. he remembered that he had been warned of the danger of claim jumpers. for an instant his mind seemed to hover at the edge of a more elusive memory; but he could not quite seize upon it. he only knew that it concerned the matter in hand, and that it left him vaguely troubled. "you were saying," the girl prompted him. "nothing very important--except how glad i am you are going my way. the woods are certainly lonesome by yourself. i suppose you'll be willing to make an early start." "the earlier the better. i've got a long way to go." they made their plans, and soon they parted to complete preparations for the journey. the girl went into her house: ben took the rifle, and followed by the wolf, struck down the main street of the village. it can be said for ben that he aroused no little conjecture and interest in the minds of the townspeople, striding through the street with the savage woods creature following abjectly at his heels. evidently ben's conquest was complete: the animal obeyed his every command as quickly as an intelligent dog. it was noticeable, however, that even the hardiest citizens kept an apprehensive eye on the wolf during the course of any conversation with ben. he bought supplies--flour and salt and a few other essentials--simple tools and utensils such as are carried by prospectors, blankets, shells for his rifle, and a few, simple, hard-wearing clothes. he went to bed dead tired, his funds materially reduced. but before dawn he was up, wholly refreshed; and after a hasty breakfast went to pack his horses for the trip. beatrice came stealing out of the shadows, more than ever suggestive of some timid creature of the forest, and the three of them saddled and packed the animals. as daylight broke they started out, down the shadowed street of the little town. "the last we'll see of civilization for a long, long time," the girl reminded him. the man thrilled deeply. "and i'm glad of it," he answered. "nothing ahead but the long trail!" it was a long trail, that which they followed along poor man's creek in the morning hours. the girl led, by right of having some previous acquaintance with the trail. the three pack horses walked in file between, heads low, tails whisking; and ben, with fenris at his horse's hoofs, brought up the rear. almost at once the spruce forest dropped over them, the silence and the gloom that ben had known of old. this was not like gliding in a boat down-river. the narrow, winding trail offered a chance for the most intimate study of the wilderness. from the river the woodsfolk were but an occasional glimpse, the stir of a thicket on the bank: here they were living, breathing realities,--vivid pictures perfectly framed by the frosty green of the spruce. from the first mile these two riders were the best of companions. they talked gaily, their voices carrying to each other with entire ease through the still glades. he found her spirited, warm-hearted, responding with an eager gladness to every fresh manifestation of the wild; and in spite of his gay laughter she read something of the dark moodiness and intensity that were his dominant traits. but he was kind, too. his attitude toward the little people met with on the trail--the little, scurrying folk--was particularly appealing: like that of a strong man toward children. she saw that he was sympathetic, instinctively chivalrous; and she got past his barrier of reserve as few living beings had ever done before. she saw at once that he was an expert horseman. riding a half-broken mustang over the winding, brush-grown moose trails of the north is not like cantering a thoroughbred along a park avenue, and a certain amount of difficulty is the rule rather than the exception; but he controlled his animal as no man of her acquaintance had ever done. he rode a bay mare that was not, by a long way, the most reliable piece of horseflesh mcclurg owned, yet she gave him the best she had in her, scrambling with a burst of energy on the pitches, leaping the logs, battling the mires, and obeying his every wish. the joy of the northern trails depends largely upon the service rendered by the horse between one's knees, and ben knew it to the full. before the first two hours were past beatrice found herself thrilling with admiration at ben's woodcraft. not only by experience but by instinct and character he was wholly fitted for life in the waste places. just as some artists are born with the soul of music, he had come to the earth with the red gods at his beck and call; the spirit of the wild things seemed to move in his being. she didn't wholly understand. she only knew that this man, newly come from "the states," riding so straight and talking so gaily behind her, had qualities native to the forest that were lacking not only in her, but in such men as her father and ray brent. seemingly he had inherited straight from the youngest days of the earth those traits by which aboriginal man conquered the wild. the first real manifestation of this truth occurred soon after they reached the bank of poor man's creek. all at once he had shouted at her and told her to stop her horse. she drew up and turned in her saddle, questioning. "there's something stirring in the thicket beside you. don't you hear him?" beatrice had sharp ears, but she strained in vain for the sound that, forty feet farther distant, ben heard easily. she shook her head, firmly believing his imagination had led him astray. but an instant later a coyote--one of those gray skulkers whose waging cries at twilight every woodfarer knows--sprang out of his covert and darted away. beatrice was amazed. the significance of the incident went further than the fact of mere good hearing. the coyote, except when he chooses to wail out his wrongs at the fall of night, is one of the forest shadows for silence--yet ben had heard him. it meant nothing less than that strange quickening of the senses found in but few--master woodsmen--that is the especial trait and property of the beasts themselves. now that they climbed toward spruce pass their talk died away, and more and more they yielded themselves to the hushed mood of the forest. their trail was no longer clearly pronounced. it was a wilderness thoroughfare in the true sense,--a winding path made by the feet of the great moose journeying from valley to valley. wild life became ever more manifest. they saw the grouse, franklin's fowl so well beloved by tenderfeet because of their propensity to sit still under fire and give an unsteady marksman a second shot. fool hens, the woodsman called them, and the motley and mark of their weak mentality were a red badge near the eye. the fat birds perched on the tree limbs over the trail, relying on their mottled plumage, blending perfectly with the dull grays and browns of the foliage, to keep them out of sight. but such wiles did not deceive ben. and once, in provision for their noon lunch, a fat cock tumbled through the branches at beatrice's pistol shot. the pine squirrels seemed to be having some sort of a competitive field meet, and the tricks they did in the trees above the trail filled the two riders with delight. they sped up and down the trunks; they sprang from limb to limb; they flicked their tails and turned their heads around backward and stood on their haunches, all the time chattering in the greatest excitement. once a porcupine--stupid, inoffensive old urson who carries his fort around on his back--rattled his quills in a near-by thicket; and once they caught a glimpse of a mule deer on the hillside. this was rather too cold and hard a country, however, to be beloved by deer. mostly they dwelt farther upriver. all manner of wild creatures, great and small, had left signs on the trails. there were tracks of otter and mink, those two river hunters whose skins, on ladies' shoulders, are better known than the animals themselves. they might be only patches of fur in cities, but they were living, breathing personages here. particularly they were personages to the trout. ben knew perfectly how the silver fish had learned to dart with such rapidity in the water. they learned it keeping out of the way of the otter and the mink. they saw the tracks of marten--the mink that has gone into the tree tops to live; the doglike imprints of a coyote at which fenris whimpered and scratched in excitement (doubtless wishing to run him down and bite him, as is the usual reception to the detested coyote by the more important woods creatures) and once the fresh mud showed that an old grizzly--the forest monarch, the ancient, savage despot of the woods of which all foresters, near and far, speak with deep respect--had passed that way but a few minutes before. foresters both, the two riders had every reason to believe that the old gray tyrant was lurking somewhere in the thickets beside the trail, half in anger, half in curiosity watching them ride past. and of course the tracks of moose, and of their fellows of mighty antlers, the caribou, were in profusion. to all these things beatrice responded with the joy of a true nature lover. her heart thrilled and her eyes were bright; and every new track was a fresh surprise and delight. but ben was affected more deeply still. the response he made had its origin and font in deeply hidden centers of his spirit; mysterious realms that no introspection could reveal or words lay bare. he knew nothing of beatrice's sense of constant surprise. in his own heart he had known that all these woodspeople would be waiting for him--just as they were--and he would have known far greater amazement to have found some of them gone. and instead of sprightly delight he knew only an all-pervading sense of comfort, as a man feels upon returning to his home country, among the people whom he knows and understands. xii at the very headquarters of poor man's creek, where the stream had dwindled to a silver thread between mossy banks, beatrice and ben made their noon camp. they were full in the heart of the wild, by now, and had mounted to those high levels and park lands beloved by the caribou. they built a small fire beside the stream and drew water from the deep, clear pools that lay between cascade and cascade. ben darby slowly became aware that this was one of the happiest hours of his life. he watched, with absorbed delight, the deft, sure motions of the girl as she fried the grouse and sliced bread, while ben himself tended to the coffee. already the two were on the friendliest terms, and since they were to be somewhere in the same region, the future offered the most pleasing vistas to both of them. when the horses were rested and ben's pipe was out, they ventured on. following a caribou trail, they ascended a majestic range of mountains--a trail too steep to ride and which the pack horses accomplished only with great difficulty--emerging onto a high plateau of open parks and small clumps of the darkest spruce. it was, of course, the most scenic part of the journey; and the inclination to talk died speedily from the lips. they rode in silence, watching. both of them were sure that words, no matter how beautiful and eloquent, could be only a sacrilege. the very tone of the high ranges is that of silence vast and eternal beyond scope of thought, and the only sounds that can fittingly shatter that mighty breathlessness are the great, calamitous phenomena of nature,--the thunder crashing in the sky and the avalanche on the slope. the forests they had just left were deeply silent, but the far hush had been alleviated by the soft noises of wild creatures stirring about their occupations; perhaps also by the feeling that the thickets were full of sound pitched just too high or just too low for human ears to hear; but even this relief was absent here. the high peaks stretched before them, one after another, until they faded into the horizon,--majestic, aloof, utterly and grandly silent. the snow still lay deep over the plateau, packed to the consistency of ice, and the marmots had not yet emerged to welcome the spring with their shrill, joyous whistling. from their high place they could see the hills spread out below them,--fold after fold as of a great cloak, deeply green, seemingly infinite in expanse, broken only by the blue glint of the agnes lakes, like two great twin sapphires hidden in the forest. but they couldn't make out a single roof top of snowy gulch. the forest had already claimed it utterly. this was the caribou range; wherever they looked they saw the tracks of the noble animals in the snow. later they caught a glimpse of the creatures themselves, a small herd of perhaps half a dozen swinging along the snow in their indescribable pacing gait. they were in fitting surroundings, their color inexpressibly vivid against the snow, and ben's heart warmed and thumped in his breast at the sight. but the trail descended at last into the great valley of the yuga. mile after mile, it seemed to them, they went down, leaving the snow, leaving the open glades, into the dark, still glens of spruce. at last they paused on the river bank. ben was somewhat amazed at the size of the stream when it emerged below the rapids. it was, at its present high stage, fully one hundred and fifty yards across, such a stream as would bear the traffic of commerce in any inhabited region. they turned down the moose trail that followed its bank. but it was not to be that this journey should hold only delight for ben. a half-mile down the river he suddenly made a most momentous and disturbing discovery. he had stopped his horse to reread the copy of hiram melville's letter, intending to verify his course. in the shadow of the tall, dark spruce--darkening ever as the light grew less--his eye sped swiftly over it. his gaze came to rest upon a familiar name. "look out for jeff neilson and his gang," the letter read. "they seen some of my dust." neilson--no wonder ben had been perplexed when beatrice had first spoken her name. no wonder it had sounded familiar. and the hot beads moistened his brow when he conceived of all the dreadful possibilities of that coincidence of names. yet because he was a woodsman of nature and instinct, blood and birth, he retained the most rigid self-control. he made no perceptible start. at first he did not glance at beatrice. slowly he folded the letter and put it back into his pocket. "i'm going all right," he announced. he urged his horse forward. his perfect self-discipline had included his voice: it was deep, but wholly casual and unshaken. "and how about you, miss neilson?" he pronounced her name distinctly, giving her every chance to correct him in case he had misunderstood her. but there was no hope here. "i'm going all right, i know." "it seems to me we must be heading into about the same country," ben went on. "you see, miss neilson, i'm going to make my first permanent camp somewhere along this still stretch; i've had inside dope that there's big gold possibilities around here." "it has never been a gold country except for pockets, some of them remarkably rich," she told him doubtfully, evidently trying not to discourage him. "but my father has come to the conclusion that it's really worth prospecting. he's in this same country now." "i suppose i'll meet him--i'll likely meet him to-night when i take you to the cabin on the river. you said his name was--" "jeffery neilson." for all that he was prepared for it, the name was a straight-out body blow to ben. he had still dared to hope that this girl was of no blood kin of the claim-jumper, jeffery neilson. the truth was now only too plain. by the girl's own word he was operating in hiram melville's district and unquestionably had already jumped the claim. his daughter was joining him now, probably to keep house for him; and for all that ben knew, already possessing guilty knowledge of her father's crime. it was hard to hold the head erect, after that. already he had builded much on his friendship with this girl, only to find that she was allied with the enemy camp. he saw in a flash how unlikely it would be that ezram and himself could drive the usurpers out: the claim-jumper is a difficult problem, even when the original discoverer is living and in possession, much more so when he is silent in his grave. ben had known the breed since boyhood, and he hated them as he hated coyotes and pack-rats. they lacked the manhood to brave the unknown in pursuit of the golden fleece; they waited until after years of grinding labor the strike was made and then pounced down upon the claim like vultures on the dead. ben was glad he had not obeyed his impulse to tell the girl of his true reason for coming to the yuga. he knew now, with many foes against him, he could best operate in the dark. his thought flashed to ezram. the recovery of the mine had been the old man's fondest dream, the last hope of his declining years, and this setback would go hard with him. the blow was ever so much more cruel on ezram's account than his own. ben could picture his downcast face, trying yet to smile; his sobered eyes that he would try to keep bright. but there would be certain planning, when they met again over their camp fire. and there were three of them allied now. fenris the wolf had come into his service. he glanced back at the gray-black creature that followed at the heels of his horse; and now, at twilight's graying, he saw that a significant and startling change had come over him. he no longer trotted easily behind them. he came stalking, almost as if in the hunt, his ears pointing, his neck hairs bristling, and there were the beginnings of curious, lurid lightnings in his eyes. there could be but one answer. he had been swept away in the current of madness that sweeps the forest at the fall of darkness: the age-old intoxication of the wilderness night. the hunting hours were at hand. the creatures of claw and fang were coming into their own. fenris was shivering all over with those dark wood's passions that not even the wisest naturalist can fully understand. the air was tingling and electric, just as ben recalled it a thousand nights. everywhere the hunters were leaving their lairs and starting forth; grasses moved and brush-clumps rustled; blood was hot and savage eyes were shot with fire. the mink, with unspeakable savagery, took the trail of a snow-shoe rabbit beside the river-bed; a lynx with pale, green, luminous eyes began his stalk of a tree squirrel, and various of fenris' fellows--pack brothers except for his own relations with men--sang a song that was old when the mountains were new as they raced, black in silhouette against the paling sky, along a snowy ridge. ben felt a quickening of his own senses, not knowing why. _his_ blood, too, spurted inordinately fast through his veins, and his flesh seemed to creep and tingle. there could be no surer proof of his legitimacy as a son of the wilderness. the passions that maddened the first men, near to the beasts they hunted in their ancient forests, returned in all their fullness. the dusk deepened. the trail dimmed so that the eye had to strain to follow it. complex and weird were the passions invoked to-night, but not even to the gray wolf that is, beyond all other creatures, the embodiment of the wilderness spirit, did there come such a madness, such a dark and terrible lust, as that which cursed a certain wayfarer beyond the next bend in the river. this was not one of the forest people, neither the lynx, nor the hunting otter, nor even the venerable grizzly with whom no one contests the trail. it was a human being,--a man of youthful body and strong, deeply lined, yet savage face. a close observer would have noticed the faintest tremor and shiver throughout his body. his eyes were very bright, vivid even in the dying day. he was deeply lost in his own mood, seemingly oblivious to the whole world about him. he carried a rifle in his hands. he was on his way to report to his chief; and just what would be forthcoming he did not know. but if too much objection were raised and affairs got to a crucial stage, he had nothing to fear. he had learned a certain lesson--an avenue to triumph. it was strange that he had never hit upon it before. his blood was scalding hot, and he was swept by exultation. not for an instant had he hesitated, nor would he ever hesitate again. there was no one in the north of greater might than he! no one could bend his will from now on. he had found the road to triumph. ray brent had discovered a new power within himself. perhaps even his chief, jeffery neilson, must yield before his new-found strength. xiii as twilight darkened to the full gloom of the forest night, ben and beatrice rode to a lonely cabin on the yuga river,--one that had been built by hiram melville years past and was just at the mouth of the little creek on which, less than a half-mile distant, he had his claim. they had seen a lighted window from afar, marking the end of beatrice's hard day's ride. "of course you won't try to go on to-night?" she asked ben. "you'll stay at the cabin?" "there likely won't be room for three," he answered. "but it's a clear night. i can make a fire and sleep out." it was true. the stars were emerging, faint points of light through the darkening canopy of the sky; and to the east a silver glint on the horizon forecast the rising moon. they halted at last; and beatrice saw her father's form, framed in the doorway. she hastened into his arms: waiting in the darkness ben could not help but hear his welcome. many things were doubtful; but there could be no doubt of the love that neilson bore his daughter. the amused, half-teasing words with which he received her did not in the least disguise it. "the joy and the light of his life," ben commented to himself. the gray old claim-jumper had this to redeem him, at least. "but why so many horses, beatrice?" he asked. "you--brought some one with you?" ben was not so far distant that he failed to discern the instant change in neilson's tone. it had a strained, almost an apprehensive quality such as few men had ever heard in his voice before. plainly all visitors in this end of the mountains were regarded with suspicion. "he's a prospector--mr. darby," the girl replied. "come here, ben--and be introduced." she turned toward her new-found friend; and the latter walked near, into the light that streamed over him from the doorway. "this is my father, mr. darby--mr. neilson. some one told him this was a good gold country." ben had already decided upon his course of action and had his answer ready. he knew perfectly that it would only put neilson on his guard if he stated his true position; and besides, he wanted word of ezram. "i may have a wrong steer, mr. neilson," he said, "but a man i met down on the river-trail, out of snowy gulch, advised me to come here. he said that he had some sort of a claim up here that his brother left him, and though it was a pocket country, he thought there'd soon be a great rush up this way." "i hardly know who it could have been that you met," neilson began doubtfully. "he didn't tell you his name--" "melville. i believe that was it. and if you'll tell me how to find him, i'll try to go on to-night. i brought him some of his belongings from snowy gulch--" "melville, eh? i guess i know who you mean now. but no--i don't know of any claim unless it's over east, beyond here. maybe further down the river." ben made no reply at once; but his mind sped like lightning. of course neilson was lying about the claim: he knew perfectly that at that moment he was occupying one of hiram melville's cabins. he was a first-class actor, too--his voice indicating scarcely no acquaintance with or interest in the name. "he hasn't come up this way?" ben asked casually. "he hasn't come through here that i know of. of course i'm working at my claim--with my partners--and he might have gone through without our seeing him. it seems rather unlikely." ben was really puzzled now. if ezram had already made his presence known and was camping somewhere in the hills about, there was no reason immediately evident why neilson should deny his presence. ben found himself wondering whether by any chance ezram had been delayed along the trail, perhaps had even lost his way, and had not yet put in an appearance. "he told me, in the few minutes that i talked to him, that his cabin was somewhere close to this one--i thought he said up this creek." "there is a cabin up the creek a way," neilson admitted, "but it isn't the one he meant. it's on my claim, and my two partners are living in it. but when he said near to this one, he might have meant ten miles. that's the way we northern men speak of distance." there was nothing more to say, nothing to do at present. he said his farewells to the girl, refused an invitation to pass the night in the cabin, and made his way to the green bank of the stream. four hundred yards from the cabin, and perhaps a like number from the cabin of ray and charley--obscured from both by the thickets--he pitched his camp. in the cabin he had left jeffery neilson catechized his daughter, trying to learn all he could concerning ben. it was true that he carried the dead hiram's rifle, and that the latter's pet wolf followed at his heels, but it was wholly probable that the old man, hiram's brother, with whom he had conversed at the river, had designated him to get them. he had been courteous and respectful throughout the journey to the yuga, beatrice said, and he had also saved her from possible death in the fangs of the wolf the evening previous. neilson decided that he would take no steps at present but merely wait and watch developments. meanwhile ben had made his fire and unpacked his horses. he confined his riding horse with a picket rope; the others he turned loose. then he cooked a simple meal for himself and the gaunt servant at his heels. when the night had come down in full, and as he sat about the glowing coals of his supper fire, he had time to devote serious thought to the fate of ezram. it occurred to him that perhaps the old man had discovered, at a distance, the presence of the claim-jumpers; and was merely waiting in the thickets for a chance to take action. if such were the case, sooner or later they could join their fortunes again. it was also easy to imagine that ezram had lost his way on the journey out. he stood at the edge of the firelight, gazing out into the darkened forest. the wolf crouched beside him: alert, watching his face for any command. it was wholly plain that the gaunt woods creature had accepted him at once as his master; and that the bond between them, because of some secret similarity of spirit, was already far closer than between most masters and their pets. ben sensed another side of the forest to-night because of his inborn love of the waste places not often seen. the thickets were menacing, sinister to-night. the spruce crept up to the skyline with darkness and mystery: he realized the eternal malevolence that haunts their silent fastnesses. they would have tricks in plenty to play on such as would lose their way on their dusky trails! oh, they would have no mercy or remorse for any one who was lost, _out there_, to-night! ben felt a heavy burden of dread! even now, old ezram might be wandering, vainly, through the gloomy, whispering woods, ever penetrating farther into their merciless solitudes. and no homes smoked in the clearings, no camps glowed in the immensity of the dark--out there. this was just the beginning of the forest; clear into the shadow of the arctic circle, where the woodlands gave way to the weary wastes of barrens, there was no break, no tilled fields or fisher's villages, only an occasional indian encampment which not even a wolf, running through the night, might find. his supply of food would quickly be exhausted, fatigue would break his valiant spirit. ben planned an extensive search for his tracks as soon as the morning light permitted him to see. he missed the old man's comradeship with a deep and fervid longing. they had come to count on each other, these past weeks. it wasn't alone infinite gratitude that he felt for him now. the thing went too deep to tell. yet there was no use seeking for him to-night. he turned to the wolf and dropped his hand upon the animal's shoulder. fenris started, then quivered in ecstasy. "i wish i had your nose, to-night, old boy," ben told him. "i'd find that old buddy of mine. i wish i had your eyes to see in the dark, and your legs to run. fenris, do you know where he is?" the wolf turned his wild eyes toward his master's face, as if he were trying to understand. xiv impelled by an urge within himself ben suddenly knelt beside his lupine friend. he could not understand the flood of emotion, the vague sense of impending and dramatic events that stirred him to the quick. he only knew, with a knowledge akin to inspiration, that in fenris lay the answer to his problem. the moment was misted over with a quality of unreality. in the east rose the moon, shining incredibly on the tree tops, showering down through the little rifts in the withholding branches, enchanting the place as by the weaving of a dream. the moon madness caught up ben like a flame, enthralling him as never before. he knew that white sphere of old. and all at once he realized that here, at his knees, was one who knew it too,--with a knowledge as ancient and as infinite as his own. not for nothing had the wolf breed lived their lives beneath it through the long roll of the ages. its rising and its setting had regulated the hunting hours of the pack time without end; its beams had lighted the game trails where the gray band had bayed after the deer; its light had beheld, since the world was young, the rapturous mating of the old pack leader and his female. fenris too knew the moon-madness; but unlike ben he had a means of expression of the wonder and mystery and vague longing that thrilled his wild heart. no man who has heard the pack song to the moon could doubt this fact. it is a long, melancholy wail, poignant with the pain of living, but it tells what man can not. ben knew, now, why he was a forester, a woodsman famed even among woodsmen. most of his fellows had been tamed by civilization; they had lived beneath roofs instead of the canopy of heaven, and they had almost forgotten about the moon. ben, on the other hand, was a recurrence of an earlier type, inheriting little from his immediate ancestors but reverting back a thousand centuries to the cave and the squatting place. his nature was that of prehistoric man rather than that of the son of civilization; and in this lay the explanation for all that had set him apart from the great run of men and had made him the master woodsman that he was. and because his spirit was of the wildwood, because he also knew the magic of the moon, he was able to make this wildwood thing at his feet understand and obey his will. the world of to-day seemed to fade out for him and left only the wolf, its fierce eyes on his own. time swung back, and this might have been a scene of forgotten ages,--the wolf, the human hunter, the smoldering camp fire, the dark, jagged line of spruce against the sky. it was thus at the edge of the ice. wolf and man--both children of the wild--had understood each other then; and they could understand each other now. "fenris, old boy," the man whispered. "can you find him for me, fenris? he's out there somewhere--" the man motioned toward the dark--"and i want him. can you take me to him?" the wolf trembled all over, struggling to get his meaning. this was no creature of subordinate intelligence: the great wolf of the north. he had, besides the cunning of the wild hunters, the intelligence that is the trait of the whole canine breed. nor did he depend on his sense of hearing alone. he watched his master's face, and more than that, he was tuned and keyed to those mysterious vibrations that carry a message from brain to brain no less clearly and swift than words themselves,--the secret wireless of the wild. "he's my buddy, old boy, and i want you to find him for me," ben went on, more patiently. he searched his pockets, drawing out at last the copy of the letter ezram had given him that morning, and, because the old man had carried it for many days, it could still convey a message to the keen nose of the wolf. he put it to the animal's nostrils, then pointed away into the darkness. fenris followed the motion with his eyes; and presently his long body stiffened. ben watched him, fascinated. then the wolf sniffed at the paper again and trotted away into the night. in one leap ben was on his feet, following him. the wolf turned once, saw that his master was at his heels, and sped on. they turned up a slight draw, toward the hillside. it became clear at once that fenris was depending upon his marvelous sense of smell. his nose would lower to the ground, and sometimes he tacked back and forth, uncertainly. at such times ben watched him with bated breath. but always he caught the scent again. once more he paused, sniffing eagerly; then turned, whining. just as clearly as if they had possessed a mutual language ben understood: the animal had caught the clear scent at last. the wolf loped off, and his fierce bay rang through the hushed forest. it was a long-drawn, triumphant note; and the wild creatures paused in their mysterious, hushed occupations to listen. it was also significant that it made certain deadly inroads in the spirit of ray brent, sitting in his distant cabin. he marked the direction of the sound, and he cursed, half in awe, under his breath. he had always hated the gray rangers. they were the uncanny demons of the forest. ben followed the running wolf as fast as he could; and in his eagerness he had no opportunity for conjecture as to what he would find at the end of the pursuit. yet he did not believe for an instant this was a false trail. the wolf's deep, full-ringing bays were ever more urgent and excited, filling the forest with their uproar. but quite suddenly the silence closed down again, seemingly more deep and mysterious than ever. ben's first sensation was one of icy terror that crept to the very marrow of his bones. he knew instantly that there was a meaning of dreadful portent in the abrupt cessation of the cries. he halted an instant, listening, but at first could hear no more than the throb of his heart in his breast and the whisper of his own troubled breathing. but presently, at a distance of one hundred yards, he distinguished the soft whining of the wolf. fenris was no longer running! he had halted at the edge of a distant thicket. the cold sweat sprang out on ben's forehead, and he broke into a headlong run. there was no later remembrance of traversing that last hundred yards. the hillside seemed to whip under his feet. he paused at last, just at the dark margin of an impenetrable thicket. the wolf whined disconsolately just beyond the range of his vision. "ezram!" he called, a curious throbbing quality in his voice. "are you there, ez? it's me--ben." but the thickets neither rustled nor spoke. the cracked old voice he had learned to love did not speak in relief, in that moment of unutterable suspense. indeed, the silence seemed to deepen about him. the spruce trees were hushed and impassive as ever; the moon shone and the wind breathed softly in his face. fenris came whimpering toward him. together, the man and the wolf, they crept on into the thicket. they halted at last before a curious shadow in the silvered covert. ben knew at once he had found his ancient comrade. he and ezram had had their last laugh together. he lay very still, the moonlight ensilvering his droll, kindly face,--sleeping so deeply that no human voice could ever waken him. an ugly rifle wound yawned darkly at his temple. xv the first effect of a great shock is usually a semi-paralysis of the entire mental mechanism and is, as a rule, beneficent. the brain seems to be enclosed in a great preoccupation, like a wall, and the messages of pain and horror brought by the nerves batter against it in vain. the senses are dulled, the perceptions blunted, and full realization does not come. for a long time, in which time itself stood still, ben sat beside the dead body of his old counselor and friend as a child might sit among flowers. he half leaned forward, his arms limp, his hands resting in his lap, a deep wonder and bewilderment in his eyes. dully he watched the moon lifting in the sky and felt the caress of the wind against his face, glancing only from time to time at the huddled body before him. the wolf whined softly, and sometimes ben reached his hand to caress the furry shoulder. but slowly his wandering faculties returned to him. he began to understand. ezram was dead--that was it--gone from his life as smoke goes in the air. never to hear him again, or see him, or make plans with him, or have high adventures beside him along the lonely trails. fenris had found him in the darkness: here he lay--the old family friend, the man who had saved him, redeemed him and given him his chance, his old "buddy" who had brought him home. the thing was not credible at first: that here, dead as a stone, lay the shell of that life that had been his own salvation. he studied intently the gray face, missed its habitual smile and for really the first time his gaze rested upon the yawning wound in the temple. he gazed at it in speechless, growing horror, and something like an incredible cold descended upon him. the entire hydraulic system of his blood seemed to be freezing. his hands were cold, his vitals icy and lifeless. there was, however, the beginning of heat somewhere back of his eyes. he could feel it but dimly, but it was increasing, slowly, like a smoldering coal that eats its way into wood and soon will burst into a flame. slowly he began to grow rigid, his muscles flexing. his face underwent a tangible change. the lines deepened, the lips set in a hard line, the eyes were like those of a reptile,--cold, passionless, unutterably terrible. his face was pale like the paleness of death, but it appeared more like hard, white metal than flesh. his mind began to work clear again; he began to understand. ezram had been shot, murdered by the men who had jumped his claim. beatrice's father, who had talked to him, had probably committed the crime: if not he, one of his understrappers at his order. he found himself recalling what jeffery neilson had said. oh, the man had been sharp! believing that in the depth of the forest the body would never be discovered, he had tried to send ben farther into the interior in search of him. he arose, wholly self-mastered, and with hard, strong hands made a detailed examination of ezram's wound. he had evidently been shot by a rifle of large caliber, probably at close range. ezram's own gun lay at his feet, loaded but not cocked. "they shot you down in cold blood, old boy, didn't they?" he found himself asking. "you didn't have a chance!" but the gray lips were setting with death, and could not answer. ben had forgotten for the instant; he must keep better hold of himself. the time was not ripe to turn himself loose. but he did wish for one more word with ezram, just a few little minutes of planning. they could doubtless work out something good together. they could decide what to do. from this point his mind naturally fell to ezram's parting advice to him. "i've only got one decent place to keep things safe, and that ain't so all-fired decent," the old man had told him. "i always put 'em down my bootleg, between the sock and the leather. if i ever get shuffled off, all of a sudden, i want you to look there careful." still with the same deathly pallor he crept over the dead leaves to ezram's feet. his hands were perfectly steady as he unlooped the laces, one after another, and quietly pulled off the right boot. in the boot leg, just as ezram had promised, ben found a scrap of white paper. he spread it on his knee, and unfolded it with care. the moonlight was not sufficiently vivid, however, for him to read the penciled scrawl. he felt in his pocket for a match. because his mind was operating clear and sure, his thoughts flashed at once to his enemies in their cabins along the creek. he did not want them to know he had found the body. his first instinct was to work in the dark, to achieve his ends by stealth and cunning! it was strange what capacity for cunning had come upon him. oh, he would be crafty--sharp--sure in every motion. it was unlikely, however, that the faint glare of a match could carry so far. to make sure he walked behind the covert, then turned his back to the canyon through which the creek flowed. the match cracked, inordinately loud in the silence, and his eyes followed the script. ezram had been faithful to the last: to whom it may concern: in case of my death i leave all i die possessed of including my brother hiram's claim near yuga river to my pard and buddy, ben darby. (signed) ezra melville. the document was as formal as ezram could make it, with a carefully drawn seal, and for all its quaint wording, it was a will to stand in any court. but ezram had not been able to hold his dignity for long. he had added a postscript: son, old hiram made a will, and i guess i can make one too. i just found out about them devils that jumped our claim. i left you back there at the river because i didn't want you taking any dam fool risks till i found out how things lay. i just got one thing to ask. if them devils get me--get them. my life ain't worth much but i want you to make them pay for the little it is worth. never stop till you've done it. ben lighted match after match until he had absorbed every word. then he folded the paper and placed it in his pocket; but the action did not in the least take his eyes from the words. he could still see them, written in fire. they were branded on his spirit. he stood wholly motionless for a space of almost a minute, as if listening. the heat back of his eyes was more intense now. the red coals were about to burst into flame. all the blood of his huge body seemed to be collecting there, searing his brain. the moon was no longer white in the sky. it had turned a fiery red. the stars were red too,--all of them more red than the star of war. "i want you to make them pay," a voice said clearly in his ears. "never stop till you've done it." and now ben was no longer pale. his face was no longer hard and set. rather it was dark--dark as dark earth. his eyes glowed like coals beneath his black brows. he was not standing still and lifeless now. he was shivering all over with the blackest hate, the most deadly fury. "make them pay," he said aloud again, "and never stop till you've done it." a sudden snarl from the lips of the wolf drew his eyes downward. heaven help him; for the moment he had forgotten fenris! but he must not forget him again. they had work to do, the two of them. fenris was no longer whining disconsolately. his master's fury had passed to him, and ben looked and saw before him not the docile pet, but the savage beast of the wild. the hair was erect on his shoulders, his lips were drawn, too; he was crouched as if for battle. the eyes, sunken in their sockets, were red and terrible to see. yet he was still ben's servant. that quality could never pass from him. the eyes of two met,--the wolf and the man. at that instant the little tongue of flame that had been mounting in ben's brain burst into a dreadful conflagration. it was the explosion at last, no less terrible because of its silence--because the sound of the least, little wind was still discernible in the distant thickets. he dropped to his knees before the wolf, seizing its head in a terrific grasp. he half jerked it off its feet, till he held it so that its eyes burned straight into his. "fenris, fenris!" he breathed. "we've got to make them pay. and we must not stop till we're done." it was more than a command. it had the quality of a vow. and now, as they knelt, eyes looking into eyes, it was like a pagan rite in the ancient world. their separate identities were no longer greatly pronounced. they were not man and beast, they were simply the wolves of the forest. the old qualities most often associated with manhood--gentleness, forbearance, mercy--seemed to pass away from ben as a light passes into darkness. only the wolf was left, the dominant beast--that darker, hidden side of himself from which no man can wholly escape and which civilization has only smothered, as fresh fuel smothers a flame. not for nothing had his fellows known him as "wolf" darby; and now the name was true. the beast that dwells under every man's skin, in a greater or less degree, was in the full ascendancy at last. the unnamable ferocity that marks the death-leap of the wild hunters was in his face. in his eyes was cunning,--such craft as marks the pack in its hunting. all over him was written that unearthly rage that is alone the property and trait of the woods creatures: the fury with which a she-wolf fights for her cubs or a rattlesnake avenges the death of its mate. mercy, remorse, compassion there was none. and the demon gods of the wilderness rejoiced. for uncounted thousands of years the tide of battle had flowed against them; and it was long and long since they had won such a victory as this. mostly their men children had forsaken their leafy bowers to live in houses. they tilled the ground rather than hunt in the forest. the cattle that had once run wild in the marshes now fed dully in enclosed pastures; the horses--that mighty breed that once mated and fought and died in freedom on the high lands--pulled lowly burdens in the cultivated fields. even some of the canine people too--first cousins to the wolves themselves--had sold themselves into slavery for a gnawed bone and a chimney corner. but to-night the wild had claimed its own again. here was one, at least, who had come back into his own. the forest seemed to whisper and thrill with rapture. part two the wolf-man xvi as a wolf might plan a hunt in the forest, ben planned his war against neilson and his subordinates. he knew perfectly that he must not attempt open warfare. the way of the wolf is the way of cunning and stealth: the stalk through the thicket and the ferocious attack upon the unsuspecting; and such example must guide ben in his operations. he could not be too careful, too furtive. his foes were three against one, and they were on their own ground. they knew the trails and the lay of the country; and as always, in the science of warfare, this was an advantage hardly to be overcome. ben knew that his only hope lay in the finest strategy. first he must make a surprise attack, and second, he must utilize all natural advantages. he was well aware that he could lie in ambush, close to the mine, and probably send one man to a speedy death with a rifle bullet. but he did not have one enemy; he had three. the survivors of the first shot would immediately seek shelter--probably returning shot for shot--and that would insert an element of uncertainty into the venture. at the distance he would be obliged to shoot, he would possibly only succeed in wounding one of his enemies, and he might miss him altogether. such a plan as this was wholly too uncertain for adoption. there must be no sporting chances in his strategy. the way of the wolf is to cover every opening, to prepare for every contingency that his brute mind can foresee. he would give and receive no quarter, and the ancient fairness and honor must be likewise forgotten. he must take no risk with his own life until the last of the three was down. what happened thereafter did not greatly concern him. the world could shatter to atoms after that for all he would care. he was a son of forest solitude; and he had but one dream left in life. it was not his aim to give his foes the least chance to fight back, the slightest hope of battle. he would use any advantage, descend to any wile. this was not to be a sportsmen's war, but a grim battle to the death, inexorable and merciless. these things were all fully known to him before ever he left the hillside, and like a man asleep, walked down to his camp. the fire had burned down to coals--sullen and angry--but he heaped on fuel, and they broke into a blaze. then, fenris at his side, he squatted on the ground beside the dancing flame. he watched it, fascinated; mostly silent but sometimes muttering and whispering half-enunciated words. his red eyes and the black hair, matted about his lips and shadowing the backs of his hands, gave him a wild, fierce look; and it was as if the primal blood-lust and hatred that seared him had literally swept him back into the forgotten centuries,--the first, savage human hunter at the edge of the retreating glaciers. the scene had not changed: dark spruce and the red glow of fire; and there was atavism in his very posture. the first men had squatted beside their camp fires this same way, their wolfine pets beside them, as they made their battle plans. the eager flames held ben's fascinated gaze as a crystal ball might hold the eyes of a seer. they seemed to have a message for him if he could just grasp it, a course whereby he might achieve success. oh, they could be cruel, relentless--mercilessly eating their way into sensitive flesh. they were no respecters of persons, these creeping, leaping tongues. nor must _he_ have any scruples or qualms as to how he gained his ends. he too must be merciless, and if necessary, strike down the innocent in order to reach the guilty. as he watched certain knowledge reached him of life and death. the conclusion slowly came to him that just blind killing was not enough. for all he knew death might bring instant forgetfulness--and thus not constitute in itself a satisfactory measure of vengeance. the _fear_ of death was a reality and a torment: for all he knew, the thing itself might be a change for the better. it might be that, suddenly hurled out of this world of three dimensions, his enemies would have no knowledge nor carry no memories of the hand that struck them down. there could be no satisfaction in this. to murder from ambush might be a measure of expedience, but never one of self-gratification. when ben struck he wanted them to know who was their enemy, and for what crime they were laid low. the best way of all, of course, was to strike indirectly at them, perhaps through some one they loved. soon, perhaps, he would see the way. he went to his blankets, but sleep did not come to him. the wolf stood on guard. beatrice neilson had fallen into happy dreams long since, but there was further wakefulness in hiram melville's newer cabin, farther up-creek. ray brent and chan heminway still sat over their cups, the fiery liquid running riot in their veins, but slumber did not come easily to-night. and when beatrice was asleep, neilson stole down the moonlit moose trail and joined his men. "i've brought news," he began, when the door had closed out the stars and the breath of the night. chan, his small eyes glazed from strong drink, staggered to his feet to offer his chair to his chief. brent, however, was in no mood for servility to-night. he had done man's work in the early evening; and his triumph and his new-found sense of power had not yet died in his body. perhaps he had learned the way to all success. there was a curious sullen defiance in the blearing gaze over his glass. "what's your news?" ray's voice harshened, possessing a certain quality of grim levity. "i guess old hiram's brother hasn't come to life again, has he?" it was a significant thing that both chan and neilson looked oppressed and uneasy at the words. like all men of low moral status they were secretly superstitious, and these boasting words crept unpleasantly under their skins. it is never a good thing to taunt the dead! ray had spoken sheerly to frighten and shock them, thus revealing his own fearlessness and strength; yet his voice rang louder than he had meant. he had no desire for it to carry into the silver mystery of the night. "the less you say about hiram's brother the better," neilson answered sternly. "we've thrashed it out once to-night." he straightened as he read the insolence, the gathering insubordination in the other's contemptuous glance; and his voice lacked its old ring of power when he spoke again. "jumpin' claims is one thing and murder is another." ray, spurred on by the false strength of wickedness, drunk with his new sense of power, was already feeling the first surge of deadly anger in his veins. "i suppose if you had been doin' it, you'd let that old whelp take back this claim, worth a quarter million if it's worth a cent. not if i know it. it was the only way--and the safe way too." "safe! what if by a thousandth chance some one would blunder on to that body you left in the brush? what if some sergeant of mounted police would say to his man, 'go get ray brent!' where would you be then? you've always been a murderer at heart, brent--but some time you'll slip up--" "only a fool slips up. don't think i didn't figure on everything. as you say, there's not one chance in a thousand any one will ever find him. if they do, there wouldn't be any kind of a case. likely the old man hasn't got a friend or relation on earth. i've searched his pockets--there's nothing to tell who he is. we'll have our claim recorded soon, and it would be easy to make him out the claim-jumper rather than us--" "wait just a minute before you say he ain't got any friends, or at least acquaintances. that's what i came to see you about to-night." neilson paused, for the sake of suspense. "beatrice came up to-night, as agreed, and she had a prospector with her--and he knew old hiram's brother." a short, tense silence followed his words, and ray stared into his cup. it might be that just for an instant the reckless light went out of his eyes and left them startled and glazing. then he got to his feet. "then god almighty!" he cried. "what you waiting for? why don't you croak him off before this night's over?" "wait, you fool, till you've heard everything," neilson replied. "there's no hurry about killing. as i told you, the less work of that kind we do, the more chance we've got of dying in our beds. it may be reasonable for one prospector to disappear, but some one's going to be suspicious if two of 'em do. i think i've already handled the matter." "i'd handle it, and quick too," ray protested. "you'd handle yourself up a gallows, too. he doesn't seem to be a close friend of this old man; he just seems to have met up with him at the river, and the old man steered him up here. he asked me where the old man's claim was, and said he wanted to go over and see him. he was taking hiram's wolf and his gun up to him. i told him i hadn't heard of the claim, that it must be farther inside, and i think i put it over. he ain't got the least suspicion. what he'll do is hang around here a while, i suppose, prospecting--and likely enough soon forget all about the old devil. i just came down here to tell you he was here and to watch your step." "then the first thing up," chan heminway suggested, "is to bury the stiff." "spoke up like a fool!" ray answered. "not till this man is dead or out of the country. it's well hidden, and don't go prowling anywheres near it. if he's the least bit suspicious, or even if he's on the lookout for gold, he'd likely enough follow you. but there's one thing we can do--and that quick." "and what's that?" "start chan off to-morrow to the office in bradleyburg and record this claim in our names. we've waited too long already." "ray, you're talking like a man now," neilson agreed. "you and i stay here and work away, innocent as can be, on the claim. chan, put that bottle away and get to bed. take the trail down first thing to-morrow. then we can laugh at all the prospectors that want to come." xvii soon after the break of dawn ben put his pick and shovel on his shoulder, and leisurely walked up the creek past ray's cabin. since chan heminway had already departed down the long trail to bradleyburg--a town situated nearly forty miles from snowy gulch--ray alone saw him pass; and he eyed him with some apprehension. daylight had brought a more vivid consciousness of his last night's crime; and a little of his bravado had departed from him. he moved closer to his rifle. yet in a moment his suspicions were allayed. ben was evidently a prospector, just as he claimed to be, and was venturing forth to get his first "lay of the land." the latter continued up the draw, crossed a ridge, halted now and then in the manner of the wild creatures to see if he were being followed, and finally by a roundabout route returned to the lifeless form of his only friend. the wolf still trotted in silence behind him. the vivid morning light only revealed the crime in more dreadful detail. the withered form lay huddled in the stained leaves; and ben stood a long time beside it, in deep and wondering silence, even now scarcely able to believe the truth. how strange it was that this old comrade could not waken and go on with him again! but in a moment he remembered his work. slowly, laboriously, with little outward sign of the emotion that rent his heart, he dug a shallow grave he knew perfectly that this was a serious risk to his cause. should the murderer return for any purpose, to his dead, the grave would of course show that the body had been discovered and would put him on his guard against ben. nevertheless, the latter could not leave these early remains to the doubtful mercy of the wilderness: the agents of air and sun, and the wild beasts. he threw the last clod and stood looking down at the upturned earth. "sleep good, old ez," he murmured in simple mass for the dead. "i'll do what you said." then, at the head of the grave, he thrust the barrel of ezram's rifle into the ground, a monument grim as his own thoughts. the last rite was completed; he was free to work now. from now on he could devote every thought to the work in hand,--the payment of his debts. by the same roundabout route he circled back to his camp, cooked his meager lunch, and in the afternoon ventured forth again. but he was prospecting in earnest this time, though the prospects that he sought were those of victory to his cause, rather than of gold. he was seeking simply a good, general idea of the nature and geography of the country so that he might know better how to plan his attack. his excursion took him at last to the wooded bank of the river. he stood a long time, quite motionless, listening to the water voices that only the wise can understand. this was really a noble stream. it flowed with such grandeur in its silence and solitude; old and gray and austere, it was a mighty expression of wilderness power,--resistless, immortal, eternally secretive. the waters flowed darkly, icy cold from the melting snow; but like a sleeping giant they would be quick to seize upon and destroy such as would try to brave their currents, likely never to yield them up again. flowing forever through the uninhabited forest no man would ever know the fate of those the river claimed. he was above the camp when he descended to its banks, but he worked his way down through the thickets toward jeffery neilson's cabin. the river flowed quietly here, a long, still stretch that afforded safe boating. yet the smooth waters did not in the least alleviate ben's haunting sense of their sinister power and peril. the old gray she-wolf is not to be trusted in her peaceful moments. his keen ears could distinctly hear the roar and rumble of wild waters, just below. the river was of great depth as well as breadth,--one of the king rivers of the land. ben found himself staring into its depths with a quickening pulse. he had a momentary impression that this great stream was his ally, a mighty agent that he could bend to his will. he approached the long, sloping bank on which stood neilson's cabin; and he suddenly drew up short at the sight of a light, staunch canoe on the open water. it was a curious fact that he noticed the craft itself before ever he glanced at its occupant. a thrill of excitement passed over him. he realized that this boat simplified to some degree his own problem, in that it afforded him means of traversing this great water-body, certainly to be a factor in the forthcoming conflict. the boat had evidently been the property of hiram melville. then he noticed, with a strange, inexplicable leap of his heart, that its lone occupant was beatrice neilson. his eye kindled at the recognition, and the beginnings of a smile flashed to his lips. but at once remembrance came to him, crushing his joy as the heel crushes a tender flower. the girl was of the enemy camp, the daughter of the leader of the triumvirate of murderers. while she herself could have had no part in the crime, perhaps she already had guilty knowledge of it, and at least she was of her father's hated blood. he had builded much on his friendship with this girl; but he felt it withering, turning black--like buds under frost--in his cold breast. there could be no friendly words, except in guile; no easy comradeship between them now. they were on opposite sides, hated foes to the last. perhaps she would be one of the innocents that must suffer with the guilty; but he felt no remorse. not even this lovely, tender wood child must stand in his way. nevertheless, he must not put her on guard. he must simulate friendship. he lifted his hat in answer to her gay signal. she wore a white middy blouse, and her brown, bare forearms flashed pleasantly in the spring sun. her brown hair was disarranged by the wind that found a passway down the river, and her eyes shone with the sheer, unadorned love of living. evidently she had just enjoyed a brisk paddle through the still stretches of the river. with sure, steady strokes she pushed the craft close to the little, board landing where ben stood. she reached up to him, and in an instant was laughing--at nothing in particular but the fun of life--at his side. the man glanced once at fenris, spoke in command, then turned to the girl. "all rested from the ride, i see," he began easily. her instincts keyed to the highest pitch, for an instant she thought she discerned an unfamiliar tone, hard and hateful, in his voice. but his eyes and his lips were smiling; and evidently she was mistaken. "i never get tired," she responded. she glanced at the tools in his arms. "i suppose you've found a dozen rich lodes already this morning." "only one." he smiled, significantly, into her eyes. because she was a forest girl, unused to flattery, the warm color grew in her brown cheeks. "and how was paddling? the water looks still enough from here." "it's not as still as it looks, but it is easy going for a half-mile each way. if you aren't an expert boatman, however--i hardly think--i'd try it." "why not? i'm fair enough with a canoe, of course--but it looks safe as a lake." "but it isn't." she paused. "listen with those keen ears of yours, mr. darby. don't you hear anything?" ben did not need particularly keen ears to hear: the far-off sound of surging waters reached him with entire clearness. he nodded. "that's the reason," the girl went on. "if something should happen--and you'd get carried around the bend--a little farther than you meant to go--you'd understand. and we wouldn't see any more of mr. darby around these parts." her dark eyes, brimming with light and laughter, were on his face, but she failed to see him slowly stiffen to hide the sudden, wild leaping of his heart. could it be that he saw the far-off vision of his triumph? his eyes glowed, and he fought off with difficulty a great preoccupation that seemed to be settling over him. "tell me about it," he said at last, casually. "i was thinking of making a boat and going down on a prospecting trip." "i'll tell you about it, and then i think you'll change your mind. the first cataract is the one just above where we first saw the river--coming in; then there's this mile of quiet water. from that point on the yuga flows into a gorge--or rather one gorge after another; and sometime they'll likely be almost as famous as some of the great gorges of your country. the walls are just about straight up on each side, and of course are absolutely impassable. i don't know how many miles the first gorge is--but for nearly two hundred miles the river is considered impassable for boats. two hundred and fifty miles or so below there is an indian village--but they never try to go down the river from here. a few white men, however, have tried to go down with canoe-loads of fur." "and all drowned?" ben asked. "all except one party. once two men went down when the river was high--just as it is now. they were good canoeists, and they made it through. no one ever expected they would come out again." "and after you've once got into the rapids, there's no getting out--or landing?" "of course not. i suppose there are places where you might get on the bank, but the gorge above is impassable." "you couldn't follow the river down--with horses?" "yes, in time. of course it would be slow going, as there are no trails, the brush is heavy, and the country is absolutely unexplored. you see it has never been considered a gold country--and of course the indians won't go except where they can go in canoes. some of the hills must be impassable, too. i've heard my father speak about it--how that if any criminal--or any one like that--could take down this river in a canoe in high water--and get through into that great, virgin, trackless country a hundred miles below, it would be almost impossible to get him out. unless the officers could chase him down the same way he went--by canoe--it would take literally weeks and months for them to get in, and by that time he could be hidden and located and his tracks covered up." "and with good ambushes, able to hold off and kill a dozen of them, eh?" ben's hands shook, and he locked them behind him. "they call that country--what?" "'back there.' that's all i've ever heard it called--'back there.'" "it's as good a name as any. of course, the reason they were able to make it through in high water was due to the fact that most of the rocks and ledges were submerged, and they could slide right over them." "of course. many of our rivers are safer in high water. but you seriously don't intend to take such a trip--" he looked up to find her eyes wide and full upon his. yet her concern for him touched him not at all. she was his enemy: that fact could never be forgotten or forgiven. "i want to hear about it, anyway. i heard in town the river is higher than it's been for years--due to the chinook--" "it _is_ higher than i've ever seen it. but it's reached its peak and has started to fall, and it won't come up again, at least, till fall. when the yuga rises it comes up in a flood, and it falls the same way. it's gone down quite a little since this morning; by the day after to-morrow no one could hope to get through devil's gate--the first cataract in the gorge." "not even with a canoe? of course a raft would be broken to pieces." "not a canoe, either, in two or three days, if the river falls like it usually does. but tell me--you aren't serious--" "i suppose not. but it gets my imagination--just the same. i suppose a man would average better than twenty miles an hour down through that gorge, and would come out at _back there_." their talk moved easily to other subjects; yet it seemed to ben that some secondary consciousness held up his end of the conversation. his own deeper self was lost in curious and dark conjectures. her description of the river lingered in his thoughts, and he seemed to be groping for a great inspiration that was hovering just beyond his reach--as plants grope for light in far-off leafy jungles. he felt that it would come to him in a moment: he would know the dark relation that these facts about the river bore to his war with neilson. it was as if an inner mind, much more subtle and discerning than his normal consciousness, had seen great possibilities in them, but as yet had not divulged their significance. "i must be going now," the girl was saying. "father pretty near goes crazy when i stay away too long. you can't imagine how he loves me and worries about me--and how fearful he is of me--" his mind seemed to leap and gather her words. it was true: she was the joy and the pride and the hope of the old man's life. all his work, his dreams were for her. and now he remembered a fact that she had told him on the outward journey: that ray brent, the stronger of neilson's two subordinates, loved her too. "to strike at them indirectly--through some one they love--" such had been his greatest wish. to put them at a disadvantage and overcome his own--to lead them into his own ambushes. and was it for the wolf to care what guiltless creatures fell before his fangs in the gaining of his dreadful ends? was the gratification of his hate to be turned aside through pity for an innocent girl? mercy and remorse were two things that he had put from him. it was the way of the wolf to pay no attention to methods, only to achieve his own fierce desires. he stood lost in dark and savage reverie. "good-by," the girl was saying. "i'll see you soon--" he turned toward her, a smile at his lips. his voice held steady when he spoke. "it'll have to be soon, if at all," he replied. "i've got to really get to work in a few days. how about a little picnic to-morrow--a grouse hunt, say--on the other side of the river? it's going to be a beautiful day--" the girl's eyes shone, and the color rose again in her tanned cheeks. "i'd think that would be very nice," she told him. "then i'll meet you here--at eight." xviii alone by the fire ben had opportunity to balance one thing with another and think out the full consequences of his plan. as far as he could discern, it stood every test. it meant not only direct and indirect vengeance upon neilson and his followers; but it would also, past all doubt, deliver them into his hands. that much was sure. when finally they came to grips--if indeed they did not go down to a terrible death before ever that time came--he would be prepared for them, with every advantage of ground and fortress, able to combat them one by one and shatter them from ambush. best of all, they would know at whose hands, and for what crime, they received their retribution. one by one he checked the chances against him. first of all, he had to face the great chance of failure and the consequent loss of his own life. but there was even recompense in this. he would not die unavenged. the blow that he would thereby deal to his enemies would be terrible beyond any reckoning, but he would have no regrets. there were two outstanding points in his favor, one of them being that the river was rapidly falling. by the time a canoe could be built the river would be wholly unnavigable. there were no canoes procurable in snowy gulch, if indeed a lightning trip could be made there and back to secure one, before the river fell. the conversation with the frontiersman at the river bank brought out this fact. lastly, a raft could not live a moment in the rapids. very methodically he began to make his preparations. he untied his horse, leaving it free to descend to snowy gulch. then he packed a few of his most essential supplies, his gun and shells, such necessary camp equipment as robes, matches, soap and towels, cooking and table ware, an axe and similar necessaries. in the way of food he laid out flour, rice, salt, and sugar, plus a few pounds of tea--nothing else. the entire outfit weighed less than two hundred pounds, easily carried in three loads upon the back. in the still hour of midnight, when the forest world was swept in mystery, he carried the equipment down to the canoe that beatrice had left the evening before. he loaded the craft with the greatest care, balancing it now and then with his hands at the sides, and covering up the food supplies with robes and blankets. then he drew from his pocket a sheet of paper--evidently a paper sack that had once held provisions, cut open and spread--and wrote carefully, a long time, with a pencil. he had no envelope to enclose it, no wax to seal it. he did, however, carry a stub of a candle--a requisite to most northern men who are obliged to build supper fires in wet forest. folding his letter carefully, he sealed it with tallow. then wrapping one of his blankets about him, he prepared to wait for the dawn. fenris growled and murmured in his sleep. ben himself had not slept the night before; and moved and stirred by his plan of the morrow, slumber did not come easily to him now. he too murmured in his sleep and had weird, tragic dreams between sleep and wakefulness. but the shadows paled at last. a ribbon of light spread along the eastern horizon; the more familiar landmarks emerged--ghosts at first, then in vivid outline, the wooded sky line strengthened; the nebulous magic of the moon died in the forest. birds wakened and sang; the hunting creatures crept to their lairs; sleeping flowers opened. morning broke on a clear, warm day. ben devoured a heavy breakfast--all that he could force himself to swallow--then prepared to wait for beatrice. he knew perfectly that explanations would be difficult if neilson or one of his followers found him with the loaded boat. it was not likely, however, that any of his enemies--except, of course, beatrice herself--would venture down that way. just before eight he saw her come,--first the glint of her white blouse in the green of the forest, and then the flash of her brown arms. her voice rang clear and sweet through the hushed depths as she called a greeting. a moment later she was beside him. "go back and get your heavy coat," he commanded. "i've already been out on the water, and it'll freeze you stiff." he was not overly pleased with himself for speaking thus. he had resolved to put mercy from him; and he was taking a serious risk to his own cause by the delay of sending her back for her warmer garments. she smiled into his eyes, but she came of a breed of women that had learned obedience to men, and she immediately turned. but ben had builded better than he thought. his eyes were no longer on her radiant face. they had dropped to the pistol, in its holster, that she carried in her hands, preparatory to strapping it about her waist. it was disconcerting that he had forgotten about her pistol. it was one of those insignificant trifles that before now have disrupted the mightiest plans of nations and of men. his mind sped like lightning, and he thanked his stars that he had seen it in time. this pistol and a small package, the contents of which he did not know, were the only equipment she had. "it's going to be a bright day," the girl said hesitatingly. "i don't think i'll need the fur coat--" "get it, anyway," ben advised. "the wind's keen on the river. leave your pistol and your package here--and go up and back at top speed. i'll be arranging the canoe--" she laid down the things, and in a moment the thickets had hidden her. swiftly ben reached for the gun, and for a few speeding seconds his fingers worked at its mechanism. he was busy about the canoe when the girl returned. evidently beatrice was in wonderful spirits. the air itself was sparkling, the sun--beloved with an ardor too deep for words by all northern peoples--was warm and genial in the sky; the spruce forest was lush with dew, fragrant with hidden blossoms. it was a spring day--nothing less. both of them knew perfectly that miracle was abroad in the forest,--flowers opening, buds breaking into blossoms, little grass blades stealing, shy as fairies, up through the dead leaves; birds fluttering and gossiping and carrying all manner of building materials for their nests. spring is not just a time of year to the forest folk, and particularly to those creatures whose homes are the far spruce forests of the north. it is a magic and a mystery, a recreation and a renewed lease on life itself. it is hope come again, the joy of living undreamed of except by such highly strung, nerve-tingling, wild-blooded creatures as these; and in some measure at least it is the escape from fear. for there is no other name than fear for the great, white, merciless winter that had just departed. high and low, every woods creature knows this dread, this age-old apprehension of the deepening snow. perhaps it had its birth in eons past, when the great glaciers brought their curse of gold into the temperate regions, locking land and sea under tons of ice. never the frost comes, and the snow deepens on the land, and the rivers and lakes are struck silent as if by a cruel magician's magic, but that this old fear returns, creeping like poison into the nerves, bowing down the heart and chilling the warm wheel of the blood. for the rodents and the digging people--even for the mighty grizzly himself--the season means nothing but the cold and the darkness of their underground lairs. for those that try to brave the winter, the portion is famine and cold; the vast, far-spreading silence broken only by the sobbing song of the wolf pack, starving and afraid on the distant ridges. man is the conqueror, the mighty one who can strike the fire, but yet he too knows the creepy, haunting dread and deep-lying fear of the northern winter. but that dread season was gone now, yielding for a few happy months to a gay invader from the south; and the whole forest world rejoiced. both beatrice and ben could sense the new wakening and revival in the still depths about them. the forest was hushed, tremulous, yet vibrant and ecstatic with renewed life. the old grizzly bear had left his winter lair; and good feeding was putting the fat again on his bones; the old cow moose had stolen away into the farther marshes for some mystery and miracle of her own. everywhere young calves of caribou were breathing the air for the first time, trying to stand on wobbly legs and pushing with greedy noses into overflowing udders. the rich new grass yielded milk in plenty for all these wilderness nurslings. even the she-wolf forgot her wicked savagery to nurse and fondle her whelps in the lair; even the she-lynx, hunting with renewed fervor through the branches, knew of a marvelous secret in a hollow log that she would be torn to scraps of fur rather than reveal. the she-ermine, her white hair falling out, was brooding a litter of cutthroats and murderers in a nest of grass and twigs, and each one of them was a source of pride and joy to her mother heart. even the wolverine had some wicked-eyed little cubs that, to her, were precious beyond rubies; but which would ultimately receive all the oaths in the language for stealing bait on the trap lines out from the settlements. beatrice, a woods creature herself, knew the stir and thrill of spring; but there were also more personal, more deeply hidden reasons why she was happy to-day. she was certainly a very girlish-girl in most ways, with even more than the usual allowance of romance and sentiment, and the idea of an all-day picnic with this stalwart forester went straight home to her imagination. she had been tremendously impressed with him from the first, and the day's ride out from snowy gulch had brought him very close to her indeed. and what might not the day bring forth! what mystery and wonder might come to pass! her dark eyes were lustrous, and the haunting sadness they often held was quite gone. her face was faintly flushed, her red lips wistful, every motion eager and happy as a child's. but ben looked at her unmoved. coldly his eye leaped over her supple, slender form. he saw with relief that she was stoutly clad in middy and skirt of wool, wool stockings, and solid little boots. the heavy coat she had brought was not particularly noteworthy in these woods, but it would have drawn instant admiration from knowing people of a great city. it was not cut with particular style, neither was it beautifully lined, but the fabric itself was plucked otter,--the dark, well-wearing fur of many lights and of matchless luster and beauty. "for goodness sake, mr. darby," the girl cried. "what have you got in this boat? surely that isn't just the lunch--" she pointed to the pile of supplies, covered by the blankets, in the center of the craft. "it looks like we had enough to stay a month, doesn't it?" he laughed. "there's blankets there, of course--for table cloths and to make us comfortable--and the lunch, and a pillow or two--and some little surprises. the rest is just some stores that i'm going to take this opportunity to put across the river--to my next camp. now, miss neilson--if you'll take the seat in the bow. fenris is going to ride in the middle--" the girl's eyes fell with some apprehension on the shaggy wolf. "i haven't established very friendly relations with fenris--" "i'd leave him at home, but he won't stand for it. besides i'd like to teach him how to retrieve grouse. lie down, old boy." ben motioned, and fenris sprawled at his feet. "now come here and pet him, miss neilson. his fur, at this season, is wonderful--" reluctant to show her fear before ben, the girl drew near. the wolf shivered as the soft hand touched his side and moved slowly to his fierce head; but he gave no further sign of enmity. "he understands," ben explained. "he realizes that i've accepted you, and you're all right. until he's given orders otherwise, he'll treat you with the greatest respect." she was deeply and sincerely pleased. it did not occur to her, in the least, little degree, that occasion could possibly arise whereby contradictory orders would be given. ben started to help her into the boat. "you've not forgotten anything?" he asked casually. "nothing i can think of." "got plenty of extra shells?" "part of a box. it's a small caliber automatic, you see, and a box holds fifty." "it is, eh?" ben's tone indicated deep interest. "may i see 'em a minute? i think i had a gun like it once. not the gun--just the box of shells." she had strapped the weapon around her waist, by now, so she didn't attempt to put it in his hands. from her pocket she procured a small box of shells, and these she passed to him. he examined them with a great show of interest, balancing their weight in the palm of his hand; then he carelessly threw the box down among the duffle in front of the stern seat. presently he started to push off. "you're not taking the other paddle?" the girl asked curiously. "no. i don't believe in letting young ladies work when i take 'em on an outing. you are just to sit in the bow and enjoy yourself. fenris, sit still and don't rock the boat!" just one moment more he hesitated. from his pocket he drew a piece of paper, carefully folded and sealed with tallow. this he inserted into a little crack in the blade of the second paddle--the one that was to be left at the landing. "just a little note for your father," he explained, "to tell him where we are, in case he worries about you." "that's very considerate of you," the girl answered in a thoughtful voice. she wondered at the curious glowings, lurid as red coals, that came and went in his eyes. xix after the manner of backwoods fathers jeffery neilson had offered no objections to his daughter's all-day excursion with ben. the ways of the frontier are informal; and besides, he had every confidence in her ability to take care of herself. the only unfortunate phase of the affair concerned ray. the latter would look with no favor upon the venture; and in all probability a disagreeable half-hour would ensue with him if he found it out. the control of ray brent had been an increasingly difficult problem. always sullen and envious, once or twice he had not been far from open rebellion. there is a certain dread malady that comes to men at the sight of naked gold, and ray's degenerate type was particularly subject to it. every day the mine had shown itself increasingly rich, and ray's ambition had given way to greed, and his greed to avarice of the most dangerous sort. for instance, he had a disquieting way of gathering the nuggets into his hands, fondling them with an unholy love. neilson realized perfectly, now, that the younger man would not be content with a fourth share or less; and on the other hand he resolutely refused to yield any of his own, larger share. sometime the issue would bring them to grips. ray's dreadful crime of a few days past had given him an added insolence and self-assurance that complicated the problem still further. the leopard that has once tasted human flesh is not to be trusted again. finally, there remained this matter of beatrice. neilson's love for his daughter forbade that he should force her to receive unwelcome attentions. ray, on the other hand, had always insisted that his chief allow him a clear field. he would be infuriated when he heard of the trip she was taking with ben to-day. neilson straightened, resolving to meet the issue with old-time firmness. when he heard his daughter's voice on the canoe landing, one hundred yards below, he was inordinately startled. she had not told him that their picnic would take them on to the water. the reason had been, of course, that beatrice knew her father's distrust of the treacherous stream and either feared his refusal to her plan or wished to save him worry. even now they were starting. he could hear the first stroke of the paddle through the hushed woods. he turned toward the door, instinctively alarmed; then hesitated. after all, he could not tell her to come back. beatrice would be mortified; and besides, there was nothing definite to fear. the river was almost as still as a lake for a long stretch immediately in front of the landing; even a poor canoeist could cross with ease. it was true that rapids, mile after mile of them past counting, lay just below, but surely the canoeists would stay at a safe distance above them. and if by any chance this young prospector had no skill with a canoe, beatrice herself was an expert. yet what, in reality, did he know of ben darby? he had liked the man's face: whence he came and what was his real business on the yuga he had not the least idea. all at once a baffling apprehension crept like a chill through his frame. he could not laugh it away. it laid hold of him, refusing to be dispelled. it was as if an inner voice was warning him, telling him to rush down to the river bank and check that canoe ride at all costs. it occurred to him, for the moment, that this might be premonition of a disastrous accident, yet vaguely he sensed a plot, an obscure design that filled him with ghastly terror. once more the man started for the door. unaware of his ground, he did not hurry at first. he hardly knew what to say, by what excuse he could call beatrice back to the landing. his heart was racing incomprehensibly in his breast, and all at once he started to run. at the first step he fell sprawling, and stark panic was upon him when he got to his feet again. and when he reached the landing the canoe was already near the opposite shore, heading swiftly downstream. he saw in one glance that the craft was rather heavily laden, fenris atop the pile of duffle, and that ben was paddling with a remarkably fast, easy stroke. "come back, beatrice," he shouted. "you've forgotten something." the girl turned, waving, but ben's voice drowned out hers. "we'll see you later," he called in a gay voice. "we can't come back now." "come back!" neilson called again. "i order you--" he stared intently, hoping that the man would turn. already they were practically out of hearing; and not even beatrice was dipping her paddle in obedience to his command. looking more closely, he saw that the man only was paddling. then his eye fell to the landing on which he stood, instinctively trying to locate the second paddle. it lay at his feet. a foolhardy thing to do, he thought, a broken paddle, out there above the rapids, would mean death and no other thing. helpless in the current, the canoe could not be guided through those fearful gates of peril below. if by a thousandth chance it escaped the rocks, it would be carried for unnumbered miles into a land unknown, a territory that could be entered only by the greatest difficulty--packing day after day over range and through thicket with a great train of pack horses--and from which the egress, except by the same perilous water route, would be almost impossible. but the thought passed as he discerned the white paper that had been fastened in the paddle blade. he bent for it with eager hand. he knew instinctively that it contained an all-important and sinister message for him. his eyes leaped over the bold writing on the exterior. "to ezra melville's murderers," ben had written. and with that reading jeffery neilson knew a terror beyond any experienced in the darkest nightmare of his iniquitous life. it did not occur to him to bring the note, unopened, to ray brent. as yet he did not fully understand; yet he knew that the issue was one of seconds. _seconds_ must decide everything; his whole world hung in the balance. his hand ripped apart the sealed fold, and he held the sheet before his eyes. possessing only an elementary education jeffery neilson was not, ordinarily, a fast reader. usually he sounded out his words only with the greatest difficulty. but to-day, one glance at the page conveyed to him the truth: from half a dozen words he got a general idea of the letter's full, dread meaning. ben had written: to neilson and his gang:-- when you get this, beatrice will be on her way to back there--either there or on her way to hell. ezra melville was my pard. a letter leaving his claim to me is in my pocket, and i alone know where hiram's will is, leaving it to ezram. your title will never stand as long as those papers aren't destroyed. if you don't care enough about saving your daughter from me, at least you'll want those letters. come and get them. i'll be waiting for you. ben darby. as the truth flashed home, neilson's first thought was of his rifle. he was a wilderness man, trained to put his trust in the weapon of steel; and if it were only in his hands, there might yet be time to prevent the abduction. one well-aimed bullet over the water, shooting with all his old-time skill, might yet hurl the avenger to his death in the moment of his triumph. just one keen, long gaze over the sights,--heaven or earth could not yield him a vision half so glorious as this! for all his terror he knew that he could shoot as he had never shot before, true as a light-ray. his remorseless eyes for once could see clear and sure. one shot--and then beatrice could seize the paddle and save herself. and he cursed himself, more bitterly than he had ever cursed an enemy, when his empty hands showed him that he had left his rifle in his cabin. his pistol, however, was at his belt, and his hand reached for it. but the range was already too far for any hope of accurate pistol fire. his hard eyes gazed along the short, black barrel. his steady finger pressed back against the trigger. the first shot fell far short. the pistol was of large caliber but small velocity; and a hundred yards was its absolute limit of point-blank range. he lifted the gun higher and shot again. again he shot low. but the third bullet fell just a few feet on the near side of the canoe. he had the range now, and he shot again. it was like a dream, outside his consciousness, that beatrice was screaming with fear and amazement. she was already too far to give or receive a message: all hope lay in the pistol alone. the fifth shot splashed water beyond the craft. once more he fired, but the boat was farther distant now, and the bullet went wild. the pistol was empty. like a moose leaping through a marsh he turned back to his cabin for his rifle. but already he knew that he was lost. before ever he could climb up the hundred yards to the cabin, and back again, the craft would be around the bend in the river. heavy brush would hide it from then on. he hastened frantically up the narrow, winding trail. xx ben was fully aware, as he pushed the canoe from landing, that the success of his scheme was not yet guaranteed. long ago, in the hard school of the woods, he had found out life; and one of the things he had learned was that nothing on earth is infallible and no man's plans are sure. there are always coincidents of which the scheming brain has not conceived: the sudden interjection of unexpected circumstances. the unforeseen appearance of beatrice's father on the landing had been a case in point. most of all he had been afraid that beatrice herself would leap from the canoe and attempt to swim to safety. he had learned in his past conversations with her that she had at least an elementary knowledge of swimming. had she not confessed at the same time fear of the water, his plan could have never been adopted. the northern girls have few opportunities to obtain real proficiency in swimming. their rivers are icy cold, their villages do not afford heated natatoriums. yet he realized that he must quiet her suspicions as long as possible. "i've got the landing picked out," he told her as they started off. "i've been all over the river this morning. it is quite a way down--around the bend--but it's perfectly safe. so don't be afraid." "i'm not afraid--with you. and how fast you paddle!" it was true: in all her days by rivers she had never seen such perfect control of a canoe. he paddled as if without effort, but the streaming shore line showed that the boat moved at an astonishing rate. he was a master canoeist, and whatever fears she might have had vanished at once. she talked gayly to him, scarcely aware that they were heading across and down the stream. when her father had appeared on the bank, calling, she had not been in the least alarmed. ben's gay shouts kept her from understanding exactly what he was saying. and when the old man had drawn his pistol and fired, and the bullet had splashed in the water some twenty yards toward shore, her mind had refused to accept the evidence of her senses. the second shot followed the first, and the third the second, resulting in, for her part, only the impotence of bewilderment. her first thought was that her father's fierce temper, long known to her, had engulfed him in murderous rage. trusting ben wholly, the real truth did not occur to her. she screamed shrilly at the fourth shot; and ben looked up to find her pale as the foam from his flashing paddle. "turn around and go back," she cried to ben. "he'll kill you if you don't! oh, please--turn around--" "and get in range of him so he _can_ kill me?" ben replied savagely. "can't you see he's shooting at me?" "then throw up your hands--it's all some dreadful mistake. can't you hear me--turn and go back." the fifth and sixth shots were fired by now; and neilson had gone to his cabin for his rifle. ben smiled grimly into her white face. "we'd better keep on going to our landing place," he advised. "there's no place to land above it--i went all over the shore this morning. that will give him time to cool down. i only want to get around this curve before he comes with his rifle." she stared at him aghast, too confused and terrified to make rational answer. he was pale, too; but she had a swift feeling that the cold, rugged face was in some way exultant, too. the first chill of fear of him brushed her like a cold wind. but they were around the bend by now, and ben's breath caught as if in a triumphant gasp. already all opportunity for the girl to swim to shore was irremediably past. while he could still control the canoe with comparative ease, the river was a swift-moving sheet of water that would carry any one but the strongest swimmer remorselessly into the rapids below. ben smiled, like a man who has come into a great happiness, and rested on his paddle. "push into shore," the girl urged. "the home shore--if you can. then i'll go and find him and try to quiet him. he'll kill you if you don't." a short pause followed the girl's words. the man smiled coldly into her eyes. "he'll kill me, will he?" he repeated. the response to the simple question was simply unmitigated terror, swift and deadly, surging through the girl's frame. it caught and twisted her throat muscles like a cruel hand; and her childish eyes widened and darkened under his contemptuous gaze. "what do you mean?" she asked breathlessly. "what--are you going to do?" "he won't kill me," ben went on. "i may kill him--and i will if i can--but he won't kill me. see--we're going faster all the time." it was true. strokes of the paddle were no longer necessary to propel the craft at the breakneck pace. it sped like an arrow--straight toward the perilous cataracts below. the girl watched him with transcending horror, and slowly the truth went home. the supplies in the boat, her father's desperate attempt to rescue her, even at the risk of her own life and the cost of ben's, this white, exultant face before her, more terrible than that of the wolf between, the cold reptile eyes so full of some unhallowed emotion,--at last she saw their meaning and relation. was it _death_--was _that_ what this mad man in the stern had for her? she remembered what she had told him the day before, her description of the cataracts that lay below. she struggled to shake off the trance that her terror had cast about her. "turn into the shore," she told him, half-whispering. there was no pleading in her tone: the hard eyes before her told her only too plainly how futile her pleas would be. "you still have time to steer into shore. i'll jump overboard if you don't." he shook his head. "don't jump overboard, beatrice," he answered, some of the harshness gone from his tones. "it isn't my purpose to kill you--and to jump over into this stream only means to die--'for any one except the most powerful swimmer. you'd be carried down in an instant." the girl knew he spoke the truth. only death dwelt in those cold and rushing waters. "what do you mean to do?" she asked. her tone was more quiet now, and he waited an instant before he answered. the canoe glided faster--ever faster down the stream. somewhat afraid, but still trusting in the imperial mind of his master, the wolf raised his head to watch the racing shore line. "it's just a little debt i owe your father--and his gang," ben explained. "i'll tell you some time, in the days to come. it was a debt of blood--" the girl's dark eyes charged with red fire. "and you, a coward, take your payment on a woman. turn the canoe into the bank." "the payment won't be taken from you," he explained soberly. "you'll be safe enough--even the fate that neilson fears for you won't happen. i hate him too much to take _that_ payment from you. i'd die before i'd touch the flesh of his flesh to mine! do you understand that?" his fury had blazed up, for the instant, and she saw the deadly zeal of a fanatic in his gray eyes. a hatred beyond all naming, a bitterness and a rage such as she had never dreamed could blast a human heart was written in his brown, rugged face. her woman's intuition gave her added vision, and she glimpsed something of the fire that smoldered and seared behind his eyes. they were of one blood, this man in the stern and the wolf on the duffle. "then why--" "you're safe with me--the daughter of jeff neilson can't ever be anything but safe with me--as far as the thing you fear is concerned. don't be afraid for that. i'm simply paying an honest debt, and you're the unfortunate agent. don't you know the things he's fearing now are more torment to him than anything i could do to his flesh? if we should be killed in these rapids that are coming, it will be fair enough too; he'll know what it is to lose the dearest thing on earth he has. for you and me it will only be a minute that won't greatly matter. for him it will be weeks--months! but that's only a part of it. i hope to bring you through. the main thing is--that sooner or later they'll come for you--into a country where i'll have every advantage. where there won't be any escape or chance for them. where i can watch the trails, and shatter them--every one--as slow or as fast as i like. where they'll have to hunt for me, week on week and month on month, their fears eating into them. that's my game, beatrice. there will be discomfort for you--and some danger--but i'll make it as light as i can. and in another moment--" "you've still got time to turn back," the girl answered him, seemingly without feeling. "glide into shore, and we'll try to catch an overhanging limb. it's my last warning." it was true that a few seconds remained in which they might, with heroic effort, save themselves. but these were passing: already they could see the gleaming whitecaps of the cataract below. the roar of the wild waters was in their ears. ahead they could see great rocks, emerging like fangs above the water, sharp-edged and wet with spray. the boat was shuddering; the water seemed to covet them, and a great force, like the hand of a river god, reached at them from beneath as if to crush them in a merciless grasp. a hundred yards farther the smooth, swift water fell into a seething, roaring cataract--such a manifestation of the mighty powers of nature as checks the breath and awes the heart--a death stream in which seemingly the canoe would be shattered to pieces in an instant. ben shook his head. the girl's white hand flashed to her side, then rose sure and steady, holding her pistol. "turn quick, or i'll fire," she said. he felt that, if such action were in her power, she told the truth. no mercy dwelt in her clear gaze. his eye fell to the box of cartridges, now fallen safely among the duffle. presently he smiled into her eyes. "your gun is empty, beatrice," he told her quietly. he heard her sob, and he smiled a little, reassuringly. "never mind--and pray for a good voyage," he advised. "we're going through." xxi the craft and its occupants were out of sight by the time jeffery neilson reached the river bank with his rifle. the flush had swept from his bronze skin, leaving it a ghastly yellow, and for once in his life no oaths came to his lips. he could only mutter, strangely, from a convulsed throat. like an insane man he hastened down the river bank, fighting his way through the brush. the thickets were dense, ordinarily impenetrable to any mortal strength except to that mighty, incalculable power of the moose and grizzly; yet they could not restrain him now. the tough clothes he wore were nearly torn from his body; his face and hands were scratched as if by the claws of a lynx; but he did not pause till he reached the bank of the gray river. only one more glimpse of the canoe was vouchsafed him, and that glimpse came too late. he saw the light barge just as it hovered at the crest of the rapids. even if he could have shot straight at so great a range and had killed the man in the stern, no miracle could have saved his daughter. she would have been instantly swept to her death against the crags. some measure of self-control returned to him then, and he made his way fast as he could toward the claim. sensing the older man's distress, ray straightened from his work at the sight of him. the face before him was drawn and white; but there was no time for questions. hard hands seized his arm. "ray, do you know of a canoe anywhere--up or down this river?" "there's one at the landing. none other i know of." "think, man! you don't know where we can get one?" "no. old hiram's canoe was the only one. what's the matter?" "do you think there's one chance in a million of getting down through those rapids on a raft?" ray's eyes opened wide. "a raft!" he echoed. "man, are you crazy? even at this high water a canoe wouldn't have a chance in ten of making it. the river's falling every hour--" "i know it. do you suppose there's a canoe in town?" "no! of course there isn't--one that you could even dream about shooting those rapids in. besides, by the time we got there and packed it up--it would take two days to pack it the best we could do--the river would be too far down to tackle the trip at all. and it won't come up again till fall--you know that. tell me what's the matter. has beatrice--" "beatrice has gone down, that's all." "then she's dead--no hope of anything else. only an expert could hope to take her through, and there's nothing to live on back there. what's the use of trying to follow--?" neilson straightened, his eyes searching ray's. "she's got food, i suppose. and she's got an expert paddler to take her there." ray's face seemed to darken before his eyes. his hands half closed, shook in his face, then caught at neilson's shoulders. "you don't mean--she's run away?" "don't be a fool. not run away--abducted. the prospector i told you about--darby--was the old man's partner. he's paying us back. heaven only knows what the girl's fate will be--i don't dare to think of it. ray, i wish to god i had died before i ever saw this day!" ray stared blankly. "then he found out--about the murder?" he gasped. "yes. here's his letter. take time--and read it. there's no use to try to act before we think--how to act. if i could only see a way--" ray read the letter carefully, crumpling it at last in savage wrath. "it's your fault!" he cried. "why didn't you save her for me as i've always asked you to do; why did you let her go out with him at all? i'll bet she wanted to go--" "i'd rather she had, instead of being taken by force!" the older man--aged incredibly in a few little minutes--slowly straightened. "but don't storm at me, ray!" he warned, carefully and quietly. "i've stood a lot from you, but to-day i'd kill you for one word!" they faced each other in black disdain, but ray knew he spoke the truth. there was no toying with this man's wrath to-day. "and if you'd let me croak this devil like i wanted to, it wouldn't have happened either. but there's no use crying about either one. the girl's a goner, sure; she's deep in the rapids by now." "yes, and it's part of this man's hellish plan to take her clear through to back there. you see, he dares us to come for her--and he'll be waiting and ready for us, mark my words. my god, she's probably dead--smashed to pieces--already!" "he says he's got the old man's letter, leaving the claim to him. that messes up things even worse." "i wish i'd never heard of the claim. there's only one thing to do, and that's to rush into snowy gulch and get a big outfit--all the horses and supplies we can find--and go after her by land." "yes, and walk right into his trap. think again, neilson. it would take weeks and months to get in that way. besides, what would happen to the claim while we're gone?" "you needn't fear for the claim! of course, i'd expect you to think of that first--you who loved beatrice so dearly!" neilson's face was white with disdain. "it'll be recorded in our names, by then--likely chan is already in bradleyburg--and darby himself is the only man on earth we have to fear." he paused, putting his faith in desperate craft. "if you want to cinch the claim, the first thing to do is go and stamp the life out of darby; otherwise he'll turn up and make us trouble, just as he says." "he can't do much if the claim's recorded in our names!" "he can make us plenty of trouble. if you want the girl, ray--don't lose a minute. put your things together as fast as you can. we'll try to get some men in snowy gulch to come with us--to join in the hunt--and we'll hire every pack horse in the country. get busy, and get busy quick." reluctant to leave his gold, yet seeing the truth in neilson's words, ray hastened to his cabin to get such few supplies as would be needed for the day's march into snowy gulch. in less than five minutes they were on their way--tramping in file down the narrow moose trail. they crossed the divide, thus reaching the headwaters of poor man's creek; then took the trail down toward the settlements. but the two claim-jumpers had not yet learned all the day's ill news. half-way to the mouth of the stream they met chan heminway on his way back to the claim. at the first sight of him, riding in the rear of a long train of laden pack horses, they could hardly believe their eyes. it was not to be credited that he had made the trip to bradleyburg and back in the few days he had been absent. only an aeroplane could have made so fast a trip. could it be that in spite of his definite orders he was returning with the duty of recording the claim still unperformed? to neilson, however, the sight of the long pack train brought some measure of satisfaction. here were horses laden with the summer supplies that chan had been told to procure, and they could be utilized in the pursuit of beatrice. two days at least could be saved. "what in the devil you coming back for?" ray shouted, when chan's identity became certain. chan rode nearer as if he had not heard. he checked his horse deliberately, undoubtedly inwardly excited by the news he had to tell and perhaps somewhat triumphant because he was its bearer. "i'm coming back because there ain't no use in staying at snowy gulch any longer," he answered at last. "i've got the supplies, and i'm packin' up to the claim, just as i was told." "but why didn't you go to bradleyburg and record the claim?" ray stormed. "don't you know until that's done we're likely to be chased off any minute?" chan looked into his partner's angry eyes, and his own lips drew in a scowl. "because there wasn't any use in goin' to bradleyburg." ray was stricken with terror, and his words faltered. "you mean you could tend to it in snowy gulch--" "i don't mean nothing of the kind. shut up a minute, and i'll tell you about it. a few days ago steve morris got a letter addressed to old hiram melville--in care of steve. he opened it and read it, and i heard about it soon as i got into town. there ain't no use of our trying to record that claim." "for god's sake, why?" "because it's already recorded, that's why. we all felt so sure, and we wasn't sure at all. before old hiram died he wrote a letter--one of them two letters you heard about, neilson--and which you wished you'd got hold of. who that letter was to was an official in bradleyburg--an old friend of hiram's--and in it was a description of the claim. this letter morris got was a notice that his claim was all properly filed in his--hiram's--name. whatever formalities was necessary was cut out because the old man had been too sick to make the trip--the recorder got special permission from victoria. to be plain, i didn't file the claim because it's already filed, and i didn't want to show myself up as a claim-jumper quite as bad as that." "it's all over town--about the claim?" "sure, but there won't be a rush. there's quite a movement over bradleyburg way for one thing; for another, this is a pocket country, once and for always." for some seconds thereafter his partners could make no intelligent response. this bitter blow had been anticipated by neither. but ray was a strong man, and his self-control quickly returned to him. "you see what that means, don't you?" he asked neilson. "it means we've lost!" the eyes before him narrowed and gleamed. "so that's what it means to you! well, i don't look at it just that way. it means to me that we've got to take these supplies and these pack horses and start out and find ben darby--and never stop hunting till we've found him." "of course we've got to rescue beatrice--" "rescuing beatrice isn't all of it now, by a long shot. for the lord's sake, neilson--use your head a minute. didn't old hiram leave a will, giving this claim to his brother ezra? if the claim wasn't recorded that will wouldn't mean much--but it is. and hasn't this ben got a letter from ezra leaving the claim to him? now do you want to know who owns that claim? ben darby owns it, and as long as he can kick, that quarter of a million in gold can never be ours." "you mean we've got to find him--and destroy that letter--" "we've got to; that's all. he wrote us he had it, just to taunt us, and we've got to burn that up whether we find the girl or not. but that ain't all we've got to destroy--that piece of paper. you see that, don't you?" neilson breathed heavily. "it's all plain enough." "i want it to be plain, so next time i want to let daylight through a man you won't stand in the way. it ain't just enough to burn up that letter. we've got to get the man who owns it, too. if we don't he'd still have a good enough case against us--with a good lawyer. likely enough lots of people knew of their partnership, maybe have seen the letter--and they'd all be good witnesses in a suit. our reputation ain't so good, after that jenkins deal, that we'd shine very bright in a suit. even if he couldn't prove his own claim, he could lug out the will old hiram left--he alone knows where it's hid--and then his next nearest relatives would come in and get the claim. on the other hand, if we smash him, the thing will all quiet down; there'll be no claimants to work the mine; and after a few months we can step in and put up our own notices. but we've got to do that first--smash him wide-open as soon as we can catch up with him. he'll be way out in back there, and no man would ever know what became of him, and there'd be nobody left to oppose us any more. but we can't be safe any other way." neilson nodded slowly. his subordinate had put the matter clearly; and there was truth in his words. in ben's murder alone lay their safety. he had always been adverse to bloodshed; but further reluctance meant ruin. ben was one whom he could strike down without mercy or regret. and the blow would not be for expediency alone. there would be a personal debt to pay after the long months of searching. he could not forget that beatrice was helpless in his hands. "the thing to do is to turn back with chan, at once," he said. "of course," ray agreed. "that plan of yours to get help in chasing 'em down don't go any more. we don't want any spectators for what's ahead of us. here's grub and horses a-plenty, and we needn't lose any time." so they turned back toward the yuga, on their quest of hate. xxii beatrice neilson was a mountain girl, with the strong thews of jael, yet she hid her face as the canoe shot into the crest of the rapids. it seemed incredible to her that the light craft should buffet that wild cataract and yet live. she was young and she loved life; and death seemed very near. the scene that her eyes beheld in that last little instant in which the boat seemed to hang, shuddering, at the crest of the descent was branded indelibly on her memory. she saw ben's face, set like iron, the muscles bunching beneath his flannel sleeves as he set his paddle. he was leaning forward, aware of nothing in the world but the forthcoming crisis. and in that swift flash of vision she saw not only the steel determination and the brutal savagery of the avenger. a little glimpse of the truth went home to her, and she beheld something of the misdirected idealism of the man, the intensity and steadfastness that were the dominant traits of his nature. she could not doubt his belief in the reality of his cause. whether fancied or real the injury, deep wells of emotion in his heart had broken their seals and flowed forth. the wolf crouched on the heap of supplies, fearful to the depths of his wild heart of this mighty stream, yet still putting his faith in his master in the stern. beatrice saw his wild, frightened eyes as he gazed down into the frightful whirlpools. the banks seemed to whip past. then the rushing waters caught the craft and seemed to fling it into the air. there was the swift sense of lightning and incredible movement, of such incalculable speed as that with which a meteor blazes through the sky, and then a mighty surging, struggle; an interminable instant of ineffable and stupendous conflict. the bow dipped, split the foam; then the raging waters seized the craft again, and with one great impulse hurled it through the clouds of spray, down between the narrow portals of rocks. beatrice came to herself with the realization that she had uttered a shrill cry. part of the impulse behind it was simply terror; but it was also the expression of an intensity of sensation never before experienced. she could have understood, now, the lure of the rapids to experienced canoeists. she forced herself to look into the wild cataract. the boat sped at an unbelievable pace. ben held his paddle like iron, yet with a touch as delicate as that of a great musician upon piano keys, and he steered his craft to the last inch. his face was still like metal, but the eyes, steely, vivid, and magnetic, had a look of triumph. the first of the great tests had been passed. sudden confidence in ben's ability to guide her through to safety began to warm the girl's frozen heart. there were no places more dangerous than that just past; and he had handled his craft like a master. he was a voyageur: as long as his iron control was sustained, as long as his nerve was strong and his eye true she had every chance of coming out alive. but they had irremediably cast their fortunes upon the river, now. they could not turn back. she was in his whole charge, an agent of vengeance against her own father and his confederates. hot, blinding tears suddenly filled her eyes. her frantic fear of the river had held them back for a time; but they flowed freely enough now the first crisis was past. in utter misery and despair her head bowed in her hands; and her brown hair, disheveled, dropped down. ben gazed at her with a curious mingling of emotions. it had not been part of his plan to bring sorrow to this girl. after all, she was not in the least responsible for her father's crimes. he had sworn to have no regrets, no matter what innocent flesh was despoiled in order that he might strike the guilty; yet the sight of that bowed, lovely head went home to him very deeply indeed. she was the instrument of his vengeance, necessary to his cause, but there was nothing to be gained by afflicting her needlessly. at least, he could give her his pity. it would not weaken him, dampen his fiery resolution, to give her that. as he guided his craft he felt growing compassion for her; yet it was a personal pity only and brought no regrets that he had acted as he did. "i wish you wouldn't cry," he said, rather quietly. amazed beyond expression at the words, beatrice looked up. for the instant her woe was forgotten in the astounding fact that she had won compassion from this cast-iron man in the stern. "i'll try not to," she told him, her dark eyes ineffably beautiful with their luster of tears. "i don't see why i should try--why i should try to do anything you ask me to--but yet i will--" further words came to him, and he could not restrain them. "you're sort of--the goat, beatrice," he told her soberly. "it was said, long ago, that the sins of the father must be visited upon the children; and maybe that's the way it is with you. i can't help but feel sorry--that you had to undergo this--so that i could reach your father and his men. if you had seen old ezram lying there--the life gone from, his kind, gray old face--the man who brought me home and gave me my one chance--maybe you'd understand." they were speechless a long time, beatrice watching the swift leap of the shore line, ben guiding, with steady hand, the canoe. neither of them could guess at what speed they traveled this first wild half-hour; but he knew that the long miles--so heart-breaking with their ridges and brush thickets to men and horses--were whipping past them each in a few, little breaths. ever they plunged deeper into the secret, hushed heart of the wild--a land unknown to the tread of white men, a region so still and changeless that it seemed excluded from the reign and law of, time. the spruce grew here, straight and dark and tall, a stalwart army whose measureless march no human eyes beheld. already they had come farther than a pack train could travel, through the same region, in weary days. already they were at the border of back there. they had cut the last ties with the world of men. there were no trails here, leading slowly but immutably to the busy centers of civilization; not a blaze on a tree for the eyes of a woodsman riding on some forest venture, not the ashes of a dead camp fire or a charred cooking rack, where an indian had broiled his caribou flesh. except by the slow process of exploration with pack horses, traveling a few miles each day, fording unknown rivers and encircling impassable ranges, or by waiting patiently until the fall rains swelled the river, they might never leave this land they had so boldly entered. they could not go out the way they had come--over those seething waters--and the river, falling swiftly, would soon be too low to permit them to push down to its lower waters where they might find indian encampments. nothing was left but the wilderness, ancient and unchanged. the spruce forest had a depth and a darkness that even ben had never seen; the wild creatures that they sometimes glimpsed on the bank stared at them wholly without knowledge as to what they were, and likely amazed at the strength whereby they had braved this seething torrent that swept through their sylvan home. here was a land where the grizzly had not yet learned of a might greater than his, where he had not yet surrendered his sovereignty to man. here the moose--mightiest of the antlered herd--reached full maturity and old age without ever mistaking the call of a birch-bark horn for that of his rutting cow. young bulls with only a fifty-inch spread of horns and ten points on each did not lead the herds, as in the more accessible provinces of the north. all things were in their proper balance, since the forest had gone unchanged for time immemorial; and as the head-hunters had not yet come the bull moose did not rank as a full-grown warrior until he wore thirty points and had five feet of spread, and he wasn't a patriarch until he could no longer walk free between two tree trunks seventy inches apart. certain of the lesser forest people were not in unwonted numbers because that fierce little hunter, the marten, had been exterminated by trappers; the otter, yet to know the feel of cold iron, fished to his heart's content in rivers where an artificial fly had never fallen and the trout swarmed in uncounted numbers in the pools. darting down the rapids ben felt the beginnings of an exquisite exhilaration. part of it arose from the very thrill and excitement of their headlong pace; but partly it had a deeper, more portentous origin. here was his own country--this back there. while all the spruce forest in which he had lived had been his natural range and district--his own kind of land with which he felt close and intimate relations--this was even more his home than his own birthplace. by light of a secret quality, hard to recognize, he was of it, and it was of him. he felt the joy of one who sees the gleam of his own hearth through a distant window. he _knew_ this land; it was as if he had simply been away, through the centuries, and had come home. the shadows and the stillness had the exact depth and tone that was true and right; the forest fragance was undefiled; the dark sky line was like something he had dreamed come true. he felt a strange and growing excitement, as if magnificent adventure were opening out before him. his gaze fell, with a queer sense of understanding, to fenris. the wolf had recovered from his fear of the river, by now, and he was crouched, alert and still, in his place. his gaze was fast upon the shore line; and the green and yellow fires that mark the beast were ablaze again in his eyes. fenris too made instinctive response to those breathless forests; and ben knew that the bond between them was never so close as now. fenris also knew that here was his own realm, the land in which the great fear had not yet laid its curse. the forest still thronged with game, the wood trails would be his own. here was the motherland, not only to him but to his master, too. they were its fierce children: one by breed, the other because he answered, to the full, the call of the wild from which no man is wholly immune. ben could have understood the wolf's growing exultation. the war he was about to wage with neilson. would be on his own ground, in a land that enhanced and developed his innate, natural powers, and where he had every advantage. the wolf does not run into the heart of busy cities in pursuit of his prey. he tries to decoy it into his own fastnesses. a sudden movement on the part of beatrice, in the bow of the canoe, caught his eye. she had leaned forward and was reaching among the supplies. his mind at once leaped to the box of shells for her pistol that he had thrown among the duffle, but evidently this was not the object of her search. she lifted into her hands a paper parcel, the same she had brought from her cabin early that morning. he tried to analyze the curious mingling of emotions in her face. it was neither white with disdain nor dark with wrath; and the tears were gone from her eyes. rather her expression was speculative, pensive. presently her eyes met his. his heart leaped; why he did not know. "what is, it?" he asked. "ben--i called you that yesterday and there's no use going back to last names now--i've made an important decision." "i hope it's a happy one," he ventured. "it's as happy as it can be, under the circumstances. ben, i came of a line of frontiersmen--the forest people--and if the woods teach one thing it is to make the best of any bad situation." ben nodded. for all his long training he had not entirely mastered this lesson himself, but he knew she spoke true. "we've found out how hard fate can hit--if i can make it plain," she went on. "we've found out there are certain powers--or devils--or something else, and what i don't know--that are always lying in wait for people, ready to strike them down. maybe you would call it destiny. but the destiny city men know isn't the destiny we know out here--i don't have to tell you that. we see nature just as she is, without any gay clothes, and we know the cruelty behind her smile, and the evil plans behind her gentle words." the man was amazed. evidently the stress and excitement of the morning had brought out the fanciful and poetic side of the girl's nature. "we don't look for good luck," she told him. "we don't expect to live forever. we know what death is, and that it is sure to come, and that misfortune comes always--in the snow and the cold and the falling tree--and when we have good luck we're glad--we don't take it for granted. living up here, where life is real, we've learned that we have to make the best of things in order to be happy at all." "and you mean--you're going to try to make the best of _this_?" his voice throbbed ever so slightly, because he could not hold it even. "there's nothing else i can do," she replied. "you've taken me here and as yet i don't see how i can get away. this doesn't mean i've gone over to your side." he nodded. he understood _that_ very well. "i'm just admitting that at present i'm in your hands--helpless--and many long weeks in before us," she went on. "i'm on my father's side, last and always, and i'll strike back at you if the chance comes. expect no mercy from me, in case i ever see my way to strike." the man's eyes suddenly gleamed. "don't you know--that you'd have a better chance of fighting me--if you didn't put me on guard?" "i don't think so. i don't believe you'd be fooled that easy. besides--i can't pretend to be a friend--when i'm really an enemy." for one significant instant the man looked down. this was what he had done--pretended friendship when he was a foe. but his was a high cause! "i'm warning you that i'm against you to the last--and will beat you if i see my way," the girl went on. "but at the same time i'm going to make the best of a bad situation, and try to get all the comfort i can. i'm in your hands at present, and we're foes, but just the same we can talk, and try to make each other comfortable so that we can be comfortable ourselves, and try not to be any more miserable than we can help. i'm not going to cry any more." as she talked she was slowly unwrapping the little parcel she had brought. presently she held it out to him. it was just a box of homemade candy--fudge made with sugar and canned milk--that she had brought for their day's picnic. but it was a peace offering not to be despised. a heavy load lifted from ben's heart. he waited his chance, guiding the boat with care, and then reached a brown hand. he crushed a piece of the soft, delicious confection between his lips. "thanks, beatrice," he said. "i'll remember all you've told me." xxiii it is a peculiar fact that no one is more deeply moved by the great works and phenomena of nature than those who live among them. it is the visitor from distant cities, or the callow youth with tawdry clothes and tawdry thoughts who disturbs the great silences and austerity of majestic scenes with half-felt effusive words or cheap impertinences. oddly enough, the awe that the wilderness dweller knows at the sight of some great, mysterious canyon or towering peak seems to increase, rather than decrease, with familiarity. his native scenes never grow old to him. their beauty and majesty is eternal. perhaps the reason lies in the fact that the native woodsman knows nature as she really is: living ever close to her he knows her power over his life. perhaps there is a religious side to the matter, too. in the solitudes the religious instincts receive an impulse that is impossible to those who know only the works of man. the religion that this gives is true and deep, and the eye instinctively lifts in reverence to the manifestations of divine might. when the swirling waters carried the canoe down into the gorge of the yuga both ben and beatrice were instinctively awed and stilled. ever the walls of the gorge grew more steep, until the sunlight was cut off and they rode as if in twilight. the stone of the precipices presented a marvellous array of color; and the spruce, almost black in the subdued light, stood in startling contrast. ben saw at once that even were they able to land they could not--until they had emerged from the gorge--climb to the highlands. a mountain goat, most hardy of all mountaineers, could scarcely scale the abrupt wall. during this time of half-light they saw none of the larger forest creatures that at first had gazed at them with such wonder from the banks. the reason was simply that they could not descend and ascend the steep walls. mostly ben had time only for an occasional glimpse at the colossus above him. his work was to guide the craft between the perilous boulders. occasionally the river slackened its wild pace, and at such times he stretched his arms and rested his straining eyes. both had largely forgotten the danger of the ride. because she was trying bravely to make the best of a tragic situation beatrice had resolved to keep danger from her thoughts. ben had known from the first that danger was an inevitable element in his venture, and he accepted it just as he had considered it,--with entire coldness. yet both of them knew, in their secret thoughts, that the balance of life and death was so fine that the least minor incident might cast them into darkness. it would not have to be a great disaster, a wide departure from the commonplace. they were traveling at a terrific rate of speed, and a sharp rock too close to the surface would rip the bottom from their craft. any instant might bring the shock and shudder of the end. there would scarcely be time to be afraid. both would be hurled into the stream; and the wild waters, pounding against the rocks, would close the matter swiftly. it awed them and humbled them to realize with what dispatch and ease this wilderness power could snuff out their mortal lives. there would be no chance to fight back, no element of uncertainty in the outcome. here was a destiny against which the strength of man was as thistledown in the wind! the thought was good spiritual medicine for ben, just as it would have been for most other men, and his egoism died a swift and natural death. one crash, one shock, and then the darkness and silence of the end! the river would rage on, unsatiated by their few pounds of flesh, storming by in noble fury; but no man would know whither they had gone and how they had died. the walls of the gorge would not tremble one whit, or notice; and the spruce against the sky would not bow their heads to show that they had seen. but the canyon broke at last, and the craft emerged into the sunlight. it was good to see the easy slope of the hills again, the spruce forests, and the forms of the wild creatures on the river bank, startled by their passing. noon came and passed, and for lunch they ate the last of the fudge. and now a significant change was manifest in both of them. psychologists are ever astounded at the ability of mortals, men and animals, to become adjusted to any set of circumstances. the wax of habit sets almost in a day. the truth was, that in a certain measure with very definite and restricted limits, both ben and beatrice were becoming adjusted even to this amazing situation in which they found themselves. this did not mean that beatrice was in the least degree reconciled to it. she had simply accepted it with the intention of making the best of it. she had been abducted by an enemy of her father and was being carried down an unknown and dangerous river; but the element of surprise, the life of which is never but a moment, was already passing away. sometimes she caught herself with a distinct start, remembering everything with a rage and a bitter load on her heart; but the mood would pass quickly. it is impossible, through any ordinary change of fortune, for a normal person to lose his sense of self-identity. as long as that remains exterior conditions can make no vital change, or make him feel greatly different than he felt before. the change from a peasant to a millionaire brings only a moment's surprise, and then readjustment. beatrice was still herself; the man in the stern remained ben darby and no one else. very naturally she began to talk to him, and he to answer her. the fact that they were bitter foes, one the victim of the other, did not decree they could not have friendly conversation, isolated as they were. from time to time ben pointed out objects of interest on the shore; and she found herself remarking, in a casual voice, about them. and before the afternoon he had made her laugh, in spite of herself,--a gay sound in which fear and distress had little echo. "we're bound to see a great deal of each other in the next few weeks," he had said; and this fact could not be denied. the sooner both became adjusted to it the better. actual fear of him she had none; she remembered only too well the steel in his eyes and the white flame on his cheeks as he had assured her of her safety. in mid-afternoon ben began to think of making his night's camp. from time to time the bank became an upright precipice where not even a tree could find foothold; and it had occurred to him, with sudden vividness, that he did not wish the darkness to overtake him in such a place. the river rocks would make short work of him, in that case. it was better to pick out a camp site in plenty of time lest they could not find one at the day's end. in one of the more quiet stretches of water he saw the place--a small cove and a green, tree-clad bank, with the gorge rising behind. handling his canoe with greatest care he slanted toward it. a moment later he had caught the brush at the water's edge, stepped off into shallow water, and was drawing the canoe up onto the bank. "we're through for the day," he said happily, as he helped beatrice out of the boat. "i'll confess i'm ready to rest." beatrice made no answer because her eyes were busy. coolly and quietly she took stock of the situation, trying to get an idea of the geographical features of the camp site. she saw in a glance, however, that there was no path to freedom up the gorge behind her. the rocks were precipitate: besides, she remembered that over a hundred miles of impassable wilderness lay between her and her father's cabin. without food and supplies she could not hope to make the journey. the racing river, however, wakened a curious, inviting train of thought. the torrent continued largely unabated for at least one hundred miles more, she knew, and the hours that it would be passable in a canoe were numbered. the river had fallen steadily all day; driftwood was left on the shore; rocks dried swiftly in the sun, cropping out like fangs above the foam of the stream. was there still time to drift on down the yuga a hundred or more miles to the distant indian encampment? she shut the thought from her mind, at present, and turned her attention to the work of making camp. with entire good humor she began to gather such pieces of dead wood as she could find for their fire. "your prisoner might as well make herself useful," she said. ben's face lighted as she had not seen it since their outward journey from snowy gulch. "thank god you're taking it that way, beatrice," he told her fervently. "it was a proposition i couldn't help--" but the girl's eyes flashed, and her lips set in a hard line. "i'm doing it to make my own time go faster," she told him softly, rather slowly. "i want you to remember that." but instantly both forgot their words to listen to a familiar clucking sound from a near-by shrub. peering closely they made out the plump, genial form of franklin's grouse,--a bird known far and wide in the north for her ample breast and her tender flesh. "good lord, there's supper!" ben whispered. "beatrice, get your pistol--" her eyes smiled as she looked him in the face. "you remember--my pistol isn't loaded!" "excuse me. i forgot. give it to me." she handed him the little gun, and he slipped in the shells he had taken from it. then--for the simple and sensible reason that he didn't want to take any chance on the loss of their dinner--he stole within twenty feet of the bird. very carefully he drew down on the plump neck. "dinner all safe," he remarked rather gayly, as the grouse came tumbling through the branches. xxiv quietly beatrice retrieved the bird and began to remove its feathers. ben built the fire, chopped sturdily at a half-grown spruce until it shattered to the earth, and then chopped it into lengths for fuel. when the fire was blazing bright, he cut away the green branches and laid them, stems overlapping, into a fragrant bed. "here's where you sleep to-night, beatrice," he informed her. she stopped in her work long enough to try the springy boughs with her arms; then she gave him an answering smile. even a tenderfoot can make some sort of a comfortable pallet out of evergreen boughs--ends overlapping and plumes bent--but a master woodsman can fashion a veritable cradle, soft as silk with never a hard limb to irritate the flesh, and yielding as a hair mattress. such softness, with the fragrance of the balsam like a sleeping potion, can not help but bring sweet dreams. ben had been wholly deliberate in the care with which he had built the pallet. he had simply come to the conclusion that she was paying a high price for her father's sins; and from now on he intended to make all things as easy as he could for her. moreover, she had been a sportswoman of the rarest breed and merited every kindness he could do for her. he was not half so careful with his own bed, built sixty feet on the opposite side of the fire. he threw it together rather hastily. and when he walked back to the fire he found an amazing change. already beatrice had established sovereignty over the little patch of ground they had chosen for the camp,--and the wilderness had drawn back. this spot was no longer mere part of the far-spreading, trackless wilds. it had been set off and marked so that the wilderness creatures could no longer mistake it for part of their domain. over the fire she had erected a cooking rack; and water was already boiling in a small bucket suspended from it. in another container a fragrant mixture was in the process of cooking. she had spread one of the blankets on the grass for a tablecloth. as twilight lowered they sat down to their simple meal,--tea, sweetened with sugar, and vegetables and meat happily mingled in a stew. it was true that the vegetable end was held up by white grains of rice alone, but the meat was the white, tender flesh of grouse, permeating the entire dish with its tempting flavor. as a whole, the stew was greatly satisfying to the inner man. "i wish i'd brought more tea," ben complained, as he sipped that most delightful of all drinks, the black tea beloved of the northern men. "you a woodsman, and don't know how to remedy that!" the girl responded. "i know of a native substitute that's almost as good as the real article." about the embers of the fire they sat and watched the tremulous wings of night close round them. the copse grew breathless. the distant trees blended into shadow, the nearer trunks dimmed and finally faded; the large, white northern stars emerged in infinite troops and companies, peering down through the rifts in the trees. here about their fire they had established the domain of man. for a few short hours they had routed the forces of the wilderness; but the foe pressed close upon them. just at the fluctuating ring of firelight he waited, clothed in darkness and mystery,--the infinite, brooding spirit of the ancient forest. they had never known such silence, broken only by the prolonged chord of the river, as descended upon them now. it was new and strange to the conscious life of ben, himself, the veritable offspring of the woods; although infinitely old and familiar to a still, watching, secret self within him. it was as if he had searched forever for this place and had just found it, and it answered, to the full, a queer mood of silence in his own heart. the wind had died down now. the last wail of a coyote--disconsolate on a far-away ridge--had trembled away into nothingness; the voices of the little people who had chirped and rustled in the tree aisles during the daylight hours were stilled with a breathless, dramatic stillness. such sound as remained over the interminable breadth of that dark forest was only the faint stirrings and rustlings of the beasts of prey going to their hunting; and this was only a moving tone in the great chord of silence. to ben the falling night brought a return of his most terrible moods. beatrice sensed them in his pale, set face and his cold, wolfish eyes. the wolf sat beside him, swept by his master's mood, gazing with deadly speculations into the darkness. beatrice saw them as one breed to-night. the wild had wholly claimed this repatriated son. the paw of the beast was heavy upon him; the softening influences of civilization seemed wholly dispelled. there was little here to remind her that this was the twentieth century. the primitive that lies just under the skin in all men was in the ascendancy; and there was little indeed to distinguish him from the hunter of long ago, a grizzled savage at the edge of the ice who chased the mammoth and wild pony, knowing no home but the forest and no gentleness unknown to the wolf that ran at his heels.... the tenderness and sympathy he had had for her earlier that day seemed quite gone now. she searched for it in vain in the dark and savage lines of his pale face. because it has always been that the happiness of women must depend upon the mood of men, her own spirits fell. the despair that descended upon her brought also resentment and rage; and soon she slipped away quietly to her bed. she drew the blankets over her face; but no tears wet her cheeks to-night. she was dry-eyed, thoughtful--full of vague plans. she lay awake a long time, until at last a little, faint ray of hope beamed bright and clear. more than a hundred miles farther down the yuga, past the mouth of grizzly river, not far from the great, north-flowing stream of which the yuga was a tributary, lay an indian village--and if only she could reach it she might enlist the aid of the natives and make a safe return, by a long, roundabout route, to her father's arms. the plan meant deliverance from ben and the defeat of all his schemes of vengeance,--perhaps the salvation of her father and his subordinates. she realized perfectly the reality of her father's danger. she had read the iron resolve in ben's face. she knew that if she failed to make an immediate escape from him, all his dreadful plans were likely to succeed: his enemies would follow him into the unexplored mazes of back there to effect her rescue and fall helpless in his trap. what quality of mercy he would extend to them then she could readily guess. just to get down to the indian village: this was her whole problem. but it was ben's plan to land and enter the interior somewhere in the vast wilderness between, from which escape could not be made until the flood waters of fall. the way would remain open but a few hours more, due to the simple fact that the waters were steadily falling and the river-bottom crags, forming impassable barriers at some points, would be exposed. _if she made her escape at all it must be soon._ yet she could not attempt it at night. she could not see to guide the canoe while the darkness lay over the river. just one further chance remained--to depart in the first gray of dawn. she fell into troubled sleep, but true to her resolution, wakened when the first ribbon of light stretched along the eastern horizon. she sat up, laying the blankets back with infinite care. this was her chance: ben still lay asleep. just to steal down to the water's edge, push off the canoe, and trust her life to the doubtful mercy of the river. the morning soon would break; if she could avoid the first few crags, she had every chance to guide her craft through to deliverance and safety. by no conceivable chance could ben follow her. he would be left in the shadow of the gorge, a prisoner without hope or prayer of deliverance. there was no crossing the cliffs that lifted so stern and gray just behind. before he could build any kind of a craft with axe and fire, the waters would fall to a death level, beyond any hope of carrying him to safety. the tables would be turned; he would be left as helpless to follow her as neilson had been to follow him. the plan meant deliverance for her; but surely it meant _death_ to him. starvation would drive him to the river and destruction, before men could ever come the long way to rescue him. but this was not her concern. she was a forest girl and he her enemy: he must pay the price for his own deeds. she got to her feet, stalking with absolute silence. she must not waken him now. softly she pressed her unshod foot into the grass. he stirred in his sleep; and she paused, scarcely breathing. she looked toward him. dimly she could see his face, tranquil in sleep and gray in the soft light; and an instantaneous surge of remorse sped through her. there was a sweetness, a hint of kindly boyishness in his face now, so changed since she had left him beside the glowing coals. yet he was her deadly enemy; and she must not let her woman's heart cost her her victory in its moment of fulfillment. she crept on down to the water. she could discern the black shadow of the canoe. one swift surge of her shoulders, one leap, the splash of the stern in the water and the swift stroke of the paddle, and she would be safe. she stepped nearer. but at that instant a subdued note of warning froze her in her tracks. it was only a small sound, hushed and hardly sharp enough to arouse ben from his sleep; but it was deadly, savage, unutterably sinister. she had forgotten that ben did not wage war alone. for the moment she had given no thought to his terrible ally,--a pack brother faithful to the death. a great, gaunt form raised up from the pile of duffle in the canoe; and his fangs showed ivory white in the wan light. it was fenris, and he guarded the canoe. he crouched, ready to spring if she drew near. the girl sobbed once, then stole back to her blankets. xxv ben wakened refreshed, at peace with the world as far as he could ever be until his ends were attained; and immediately built a roaring fire. beatrice still slept, exhausted from the stress and suspense of her attempt to escape. when the leaping flames had dispelled the frost from the grass about the fire ben stepped to her side and touched her shoulder. "it's time to get up and go on," he said. "we have only a few hours more of travel." it was true. the river had fallen appreciably during the night. not many hours remained in which to make their permanent landing. although the river was somewhat less violent from this point on, the lower water line would make traveling practically as perilous as on the preceding day. the girl opened her eyes. "i'd rather hoped--i had dreamed it all," she told him miserably. the words touched him. he looked into her face, moved by the girlishness and appeal about the red, wistful mouth and the dark, brimming eyes. "it's pretty tough, but i'm afraid it's true," he said, more kindly than he had spoken since they had left the landing. "do you want me to cook breakfast and bring it to you here?" "no, i want to do that part myself. it makes the time pass faster to have something to do." he went to look for fresh meat, and she slipped into her outer garments. she found water already hot in a bucket suspended from the cooking rack, permitting a simple but refreshing toilet. with ben's comb she straightened out the snarls in her dark tresses, parted them, and braided them into two dusky ropes to be worn indian fashion in front of her shoulders. then she prepared the meal. it was a problem to tax the ingenuity of any housekeeper,--to prepare an appetizing breakfast out of such limited supplies. but in this art, particularly, the forest girls are trained. a quantity of rice had been left from the stew of the preceding night, and mixing it with flour and water and salt, she made a batter. sooner or later fresh fat could be obtained from game to use in frying: to-day she saw no course other than to melt a piece of candle. the reverberating roar of the rifle a hundred yards down the river bank, however, suggested another alternative. a moment later ben appeared--and the breakfast problem was solved. it was another of the woods people that his rifle had brought down,--one that wore fur rather than feathers and which had just come in from night explorations along the river bank. it was a yearling black bear--really no larger than a cub--and he had an inch of fat under his furry hide. the fat he yielded was not greatly different from lard; and the pancakes--or fritters, as ben termed them--were soon frying merrily. served with hot tea they constituted a filling and satisfactory breakfast for both travelers. after breakfast they took to the river, yielding themselves once more to the whims of the current. once more the steep banks whipped past them in ever-changing vista; and ben had to strain at his paddle to guide the craft between the perilous crags. the previous day the high waters had carried them safely above the boulders of the river bed: to-day some of the larger crags all but scraped the bottom of the canoe. it did not tend toward peace of mind to know that any instant they might encounter a submerged crag that would rip their craft in twain. ben felt a growing eagerness to land. but within an hour they came out once more upon the open forest. the river broadened, sped less swiftly, the bank sloped gradually to the distant hills. this was the heart of back there,--a virgin and primeval forest unchanged since the piling-up of the untrodden ranges. the wild pace of the craft was checked, and they kept watch for a suitable place to land. there was no need to push on through the seething cataracts that lay still farther below. shortly before the noon hour ben's quick eye saw a break in the heavy brushwood that lined the bank and quickly paddled toward it. in a moment it was revealed as the mouth, of a small, clear stream, flowing out of a beaver meadow where the grass was rank and high. in a moment more he pushed the canoe into the mud of the creek bank. they both got out, rather sober of mien, and she helped him haul the canoe out upon the bank. they unloaded it quickly, carrying the supplies in easy loads fifty yards up into the edge of the forest, on well-drained dry ground. the entire forest world was hushed and breathless, as if startled by this intrusion. neither of the two travelers felt inclined to speak. and the silence was finally broken by the splashing feet of a moose, running through a little arm of the marsh that the forest hid from view. "is this our permanent camp?" the girl asked at last. "surely not," was the reply. "it's too near the river for one thing--too easily found. it's too low, too--there'll be mosquitoes in plenty in that marsh two months from now. the first thing is--to look around and find a better site." "you want me to come?" "i'd rather, if you don't mind." she understood perfectly. he did not intend to give her complete freedom until the river fell so low that the rapids farther down would be wholly impassable. "i'll come." beatrice smiled grimly. "we can have that picnic we planned, after all." they found a moose trail leading into the forest, and leaving the wolf on guard over the supplies, they filed swiftly along it in that peculiar, shuffling, mile-speeding gait that all foresters learn. at once both were aware of a subdued excitement. in the first place, this was unknown country and they experienced the incomparable thrill of exploration. besides they were seeking a permanent camp where their fortunes would be cast, the drama of their lives be enacted, for weeks to come. almost at once they began to catch glimpses of wild life,--a squirrel romping on a limb; or a long line of grouse, like children in school, perched on a fallen log. the trapper had not yet laid his lines in this land, and the tracks of the little fur-bearers weaved a marvelous and intricate pattern on the moose trail. once a marten with orange throat peered at them from a covert, and once a caribou raced away, too fast for a shot. mostly the wild things showed little fear or understanding of the two humans. the grouse relied on their protective coloration, just as when menaced by the beasts of prey. an otter, rarely indeed seen in daylight, hovered a moment beside a little stream to consider them; and a coyote, greatest of all cowards, lingered in their trail until they were within fifty feet of his grey form, then trotted shyly away. "we won't starve for meat, that's certain," ben informed her. his voice was subdued; he had fallen naturally into the mood of quietness that dwells ever in the primeval forest. because the trail seemed to be leading them too far from the waterways, they took a side trail circling about a wooded hill. ever ben studied the landmarks, looked carefully down the draws and tried to learn as much as possible of the geography of the country; and beatrice understood his purpose with entire clearness. he wished to locate his camp so that it would have every natural advantage and insurance against surprise attack. he desired that every advantage of warfare be in his favor when finally he came to grips with neilson and his men. they crossed a low ridge, following down another of the thousand creeks that water the northern lands. in a moment it led them to a long, narrow lake, blue as a sapphire in its frame of dusky spruce. for a moment both of them halted on its bank, held by its virgin beauty. lost in the solitudes as it was, perhaps never before gazed upon by the eyes of men, still it gave no impression of bleakness and stagnation. rather it was a scene of scintillating life, vivid past all expression. far out of range on the opposite shore a huge bull moose stood like a statue in black marble, gazing out over the shimmering expanse. trout leaped, flashing silver, anywhere they might look; and a flock of loon shrieked demented cries from its center. the burnished wings of a flock of mallard flashed in the air, startled by some creeping hunter. slowly, delighted in spite of themselves by the lovely spot, they followed along its shore. they climbed the bank; and now ben began to examine his surroundings with great care. he had suddenly realized that he was in a region wonderfully fitted for his permanent camp. the low ridge between the lake and the creek gave a clear view of a large part of the surrounding country, affording him every chance of seeing his enemies before they saw him. if they came along the river--the course they would naturally follow--they would be obliged to cross the beaver marsh--a half-mile of open grassland with no protecting coverts. beatrice saw, dismayed, that his gray eyes were kindling with unholy fire under his heavy, dark brows. what if he should see them, deep in the wet grass, filing across the open marsh! how many shots would be needed to bring his war to a triumphant end? there were no thickets in which they might find shelter: hidden himself, they could not return his fire. before they could break and run to cover he could destroy them all! should they cross the narrow neck of the marsh, higher up, he would have every chance to see them on the lake shore. the site was good from the point of health and comfort--high enough to escape the worst of the insect pests, close to fresh water, plenty of fuel, and within a few hundred yards of a lake that simply swarmed with fish and waterfowl. still following a narrow, racing trout stream that flowed into the lake they advanced a short distance farther, clear to the base of a rock wall. and all at once beatrice, walking in front, drew up with a gasp. she stood at the edge of a little glade, perhaps thirty yards across, laying at the base of the cliff. the creek flowed through it, the grass was green and rich, beloved by the antlered herds that came to graze, the tall spruce shaded it on three sides. but it was not these things that caught the girl's eye. just at the edge of a glade a dark hole yawned in the face of the cliff. in an instant more they were beside it, gazing into its depths. it was a natural cavern with rock walls and a clean floor of sand--a roomy place, and yet a perfect stronghold against either mortal enemies or the powers of wind and rain. "it's home," the man said simply. xxvi ben and beatrice went together back to the canoe, and in two trips they carried the supplies to the cave. by instinct a housekeeper, beatrice showed him where to stow the various supplies, what part of the cave was to be used for provisions, where their cots would be laid, and where to erect the cooking rack. shadows had fallen over the land before they finished the work. tired from the hard tramp, yet sustained by a vague excitement neither of them could name or trace, they began to prepare for the night. ben cut boughs as before, placing beatrice's bed within the portals of the cave and his own on the grass outside. he cut fuel and made his fire: beatrice prepared the evening meal. the flesh of the cub-bear they had procured that morning would have to serve them to-night; but more delicious meat could be procured to-morrow. ben knew that the white-maned caribou fed in the high park lands. beatrice made biscuits and brewed tea; and they ate the simple food in the firelight. already the darkness was pressing close upon them, tremulous, vaguely sinister, inscrutably mysterious. they had talked gayly at first; but they grew silent as the fire burned down to coals. a great preoccupation seemed to hold them both. when one spoke the other started, and word did not immediately come in answer. beatrice's despair was not nearly so dominating to-night; and ben harbored a secret excitement that was almost happiness. its source and origin ben could not trace. perhaps it was just relief that the perilous journey was over. the strain of his hours at the paddle had been severe; but now they were safe upon the sustaining earth. yet this fact alone could hardly have given him such a sense of security,--an inner comfort new to his adventurous life. the forest was oppressive to-night, tremulous with the passions of the young world; yet he did not respond to it as before. the excitement that sparkled in the red wine of his veins was not of the chase and death, and he had difficulty in linking it up with the thoughts of his forthcoming vengeance. rather it was a mood that sprang from their surroundings here, their shelter at the mouth of the cave. he felt deeply at peace. the fire blazed warmly at the cavern maw; the wolf stood tense and still, by means of the secret wireless of the wild fully aware of the tragic drama, the curtain of which was the dark just fallen; yet ben's wild, bitter thoughts of the preceding night did not come readily back to him. there was a quality here--in the firelight and the haven of the cave--that soothed him and comforted him. the powers of the wild were helpless against him now. the wind might hurl down the dead trees, but the rock of the cavern wall would stand against them. even the dreaded avalanche could roar and thunder on the steep above in vain. there was no peril in the hushed, breathless forest for him to-night. this was his stronghold, and none could assail it. and it was a significant fact that his sense of intimate relationship with the wolf, fenris, was someway lessened. fenris was a creature of the open forest, sleeping where he chose on the trail; but his master had found a cavern home. there was a strange and bridgeless chasm between such breeds as roamed abroad and those that slept, night after night, in the shelter of the same walls. he watched the girl's face, ruddy in the firelight, and it was increasingly hard to remember that she was of the enemy camp,--the daughter of his arch foe. to-night she was just a comrade, a habitat of his own cave. for the first time since he had found ezram's body--so huddled and impotent in the dead leaves--he remembered the solace of tobacco. he hunted through his pockets, found his pipe and a single tin of the weed, and began to inhale the fragrant, peace-giving smoke. when he raised his eyes again he found the girl studying him with intent gaze. she looked away, embarrassed, and he spoke to put her at ease. "you are perfectly comfortable, beatrice?" he asked gently. "as good as i could expect--considering everything. i'm awfully relieved that we're off the water." "of course." he paused, looking away into the tremulous shadows. "is that all? don't you feel something else, too--a kind of satisfaction?" the coals threw their lurid glow on her lovely, deeply tanned face. "it's for you to feel satisfaction, not me. you couldn't expect me to feel very satisfied--taken from my home--as a hostage--in a feud with my father. but i think i know what you mean. you mean--the comfort of the fire, and a place to stay." "that's it. of course." "i feel it--but every human being does who has a fire when this big, northern night comes down and takes charge of things. it's just an instinct, i suppose, a comfort and a feeling of safety--and likely only the wild beasts are exempt from it." her voice changed and softened, as her girlish fancy reached ever farther. "i suppose the first men that you were telling me about on the way out, the hairy men of long ago, felt the same way when the cold drove them to their caves for the first time. a great comfort in the protecting walls and the fire." "it's an interesting thought--that perhaps the love of home sprang from that hour." "quite possibly. perhaps it came only when they had to fight for their homes--against beasts, and such other hairy men as tried to take their homes away from them. perhaps, after all, that's one of the great differences between men and beasts. men have a place to live in and a place to fight for--and the fire is the symbol of it all. and the beasts run in the forest and make a new lair every day." thoughts of the stone age were wholly fitting in this stone-age forest, and ben's fancy caught on fire quickly. "and perhaps, when the hairy men came to the caves to live, they forgot their wild passions they knew on the open trails--their blood-lust and their wars among themselves--and began to be men instead of beasts." ben's voice had dropped to an even, low murmur. "perhaps they got gentle, and the brute died in their bodies." "yes. perhaps then they began to be tamed." the silence dropped about them, settling slowly; and all except the largest heap of red coals burned down to gray ashes. the darkness pressed ever nearer. the girl stretched her slender, brown arms. "i'm sleepy," she said. "i'm going in." he got up, with good manners; and he smiled, quietly and gently, into her sober, wistful face. "sleep good," he prayed. "you've got solid walls around you to-night--and some one on guard, too. good night." a like good wish was on her lips, but she pressed it back. she had almost forgotten, for the moment, that this man was her abductor and her father's enemy. she ventured into the darkness of the cave. scratching a match ben followed her, so that she could see her way. for the instant the fireside was deserted. and then both of them grew breathless and alert as the brush cracked and rustled just beyond the glowing coals. some huge wilderness creature was venturing toward them, at the edge of the little glade. xxvii the match flared out in ben's fingers, and the only light that was left was the pale moonlight, like a cobweb on the floor of the glade, and the faint glow from the dying fire. about the glade ranged the tall spruce, watching breathlessly; and for a termless second or two a profound and portentous silence descended on the camp. no leaf rustled, not a tree limb cracked. the creature that had pushed through the thickets to the edge of the glade was evidently standing motionless, deciding on his course. only the wild things seem to know what complete absence of motion means. to stand like a form in rock, not a muscle quivering or a hair stirring, is never a feat for ragged, over stretched human nerves; and it requires a perfect muscle control that is generally only known to the beasts of the forest. only a few times in a lifetime in human beings are the little, outward motions actually suspended; perhaps under the paralysis of great terror or, with painstaking effort, before a photographer's camera. but with the beasts it is an everyday accomplishment necessary to their survival. the fawn that can not stand absolutely motionless, his dappled skin blending perfectly with the background of shrubbery shot with sunlight, comes to an end quickly in the fangs of some great beast of prey. the panther that can not lurk, not a muscle quivering, in his ambush beside the deer trail, never knows full feeding. the creature on the opposite side of the glade seemed as bereft of motion as the spruce trees in the moonlight, or the cliff above the cave. "what is it?" beatrice whispered. the man's eyes strained into the gloom. "i don't know. it may be just a moose, or maybe a caribou. but it may be--" he tiptoed to the door of the cave, and his eye fell to the crouching form of fenris. the creature outside was neither moose nor caribou. the great wolf of the north does not stand at bay to the antlered people. he was poised to spring, his fangs bared and his fierce eyes hot with fire, but he was not hunting. whatever moved in the darkness without, the wolf had no desire to go forth and attack. perhaps he would fight to the death to protect the occupants of the cave; but surely an ancient and devastating fear had hold of him. evidently he recognized the intruder as an ancestral enemy that held sovereignty over the forest. at that instant ben leaped through the cavern maw to reach his gun. there was nothing to be gained by waiting further. this was a savage and an uninhabited land; and the great beasts of prey that ranged the forest had not yet learned the restraint born of the fear of man. and he knew one breathless instant of panic when his eye failed to locate the weapon in the faint light of the fire. holding hard, he tried to remember where he had left it. the form across the glade was no longer motionless. straining, ben saw the soft roll of a great shadow, almost imperceptible in the gloom--advancing slowly toward him. then the faint glow of the fire caught and reflected in the creature's eyes. they suddenly glowed out in the half-darkness, two rather small circles of dark red, close together and just alike. this night visitor was not moose or caribou, or was it one of the lesser hunters, lynx or wolverine, or a panther wandered far from his accustomed haunts. the twin circles were too far above the ground. and whatever it was, no doubt remained but that the creature was steadily stalking him across the soft grass. at that instant ben's muscles snapped into action. only a second remained in which to make his defense--the creature had paused, setting his muscles for a death-dealing charge. "go back into the cave--as far as you can," he said swiftly to beatrice. his own eyes, squinted and straining for the last iota of vision in that darkened scene, made a last, frantic search for his rifle. suddenly he saw the gleam of its barrel as it rested against the wall of the cliff, fifteen feet distant. at once he knew that his only course was to spring for it in the instant that remained, and trust to its mighty shocking power to stop the charge that would in a moment ensue. yet it seemed to tear the life fiber of the man to do it. his inmost instincts, urgent and loud in his ear, told him to remain on guard, not to leave that cavern maw for an instant but to protect with his own body the precious life that it sheltered. his mind worked with that incredible speed that is usually manifest in a crisis; and he knew that the creature might charge into the cavern entrance in the second that he left it. yet only in the rifle lay the least chance or hope for either of them. "at him, fenris!" he shouted. the wolf leaped forward like a thrown spear,--almost too fast for the eye to follow. he was deathly afraid, with full knowledge of the power of the enemy he went to combat, but his fears were impotent to restrain him at the first sound of that masterful voice. these were the words he had waited for. he could never disobey such words as these--from the lips of his god. and ben's mind had worked true; he knew that the wolf could likely hold the creature at bay until he could seize his rifle. in an instant it was in his hands, and he had sprung back to his post in front of the cavern maw. and presently he remembered, heartsick, that the weapon was not loaded. for his own safety he had kept it empty on the outward journey, partly to prevent accident, partly to be sure that his prisoner could not turn it against him. but he had shells in the pocket of his jacket. his hand groped, but his reaching fingers found but one shell, dropping it swiftly into the gun. and now he knew that no time remained to seek another. the beast in the darkness had launched into the charge. thereafter there was only a great confusion, event piled upon event with incredible rapidity, and a whole lifetime of stress and fear lived in a single instant. the creature's first lunge carried him into the brighter moonlight; and at once ben recognized its breed. no woodsman could mistake the high, rocking shoulders, the burly form, the wicked ears laid back against the flat, massive head, the fangs gleaming white, the long, hooked claws slashing through the turf as he ran. it was a terrible thing to see and stand against, in the half-darkness. the shadows accentuated the towering outline; and forgotten terrors, lurking, since the world was young, in the labyrinth of the germ plasm wakened and spread like icy streams through the mortal body and seemed to threaten to extinguish the warm flame of the very soul. the grizzly bawled as he came, an explosive, incredible storm of sound. few indeed are the wilderness creatures that can charge in silence: muscular exertion can not alone relieve their gathered flood of madness and fury. and at once ben sensed the impulse behind the attack. he and the girl had made their home in the grizzly's cave--perhaps the lair wherein he had hibernated through the winter and which he still slept in from time to time--and he had come to drive them out. only death could pay for such insolence as this,--to make a night's lair in the den of his sovereignty, the grizzly. it is not the accustomed thing for a grizzly to make an unprovoked attack. he has done it many times, in the history of the west, but usually he is glad enough to turn aside, only launching into his terrible death-charge when a mortal wound obliterates his fear of man, leaving only his fear of death. but this grizzly, native to these uninhabited wilds, had no fear of man to forget. he did not know what man was, and he had not learned the death that dwells in the shining weapon he carries in his arms. no trappers mushed through his snows of spring; no woodsman rode his winding trails. true, from the first instant that the human smell had reached him on the wind he had been disturbed and discomfited; yet it was not grizzly nature to yield his den without a fight. the sight of the wolf--known to him of old--only wakened an added rage in his fierce heart. the wolf met him at his first leap, springing with noble courage at his grizzled throat; and the bear paused in his charge to strike him away. he lashed out with his great forepaw; and if that blow had gone straight home the ribs of the wolf would have been smashed flat on his heart and lungs. the tough trunk of a young spruce would have been broken as quickly under that terrible, blasting full-stroke of a grizzly. the largest grizzly weighs but a thousand pounds, but that weight is simple fiber and iron muscle, of a might incredible to any one but the woodsmen who know this mountain king in his native haunts. but fenris whipped aside, and the paw missed him. immediately the wolf sprang in again, with a courage scarcely compatible with lupine characteristics, ready to wage this unequal battle to the death. but his brave fight was tragically hopeless. for all that his hundred and fifty pounds were, every ounce, lightning muscle and vibrant sinew, it was as if a gopher had waged war with a lynx. yet by the law of his wild heart he could not turn and flee. his master--his stalwart god whose words thrilled him to the uttermost depths--had given his orders, and he must obey them to the end. the second blow missed him also, but the third caught a small shrub that grew twenty feet beyond the dying fire. the shrub snapped off under the blow, and its branchy end smote the wolf across the head and neck. as if struck by a tornado he was hurled into the air, and curtailed and indirect though the blow was, he sprawled down stunned and insensible in the grass. the bear paused one instant; then lunged forth again. but the breath in which the wolf had stayed the charge had given ben his chance. with a swift motion of his arm he had projected the single rifle shell into the chamber of the weapon. the stock snapped to his shoulder; and his keen, glittering eyes sought the sights. xxviii few wilderness adventures offer a more stern test to human nerves than the frightful rush of a maddened grizzly. it typifies all that is primal and savage in the wild: the insane rage that can find relief only in the cruel rending of flesh; the thundering power that no mere mortal strength can withstand. but ben was a woodsman. he had been tried in the fire. he knew that not only his life, but that of the girl in the cavern depended upon this one shot; and it was wholly characteristic of wolf darby that his eye held true and his arm was steady as a vice of iron. he was aware that he must wait until the bear was almost upon him, in order to be sure to send the bullet home to a vital place. this alone was a test requiring no small measure of self-control. the instinct was to fire at once. in the moonlight it was difficult to see his sights: his only chance was to enlarge his target to the last, outer limit of safety. he aimed for the great throat, below the slavering jaw. his finger pressed back steadily against the trigger. the slightest flinching, the smallest motion might yet throw off his aim. the rifle spoke with a roar. but this wilderness battle was not yet done. the ball went straight home, down through the throat, mushrooming and plowing on into the neck, inflicting a wound that was bound to be mortal within a few seconds. the bear recoiled; but the mighty engine of its life was not yet destroyed. its incalculable fonts of vitality had not yet run down. the grizzly bounded forward again. the ball had evidently missed the vertebrae and spinal column. his crashing, thunderous roar of pain smothered instantly the reechoing report of the rifle and stifled the instinctive cry that had come to ben's lips. he was a forester; and he had known of old what havoc a mortally wounded bear can wreak in a few seconds of life. in that strange, vivid instant ben knew that his own and the girl's life still hung in the balance, with the beam inclining toward death. the grizzly was in his death-agony, nothing more; yet in that final convulsion he could rip into shreds the powerful form that opposed him. ben knew, with a cold, sure knowledge, that if he failed to slay the beast, it would naturally crawl into its lair for its last breath. as this dreadful thought flashed home he dropped the empty rifle and seized the axe that leaned against a log of spruce beside the fire. there was no time at all to search out another shell and load his rifle. if the shock of the heavy bullet had not slackened the bear's pace he would not even have had time to seize the axe. finally, if the bear had not been all but dead, in his last, threshing agony, ben's mortal strength could not have sent home one blow. as it was they found themselves facing each other over the embers of the fire, well-matched contestants whose stake was life and whose penalty was death. the grizzly turned his head, caught sight of ben, identified him as the agent of his agony, and lurched forward. just in time ben sprang aside, out of the reach of those terrible forearms; and his axe swung mightly in the air. its blade gleamed and descended--a blow that might have easily broken the bear's back if it had gone true but which now seemed only to infuriate him the more. the bear reared up, reeled, and lashed down; and dying though he was, he struck with incredible power. one slashing stroke of that vast forepaw, one slow closing of those cruel fangs upon skull or breast, and life would have gone out like a light. but ben leaped aside again, and again swung down his axe. these were but the first blows of a terrific battle that carried like a storm through the still reaches of the forest. far in the distant tree aisles the woods people paused in their night's occupation to listen, stirred and terrified by the throb and thrill in the air; the grazing caribou lifted his growing horns and snorted in terror; the beasts of prey paused in the chase, growling uneasily, gazing with fierce, luminous eyes in the direction of the battle. it is beyond the ken of man whether or not, in their wild hearts, these forest folk sensed what was taking place,--that their gray monarch, the sovereign grizzly, was at the death-fight with some dreadful invader from the south. they heard the bear's fierce bawls, unimitatable by any other voice as he lashed down blow after blow; and they heard the thud and crunch of the axe against his body. had this monarch of the trails found his master at last? gazing out through the aperture of the cave beatrice beheld the whole picture: the ring of spruce trees, the glade so strange and ensilvered in the moonlight, and these two fighting beasts, magnificent in fury over the embers of the dying fire. and ben's powers increased, rather than lessened. ever he swung his terrible axe with greater power. he fought like the wolf that was his blood brother,--lunging, striking down, recoiling out of harm's way, and springing forward to strike again. this man was wolf darby, a forester known in many provinces for his woods prowess, but even those who had seen his most spectacular feats, in past days, had not appreciated the real extent of his powers. there was a fury and a might in his blows that was hard to associate with the world of human beings,--such ferociousness and wolf-like savagery, welling strength and prowess of battle that mostly men have forgotten in their centuries of civilization, but which still mark the death-fight between beasts. ben had always recalled the earlier types of man--his great-thewed ancestors, wild hunters in the forests of ancient germany--but never so much as to-night. he was in his natural surroundings--at the mouth of his cave in which the woman watched and exulted in his blows, enclosed by the primeval forest and beside the ashes of his fire. there could be nothing strange or unreal about this scene to beatrice. it was more true than any soft vista of a far-away city could possibly be. it was life itself,--man battling for his home and his woman against the raw forces of the wild. all superficialities and superfluities were gone, and only the basic stuff of life remained,--the cave, the fire, the man who fought the beast in the light of the ancient moon. at that moment ben was no more of the twentieth century than he was of the first, or of the first more than of some dark, unnumbered century of the world's young days. he was simply the male of his species, the man-child of all time, forgetting for the moment all the little lessons civilization had taught, and fighting his fight in the basic way for the basic things. this was no new war which ben and the grizzly fought in the pale light of the moon. it had begun when the race began, and it would continue, in varied fields, until men perished from the earth. ben fought for _life_--not only his own but the girl's--that old, beloved privilege to breathe the air and see and know and be. he represented, by a strange symbolism, the whole race that has always fought in merciless and never-ending battle with the cruel and oppressive powers of nature. in the grizzly were typified all those ancient enemies that have always opposed, with claw and fang, this stalwart, self-knowing breed that has risen among the primates: he symbolized not only the beast of the forest, but the merciless elements, storm and flood and cold and all the legions of death. and had they but known their ultimate fate if this intruder survived the battle and brought his fellows into this, their last stronghold, the watching forest creatures would have prayed to see the grizzly strike him to the earth. ben knew, too, that he was fighting for his home; and this also lent him strength. _home_! his shelter from the storm and the cold, the thing that marked him a man instead of a beast. the grizzly had come to drive him forth; and they had met beside the ashes of his fire. the old exhilaration and rapture of battle flashed through him as he swung his axe, sending home blow after blow. sometimes he cried out, involuntarily, in his fury and hatred; and as the bear weakened he waged the fight at closer quarters. his muscles made marvelous response, flinging him out of danger in the instant of necessity and giving terrific power to his blows. he danced about the shaggy, bleeding form of the bear, swinging his axe, howling in his rage, and escaping the smashing blows of the bear with miraculous agility,--a weird and savage picture in the moonlight. but at last the grizzly lunged too far. ben sprang aside, just in time, and he saw his chance as the great, reeling form sprawled past. he aimed a terrific blow just at the base of the skull. the silence descended quickly thereafter. the blow had gone straight home, and the last flicker of waning life fled from the titanic form. he went down sprawling; ben stood waiting to see if another blow was needed. then the axe fell from his hands. for a moment he stood as if dazed. it was hard to remember all that occurred in the countless life times he had lived since the grizzly had stolen out of the spruce forest. but soon he remembered fenris and walked unsteadily to his side. the wolf, however, was already recovering from the blow. he had been merely stunned; seemingly no bones were broken. once more ben turned to the mouth of the cavern. sobbing and white as the moonlight itself beatrice met him in the doorway. she too had been uninjured; his arm had saved her from the rending fangs. she was closer to him now, filling a bigger part of his life. he didn't know just why. he had fought for her; and some way--they were more to each other. and this was his cavern,--his stronghold of rock where he might lay his head, his haven and his hearth, and the symbol of his dominance over the beasts of the field. he had fought for this, too. and he suddenly knew a great and inner peace and a love for the sheltering walls that would dwell forever in the warp and woof of his being. part three the taming xxix ben rose at daybreak, wonderfully refreshed by the night's sleep, and built the fire at the cavern mouth. beatrice was still asleep, and he was careful not to waken her. the days would be long and monotonous for her, he knew, and the more time she could spend in sleep the better. he did, however, steal to the opening of the cavern and peer into her face. the soft, morning light fell gently upon it, bringing out its springtime freshness and the elusive shades of gold in her hair. she looked more a child than a woman, some one to shelter and comfort rather than to harry as a foe. "poor little girl," he murmured under his breath. "i'm going to make it as easy for you as i can." he meant what he said. he could do that much, at least--extend to her every courtesy and comfort that was in his power, and place his own great strength at her service. his first work was to remove the skin of last night's invader,--the huge grizzly that lay dead just outside the cavern opening. they would have use for this warm, furry hide before their adventure was done. it would supplement their supply of blankets; and if necessary it could be cut and sewed with threads of sinew into clothes. because the animal had but recently emerged from hibernation his fur, except for a few rubbed places, was long and rich,--a beautiful, tawny-gray that shimmered like cloth-of-gold in the light. it taxed his strength to the utmost to roll over the huge body and skin it. when the heavy skin was removed he laid it out, intending to stretch it as soon as he could build a rack. he cut off some of the fat; then quartering the huge body, he dragged it away into the thickets. the hour was already past ten; but beatrice--worn out by the stress of the night before--did not waken until she heard the crack of her pistol. she lay a while, resting, watching through the cavern opening ben's efforts to prepare breakfast. a young grouse had fallen before the pistol, and her companion was busy preparing it for the skillet. the girl watched with some pleasure his rather awkward efforts to go about his work in silence,--evidently still believing her asleep. she laughed secretly at his distress as he tripped clumsily over a piece of firewood; then watched him with real interest as he mixed batter for griddle cakes and fried the white breast of the grouse in bear fat. filling one of the two tin plates he stole into the cavern. falling into his mood the girl pretended to be asleep. she couldn't have understood why her pulse quickened as he knelt beside her, looking so earnestly and soberly into her face. then she felt the touch of his fingers on her shoulder. "wake up, beatrice," he commanded, with pretended gruffness. "it's after ten, and you've got to cook my breakfast." she stirred, pretending difficulty in opening her eyes. "get right up," he commanded again. "d'ye think i'm going to wait all morning?" she opened her eyes to find him regarding her with boyish glee. then--as a surprise--he proffered the filled plate, meanwhile raising his arm in feigned fear of a blow. she laughed; then began upon her breakfast with genuine relish. then he brought her hot water and the meager toilet articles; and left the cave to prepare his own breakfast. "i'm going on a little hunt," he said, when this rite was over. "we can't depend on grouse and bear forever. i hate to ask you to go--" his tone was hopeful; and she could not doubt but that the lonely spirit of these solitudes had hold of him. they were two human beings in a vast and uninhabited wilderness, and although they were foes, they felt the primitive need of each other's companionship. "i don't mind going," she told him. "i'd rather, than stay in the cave." "it's a fine morning. and what's your favorite meat--moose or caribou?" "caribou--although i like both." he might have expected this answer. there are few meats in this imperfect earth to compare in flavor with that of the great, woodland caribou, monarch of the high park-lands. "that means we do some climbing, instead of watching in the beaver meadows. i'm ready--any time." they took the game trail up the ridge, venturing at once into the heavy spruce; but curiously enough, the mysterious hush, the dusky shadows did not appall beatrice greatly to-day. the miles sped swiftly under her feet. always there were creatures to notice or laugh at,--a squirrel performing on a branch, a squawking canada jay surprised and utterly baffled by their tall forms, a porcupine hunched into a spiny ball and pretending a ferociousness that deceived not even such hairbrained folk as the chipmunks in the tree roots, or those queens of stupidity, the fool hens on the branch. in the way of more serious things sometimes they paused to gaze down on some particularly beautiful glen--watered, perhaps, by a gleaming stream--or a long, dark valley steeped deeply in the ancient mysticism of the trackless wilds. he helped her over the steeps, waited for her at bad crossings; and meanwhile his thoughts found easy expression in words. he had to stop and remind himself that she was his foe. beatrice herself attempted no such remembrance; she was simply carrying out her resolve to make the best of a deplorable situation. she could see, however, that he kept close watch of her. he intended to give her no opportunity to strike back at him. he carried his rifle unloaded, so that if she were able, in an unguarded moment, to wrest it from him she could not turn it against him. but there was no joy for her in noticing these small precautions. they only reminded her of her imprisonment; and she wisely resolved to ignore them. they climbed to the ridge top, following it on to the plateau where patches of snow still gleamed white and the spruce grew in dark clumps, leaving open, lovely parks between. here they encountered their first caribou. this animal, however, was not to their liking in the way of meat for the table. a turn in the trail suddenly revealed him at the edge of the glade, his white mane gleaming and his graceful form aquiver with that unquenchable vitality that seems to be the particular property of northern wild animals; but ben let him go his way. he was an old bull, the monarch of his herd; he had ranged and mated and fought his rivals for nearly a score of years in the wild heart of back there,--and his flesh would be mostly sinew. ten minutes later, however, the girl touched his arm. she pointed to a far glade, fully three hundred yards across the canyon. her quick eyes made out a tawny form against the thicket. it was a young caribou--a yearling buck--and his flesh would be tender as a spring fowl. "it's just what we want, but there's not much chance of getting him at that range," he said. "try, anyway. you've got a long-range rifle. if you can hold true, he's yours." this was one thing that ben was skilled at,--holding true. he raised the weapon to his shoulder, drawing down finely on that little speck of brown across the gulch. few times in his life had he been more anxious to make a successful shot. yet he would never have admitted the true explanation: that he simply desired to make good in the girl's eyes. he held his breath and pressed the trigger back. beatrice could not restrain a low, happy cry of triumph. she had forgotten all things, for the moment, but her joy at his success. and truly, ben had made a remarkable shot. most hunters who boast of long-range hits do not step off the distance shot; fifty yards is called a hundred, a hundred and fifty yards three hundred; and to kill true at this range is not the accustomed thing on the trails of sport. the bullet had gone true as a light-shaft, striking the animal through the shoulders, and he had never stirred out of his tracks. with that joy of conquest known to all owners of rod and gun--related darkly to the blood-lust of the beasts--they raced across the gully toward the fallen. ben quartered the animal, and again he saw fit to save the hide. it is the best material of all for the parka, the long, full winter garment of the north. ben carried the meat in four trips back to the camp. by the time this work was done, and one of the quarters was drying over a fire of quivering aspen chips, the day was done. again they saw the twilight shadows grow, and the first sable cloak of night was drawn over the shoulders of the forest. beatrice prepared a wonderful roast of caribou for their evening meal; and thereafter they sat a short time at the mouth of the cavern, looking quietly into the red coals of the dying fire. again ben knew the beneficence and peace of the sheltering walls of home. again he felt a sweet security,--a taming, gentling influence through the innermost fiber of his being. but fenris the wolf gazed only into the darkened woods, and the hair stood stiff at his shoulders, and his eyes glowed and shone with the ancient hunting madness induced by the rising moon. xxx june passed away in the wilds of back there, leaving warmer, longer days, a more potent sun, and a greener, fresher loveliness to the land. the spring calves no longer tottered on wabbly legs, but could follow their swift mothers over the most steep and difficult trails. fledglings learned to fly, the wolf cubs had their first lessons in hunting on the ridges. the wild yuga had fallen to such an extent that navigation--down to the indian villages on the lower waters--was wholly impossible. the days passed quickly for ben and beatrice. they found plenty of work and even of play to pass the time. partly to fill her lonely moments, but more because it was an instinct with her, beatrice took an ever-increasing interest in her cave home. she kept it clean and cooked the meals, performing her tasks with goodwill, even at times a gaiety that was as incomprehensible to herself as to ben. their diet was not so simple now. of course their flour and sugar and rice, and the meat that they took in the chase furnished the body of their meals, and without these things they could not live; but beatrice was a woods child, and she knew how to find manna in the wilderness. almost every morning she ventured out into the still, dew-wet forest, and nearly always she came in with some dainty for their table. she gathered watercress in the still pools and she knew a dozen ways to serve it. sometimes she made a dressing out of animal oil, beaten to a cream; and it was better than lettuce salad. other tender plant tops were used as a garnish and as greens, and many and varied were the edible roots that supplied their increasing desire for fresh vegetables. sometimes she found wocus in the marsh--the plant formerly in such demand by the indians--and by patient experiment she learned how to prepare it for the table. washing the plant carefully she would pound it into paste that could be used as the base for a nutty and delicious bread. other roots were baked in ashes or served fried in animal fat, and once or twice she found patches of wild strawberries, ripening on the slopes. this was living! they plucked the sweet, juicy berries from the vines; they served as dessert and were also used in the fashioning of delicious puddings with rice and sugar. several times she found certain treasures laid by for winter use by the squirrels or the digging people--and perfectly preserved nuts and acorns, the latter, parched over coals, became one of the staples of their diet. she gathered leaves of the red weed and dried them for tea. she searched out the nests of the grouse and robbed them of their eggs; and always high celebration in the cave followed such a find as this. fried eggs, boiled eggs, poached eggs tickled their palates for mornings to come. and she traced down, one memorable day when their sugar was all but gone, a tree that the wild bees had stored with honey. in the way of meat they had not only caribou, but the tender veal of moose and all manner of northern small game. ben did not, however, spend rifle cartridges in reckless shooting. when at last his enemies came filing down through the beaver meadow he had no desire to be left with a half-empty gun. he had never fired this more powerful weapon since he had felled their first caribou. the moose calves and all the small game were taken with beatrice's pistol. sometimes he took ptarmigan--those whistling, sprightly grouse of the high steeps--and beatrice served uncounted numbers of them, like the famous blackbirds, baked in a pie. fried ptarmigan was a dish never to forget; roast ptarmigan had a distinctive flavor all its own, and the memory of ptarmigan fricassee often called ben home to the cavern an hour before the established mealtime. indeed, they partook of all the northern species of that full-bosomed clan, the upland game birds; little, brown quail, willow grouse, fool hens, and the incomparable blue grouse, half of the breast of which was a meal. it was true that their little store of pistol cartridges was all but gone, but worlds of big game remained to fall back upon. ben never ceased regretting that he had not brought a single fishhook and a piece of line. he had long since carried the canoe from the river bank and hid it in the tall reeds of the lake shore, not only for pleasure's sake, but to preserve it for the autumn floods when they might want to float on down to the indian villages; and surely it would have afforded the finest sport in the way of trolling for lake trout. but with utter callousness he made his pistol serve as a hook and line. often he would crawl down, cautiously as a stalking wolf, to the edge of a trout pool, then fire mercilessly at a great, spotted beauty below. the bullet itself did not penetrate the water, but the shock carried through and the fish usually turned a white belly to the surface. a fat brook or lake trout, dipped in flour and fried to a chestnut brown, was a delight that never grew old. at every fresh find beatrice would come triumphant into ben's presence; and at such times they scarcely conducted themselves like enemies. an unguessed boyishness and charm had come to ben in these ripe, full summer days: the hard lines softened in his face and mostly the hard shine left his eyes. beatrice found herself curiously eager to please him, taking the utmost care and pains with every dish she prepared for the table; and it was true that he made the most joyful, exultant response to her efforts. the searing heat back of his eyes was quite gone, now. even the scarlet fluid of his veins seemed to flow more quietly, with less fire, with less madness. a gentling influence had come to bear upon him; a great kindness, a new forbearance had brightened his outlook toward all the world. a great redemption was even now hovering close to him,--some unspeakable and ultimate blessing that he could not name. their days were not without pleasure. often they ventured far into the heavy forest, and always fresh delight and thrilling adventure awaited them. ever they learned more of the wild things that were their only neighbors,--creatures all the way down the scale from the lordly moose, proud of his growing antlers and monarch of the marshes, to the small pika, squeaking on the slide-rock of the high peaks. they knew and loved them all; they found ever-increasing enjoyment in the study of their shy ways and furtive occupations; they observed with delight the droll awkwardness of the moose calves, the impertinence and saucy speech of the jays, the humor of the black bear and the surly arrogance of the grizzly. they knew that superlative cunning of his wickedness, the wolverine; the stealth of the red fox; the ferociousness of the ermine whose brown skin, soon to be white, suggested only something silken and soft and tender instead of a fiendish cutthroat, terror of the little people; the skulking cowardice of the coyote; and the incredible savagery and agility of the fisher,--that middle-sized hunter that catches and kills everything he can master except fish. they climbed high hills and descended into still, mysterious valleys; they paddled long, dreamy twilight hours on the lake; they traversed marshes where the moose wallowed; and they walked through ancient forests where the decayed vegetation was a mossy pulp under their feet. sometimes they forgot the poignancy of their strange lives, romping sometimes, gossiping like jays in the tree-limbs, and sometimes, forgetting enmity, they told each other their secret beliefs and philosophies. they had picnics in the woods; and long, comfortable evenings before their dancing fire. but there was one enduring joy that always surpassed all the rest, a happiness that seemed to have its origin in the silent places of their hearts. it was just the return, after a fatiguing day in forest and marsh, to the sheltering walls of the cave. with his axe and hunting knife ben prepared a complete set of furniture for their little abode. his first work was a surpassing-marvelous dining-room suite of a table and two chairs. then he put up shelves for their rapidly dwindling supplies of provisions and cut chunks of spruce log, with a bit of bark remaining, for fireside seats. and for more than a week, beatrice was forbidden to enter a certain covert just beyond the glade lest she should prematurely discover an even greater wonder that ben, in off hours, was preparing for a surprise. from time to time she heard him busily at work, the ring of his axe and his gay whistling as he whittled bolts of wood; but other than that it concerned the grizzly skin she had not the least idea of his task. but the work was completed at last, and then came two days of rather significant silence,--quite incomprehensible to the girl. she was at a loss why ben did not reveal his treasure. but one morning she missed the familiar sounds of his fire-building, usually his first work on wakening. the very fact of their absence startled her wide-awake, while otherwise she would have perhaps slept late into the morning. ben had seemingly vanished into the heavy timber across the glade. presently she heard him muttering and grunting as he moved some heavy object to the door of the cave. boyishly, he could not wait for the usual late hour when she wakened. he made a wholly unnecessary amount of noise as he built the fire. then he thrust his lean head into the cavern opening. "i hope i haven't waked you up?" he said. the girl smiled secretly. "i wanted to wake up, anyway--to-day." "i wish you'd get up and come and look at something ugly i've got just outside the door." she hurried into her outer garments, and in a moment appeared. it was ugly, certainly, the object that he had fashioned with such tireless toil: not fitted at all for a stylish city home; yet the girl, for one short instant, stopped breathing. it was a hammock, suspended on a stout frame, to take the place of her tree-bough bed on the cave floor. he had used the grizzly skin, hanging it with unbreakable sinew, and fashioning it in such a manner that folds of the hide could be turned over her on cold nights. for a moment she gazed, very earnestly, into the rugged, homely, raw-boned face of her companion. beatrice was deeply and inexplicably sobered, yet a curious happiness took swift possession of her heart. reading the gratitude in her eyes, ben's lips broke into a radiant smile. "i guess you've forgotten what day it is," he said. "of course. i hardly know the month." "i've notched each day, you know. and maybe you've forgotten--on the ride out from snowy gulch--we talked of birthdays. to-day is yours." she stared at him in genuine astonishment. she had not dreamed that this little confidence, given in a careless moment of long weeks before, had lingered in the man's memory. she had supposed that the fury and savagery of his war with her father and the latter's followers had effaced all such things as this. and it was true that had this birthday come a few weeks before, on the river journey and previous to their occupation of the cave, ben would have let it pass unnoticed. the smoldering fire in his brain would have seared to ashes any such kindly thought as this. but when the wild hunter leaves his leafy lair and goes to dwell, a man rather than a beast, in a permanent abode, he has thought for other subjects than his tribal wars and the blood-lust of his hates. the hearth, and the care and friendship of the girl had tamed ben to this degree, at least. but wonders were not done. the look in the girl's eyes suddenly melted, as the warm sun melts ice, some of the frozen bitterness of his spirit. "it's your birthday--and i hope you have many of 'em," he went on. "no more like this--but all of 'em happy,--as you deserve." he walked toward her, and her eyes could not leave his. he bent soberly, and brushed her lips with his own. there were always worlds to talk about in the warm gleam of their fire. when the day's work was done, and the hush of early night gathered the land to its arms, they would sit on their fireside seats and settle all problems, now and hereafter, to the perfect satisfaction of them both. from ben, beatrice gained a certain strength of outlook as well as depth of insight, but she gave him in return more than she received. he felt that her influence, in his early years, would have worked wonders for him. she straightened out his moral problems for him, taught him lessons in simple faith; and her own childish sweetness and absolute purity showed his whole world in a new light. sometimes they talked of religion and ethics, sometimes of science and economics, and particularly they talked of what was nearest to them,--the mysteries and works of nature. she had been a close observer of the forest. she had received some glimpse of its secret laws that were, when all was said and done, the basic laws of life. but for all her love of science she was not a mere biologist. she had a full and devout faith in law and judgment beyond any earthly sphere. "no one can live in this boundless wilderness and not believe," she told him earnestly, her dark eyes brimming with her fervor. "perhaps i can't tell you why--maybe it's just a feeling of need, of insufficiency of self. besides, god is close, like he was to the israelites when they were in the wilderness; but you will remember that he never came close again.--this forest is so big and so awful, he knows he must stay close to keep you from dying of fear.--god may not be a reality to the people of the cities, where they see only buildings and streets, but ben, he is to me. you can't forget him up here. he stands on every mountain, just as the sons of aaron saw him." he found, to his surprise, that she was not ill-read, particularly in the old-time classics. but her environment had also influenced her choice of reading. she loved the old legends in the minor,--far-off and plaintive things that reflected the mood of the dusky forest in which she lived. one night, when the moon was in the sky, he told her of his war record, of the shell-shock and the strange, criminal mania that followed it; and then of his swift recovery. with an over-powering need of self-justification he told her of his further adventures with ezram, of the old man's murder and the theft of the claim. she heard him out, listening attentively; but in loyalty to her father she did not let herself believe him entirely. the answer she gave him was the same as she had always given at his every reference to his side of the case. "if you were in the right, you'd take me back and let the law take its course," she told him. "you'd not be out here laying an ambush for them, to kill them when they try to rescue me." he could never make her understand how, by the intricacies of law, it would be a rare chance that he would be able to fasten the crime on the murderers: that he had taken the only sure way open to make them pay for ezram's death. he told her of the old man's, final request; how that his war with her father and his men was a debt that, by secret, inscrutable laws of his being, could never be written off or disavowed. but he could never fully find words to uphold his position. the thing went back to his instincts, traced at last to the remorseless spirit of the wolf that was his heritage. yet these hours of talk were immensely good for him. while they never met on common grounds, the girl's true outlook and nobility of character were ever more manifest to him; and were not without a gentling, healing influence upon him. he could not blind himself to them. and sometimes when he sat alone by his dying fire, as the dark menaced him, and the girl that was his charge slept within the portals of stone, he had the unescapable feeling that the very structure of his life was falling and shattering down; but even now he could see, an enchanted vista in the distance, a mightier, more glorious tower, builded and shaped by this woman's hand. xxxi while beatrice was at her household tasks--cooking the meals, cleaning the cave, washing and repairing their clothes--ben never forgot his more serious work. certain hours every day he spent in exploration, seeking out the passes over the hills, examining every possible means of entrance and egress into his valley, getting the lay of the land and picking out the points from which he would make his attack. already he knew every winding game trail and every detail of the landscape for five miles or more around. his ultimate vengeance seemed just as sure as the night following the day. ever he listened for the first sound of the pack train in the forest; and even in his hours of pleasure his eyes ever roamed over the sweep of valley and marsh below. he was prepared for his enemies now. one or five, they couldn't escape him. he had provided for every contingency and had seemingly perfected his plan to the last detail. he had not the slightest fear that his eagerness would cost him his aim when finally his eye looked along the sights at the forms of his enemies, helpless in the marsh. he was wholly cold about the matter now. the lust and turmoil in his veins, remembered like a ghastly dream from that first night, returned but feebly now, if at all. this change, this restraint had been increasingly manifest since his occupation of the cave, and it had marked, at the same time, a growing barrier between himself and fenris. but he could not deny but that such a development was wholly to have been expected. fenris was a child of the open forest aisles, never of the fireside and the hearth. it was not that the wolf had ceased to give him his dint of faithful service, or that he loved him any the less. but each of them had other interests,--one his home and hearth; the other the ever-haunting, enticing call of the wildwood. lately fenris had taken to wandering into the forest at night, going and coming like a ghost; and once his throat and jowls had been stained with dark blood. "it's getting too tame for you here, old boy, isn't it?" ben said to him one hushed, breathless night. "but wait just a little while more. it won't be tame then." it was true: the hunting party, if they had started at once, must be nearing their death valley by now. except for the absolute worst of traveling conditions they would have already come. ben felt a growing impatience: a desire to do his work and get it over. his pulse no longer quickened and leaped at the thought of vengeance; and the wolflike pleasure in simple killing could no longer be his. it would merely be the soldier's work--a dreadful obligation to perform speedily and to forget. even the memory of the huddled form of his savior and friend, so silent and impotent in the dead leaves, did not stir him into madness now. yet he never thought of disavowing his vengeance. it was still the main purpose of his life. he had no theme but that: when that work was done he could conceive of nothing further of interest on earth, nothing else worth living for. not for an instant had he relented: except for that one kiss, on the occasion of her birthday, he had never broken his promise in regard to his relations with beatrice. his first trait was steadfastness, a trait that, curiously enough, is inherent in all living creatures who are by blood close to the wild wolf, from the german police dog to the savage husky of the north. but he was certainly and deeply changed in these weeks in the cave. he no longer hated these three murderous enemies of his. the power to hate had simply died in his body. he regarded their destruction rather as a duty he owed old ezram, an obligation that he would die sooner than forego. the hushed, dark, primal forest had a different appeal for him now. he loved it still, with the reverence and adoration of the forester he was, but no longer with that love a servant bears his master. he had distinctly escaped from its dominance. the passion and mounting fire that it wakened at the fall of darkness could no longer take possession of him, as strong drink possesses the brain, bending his will, making of him simply a tool and a pawn to gratify its cruel desires and to achieve its mysterious ends. he had been, in spirit, a brother of the wolf, before: a runner in the packs. such had been the outgrowth of innate traits; part of his strange destiny. now, after these weeks in the cave, he was a man. it was hard for him to explain even to himself. it was as if in the escape from his own black passions, he had also escaped the curious tyranny of the wild; not further subject to its cruel moods and whims, but rather one of a dominant breed, a being who could lift his head in defiance to the storm, obey his own will, go his own way. this was no little change. perhaps, when all is said and done, it marks the difference between man and the lesser mammals, the thing that has evolved a certain species of the primates--simply woods creatures that trembled at the storm and cowered in the night--into the rulers and monarchs of the earth. ben had come out from the darkened forest trails where he made his lairs and had gone into a cave to live! he had found a permanent abode--a lasting, shelter from the cold and the storm. it suggested a curious allegory to him. some time in the long-forgotten past, probably when the later glaciers brought their promise of cold, all his race left their leafy bowers and found cave homes in the cliffs. before that time they were merely woods children, blind puppets of nature, sleeping where exhaustion found them; wandering without aim in the tree aisles; mating when they met the female of their species on the trails and venturing on again; knowing the ghastly, haunting fear of the night and the blind terror of the storm and elements: merely higher beasts in a world of beasts. but they came to the caves. they established permanent abodes. they began to be men. all that now stands as civilization, all the conquest of the earth and sea and air began from that moment. it was the great epoch,--and ben had illustrated it in his own life. the change had been infinitely slow, but certain as the movement of the planets in their spheres. behind the sheltering walls they got away from fear,--that cruel bondage in which nature holds all her wild creatures, the burden that makes them her slaves. never to shudder with horror when the darkness fell in silence and mystery; never to have the heart freeze with terror when the thunder roared in the sky and the wind raged in the trees. the cave dwellers began to come into their own. sheltered behind stone walls they could defy the elements that had enslaved them so long. this freedom gained they learned to strike the fire; they took one woman to keep the cave, instead of mating indiscriminately in the forest, thus marking the beginning of family life. love instead of deathless hatred, gentleness rather than cruelty, peace in the place of passion, mercy and tolerance and self-control: all these mighty bulwarks of man's dominance grew into strength behind the sheltering walls of home. thus in these few little weeks ben darby--a beast of the forest in his unbridled passions--had in some measure imaged the life history of the race. he had lived again the momentous regeneration. the protecting walls, the hearth, particularly beatrice's wholesome and healing influence, had tamed him. he was still a forester, bred in the bone--loving these forest depths with an ardor too deep for words--but the mark of the beast was gone from his flesh. he could still deal justice to ezram's murderers and thus keep faith with his dead partner; but the primal passions could no longer dominate him. his pet, however, remained the wolf. the sheltering cavern walls were never for him. he loved ben with an undying devotion, yet a barrier was rising between them. they could not go the same paths forever. matters reached a crisis between fenris and himself one still, warm night in late july. the two were sitting side by side at the cavern maw, watching the slow enchantment of the forest under the spell of the rising moon; beatrice had already gone to her hammock. as the last little blaze died in the fire, and it crackled at ever longer intervals, ben suddenly made a moving discovery. the fringe of forest about him, usually so dreamlike and still, was simply breathing and throbbing with life. ben dropped his hand to the wolf's shoulders. "the little folks are calling on us to-night," he said quietly. in all probability he spoke the truth. it was not an uncommon thing for the creatures of the wood--usually the lesser people such as rodents and the small hunters--to crowd close to the edge of the glade and try to puzzle out this ruddy mystery in its center. unused to men they could never understand. sometimes the lynx halted in his hunt to investigate, sometimes an old black bear--kindly, benevolent good-humored old bachelor that every naturalist loves--grunted and pondered at the edge of shadow, and sometimes even such lordly creatures as moose and caribou paused in their night journeys to see what was taking place. curiously, the wolf started violently at ben's touch. the man suddenly regarded him with a gaze of deepest interest. the hair was erect on the powerful neck, the eyes swam in pale, blue fire, and he was staring away into the mysterious shadows. "what do you see, old-timer?" ben asked. "i wish i could see too." he brought his senses to the finest focus, trying hard to understand. he was aware only of the strained silence at first. then here and there, about the dimmining circle of firelight, he heard the soft rustle of little feet, the subdued crack of a twig or the scratch of a dead leaf. the forest smells--of which there is no category in heaven or earth--reached him with incredible clarity. these were faint, vaguely exciting smells, some of them the exquisite fragrances of summer flowers, others beyond his ken. and presently two small, bright circles appeared in a distant covert, glowed once, and then went out. by peering closely, with unwinking eyes, he began to see other twin-circles of green and yellow light. yet they were furtive little radiances--vanishing swiftly--and they were nothing of which to be afraid. "they _are_ out to-night," he murmured. "no wonder you're excited, fenris. what is it--some celebration in the forest?" there was no possible explanation. foresters know that on certain nights the wilderness seems simply to teem with life--scratchings and rustlings in every covert--and on other nights it is still and lifeless as a desert. the wild folk were abroad to-night and were simply paying casual, curious visits to ben's fire. once more ben glanced at the wolf. the animal no longer crouched. rather he was standing rigid, his head half-turned and lifted, gazing away toward a distant ridge behind the lake. a wilderness message had reached him, clear as a voice. but presently ben understood. throbbing through the night he heard a weird, far-carrying call--a long-drawn note, broken by half-sobs--the mysterious, plaintive utterance of the wild itself. yet it was not an inanimate voice. he recognized it at once as the howl of a wolf, one of fenris' wild brethren. the creature at his feet started as if from a blow. then he stood motionless, listening, and the cry came the second time. he took two leaps into the darkness. deeply moved, ben watched him. the wolf halted, then stole back to his master's side. he licked the man's hand with his warm tongue, whining softly. "what is it, boy?" ben asked. "what do you want me to do?" the wolf whined louder, his eyes luminous with ineffable appeal. once more he leaped into the shadows, pausing as if to see if ben would follow him. the man shook his head, rather soberly. a curious, excited light was in his eyes. "i can't go, old boy," he said. "this is my place--here. fenris, i can't leave the cave." for a moment they looked eyes into eyes--in the glory of that moon as strange a picture as the wood gods ever beheld. once more the wolf call sounded. fenris whimpered softly. "go ahead if you like," ben told him. "god knows it's your destiny." the wolf seemed to understand. with a glad bark he sped away and almost instantly vanished into the gloom. but fenris had not broken all ties with the cave. the chain was too strong for that, the hold on his wild heart too firm. if there is one trait, far and near in the wilds, that distinguishes the woods children, it is their inability to forget. fenris had joined his fellows, to be sure; but he still kept watch over the cave. the strongest wolf in the little band, the nucleus about which the winter pack would form, he largely confined their hunting range to the district immediately about the cave. it held him like a chain of iron. although the woods trails beguiled him with every strong appeal, the sight of his master was a beloved thing to him still, and scarcely a night went by but that he paused to sniff at the cavern maw, seeing that all was well. at such times his followers would linger, trembling and silent, in the farther shadows. because they had never known the love of man they utterly failed to understand. but in an instant fenris would come back to them, the wild urge in his heart seemingly appeased by the mere assurance of ben's presence and safety. ben himself was never aware of these midnight visits. the feet of the wolves were like falling feathers on the grass; and if sometimes, through the cavern maw, he half-wakened to catch the gleam of their wild eyes, he attributed it merely to the presence of skulking coyotes, curious concerning the dying coals of the fire. xxxii beatrice had kept only an approximate track of the days; yet she knew that an attempt to rescue her must be almost at hand. even traveling but half a dozen miles a day, and counting out a reasonable time for exploration and delays, her father's party must be close upon them. and the thought of the forthcoming battle between her abductor and her rescuers filled every waking moment with dread. she could not escape the thought of it. it lingered, hovering like a shadow, over all her gayest moments; it haunted her more sober hours, and it brought evil dreams at night. her one hope was that her father had given her up for lost and had not attempted her rescue. she realized perfectly the perfection of ben's plans. she knew that he had provided for every contingency; and besides, he had every natural advantage in his favor. the end was inevitable: his victory and the destruction of his foes. there would be little mercy for these three in the hands of this iron man from the eastern provinces. if they were to be saved it must be soon, not a week from now, nor when another moon had waned. if ben was to be checkmated there were not many hours to waste. she had had no opportunity to escape, at first. ben knew that she could not make her way over the hundreds of miles of howling wilderness without food supplies, and always the wolf had been on guard. he was like a were-wolf, a demon, anticipating her every move, knowing her secret thoughts. but the wolf had gone now to join his fellows. she was not aware of his almost nightly return. perhaps the fact of his absence gave her an opportunity, her one chance to save her father from ben's ambush. conditions for escape were more favorable than at any time since their departure from the canoe landing, that late spring day of long ago. the wolf was gone; ben's guard of her was ever more lax. the season was verdant: she could supplement what supplies she took from the cave with roots and berries, and the warm nights would enable her to carry a minimum of blankets. she knew that she could never hope to succeed in the venture except by traveling light and fast. on the other hand she would need all of ben's remaining supplies to bring her through: in a few more days the stores would be so low that she could not attempt the trip. human beings cannot survive, in the forests of the north, on roots and berries alone. tissue-building flour and sustaining meat are necessary to climb the ridges and battle the thicket. how could she obtain these things? for all his seeming carelessness ben kept a fairly close watch on her actions, and he would discover her flight within a few hours. stronger than she, and knowing every trail and pass for miles around he could overtake her with ease. he gave her no opportunity to seize his rifle, load it and turn it against him, thus making her escape by force. the fact that she would leave him without food mattered not one way or another. he would still have his rifle, and his small stock of rifle cartridges would procure sufficient big game to sustain him for weeks and months to come. after all, the whole issue depended on the rifle,--the symbol of force. it would be his instrument of vengeance when his chance came. if she could only take this weapon from him she need not fear the coming of her rescuers. in that case ben would be helpless against them. unfortunately, the gun rarely left his hands. if indeed she should attempt to seize it he would wrest it away from her before she could destroy or injure it. but it was a hopeful fact that the rifle was useless without its shells! to procure these, however, presented an unsolvable problem. any way she turned she found a barrier ben kept them in his shell belt, and he wore the belt about his waist, waking or sleeping. only to procure it, run like a deer and hurl it into the rapids of the yuga,--and her problem would be absolutely solved. ben would be obliged to leave the cave home at once and return with her to the yuga cabins, utilizing the few stores they had left for the journey--simply because to stay, unarmed, would mean to die of starvation. indeed the few remaining supplies would not more than last them through now, traveling early and late, so if the venture were to be attempted at all it must be at once. on the other hand his rifle and shells would enable the two of them to remain in the cavern indefinitely on a diet of meat alone. as she worked about the cavern she brooded over the plan; but at first she could conceive of no possible way to procure the shells. if the chance came, however, she wanted to be ready. she planned all other details of the venture; the shortest route to the nearest rapids of the river where she might dispose of the deadly cylinders of brass. it became necessary, also, to consider the lesser weapon for the plain reason that it might defeat her in the moment of her success. ben kept the weapon in his cartridge belt, but the extra pistol shells were among the supplies. they could easily be procured. it would also be necessary to induce him to fire away the few shells that he carried in the pistol magazine; but this would likely be easy enough to do. he put little reliance on the weapon, trusting rather to his rifle both for the impending war and the procurance of big game; and he would not harbor the pistol shells as long as he had his rifle. but the days were passing! any attempt at deliverance must be made before the food stores were further depleted. they could not make the march without food. days and nights overtook her with her triumph as far distant as ever. the moment of opportunity she had watched for, in which she might seize the cartridge belt and destroy it, had never come to pass. the plans she had made while the night lay soft and mysterious in the solitudes had all come to nothing. he had never, as she had hoped, removed his belt and forgotten to replace it, nor had his slumber ever been so deep that she could steal it from him. his own triumph surely was almost at hand. surely his pursuers had almost overtaken him. the stores had already fallen far below the margin of safety for the long journey home. the thought was with her, and she was desperate one long, warm afternoon as she searched for roots and berries in the forest. edible plants were ever more hard to find, these past days; but what there were she gathered almost automatically, herself lost in a deep preoccupation. and all at once her hand reached toward a little vine of black berries, each with a green tuft at the end, not unlike gooseberries in southern gardens. as if by instinct, hardly aware of the motion, she withdrew her hand. she knew this vine. she was enough of a forester never to mistake it. it was the deadly nightshade, and a handful of the berries spelt death. she started to look elsewhere. but presently she paused, arrested by an idea so engrossing and yet so terrible that her heart seemed to pause in her breast. had any rules been laid down for her to follow in her war with ben? was she to consider methods at such a time as this? was she not a woods girl,--a woman, not a child, trained and tutored in the savage code of the wild that knows no ethics other than might, whether might of arm or craft, of brain or fell singleness of purpose? should she consider ethics now? her father's life was in imminent danger. another day might find him stretched lifeless before her. ben had not hesitated to use every weapon in his power; she should not hesitate now. ben had made his war; she would wage it by his own code. for a moment she stood almost without outward motion, intrigued by the possibilities of this little handful of berries. she shuddered once, nervously, but there was no further impulse of remorse. perhaps she trembled slightly; and her eyes were simply depthless shadows under her brows. they were so little, seemingly so inoffensive: these dark berries in the shadows of the covert. they were scarcely to be noticed twice. but not even the savage grizzly was of such might; storms or seas were not so deadly. there they were, inconspicuous among their sister plants, waiting for her hand. it was right that they should be black in color. their blackness was as of a black night without a star shining through,--a black cloud with never a rainbow to promise hope. she could not turn her eyes away! how black they were among the green leaves--lightless as death itself. a handful of them meant death: her father had warned her about them long ago. but half a handful--perhaps a dozen of the sable berries in the palm of her hand--what did _they_ mean? just a sickness wherein one could no longer guard a prisoner. they were a powerful alkaloid, she knew; and a dozen of them would likely mean hours and hours of deep, dreamless sleep,--a sleep in which one could take no reckoning of hands fumbling at a cartridge belt! half a handful would, in all probability, fail to strike the life from such a powerful frame as ben's, but would certainly act upon him like a powerful opiate and leave him helpless in her hands. eagerly her fingers plucked the black berries. xxxiii in one of the tin cups beatrice pressed the juice from the nightshade, obtaining perhaps a tablespoonful of black liquor. to this she added considerable sugar, barely tasting the mixture on the end of her finger. the balance was inclining toward the success of her plan. the sugar mostly killed the pungent taste of the berries. then she concealed the cup in a cluster of vines, ready for the moment of need. her next act was to procure from among the supplies the little cardboard box containing half a dozen or so of her pistol shells. the way of safety was to destroy these first. the effect of the poison might be of only a few minutes' duration, and every motion might count. under any conditions, they would be out of the way. she was careful, with a superlative cunning, to take the box as well as its contents. she foresaw that in all likelihood ben would seek the shells as soon as he fired the few that remained in his pistol magazine; and an empty container might put him upon his guard. on the other hand, if he could not find the box at all, he could easily be led to believe that it had been simply misplaced among the other supplies. she scattered the shells in the heavy brush where not even the bright, searching eyes of the canada jay might ever find them. then she hastened up the ridge to meet ben on his way to the cave. she waited a few minutes, then spying his stalwart form at the edge of the beaver meadow, she tripped down to meet him. he was not in the least suspicious of this little act of friendship. it was quite the customary thing, lately, for her thus to watch for his coming; and his brown face always lighted with pleasure at the first glimpse of her graceful form framed by the spruce. she too had always taken pleasure in these little meetings and in the gay talk they had as they sped down toward the cavern; but her delight was singularly absent to-day. she tried to restrain the wild racing of her heart. she knew she must act her part. her plan was to put him off his guard, to hide her treachery with pretended friendship. to meet him here--far distant from the poison cup hidden in the vines--would give her time to master her leaping heart and to strengthen her self-control. yet she had hardly expected him to greet her in just this way,--with such a light in his eyes and such obvious delight in his smile. he had a rather boyish, friendly smile, this foe of hers whom she was about to despatch into the very shadow of death. she dispelled quickly a small, faltering voice of remorse. this was no time for remorse, for gentleness and mercy. she hurried to his side. "you're flushed from hurrying down that hill," he told her gayly. "beatrice, you're getting prettier every day." "it's the simple life that's doing it, ben! no late hours, no indigestible food--" "speaking of food--i'm famished. i hope you've got something nice for lunch--and i know you have." she _had_ been careful with to-day's lunch; but it had merely been part of her plot to put him off his guard. "caribou tenderloin--almost the last of him--wocus bread and strawberries," she assured him. "does that suit your highness?" he made a great feint of being overwhelmed by the news. "then let's hurry. take my arm and we'll fly." she seized the strong forearm, thrilled in spite of herself by the muscles of steel she felt through the sleeves. he fell into his fastest walking stride,--long steps that sped the yards under them. they emerged from the marsh and started to climb the ridge. at a small hollow beside the creek bed her fingers suddenly tightened on his arm. a thrill that was more of wonder than of joy coursed through her; and her dark eyes began to glitter with excitement. the wilderness was her ally to-day. she suddenly saw her chance--in a manner that could not possibly waken his suspicions of her intentions--of disposing of the remainder of his pistol cartridges. on a log thirty feet distant sat an old grouse with half a dozen of her brood, all of them perched in a row and relying on their protective coloring to save them from sight. they were franklin's grouse--and they had appeared as if in answer to beatrice's secret wish. these birds were common enough in their valley, and not a day passed without seeing from five to fifty of them, yet the sight went straight home to beatrice's superstitions. "get them with your pistol," she whispered. "i want them all--for a big grouse pie to-night." "but our pistol shells are getting low," ben objected. "i've hardly got enough shells in the gun to get 'em all--" "no matter. you have to use them some time. there's a few more in the cave, i think. we'll have to rely on big game from now on, anyway. don't miss one." ben drew his pistol, then walked up within twenty feet. he drew slowly down, knocking the old bird from her perch with a bullet through the neck. "good work," beatrice exulted. "now for the chicks." ben took the bird on the extreme right, and again the bullet sped true. the remainder of the flock had become uneasy now; and at the next shot all except one flew into the branches of the surrounding trees. this shot was equally successful, and with the fourth he knocked the remaining bird from the log. each of the four birds he had downed with a shot either through the head or the neck; and such shooting would have been marvelous indeed in the eyes of the tenderfoot. but both these two foresters knew that there was nothing exceptional about it. pistol shooting is simply a matter of a sure eye and steady nerves, combined with a greater or less period of practice. few were the trappers or woodsmen north of fifty-three that could not have done as much. ben turned his attention to the fowl on the lower tree limbs, hitting once but missing the second time. to correct this unpardonable proceeding, he knocked with his seventh a fat cock, his spurs just starting, from almost the top of a young spruce. "here's one more," beatrice urged him. "i'll need every one for the pie." but the gun was empty. the firing pin snapped harmlessly against the breach. they gathered the grouse and sped on down to the cavern. her heart seemingly leaped into her throat at every beat; but with steady hands and smiling face she went about the preparation of the meal. she fried the venison and baked the wocus bread, and with more than usual spirit and gaiety set the dishes at ben's place at the table. "draw up your chair," she told him. "i'll have the tea in a minute." ben peered with sudden interest into her face. "what's troubling you, bee?" he asked gently. "you're pale as a ghost." "i'm not feeling overly well." her eyes dropped before his gaze. "i'm not hungry--at all. but it's nothing to worry about--" she saw by his eyes that he _was_ worrying; yet it was evident that he had not the slightest suspicion of the real cause of the sudden pallor in her cheeks. she saw his face cloud and his eyes darken; and again she heard that faint, small voice of remorse--whispering deep in her heart's heart. he was always so considerate of her, this jailer of hers. his concern was always so real and deep. yet in a moment more the kindly sympathy would be gone from his face. he would be lying very still--and his face would be even more pale than hers. listlessly she walked to the door of the cave, procuring a handful of dried red-root leaves that she used for tea. through the cavern opening he saw her drop them into the bucket that served as their teapot. then she came back for the oiled, cloth bag that contained the last of their sugar. this was always one of her little kindnesses,--to sweeten his tea for him before she brought it to him. he began to eat his steak. in one glance the girl saw that he was wholly unsuspecting. he trusted her; in their weeks together he had lost all fear of treachery from her. there he was, exulting over the frugal lunch she had prepared, with no inkling of the deadly peril that even now was upon him. she wished he did not trust her so completely; it would be easier for her if he was just a little wary, a little more on guard. she felt cold all over. she could hardly keep from shivering. but this was the moment of trial; the thing would be done in a moment more. she mustn't give way yet to the growing weakness in her muscles. she walked to the vine where she had left the potion. how much of it there was--it seemed to have doubled in quantity since she had left it. a handful of the black berries meant death--certain as the sunrise--but what did half a handful mean? the question came to her again. how did she know that half a handful did not mean death too,--not just hours of slumber, but relentless and irremediable death! would that be the end of her day's work--to see this tall, friendly warden of hers lying dead before her gaze, the laughter gone from his lips and the light faded from his eyes? she would be free then to strip the shell belt from his waist. he would never waken to prevent her. she could escape too--back to her father's home--and leave him in the cave. all that he had told her concerning his war with her father recurred to her in one vivid flash. could it have been that he had told the truth--that her father and his followers had been the attackers in the beginning? she had never believed him fully; but could it be that he was in the right? his claim had been invaded, he said, and his one friend murdered in cold blood. was this not cause enough, by the code of the north, for a war of reprisal? but even as these thoughts came to her, she had walked boldly to the fire and emptied the contents of the cup into the boiling water in the teapot. ben would have only had to look up to see her do it. yet still he did not suspect. she waited an instant, steadying herself for the ordeal to come. then she took the pot off the fire and poured the hot contents into the cup that had just held the potion. she had been careful not to put enough water into the pot to weaken the drink. the cup brimmed; but none was left. she brought it steaming to ben's side. no kindly root tripped her feet as she entered, no merciful unsteadiness caused her to drop this cup of death and spill its contents. "thanks, beatrice." ben looked up, smiling. "i'm a brute to let you fix my tea when you are feeling so bad. but i sure am grateful, if that helps any--" his voice sounded far away, like a voice in a nightmare. "it's pretty strong, i'm afraid," she told him. "the leaves weren't very good, and i boiled them too long. i'm afraid you'll find it bitter." "i'll drink it, if it's bitter as gall," he assured her, "after your kindness to fix it." his hand reached and seized the handle of the cup. even now--_now_--he was raising it to his lips. in an instant more he would be pouring it down his throat, too considerate of her to admit its unwholesome taste, drinking it down though it tasted the potion of death that it was! the hair seemed to start on her head. then she seemed to writhe as in a convulsion. her voice rose in a piercing scream. "ben--_ben_--_don't drink it_!" she cried. "god have mercy on my soul!" but with that utterance a strength surpassing that of sinew and muscle returned to her. she reached and knocked the cup from his hand; and its black contents, like dark blood, stained the sandy floor of the cavern. ben's first thought was curiously not of his own narrow escape, but was rather in concern for beatrice. whether or not he had actually swallowed any of the liquor in the cup he did not know; nor did he give the matter a thought. he was aware of only the terror-stricken girl before him, her face deathly white and her eyes starting and wide. he leaped to his feet. fearing that she was about to faint he steadied her with his hand. the echo of her scream died in the cavern, the cup rolled on the floor and came to a standstill against the wall; but still she made no sound, only gazing as if entranced. but slowly, as he steadied her, the blessed tears stole into her eyes and rolled down her white cheeks; and once more breath surged into her lungs. "never mind, beatrice," the man was saying, his deep, rough voice gentle as a woman's. "don't cry--please don't cry--just forget all about it. let's go over to your hammock and rest awhile." with a strong arm he guided her to her cot, and smiling kindly, pushed her down into it. "just take it easy," he advised. "and forget all about it. you'll be all right in a minute." "but you don't understand--you don't know--what i tried to do--" "no matter. tell me after a while, if you want to. don't tell me at all if you'd rather not. i'm going back to my lunch." he laughed, trying to bring her to herself. "i wouldn't miss that caribou steak for anything--even though i can't have my tea. just lay down a while, and rest." his rugged face lighted as he smiled, kindly and tolerantly, and then he turned to go. but her solemn voice arrested him. "wait, ben. i want you to know--now--so you won't trust me again--or give me another chance. the cup--was poisoned." but the friendly light did not yet wane in his eyes. "i didn't think it was anything very good--the way you knocked it out of my hand. we'll just pretend it was very bad tea--and let it go at that." "no. it was nightshade--it might have killed you." she spoke in a flat, lifeless voice. "i didn't want it to kill you--i just wanted to give you enough to put you to sleep--so i could take your rifle shells and throw them away--but i was willing to let you drink it, even if it _did_ kill you." the man looked at her, in infinite compassion, then came and sat beside her in the hammock. rather quietly he took one of her hands and gazed at it, without seeing it, a long time. then he pressed it to his lips. for a breath he held it close to his cheek, his eyes lightless and far away, and she gazed at him in amazement. "you'd kiss my hand--after what i did--?" "after what you _didn't_ do," he corrected. "please, beatrice--don't blame yourself. some way--i understand things better--than i used to. even if you had killed me--i don't see why it wouldn't have been your right. i've held you here by force. yet you didn't let me drink the stuff. you knocked it out of my hand." and now, for the first time, an inordinate amazement came into his face. he looked at her intently, yet with no unfriendliness, no passion. rather it was with overwhelming wonder. "_you knocked it out of my hands_!" he repeated, more loudly. "oh, beatrice--it's my turn to beg forgiveness now! when i was at your mercy, and the cup at my lips--you spared me. why did you do it, beatrice?" he gazed at her with growing ardor. she shook her head. she simply did not know the reason. "it's not your place to feel penitent," he told her, with infinite sincerity. "if you had let me take it, you'd have just served me right--you'd have just paid me back in my own coin. it was fair enough--to use every advantage you had. good lord, have you forgotten that i am holding you here by force? but instead--you saved me, when you might have killed me--and won the fight. all you've done is to show yourself the finer clay--that's what you've done. god knows i suppose the woman is always finer clay than the man--yet it comes with a jolt, just the same. it's not for you to be down-hearted--heaven knows the strength you've shown is above any i ever had, or ever will have. you've shown how to feel mercy--i could never show anything but hate, and revenge. you've shown me a bigger and stronger code than mine. and there's nothing--nothing i can say." the tone changed once more to the personal and solicitous. "but it's been a big strain on you--i can see that. i believe i'd lie here and rest awhile if i were you. i'll eat my dinner--and the fire's about out too. that's the girl--beatrice." gently he picked her up, seemingly with no physical effort and laid her in her hammock. "then--you'll forgive me?" she asked brokenly. "good heavens, i wish there was something to forgive--so we'd be a little more even. but you've accomplished something, beatrice--and i don't know what it is yet--i only know you've changed me--and softened me--as i never dreamed any one in the world could. now go to sleep." he turned from her, but the food on the table no longer tempted him. for a full hour he stood before the ashes of the fire, deeply and inextricably bewildered with himself, with life, and with all these thoughts and hopes and regrets that thronged him. he was like ashes now himself; the fires of his life seemed burned out. the thought recalled him to the need of cutting fuel for the night's fire. he might be able to quiet the growing turmoil in his brain when the still shadows of the spruce closed around him. he seized his axe, then peered into the cave. beatrice, worn out by the stress of the hour before and immensely comforted by ben's words, was already deeply asleep. his rifle leaned against the wall of the cavern, and he put it in the hollow of his arm. it was not that he feared beatrice would attempt to procure it. the act was mostly habit, combined with the fact that their supply of meat was all but exhausted and he did not wish to miss any opportunity for big game. the forest was particularly gloomy to-day. its shadows lay deep. and this was not merely the result of his own darkened outlook: glancing up, he saw that clouds were gathering in the sky. they would need fuel in plenty to keep the fire bright to-night. evidently rain was impending,--one of those cold, steady downpours that are disliked so cordially by the folk of the upper selkirks. he went a full two hundred yards before he found a tree to his liking. it was a tough spruce of medium height and just at the edge of the stream. he laid his rifle down, leaning it against a fallen log; then began his work. it was an awkward place to stand; but he gave no thought to it. his mind dwelt steadily on the events in the cavern of the hour before; the girl's remorse in the instant that she had him at her mercy and the example it set for him. the blade bit into the wood with slow encroachments. perhaps the expenditure of brute energy in swinging the axe would relieve his pent-up feelings. he was not watching his work. his blows struck true from habit. now the tree was half-severed: it was time to cut on the opposite side. suddenly his axe crashed into yielding, rotten wood. instantly the powers of the wilderness took their long-awaited toll. ben had been unwary, too absorbed by his swirling thoughts to mark the ambush of death that had been prepared for him. ever to keep watch, ever to be on guard: such is the first law of the wild; and ben had disregarded it. half of the tree had been rotten, changing the direction of its fall and crashing it down before its time. ben leaped for his life, instinctively aiming for the shelter of the log against which he had inclined his rifle; but the blow came too soon. he was aware only of the rush of air as he leaped, an instant's hovering at the crest of a depthless chasm, then the sense of a mighty, resistless blow hurling him into infinity. ben's rifle, catching the full might of the blow, was broken like a match. ben himself was crushed to earth as beneath a meteor, the branchy trunk shattering down upon his stalwart form like the jaws of a great trap. he uttered one short, half-strangled cry. then the darkness, shot with varied and multiple lights, dropped over him. the noise of the falling tree died away; the forest-dwellers returned to their varied activities. the rain clouds deepened and spread above his motionless form. xxxiv beatrice's dreams were troubled after ben's departure into the forest. she tossed and murmured, secretly aware that all was not well with her. yet in the moments that she half-wakened she ascribed the vague warning to nervousness only, falling immediately to sleep again. wakefulness came vividly to her only with the beginnings of twilight. she opened her eyes; the cavern was deep with shadow. she lay resting a short time, adjusting her eyes to the soft light. in an instant all the dramatic events of the day were recalled to her: the tin cup that had held the poison still lay against the wall, and the liquor still stained the sandy floor, or was it only a patch of deeper shadow? she wondered why ben did not come into the cave. was he embittered against her, after all; had he spoken as he did just from kindness, to save her remorse? she listened for the familiar sounds of his fuel cutting, or his other work about the camp. wherever he was, he made no sound at all. she sat up then, staring out through the cavern maw. for an instant she experienced a deep sense of bewilderment at the pressing gloom, so mysterious and unbroken over the face of the land. but soon she understood what was missing. the fire was out. the fact went home to her with an inexplicable shock. she had become so accustomed to seeing the bright, cheerful blaze at the cavern mouth that its absence was like a little tragedy in itself. always it had been the last vista of her closing eyes as she dropped off to sleep--the soft, warm glow of the coals--and the sight always comforted her. she could scarcely remember the morning that it wasn't crackling cheerily when she wakened. ben had always been so considerate of her in this regard--removing the chill of the cave with its radiating heat to make it comfortable for her to dress. not even coals were left now--only ashes, gray as death. she got up, then walked to the cavern maw. for a moment she stood peering into the gloom, one hand resting against the portals of stone. the twilight was already deep. it was the supper hour and past; dark night was almost at hand. there could be no further doubt of ben's absence. he was not at the little creek getting water, nor did she hear the ring of his axe in the forest. she wondered if he had gone out on one of his scouting expeditions and had not yet returned. of course this was the true explanation; she had no real cause to worry. likely enough he had little desire to return to the cavern now. she could picture him following at his tireless pace one of the winding woods trails, lost in contemplation, his vivid eyes clouded with thought. she looked up for the sight of the familiar stars that might guide him home. they were all hidden to-night. not a gleam of light softened the stark gloom of the spruce. as she watched the first drops of rain fell softly on the grass. the drops came in ever-increasing frequency, cold as ice on her hand. she heard them rustling in the spruce boughs; and far in the forest she discerned the first whine of the wakening wind. the sound of the rain was no longer soft. it swelled and grew, and all at once the wind caught it and swept it into her face. and now the whole forest moaned and soughed under the sweep of the wind. there is no sound quite like the beat of a hard rain on dense forest. it has no startling discords, but rather a regular cadence as if the wood gods were playing melodies in the minor on giant instruments,--melodies remembered from the first, unhappy days of the earth and on instruments such as men have never seen. but this was never a melody to fill the heart with joy. it touches deep chords of sorrow in the most secret realms of the spirit. the rain song grew and fell as the gusts of the wind swept it, and the rock walls of the cliff swam in clouds of spray. the storm could not help but bring ben to camp, she thought. at least she did not fear that he would lose his way: he knew every trail and ridge for miles around the cave. even such pressing, baleful darkness as this could not bewilder him. she went back to her cot to wait his coming. the minutes seemed interminable. time had never moved so slowly before. she tried to lie still, to relax; then to direct her thought in other channels; but all of these meandering streams flowed back into the main current which was ben. yet it was folly to worry about him; any moment she would hear his step at the edge of the forest. but the night was so dark, and the storm so wild. a half-hour dragged its interminable length away. her uneasiness was swiftly developing into panic. just to-day she was willing to risk his life for her freedom: it was certainly folly now to goad herself to despair by dwelling on his mysterious absence. it might speed the passing minutes if she got up and found some work to do about the cave; but she simply had no heart for it. once she sat up, only to lie down again. the moments dragged by. surely he would have had time to reach camp by now. the storm neither increased nor decreased; only played its mournful melodies in the forest. the song of the rain was despairing,--low mournful notes rising to a sharp crescendo as the fiercer gusts swept it into the tree tops. the limbs murmured unhappily as they smote together; and a tall tree, swaying in the wind, creaked with a maddening regularity. she was never so lonely before, so darkly miserable. "i want him to come," her voice suddenly spoke aloud. it rang strangely in the gloomy cave. "i want him to come back to me." she felt no impulse for the words. they seemed to speak themselves. presently she sat erect, her heart leaping with inexpressible relief, at the sound of a heavy tread at the edge of the glade. the steps came nearer, and then paused. she sprang to her feet and went to the mouth of the cave. a silence that lived between the beating rain and the complaining wind settled down about her. her eyes could not pierce the darkness. "is that you, ben?" she called. she strained into the silence for his reply. the cold drops splashed into her face. "ben?" she called again. "is that you?" then something leaped with an explosive sound, and running feet splashed in the wet grass in flight. the little spruce trees at the edge of the glade whipped and rustled as a heavy body crashed through. the steps had been only those of some forest beast--a caribou, perhaps, or a moose--come to mock her despair. she remembered that ben had been wishing for just such a visitation these past few days; of course in the daylight hours when he could see to shoot. their meat supply was almost gone. she did not go to her cot again. she stood peering into the gloom. all further effort to repel her fears came to nothing. the storm was already of two hours' duration, and ben would have certainly returned to the cave unless disaster had befallen him. was he lost somewhere in the intertwining trails, seeking shelter in a heavy thicket until the dawn should show him his way? there were so many pitfalls for the unsuspecting in these trackless wilds. yet she could be of no aid to him. the dark woods stretched interminably; she would not even know which way to start. it would just mean to be lost herself, should she attempt to seek him. the trails that wound through the glades and over the ridges had no end. "ben!" she called again. then with increasing volume. "ben!" but no echo returned. the darkness swallowed the sound at once. the night was chill: she longed for the comfort of the fire. the actual labor of building it might take her mind from her fears for a while at least; and its warm glow might dispel the growing cold of fear and loneliness in her breast. besides, it might be a beacon light for ben. she turned at once to the pile of kindling ben had prepared. but before she could build a really satisfactory fire, one that would endure the rain, she must cut fuel from some of the logs ben had hewn down and dragged to the cave. she lighted a short piece of pitchy wood, intending to locate the heavy camp axe. then, putting on her heavy coat--the same garment of lustrous fur which ben had sent her back for the day of her abduction--she ventured into the storm. the rain splashed in vain at her torch. the pitch burned with a fierce flame. but her eyes sought in vain for the axe. this was a strange thing: ben always left it leaning against one of the chunks of spruce. presently she halted, startled, gazing into the black depths of the forest. ben had taken it; he had plainly gone forth after fuel. trees stood all about the little glade: he couldn't have gone far. the inference was obvious: whatever disaster had befallen him must have occurred within a few hundred yards of the cave. holding her torch high she went to the edge of the glade and again called into the gloom. there was no repression in her voice now. she called as loudly as she could. she started to push on into the fringe of timber. but at once she paused, holding hard on her self-control. it was folly to make a blind search. to penetrate the dark mystery of the forest with only this little light--already flickering out--would probably result in becoming lost herself. such a course would not help ben's cause. evidently he was lying within a few hundred feet of her, unconscious--perhaps dead--or he would have replied to her call. dead! the thought sped an icy current throughout the hydraulic system of her veins. she was a mountain girl, and she made no further false motions. she turned at once to the cave, and piling up her kindling, built a fire just at the mouth of the cave. it was protected here in some degree from the rain, and the wind was right to carry the smoke away. this fire would serve to keep her direction and lead her back to the cavern. once more she ventured into the storm, and gathering all the cut fuel she could find, piled it on her fire. the two spruce chunks that ben had cut for their fireside seats were placed as back logs. then she hunted for pine knots taken from the scrub pines that grew in scattering clumps among the spruce, and which were laden with pitch. one of these knots she put in the iron pan they used for frying, then lighted it. then she pushed into the timber. holding her light high she began to encircle the glade clear to the barrier of the cliffs. to the eyes of the wild creatures this might have been a never-to-be-forgotten picture: the slight form of the girl, her face blanched and her eyes wide and dark in the flaring light, her grotesque torch and its weird shadows, and then rain sweeping down between. she reached the cliff, then started back, making a wider circle. adding fresh fuel to the torch, she peered into every covert and examined with minute care any human-shaped shadow in that eerie world of shadows; but the long half-circle brought her back to the cliff wall without results. she was already wet to the skin, and her pine knots were nearly spent. ever the load of dread was heavier at her heart. in the hour or more she had searched--she had no way of estimating time--she had already gone farther than ben usually went for his fuel. as yet no tears came; only the raindrops lay on her face and curled her dark hair in ringlets. but she must not give up yet. it was hard to hold her shoulders straight; but she must make the long circle once more. with courage and strength such as she had not dreamed she possessed, she launched forward again. but fatigue was breaking her now. the tree roots tripped her faltering feet, the branches clutched at her as she passed. it was hard to tell what territory she had searched, or how far she had gone. but when she was halfway around, she suddenly halted, motionless as an image, at the edge of the stream. the flickering light revealed a tree, freshly cut, its, naked stump gleaming and its tall form lying prone. yet beneath it the shadows were of strange, unearthly shape, and something showed stark white through the green foliage. great branches stretched over it, like bars over a prison window. just one curious deep sob wracked her whole body. the life-heat, the mystery that is being, seemed to steal away from her. her strength wilted; and for an instant she could only stand and gaze with fixed, unbelieving eyes. but almost at once the unquenchable fires of her spirit blazed up anew. she saw her task, and with a faith and steadfastness conformable more to the sun and the earth than to human frailty, her muscles made instant and incredible response. instantly she was beside the form of her comrade and enemy, struggling with the cruel limbs that pinned him to the earth. xxxv beatrice knew one thing and one alone: that she must not give way to the devastating terror in her heart. there was mighty work to do, and she must keep strong. her only wish was to kneel beside him, to lift the bleeding head into her arms and let the storm and the darkness smother her existence; but her stern woods training came to her aid. she began the stupendous task of freeing him from the imprisoning tree limbs. the pine knots flickered feebly; and by their light she looked about for ben's axe. her eyes rested on the broken gun first: then she saw the blade, shining in the rain, protruding from beneath a broken bough. she drew it out and swung it down. some of the lesser limbs she broke off, with a strength in her hands she did not dream she possessed. the larger ones were cut away with blows incredibly strong and accurate. how and by what might she did not know, but almost at once the man's body was free except for the tree trunk that wedged him against a dead log toward which he had leaped for shelter. she seemed powerless to move it. her shoulders surged against it in vain. a desperate frenzy seized her, but she fought it remorselessly down. her self-discipline must not break yet. seeing that she could not move the tree itself, she thrust with all her power against the dead log beside which ben lay. in a moment she had rolled it aside. then for the first time she went to her knees beside the prone form. ben was free of the imprisoning limbs, but was his soul already free of the stalwart body broken among the broken boughs? she had to know this first; further effort was unavailing until she knew this. her hand stole over his face. she found no reassuring warmth. it was wet with the rain, cold to the touch. his hair was wet too, and matted from some dreadful wound in the scalp. very softly she felt along the skull for some dreadful fracture that might have caused instant death; but the descending trunk had missed his head, at least. very gently she shook him by the shoulders. her stern self-control gave way a little now. the strain had been too much for human nerves to bear. she gathered him into her arms, still without sobbing, but the hot tears dropped on to his face. "speak to me, ben," she said quietly. the wind caught her words and whisked them away; and the rain played its unhappy music in the tree foliage; but ben made no answer. "speak to me," she repeated, her tone lifting. "my man, my baby--tell me you're not dead!" dead! was that it--struck to the earth like the caribou that fell before his rifle? and in that weird, dark instant a light far more bright than that the flickering pine knots cast so dim and strange over the scene beamed forth from the altar flame of her own soul. it was only the light of knowledge, not of hope, but it transfigured her none the less. all at once she knew why she had hurled the poisoned cup from his hand, even though her father's life might be the price of her weakness. she understood, now, why these long weeks had been a delight rather than a torment; why her fears for him had gone so straight to her heart. she pressed his battered head tight against her breast. "my love, my love," she crooned in his ear, pressing her warm cheek close to his. "i do love you, i do, i do," she told him confidingly, as if this message would call him back to life. her lips sought his, trying to give them warmth, and her voice was low and broken when she spoke again. "can't you hear me, ben--won't you try to come back to me? if you're dead i'll die too--" but the man did not open his eyes. would not even this appeal arouse him from this deep, strange sleep in which he lay? he had always been so watchful of her--since that first day--so zealous for her safety. she held him closer, her lips trembling against his. but she must get herself in hand again! perhaps life had not yet completely flickered out; and she could nurse it back. she dropped her ear to his breast, listening. yes, she felt the faint stirring of his heart. it was so feeble, the throbs were so far apart, yet they meant life,--life that might flush his cheeks again, and might yet bring him back to her, into her arms. he was breathing, too; breaths so faint that she hardly dared to believe in their reality. and presently she realized that his one hope of life lay in getting back to the fire. for long hours he had been lying in the cold rain; a few more minutes would likely extinguish the spark of life that remained in his breast. her hand stole over his powerful frame, in an effort to get some idea of the nature of his wounds. one of his arms was broken; its position indicated that. some of his ribs were crushed too--what internal injuries he had that might end him before the morning she did not know. but she could not take time to build a sledge and cut away the brush. she worked her shoulder under his body. wrenching with all her fine, young strength she lifted him upon her shoulder; then, kneeling in the vines, she struggled for breath. then thrusting with her arm she got on her feet. his weight was over fifty pounds greater than her own; but her woods training, the hard work she had always done, had fitted her for just such a test as this. she started with her burden toward the cave. she had long known how to carry an injured man, suspending him over her shoulder, head pointed behind her, her arms clasping his thigh. with her free arm she seized the tree branches to sustain her. she had no light now; she was guided only by the faint glow of the fire at the cavern mouth. after a hundred feet the load seemed unbearable. except for the fact that she soon got on the well-worn moose trail that followed the creek, she could scarcely have progressed a hundred feet farther. as it was, she was taxed to the utmost: every ounce of her reserve strength would be needed before the end. at the end of a hundred yards she stopped to rest, leaning against a tree and still holding the beloved weight upon her shoulder. if she laid it down she knew she could not lift it again. but soon she plunged on, down toward the beacon light. except for her love for him, and that miraculous strength that love has always given to women, she could not have gone on that last, cruel hundred yards. but slowly, steadily, the circle of light grew brighter, larger, nearer; ever less dense were the thickets of evergreen between. now she was almost to the glade; now she felt the wet grass at her ankles. she lunged on and laid her burden on her bed. then she relaxed at his feet, breathing in sobbing gasps. except for the crackle of the fire and the beat of the rain, there was no sound in the cave but this,--those anguished sobs from her wracked lungs. but far distant though ben was and deep as he slept--just outside the dark portals of death itself--those sounds went down to him. he heard them dimly at first, like a far-distant voice in a dream, but as the moments passed he began to recognize their nature and their source. sobs of exhaustion and distress--from the girl that was in his charge. he lay a long time, trying to understand. on her knees beside him beatrice saw the first flutter of his eyelids. in awe, rather than rapture, her arms crept around him, and she kissed his rain-wet brow. his eyes opened, looking wonderingly into hers. she saw the first light of recognition, then a half-smile, gentle as a girl's, as he realized his own injuries. of course ben darby would smile in such a moment as this; his instincts, true and manly, were always to try to cheer her. presently he spoke in the silence. "the tree got me, didn't it?" he asked. "don't try to talk," she cautioned. "yes--the tree fell on you. but you're not going to die. you're going to live, live--" he shook his head, the half-smile flickering at his lips. "let me talk, beatrice," he said, with just a whisper of his old determination. "it's important--and i don't think--i have much time." her eyes widened in horror. "you don't mean--" "i'm going back in a minute--i can't hardly keep awake," he said. his voice, though feeble, was preternaturally clear. she heard every kind accent, every gentle tone even above the crackle of the fire without and the beat of the rain. "i think it's the limit," he went on. "i believe the tree got me--clear inside--but you must listen to everything i say." she nodded. in that eerie moment of suspense she knew she must hear what he had to tell her. "don't wait to see what happens to me," he went on. "i'll either go out or i'll live--you really can't help me any. where's the rifle?" "the rifle was broken--when the tree fell." "i knew it would be. i saw it coming." he rested, waiting for further breath. "beatrice--please, please don't stay here, trying to save me." "do you think i would go?" she cried. "you must. the food--is about gone. just enough to last one person through to the yuga cabins--with berries, roots. take the pistol. there's six shots or so--in the box. make every one tell. take the dead grouse too. the rifle's broken and we can't get meat. it's just--death--if you wait. you can just make it through now." "and leave you here to die, as long as there's a chance to save you?" the girl answered. "you couldn't get up to get water--or build a fire--" he listened patiently, but shook his head at the end. "no, bee--please don't make me talk any more. it's just death for both of us if you stay. the food is gone--the rifle broken. your father's gang'll be here sooner or later--and they'd smash me, anyway. i could hardly fight 'em off with those few pistol shells--but by god i'd like to try--" he struggled for breath, and she thought he had slipped back into unconsciousness. but in a moment the faltering current of his speech began again. "take the pistol--and go," he told her. "you showed me to-day how to give up--and i don't want to kill--your father--any more. i renounce it all! ezram--forgive me--old ez that lay dead in the leaves." he smiled at the girl again. "so don't mind leaving me. life work's all spent--given over. please, beatrice--you'd just kill yourself without aiding me. wait till the sun comes up--then follow up the river--" unconsciousness welled high above him, and the lids dropped over his eyes. the gloom still pressed about the cavern, yet a sun no less effulgent than that of which he had spoken had risen for ben. it was his moment of renunciation, glorious past any moment of his life. he had renounced his last, little fighting chance that the girl might live. and ezram, watching high and afar, and with infinite serenity knowing at last the true balance of all things one with another, gave him his full forgiveness. the girl began to strip the wet clothes from his injured body. xxxvi the trail was long and steep into back there for jeffery neilson and his men. day after day they traveled with their train of pack horses, pushing deeper into the wilds, fording mighty rivers, traversing silent and majestic mountain ranges, climbing slopes so steep that the packs had to be lightened to half before the gasping animals could reach the crest. they could go only at a snail's pace,--even in the best day's travel only ten miles, and often a single mile was a hard, exhausting day's work. of course there was no kind of a trail for them to follow. as far as possible they followed the winding pathways of big game--as long as these led them in their general direction--but often they were obliged to cut their way through the underbrush. time after time they encountered impassable cliffs or rivers from which they were obliged to turn back and seek new routes; they found marshes that they could not penetrate; ranges they could not climb; wastes of slide rock where they could make headway only at a creeping pace and with hourly risk of their lives. they had counted on slow travel, but the weeks grew into the months before they even neared the obscure heart of back there where they thought ben and beatrice might be hidden. the way was hard as they had never dreamed. every day, it seemed to them, brought its fresh tragedy: a long back-trailing to avoid some impassable place, a fatiguing digression, perhaps several hours of grinding work with the axe in order to cut a trail. sometimes the harness broke, requiring long stops on the trail to repair it, the packs slipped continually from the hard going; and they found it increasingly difficult to secure horse feed for the animals. even indian ponies cannot keep fat on such grass as grows in the deep shade of the spruce. they need the rich growths of the open park lands to stiffen them for the grinding toil; and even with good feeding, foresters know that pack animals must not be kept on the trail for too many days in succession. jeffery neilson and his men disregarded both these facts, with the result that the animals lost flesh and strength, cutting down the speed of their advance. oaths and shouts were unavailing now: only cruel blows could drive them forward at all. they seemed to sense a great hopelessness in their undertaking. usually well-trained pack horses will follow their leader without question, walk almost in his tracks, and the rider in front only has to show the way. after the first few days of grinding toil, the morale of the entire outfit began to break. the horses broke away into thickets on each side; and time after time, one hour upon another, the horsemen had to round them up again. when they came to the great rivers--wild tributaries of the yuga--they had to follow up the streams for days in search of a place to ford. then they were obliged to carry the packs across in small loads, making trip after trip with the utmost patience and toil. the horses, broken in spirit, took the wild waters just as they climbed the steep slopes, with little care whether they lived or died. the days passed, june and july. ever they moved at a slower pace. one of the horses, giving up on a steep pitch and frenzied by ray's cruel, lashing blows, fell off the edge of the trail and shot down like a plummet two hundred feet into the canyon below--and thereupon it became necessary not only to spend the rest of the day in retrieving and repairing the supplies that had fallen with him, but also to heap bigger loads on the backs of the remaining horses. and always they were faced by the cruel possibility that this whole, mighty labor was in vain,--that ben and beatrice might have gone to their deaths in the rapids, weeks before. the food stores brought for the journey were rapidly depleted. the result was that they had to depend more and more upon a diet of meat. men can hold up fairly well on meat alone, particularly if it has a fair amount of fat, but the effort of hunting and drying the flesh into jerky served to cut down their speed. the constant delays, the grinding, blasting toil of the day's march, and particularly the ever-recurring crises of ford and steep, made serious inroads on the morale of the three men. just the work of urging on the exhausted horses drained their nervous energy in a frightful stream: the uncertainty of their quest, the danger, the scarcity of any food but meat, and most of all the burning hatred in their hearts for the man who had forced the expedition upon them combined to torment them; even now, ben darby had received no little measure of vengeance. no experience of their individual lives had ever presented such a daily ordeal of physical distress; none had ever been so devastating to hope and spirit. there was not one moment of pleasure, one instant of relief from the day's beginning to its end. at night they went to sleep on hastily made beds, cursing at all things in heaven and earth; they blasphemed with growing savagery all that men hold holy and true; and degeneracy grew upon them very swiftly. they quarreled over their tasks, and they hated each other with a hatred only second to that they bore darby himself. all three had always been reckless, wicked, brutal men; but now, particularly in the case of ray and chan, the ordeal brought out and augmented the latent abnormalities that made them criminals in the beginning, developing those odd quirks in human minds that make toward perversion and the most fiendish crime. jeffery neilson had almost forgotten the issue of the claim by now. he had told the truth, those weary weeks before, when he had wished he had never seen it. his only thought was of his daughter, the captive of a relentless, merciless man in these far wilds. never the moon rose or the sun declined but that he was sick with haunting fear for her. had she gone down to her death in the rapids? this was neilson's fondest wish: the enfolding oblivion of wild waters would be infinitely better than the fate ben had hinted at in his letter. yet he dared not turn back. she might yet live, held prisoner in some far-off cave. at first all three agreed on this point: that they must not turn back until either ben was crushed under their heels or they had made sure of his death. ray had not forgotten that ben alone stood between him and the wealth and power he had always craved. he dreamed, at first, that the deadly hardships of the journey could be atoned for by years of luxury and ease. his mind was also haunted with dark conjectures as to the fate of beatrice, but jealousy, rather than concern for her, was the moving impulse. neilson knew his young partner now. he saw clearly at last that ray was not and had never been a faithful confederate, but indeed a malicious and bitter enemy, only waiting his chance to overthrow his leader. they were still partners in their effort to rescue the girl and slay her abductor; otherwise they were at swords' points. and there would be something more than plain, swift slaying, now. if neilson could read aright, the actual, physical change that had been wrought in ray's face foretold no ordinary end for ben. his features were curiously drawn; and his eyes had a fixed, magnetic, evil light. occasionally in his darker hours neilson foresaw even more sinister possibilities in this change in ray: the abnormal intensity manifest in every look and word, the weird, evil preoccupation that seemed ever upon him. there was not only the fate of ben to consider, but that of beatrice too, out in these desolate forests. but surely ray's degenerate impulses could be mastered. neilson need not fear this, at least. chan heminway, also, had developed marvelously in the journey. he also was more assertive, less the underling he had been. he had developed a brutality that, though it contained nothing of the exquisite fineness of cruelty of which ray's diseased thought might conceive, was nevertheless the full expression of his depraved nature. he no longer cowered in fear of neilson. rather he looked to ray as his leader, took him as his example, tried to imitate him, and at last really began to share in his mood. in cruelty to the horses he was particularly adept; but he was also given to strange, savage bursts of insane fury. "we must be close on them now," neilson said one morning when they had left the main gorge of the yuga far behind them. "if they're not dead we're bound to find trace of 'em in a few days." the hope seemed well-founded. it is impossible for even most of the wild creatures--furtive as twilight shadows--to journey through wood spaces without leaving trace of their goings and comings: much less clumsy human beings. ultimately the searchers would find their tracks in the soft earth, the ashes of a camp fire, or a charred cooking rack. "and when we get 'em, we can wait and live on meat until the river goes up in fall--then float on down to the indian villages in their canoe," chan answered. "it will carry four of us, all right." ray, chan, neilson and neilson's daughter--these made four. what remained of ben when ray was through could be left, silent upon some hushed hillside, to the mercy of the wild creatures and the elements. surely they were in the enemy-country now; and now a fresh fear began to oppress them. they might expect an attack from their implacable foe at any moment. it did not make for ease of mind to know that any brush clump might be their enemy's ambush; that any instant a concealed rifle might speak death to them in the silence. ben would have every advantage of fortress and ambush. they had not thought greatly of this matter at first; but now the fear increased with the passing days. even neilson was not wholly exempt from it. it seemed a hideous, deadly thing, incompatible with life and hope, that they should be plunging deeper, farther into helplessness and peril. if mental distress and physical discomfort can constitute vengeance ben was already avenged. now that they were in the hill-lands, out from the gorge and into a region of yellow beaver meadows lying between gently sloping hills, their apprehension turned to veritable terror. a blind man could see how small was their fighting chance against a hidden foe who had prepared for their coming. the skin twitched and crept when a twig cracked about their camp at night, and a cold like death crept over the frame when the thickets crashed under a leaping moose. ray found himself regretting, for the first time, that murderous crime of his of months before. even riches might not pay for these days of dread and nights of terror: the recovery of the girl from ben's arms could not begin to recompense. indeed, the girl's memory was increasingly hard to call up. the mind was kept busy elsewhere. "we're walking right into a death trap," he told neilson one morning. "if he is here, what chance have we got; he'd have weeks to explore the country and lay an ambush for us. besides, i believe he's dead. i don't believe a human being could have got down this far, alive." chan too had found himself inclining toward this latter belief; without ray's energy and ambition he had less to keep him fronted to the chase. neilson, however, was not yet ready to turn back. he too feared ben's attack, but already in the twilight of advancing years, he did not regard physical danger in the same light as these two younger men. besides, he was made of different stuff. the safety of his daughter was the one remaining impulse in his life. and more and more, in the chill august nights, the talk about the camp fire took this trend: the folly of pushing on. it was better to turn back and wait his chances to strike again, ray argued, than to walk bald-faced into death. sometime ben must return to the claim: a chance might come to lay him low. besides, ever it seemed more probable that the river had claimed him. one rainy, disagreeable morning, as they camped beside the river near the mouth of a small creek, affairs reached their crisis. they had caught and saddled the horses; ray was pulling tight the last hitch. chan stood beside him, speaking in an undertone. when he had finished ray cursed explosively in the silence. neilson turned. he seemed to sense impending developments. "what now?" he asked. "i'm not going on, that's what it is," ray replied. "neilson, it's two against one--if you want to go on you can--but ray and i are going back. that devil's dead. beatrice is, too--sure as hell. if they ain't dead, he'll get us. i was a fool ever to start out. and that's final." "you're going back, eh--scared out!" neilson commented coldly. "i'm going back--and don't say too much about being scared out, either." "and you too, chan? you're against me, too?" chan cursed. "i'd gone a week ago if it'd been me. we knew the way home, at least." the old man looked a long time into the river depths. only too well he realized that their decision was final. but there was no answer, in the swirling depths, to the question that wracked his heart: whether or not in these spruce-clad hills his daughter still lived. it could only murmur and roar, without shaping words that human ears could grasp, never relieving the dreadful uncertainty that would be his life's curse from henceforth. he sighed, and the lines across his brow were dark and deep. "then turn the horses around, you cowards," he answered. "i can't go on alone." for once neither ray nor chan had outward resentment for the epithet. secretly they realized that old neilson was to the wall at last, and like a grizzly at bay, it was safer not to molest him. chan went down to the edge of the creek to water his saddle horse. but presently they heard him curse, in inordinate and startled amazement, as he gazed at some imprint in the mud of the shore. they saw the color sweep from his face. in an instant his two companions were beside him. clear and unmistakable in the mud they saw the stale imprint of ben's canoe as they had landed, and the tracks of both the man and the girl as they had turned into the forest. xxxvii the dawn that crept so gray and mysterious over the frosty green of spruce brought no hope to beatrice, sitting beside the unconscious form of ben in the cave fronting the glade. rather it only brought the tragic truth home more clearly. her love for him had manifested itself too late to give happiness to either of them: even now his life seemed to be stealing from her, into the valley of the shadow. she had watched beside him the whole night; and now she beheld a sinister change in his condition. he was still unconscious, but he no longer drew his breath at long intervals, softly and quietly. he was breathing in short, troubled gasps, and an ominous red glow was in his cheeks. she touched his brow, only to find it burning with fever. the fact was not hard to understand. the downpour of cold rain in which he had lain, wounded, for so many hours had drawn the life heat out of him, and some organic malady had combined with his bodily injuries to strike out his life. her predicament was one of absolute helplessness. she was hundreds of miles--weary weeks of march--from medical attention, and she could neither leave him nor carry him. the wilderness forces, resenting the intrusion into their secret depths, had seemingly taken full vengeance at last. they had seemingly closed all gates to life and safety. they had set the trap with care; and the cruel jaws had sprung. she sat dry-eyed, incoherent prayers at her trembling lips. mostly she did not touch the man, only sat at his bedside in the crude chair ben had fashioned for her while the minutes rolled into hours and the hours sped the night away,--in tireless vigil, watching with lightless eyes. once she bent and touched her lips to his. they were not cold now. they were warm with fever. but in the strange twilight-world of unconsciousness he could neither know of nor respond to her kiss. she patted down his covering and sometimes held his hard hands warm between hers, as if she could thus keep death from seizing them and leading him away. but her courage did not break again. the wan light showed her his drawn face; and just for an instant her arms pressed about it. "i won't give up, ben," she promised. "i'll keep on fighting--to the last minute. and maybe i can pull you through." beatrice meant exactly what she said: to the last minute. that did not mean to the gray hour when, by all dictate of common sense, further fight is useless. she meant that she would battle tirelessly as long as one pale spark glowed in his spirit, as long as his breath could cloud a glass. the best thing for her now, however, was rest. she was exhausted by the strain of the night; and she must save herself for the crisis that was sure to come. ben was sleeping easily now; the instant when his life hung in the balance still impended. she built up the fire, put on water to heat, covered the man with added blankets, then lay down on ben's cot. soon she drifted into uneasy slumber, waking at intervals to serve her patient. the hours dragged by, the night sloped down to the forest; and the dawn followed the night. ben's life still flickered, like a flame in the wind, in the twilight land between life and death. yet little could she do for him these first few days, except, in her simple faith, to pray. never an hour passed but that prayers were at her lips, childlike, direct, entreating prayers from her woman's heart. of all her offices these were first: she had no doubt but that they counted most. she sat by his bedside, kept him covered with the warmest robes, hewed wood for the fire; but as yet he had never fully emerged from his unconsciousness. would he slip away in the night without ever wakening? but in the morning of the fourth day he opened his eyes vividly, muttered, and fell immediately to sleep. he woke again at evening; and his moving lips conveyed a message. in response she brought him steaming grouse broth, administering it a spoonful at a time until he fell to sleep again. in the days that followed he was conscious to the degree that he could drink broth, yet never recognizing beatrice nor seeming to know where he was. his fever still lingered, raging; yet in these days she began to notice a slow improvement in his condition. the healing agents of his body were hard at work; and doubt was removed that he had received mortal internal injuries. she had set his broken arm the best she could, holding the bones in place with splints; but in all likelihood it would have to be broken and set again when he reached the settlements. she began to notice the first cessation of his fever; although weeks of sickness yet remained, she believed that the crisis was past. yet in spite of these hopeful signs, she was face to face with the most tragic situation of all. their food was almost gone. it would be long weeks before ben could hope for sufficient strength to start the journey down to the settlements, even if the way were open. as it was their only chance lay in the fall rains that would flood the yuga and enable them to journey down to the native villages in their canoe. these rains would not fall till october. for all that she had hoarded their supplies to the last morsel, eating barely enough herself to sustain life in her body, the dread spectre of starvation waited just without the cave. she had realized perfectly that ben could not hope to throw off the malady without nutritious food and she had not stinted with him; and now, just when she had begun to hope for his recovery, she shook the last precious cup of flour from the sack. the rice and sugar were gone, long since. the honey she had hoarded to give ben--knowing its warming, nutritive value--not tasting a drop herself. of all their stores only a few pieces of jerked caribou remained; she had used the rest to make rich broth for ben, and there was no way under heaven whereby they might procure more. the rifle was broken. the last of the pistol shots was fired the day she had prepared the poisoned cup for ben. yet she still waged the fight, struggling with high courage and tireless resolution against the frightful odds that opposed her. her faith was as of that nameless daughter of the gileadite; and she could not yield. not ambition, not hatred--not even such fire of fury as had been wakened in wolf darby's heart that first frenzied night on the hillside--could have been the impulse for such fortitude and sacrifice as hers. it was not one of these base passions--known in the full category to her rescuers who were even now bearing down upon her valley--that kept the steel in her thews and the steadfastness in her heart. she loved this man; her love for him was as wholesome and as steadfast as her own self; and the law of that love was to give him all she had. there were few witnesses to this infinite giving of hers. ben himself still lingered in a strange stupor, remembering nothing, knowing neither the girl nor himself. perhaps the wild things saw her desperate efforts to find food in the wilderness,--the long hours of weary searching for a handful of berries that gave such little nourishment to his weakened body, or for a few acorns stored for winter by bird or rodent. sometimes a great-antlered moose--an easy trophy if the rifle had been unbroken--saw her searching for wocus like a lost thing in the tenacious mud of the marshes; and almost nightly a silent wolf, pausing in his hunting, gazed uneasily through the cavern maw. but mostly her long hours of service in the cave, the chill nights that she sat beside ben's cot, the dreary mornings when she cooked her own scanty breakfast and took her uneasy rest, the endless labor of fire-mending so that the cave could be kept at an even heat went unobserved by mortal eyes. the healing forces of his body called for warmth and nourishment; but for all the might of her efforts she waged a losing fight. what little wocus she was able to find she made into bread for ben; yet it was never enough to satisfy his body's craving. the only meat she had herself was the vapid flesh that had been previously boiled for ben's broth; and now only a few pieces of the jerked meat remained. she herself tried to live on such plants as the wilderness yielded, and she soon began to notice the tragic loss of her own strength. her eyes were hollow, preternaturally large; she experienced a strange, floating sensation, as if spirit and flesh were disassociated. still ben lingered in his mysterious stupor, unaware of what went on about him; but his fever was almost gone by now, and the first beginnings of strength returned to his thews. his mind had begun to grope vaguely for the key that would open the doors of his memory and remind him again of some great, half-forgotten task that still confronted him, some duty unperformed. yet he could not quite seize it. the girl who worked about his cot was without his bourne of knowledge; her voice reached him as if from an infinite distance, and her words penetrated only to the outer edges of his consciousness. it was not strictly, however, a return of his amnesia. it was simply an outgrowth of delirium caused by his sickness and injuries, to be wholly dispelled as soon as he was wholly well. but now the real hour of crisis was at hand,--not from his illness, but from the depletion of their food supplies. beatrice had spent a hard afternoon in the forest in search of roots and berries, and as she crept homeward, exhausted and almost empty-handed, the full, tragic truth was suddenly laid bare. her own strength had waned. without the miracle of a fresh food supply she could hardly keep on her feet another day. plainly and simply, the wolf was at the door. his cruel fangs menaced not only her, but this stalwart man for whose life she had fought so hard. the fear of the obliterating darkness known to all the woods people pressed close upon her and appalled her. she loved life simply and primitively; and it was an unspeakable thing to lose at the end of such a battle. out so far, surrounded by such endless, desolate wastes of gloomy forest, the shadow was cold, inhospitable; and she was afraid to face it alone. if ben would only waken and sustain her drooping spirit with his own! she was lonely and afraid, in the shadow of the inert spruce, under the gray sky. she could hardly summon strength for the evening's work of cutting fuel. the blade would not drive with its old force into the wood. the blaze itself burned dully; and she could not make it leap and crackle with its old cheer. and further misfortune was in store for her when she crept into the cave to prepare ben's supper. a pack rat--one of those detested rodents known so well to all northern peoples--had carried off in her absence two of the three remaining sticks of jerked caribou. for a moment she gazed in unbelieving and speechless horror, then made a frenzied search in the darkened corners of the cabin. this was no little tragedy: the two sticks of condensed and concentrated protein might have kept ben alive for a few days more. it was disaster, merciless and sweeping. and the brave heart of the girl seemed to break under the blow. the hot, bitter tears leaped forth; but she suppressed the bitter, hopeless sobs that clutched at her throat. she must not let ben know of this catastrophe. likely in his stupor he would not understand; yet she must not take the chance. she must nourish the spark of hope in his breast to the last hour. she walked to the mouth of the cave; and famine itself stood close, waiting in the shadows. she gazed out into the gathering gloom. the tears blinded her eyes at first. slowly the dark profile of the spruce against the gray sky penetrated to her consciousness: the somber beauty of the wilderness sky line that haunts the woodsman's dreams. with it came full realization of the might and the malevolency of these shadowed wilds she had battled so long. they had got her down at last; they had crushed her and beaten her, and had held up to scorn her sacrifice and her mortal strength. she knew the wild wood now: its savage power, its remorselessness, and yet, woods girl that she was, she could not forget its dark and moving beauty. the forest was silent to-night. not a twig cracked or a branch rustled. it was hushed, breathless, darkly sinister. all at once her eyes peered and strained into the dusk. far across the valley, beyond the beaver marsh and on the farther shore of the lake she saw a little glimmer of light through the rift in the trees. she dared not believe in its reality at first. perhaps it was a trick of her imagination only, a hallucination born of her starvation, child of her heartfelt prayer. she looked away, then peered again. but, yes--a tiny gleam of yellow light twinkled through the gloom! it was real, _it was true_! a gleam of hope in the darkness of despair. her rescuers had come. there could be no other explanation. she hastened into the cave, drew the blankets higher about ben's shoulders, then crept out into the dusk. half running, she hastened toward their distant camp fire. xxxviii beatrice's first impulse was to run at a breakneck pace down the ridge and about the lake into her father's camp, beseeching instant aid to the starving man in the cave. she wished that she had a firearm with which to signal to them and bring them at once to the cavern. and it was not until she had descended the ridge and stood at the edge of the beaver meadow that her delirious joy began to give way to serious, thought. she was brought to a halt first by the sight of the horses that had wandered about the long loop of the lake and were feeding in the rich grass of the meadow. the full moon rising in the east had cast a nebulous glow over the whole countryside by now; and she could make a hasty estimation of their numbers. it was evident at once that her father had not made the expedition alone. the large outfit implied a party of at least three,--indicating that ray brent and chan heminway had accompanied him. she had only fear and disdain for these two younger men; but surely they would not refuse aid to ben. yet perhaps it was best to proceed with some caution. these were her lover's enemies; if for no other reason than their rage at her own abduction they might be difficult to control. her father, in all probability, would willingly show mercy to the helpless man in the cavern--particularly after she told him of ben's consideration and kindness--but she put no faith in ray and chan. she knew them of old. besides, she remembered there was a further consideration,--that of a gold claim. could ben have told her the truth when he had maintained that they would kill him on sight if he did not destroy them first? was it true that he had waged the war in defense of his own rights? weeks and months had passed since she had seen her father's face: perhaps her old control of him could no longer be relied upon. if indeed their ownership of a rich claim depended upon ben's death, ray and chan could not be trusted at all. she resolved to proceed with the utmost caution. abruptly she turned out of the beaver marsh, where the moonlight might reveal her, and followed close to the edge of the timber, a course that could not be visible from beyond the lake. she approached the lake at its far neck, then followed back along the margin clear to the edge of the woods in which the fire was built. in her years in the woods beatrice had learned to stalk, and the knowledge was of value to her now. with never a misstep she took down a little game trail toward the camp fire. she was within fifty yards of it now--she could make out three dark figures seated in the circle of firelight. walking softly but upright she pushed within ninety feet of the fire. then she waited, in doubt as to her course. she was still too far distant to hear more than the murmur of their voices. if she could just get near enough to catch their words she could probably glean some idea of their attitude toward ben. she pushed on nearer, through the dew-wet brush. impelled by the excitement under which she advanced, her old agility of motion had for the moment returned to her; and she crept softly as a fawn between the young trees. one misstep, one rustling branch or crackling twig might give her away; but she took each step with consummate care, gently thrusting the tree branches from her path. once a rodent stirred beneath her feet, and she froze--like a hunting wolf--in her tracks. one of the three men looked up, and she saw his face plainly through the low spruce boughs. and for a moment she thought that this was a stranger. it was with a distinct foreboding of disaster that she saw, on second glance, that the man was ray brent. she had never seen such change in human countenance in the space of a few months. she did not pause to analyze it. she only knew that his eyes were glittering and fixed; and that she herself was deeply, unexplainably appalled. the man cursed once, blasphemously, his face dusky and evil in the eerie firelight, but immediately turned back to his talk. beatrice crept closer. now she was near enough to catch an occasional word, but not discern their thoughts. it was evident, however, that their conversation was of ben and herself,--the same topic they had discussed nights without end. she caught her own name; once chan used an obscene epithet as he spoke of their enemy. her instincts were true and infallible to-night; and she was ever more convinced of their deadly intentions toward ben. it was not wise to announce herself yet. perhaps she would have to rely upon a course other than a direct appeal for aid. now her keen eyes could see the whole camp: the three seated figures of the men, their rifles leaning near them, their supplies spread out about the fire. at one side, quite to the edge of the firelight, she saw a kyack--one of those square boxes that are hung on a pack saddle--which seemed to be heaped with jerked caribou or moose flesh. for the time of a breath she could not take her eyes from it. it was food--food in plenty to sustain ben through his illness and the remaining weeks of their exile--and her eyes moistened and her hands trembled at the sight. she had been taught the meaning of famine, these last, bitter days. in reality she was now in the first stage of starvation, experiencing the first, vague hallucinations, the sense of incorporeality, the ever-declining strength, the constant yearning that is nothing but the vitals' submerged demand for food. the contents of the kyack meant _life_ to herself and to ben,--deliverance and safety when all seemed lost. a daughter of the cities far to the south--even a child of poverty--rarely could have understood the unutterable craving that overswept her at the sight of this simple food. it was unadorned, unaccompanied by the delicacies that most human beings have come to look upon as essentials and to expect with every meal: it was only animal flesh dried in the smoke and the sun. it not only attracted her physically; but in that moment it possessed real objective beauty for her; as it would have possessed for the most cultivated esthete that might be standing in her place. this girl was down to the most stern realities, and life and death hung in the balance. she went on her hands and knees, creeping nearer. still she did not make the slightest false motion, creeping with an uncanny silence in the under shrubbery. and now the words came plain. "but we must be near," chan was saying. "they can't be more than a mile or so from here. we'll find 'em in the morning--" "if he doesn't find us first and shoot up our camp," ray replied. "i wish we'd built our fire further into the woods. here we've looked all day without even finding a track except those tracks in the mud." "they might be beyond the marsh," neilson suggested. "but chan went over that way and didn't find a trace," ray objected. "but just the same--we'll make a real search to-morrow. i believe we'll find the devil. and then--we can leave this hellish country and go back in peace--if we don't want to wait for the flood." beatrice's eyes were on his face, wondering what growth of wickedness, what degeneracy had so filled his cruel eyes with light and stamped his face with evil. this was the man to whom she must look for mercy. ben's life, if she led the three men to the cave, would be in his hands. she sensed from his authoritative tone that her father's control over him was largely broken. she hovered, terrified and motionless, in her covert. ray reached for his rifle, glancing at the sights and drawing the lever back far enough to see the brass of its shells. chan's lean face was drawn with a cruel glee. "you can't keep your hands off that gun, ray," he said. "you sure are gettin' anxious." "i won't use it on him," ray replied, slowly and carefully. "it's too good for him--except maybe the stock. he didn't lead me clear out here just to see him puff out and blow up in a minute with a rifle ball through his head. just the same i want the gun near me, all the time." the two men looked at him, sardonic-eyed; and both of them seemed to understand fully what he meant. they seemed to catch more from the slow tones, so full of lust and frenzy that they seemed to drop from his lips in an ugly monotone, than they did from the words themselves. they took a certain grim amusement in these quirks of abnormal depravity that had begun to manifest themselves in ray. the man's fingers were wide spread as he spoke, and his lip twitched twice, sharply, when he had finished. the words came clear and distinct to the listening girl. she tried to take them literally--that ray would not shoot ben! _"it's too good for him--except maybe the stock!"_ did he mean _that_ too! was there any possible meaning in the world other than that he was planning some unearthly, more terrible fate for the man she loved! she would not yet yield to the dreadful truth, yet even now terror was clutching at her throat, strangling her; and the cold drops were beading her brow. still the dark drama of the fireside continued before her eyes. chan suddenly turned to neilson, evidently imbued with ray's fervor. "what do you think of that, old man?" he asked menacingly. thus chan, too, had escaped from neilson's dominance: plainly ray was his idol now. it was also plain that he recognized attributes of mercy and decency in his grizzled leader that might interfere with his own and his companion's plans. "what's worrying me--whether you're goin' to join in on the sport when we catch the weasel!" sport! the word was more terrible to beatrice than the vilest oath he had used to emphasize it. she crouched, shivering. watching intently, she saw ray look up, too, waiting for the reply; and her father, sensing his lost dominance, bowed his head. "you could hardly expect me to let him off easy--seeing what he did to my daughter--" "what he done to your daughter ain't all--i don't care if he treated her like a queen of the realm all the time," ray interrupted harshly. "that makes no difference to neither me nor chan. the main thing is--he brought us out here, away from the claim--and gave us months of the worst hell i ever hope to spend. i guess you ain't forgotten what chan found out in snowy gulch--that the claim's recorded--in old hiram's name. this darby's got a letter in his pocket from hiram's brother that would stand in any court. we've got to get that first. if darby was an angel i'd mash him under my heel just the same; we've gone too far to start crawfishing. just let me see him tied up in front of me--" beatrice did not linger to hear more. she had her answer: only in ben's continued concealment lay the least hope of his salvation. these wolves about the fire meant what they said. but already her plans were shaping; and now she saw the light. in the kyack of venison lay her own and her lover's safety: it contained enough nutritious food to sustain them until the fall rains could swell the yuga and enable them to escape down to the indian encampment. her mind was swift and keen as never before: swiftly she perfected the last detail of her plan. the canoe, due to ben's foresight, was securely hidden in a maze of tall reeds on the lake shore: they were certain to overlook it. the cavern, however, was almost certain to be discovered in the next day's search. they must make their escape to-night. ben, though terribly weakened, would be able to walk a short distance with her help. they could slip into the deepest forest, concealing themselves in the coverts until the three men had given up the search and gone away. she would take their robes and blankets to keep them warm; a camp fire would of course reveal their hiding place. the work could easily be accomplished in the midnight shadows: deliverance, salvation, life itself depended on the tide of fate in the next few hours. she intended to steal the kyack of dried meat without which ben and herself could not live. she crept back farther into the underbrush; then waited, scarcely breathing, while the fire died down. already the three men were preparing to go to their bunks. chan had already lain down; her father was removing his coat and boots. ray, however, still sat in the firelight. the moments passed. would he never rise and go? the fire, however, was dying: its circle of ruddy light ever drew inward. the kyack was quite in the shadow now, yet she dared not attempt its theft until the three men were asleep. she waited, thrilling with excitement. chan and neilson were seemingly asleep, and now ray was knocking the ashes from his pipe. he yawned, stretching wide his arms; then, as if held by some intriguing thought, sat almost motionless, gazing into the graying coals. presently beatrice heard him curse, softly, in the shadows. he got up, and removing his outer coat, rolled in his blankets. the night hours began their mystic march across the face of the wilderness. now was the time to act. as far as she could tell, the three men were deeply asleep: at least the likelihood would be as great as at any time later in the night. the fire was a heap of gray ashes except for its red-hot center: the kyack was in gloom. very softly she crept through the thickets, meanwhile encircling the dying fire, and came up behind it. now it was almost in reach: now her hands were at its loops. she started to lift it in her arms. but disaster still dogged her trail. ray brent had been too wary of attack, to-night, to sink easily into deep slumber. he heard the soft movement as beatrice lifted the heavy canvas bag off the ground; and with a startled oath sprang to his feet. he leaped like a panther. "who's there?" he cried. sensing immediate discovery the girl placed all her hope in flight. perhaps yet she could lose her pursuers in the darkness. still trying to hold the kyack of food that meant life to ben, she turned and darted into the shadows. like a wolf ray sped after her. the moonlight showed her fleeing figure in the trees, and shouting aloud he sprang through the coverts to intercept her flight. the chase was of short duration thereafter. emburdened by the heavy box she could not watch her step; and a protruding root caught cruelly at her ankle. she was hurled with stunning force to the ground. desperate and intent, but in realization of impending triumph, ray's strong arms went about her. xxxix for the second time in his life ray brent felt the sting of beatrice's strong hand against his face. in the desperation of fear she had smote him with all her force. his arms withdrew quickly from about her; and her wide, disdainful eyes beheld a sinister change in his expression. the moonlight was in his eyes, silver-white; and they seemed actually to redden with fury, and again she saw that queer, ghastly twitching at the corner of his lips. the girl's defiance was broken with that one blow. she dropped her head, then walked past him into the presence of her father. neilson and chan were on their feet now, and they regarded her in the utter silence of amazement. breathing fast, ray came behind her. "build up the fire, chan," he said in a strange, grim voice. "we want to see what we've caught." obediently chan kicked the coals from under the ashes, and began to heap on broken pieces of wood. the sticks smoked, then a little tongue of yellow flame crept about the fuel. but still the emburdened silence continued--the white-faced girl in the ring of silent, watching men. slowly the fire's glow crept out to her, revealing--even better than the bright moonlight--her wide, frightened eyes and the dark, speculative faces of the men. then ray spoke sharply in his place. "well, why don't you question her?" he demanded of neilson. "i suppose you know what she was doing. she was trying to steal food. it looks to me like she's gone over to the opposite camp." her father sighed, a peculiar sound that seemed to come from above the tree tops, as if fast-flying waterfowl were passing overhead. "is that so, daughter?" he asked simply. "i was trying to take some of your food--to ben," beatrice replied softly. "he's in need of it." "you see, they're on intimate terms," ray suggested viciously. "ben was in need of food--so she came here to steal it." but neilson acted as if he had not heard. "why didn't you speak to us--and tell us you were safe?" he asked. "we've come all the way here to find you." "perhaps _you_ did. if you had been here alone, i would have told you. but ray and chan came all the way here to find ben. i heard what they said--back there in the brush. they intend to kill him when they find him. i--i didn't want him killed." her father stared at her from under his bushy brows. "after carrying you from your home--taking you into danger and keeping you a prisoner--you still want to protect him?" the girl nodded. "and i want you to protect him, too," she said. "against these men." suddenly she moved forward in earnest appeal. "oh, father--i want you to save him. he's never touched me--he's treated me with every respect--done everything he could for me. when he was injured he told me to go back--to take what little food there was, and go back--" "i can take it, then, that you're out of food?" ray asked. "we're starving--and ben's sick. father, i make this one appeal--if your love for me isn't all gone, you'll grant it. i love him. you might as well know that now, as later. i want you to save the man your daughter loves." chan cursed in the gloom, his lean face darkened; but neilson made no answer. ray in his place sharply inhaled; but the sullen glow in his eyes snapped into a flame. if beatrice had glanced at ray, she would have ceased her appeal and trusted everything to the doubtful mercy of flight,--into the gloom of the forest. as it was, she did not fully comprehend the cruel lust, like flame, that sped through his veins. she would have hoped for no mercy if she could have seen the strange, black surge of wrath in his face. "he has been kind to me--and he was in the right, not in the wrong. i know about the claim-jumping. father, i want you to stand between him and these men--help him--and give him food. i didn't speak to you because i was afraid for him--afraid you'd kill him or do some other awful thing to him--" slowly her father shook his head. "but i can't save him now. he brought this on himself." "remember, he was in the right," the girl pleaded brokenly. "you won't--you couldn't be a partner to murder. that's all it would be--murder--brutal, terrible, cold-blooded murder--if you kill him without a fight. it couldn't be in defense of me--i tell you he hasn't injured me--but was always kind to me. it would be just to take that letter away from him--" "so he has the letter, has he?" ray interrupted. he smiled grimly, and his tone was again flat and strained. "and he's sick--and starving. it isn't for your father to say, beatrice, what's to be done with ben. there's three of us here, and he's just one. don't go interfering with what doesn't concern you, either--about the claim. you take us where he is, and we'll decide what to do with him." her eyes went to his face; and her lips closed tight. here was one thing, on this mortal earth, that she must not tell. perhaps, by the mercy of heaven, they would not find the cave, hidden as it was at the edge of the little glade. the forests were boundless; perhaps they would miss the place in their search. she straightened, scarcely perceptibly. "yes, tell us where he is," her father urged. "that's the first thing. we'll find him, anyway, in the morning." the girl shook her head. she knew now that even if they promised mercy she must not reveal ben's whereabouts. their rage and cruelty would not be stayed for a spoken promise. the only card she had left, her one last, feeble hope of preserving ben's life, lay in her continued silence. ray's foul-nailed, eager hands could claw her lips apart, but he could not make her speak. "i won't tell you," she answered at last, more clearly than she had spoken since her capture. "you said a few minutes ago i had gone over--to the opposite camp. i am, from now on. he was in the right, and he gave up his fight against you long ago. now i want to go." fearing that neilson might show mercy, ray leaped in front of her. "you don't go yet awhile," he told her grimly. "i've got a few minutes' business with you yet. i tell you that we'll find him, if we have to search all year. and he'll have twice the chance of getting out alive if you tell us where he is." she looked into his face, and she knew what that chance was. her eyelids dropped halfway, and she shook her head. "i'd die first," she answered. "it never occurred to you, did it, that there's ways of _making_ people tell things." he suddenly whirled, with drawn lips, to her father. "neilson, is there any reason for showing any further consideration to this wench of yours? she's betrayed us--gone over to the opposite camp--lived for weeks, willing, with ben. i for one am never going to see her leave this camp till she tells us where he is. i'm tired of talking and waiting. i'm going to get that paper away from him, and i'm going to smash his heart with my heel. we've almost won out--and i'm going to go the rest of the way." neilson straightened, his eyes steely and bright under his grizzled brows. only too well he knew that this was the test. affairs were at their crisis at last. but in this final moment his love for his daughter swept back to him in all its unmeasured fullness,--and when all was said and done it was the first, the mightiest impulse in his life. ben had been kind to her, and she loved him; and all at once he knew that he could not yield him or her to the mercy of this black-hearted man before him. he had lived an iniquitous life; he was inured to all except the worst forms of wickedness; but for the moment--in love of his daughter--he stood redeemed. he was on the right side at last. his hand drew back, and his face was like iron. "shut that foul mouth!" he cautioned, with a curious, deadly evenness of tone. "i haven't surrendered yet to you two wolves. if one of you dares to lay a hand on beatrice, i'll kill him where he stands." even as he spoke his thought went to his rifle, leaning against a dead log ten feet away. this was the moment of test: the jealousy and rivalry and hatred between himself and ray had reached the crisis. and the spirit of murder, terrible past any demon of the pit, came stalking from the savage forest into the ruddy firelight. ray leered, his muscles bunching. "and i say to you, you're a dirty traitor too," he answered. "she ain't your daughter any more. she's ben darby's squaw. she's not fit for a white man to touch any more, for all her lies. you say one word and you'll get it too." and at that instant the speeding pace of time seemed to halt, showing this accursed scene, so savage and terrible in the eerie light of the camp fire, at the edge of the haunted, breathless darkness, in vivid and ghastly detail. neilson leaped forward with all his power; and if his blow had gone home, ray would have been shattered beneath it like a tree in the lightning blast. but ray's arms were incredibly swift, and his rifle leaped in his hands. the barrel gleamed. the roar reechoed in the silence. neilson's head bowed strangely; and for a moment he stood swaying, a ghastly blankness on his face; then pitched forward in the dew-wet grass. beatrice's last defense had fallen, seriously wounded; and ray's arm seized her as, screaming, she tried to flee. xl the shot that wounded jeffery neilson carried far through the forest aisles, reëchoing against the hills, and arresting, for one breathless moment, all the business of the wilderness. the feeding caribou swung his horns and tried to catch the scent; the moose, grubbing for water roots in the lake bottom, lifted his grotesque head and stood like a form in black iron. it came clear as a voice to the cavern where ben lay. the man started violently in his cot. his entire nervous system seemed to react. then there ensued a curious state in which his physical functions seemed to cease,--his heart motionless in his breast, his body tensely rigid, his breath held. there was an infinite straining and travail in his mind. the truth was that the sound acted much as a powerful stimulant to his retarded nervous forces. it was the one thing his resting nerve-system needed; it was as if chemicals were in suspension in a crucible, and at a slight jar of the glass they made mysterious union and expelled a precipitation. almost instantly he recognized the sound that had reached him, with a clear and unmistakable recognition such as he had not experienced since the night of the accident, as the report of a rifle. his mind gave a great leap and remembered its familiar world. a rifle--probably discharged by beatrice in a hunt after big game. it was true that their meat supply was low; he remembered now. yet it was curious that she should be hunting after dark. the gloom was deep at the cavern mouth. besides, he had always kept his rifle from her, fearing that she might turn it against him. he looked about him, trying to locate the source of the flood of light on the cavern floor. it was the moon, and it showed that the girl was gone. he started to sit up. but his left arm did not react just properly to the command of his brain. it impeded him, and its old strength was impaired. for a moment more he lay quiet, deep in thought. of course--he had been injured by the falling tree. he remembered clearly, now. and the rifle had been broken. the only possible explanation for the shot was that a rifle had been fired by some invader in their valley--in all probability neilson or one of his men. beatrice's absence would also indicate this fact: perhaps she had already joined her father and was on her way back to snowy gulch with him. in that case, why had he himself been spared? he looked out of the door of the cavern, trying to get some idea of the lateness of the hour. the very quality of the darkness indicated that the night was far advanced. neilson would not be hunting game at this hour. was his own war--planned long ago--even now being waged in ways beyond his ken? his old concern for beatrice swept through him. with considerable difficulty he got to his feet, then holding on to the wail, guided himself to the shelf where they ordinarily kept their little store of matches. he scratched one of them against the wall. in the flaring light his eyes made a swift but careful appraisal of his surroundings. the girl's cot had not been slept in; and to his great amazement he saw that their food supplies were spent. still holding to the wall he walked to the cave mouth. instantly his keen eyes saw the far-off gleam of the camp fire on the distant margin of the lake. for all that the hour was late, it burned high and bright. he watched it, vaguely conscious of the insidious advance of a ghastly fear. beatrice was his ally now--if these weeks had sent home one fact to him it was this--and her absence might easily indicate that she was helpless in the enemy's hands. the thing suggested ugly possibilities. yet he could not aid her. he could scarcely walk; even the knife that he wore at his belt was missing, probably carried by beatrice when she gathered roots in the woods. but presently all questions as to his course were settled for him. his straining ear caught the faintest, almost imperceptible vibration in the air--a soundwave so dim and obscure that it seemed impossible that the human mind could interpret it--but ben recognized it in a flash. in some great trouble and horror, in the sullen light of that distant camp fire, beatrice had screamed for aid. only by the grace of the red gods had he heard the sound at all. except for the fact that the half-mile intervening was as still as death, and that half the way the sound sped over water, he couldn't have hoped to perceive it. if the wind had blown elsewhere than straight toward him from the enemy camp, or if his marvelous sense of hearing had been less acute, the result would have been the same; and there could have been no answer from this dark man at the cave mouth who stood so tense and still. finally, by instinct as much as by conscious intelligence, he identified the sound, marked it as a reality rather than a fancy, and read the tragic need behind it. swiftly he started down the glade toward her. yet in a moment he knew that unless he conserved his strength he could not hope to make a fourth of the distance. at the first steps he swayed, half staggering. he had paid the price for his weeks of illness and his injuries. if he had been in a sick room, under a physician's care, he would have believed it impossible to walk unsupported across the room. but need is the mother of strength, and this was the test. besides, he had had several days of convalescence that had put back into his sinews a measure of his mighty strength. mostly he progressed by holding on to the trees, pulling himself forward step by step. likely he would come too late to change the girl's fate. yet even now he knew he must not turn back. if the penalty were death, there must be no hesitancy in him; he must not withhold one step. but it was a losing fight. the hill itself seemed endless; a hundred cruel yards of marsh must be traversed before ever he reached the nearest point by the lake. the enemy camp from where beatrice had called to him lay on the far side of the lake, a distance of a full mile if he followed around the curving shore. and black and bitter self-hatred swept like fire through him when he realized that he could not possibly keep on his feet for so long a way. was this all he had fought for--surging upward through these long, weary weeks out of the shadow of death--only to fall dead on the trail in the moment of beatrice's need? instantly he knew that nothing in his life, no other desire or dream, had ever meant as much to him as this: that he might reach her side in time. even his desire for vengeance, in that twilight madness, like roland's, that had shaped his destiny, had been wavering and feeble compared to this. and no moment of his existence had ever been so dark, so bereft of the last, dim star of hope that lights men's way in the deep night of despair. he gave no thought to the fact of his own helplessness against three armed men in case he did succeed in reaching their camp. the point could not possibly be considered. the imperious instincts that forced him on simply could not take it into reckoning. he knew only he must reach her side and put in her service all that he had. he fell again and again as he tried to make headway in the marsh. but always he forced himself up and on. only too plain he saw that the time was even now upon him when he could no longer keep his feet at all. but still he plunged on, and with tragically slow encroachments the shore line drew up to him. but he could not go on. the fire itself was hardly a quarter of a mile distant, directly across the lake, but to follow the long shore was an insuperable mile. already his leg muscles were failing him, refusing to the respond to the impulse of his nerves. yet it might be that if he could make himself heard his enemies would leave the girl for a moment, at least--give her an instant's respite--while they came and dispatched his own life. whatever they were doing to her, there in that ring of firelight, might be stayed for a moment, at least. but at that instant he remembered the canoe. he had always kept it hidden in a little thicket of tall reeds,--if only the girl had not removed it from its place in his weeks of sickness! he plunged down into the tall tules. yes, the boat was still in place. it took all the strength of his weakened body to push it out from the reeds into the water. then he seized the long pole they had sometimes used to propel themselves over the lake. except for his injured arm, the paddle would have been better--he could have made better time and escaped the danger of being stranded in deep water--but he doubted that he could handle it with his faltering arm. he pushed off, putting most of the strain on his uninjured right arm. the canoe was strongly but lightly made, so that it could be portaged with greatest possible ease; and his strokes, though feeble, propelled it slowly through the water. the great, white full moon, beloved of long ago, looked down from above the tall, dark heads of the spruce and changed the little water-body into a miracle of burnished silver. in its light ben's face showed pale, but with a curious, calm strength. the lake seemed untouched by the faint breath of wind that blew from the distant shore. the waters lay quiet, and the trout beneath saw the black shadow of the canoe as it passed. a cow moose and her calf sprang up the bank with a splash, frightened by the poling figure in the stern. and on the far shore, clear where the lake had its outlet in a small river, even more keen wilderness eyes might have beheld the black, moving dot that was the craft. but the distance was too far and the wind was wrong for the keen mind behind the eyes to make any sort of an interpretation. it might have been that fenris the wolf, running with a female and two younger males that he had mastered that long-ago night on the ridge, paused in his hunting to watch and wonder. but his wild brute thoughts were not under the bondage of memory to-night; his savage heart was thrilled and full; and more than likely he did not even turn his head. ray and chan, standing beside their prisoner in their grisly camp on the opposite shore, might have beheld ben's approach if weightier matters had not occupied their minds. they had only to walk to the edge of the firelight and stare down through a rift in the trees to see him. but they stood with the angry glare revealing a strange and sinister intentness in their drawn faces and ominous speculations in their evil eyes. xli it was a wilderness moon that rose over the spruce to-night,--white as new silver, incredibly large, inscrutably mysterious. the winds had whisked away the last pale cloud that might have dimmed its glory, and its light poured down with equal bounty on peak and hill, forest and yellow marsh. the heavy woods partook most deeply of its enchantment: tall, stately trees pale and nebulous as if with silver frost, each little stream dancing and shimmering in its light, every glade laid with a fairy tapestry, every shadow dreadful and black in contrast. the wilderness breathed and shivered as if swept with passion. the wilderness moon is the moon of desire; and all this great space of silence seemed to respond. it seemed to throb, like one living entity, as if in longing for something lost long ago--a half-forgotten happiness, a glory and a triumph that were gone never to return. no creatures that followed the woods trails were dull and flat to-night. they were all swept with mystery, knowing vague longings or fierce desires. it was the harvest moon; but here it did not light the fields so that men might harvest grain. rather it illumined the hunting trails so that the beasts of prey might find relief from the wild lusts and seething ferment that was in their veins. but mostly the forest mood was disconsolate, rather than savage, to-night. the wild geese on the lake called their weird and plaintive cries, their strange complaints that no man understands; the loons laughed in insane despair; and the coyotes on the ridge wailed out the pain of living and the vague longings of their wild hearts. in the glory of that moon fenris the wolf knew the same, resistless longings that so many times before had turned him from the game trails. there was something here that was unutterably dear to him,--something that drew him, called him like a voice, and he could not turn aside. because he was a beast, he likely did not know the force that was drawing him again along the lake shore. yet the souls of the lower creatures no man knows; and perhaps he had conscious longings, profoundly intense, for a moment's touch of a strong hand on his shoulder,--one never-to-be-forgotten caress from a certain god that had gone to a cave to live. it was true that his wild instincts, ever more in dominance these past weeks, would likely halt him at the cavern maw, permitting no intimacy other than to ascertain that all was well. they were too strong ever to brook man's control again. the moon was a moon of desire, but only because it was also the moon of memory,--and perhaps memories, stirring and exalting, were sweeping through him. straight as an arrow he turned toward the cave. his followers--the gaunt female and two younger males, the structure about which the winter pack would form--hesitated at first. they had no commanding memories of the cavern on the far side of the lake. yet fenris was their leader; by the deep-lying laws of the pack they must follow where he led. they could not decoy him into the trails of game. as ever they sped swiftly, silently after him. in this forest of desires ben knew but one,--that he might yet be of aid to beatrice. but he knew in his heart that it was a vain hope. he was within a hundred yards of ray's camp now, but the struggle to reach the lake and the poling across its waters had brought him seemingly to the absolute limit of his strength, clear to the brink of utter exhaustion. never in his life before had he known the full meaning of fatigue,--fatigue that was like a paralysis, blunting the mechanism of the brain, burning like a slow fire in his muscles, poisoning the vital fluids of his nerves. stroke after stroke, never ceasing!--the flame was high, crackling--just before him. through a rift in the trees he could see the outline of two men and the slim form of the girl. just a few yards more. but of all the desires that the moon invoked in the woods people there were none so unredeemed, so wicked and cruel as this that slowly wakened in the evil hearts of these two degenerate men, beatrice's captors. she sensed it only vaguely at first. all the disasters that had fallen upon her had not taught her to accept such a thing as this: surely this would be spared her, at least. there is a kindly blind spot in the brain that often will not let the ugly truth go home. for a strange, still moment ray's face seemed devoid of all expression. it was flat and lifeless as dark clay. then beatrice felt the insult of his quickening gaze. "put a rope around her wrists, chan," he said. "we don't want to take chances on her getting away." he spoke slowly, rather flatly. there was nothing that her senses could seize upon--either in his face or voice to justify the swift, strangling, killing horror that came upon her. he stood simply gazing, and as she met his gaze her lips parted and drew back in a grimace of terror; thus they stood until the blood began to leap fast in chan's veins. she needed no further disillusionment. chan spoke behind her, a startled oath cut off short, and she felt him moving swiftly toward her. it was her last instant of respite; and her muscle set and drew for a final, desperate attempt at self-defense. she wore ben's knife at her belt, and her hand sped toward it. but the motion, fast as it was, came too late. chan saw it; and leaping swiftly, his arms went about her and pinned her own arms to her sides. she tried in vain to fight her way out of his grasp. she writhed, screaming; and in the frenzy of her fear she all but succeeded in hurling him off. she managed to draw the knife clear of the sheath, yet she couldn't raise her arm to strike. ray was aiding his confederate now; and in an instant more she was helpless. their drawn faces bent close to hers. she felt their hot hands as they drew her wrists in front of her and fastened them with a rope. "not too tight, chan," ray advised. "we don't want her to get uncomfortable before we're done with her. don't tie her ankles; she can't run through the brush with her arms tied.--now give her a moment to breathe." they stood on each side of her, regarding her with secret, growing excitement. already they had descended too far to know pity for this girl. the wide-open eyes, so dark with terror and in contrast with the stark paleness of her face, the lips that trembled so piteously, the slender, girlish figure so helpless to their depraved desires moved them not at all. the scene was one of never-to-be-forgotten vividness. the tenderness and mercy, most of all the restraint that has become manifest in men in these centuries since they have left their forest lairs to live in permanent abodes, had no place here. about them ringed the primeval forest, ensilvered by the moon; the fire crackled with a dread ferocity; and at the edge of the thickets the motionless form of jeffery neilson lay with face buried in the soft, summer grass. all was silent and motionless, except the fierce crackling of the fire; except a curious, intermittent, upward twitching of the corner of ray's lips. "so you and ben are bunkies now, are you?" he asked slowly, without emphasis. but the girl made no reply, only gazing at him with starting eyes. "a traitor to us, and ben's squaw!" he turned fiercely to chan. "i guess that gives us right to do what we want to with her. and now she can yell if she wants to for her lover to come and save her." she did not even try to buy their mercy by informing them where they might find ben. only too well she knew that their dreadful intentions could not be turned aside: she would only sacrifice ben without aiding herself. ray moved toward her, his eyes deeply sunken, the pupils abnormally enlarged. "you haven't lost all your looks," he told her breathlessly. "that mouth is still pretty enough to kiss. and i guess you won't slap--this time--" he drew her toward him, his dark face lowering toward hers. she struggled, trying to wrench away from him. helpless and alone, the moment of final horror was at hand. in this last instant her whole being leaped again to ben,--the man whose strength had been her fort throughout all their first weeks in the wilds, but whom she had left helpless and sick in the distant cavern. yet even now he would rise and come to her if he knew of her peril. her voice rose shrilly to a scream. "ben--help me!" and ray's hands fell from her shoulders as he heard the incredible answer from the shore of the lake. the brush rustled and cracked: there was a strange sound of a heavy footfall,--slow, unsteady, but approaching them as certain as the speeding stars approach their mysterious destinations in the far reaches of the sky. ray straightened, staring; chan stood as if frozen, his hands half-raised, his eyes wide open. "i'm coming, beatrice," some one said in the coverts. her cries, uttered when her father fell, had not gone unheard. in the last stages of exhaustion, deathly pale yet with a face of iron, ben came reeling toward them out of the moonlight. xlii ben walked quietly into the circle of firelight and stood at beatrice's side. but while ray and chan gazed at him as if he were a spectre from the grave, beatrice's only impulse was one of immeasurable and unspeakable thankfulness. no fate on earth was so dreadful but that it would be somewhat alleviated by the fact of his presence: just the sight of him, standing beside her, put her in some vague way out of ray's power to harm. exhausted, reeling, he was still the prop of her life and hope. "here i am," he said quietly. "the letter's in my pocket. do what you want with me--but let beatrice go." his words brought ray to himself in some degree at least. the ridiculous fear of the moment before speedily passed away. why, the man was exhausted--helpless in their hands--and the letter was in his pocket. it meant _triumph_--nothing else. all ray's aims had been attained. with ben's death the claim, a fourth of which had been his motive when he had slain ezram, would pass entirely to him,--except for such share as he would have to give chan. his star of fortune was in the sky. it was his moment of glory,--long-awaited but enrapturing him at last. neilson lay seriously wounded, perhaps dead by now. whatever his injuries, he would not go back with them to share in the gold of the claim. the girl, also, was his prey,--to do with what he liked. "i see you've come," he answered. "you might as well; we'd have found you to-morrow." his voice was no longer flat, but rather exultant, boasting. "you thought you could get away--but we've shown you." ben nodded. "you are--" he strained for the name he had heard beatrice speak so often--"ray brent?" his eyes fell to the form of neilson, wounded beyond the fire. "i see you've been at your old job--killing. it was you who killed ezra melville." ray smiled, ever so faintly: this was what he loved. "you're talking to the right man. anything you'd like to do about it?" ben's face hardened. "there is nothing i can do, now. you came too late. but i would have had something to do if i had my rifle. i'm glad it was you, not beatrice's father. i ask you this--will you accept my proposition. to take ezram's letter, destroy it and me too--and let the girl go in safety?" beatrice stretched her bound arms and touched his hairy wrist. "no, ben," she told him quietly. "there's no use of trying to make such a bargain as that. men that murder--and assault women,--won't keep their word." "they were about to attack you, were they?" his voice dropped a tone; otherwise it seemed the same. "yes--just as you came." he turned once more to ray, eyeing him with such a look of contempt and scorn that it smarted like a whiplash in spite of the protecting mantel of his new-found triumph. "oh, you depraved dogs!" he told them quietly and distinctly. "you yellow, mongrel cowards!" ray straightened, stung by the words. "and i'll make you wish you was dead before you ever said that," he threatened. "i'll tell you what you wanted to know a minute ago--and i tell you no. i won't make any deal with you. we'll do what we like to you, and we'll do what we like with your dirty squaw, too--the woman you've been living with all these months. we've got you where we want you. you're in no fix to make terms. chan--put a rope around his legs and a gag in his rotten mouth!" they moved toward him simultaneously, and ben summoned the last jot of his almost-spent strength to hurl them off. they did not need deadly weapons for this wasted form. yet for the duration of one second ben fought with an incredible ferocity and valor. he hurled chan from his path, and his sound right arm leaped to ray's throat in a death grip. for that one instant his old-time strength returned to him,--as to samson as his arms went about the pillars of the temple. they found him no weakling, in that first instant, but a deadly, fighting beast, the "wolf" darby of the provinces,--his finger nails sinking ever deeper into the flesh of ray's throat, his body braced against chan's attack. and for all that beatrice's arms were tied, she leaped like a she-wolf to her lover's aid. but such an unequal battle could last only an instant. ray focused his attack upon ben's injured left arm, chan struck once at the girl, hurling her to the ground with a base blow, then lashed brutal blows into ben's face. the burst of strength ebbed as quickly as it had come: his legs wilted under him, and he sank slowly to the ground. maddened with battle, for a moment more chan lashed cowardly blows into his face; and he left the brutal labor only to help ray affix ropes about his ankles. then the two conquerors stood erect, breathing loudly. seemingly the utter limit of their brutality was reached,--but for the moment only. a strange and foreboding silence fell over the camp: only the sound of troubled breathing was heard above the lessening crackle of the fire. they did not turn at once again to the work of crushing ben's life out with their fists and boots, nor did they restrain beatrice as she crawled over the blood-stained grass to reach her lover's side. "let her go," ray said to charley. "she can't help him any." it was true. they had put up their last defense. the girl crept nearer, lying almost prone beside him, and her soft hands stole over his bruised flesh. but no tears came now. she was past the kindly mercy of tears. she could only gaze at him, and sometimes dry half-sobs clutched at her throat. the man half-opened his eyes, smiling. life still remained in his rugged body. even the cruel test of the last hour had not taken that from him. the sturdy heart still beat, and the breath still whispered through his lips: there was life in plenty to afford such sport as ray and chan might have for him. the last, least quality of redemption--such magic and beauty as might have been wrought by the firelight dancing over the moonlit glade--was quite gone now. the powers of wickedness were in the ascendency, and this was only the abode of horror. yet it was all tragically true, not a nightmare from which she would soon waken. this was the remote heart of back there--a primeval land where the demons of lust and death walked unrestrained--and the shadow of the moonlit trees fell dark upon her. the back logs were burning dully now, and the coals were red, and chan and ray took seats on a huge, dead spruce to talk over their further plans. it was all easy enough. they could linger here, living mostly on meat, until the rising waters of the yuga could carry them down to the indian villages. their methods and procedure in regard to ben were the only remaining questions. for a few minutes they took little notice of the prone figures at the far edge of the fading firelight. in their hands they were as helpless as jeffery neilson, left already by the receding radiance to the soft mercy of the shadows. attention could be given them soon enough. their own triumph was beginning to give way to deep fatigue. ben and beatrice had talked softly at first, accepting their fate at last and trying to forget all things but the fact of each other's presence. they had kept the faith to-night, they had both been true; and perhaps they had conquered, in some degree, the horror of death. his right hand held hers close to his lips, and only she could understand the message in its soft pressure, and the gentle, kindly shadows in his quiet eyes. but presently her gaze fastened on some object in the grass beside him. he did not understand at first. he knew enough not to attract his enemies' attention by trying to turn. the girl relaxed again, but her hand throbbed in his, and her eyes shone somberly as if the luster of some strange, dark hope. "what is it?" he asked whispering. "i see a way out--for us both," she told him. she knew he would not misunderstand and dream that she saw an actual avenue to life and safety. "don't give any sign." "then hurry," he urged. "they may be back any instant. what is it?" "a way to cheat 'em--to keep them from torturing you--and to save me--from all the things they'll do to me--when you're dead. oh, ben--you won't fail me--you'll do it for me." he smiled, gently and strongly. "do you think i'd fail you now?" "then reach your good arm on the other side--soft as you can. there's a knife lying there--your own knife--they knocked out of my hand. they'll jump at the first gleam. you know what to do--first me, in the throat--then yourself." his face showed no horror at her words. they were down to the most terrible realities; and as she had said, this was the way out! the great kindness still dwelt in his eyes--and she knew he would do as she asked. one gleam of steal, one swift touch at the throat--and they would never know the unspeakable fate that their depraved captors planned for them. _it was no less than victory in the last instant of despair!_ it was freedom: although they did not know into what mystery and what fear the act would dispatch them, it was freedom from ray and chan, none the less. and ben welcomed the plan as might a prisoner, waiting in the death-cell, welcome a reprieve. he turned, groping with his hand. there was no use of waiting longer. the knife lay just beyond his reach; and softly he moved his body through the grass. but this gate to mercy was closed before they reached it. a sudden flaring of the fire revealed them--the gleam of the blade and ben's stretching hand--and ray left his log in a swift, catlike leap. if ben had possessed full use of both hands there still might have been time to send home the two crucial blows, or at least to dispatch beatrice out of ray's power to harm. but his injured arm impeded him, and his hand fumbled as he tried to seize the hilt. with a sharp oath ray crushed the blade into the ground with his heel; then kicked viciously at the prone body of his enemy. and at that first base blow his rage and blood-lust that had been gathering was swiftly freed. it was all that was needed to set him at the work of torture. for an instant he stood almost motionless except for the spasmodic twitching--now almost continuous--at his lips and for the slow turning of his head as he looked about for a weapon with which he could more quickly satiate the murder-madness in his veins. the knife appealed to him not at all; but his eye fell on a long, heavy club of spruce that had been cut for fuel. he bent and his strong hands seized it. as he swung it high the girl leaped between--with a last, frantic effort, wholly instinctive--to shield ben's body with her own. but it was only an instant's reprieve. chan had followed ben, and sharing ray's fiendish mood, jerked her aside. ben raised himself up as far as he could at a final impulse to thrust the girl out of harm's way. yet it was to be that ray's murderous blow was never to go home. a mighty and terrible ally had come to ben's aid. he came pouncing from the darkness, a gaunt and dreadful avenger whose code of death was as remorseless as ray's own. it was fenris the wolf, and he had found his master at last. missing him at the accustomed place in the cave, he had trailed him to the lake margin: a smell on the wind had led him the rest of the way. he was not one to announce his coming by an audible footfall in the thicket. like a ghost he had glided almost to the edge of the firelight, lingering there--with a caution learned in these last wild weeks of running with his brethren--until he had made up his brute mind in regard to the strangers in the camp. but he had waited only until he saw ray kick the helpless form before him,--that of the god that fenris, for all the wild had claimed him, still worshipped in his inmost heart. with fiendish, maniacal fury he had sprung to avenge the blow. and his three followers, trained by the pack laws to follow where he led, and keyed to the highest pitch by their leader's fury, leaped like gray demons of the pit in his wake. xlii as a young tree breaks and goes down in the gale ray brent went down before the combined attack of the wolves. what desperate struggle he made only seemed to increase their fury and shatter him the faster. utterly futile were all his blows: his frantic, piercing screams of fear and agony raised to heaven, but were answered with no greater mercy than that he would have shown to ben a moment before. seemingly in an instant he was on his back and the ravening pack were about him in a ring. in that lurid firelight their fangs gleamed like ivory as they flashed, here and there, over his body and throat, and their fierce eyes blazed with pale-blue fire,--the mark and sign of the blood madness of the beasts of prey. seemingly in a single instant the life had been torn from him, leaving only a strange, huddled, ghastly thing beside the dying fire. but the pack leaped from him at once. fenris had caught sight of chan's figure as he ran for the nearest tree and seemingly with one leap he was upon him. he sprang at him from the side; and his fangs gleamed once. he had struck true, his fangs went home, and the life went out of chan heminway in a single, neighing scream. he pitched forward, shuddered once in the soft grass, and lay still. the pack surged around his body, struck at it once or twice, then stood growling as if waiting for their leader's command. before ever ray fell, ben had taken what measures of self-defense he could in case the pack, forgetting its master's master, might turn on himself and the girl. he had reached the knife hilt and severed the ropes about the girl's wrists. "stay behind me," he cautioned. "don't move a muscle." he knew that any attempt to reach and climb a tree would attract the attention of the pack and send them ravening about her. again he knew that her life as well as his own depended on his control of the pack leader. he saw chan go down, seemingly in a single instant, and he braced himself against attack. "down, fenris!" he shouted. "down--get down!" the great wolf started at the voice, then stood beside the fallen, gazing at ben with fierce, luminous eyes. "down, down, boy," ben cautioned, in a softer voice. "there, old fellow--down--down." then fenris whined in answer, and ben knew that he was no longer to be feared. the three lesser wolves seemed startled, standing in a nervous group, yet growling savagely and eyeing him across the dying fire. for a moment fenris's fury had passed to them, but now that his rage was dead, all they had left was an inborn fear of such a breed as this,--these tall forms that died so easily in their fangs. fenris trotted slowly toward ben, but with the true instincts of the wild his followers knew that this was no affair of fangs and death. he came in love, in a remembered comradeship, just as often he had led them to the mouth of the cavern, and they did not understand. they slowly backed away into the shadows, fading like ghosts. ben's arms, in unspeakable gratitude, went about the shoulders of the wolf. beatrice, sobbing uncontrollably yet swept with that infinite thankfulness of the redeemed, crept to his side. fenris whined and shivered in the arms of his god. quietude came at last to that camp beside the lake, in the far, hidden heart of back there. once more the blood moved with sweet, normal tranquillity in the veins, the thrill and stir died in the air, and the moonlight was beautiful on the spruce. the wolves had gone. fenris's three brethren had slipped away, perhaps wholly mystified and deeply awed by their madness of a moment before; and from the ridge top they had called for their leader to join them. he had done his work, he had avenged the base blow that had seemed to strike at his own wild heart, he had received the caress he had craved,--and there was no law for him to stay. the female called enticingly; the wild game was running for his pleasure on the trails. ben had watched the struggle in his fierce breast, and beatrice's eyes were soft and wonderfully lustrous in the subdued light as she gave the wolf a parting caress. but he could not stay with them. the primal laws of his being bade otherwise. his was the way of the open trails, the nights of madness and the rapture of hunting--and these were folk of the caves! they were not his people, although his love for them burned like fire in his heart. he could not deny the call of his followers on the ridge. it was like a chain, drawing him remorselessly to them. whining, he had sped away into the darkness. the fire had been built up, beatrice had rallied her spent strength by full feeding of the rich, dried meat, and had done what she could for neilson's injury. ben, exhausted, had lain down in some of the blankets of his enemy's outfit. neilson was not, however, mortally hurt. the bullet had coursed through the region of his shoulder, missing his heart and lungs, and although he was all but unconscious, they had every reason to believe that a few weeks of rest would see him well again. beatrice bathed the wound, bandaged it the best she could, then covered him up warmly and let him go to sleep. and the time came at last, long past the midnight hour, that she crept once more to ben's side. there was little indeed for them to say. the stress of the night had taken from them almost all desire to talk. but ben took her hand in his feebly, and held it against his lips. "we're safe now," beatrice told him, her eye's still bright with tears. "we've seen it through, and we're safe." ben nodded happily. it was true: there was nothing further for them to fear. with the aid of the rifles of the three fallen, they could procure meat in plenty for their remaining time at back there; besides, the store of jerked caribou and moose was enough to hold them over. when the rains came again, the three of them--neilson and ben and beatrice--could glide on down to the indian encampments in the canoe. thence they could reach the white settlements beyond the mountains. her glance into the future went still farther, because she knew certain news that as yet ben had not heard. she had heard from ray's lips that night that ben's claim had been legally filed; he had only to return and take possession. it straightened out the future, promised success in the battle of life, gave him an interest to hold him in these northern forests. but she would not tell him to-night. it could wait for a more quiet hour. presently she saw that he was trying to speak to her, whispering; trying to draw her ear down to his lips. she smiled, with an infinite tenderness. dimly though he spoke, she heard him every word. "i love you," he told her simply. he watched her face, as intently as the three wise men watched the east, for a sign. and he saw it, clear and ineffably wonderful, in the stars that came into her eyes. "i love you," she answered, with equal simplicity. they lay a while in silence, blissful in this wonder each had for the other, wholly content just that their hands and lips should touch. the same miracle was upon them both; and the girl's thought, ranging far, seized upon a deep and moving discovery. "all this belongs to us," she told him, indicating with one movement of her arm the boundless solitudes about them. "this is our own country, isn't it, ben? we can't ever--go away." it was true: they could never leave the forest for long. they were its children, bred in the bone. their strong thews would waste in a gentler land. it was their heritage. they must not go where they could not behold the dark line of the forest against the sky. the fire burned down. the moon wheeled through the sky. the tall spruce saw the dawn afar and beckoned. the end. available by internet archive (https://archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/jackyoungcanoema grinrich transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). small capitals have been rendered in full capitals. [illustration: as the deer bounced up the bank, jack fired--_page _] jack the young canoeman an eastern boy's voyage in a chinook canoe by george bird grinnell author of "jack in the rockies," "jack the young ranchman," "jack among the indians," "pawnee hero stories," "blackfoot lodge tales," "the story of the indian," "the indian of to-day," etc. illustrated by edwin willard deming and by half-tone engravings of photographs [illustration] new york frederick a. stokes company publishers copyright, by frederick a. stokes company published in september, all rights reserved the university press, cambridge, u.s.a. preface the mountains which border the british columbia coast between the mouth of the frazer river and the southeastern point of alaska are still unknown to the world at large. few people have sailed up the wonderful fiords, which, as great water-floored canyons, run back forty or fifty miles into the interior. fewer still have penetrated by land into the mountains where there are neither roads nor trails, and where progress on foot is barred by a thousand insurmountable obstacles. since the time that jack danvers made his voyage in a chinook canoe along this beautiful coast, it has not greatly changed. the mountains still abound in game, the sea in fish; the scenery is as beautiful as it was then; and over the waters, dancing blue beneath the brilliant sky, or black under the heavy rain clouds, the indian still paddles his high-prowed canoe. contents chapter page i. victoria, v. i. ii. how jack and hugh came to british columbia iii. a mysterious water monster iv. the cobbler naturalist of burrard inlet v. an unexpected bear vi. of indians in armor vii. seammux in danger viii. the coast indians and their ways ix. preparation for the voyage x. the start xi. food from the sea xii. the island deer xiii. an adventure of the cassiar xiv. bute inlet xv. the work that glaciers do xvi. a mother's courage xvii. jack meets a seal pirate xviii. millions of salmon xix. fishing with a siwash xx. off for a hunt in the mountains xxi. last days in british columbia xxii. the homeward road illustrations as the deer bounded up the bank, jack fired _frontispiece_ jack fired at the white spot on the beast's breast _facing page_ seammux also rolled after the goat, and he, too, disappeared " " here they wear white men's clothes, including shoes and hats " " "close to some of the houses stand tall carved poles, called totem poles" " " when they saw the canoe they all stopped and began to stare at it " " drove her short horns deep into his side " " an indian salmon weir " " jack the young canoeman chapter i victoria, v. i. "say, hugh, what is that indian doing in that canoe? i thought at first that he was paddling, but he doesn't seem to move, and that doesn't look like a paddle that he has in his hand." "to tell you the truth, son, i don't know what he is doing. this business here on the salt water puzzles me, and everything is strange and queer. this ain't like the prairie, nor these ain't like any mountains that i've ever seen. i am beginning at the bottom and have got to learn everything. but about that indian in the canoe, you can see that the boat doesn't move; and you can see, too, if you look sharp, that he's anchored. don't you see that taut line reaching down into the water?" "that's so," said jack; "he surely is anchored, but he works his arms just as if he were paddling. i am going to ask this man over here." jack walked over to a sailor who stood leaning against the rail of the deck on which they were sitting, and who was looking over the water, and said to him: "will you tell me, sir, what that indian is doing in the canoe over there?" the man turned his head and looked in the direction in which jack was pointing, and said: "yes, i can tell you what he is doing; he is fishing. don't you see that every stroke he makes he is bringing up some herrings?" "no, i don't see it, and i will be much obliged to you if you will describe to me how he is fishing." "of course i will," said the man. "you see his canoe is anchored there in that deep water, just this side of that point around which the tide runs strong. at this season of the year the herrings gather in big schools in that eddy there. of course we don't know just how they lie, but they must be mighty thick together. that thing the indian has in his hand is a pole about a dozen feet long, flattened on the sides, and maybe a couple of inches across in its widest part. the flattening makes the pole sort of oval shaped, if you should saw through it; and each of the narrow edges of the pole is studded with a row of sharp nails, about an inch or two apart. these nails are firmly driven into the wood and the points that stick out for about an inch are very sharp. the nails run for about one half the length of the pole. the indian, sitting in his canoe and holding the upper part of the pole in his two hands, as you see, just as he would hold a paddle, sweeps the end of it, that has the nails in, through the water, using just the same motion that he does in paddling. the herrings down there are so thick that every time he passes the pole vertically through the water it strikes the bodies of three or four of the fish with force enough to drive the nails into them; and as the man continues the stroke they are pushed ahead of the pole. when the stroke is finished and the end of the pole brought out of the water, the fish are still sticking on the nails. then, you will see, if you watch him, he brings the nailed end of the pole in over the canoe, taps the pole on the canoe, and the fish drop off into the bottom of the boat. don't you see the white shiny specks on the pole every time he makes a stroke?" "yes," said jack, "of course i see them, but that is a new way of fishing to me, and i never should have guessed what he was trying to do. i should think it would take a long time to get fish enough for a mess in that way." "don't you believe it," said the sailor; "one of those fellows may get a bushel or two of fish in two or three hours. just you watch the pole as one brings it up and see how many fish he gets to a stroke, and then figure how many strokes he makes to a minute." jack watched for a few minutes and saw that at every sweep of the pole two or half a dozen fish were brought up and knocked loose so as to fall into the canoe, and he made up his mind that after all this was a quick and easy way of fishing. in the meantime hugh had strolled up and was listening to their talk, but without making any comment. presently jack said to the sailor: "we are not near enough to make a very good guess at the size of those fish; how big are they?" "oh," said the sailor, "they are not very big, maybe not more than four or six inches long, but there are lots of them, as you can see. they catch oolichans in that way too, when they are here, but they have gone now. we only have them during the month of may, but then they gather in certain places and there are worlds of them. the indians catch them, and the white folks catch them; in fact, for a little while pretty nearly everybody lives on oolichans. they are mighty good eating, i can tell you, and besides those eaten fresh, lots of them are smoked and salted. the indians don't save many of them. what they don't eat fresh they use to make oil with, for the oolichan is an awful fat fish and you can get lots of oil out of them. they are so fat, that after they have been dried you can light them at one end and they will burn just like a candle. i expect that is the reason that sometimes they are called candle-fish." "say, friend," said hugh, "you ain't joking, are you?" "no," said the man, "i ain't joking; that's just the way it is, like i tell you." "well, no offence," said hugh. "where i come from, in the mountains and in the cattle country, sometimes the boys, when a stranger comes around, sort of josh him in a good-natured way, and tell tall stories just to see how much he will believe. i didn't know that maybe you had such a custom as that out here." "no, sir," said the sailor, "we don't do anything like that here. we suppose that people ask us questions about the country because they want to know how things really are, and we tell them just what the facts are." "well," said hugh, "it seems to me, from what i have seen, that the facts are strange enough here, and it wouldn't be necessary for you to stretch them a mite to astonish folks." soon after this hugh and jack went back to the place where they had been sitting, in the shelter of the deck cabin, and sat there looking over the beautiful view that was stretched out before them. neither said very much. both were impressed by the beauty of the scene and the novelty of their surroundings; for neither of them had ever seen anything like it before. "i tell you, son," said hugh, "this here is a wonderful country to me, and i never saw anything to match it. you see it's the first time that i ever got down to the edge of the salt water. i don't know what to make of it all. everything is different; the mountains and timber, the people, the animals, and the birds. and as for fish--why! i never supposed there was any place in the world where fish were as plenty as they are here." "yes," said jack, "it's surely a wonderful country. there is something new to look at every minute; and it's all just as different as can be from anything i ever saw before. i was talking to one of the passengers here a little while ago and he told me that these indians here live almost altogether on fish. they dig clams and catch mussels and catch the salmon and the herrings and those little fish this sailor was talking about; and they kill seals and porpoises and even whales. it's all mighty strange, but doesn't it show just how people fit themselves to the conditions that surround them? now, suppose you take one of the blackfeet, turn him loose on his horse at the edge of the water, and how do you think he would go to work to get his next meal? why, he would starve to death." "he surely would," said hugh. "don't you know, that the things these indians here eat would be sort of poison to the blackfeet? it is against their medicine to eat fish or most anything that lives in the water. they think those things are not fit to eat, and many of them would starve before they would even touch them." the vessel ploughed its way through the strait with the land rising high on the right and lower on the left-hand side. both coasts were rock-bound, and the heavy swell dashed against the shore great waves, whose foam flew high into the air. away to the south rose high rough mountains, their summits white with snow. to the north the land rose gently, and green fields, dotted here and there with white houses, stretched away for miles. beyond were hills, forest-clad. the travellers were busy looking in all directions at the beautiful prospect spread before them. suddenly, not far from the ship, a great head rose above the water, remaining there for a moment looking at the boat. jack saw it and called out to his companion: "o hugh! that must be a sea-lion or a fur seal! it's bigger than the seals that i have seen on the coast of maine." after a moment the head disappeared beneath the water. but in a few moments several other heads were seen; and these seals, less timid than the first, swam along not far from the boat, showing their great bodies partly out of the water, and sometimes, in chasing one another, jumping high into the air. further along, the boat startled from the surface of the water a group of black birds. less in size than ducks, they flew swiftly along, close to the water's surface. jack could see that on the shoulders of each bird was a round spot of white, while the legs were coral-red. "there is a new bird to me, hugh, and i bet it is to you, too. that must be one of the birds they call guillemots. they live up in the north and breed on the ledges of the rock. i have read about them often." "well," said hugh, "there's surely plenty to see here; and i wouldn't be surprised if you and i travelled around all the time with our mouths open, just because we are too surprised to remember to shut them." all this time the boat was moving swiftly along. toward afternoon she rounded a sharp point of rocks; and, proceeding up a narrow channel, the buildings of the town of victoria were soon seen in the distance. hugh said: "that must be our landing place, son. i'll be glad to get ashore and stretch my legs. i take it, this here land that we are coming to is an island, and very likely there won't be a horse in the place. we'll have to do all of our travelling afoot, or in one of these cranky canoes, and i haven't much of a notion of getting into one of them. i'll be a good deal like you were the first time you got on a horse--afraid i'll fall off; and yet i don't know as they'll be any harder to ride in than the birch canoes i used to travel in up in the north." victoria, where our travellers landed that afternoon, was a charming, quiet town of six or seven thousand inhabitants, situated on the extreme southeastern point of vancouver island. for many years after its settlement it had been nothing more than the hudson's bay fort and trading post, with a few dwellings occupied by those employed there. but the discovery of gold in small quantities on the frazer river in , and later on at the placer mines on the quesnelle and at caribou, made a great change in the prospects of the place. word of the new diggings travelled fast and soon reached california, causing a world of excitement among the mining population of that state, then ripe for a fresh move. a rush took place, and all those who travelled toward the new mines in british columbia passed by the drowsy old hudson's bay fort, where hitherto the only event of the year had been the arrival of the ship from england with the mail. now the fort was startled by the coming of twenty thousand miners, who pitched their tents about it and founded victoria. buildings sprang up and trade was attracted. every one going to the mines or coming from them passed through the town and paid its tribute, and high hopes were entertained of its future importance. people who lived there began to call it "the emporium of commerce," "the metropolis of the northwest coast of america." but, unfortunately for victoria, the mines, which caused this excitement soon ceased to pay; and the town's commerce fell off. it did not fulfil the promises of its early youth, and its growth has since been slow. now, however, there was a prospect of speedy communication with the rest of the world; for during the summer when our travellers reached there, the canadian pacific railroad was being built and the loyal inhabitants of victoria were again anticipating that the place would become a great city--"a second san francisco." there was reason for their hopes. while the railroad could not directly reach victoria, its terminus on the mainland would be within easy reach of the island city, and would give vancouver island a market for its products. its trade at that time was little or nothing, for the goods sent to the united states had to pay a heavy duty, which left little margin for profit. hugh and jack spent several days at victoria. the country was picturesque and attractive, and the roads good. they took long walks into the country to the gorge and to cedar hill, from which a beautiful view of the city could be obtained. the panorama included also a view of the straits of fuca, the gulf of georgia with its hundreds of islands, and the mainland, rough with mountain peaks, among which, rising above all, stood mt. baker, calm and white, a snow-clad monarch. while they remained in the town they lived literally on the fat of the land. victoria boasted one of the best hotels in the world; not a pretentious structure, but one where everything that was good to eat, in abundance, well cooked and well served, was furnished. there were fish of many sorts,--salmon and sea bass, herring and oolichans, oysters and clams, crabs, game, delicious vegetables, and abundance of fruit. mr. sturgis had given to hugh a letter to an acquaintance of his in victoria, and one day hugh and jack called on mr. mactavish. he was an old hudson bay man, who, after retiring from the service of the company had come to victoria to live. he had a delightful family, and a charming house, full of a multitude of interesting curiosities, picked up during his long service in the north. of these, one of the most interesting was a complete set of dinner dishes, carved out of black slate by the haida indians of the north. while the figures exhibited on these were conventional in form and of indian type, the carving was so remarkably good that it was hard for hugh and jack to believe that the work was indian. neither had ever seen anything done by indians more artistic than the ordinary painted skins of the plains' tribes; and when they saw such delicate, beautifully carved work, often inlaid with the white teeth or fragments of bones of animals, it was hard for them to understand how it all could have been done by native artists. mr. mactavish told them much about the life of the island,--the fishing and hunting. he said that at that very time, during the month of july, the salt waters of the straits and of the gulf of georgia abounded with salmon, which were readily taken by trolling; and when thus taken, on a light rod, furnished fine sport. many of the brooks of the island, too, afforded excellent trout fishing. about victoria there were found, he said, two species of grouse,--the ruffed grouse and the blue grouse. the california quail had been introduced and seemed to be increasing, but sportsmen did not care much for it, because it did not lie well to a dog, but ran when alarmed and took to the thickest brush, where it was impossible to shoot it. in the autumn ducks and geese occurred in great numbers; and, on the whole, shooting was good. their host also told them there was a considerable variety of big game. deer were abundant within a few miles of victoria; and it was not uncommon for people, starting out in the evening, to drive into the country and return the next night with several. there were some places where still-hunting could be successfully followed; but in most cases it was necessary to use hounds to drive the deer to the water, for the timber was so thick, and the underbrush and ferns so dense and tangled, that it was impossible to travel through the forests without making a great deal of noise. their entertainer astonished hugh and jack by telling them that further north on the island, in the neighborhood of comox, elk were to be found. they were not abundant, he said, and were hard to approach on account of the character of the forest; but they were certainly there. bears and panthers were everywhere quite abundant. sooke, a village about twenty miles from victoria, was a great place for bears. many of those killed were black or cinnamon; but it was reported that there were also grizzlies at sooke. the panthers were little hunted, except in places where farmers had flocks or herds to protect. they lived principally on the deer, which were very abundant. there were a few wolves, but except in winter they were seldom seen. mr. mactavish had a good knowledge of natural history; and he had much to say to jack, who was interested in the subject, about the curious forms of life found in the surrounding waters. when he heard that jack and hugh had come up there to spend a month travelling among the islands, he told them that the best thing that they could do would be to go over to the mainland, and there make the acquaintance of jack fannin, a cobbler, living on burrard inlet, as he knew more about the birds and mammals of the province than any other man. "fannin is the man for you," said mr. mactavish, "and you should see him before you make up your minds to do anything. he will give you the best advice possible; and perhaps you can even get him to go with you. that would be a great thing; it would add enormously to your pleasure, and would save you many delays. and as he has mined, hunted, canoed, and chopped logs over much of the coast, he knows it as well as any one." our friends spent a long, delightful afternoon with mr. mactavish, and when they spoke of returning to their hotel he would not let them go, but kept them with him for the evening meal. they walked back through the clear, cool moonlight to victoria, and before they had reached there had agreed that they would go by the first steamer to new westminster to hunt up mr. fannin. the next day when they told mr. mactavish of their decision, he congratulated them on their good judgment and gave them a letter to a friend in new westminster, who would take care of them and see that they lost no time in finding the man they wanted. the hospitality and kindness shown the two americans by mr. mactavish was typical of the treatment they received everywhere in british columbia. people there, they found, had time to enjoy life. they did not rush about, after the headlong american fashion, but took things quietly and easily. the stores were opened about nine or ten in the morning, and at twelve they were closed. the shop-keepers went home to lunch, appearing again and reopening their places about two o'clock; keeping them open until four or five in the afternoon. then their day's work was over and they closed up for the night. chapter ii how jack and hugh came to british columbia two days later hugh and jack started by steamer for the town of new westminster, near the mouth of the fraser river, on the mainland. the trip was one of great beauty, for the boat wound its way here and there amid the many islands of the gulf; and as each one was passed a new vista of beauty burst on the view. and, while the two travellers are sitting on the steamer's deck, admiring the wonderful scenery opening on all sides, wondering at the new birds and animals which appeared, and talking over the possibilities for their summer trip, it may be explained how it came to pass that these two friends found themselves so far from their homes and from the high, dry plains where the summers of the three previous years had been passed by both. it was six months before--to be exact, it was on christmas day--that the thought of the trip to british columbia had first been broached. mr. sturgis, jack's uncle, had come back from the ranch and was spending the winter with jack's father and mother at the house on thirty-eighth street; and it was while they were sitting at dessert during their christmas dinner that mr. sturgis had announced that during the next summer it would be necessary for him to go out to british columbia to inspect a mine in which he was interested, and had proposed that jack should go with him. for three years past jack had spent the summer on the western plains. ill health had been the first cause of his going out to swiftwater ranch, where he had learned to ride, to hunt big game, and to live the life of a ranchman. so greatly had he been benefited by this trip, that the next summer he was permitted to return to the ranch. then he and old hugh johnson had travelled north, across the lonely, buffalo-dotted plains, until they had come to the country of the piegan blackfeet, where they had spent the summer in the indian camp, and jack had seen much of indian life--of its charms and its dangers. he returned at length down the missouri river to the railroad, and so back to his home in new york for the winter's schooling. the third year, still in hugh's company, he had gone up the missouri river; and starting southwest from fort benton, had gone through the yellowstone park and back to the ranch, having a great deal of shooting and fishing and not a little of adventure. in this out-door life, in knocking about with hugh johnson and with other people who had been brought up to take care of themselves, jack had learned many lessons of the plains and the mountains. he had picked up a great store of the lore of the prairies, could find his way about, even though there might be neither road nor landmarks to guide him; and, under hugh's tuition, had become a good prairie man. he had also become very fond of the west; and when his uncle suggested that he should go with him to british columbia, he was delighted at the thought of the trip. being a boy of good sense, he said nothing when the suggestion was made, but watched the faces of his father and mother, to see how they felt about it. "british columbia seems a long way off, doesn't it, george?" said mr. danvers to his brother-in-law. "yes," said jack's mother, "it seems a terribly long way off. i have been badly enough frightened these last three years, when jack went out into a country full of cowboys and indians and wild animals; and i always let him go with the feeling that i shall never see him again. certainly the plains are far enough away for him. british columbia must be more than twice as far, and i don't feel as if i could think of that." "you and mary have hit it exactly," said mr. sturgis. "you both say it seems a long way off, but in practice it is no further off than where jack has been before, and, indeed, it is not nearly so far. british columbia is at least within reach of the rest of the world by steam communication and also by telegraph. you can learn in a very short time what is happening in british columbia, but when jack was out on the plains, between my ranch and fort benton, he was practically as far off as he would have been in central africa. the distance of british columbia is all in imagination. the country is one that we hear very little of, and for that reason we think it far away, but it is not so. now, i would like to have jack go with me. i don't mean that i want to take him up into the mountains to have him spend his days loafing around a mine while i am working; but i thought--if you feel like letting him go with me--we would have hugh johnson join us at the railroad, all go on together to british columbia, and let hugh and jack take a hunt or a canoe trip along the coast, while i go back to my mine in washington territory. i shall be there a month or six weeks, and after i have done my work and they have made their trip, we could meet and come across overland and home by the new railroad that's being built north from the union pacific to the mining regions of montana territory." when jack heard this fascinating plan he had to hold hard to his chair to keep still; and he couldn't help drawing in his breath with a sort of whistle, making a slight noise, so that his father looked at him and laughed a little. "you both know," continued mr. sturgis, "what these western trips have done for jack, and yet, really, i am not quite sure that you do know; i am not quite sure that you remember what a wee little bit of a white shrimp he was when he first went out to the ranch; how he changed during that summer, and how, when we came back in the autumn, you, mary, hardly knew the boy. see how he has grown, squared up--what a picture of health he is! you don't know--and perhaps i don't either, altogether; except so far as i have been told by hugh johnson, what a change has taken place in the boy's character. he has developed mentally as much as he has physically. he has gained balance, self-reliance; is sensible beyond his years in all matters that pertain to the out-door life, and is already, in many essentials, a man and a good companion, so far as his strength goes, in any situation where hard work, judgment, coolness, and discretion are required. all this means a great deal, more perhaps than any of us quite understand. if the boy had never gone west, he might have had a greater share of book learning, might have been further advanced toward entering college; but also, he might have been dead, and certainly he would have been very different in appearance from what he is now. you two had better think over the question of this trip. it will mean for the boy another summer spent out of doors, in surroundings that are wholly new to him. the life will be one of hard work whether they make a canoe trip, or a hunt; and it certainly will do them good. then, of course, it will give him a great deal of pleasure, will enlarge his ideas, and will be, in all respects, helpful to him. now, think it over, and when you are ready we will talk it over again." during the months of the winter, the subject had often been brought up. jack, when he was consulted, was, of course, eager to go, doubly so after he had learned that his uncle proposed to take hugh johnson along. at last his parents consented to his going. in the spring mr. sturgis went west to the ranch, as was his custom, and arrangements were made for jack to come west over the union pacific railroad as soon as school had closed. on the appointed day, the train bearing jack drew up at the little station nearest to mr. sturgis's ranch, and jack's uncle and hugh johnson stepped on board the train, while jack waved an enthusiastic greeting to joe, who sat in the wagon that had brought them from the ranch. then the three travellers sped on westward, plunging through the wasatch mountains, and at length reached the great salt lake basin. they stopped for a day at salt lake city, interesting for its beauty, its surroundings of great mountains, and its wonderful lake. jack had a swim in salt lake, and though he had been warned about it, experienced a curious sensation in swimming in its waters, it being impossible for him to sink. he swam about, or stood upright with his whole head out of the water, but found that diving was very difficult. then, as he began to dry off, after coming out of the water, it was curious to feel his skin become rough with a crust of salt which had to be washed off with fresh water before he could dress. as they were going back to the city on the railroad jack said to his uncle: "i wish you would tell me, uncle george, why this lake is so salt. of course i have heard you say that it has no outlet and that the rivers which flow into it are constantly bringing down a little salt in solution, which, in the course of many ages has become concentrated in the lake; but is that the whole story? it doesn't seem to me enough to account for it all." "it isn't, jack; you are quite right about that. the salt lake basin, of which the great salt lake now occupies but a comparatively small portion, is simply the bed of another far older and grander sheet of water that was once here, which the geologists called lake bonneville. if you take the trouble to look along the mountains while we are here you can see, at various levels, the terraces which indicate the height, on the mountains, of the waters of that inland sea at different periods. you will see, and in fact you can see from here," and he pointed toward the mountains, "these terraces running straight along the mountain sides, hundreds of feet above the level of the plain. now, lake bonneville was far larger than any body of water that now exists on this continent. its outlet was to the northwest, in idaho, toward snake river; and it extended southward for several hundred miles. at last a time came, when, by the elevation of the land, this outlet was cut off, and we had a body of water without any outlet. gradually evaporation, working for centuries, dried up this lake, and now all that remains of it is the salt lake, in which we have just been swimming. in that water is concentrated much of all of the salt and soda that was in the greater lake, as well as much of that brought down by the streams during the ages that have passed since the old outlet closed up. even salt lake is believed to be steadily growing smaller, drying up, and the flats around its border are now so full of salt and of alkali of one kind and another that they are wholly infertile and cannot be farmed. "the mormons have made out of the valley of the lake, however, a perfect garden spot. once it was a sage desert, as barren as anything that you have ever been over, more so perhaps. now you can see for yourself what grows here,--wheat, rye, barley, oats, green stretches of graceful corn, great patches of potatoes, orchards and hay fields; and to me it seems more like one of the farming states east of the missouri than it does like a sage desert." "well, that is mighty interesting, uncle george, and i am glad to hear it. i sometimes think that i would like mighty well to study geology. it seems as if the history of the earth we're living on ought to be as interesting a subject as one could take up." from salt lake the travellers hurried west, and before very long found themselves at san francisco. from there a steamer took them north along the rough and dangerous coasts of california, oregon, and washington to the strait of fuca and puget sound, where mr. sturgis left them; and finally to victoria. before the three parted, it had been decided that jack and hugh should get a canoe and some indians and make a trip through the gulf of georgia; and returning, should meet mr. sturgis in tacoma, washington, whence they would return to the east. it was almost sundown, when the steamer which bore jack and hugh approached the wharf at new westminster. after they had entered the mouth of the fraser river the ride had still been very interesting, for on either side of the steamer appeared at intervals great barn-like wooden buildings, which some of the passengers on board explained were salmon canning factories. loitering about these were a few chinamen, apparently attached to the factories; but not many people were about, for as yet the salmon had not begun to run. as the boat drew up to the wharf, a good many people from the town sat, awaiting its landing. among these, hugh and jack noticed a tall, well-built man, who seemed to keep his eyes constantly fixed on them. at last he bowed, and waved his hand, to which salutation they responded. they wondered who it could be, for they did not know that mr. mactavish had telegraphed to mr. james to look out for the travellers on this boat. as soon as the gangplank was run out, mr. james boarded the vessel, and coming up to them introduced himself. he took them to the hotel; and, seeing that they had comfortable rooms, left them there, saying that he would come back a little later and take them up to spend the evening at his house. two or three hours later the three were climbing the road, on their way to mr. james's house which was situated among the stumps of the ancient forest, which still stood in the suburbs of the town. here they spent a delightful evening, and before they parted for the night it was arranged that the next morning mr. hughes should take jack out for a little hunt, and try and show him one of the deer of the country. "we don't hunt here," said mr. james, "as you do back in the states, because we cannot. if it were practicable, i should prefer, as i should think most people would, to go out and take up a deer's track, follow him until i got within range and then, if i could, kill him; but that is impossible in the forests we have here. the trees grow over three hundred feet in height; there is much fallen timber in the woods, and the logs are from four to ten feet thick. besides that, the great precipitation produces such a heavy undergrowth that it is impossible to go through it noiselessly. therefore, if we want deer we are obliged here, to run the game into the water with dogs, and kill them there. it is not a sport that i greatly esteem, but at least we can kill an occasional deer when we want venison." "i should like very much to see it done once, mr. james," said jack, "as most of my hunting has been done in running buffalo, or finding my game and crawling up to it; and i have been taught that was the most sportsmanlike way to do it. yet, at the same time, it is easy to see that it cannot be done in a country such as you describe." "well," said hugh, "i guess i'll let you two go and do your hunting to-morrow morning alone. i don't think that it's worth while for me to go and see a deer shot over in the water. maybe i'll get up and walk out there with you, though. i'd like to stretch my legs after having been in that boat for so many days." before they parted, then, it was agreed that hugh and jack should present themselves at mr. james's house next morning as near to four o'clock as possible, when they would start to hunt for a deer near mirror lake. chapter iii a mysterious water monster it was still black night when hugh and jack arrived at mr. james's, about four o'clock the next morning. he was waiting for them, and, seated on the floor near the stove in the dining-room where he had been eating his breakfast, was an indian, whom he introduced as squawitch--"the sturgeon," as mr. james explained. by the time they had left the house the eastern sky had begun to pale, and day was at hand. it promised to be a perfect one. the sky was cloudless and no fog obscured the view. in the east, above the jagged and broken summits of the pitt river mountains, the stars were disappearing. the sky was beginning to grow gray and then to flush and glow, each instant becoming brighter. they walked at a brisk pace, at first climbing the hill and then passing along the level lands of the plateau. the three white men walked side by side in advance, and behind them came the indian, leading three splendid hounds, which from time to time tugged at their chains or whimpered as some scent from the forest met their nostrils. the air was cool, fresh, and exhilarating. a gentle breeze just moved the branches of the great trees, which were far larger than any hugh or jack had ever seen. from the recesses of the tangled forests came the sweet balsamic odors of firs and cedars, mingled with the faint damp smell of decaying vegetation, so characteristic of the forest in all climates. to jack and hugh all the trees and all the plants were new. they wondered at the vast size and height of the tree trunks, admired the maples with their large leaves, the thick tangle of underbrush, and beneath all the great ferns, higher than a man's head. they were passing between high walls of foliage, extending far above them on either side. above was a narrow strip of blue sky and before them the yellow road. multitudes of bright bits of color appeared along the roadside. the fireweed, familiar everywhere in the mountains, shone like a tongue of flame against a background of green. here and there, in wet springy places, the foxglove nodded its tall spikes of red or white blooms; and besides this there were many other flowers, all beautiful, but not known by name to the travellers. one beautiful white low-growing flower attracted jack's attention, and he dropped on his knees to examine it, declaring that it must be some sort of dogwood, so closely did it resemble--except in size--the ordinary white flowering dogwood of the eastern states. there were also berries of many colors, and in great abundance. many of these mr. james named for them as they passed along; salmon berries, red or yellow, blackberries, green and red, and blueberries of several kinds; the purple salal, the velvet berry, the scarlet and as yet unripe panicles of the elder, and the brilliant fruit of the umbrella plant were all there, and were constantly inviting them to stop and admire their beauties. to mr. james, who had lived in the country for many years, these sights were commonplace. to hugh and jack they were all remarkable and each one seemed to demand an explanation. but there was no time for that. mr. james and the indian had set their hearts on getting a deer, and it was necessary to step briskly to reach the hunting grounds before the sun had dried off the moisture and "killed" the scent. they walked so fast that there was little opportunity for conversation. nevertheless, jack found time to ask some questions. "i can see, mr. james," jack said, "by looking into this timber, how impossible it would be to hunt here in the way in which we do in the eastern states or on the plains. in the first place, the underbrush is so thick that one could not see any distance; and, in the second place, it would be impossible to go along without making so much noise that the deer would hear one." "that's precisely the fact," said mr. james, "and therefore, as i told you last night, the only way in which we can get deer here is by putting dogs on the track. there are many places on the islands of the gulf, where the country is open enough so that one can hunt on foot quietly, as we used to do where i lived back in canada, with a good prospect of getting an occasional shot, but that cannot be done here. then, too, there are plenty of places along the coast where the deer come down from the mountains to feed on the grass near the edge of the salt water, or to eat the dulse,--a sort of seaweed thrown up by the sea,--and where they can be shot from a canoe. the indians kill a great many in this way; but, except in winter, when they are driven down from the mountains by the heavy snows, that is not a method that is very certain." "if we make a canoe trip along the coast, as we were talking of doing, there might be a chance of getting deer along the shore, then?" queried jack. "yes, you are very likely to do that," said mr. james, "and quite likely, also, to see a bear in such a situation; for the bears often come down to the shore there, to feed on the seaweed, or to go along the beach hunting for fish or food of any kind that may have been thrown up by the sea. almost all the animals in this country, certainly all carnivorous animals, depend more or less on the beach for their living; and often in the morning, if you go along the shore, you will see the tracks of bears, foxes, wolves, deer, and perhaps two or three other species of animals that have gone along during the night. the beach is a pretty good hunting ground; and if you make your proposed trip you will find, all along, trails leading down from the hills to the water." for some little time hugh had been walking behind the others, by the side of the indian, and trying to talk to him in sign language; but, though occasionally the indian seemed to comprehend his gestures, it was evident that he was not a sign talker. presently hugh spoke to mr. james, and said: "i like these dogs you have here, mr. james; they remind me of the hounds we used to run foxes down in kentucky when i was a boy. two of them are as handsome hounds as i ever saw; and the other one, while not so good a hound, looks as if he were smart enough to keep up his end of the running all the time." "you have hit it exactly, mr. johnson," said their owner. "each of these dogs has its good points. captain and dinah are pretty nearly perfect to look at. captain has the best nose of any hound i ever saw, and a voice like a trumpet. dinah's nose is not quite so good as captain's, but she is considerably faster. wallace, as you say, does not look much like a hound, but he is fast and the very best fighter in the lot, and he is smart enough to know a good part of the time which way the deer is going, and to cut in ahead of the others and take the trail; and often he catches the deer alone. he is a great fighter; and if he once gets hold of a deer, he will surely kill it. i had the dogs out on one of the inlets last year, and was in a canoe on the water, myself, and i saw wallace overtake a deer, running along a narrow ledge on the face of the cliff, sixty feet above the water. wallace caught up with the deer, grabbed him and threw him off the cliff. he didn't let go, and the two fell into the water below. i have always thought that wallace would have been killed if i had not been there in the canoe to come up and kill the deer." "well," said hugh, "i suppose it's because i used to see so much of them when i was a youngster, but there's no sort of dog i like so well as a hound. the long muzzle, and those great long flapping ears and sad eyes always go right to my heart. if i ever have a place of my own and can afford it, i will surely have two or three good hounds; not to hunt with, but just for company." "yes," said mr. james, "they are mighty nice dogs, hounds are; but for myself, i like any kind of a dog. just at present i have none except these three. but i want to get a good bird dog; and i can tell you that is something hard to get in this country." by this time the sun was up and the brisk walk was making all hands wipe the perspiration from their brows. presently they came to a little trail off to the left of the road, and here they paused; while mr. james said a few words in the chinook jargon to the indian, who, with the dogs, disappeared in the forest. "now," said mr. james, "we are only a little way from the lake, and i have sent the indian off to start the dogs. we may as well walk down to where the canoe is and wait for him there." "well, son," said hugh, "you go on with mr. james and kill that deer if you can. i reckon i'll walk on a little farther along this road, and look at these trees and flowers; and then i'll turn around and go back to the town. i don't care much about looking on while you folks kill that deer. i'd rather look at this timber, and smell the scents that come out of it, and see these posies that seem to be growing everywhere. if you don't strike me on the road on your way back, why, i'll be at the hotel when you get there." "do just what you wish, mr. johnson," said mr. james; "but i'd like to have you come, if you feel like it. there's plenty of room for three in the canoe, and we can leave the indian on shore, and do our own paddling." "no," said hugh, "i guess i'll have more fun looking at all these strange things around me than i would have if i went in the canoe. jack will be safe with you, and we'll meet again later in the day." "yes," said mr. james, "of course we will. i want to have you come up and take dinner with me at noon; and then in the afternoon we will go over to burrard inlet and see fannin. you will like him. he is one of the finest fellows in the world, and it will be a great thing for you if you can get him to go with you on your trip." "oh! i hope we can!" cried jack; while hugh said: "i hope so too." then they parted, and mr. james and jack plunged into the forest while hugh walked briskly off along the road. a few minutes' walk brought them to the border of a beautiful little lake in the woods, surrounded on all sides by the high forest. on its shores they sat down; and while mr. james lit his pipe he talked and told jack something about this sheet of water. "we call it mirror lake," said he, "and on a morning like this you can easily see how well the name fits it, for everything is reflected in the smooth water. it is always a good place to get a deer, for scarcely anybody hunts here. the indians never by any chance go on it. they think that down under the water there lives what they call a selallicum--that means a supernatural monster. just what sort of a creature this is the indians do not seem to know; but it is some kind of an evil spirit that lives at the bottom of the lake; and when anybody goes out on the water in a canoe this monster rises to the surface, upsets the canoe, and swallows the people that are in it. the belief in this monster is held by all the indians. they won't go out on the lake. they won't even go near its margin when they are gathering berries. they think that i am a fool for daring to go out on it; and they say that some day the monster will rise and surely get me." pausing a moment, the speaker continued: "one time, when i was hunting on the lake i was careless in the canoe and upset, and my gun sank to the bottom, and, of course, i never got it again. the indians hearing of this told me that the selallicum had given me a warning not to come on the lake again, and that i had better respect this warning. there is only one indian in the whole country who will go out on the lake, and that is squawitch here. he is an old friend of mine, and has lots of confidence in me. but even he will never enter a canoe except in my company. i don't know just how he reasons about the matter; whether he thinks that i have some strong medicine which enables me to defy this monster or not; but he has been hunting here with me many times and is always ready to go again. this morning, though, he told me that an indian had seen the selallicum on the lake within two or three weeks." mr. james paused to refill his pipe, and as they sat there for a moment silent, suddenly the faint cry of the hounds was heard in the distance, and mr. james said: "there! hear that? that's captain. listen!" presently the shriller cry of dinah made itself heard, and as they sat listening to the cry of the hounds, which gradually grew more and more faint, squawitch parted the bushes near them, and, walking along a log toward the water, drew from the low brush a canoe and two paddles. he stepped into the canoe, pushed it ashore, and signing mr. james and jack to step in, took his seat in the stern. mr. james took the bow paddle and jack seated himself amidship. then, with a stroke or two of the paddles, the canoe shot out of the little cove on to the unruffled surface of mirror lake. certainly it well deserved its name! only a few hundred yards in width and less than a mile long, it was surrounded on all sides by a superb forest of gigantic firs. along its margin grew a narrow border of grass or low willows, separating the border from the dark forest; and beyond that border a fringe of lily pads floated motionless on the surface of the water. the little strip of grass, the tall green trees, and the blue sky above were so perfectly reflected in the clear water that jack could hardly tell where the reflection ended and the vegetation began. shut in on all sides by the vast untouched forests, the lake lay there like a great eye that gazed steadfastly and unwinkingly at the sky which it mirrored. the light breeze had fallen as the sun rose, and there was now not the slightest motion on the water. the stillness was unbroken for a time, and they sat listening for the cry of the hounds. the different inhabitants of the lake and forest, plying their usual vocations, soon began to reveal to the boy from the east glimpses of their life history. an old mother golden-eyed duck led her brood of half a dozen from among some low willows and began to teach them how to procure their food; calling to them now and then in low lisping tones, to which the little ones responded with soft peeping cries. at one side of the lake a little pine squirrel was gathering his winter store of green fir cones, which he cut from the tree and dropped to the ground with a great deal of noise. so great in fact was the noise, that when it first began jack was sorely tempted to ask mr. james what it was; but by listening he made out the cause for himself, and so was glad that he had not inquired. suddenly over the tops of the bordering trees a pair of superb white-headed eagles flew silently across the lake, the hindermost seeming to strive to overtake the one in advance. but when this happened the foremost bird, without closing his wings, swung over on his back, thrust out his talons threateningly toward his pursuer, and then turned over again, flew onward and out of sight. a little later two loons settled in the water not far from the canoe and began to call on each other with loud mournful cries. it was useless now to listen for the hounds, for the loons made so much noise that nothing else could be heard; but at length they took wing and disappeared. now that silence had again fallen over the lake, the cry of hounds could be heard once more, though far off and very faint. at length the sound came nearer and nearer, passing the west end of the lake, and again grew fainter and at last was lost. mr. james had just said with an air of disappointment that he feared the deer had taken water in burnaby lake, when jack heard the indian speak in suppressed but very emphatic tones to his companion. following the direction of their eyes, jack saw something slowly moving through the water at the other end of the lake. what it was he could not tell. certainly it did not look like anything that he had ever seen before. as much as anything, however, it resembled a wooden box two or three feet square, floating on the surface of the water; but, of course, a box would not be found in such a situation, and would not move. jack took it for granted that it was a deer, because he could not think of any other living thing likely to be in that place at that time. there was one man in the canoe, however, who evidently did not think that it was a deer, and was very much excited about it. that was the indian. chapter iv the cobbler naturalist of burrard inlet as soon as the moving object appeared mr. james had dipped his paddle into the water and given a hasty stroke. the indian did not move, but in a low voice said to mr. james in the chinook jargon: "what is that there in the water?" "the deer," said mr. james; "paddle!" "no," said squawitch, "it is not the deer, it is the monster. yes, it is a true monster. we must go to the shore at once, or we shall all be killed." and he dipped his paddle into the water as if to turn the canoe to the shore. "keep still," said mr. james. "i tell you it is the deer." and then, the moving object having by this time turned well out into the lake, he added: "_mam-mook_" (pull). giving a powerful stroke with his paddle, the canoe shot forward toward the mysterious thing. jack was listening to what was said, but did not understand the spoken words. he could see, however, that there was a difference of opinion between his companions as to what should be done. he thought he noticed, too, that the first few strokes given by the indian were weak and did little to force the canoe forward; but if they were not strong they were at least noiseless. meantime, with all his eyes, jack was watching the mysterious object; and as the canoe advanced toward it the mystery explained itself in a very simple way, and the indian's fears were calmed. they could soon make out a fine buck swimming slowly through the water, and could see that about his horns were twined some long sprays of fern, which overshadowed his head, and, falling down behind the horns, trailed through the water. the reflection cast by this mass of green, and the ripple of the water behind and on each side of the swimming animal, made the object vague and indefinite, and the whole was further blurred by the reflection of the trees near the margin of the lake. so, until they had come close to it, it was hard to tell what it was, and its mysterious appearance was, naturally enough, very alarming to one who was prepared to see something supernatural. the indian believed thoroughly in the existence of the selallicum in this lake, and, seeing in the water something unlike anything that he had ever beheld before, at once concluded that the monster had appeared. the slender canoe flew swiftly over the water and rapidly drew near the deer, which had not yet seen them, but was swimming quietly along, no doubt tired by its long run. jack, not burdened with a paddle, and having nothing to do but hold his rifle, studied the creature as they drew near, and saw that it bore a fine pair of horns, still in the velvet. the canoe was within twenty yards of the deer before the animal saw them. when he did so, he at once turned toward the shore, and swam rapidly--almost as fast as the canoe went. just before he reached the land, mr. james said to jack: "now be ready, and kill him as he leaves the water." jack rose carefully to his knees, put a cartridge in his rifle and, as the deer bounded up the bank, fired. the shot broke the deer's neck, and it fell on the bank just at the edge of the water. when he saw it fall jack felt sorry that he had shot. though there was sweet music in the bay of the hounds as they ran, interest in watching for the deer, hope as the cry of the dogs grew louder, anxiety lest the quarry had turned aside and gone away as the baying grew fainter, and some excitement in paddling after the animal, yet he did not like this method of hunting. after the deer had taken to the water and the boat had approached it, it seemed as if the animal had no chance, and jack lost pleasure in the shot, because he had too much time to think about it. the struggle that the deer made to reach the shore excited his sympathies, and now he regretted the shot that he had fired. on the other hand, it was easy to see, as mr. james had pointed out, that in such a land as this still-hunting was impossible. the deer having been secured, the task of transporting it to town was left to the indian, who would drag or carry it out to the road and wait there for the stage which would come in during the morning. mr. james and jack started on foot for new westminster, and when they had nearly reached there they overtook hugh, who had had his walk and was now going back to breakfast. but little was said as to the killing of the deer, beyond the fact that one had been secured; and just before they reached mr. james's house the latter said to them: "now, gentlemen, if you feel like it, let us take the stage this afternoon and go over to burrard inlet, where you can make fannin's acquaintance and see what you can do with him. i am anxious to have you meet him, for he is one of the salt of the earth. no man in the province knows so much about its birds and mammals as he, and no man can show you and tell you so many interesting things about them. he is an untrained naturalist, but a most keen observer. then, too, he is a great hunter, and one of the finest shots in the province. i will not say that he never misses, but he misses very seldom. now, can you be ready to start on the stage at two o'clock? it will pick us up at my house after dinner; and it might be well for you to leave word at the hotel that we want three seats this afternoon. it's not likely that the stage will be crowded, but it's no trouble to order the seats in advance. we will go over to the inlet and spend twenty-four hours there, and you will, no doubt, see a good many interesting things, and can then make up your minds about your plans for the future." before there was time given to reply, mr. james asked: "have either of you ever seen white goats?" "hugh has, mr. james," replied jack, "but i never have. i have been in the mountains quite near them, but i have never seen one, much less had a shot." "well," said mr. james, "there are plenty in the mountains of burrard inlet, and if all goes well you may see some before you are a week older. you will find hunting the goats very different from paddling up to a deer in the water and killing him just as he climbs the bank to get to shore." hugh and jack now left mr. james, agreeing to be at his house about noon for dinner. they had only made a few steps after saying good-bye when jack turned around and ran back to ask mr. james what they should take with them to burrard inlet: would they need their blankets? "no," said mr. james, "if you stop at the little settlement of hastings where fannin lives you will not need anything except your guns, as there is quite a good plain hotel there; but if you should go off to camp in the mountains, of course it would be well to have your beds with you. i think perhaps i would leave word to have them strapped on to the stage when it starts, and then you will be safe whatever happens." hugh and jack hurried back to town, but were too late to get any breakfast at the hotel. however, they got a bite at a restaurant, and then walked about the streets to see whatever sights there were until it was time to go to mr. james's home. they ordered the seats in the stage, and saw that their beds and bags were put aboard. then down at the water's edge they looked at the wharves and at the salmon canneries, and thus whiled away the morning. shortly before midday they returned to mr. james's house, where they had a delightful dinner, and a little while afterward took the stage. to pass swiftly along over the level yellow road that they had traversed on foot in the morning was very delightful. the drive was not a long one, only nine miles, and the stage drew in to hastings in the middle of the afternoon. here mr. fannin was found in the little cobbler-shop, where he spent his bachelor existence, surrounded by old shoes and new, rolls of leather, the tools of his trade, bear and wolf skins, stuffed birds, and a multitude of natural history specimens. jack thought it one of the most interesting places that he had ever been in. mr. fannin was kindness itself, and was much interested in the talk of the proposed canoe trip. but before that had been long discussed, jack was asking questions about the skins of many birds that he had never before seen, but about most of which he had read and knew of by pictures. there were specimens of the beautiful little harlequin duck, whose varied plumage gives it its name; of the black oyster catcher; of several species of gulls; of guillemots; of a number of shore birds, which were new to him, and many birds' eggs which he had never seen before. mr. fannin was a great talker and a man with a keen sense of humor. if in any incident there was anything funny, his fancy was likely to seize upon it. as the four sat on the grass on the high bank overlooking the inlet, mr. fannin pointed across the water to some low unpainted houses standing among the timber and said: "there is an indian village over there, and i must send somebody over to get seammux to come across to-morrow morning to go with us to the head of the north arm. i want to have you see the country up there, and it is possible that from the river you may be able to see some white goats on top of the hills. if you have never seen these animals you will see them now, for you will never have a better chance." as they sat there jack saw, not far off and up the arm, a fish-hawk dropping through the air to seize a fish. he touched mr. fannin and pointed. they both watched the beautiful bird until it struck the water with a splash that sent the spray high in the air about it. "now watch," said mr. fannin, "and you may see an eagle rob that osprey. that's a common sight here; it is always a beautiful one; but perhaps you have seen it in other places?" "no," said jack, "i never have, although i have read about it often. by jove," he added, "there is the eagle now!" and they saw a white-headed eagle flying low and swiftly up the inlet. the osprey had already risen to a considerable height with his fish, and had started to fly off with it over the woods. but as soon as he caught sight of the eagle he began to rise in spiral flight higher and higher, while the eagle followed him in wider circles. soon it was seen that the eagle was rapidly gaining upon the fish-hawk, and at last had risen above it and had made one or two darts at it. the fish-hawk seemed to avoid these attacks easily, but perhaps they made it nervous, and presently it dropped its prey. shining like a bar of silver, the fish fell, and was carried off by the wind diagonally to one side in a long slant. but as soon as it fell the eagle half closed its wings, fell after it, overtook it before it had fallen half way to the water, grasped the fish in its own great talons, and, spreading its wings, bore the prey off to a tall tree on the mountain side. "that was a wonderful sight," said jack. "i would not have missed it for anything. i feel as if i should remember that for a very long time." "yes," said mr. fannin, "i believe you will; it is something worth remembering." "so it is," said hugh; "it's one of the finest sights i ever saw. who would have thought that that eagle could drop as fast as the fish did, that he could direct himself so as to catch his prey, and that, after falling like that, he could stop. there's a whole lot of mighty wonderful things to be seen out here. it beats my time altogether." "is there any chance of our getting a shot at anything to-morrow morning, when we go up the north arm, mr. fannin?" asked jack. "of course i can't tell about that," said he, "but i should certainly take my gun along, if i were you. i always take mine whenever i go out. on the islands up there in the inlet there are plenty of deer; and it's possible that you might get a shot at a deer any time, while there's a bare chance that a goat might come down to the valley and you might get a shot at him. have you shot much with the rifle?" "well," said jack, "i have shot a little. i have killed the prairie game back on the plains, and a few mountain sheep; and i have run buffalo and killed two or three bears." "then you've had quite a little experience, and i suppose you're a pretty good shot." "no," said jack, "i don't think i am much of a shot, but i am pretty patient about waiting around and trying to get the shot i want." "ha!" said mr. fannin, "that sounds as if you had learned to hunt with the indians, or at all events with some good hunter." "well," said jack, "i have hunted some with indians; but the man who taught me whatever i know about hunting is sitting with us now--and that is hugh." "well," said hugh, "you took to it mighty natural, son. there are lots of people that have had a heap more experience than you have and can't come near you for a hunter." "well," said fannin, "i crossed the plains from canada in , and of course i did some hunting on the way; but ever since that time i've lived here in the province, where there's plenty of rough, thick timber, and where much of the hunting is done at short range. there's a great deal of game here, though not of many sorts,--mostly deer and bear, and, high up in the mountains, goats. farther inland there are sheep, and still beyond that, elk; and then there are elk on vancouver island, but i have never seen any of them. "the bears are plenty, and they make themselves very much at home. it's only a few days since that one of them came out of the woods just back of the hotel and went to the hog-pen and took a pig and walked off with it into the forest. the bear got his pig and nobody ever got him. "a year or two ago something of that kind happened, and with it one of the funniest things i ever saw. a bear came out and took a pig and went off with it, and an irishman, working on the place, saw it go. he picked up an axe and ran down to call me. i grabbed my rifle and we both started running into the timber where the bear had disappeared. we could still hear the squealing of the pig. we hadn't got far into the woods before we came upon an immense tree-trunk lying on the ground, which we had to climb over. it was six or eight feet high, and the irishman got there a little bit ahead of me. having nothing to carry but his axe, he climbed over first and jumped down on the other side. i was slower in getting up, and when i got on top of the trunk and was just about to jump down, i saw in front of me and walking toward me on its hind legs a big bear. the irishman was standing under me, backed up against the tree trunk, his hands at his sides and his axe lying at his feet, while the bear was stepping up to him as if he wanted to shake hands. the irishman was too frightened to yell or do anything. he just backed up against the tree hard. of course i saw all this at a glance, and i began to laugh so that i could hardly get my gun to my shoulder. but, by the time that the bear was within five or six steps of the irishman, i realized that something had to be done; and i fired and killed the bear. "it took that irishman about an hour to recover from his scare, and it seemed to me that he didn't get his color back for three or four days." after a little while the party went into the hotel and had their supper and then returned to fannin's shop. here, before it grew dark, they saw approaching a tall, oldish, stoop-shouldered man, who walked with a slight halt in his gait. said fannin: "oh! here comes old meigs. i am glad you are going to meet him. he is an american, an old prospector, who has spent all of his life mining down in arizona. he got a slight stroke of paralysis three or four years ago. he came up here and is living in a little cabin just below. he is a good fellow and has seen a great deal of western life." as meigs joined the group fannin introduced the strangers, and they were soon all talking together. "i am glad meigs came," said fannin, "because he reminds me of something that happened last year that i want to tell you about. two years ago a man who lived about here thought that he would raise some sheep. he didn't have money enough to get many, but he got half a dozen ewes and a ram, and turned them out to pick up their living along the shore and in the timber. they did very well for a while. but presently, when the man started to look them up, he found that there was one missing, and then another, and then the old ram disappeared. we never knew just what got them, but we suspected bears and wolves; and one day, going through the timber, i found the skeleton of a sheep, and another day the skeleton of another. about a year ago i took my rifle and went out for a little walk in the timber. i went a mile or two and didn't see anything, and then came back nearly to the road here. i climbed up on a stump and sat there for a while, listening to the birds and watching them. presently, in a trail that passed close to that stump, i saw the three sheep going along towards the road. i paid no particular attention to them, but after they had passed i got down from the stump, walked out to the trail, and started for the road myself. i could see the sheep not very far ahead of me, and, as they were feeding along and i was walking briskly, i got pretty close to them before they reached the road. they had almost got to it, and i was not far behind them, when suddenly a bear charged out of the timber, into the trail, and tried to grab one of the sheep. they rushed around a little crook in the trail, and the bear after them, before i could cock my rifle and put it to my shoulder. i started after them as hard as i could go, thinking that if the bear followed the sheep into the road i would surely get a good shot at him and would probably kill him. i rushed out into the road, and almost into the arms of meigs here, who had been walking away from the inlet; but the sheep and the bear had disappeared. i said to meigs: 'hello, meigs! what are you doing here?' he raised his hand to keep me from speaking, took a step or two forward, shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked up the trail by which i had just come out from the timber. i could not understand what was the matter with him, and presently i said in a low voice: 'what is the matter with you; what do you see?' "'i am just trying to see' he answered, 'what in thunder is the next thing that will come along that trail.' "he had been taking a little walk along the road and got just opposite the trail, you see, when suddenly the sheep rushed out, and then the bear, and then i came--all going as hard as we could go. it must have been a funny sight." "it was," said meigs, "and for a minute i thought i was crazy and seeing things that did not exist." "tell them about the morning that the wolf chased you," said fannin. "well," said meigs, as he pushed down the tobacco in his pipe and pulled on it two or three times, to get it going well, "that was quite a scare for me. of course i knew that the wolves were not dangerous in the country i came from, but i didn't know about them here. winter before last a wolf came down to the inlet and stopped right near here. we used to hear him howling often, and i always believed that he killed that old ram that fannin has been talking about. i set a trap for him two or three times, but he would not go near it. one morning, just at daylight, i heard him howling close above the cabin. i jumped out of my blankets, grabbed my gun, and stepped out to see if i could get a shot. i could not see him from the door, and i hurried up the trail, about thirty steps from the door of the cabin, to where the trail made a little bend. my rifle was an old-fashioned spencer carbine. i don't know whether any of you men ever saw one?" and he looked around the circle inquiringly. "go ahead," said hugh, "i know them. they miss fire half the time, and the other half they are just as likely to shoot around the corner as they are to shoot straight ahead." "yes," said meigs, "you have used one, i guess." "well," he continued, "when i got to the bend in that trail and looked around, there was the wolf a short hundred yards off, with his fore feet on a log, and his head toward me, just beginning to howl. i dropped down on one knee and drew a bead on his breast and pulled the trigger. the cartridge exploded, and if you'll believe me, when the smoke drifted away i could see that ball from that old spencer carbine corkscrewing toward the wolf as though it was never going to get there. in the meantime the wolf had jumped from the log on which it was standing and started toward me. i turned round and ran for the cabin. when i was ten or fifteen feet from the door the string of my drawers broke, and they fell down around my ankles and shackled me, so that i couldn't run. i had to come down on my hands and knees and scramble the rest of the way on all fours. when i got inside the cabin and slammed the door and looked back through a crack, of course the wolf was out of sight. "fannin thinks that this is a pretty good joke on me, and maybe it is." when hugh and jack had finished laughing over meigs's adventure, jack began to ask fannin about the indians that lived along the inlet. "like most of the siwashes about here," said fannin, "they are fish-eating people; though, of course, they kill a good many deer and some few white goats. their main dependence, however, is the salmon, of which, at the proper season of the year, they catch and dry great numbers." "i suppose," said jack, "that they have lost a good many of their primitive ways, have they not?" "yes," said fannin, "they are changing rapidly, yet within a short time i have seen them use the fire-sticks to kindle a fire. that does not look as if they were changing rapidly, does it?" "no," said jack, "i should say not. i should think they would use matches, or if not matches, at least flint and steel." "so they do," said fannin, "for many purposes, but for some others they use the fire-sticks. and that reminds me," he continued, "of dick griffin's joke about fire-sticks. he had been chopping logs at quite a distance from camp, and one day had to leave his job to come down to the main camp to get some grub. he started rather late, and when he had got half way it came on to rain and blow and get dark. he landed and spent the night in the timber, with nothing to eat, and with no fire, for he had left his matches behind, or they got wet or something. it was still raining when he got to the camp the next morning, and two or three men were standing around the fire. dick paddled in, took his canoe out of the water, walked up to the fire, and after the men had exchanged a few words with him, he said abruptly: 'boys, have you ever seen the indians make a fire by rubbing two sticks together?' they all said 'yes.' 'well,' said dick, 'i would like to know how long it takes them to do it. i know it can't be done in one night, for i spent all last night in trying to make a fire in just that way.'" the rest of the evening was spent in pleasant conversation, and many a story was told. before they parted for the night fannin said that he had arranged to have a little steamer take them up the inlet the next morning to the mouth of the river flowing into the north arm, from which they would have a good view of the surrounding mountains. chapter v an unexpected bear by eight o'clock the next morning the party had embarked on the tiny steamer "senator" on their way up burrard inlet. the little craft carried them swiftly along past the indian village on the north bank, past wooded hills and low grassy points, past rough granite mountain faces, where the few scattering trees found scarcely earth enough to support them, and were forced to drive their roots deep down into the crevices of the rocks, until, six miles above hastings, the boat turned sharply to the left and up the north arm of the inlet. here the hills on either side were nearer together and appeared higher and more rugged. their summits were capped with snow, which, in many of the gorges and ravines, extended far down toward the water's edge. the steep rock faces were covered with a harsh brown moss, which, except when wet, gave an excellent foothold to the climber. where the mountains were not too steep, and soil was not utterly wanting, there was a dense forest of douglas firs and cedars, some of the timber being very large. the various shades of green of the different trees gave a variety to the aspect of the forest, as a whole, which had almost the effect of cloud shadows, and added greatly to the beauty of the scene. jack and hugh did not weary in watching the constantly changing view. now and then the round head of a seal emerged from the quiet waters, looked for a moment at the boat and then disappeared. little groups of water birds, disturbed in their fishing or their resting, rose on wing and flew up or down the inlet. from the shores and mountains on either side, birds, large and small, were constantly flying across the inlet; and now and then a great fish sprang from the water, and fell back with a splash which could be heard. "i tell you, hugh," said jack, "we'll have things enough to talk about if we ever get back to the ranch and tell the cow-punchers there what we have seen on this trip." "you're dead right, son; they never imagined anything like this any more than i ever did; and what's more, we won't be able to tell it to them so that they can understand what it is like. that's the worst of going off and seeing things,--that when you go back you can't make other people see as you saw, or have the same feelings that you had when you took them in with your eyes." "yes," said jack, "talk is a pretty poor thing compared with seeing anything for yourself." "now, look at those waterfalls!" said hugh. "do you suppose it would be possible to tell anybody about those things so that they could really understand how they look?" "no," said jack, "i do not believe anybody could do that." down almost every slope within their view, and constantly changing as the boat's position changed, poured beautiful cascades, some of which deserved the title of waterfall. though now they carried but little water, their wide beds of naked rock showed that in the spring and early summer, when the snows were melting, they must be mighty torrents, sweeping everything before them with resistless power. even now they were very beautiful, and their delicate streams, stretching like white threads far up the mountain sides, could scarcely be distinguished in the distance from the lines of snow in the ravines; though, with the glasses, the leaping, wavering motion of the water could be discerned which distinguished the white hurrying flood from the unmoving snowdrift. they had passed up the arm and were just rounding a little point and beginning to get a view of some low grassy meadows running up from the water's edge, when hugh suddenly said to jack: "son, i believe that's a bear in that grass"; and jack, bringing his eyes down to the meadow's level, saw a small black object moving about in the grass. whatever it was, it had not yet seen the steamer. jack rushed into the cabin where fannin and mr. james were talking to the indian seammux and, grasping his rifle, said: "mr. fannin, i believe there is a bear out on the shore." in a moment all were looking at the animal, and there was now no doubt as to what it was. fannin stepped around to the pilot house and asked the captain to steer close to the shore, and also to see that the boat made as little noise as possible. they rapidly crept up toward the bear; but long before they had come within rifle-shot the animal saw them, stood up, looked for a moment or two, and then, turning about, bolted through the grass and disappeared in the forest. "well," said jack to mr. fannin, "that beats anything yet. i believe if anybody had been in a canoe and paddled along quietly, that bear would never have noticed him, and he might have got within gunshot." "yes," said mr. fannin, "of course he might. that's just what i've told you. it's quite possible that you will see something of that kind more than once before you get back." about twelve miles from where the north arm leaves the main inlet, the arm ends in the narrow valley of the salmon river. here the boat anchored, and here, after some little discussion, it was determined that jack, mr. fannin, and the indian should take the latter's canoe and go a short distance up the river to see whether a glimpse might not be had of the goats that dwelt on the summit of the mountains on the west side. in the meantime mr. james jointed his rod and set out to try to catch some trout; while hugh said that he would go with mr. james and watch the fishing. the indian's canoe was light, low, and slender, and when its three occupants were seated it was low in the water. mr. fannin had with him his rifle and his shot-gun; the rifle, perhaps, being carried out of compliment to jack, while the shot-gun was his constant companion, for he never knew at what moment he might not see some strange bird. they had gone but a short distance up the river when it became necessary for mr. fannin and jack to land and walk along the gravel bars, for the water in the rapids was so shoal that the loaded canoe could not ascend. when the swift water was reached, the indian laid down his paddle, took up his pole, and, standing in the stern of the canoe, prepared to drive the craft up the stream against the turbulent current. quietly pushing it along until he had almost reached the rushing water, he set his pole firmly against the bottom, and leaning back against it, sent the light craft fifteen or twenty feet up the stream, and then, before its way had ceased, recovered his pole and again set it against the stones of the bottom. standing as he did in the stern, the nose of the canoe rose high above the water; and, as it rushed forward, reminded jack of the head of some sea monster, whose lower jaw was buried beneath the surface. no matter how furiously the water rushed, boiled, and bubbled on either side, the light craft held perfectly straight, moved regularly forward until, when the rapids had been passed, fannin and jack stepped aboard once more and the paddles were resumed, only to be laid aside for the pole when another rapid was reached. here jack saw, and was delighted to see, some familiar friends of the rocky mountains,--the little dippers or water ouzels. on every little stretch of still water one or more would be started, flying from rock to rock and bobbing comically at each point where they alighted. many of the birds were young ones, not long from the nest, and were quite without fear, permitting a very close approach before they would fly. a number of broods of harlequin ducks were startled, some of them quite large and able to fly, while others seemed to be newly hatched. whatever their age, they seemed well able to take care of themselves, and could always keep ahead of the canoe until at last they disappeared from sight around some bend and were not seen again. everywhere along the stream grew the salmon berry bushes, laden with mature or ripening fruit. the bushes, in their manner of growth and in their berries, reminded jack of the eastern blackberries, but the ripe fruit was either red or yellow or black, all these colors growing on the same bush. as they passed on up the stream, the white men sometimes on the gravel bar and again in the canoe, they saw no other animal life except the ravens and eagles, which now and then flew over them, going up and down the valley. at one point were tracks where a bear had crossed the stream, and at another some old deer tracks. at length, about two miles from the mouth of the river, on a long gravel bar, where the river was wide and a good view could be had of the summits of the mountains, they landed to try to see some white goats. the guns, which had been lying in the canoe, were wet from the water which had been shipped in the passage up the rapids, and jack and mr. fannin took them out to dry. mr. fannin held his down to drain and then set them up against a pile of driftwood to dry. jack wiped the water from his rifle as well as he could, and walked along with it in his hand. the three had gone about forty yards from the canoe when mr. fannin and the indian stopped and began carefully to look over the hills above them. jack looked too, but saw nothing and walked on toward the upper end of the bar, where there was a huge drift-log, which he mounted to get a wider view. as he did so he looked back at the others and saw seammux suddenly point across the river and speak eagerly to his companion. at the same time mr. fannin turned toward jack and beckoned with his hand. jack thought that possibly a deer had shown itself in the brush and jumped from his perch on the log to run toward the others. the stones under his feet seemed to make a tremendously loud clatter as he ran; and, forgetting that the roar of the water would drown any noise that he might make, he feared that the game, whatever it might be, would hear him and run off into the brush. he was still fifty yards from the other two when fannin again turned toward him and raised his hand with a warning gesture. just as he did so there walked out from behind a bush into jack's view a good-sized bear. as he started to run jack had slipped a cartridge into his rifle, and, as soon as the animal appeared, he dropped on one knee and prepared to fire. the bear, however, was quite unconscious of the presence of man, and jack waited for a moment in the hope that the animal would stand still; for, with two persons looking on, he was anxious not to miss. the bear was about one hundred yards off, and there would be no excuse for a failure. it was gathering berries, and its attention was concentrated on that occupation. where the fruit hung low the bear reached up its head like a cow picking apples from a tree, and, winding its long tongue about the stem, stripped the berries and leaves from it. again it would stand up on its hind legs and, reaching the high branches with its forepaws, pull them down within reach of its mouth. two or three times jack was on the point of pulling the trigger, but he waited for a better opportunity, which came at last. the bear dropped on all fours and for an instant stood still, with head slightly raised, facing jack, who fired at the white spot on the beast's breast. just as the trigger was pulled the bear began to rear up for some berries; but, at the crack of the rifle, he whirled about and lumbered off into the brush. a moment later jack had run up to mr. fannin and asked: "did i hit him?" neither could tell, and mr. fannin sent seammux to bring the canoe up to where they were standing, so that they might cross over to look for the trail. [illustration: jack fired at the white spot on the beast's breast--_page _] in a few moments the canoe came up, and in a moment more they had crossed over and reached the opposite bank. mr. fannin and jack climbed up the steep bank and ran to the point where the bear had disappeared, while seammux, taking time only to secure the canoe, followed. they had not gone two yards into the bushes when jack saw a broad leaf covered with blood, and then thick drops--a plain trail running into the timber. by this time seammux was with them, and they pressed forward on the trail. once they overran it for a moment, but a low call from the indian told them that he had found it; and, as they overtook him, he stopped with an exclamation, and pointed. there, a few yards away, lay the bear curled up on his side, his paws over his nose. they looked for a moment, but he did not move, and then, holding his gun in readiness, jack walked around behind and gave the back a sharp push. the animal was quite dead, the ball having pierced the white spot and gone through the vitals. though it looked much smaller dead than it had when living, and though the distance to the river bank was short, it took some time to drag the bear out to the river, and then to lower it into the canoe. a little more time was devoted to studying the tops of the mountains for goats; then, as the sun was getting low, they stepped into the canoe, turned the vessel's prow down stream, and were soon hurrying merrily along over the dancing waters toward the river's mouth. jack, to whom this method of journeying was new, found it very exhilarating to fly down the rapids, dashing by the bank at almost railroad speed, the indian now and then giving a stroke of the paddle to keep the canoe straight, or sometimes to alter her course when a threatening rock appeared above the water. the rapids, that had been surmounted with much difficulty on the way up the stream, now disappeared behind them almost as soon as they were reached. it took but a short time to gain the mouth of the river, and the canoe was soon alongside the steamer. there everything was ready for a start. the bear in the canoe gave those on the steamer a surprise, and they were much gratified at the success of the short excursion. just as the steamer was about to start, seammux spoke and pointed toward the top of one of the mountains on the north side of the arm, where two very minute white spots were seen on the mountain top. when the glasses had been brought to bear and the specks had been watched for some little time, it appeared quite certain that they were white goats. although they were so distant that no motion could be detected, it soon became apparent that these white specks gradually changed their positions, both with regard to each other and to surrounding objects. the day was too far spent to allow any further investigation of them to be made, but as the boat started on its way down the north arm, mr. fannin assured jack that at last he had seen a couple of white goats. "if you want to see these animals at home," said mr. fannin, "the best thing we can do is to come back here and climb those mountains to where they live, and then we can see them and very likely get one or two. you are in no great hurry, i fancy, and you would not mind spending a day or two in camping on the top of these hills. we'll think it over and make up our minds about it to-night or to-morrow." "nothing would suit me better than just such a trip as you suggest, mr. fannin, and we can talk it over and decide about it to-night, as you say." if it had been pleasant coming up the arm and the inlet, it was not less so on the way down. the bird life was as abundant as it had been in the morning. jack and mr. fannin went to the bow and watched the creatures busy at their feeding. "tell me something about that black bird with the white shoulders, mr. fannin. i suppose it is one of the guillemots, is it not?" asked jack. "yes. that's the pigeon guillemot," said mr. fannin; "a very abundant bird here, found everywhere on the salt water. it's more plentiful in the gulf of georgia than it is up here in the inlet, but it's plenty enough everywhere. they breed on many of the islands, rearing their young in the rocks. they are industrious little birds, as you see, and are constantly diving for food. they eat a crustacean which looks to me a good deal like the crawfish that i used to see back east; and if you watch, you will see that many of these birds which fly by the vessel are carrying this crustacean in their bills. that means, i suppose, that by this time of the year the young are getting big enough to help themselves. i believe that when they are very young, though, the old ones swallow the food, which, after it has been partly digested, is disgorged into the mouths of the young ones." "there seem to be some ducks over there near the shore, can you tell what those are at this distance, mr. fannin?" asked jack. mr. fannin looked through the glasses and then replied: "yes, those are harlequin ducks. take the glasses and look at them. their plumage is easily recognized even at this distance. they breed here on the islands, i am told, though i have never found a nest. the indians say that they are very much more abundant on the river than they are down here on the salt water. i have never seen a nest, and don't even know where they breed, whether in the grass, or in holes in the rocks, or in the trees. of course, you know that there are some ducks that build in the holes in the trees?" "oh, yes," replied jack. "quite a number of them, though i have never found a duck's nest in a tree; and i feel that i should be a good deal surprised if i did find one." all along the inlet eagles, ospreys, and crows fairly swarmed, brought there by the abundance of the fish, which offer food to all of them. salmon and many other sorts of good fish run up the arm, while the dog-fish--a small shark--is everywhere. there is no reason why a fish-eating bird should starve here; and, besides the fish, the crows and ravens find abundant food along the shore in the various sorts of shell-fish that are everywhere abundant. a little later, as the two were sitting on the deck in front of the pilot house, enjoying the warm sun, the indian seammux came up, and, squatting down beside them, began to talk in chinook to mr. fannin. after he had spoken for a few moments mr. fannin answered him, and, turning to jack, said: "here is something that maybe will interest you. seammux is telling me a story about a selallicum that used to live in the north arm of the inlet, and in old times killed many indians. this monster must have been of great size. it was peculiar in form, too, being shaped like two fishes, whose bodies were joined together at the tail. it used to lie stretched across the mouth of the north arm, just beneath the surface of the water, one of its heads reaching across to the other shore. whenever a canoe attempted to pass up the arm, the monster would wait until the vessel was directly over its body and then would rise to the surface and upset the canoe, and devour the occupants. that is all that he has told me so far." he spoke to seammux, who replied at considerable length, and mr. fannin interpreted again. "'in this way,' he says, 'the monster killed many indians, for the north arm was a great hunting place, and fish and game and berries abounded along the river, so that the people had to go there to get them for food. at last, the loss of life caused by the monster became so terrible, that the squamisht indians had lost nearly half their people; and now no one dared to go up the arm, so that the people feared that they would starve.' "'in one of the villages there was a young man who had seen the misfortune of his people and pitied them. he felt so sorry for them that he at last determined that he would sacrifice himself for his race by killing this monster, even though it cost him his life. one day he went to his family and bade them good-by, saying that he was going away and should not be back for a long time. that day he went into the mountains and did not return again. in the mountains he fasted for many days, and prayed to the spirits, and at length one night when he was getting very weak, he dreamed that a large white goat stood near him as he slept and spoke to him, for a long time, telling him to take courage and advising him what he should do. the next day the young man went farther into the mountains and gathered certain roots and herbs, and after he had dried them and pounded them into powder, he mixed them with some sacred oil, and rubbed the mixture over his whole body, leaving no part of his skin untouched. then he walked down the mountains to the shore of the inlet, and dived into the water. for five years he lived in the water, scarcely ever coming out on shore; and in all these five years he never spoke to a man. he became so much at home in the water that he could swim faster than a seal or a salmon, and at the end of that time his spiritual power was so strong that he could call up to him the fishes or the seals and lift them into the canoe. "'now he was ready to fight the monster. he took with him two spears, one in each hand; swam to the mouth of the north arm, dived under the monster, and thrust the spears into it. then there was a fierce and terrible fight; but at length the battle ended, and the monster was dead. the young man was badly wounded, and expected to die. he floated on the surface of the water, like a dead salmon. as he lay there on the water, he heard the sound of a paddle, and soon a canoe came by him, and in the canoe sat his brother. the two recognized each other, and the brother lifted the wounded man into the canoe and took him to the shore. the wounded man said to him: "my brother, take me up into the mountains and gather there certain roots and herbs. these you must dry and then cook a little. then pound them into a fine powder, mix them with oil of the medicine-fish, and rub this oil all over me, leaving no part of my body untouched." the brother did so, and immediately the young man rose from the ground, and walked about, sound and whole. then the two brothers walked home to the village, and since that time, the monster has not been seen on the north arm.'" "that's a good story, mr. fannin, a bully story," said jack. "i wish, though, that i knew enough about the language to get along without an interpreter." "why, if you are willing to give a little attention and thought to the matter, you can learn this chinook jargon easily enough. there is no grammar to bother you, and i am sure that you will pick it up very quickly." "i must try and do so," replied jack, "if i am going to stay in this country." that night a council was held in mr. fannin's shop, and the plans of the two americans were discussed at length. after a good deal of talking, mr. fannin agreed to accompany them on their canoe trip. he would go back with them to victoria when they were ready, and prepare for the voyage. all hands were gratified at this decision. "but now," said fannin, "before you leave here, i think that you had better go up to the head of the north arm and make a hunt there for goats. of course, there's a probability that you may have plenty of hunting, on the trip, and there is also a probability that you may have no hunting at all. we may have good weather and favorable winds, in which case everything will run as smoothly as possible. we may have almost continuous rains, and head winds, and in that case we shall have to work very hard at the paddles all day long, to make any progress at all. i am like most other people. i always think that any short trip that i am going to take will turn out well--a good deal better than i had anticipated; but i have travelled in canoes so much about the shores of this province, that i know perfectly well that we shall meet with many difficulties and delays. i do not look for any danger. "if you feel like making a hunt here i will get seammux and another indian and two canoes, and we can go up the arm, to where we were to-day, climb the mountains, camp there for a couple of nights, have a hunt, come back here, take the stage for westminster, and from there go to victoria. by doing this, as i said before, you will be sure of at least one hunt. on the trip you will be pretty sure to kill something, perhaps enough to satisfy you as to white goats. what do you say?" "well, sir," said hugh, "i am getting to be a little old to climb mountains, but at the same time i should like to go up to the top of those that we saw to-day. i don't care so much about the hunting, but i would like to go up where i could see off a little way. almost ever since i left the ranch we've been in the timber, or else in big towns, shut in so that i haven't had any chance to use my eyes. i'm not used to that, and i would like to have a big view once more. what do you say, son?" he added, turning to jack. "tell me, mr. fannin," said jack, "what game will we be likely to see on top of those mountains?" "well," said fannin, "i never have hunted there. i can only tell you what the indians say. they report goats as plenty. they say that there are some bears; and they describe good-sized birds, which i think must be ptarmigan. at all events they speak of them as birds about as big as the grouse we have down here, but as turning white in winter. this of course fits the ptarmigan. i don't know whether they are the willow ptarmigan or the white-tail ptarmigan. i should be delighted if they proved to be the latter. besides that, there may be all sorts of rare northern birds up there. you see, it's pretty high up, quite above the timber line, according to what the indians tell." "well," said jack, "that sounds mighty nice, and i vote in favor of going, if hugh thinks best." "i say 'go'" said hugh. "now what does mr. james say?" he added, turning to the latter gentleman who sat silent, smoking his pipe. "mr. james says," said that gentleman, "that he wishes with all his heart that he could go with you, and was not obliged to return to-morrow to new westminster. by bad luck i have business there which cannot be put off; and so, i must return on the stage. you others had better stay here and make your hunt, and then when you come back you can tell me about it." so it was decided. the next morning mr. james took the stage for town, while fannin, hugh, and jack began to get indians, canoes, and provisions together, for their camping trip in the mountains. chapter vi of indians in armor the next morning was a busy one for all hands. a messenger had been sent across the inlet to summon seammux and another indian, and mr. fannin's camp outfit was brought down from the loft, got together and cleaned; and provisions were bought. by the middle of the day, seammux, and an indian named sillicum, had crossed the inlet, and anchored their canoes close to the shore. then the blankets, the food, and the mess kit were carried down and stowed in the boat, and by that time it was noon. immediately after the midday meal the party set out. mr. fannin had proposed that he and jack should go in the small canoe with the lighter load, and that hugh should go in the canoe with the two indians, who, being stronger and far more used to paddling than the white men, could move along at a better rate. "you and i," said fannin, "although our canoe is smaller and lighter, will have a good deal harder time in getting along than the indians. i suppose that you have never paddled much, and i haven't either, for a number of years. but now that you are going to make a canoe trip you must learn to paddle and must be able to do your share of the work." "of course i have paddled some," said jack, "in a birch-bark canoe, but i have never done much of it." "no," said fannin, "i suppose you have just paddled around a few miles for the fun of the thing, but you will find that if you undertake to paddle here for hours, or for a whole day, that it gets to be pretty tiresome work before the sun has set." "yes," said jack, "i should think it would be tiresome. quite different from riding a horse along over the prairie." mr. fannin turned to hugh, saying: "mr. johnson, it won't be necessary for you to paddle at all, unless you feel like doing so. the indians will do all that. they are both good canoemen, and all you will have to do is to sit in the boat and smoke your pipe." "well," said hugh, "i can certainly do that without much trouble. on the other hand, i think it might be well to take along another paddle for me, in case we are in water that is running strongly against us." another paddle having been secured, they stepped on board the canoes, pushed off, and were soon on their way up the inlet. the tide was running strongly in from the sea and for an hour or two their progress was very good. at first jack was a little awkward with his paddle, for the canoe was wider than any that he had ever seen before; and he was thus obliged to paddle with straighter arms. mr. fannin told him not to pay any attention at present to the direction of the canoe, but to leave all that to the stern paddle, which he, himself, wielded. so jack paddled steadily on one side of the canoe, but kept his eyes straight ahead and watched the direction toward which the bow pointed. they reached the north arm, and turning north, followed the westerly bank, and about six o'clock reached and passed up by the island just below the head of the arm. here fannin spoke to the indians, and after some little talk they turned toward the shore; and, when the bank was reached, unloaded their canoes, and prepared their camp. the top of the bank was four or five feet above the water's level, and the soil was quite dry. mr. fannin, looking carefully about for a camp, chose a somewhat elevated spot; and explained to the indians where the fire should be made and the beds placed. the indians each took an axe, went into the woods and presently returned, dragging a number of poles, two of which had crotched ends, and were already sharpened at the bottom. these were driven into the soil so that the crotches stood about six feet from the ground. between these crotches a pole was laid, and, resting on this pole, and running down to the ground at a low angle, were a dozen or twenty other poles, the whole forming the sloping roof of what was to be a brush leanto. then the indians went off again and presently returned with armfuls of cedar boughs with which they proceeded to thatch this roof, laying the butts up and the points down. it was not long before they had a thatched shelter, which would shed a pretty heavy rain. in the meantime, mr. fannin had kindled a fire, in front of the shelter and hugh and jack had brought in a good pile of wood. it was not easy here to find good fire-wood, however. so great is the prevalence of rain and fog in these coast forests that all the fallen tree trunks seemed to jack too wet to burn. however, hugh took an axe and began to cut and split some rather large logs, that, after the outer spongy layer of moist rotten wood had been passed, were found to be perfectly sound and dry. the indians now began to cook the evening meal of fried bacon, fried potatoes, and coffee; while the others brought the blankets from the canoes and spread their beds under the leanto so that their feet would be towards the fire. by the time this had been done, seammux announced that the food was ready, and before long the members of the party were sitting about the fire, highly enjoying their meal. after they had eaten, jack said: "i see, mr. fannin, that you have brought your shot-gun along, this time, just as you did yesterday, when we came out here. do you carry it with you everywhere?" "no," said fannin, "not everywhere; but i generally mean to have it with me whenever i go any great distance from home, and am so fixed that i can carry it and a few shells. of course, i often go out hunting just to get meat, and then i leave the shot-gun at home; but when i go out hunting for pleasure, and especially when i go into a new country, i always try to carry it; for one never knows when he may see a new bird, or at all events a bird that he cannot recognize. i would rather get hold of a bird that i've never seen before, than kill almost any game that can be found in the country. of course, if i were up in vancouver island in the country where the elk range, i would not carry the shot-gun, because i would want to get an elk more than any bird that i should be likely to see. a good many of those elk have been killed, of course, but i don't know that any of them have ever fallen into the hands of a naturalist; and we none of us know what they are. they may be the same elk that are found on the plains and in the rocky mountains, or they may be something quite different. i should like to be the man to bring out a skin of one of those animals and to have it compared with the elk that we know so well. i have seen two or three heads of the island elk, and to me they don't look like the elk of the east, but it's a long time since i saw an eastern elk, and maybe i have forgotten just how it looks." "are those elk plenty?" asked jack. "mr. james spoke about them, but he didn't seem to know much more than the fact that there were elk up on the island, back of comox." "no one knows much about them," replied fannin. "they live in the thick timber, high up on the mountains, and mainly on the western slope. the indians kill them sometimes, and bring in the skins and sell them, but not often. most of the skins they use to make clothing of, or else for ceremonial robes, or for armor." "armor?" queried jack; "that is something new to me. i never knew that indians wore armor. they have shields, of course; and i've seen plenty of these; and a very good protection they are, for they will stop an arrow, and are likely to turn a ball from an old-fashioned trade gun. isn't that so, hugh?" "yes, son," replied hugh, "that's all true enough; but indians do wear armor sometimes; or, at least, there are stories told of their wearing armor, but it was always something that they had got from the white men, and not anything that they had made themselves." "why, how's that, hugh? that's something that you never told me, and i don't think i ever heard the indians speak about it." "maybe not," said hugh, thoughtfully. "when i come to think of it, i don't believe the blackfeet ever had anything of that kind; but the pawnees did, and so did the cheyennes and the arapahoes. i will have to tell you that story some time." "tell it now," said fannin; and jack added: "yes, tell it now, hugh." "well," said hugh, "it's quite a long story, but i'll tell it to you if you like. but before i begin i'll tell you how i first heard about this armor. way back, more than twenty years ago, i used to hear the pawnees talk about an iron shirt that they had. they talked about it pretty freely, but i never got to see it. as near as i could tell, it was something to be worn on the body; perhaps hung around the neck and tied around the waist and under the arms. in other words, it didn't cover up the whole body, but was something like a breastplate,--something that would just protect a man's breast and belly if he were shot at or cut at from the front. "years after that, when with the cheyennes, i heard about a shirt, an iron shirt, that they had; and when they talked about it, as they often did, i found out that this shirt that the pawnees had they had captured from the cheyennes, who once owned that and a lot more things like it; in fact, a regular suit of iron clothes. there was a cap made of steel, with a kind of a mask that let down in front over the face; and a sort of a cape from behind that covered the neck. there was a coat that covered the whole body and the upper part of the arms, and laced up on one side; while there was a pair of leggings that covered the legs from the waist down to the ankles. according to the cheyenne's tell, the man that had this suit of clothes on could stand up and let people shoot at him all day long and he never would be hurt. but they said that these clothes were so powerful heavy that they were very hard to wear; that a man dressed up in them could hardly mount his horse, and that if he tumbled off and fell down, it was all that he could do to get on his legs again. for this reason they never wore the whole suit of clothes; but they would take a part of it and wear it into battle, and of course the man who wore it could go right into the thick of the shooting, and the arrows and the bullets would not hurt him at all, unless he happened to be hit on some part of his body that was not covered. "now, i think it was along about that the cheyennes and the pawnees had a big fight on republican river. a big war party of cheyennes, sioux, and apaches, kiowas and comanches had gone out to kill all the pawnees; they were going to wipe the pawnees off the earth. they found the pawnees hunting buffalo on the republican river, and attacked them, and they had a big fight, in which quite a number were killed on both sides, and among them a lot of the bravest of the cheyennes. a big chief, 'touching the cloud,' wore a part of this iron clothing--only the leggings, they say, spread out over the breast. he had been very brave, and the pawnees hadn't been able to hit him at all. during the fight he charged on a single pawnee, who ran away. the pawnee and touching the cloud were both mounted, and touching the cloud, who, notwithstanding his armor, wasn't taking any chances, rode up on the right-hand side of the pawnee to strike him. of course you can understand, that coming up on the right-hand side the pawnee could not turn around on his horse far enough to shoot back with his bow; whereas, if the cheyenne had ridden up on the left-hand side, the pawnee could have turned around, and, pulling the bowstring with his right hand, could shoot at the cheyenne. but as bad luck would have it, this pawnee that touching the cloud was going to strike was a left-handed man; so just as the cheyenne was going to strike him he whirled around on his horse and shot an arrow which, more by good luck than skill, i reckon, struck the cheyenne in the right eye and went through his brain. "that about ended the fight, and the cheyennes and their party went off licked. "that was one of the biggest misfortunes that the cheyennes ever had, for touching the cloud was a brave warrior, a wise man, and one of the handsomest among the cheyennes. he had been the orator for the cheyennes at the horse creek treaty in ; and later had gone to washington; and then, soon after his return, was killed, as i tell you." "well," said fannin, "that's an interesting story, and that indian was certainly in mighty hard luck. i guess it was fated that he should die." "well, hugh," remarked jack, "that's one of the best stories i ever heard, and it's queer that you never told it to me before. i guess there are lots of interesting things that you have seen and know that you have never let me hear about." "maybe there are, son; but it does seem to me that i've done a heap of talking since i've known you; more maybe than i've done in a good many years before." "but where did this armor come from, hugh?" asked jack. "well, i was going to come to that. you see, after touching the cloud was killed, the pawnees captured the armor that he had, and have kept it ever since. the rest of the clothes the cheyennes had a few years ago. i don't know what has become of them. "i asked particularly where these clothes came from, and the story the cheyennes tell is something like this: a good many years ago, i don't know whether it was fifty or a hundred years, one of them mexicans that used to come up trading from the south brought this suit of clothes with him, packed in a box. after he had been trading for a while in the arapahoe and cheyenne camps, he opened the box one day and took out these iron clothes, and showed them to the indians. pretty soon there were two or three of them that came to understand that an arrow or a bullet could not go through these clothes, and then they wanted to trade for them; but the mexican let on that he didn't want to sell them, and packed them again in the box and put them away. you see, the mexican could count on getting a big price for these things, for the indian who owned them could figure on being a pretty big man. in the first place, he would be safe in going into battle; and in the second place, he could do such brave things that he'd get up an almighty big name for himself right away; and in the third place, all the tribes that he went to war against, would soon learn that he could not be hurt in battle and would think that he had some powerful medicine or helper, and so they would always run away when he was with a party that attacked them. so the possession of these iron clothes would make a man famous for bravery, and that is the thing of all others that indians are eager for. well, the upshot of it was that these indians began bidding against each other for the iron clothes; and at last an arapahoe gave the mexican three or four buffalo horses for them, and got them. after a little while, however, he found out that there were some things about the suit that made it a less desirable piece of property than he had supposed; and when a cheyenne offered him a great price for it, he sold it to him; and so it passed from hand to hand, parts of it often being worn in battle, and always, or almost always protecting the wearer from any harm. that's all i know about the iron shirt. i expect it was one of those old coats of mail which the spaniards used to wear in early days when they first came to america." hugh stopped, refilled his pipe, which had gone out while he was talking, leaned over and took up a coal out of the ashes and deftly applied it to the bowl of the pipe; and then, after getting the tobacco well alight, turned to fannin and said: "now tell us, friend, about this armor that your indians out here use." "well," said fannin, "this armor is not of white man's make. the indians fix it up themselves. they make long shirts of elk-skin, and sew into them straight pieces of wood, sometimes round, and as thick as your finger, sometimes flat and a little wider than a common lath. the elk-skin and the wood make an armor that will stop an arrow or a knife thrust. it's a pretty clumsy article of clothing, and an indian who wears one of these coats of mail can't get around very easily; but he's pretty well protected, and i guess feels a whole lot braver with such a shirt on than he would feel if he were naked." "i guess he does," said hugh. "it's curious the way they worked that thing out for themselves. now, i can remember when i first came out on the plains that sometimes the trappers, if they were in a bad place and surrounded, used to wear shirts of the skins of two black-tail deer,--one in front and one behind and tied under the arms. they said that those skins, when wet, would turn an arrow. i wonder if they got that from the indians? i wouldn't be a mite surprised. "i have heard, too," he added, "that there are some other indians that use armor of this kind; and that the pueblo indians that live down south in arizona and new mexico use a sort of basket work to protect themselves in war. somebody told me once, but i can't remember who it was, that some of the southwest people wore shirts lined with cotton that would stop an arrow; and i know for sure that some of the plains' indians wadded their shields with buffalo hair or with feathers, which also helped to stop the arrows. i expect likely there's a good deal more of this armor business than we know anything about. for all i know, maybe there have been books written about it." "well," said fannin, "we ought to get an early start to-morrow morning if we are going to go up to the head of the arm and climb the mountains. i guess we'd better turn in." "i reckon we had," said hugh; while jack said: "i'm not a bit sleepy, and i wish you'd both go ahead and tell some more indian stories." "too late now," said fannin. "i guess we'll have plenty of time for indian stories a little later;" and before long they had all turned into their blankets. chapter vii seammux in danger they were early astir the next morning. it took but a little while to get breakfast, and to load the canoes, which were soon on their way up the north arm. by noon they had reached a point at the foot of the large island near its head, above which rose the great bare peak which they had seen two or three days ago, and on which lay a large bank of snow. here they landed. they unloaded the canoes, and, taking them out of the water, carried them a little distance into the forest and covered them with branches. then the blankets and provisions were made up into back loads, and, the indians bearing most of the burdens, the party set out to climb the mountain. it was a long, steep clamber, and it was not until five and a half hours later that they reached the border of the timber, from which the unwooded summit rose still higher. seammux advised making camp on the edge of the timber, declaring that a camp-fire made higher up on the mountains, where the goats ranged and fed, would be likely to frighten them; and before camp was made and supper cooked and eaten, darkness settled down, so that there was no opportunity that night of seeing anything in the hunting grounds. the climb had been a difficult one, and especially hard on the white men, whose muscles were unused to this sort of exercise. there was no disposition for conversation, and all hands sought their blankets soon after the meal was eaten. the next morning they were up by daylight; and after breakfast, leaving the timber behind them, started toward the summit, passing up a beautiful grassy swale, toward the higher land. it was absolutely still, except for the occasional call of a gray jay in the timber or the chatter of a flock of cross-bills. just before they reached the summit a dense fog settled down over the mountains and at once cut off every distant view. the air was cool, the fog heavy and wet, and, as it was useless to travel through this obscurity, they halted and sat about waiting for the air to clear. as they sat there, impatiently hoping that the mist would clear away, suddenly out of the fog, and close by them flew two birds, which looked to jack like cedar birds, but cedar birds bigger than he had ever seen before. "bohemian waxwings," said fannin, as he grasped his shot-gun. he rose to his feet to follow them, when the older indian spoke to him warningly, and after an exchange of a few sentences fannin sat down again. "what is it, mr. fannin?" asked jack. "are you going to try to get them?" "no," said fannin; "i wanted to, but seammux here says if i fire a shot it will scare the goats, and we shall not see one to-day. i don't believe it; but on the other hand, i don't know half as much about goats as the indian does; and as we came up here to get goats, i am not going to do anything that might interfere with our getting them." "of course i don't know anything about goats," said jack; "but i've heard that they are very gentle and not easily disturbed by noise. that's what the indians have told me, but of course we can't tell how true it is." "yes," said hugh, "the blackfeet and kutenais all say that you can fire many shots at a goat; and others, not far off, within easy ear-shot of the firing, will pay no attention to the noise." "well," said fannin, "we came up here to get goats, and those are what we must try for." it was nearly noon when a light breeze began to blow, and the fog seemed to grow thinner; and a little later, without the least warning, the great bank of fog which had hung over the mountains rolled away, and the sun burst forth from a cloudless sky. they could now see that they were on the crest of a mountain ridge that separated the valley of the north arm of burrard inlet and salmon river from that of seymour creek to the west. the divide they were on was broken and uneven, made up of sharp ridges, deep ravines, and rounded, smooth and sometimes almost level stretches. everywhere on the high divide, except on the tops of the rocky ridges, the ground was covered with heather, soft and yielding under foot, yet good to walk over. as they moved along the ridge, they could see at almost every step fresh signs of goats. none were in sight, but this meant nothing; for although the country was open and the eye could cover miles of territory, in any direction, yet the ground was so broken that goats might be anywhere close to them and still be out of sight. after a little while seammux left the party and started down the side of the ridge toward seymour creek; but he had hardly gone two hundred yards when he dropped to the ground, clambered up a short distance toward them, and made signs for them to come. "there," said fannin, "seammux sees something; i hope it's in a place where we can get to it." "i hope so," said jack, "and that it's not too far down the hill. anything that we kill down there of course has got to be carried up again." "well," said hugh, "the easiest way to find out where it is, is to go down to the indian; but go carefully; this plant under foot is mighty slippery, and you don't want to fall down and break your gun or knock off the sights." they scrambled down to the indian, who, as they approached, made signs for them to be cautious. when they had reached him, he pointed to the top of the bank below him, and they advanced to look over it, supposing that they might see goats, three or four hundred yards away, that would have to be carefully stalked. but instead of that, when they peered cautiously over it, there were four of the white beasts placidly feeding on the hillside, within thirty yards of them. the curious animals stood knee-deep in the heather, and seemed to be carefully picking out certain plants which grew here and there among it. their horns were sharp, shining black, and directed a little backward; and on each chin was a beard, reminding one of that of a buffalo, and easily explaining the common name "goat" given to them. the animals seemed so unsuspicious that fannin hardly felt like firing at them; but to jack, who had never before killed a goat, no such thought occurred. he was anxious to secure his animal. there were four shots, for the young indian, sillicum, carried a musket, though seammux had none; and it was but a moment before the four goats lay stretched on the mountain side. "well," said jack, as they stood over the animals which the indians were now preparing to skin, "that is about the simplest piece of hunting that i ever did. these goats don't seem to be much more suspicious than so many buffalo." "no," said hugh, "they are certainly gentle beasts, and that's just what i've always heard about them from the indians." "well," said jack, "now that i have killed one goat, i don't feel as if i cared very much to kill any more." "no," said mr. fannin, "there's not much sport in it. you must remember that these goats are scarcely ever disturbed, for no white men ever come here to hunt; and i don't believe the indians come once in five years. it's very possible that these goats never saw a man and never heard a shot before to-day." by this time the indians had dragged three of the goats to a level spot, where they could work, and then went off to bring the fourth one. seammux had just seized it by the hind leg to pull it up to this level place, when suddenly the goat came to life, sprang to its feet, and began to run down the hill, dragging seammux after it. the indian was plucky and would not let go, and his companion hurried to his aid. the ground grew more and more steep, and presently the indian and the goat fell and began to roll over. fannin, fearing lest seammux might get a bad fall, shouted: "_kloshe nannitch_ (look out), seammux." seammux loosened his hold of the goat, and tried to stop himself by grasping at the grass and weeds; but his momentum was too great. the goat continued to roll down the hill, and disappeared from sight; and seammux, rolling after the goat, also disappeared. "i am afraid he may have had a bad fall," said fannin, as he started running down the hill toward where the indian had vanished. sillicum had seated himself on the ground at the top of the steep place, and was slowly hitching himself down toward what seemed to be the edge of a cliff. hugh and jack were close behind fannin. when they reached the top of the steep place, which was only fifteen or twenty feet high, hugh said: "hold on here; i'll anchor myself to this little tree, and reach my gun down; and you, fannin, let yourself down by it as far as you can, and reach your gun down, and jack can get to the edge. he's the lightest of the lot." "will he be sure to hold on?" inquired fannin. [illustration: seammux also rolled after the goat, and he, too, disappeared--_page _] "yes," said hugh. "don't bother about jack, he'll do it." it took but a moment for hugh to pass his arm around the tree; and, holding his rifle by the muzzle, he stretched it down the slope, and fannin quickly passed down. grasping the rifle above the stock, he reached his gun down nearly to the edge of the slope. jack quickly scrambled down beside them, and, holding on by fannin's gun, at last found himself on the edge of the sheer cliff; and looking over, he saw, but a few feet below him, caught in the top of a fir tree that grew in a crevice of the rock, seammux, looking anxiously up at him. below him there was a fall of a hundred feet or more, and on the rocks, at the bottom of the cliff, lay the carcase of the goat. "hurrah!" said jack. "hold on, seammux, we'll get you up all right!" then he called back to hugh and fannin: "he's caught in a small tree, not more than ten feet below where i am, but i can't reach him. if we get a rope we'll have him out of that in two minutes." "all right," said fannin, "that's easily done. sillicum and i will go back to the camp and fetch the guys on the tent, and any other rope that's there. it's only a little way, and we'll be back in fifteen minutes. what sort of footing have you, jack?" "perfectly good," said jack; "there's a lot of gravel and broken stone here, on which there is no danger of slipping. i could stay here for a week." "well," said hugh, "make a safe place before you let go fannin's gun; and then stop there in sight of the indian. it will make him feel easier, that way." jack stamped out a place where he could stand and even sit, and spoke a few words to seammux, though the latter, of course, did not understand what he was saying. fannin called out to the indian, in a loud voice, telling him that they were going for a rope and would soon have him out of his trouble. seammux shouted back. fannin and sillicum climbed up the steep hill; and, leaving their guns behind them, started on a trot for the camp. to those who were watching at the edge of the cliff, they seemed gone a long time, but it was really only fifteen or twenty minutes before they came back again, each carrying a coil of rope. "good!" said hugh. "i'm glad you've got back. it seemed a long time to us watching here, and a good deal longer to seammux. how much rope have you got? why, that's bully! there's forty feet in one of those coils, and as the rope is a little light, we'll just double it." he knotted one end of each coil about the little tree, to which he had been holding; and, tossing the other ends to jack, said: "now, son, double this rope and then throw it over the indian, and tell him to put it under his arms. how's the edge of that rock there? is it sharp and likely to cut the rope, or does the soil and grass overhang it?" jack knotted the rope, and called back, saying: "no, there's no sharp edge to be seen; the earth and the grass run right out to the edge of the cliff and seem to overhang a little." "very well," said hugh. "pass the rope to the indian, and then tell us when you are ready for us to begin to pull up." jack called to seammux and made a sign that he was going to throw the rope to him. then tossing it out, it passed over the indian's head and one shoulder, and was caught on one of his arms. jack motioned to seammux how to fix the rope, and he did so; and then the men above took in all the slack, so that the rope was taut. then seammux slowly and carefully began to turn around in the tough bending tree that held him, and to work in toward the face of the cliff; and the men above began slowly to haul in on the rope. there was a moment or two of anxiety, while the rope at the edge of the cliff could be seen to swing and twist a little; and then the hand and arm of the indian appeared above the cliff, and presently the head. in a moment more he lay with his breast on its edge, clutching the weeds and grass with a vise-like grasp. after a moment's rest, he wriggled on and raised himself; and, helped by the rope, in another moment he stood beside jack, unharmed, but panting hard. "now, son," said hugh, "take hold of that rope and come up here." jack did so, and was immediately followed by seammux. all climbed up to a level place and threw themselves on the ground, seammux still panting from his exertion, and the others greatly relieved that the danger was over. "well, friend," said fannin in chinook, addressing the indian, "you wanted that goat so badly, why did you go only part way with him; why didn't you keep on to the bottom?" "ha!" said seammux. "i didn't want the goat. i thought that i could keep him from having a bad fall, but i held on too long. i couldn't stop him, and when i wanted to stop myself, i couldn't do that, either." "well," said fannin, "you 're a lucky man. you must have a powerful helper who caused you to roll over the cliff just where that small tree stuck out." "you speak truth," said seammux. "i shall make a sacrifice to that person when i get back to my house." after resting a little, they climbed farther up the hill to where the three goats lay, and the indians began to skin them. they were the first goats that jack had seen, and he was much interested in examining them. he wondered at the short, sharp, shiny horns, and the short, strong legs, the great hoofs with their soft pad-like cushions on the soles; and the great dew claws, which were worn and rounded, showing that they were of use to the animal in climbing up and down the hills. hugh pointed out to him a curious gland close behind the base of the horn; and when he smelled of it, as advised to do, he was almost overpowered by the strong odor of musk that came from it. "well now, son," said hugh, "is there no animal that these goats remind you of?" "there's one," said jack, "and i thought of it when i was pulling the trigger. "they remind me a good lot of the buffalo. look at the hump on the back, the low hind quarters, the legs with the long hair down to the knees, the shaggy coat and beard. these are all things that suggest buffalo, yet i suppose this animal here is not closely related to the buffalo. in fact, i am sure they are not; because my uncle has told me that they were antelope; but i am sure they look more like buffalo than they do like the antelope we see down on the prairie." "you are right," said hugh. "they look to me a good deal more like buffalo than antelope; but then mr. sturgis has talked to me about antelope, too; and he says that this antelope that we have here on the plains, isn't a regular antelope, but is a kind of an animal by itself, that hasn't got any close relations anywhere else in the world. he says that the real antelopes are found mostly in europe and asia and africa, and that these here goats are the only regular antelope that we've got in america." "yes," said jack, "that's so; that's just what he has told me, and i expect he knows." "i reckon he does, son," said hugh. "yes," said fannin, "that's all gospel, i expect. i don't know much about these things myself, except what i've read in books, but i have read just that." by this time the indian had skinned and cut up two of the goats, and fannin said: "well, let's leave the indians here and go on a little way farther, and see what else we can find." he picked up his shot-gun and said to seammux: "carry my rifle, seammux, so that if you see any game you may have something to shoot with." then, fannin carrying the shot-gun, the three began to climb toward the summit, working along just below the ridge. they had not gone very far, when close to the top of another ridge, running out from the main divide, they discovered a large billy-goat walking along the very edge of the cliff. he was some distance from them, and though they were in plain sight and made no effort to conceal themselves, he paid no attention to them. when they had come within three or four hundred yards of him, they sat down to watch him. he was feeding along, walking slowly, and stopping now and then to nip some plant which he liked. soon he turned sharply down the almost vertical cliff, and worked along slowly and without any apparent caution, farther down, about thirty or forty yards to where grew a large broad leafed plant, which, fannin said, the indians reported to be a favorite food of the animal. here he stopped and began feeding. as they watched him, and commented on his slow and clumsy, yet absolutely confident movements, a loud hoarse call, almost like that of a raven rapidly repeated, sounded on the mountain side just above them. all turned their heads to look, and saw a flock of eight grouse standing with outstretched necks, gazing at them. "ptarmigan!" said fannin. "i must have these." loading and firing in quick succession, he shot the eight birds. "i hope they are white tails," he said. "these are the first that i have ever seen, in this part of the country;"--and he clambered up to gather his prize. "look at that goat!" cried jack; and they turned their heads to look at the animal, which was still feeding on the very edge of the cliff in the same unconcerned manner as before the shots had been fired. yet he could not have failed to hear them, for the indians, who were much farther off, afterward spoke of hearing the reports. the birds were not the white-tailed ptarmigan, as had been hoped. besides that, they were in the last stage of moult; the plumage was worn and ragged, and they were hardly fit to skin, fannin said. but it was interesting to fannin and to jack to have found them on these mountains. leaving the goat still enjoying his meal, our friends pushed on. they climbed a high peak from which the whole range was visible toward the north and the south, and far off to the south the two indians were seen apparently approaching some game. before either had fired a shot, a heavy fog obscured the whole scene; but through it, a little later, came the sound of shot after shot until nine had been counted, and hugh remarked: "sounds like a battle down there." they learned later that seammux had fired nine shots at one goat before getting it, and his expenditure of ammunition was the cause of more than one joke at his expense. by this time having had all the hunting of goats that they wanted, they decided to return to the camp. before reaching it they were joined by the two indians, each carrying on his shoulders a heavy load of goat skins and meat. they had almost reached the camp, and were resting on the top of the highest knoll above it, when seammux, whose eyes were constantly roving over the country, pointed in the direction of seymour creek and said: "i think that's a bear." in the bottom of the ravine, about three quarters of a mile from where they were, some dark objects were seen, and the glasses showed these to be a bear and three good-sized cubs. there were hills on either side of the animals, and to approach them was not difficult. yet the very easiness of the hunting took away from its pleasure. the animals were unsuspicious; the cover good; there were three good rifles. a short stalk brought the hunters close to the bears. fannin said: "jack, you kill the old one, and we'll take the cubs. i will whistle, and when she looks up, you shoot." it all happened according to schedule, and sooner than it takes to tell it the four bears lay dead. that night there was plenty of fresh meat in camp. a side of young bear ribs was roasted by hugh, somewhat as they used to roast deer or buffalo ribs on the plains, and they were pronounced excellent by all hands. there was abundant broiled goat meat, which was deemed good by the indians; but somewhat lacking in flavor by the white men. after the meal was over and the pipes were going, mr. fannin asked jack his opinion of the day's sport. "well," said jack, "there's lots of game here, it's a good hunting country, and it's full of interesting life, but the fault i have to find with it is that it's too easy to get your game. a man doesn't have to work hard enough. he's pretty sure that if he keeps his eyes open and uses ordinary precaution, he can approach close enough to these very gentle animals to get them every time. to my mind, half the fun of hunting anything is the uncertainty as to whether you are going to be successful or not. if every time you take your rifle and start out you are sure that you are going to get some game, there is no more interest in it than there is in killing a beef for food at the ranch, or in butchering hogs on a farm. take away the element of uncertainty in hunting or fishing, and you have nothing left. an indian who goes out to kill buffalo does not regard the getting of the meat as fun, but as hard work; just as you or i might feel that pitching hay or riding the range for wages was work." "that's so, son; you've figured it out just right," said hugh. "it is work. the indian gets his pay in meat and the skins. the white man gets his pay in dollars and cents, so many of them a day or a month. now, when the white man goes hunting, he does it with the idea that he is having fun, that he is doing something opposite from work; but when the indian goes hunting he knows that he is working, and working hard. i suppose, maybe, it's just the difference between being a savage and being civilized." "i agree with you, jack," said mr. fannin, "that there's no fun whatever in hunting such as we've had to-day. of course, if we were off on a trip and needed meat for food, we would be glad to kill game just for the purpose of eating it, but not for the fun of hunting. the more a man works for his game, the more difficult it is to get, the greater his satisfaction in his success. "well, to-morrow, i think, we can perhaps get down home again; and if we can, we'll start on the stage for westminster the day after, and get to victoria the following night. then we can make our start for the north." chapter viii the coast indians and their ways two days later the party was once more in victoria. the sail from new westminster to victoria had been very delightful. after the swift run down the fraser river, between high walls of evergreen with their backgrounds of distant gray mountains, the boat passed out on the broad waters of the gulf of georgia. in every direction, save to the west, the view was of mountains backed by mountains; and above and beyond them all was mount baker, raising its sharp white cone toward the heavens. to the south were the deep waters of the gulf, dancing and sparkling in the sunlight, and dotted by thousands of islands. beyond, and over them all, was seen the mainland of the united states, with ranges of snow-clad mountains, above and beyond which one would sometimes catch a glimpse of majestic ranier. after the mouth of the river had been left, fannin called his companions' attention to an interesting point. "i want you to watch the water from now on, and notice before long when the boat leaves the current of the river and enters the waters of the gulf. you see the river is constantly carrying down a lot of mud and silt which must be mighty fine; for, instead of sinking, it runs away out here into the gulf before it disappears; and before long you will see a change in the color of the water where we leave the muddy current of the fraser and pass into the clean waters of the gulf." jack and hugh were on the lookout for this, and finally the point was reached where the turbid and clear waters met. hugh said: "why, that's just the way the two streams look where the missouri runs into the mississippi. the mississippi is black and clear; and the missouri, of course, is yellow and muddy. you can see the line plain always there." "yes," said jack, "and i have heard father talk about two streams in france, i think, where you see the same thing. one of them is the rhone, but the name of the other i have forgotten." a little later the steamer plunged in among the islands. the channel followed was difficult on account of the strong tides that were constantly rushing backward and forward through the narrow passage. careful piloting is needed here, for at certain stages of the tide it is difficult even for a strong steamer to stem it; and if the vessel is not kept straight she may be whirled around, and that may be the last of her. the sail was a succession of surprises. on many of the islands were settlers; but with, often, only a house or two in sight. passing around a point, indians could be seen fishing in the troubled waters or camping upon the shore. there were birds in great multitudes; and not a few sailing craft were seen passing here and there on errands of their own. after their two or three days of hard physical effort and life in camp, the dinner at the driard house tasted very good. the next morning they started out to study the matter of transportation to the north. mr. mactavish and fannin both said that if a small steamer or launch could be hired it would enable them to go a great deal farther, and see things much more easily, at only a slight added expense. some days, therefore, were spent in searching the wharves of the town and in excursions to other places in trying to secure what they wanted, but without success. there were several small launches, exactly suited to their purposes, but all these had been engaged for the salmon fishing on the fraser. the run of fish was likely to begin in a short time. that year it was expected to be very heavy, and all the canneries were making great preparations for the catch. there seemed no way to get steam transportation. failing this, the next best thing was to take a canoe and proceed by that slow means of conveyance as far north as time would permit. fannin, whose experience made him a good judge of what should be done, recommended that they take the steamer to nanaimo, distant from victoria about seventy miles. near that town there was an indian village, where canoes and help could be had, and from where a start could be made. when this plan had been discussed and agreed on, it remained only to get together a mess kit, hire a cook, and take the steamer. a whole day was spent in this work. the cook engaged was a virginian, known as "arizona charley," a man whose wanderings, including almost all of the united states, had at last brought him to victoria. he proved an excellent man, faithful and willing; and--unlike most cooks--unusually good-natured. as soon as he was engaged the party transported their blankets, arms, and mess kit to the wharf; and early the next morning they were ploughing the gulf toward the north. [illustration: here they wear white men's clothes, including shoes and hats--_page _] on this voyage, although so short, jack saw much that was new to him. as the vessel moved out from the wharf he was leaning on the rail with fannin, looking down on the passengers who occupied the lower deck. "it's hard for me to believe, mr. fannin," he said, "that these are indians; they do not look much more like the indians of the plains and the mountains than a chinaman does. there the men all wear robes or blankets. here they all wear white men's clothes, including shoes and hats. they seem civilized, quite as much as the italian laborers that we are beginning to see so many of in the east." "yes," said fannin, "they've changed greatly since i came into the country, and changed for the better. they're a pretty important element nowadays in the laboring population of the country; and for certain kinds of labor they are well fitted. they make good deck-hands, longshoremen, and fishermen; and many of them work in the lumber mills and canneries. they're very strong and are able to carry loads that a white man couldn't stagger under. many of them work regularly and lay up money." "i should think from what i have seen, and am seeing, that their natural way of getting around is in canoes. they must be skilful canoemen, aren't they?" asked jack. "a day or two ago i saw some little children not more than three or four years old, paddling with the older people, and apparently doing it not in fun, but really to help." "well," said fannin, "they learn to paddle before they learn to walk. i suppose it's because they see their parents do it. it's been my experience that the games of most children imitate the serious pursuits of their parents." "i'm sure that's so," said hugh. "among the indians i've seen it, i reckon, a thousand times. the little boys pretend to hunt, just as their fathers do; and the little girls pretend to pack wood and water, just like their mothers. i've seen a woman trudging down the creek with a back-load of wood that you'd think would break a horse's back; and following her would be a little girl hardly big enough to walk, having her rope over her back, and tied up in it a bundle of twigs. she walked along, imitating the gait of her mother, and when she got to the lodge threw down her load just as she saw her mother throw down hers." "well, anyhow," said fannin, "you can see that these children, doing this sort of work from babyhood until they're grown up, would get to be mighty skilful at it; and you can understand how they can work at it, just as you and hugh here can get on your horses in the morning and ride until dark; while, if i did that, in the first place, i'd have to be tied on the horse; and in the second place, i would not be able to walk for a week afterward. but there's no mistake about it, these siwashes are good watermen." "that's a word i've heard three or four times, mr. fannin," said jack, "and i'd like you to tell me what it is--what it means--siwash." "well, it means an indian," said fannin. "it's a chinook jargon word, and yet it don't exactly mean an indian either. it means a male indian. an indian woman is a klootchman." "klootchman!" said jack. "that sounds dutch." "well," said fannin, "i don't know what language it is. you know this chinook jargon is a language made up of words taken from many tongues. it's called chinook; but i don't feel sure that the words in it are mostly from the chinook language. i guess siwash, for example, is a french word--probably it was originally _sauvage_, meaning savage. there are lots of french words in the chinook jargon, though i can't think of them at the present moment. one of them, though, is _lecou_, meaning neck; and another is _lahache_, an axe. these are plain enough; but a good many of the words are taken from different indian languages, and are just hitched together without any grammar at all. it's a sort of a trade language; a good deal, i expect, like the pigeon english that the coast chinese are said to use in communicating with white men." "i suppose," said jack, "that the siwashes are mainly fishermen, are they not? about all i've seen have been on the water paddling around in their canoes, and whenever we've seen them doing anything, except paddling, they have been fishing." "yes," said fannin, "you're right about that; they are fishermen, or at least they derive the most of their subsistence from the water. of course they depend chiefly upon the salmon, which they eat fresh, and dry for winter food; for the salmon are here only in summer. the indians do some land hunting. they kill a good many deer, and some mountain goats, but their chief dependence for food is the salt-water fish. when the salmon begin to run in june or july, and before they have got into the fresh water streams, the indians catch them in numbers with a trolling spoon. of course the indians do considerable water hunting; that is to say, they kill seals, and porpoises, and now and then a whale; but what they depend on is fishing." "it means," said jack, "that to these indians the salmon are what the buffalo is to the indians of the plains." "yes," said fannin, "that's about it," and hugh added: "the canoe here is about the same as the horse back where we live." "just about," agreed fannin. "well," said hugh, "that's all mighty curious, and i'm mighty glad i've come out here to see it all. i never thought about it much before, but i always had an idea that all indians were about the same as those i knew most about; and that they lived about the same sort of lives. of course i can see now just what a fool notion that was to have, but i did not see it then." "but, mr. fannin," said jack, "these indians must have a lot of money. they are all provided with ordinary clothing, which they must buy; and they're pretty well fixed apparently, with everything that they need. where do they get this money? do all of them work, and get so much a day?" "no," said fannin, "not by a jugful. some of them work, and work pretty steadily; a good many work, and after they have been at it for a week or a month, they get tired of it, throw up their jobs and go off in their canoes. they do considerable trading with the whites, however. they gather a great deal of oil, and this is one of the main articles of trade. you saw over on burrard inlet a whole lot of dog-fish. well, the indians catch lots of these, and take the liver and throw the carcase overboard. the liver is full of oil, which brings a pretty fair price. they also kill lots of porpoises, and porpoise oil is salable. then, they make a great many baskets; mighty good ones too, they seem to be. some of them are water-tight, perfectly good for cooking, or for water buckets. they also make mats, both of reeds and of the bark of the cedar, and these are useful and sell well." "well," said jack, "how do they live? we've seen some tents on the beaches, but i suppose that in the winter time they must have something more substantial to live in than these tents." "yes," said fannin, "of course they do. though you must not think that the winters here are like the winters we have back east. it's pretty warm here, and we have little or no snow until you get back in among the mountains. the siwashes along the coast live in wooden houses. we'll see a lot of them before long, and then you'll know that they are better than i can tell you. they are made of big planks split off the cedar, and roofed with the same. all around the house, near to the walls, a platform is built, on which the people sit and sleep. in the middle of the house the ground is bare; and it is there that the fire is built for cooking and for warmth. there may be a number of families living in one of these houses, each family having its sleeping place--its room you might call it--but all of them cooking at and sitting about the common fire. the roof planks do not quite come together at the peak of the house and the smoke of the fire goes out through the hole. sometimes the roof beams and the posts which hold up the roof in front and behind are carved and painted. "close to some of the houses stand tall carved poles, called totem poles. one may be carved with a representation of a bear, a beaver, a frog, and an eagle, each animal resting on the head of the one carved below it on the pole. they are queer things to see, and if you will be patient for a few days we'll see them; and maybe we'll get some indians to explain them to us. they have something to do with the family history, and some people say that each of these animals that is carved on the pole represents an ancestor or ancestors of the man before whose house the pole stands." "well," said jack, "i'd like to see them. but from what you say, and from what i have seen, the indians must be mighty good carvers. the canoes that we've seen had queer figures on them, and mr. mactavish had some beautiful pieces of carving in black slate that he said came from queen charlotte islands; but i've forgotten what indians carved them." "oh, yes," said mr. fannin, "that is haida work. all the indians north from victoria are good at carving. of course the animals and figures that they represent do not agree with our ideas of how these things should be represented. most of the figures are grotesque, but they show fine workmanship; and if you give any of these indians a model to copy he will follow it very closely. up in the north they will hammer a bracelet or a spoon for you from a silver dollar; and they will put on it pretty much any design that you may give them." [illustration: close to some of the houses stand tall carved poles, called totem poles--_page _] "i see," said jack, "that all their canoes are carved in front; and the prows remind one a little bit of the pictures of the old viking ships; and then, again, of the still older boats that the romans had, only, of course, they were all rowed with oars, while the indians use paddles." "yes," said fannin, "these canoes that we have here are not like any that i know of anywhere else in the world. they're all made out of a single stick of wood and are of all sizes. there's one up at the bella-bella village, north of here, that's said to be the biggest boat on the coast. it's one of the old war canoes, is eighty feet long, and so deep that a man standing in it can't be seen by one standing on the ground by its side. such a canoe as that could only be made in the country where the white cedar grows, a wood that is light, easily worked and very durable. it's one of our biggest trees and sometimes grows to a height of three hundred feet, and runs up to ten, eleven, or twelve feet thick at the butt." "well," said jack, "with a tree of size to work on i can easily see how a canoe even as big as the one you speak of might be made; but what an awful long time it must take to whittle it out! i should think that the generation that began such a boat could not hope to see it finished." "well," said fannin, "it's not quite as bad as that, but it is slow work; and that is not surprising when you think that they have no tools to work with except the most primitive ones. after the cedar stick has been felled, and it has been found that no harm came to it in its fall, they go to work and shape the stick as well as they can with their axes, and then hollow it out by fire. in other words, they build a fire on the top and allow it to burn just so far in any direction, and so deep. after they have used the fire as far as they can to advantage, they take a little chipping tool, made of a blade of steel attached to a wooden handle, and chip the wood off in little flakes or slivers, reducing the whole to a proper thickness, say an inch or an inch and a half for a canoe thirty feet long. they have no models, and the eye is their only guide in shaping the canoes; but the lines are always correct, and as graceful as could be made by the most expert boat-builder. when they have shaped the canoe, its gunwales are slightly sprung apart so as to give some flare to the sides, and are held in position by narrow braces of timber stretching across the canoe and sewed to it by cedar twigs. they steam these twigs in the hot ashes so that they become pliable, and can be easily used for this sewing." "this cedar must be as useful to these indians as buffalo hides are to the plains' indians," said jack. "you pointed out to me some mats made of cedar bark, some hats and some rope, all of the same material. now you tell me that the canoes are made of cedar and sewed together with cedar twigs." "yes," replied fannin, "the cedar does a great deal for these people. i told you, too, that they built their houses of it." "there are two different types of canoes on this coast," he continued, "one belonging to the south and having a square stern and a bottom that is almost flat, and the northern canoe, which has a round bottom and an overhanging stern. the big canoe that i told you about at bella-bella is a northern canoe. in old times these big canoes were used by the northern indians on their war journeys against their enemies to the south. they would come down, perhaps seventy or eighty men in a canoe, attack a village, plunder it, capture a lot of the people for slaves, and then take to their canoes again, paddling back to their homes. these northern indians were great hands to go off on war parties. they were a good deal more warlike than these people down here." "this cedar that you talk about," asked hugh. "is there much of it to be had? i haven't seen anything yet that looked like the cedar that we see back east." "no," said fannin, "what you're thinking of is the red cedar, in some of its forms, i guess--the juniper. this is the white cedar, and looks as much as anything like a small tree that folks use for hedges back east, and call arbor vitæ; only i never saw any of those arbor vitæs grow anything near as big as the smallest of these cedars here. like the eastern cedar, however, this white cedar is very durable. i remember seeing in the woods once a fallen log, on which was growing a douglas fir two and a half feet in diameter. the seed of the fir had fallen on the log and sprouted, and, as the fir grew, it sent down its roots to the ground on either side of the cedar log, so that at last it straddled it. the fir was about two and a half feet in diameter, and so it had been growing there a great many years, but the fallen cedar log was to all appearance as sound as if it had not been lying there a year. the cedar log was covered with moss and most of its limbs had rotted off, but when i scraped away the moss and sounded the stick and cut into it, i could not see that it was at all decayed." "well, mr. fannin," asked jack, "how do they mend these canoes when they break them? of course they must be running onto the bars and onto the rocks all the time, and if a hole is punched in a solid wooden bottom like this it's hard to mend it again." "that's true," said fannin, "and they don't mean to let the canoe grate on rocks or get rubbed on the gravel beach if they can help it. notwithstanding its durability, cedar wood splits very easily. therefore the indians take the greatest care of their canoes, not bringing them up on the shore where they are likely to be worn or rubbed, but always anchoring them out in deep water; or else, if they bring them to shore, lifting them out of the water and sliding them along the bottom planks--that almost every canoe has two pair of--above the reach of the tide. although it is so durable, the cedar wood splits on the smallest provocation; and once or twice i have seen a canoe that touched roughly on the rocks, or was carelessly knocked against the beach, split in two and the two halves fall apart. of course in such a case it was pretty hard work to mend the canoe." "i should say it would be," remarked jack, "and i don't know how they would do it." "i'll tell you. they carry the loads up on the high ground to dry, and then they take the canoe, fit the two pieces together until no light can be seen through the crack, and then they sew them together with cedar twigs and plaster the crack over with gum. i've seen a vessel mended in that way, make a long cruise, but i confess i should not want to make a very long journey in a boat patched up like that." "i don't think i would either," said jack. "i shouldn't think it would be very safe." "mr. fannin," said jack, after a pause, "i suppose when we get started we'll have to paddle all the way?" "yes," said fannin, "you're likely to. of course, if the wind is fair these canoes can sail. there's almost always a chock in the bottom well forward in which a mast can be stepped, and when the wind is fair a sail is put up or a blanket is used. that helps along amazingly." "i'm glad that you've told me all this, for now when i talk with people up here on the coast they'll see that i know a little something and am not purely a pilgrim." chapter ix preparation for the voyage while jack and mr. fannin had been talking the vessel had been moving rapidly northward. the passengers were a mixed lot. on the upper deck were english, scotch, french, and americans, while on the lower were chinamen, a negro or two, and indians. many of these had considerable bundles of baggage; and with the indians were their women, their children, and their dogs. the rounded islands that rose everywhere from the water showed gray rocky slopes, the yellow of ripened grass, and here and there clumps of evergreen trees. the scene was a lovely one. "mr. fannin," said hugh, "i wish you'd tell me what's that plant that i see everywhere growing in the water. i suppose, maybe, it's a kind of seaweed, but it's bigger than any seaweed that i ever heard tell of, and there's worlds and worlds of it. the other day on the beach i picked up some of its leaves, if that's what they are, and i found them wonderfully tough. i found i couldn't break them apart with my hands, yet they seemed soft and full of water." "that's what we call kelp," said mr. fannin, "it grows in deep water, and its roots are attached to rocks or to stones or even to the sand at the bottom, and the stalk may be thirty or forty feet long. down in the deep water the stem is very slender, often scarcely as thick as a quill, but it increases by a gradual taper, until near the top it's nearly as thick as a man's wrist. at the end of the stem or stalk is a globular swelling which varies in size, but may be as big as a baseball. from the top of this swelling point, opposite to where it's attached to the stem, grows a bundle of a dozen or twenty ribbon-like leaves, each from one to six inches wide and from four to six feet long, and fluted or crimped along its edge for the whole length. the plant is brown in color throughout. responding, as it does, constantly to the motion of the water, it sometimes seems almost alive. it's a queer plant. sometimes it's a great hindrance to the man who is travelling and sometimes a great help to him." "i don't quite understand that," said jack. "i can see that it might be hard work to get through a bed of the kelp like that one over there that we are just passing, but how should it help a man?" "why," said fannin, "the stalks are very strong, and i've seen a large canoe held at anchor by a single stalk of the kelp. then, too, a big bed of the kelp is a great break to the sea. the waves can't break over a bed of kelp; and i have known of a case when a sudden squall got up, where a canoe, unable to reach shore or to get any other lee, would lie behind a kelp bed and hold onto the stalks until the squall was past." "do the indians make any use of the kelp?" asked jack. "yes," replied mr. fannin. "a number of the indians along the coast select the most slender stems, knot them together, and make fishing lines for the deep-sea fishing, on which they catch halibut sometimes weighing two hundred pounds. these stems are tremendously tough, and they almost never wear out. a man may coil up one of these long lines and hang it in his house for six months, and then, if he takes it down and soaks it in water over night, in the morning it will be pliable and perfectly fit to use." hugh had been listening to the conversation, but not taking any part in it; but now he pointed off over the kelp bed and said: "look there! see those birds walking around on the weed. i reckon they are cranes of some sort or other." fannin looked at them through his glasses and said, "yes, that's just what they are. two of those birds are great blue herons, and the others are large birds, but i can't tell just what they are. that's another thing that the kelp is useful for. you see the plants grow in thick beds, and the stems are continually moving in the current, and after a while they get tangled and twisted up so that it's impossible to force them apart. in that case it's useless to try to force a canoe through them. then, lying there so long as they do, and keeping the water quiet, a great deal of life is attracted to these beds. there are many fish that live near the surface, and in the warm waters there are crabs that live among the stems and sometimes crawl out on them and rest in the sunshine. there are many shells. all this smaller life entices the larger life, so that gulls and ducks and sandpipers are often seen walking along or resting on the kelp. it is just one of those things that we see often, where a lot of specially favorable conditions will attract the animals that are to be favored by these conditions." "well," said hugh, "i can't get over wondering at all these things i am seeing. this here is a new world to me, as different as can be from what i've been used to all my life; and i expect, come to think about it, that all over the world there are many such other strange bits of country that would astonish me, just as much as this does, and maybe would astonish you all, just as much as this does me." "yes," said fannin, "i guess that's about so." as they had been talking, the steamer had been winding in and out among the islands, stopping occasionally at some little settlement, and now and then slowing to take on goods or passengers, brought off in boats or canoes from some little house that stood on one of the yellow hillsides, half hidden among the trees. there were many settlers on these islands. most of them were engaged in stock raising. some of the islands had been turned into sheep ranges, and the settlers that had gone into this business were said by mr. fannin to have done well. certainly there was here no winter which could by any chance kill the sheep, while food was abundant. as the boat proceeded the settlements became fewer and fewer, until at last most of the island seemed unoccupied. all three of the travellers kept watching the open hillsides in the hope that some game might be seen, but none showed itself. "i suppose," said jack, "that there are some deer on these islands, are there not?" "yes," replied fannin, "on almost all the larger islands that are not thickly settled there are a good many deer; and when the settlements get to be too thick they can always start off and swim to another island and try that for a while, and, if they don't like that, pass to another." "what sort of deer are these?" asked jack. "are they like the one we killed at new westminster?" "yes," said fannin, "they are just like that; and i suppose they are the regular black-tail deer; not the big fellow that you have out on the plains, which, i understand, is properly called the mule deer. this is the only kind found along this north coast, as far as i know, until you get up far to the north and strike the moose. down on the islands of the strait of fuca, especially on whidby island, they have the virginia deer and plenty of them. but north of that i don't think they are found." it was noon when they passed gabriola island, where they had heard there lived a man who owned a launch. they landed here, hoping that possibly they might be able to engage this for their trip, but soon discovered that the boat had not been inspected for a year, and therefore could not be hired, unless the party was prepared to be stopped at any minute by some government official and ordered back to its starting point. about four o'clock in the afternoon they reached nanaimo, and fannin, hugh, and jack at once set out for the indian village, where it was believed a canoe could be had. the brisk walk through the quiet forest was pleasant, and the indian village of half a dozen great square plank houses interesting. after some inquiry fannin and a big indian drew off to one side and held a long and animated conversation in chinook, which, of course, was unintelligible to the other two. at length, however, fannin announced that he was prepared to close a bargain with the indian, by which a canoe, large enough to carry the whole party and their baggage, including the necessary paddles and a bowman and steersman, could be hired for a certain price per day, for as long a time as they desired. after a short consultation it was agreed that if the canoe proved satisfactory it should be engaged, and a start made the next morning. the whole party adjourned to the water's edge, where, drawn up on the beach were a number of canoes, all of them covered with boards, mats, and boughs, to protect them from the sun and rain. the canoe in question seemed satisfactory, and, the bargain having been closed, the indians promised solemnly that they would have the canoe at the wharf at six o'clock the next morning, so that an early start could be made. returning to town, the stores were visited and a number of necessary articles purchased. the party was already well armed, having three rifles, a shot-gun, and several revolvers; but a mess kit had to be bought, a keg for water, all the provisions needed, a tent of some kind, some mosquito net, rope, fine copper wire, saddler's silk or waxed thread, packages of tobacco, fishing tackle, and many small articles which do not take up much room, but which, under special circumstances, may add much to one's comfort. each of the party also provided himself here with a set of oil-skin clothing. they knew that they were going into a country where much rain falls, and wished to provide against that. after all their purchases had been made and they had seen them transported to the hotel close to the water's edge, where they were to pass the night, they started out to learn what they could about the town. the sole industry of nanaimo at that time was coal mining. here were great shafts and inclines, worked day and night by a great multitude of miners. many of them were canadians, but many, also, were quite newly arrived emigrants from the old world,--scotch, irish, and welsh. the coal--a good lignite--was in considerable demand along the coast, and it was even said that it was to be imported to puget sound points to supply newly built railroads there. the inhabitants of nanaimo, and indeed those of vancouver island, had talked much about a proposed railroad that had been partially surveyed from victoria up through the middle of the island to nanaimo. such a railroad, it was generally thought, would be an enormous benefit to the whole island. nanaimo was not an attractive place. the coal-dust with which it was everywhere powdered, together with the black smoke sent forth by the chimneys, gave the place an appearance of griminess which seemed to characterize most coal-mining towns. just why towns devoted to coal and iron mining always used to look so shabby and forlorn and discouraged, it would be hard to say; but most people familiar with such settlements in old times will agree that this was usually the case. it may have been that the laborers and their families were obliged to work so hard that they had neither time nor inclination to devote to adorning, even by simple and inexpensive methods, their dwellings or surroundings; or it may have been that their work in the mines was so fatiguing that it rendered them blind to the town's unattractiveness. even then great quantities of coal were mined at nanaimo. but as there were no railroads on vancouver island the coal was transported to its destination wholly by water. the coal deposits were vast, and people believed that in the future this would be a great mining town, and might yet be like some of the great mining centres of great britain. that night, after supper, as they were lounging about the office of the hotel, jack said to mr. fannin: "you have told me a lot about the canoeing and canoes of these indians, mr. fannin, but i don't think that you have spoken to me about the way they keep their canoes on the beach. those we saw this afternoon were all covered with mats and blankets, and i can understand how it might be necessary to keep them protected from the weather in that way if they were laid up for a long time; but, as i understand it, the canoes that we saw were being used every day." "that is true," said mr. fannin; "they are in use all the time, but, nevertheless, indians take the greatest precaution to protect them from the weather. it is easy enough to see why this is, if you consider that the making of a canoe is tremendously laborious, and at best takes many months. now, as i have already told you, the cedar of which they are made splits very easily indeed, and it might well enough be that exposure to the hot sun for a day or two would start a crack which would constantly grow larger, and ultimately weaken the canoe so that it could not be used. the indians are far-sighted enough to do everything in their power to protect their canoes. these coast indians take a great deal better care of their canoes than they do of any other property that they possess. as i have told you, they are all sea travellers, and their very existence depends on the possession of some means of getting about over the water. i do not know anything about it personally, but i understand that the aleuts of alaska, and the eskimo too, are just as careful about their boats as these indians are. of course it is natural." "of course it is," said hugh, "and you probably will see the same thing in any class of men. look at the way our plains' indians take care of their war horses and their arms and war clothes. those are the things on which they depend for food and for protection from their enemy; and they cannot afford to take any chances about them. of course their war clothes often have something of a sacred character; but you will find that if it comes to a pinch an indian will stick to his fastest running horse and his arms, and will let his war clothing go." "well," said fannin, "all this is just saying that indians are human beings like the rest of us." they went to bed pretty early that night, and fannin had them astir before the day had broken the next morning. on going down to the wharf they found the canoe there, just off the shore, and the two indians sitting in it, holding the craft in its place by an occasional paddle stroke. it took the men but a short time to bring down all their baggage, provisions, and mess kit to the canoe and stow the load. after a hasty meal at the hotel all stepped aboard and took their various stations. jack had been surprised to see how large a pile their baggage made before they begun to stow it; and after the canoe had been loaded, he wondered where they had packed it all. chapter x the start the sun was not very high when they pushed off. the wind blew in gusts from the southeast and the sky was obscured by a loose bank of clouds which occasionally gave down a little rain. the bow paddle was wielded by a gigantic indian, known as hamset; while in the stern, occupying the position of steersman, sat a much smaller man, whose unpronounceable ucletah name had been shortened for convenience to "jimmie." between the bow and the stern, seated on rolls of blankets, were the four whites--first, fannin, then charlie, the cook, then hugh, and last of all jack. each was provided with a paddle, and they worked two on each side of the canoe. the provisions were stored in one box, the mess kit in another, and the rolls of blankets were placed in the bottom of the canoe so as to trim it properly. the canoe was quite dry, and loose boards on the bottom would keep the cargo from getting wet, even if a little water were shipped. the breeze which was now blowing was a favorable one; and they had hardly started before it began to rain steadily and to threaten a wet, boisterous day. fannin was in great spirits at this prospect; for he, better than any one else, knew what a few days of favoring winds would accomplish toward hastening them along on their voyage. as the rain fell harder mats and rubber blankets were spread over the guns and bedding. the sail was hoisted, and all hands except the steersman took in their paddles and sat back with a satisfied air, as if they had nothing to do except to watch the breeze blowing and the land moving by them. farther to the southward there had been many islands, which would have cut off the breeze; but here the open waters of the gulf stretched away to windward for twenty or thirty miles, and there was nothing to break the force of the breeze. as they advanced various islands appeared, texada showing a high peak above the fog; and then other smaller islands,--denman and hornby. the wind kept blowing harder and harder, until at noon quite a sea was running, and the waves began to break over the sides of the vessel, necessitating bailing. the canoe was heavily loaded and set rather low in the water, cutting through the waves instead of riding over them as it should have done. this pleasant condition of things lasted for some time, but about two o'clock the sky cleared, the wind fell, and it was necessary to take to the paddles once more, for now the sail flapped idly against the mast and the canoe began to float back toward nanaimo--the tide having turned. the sea became as smooth as glass, the sun glared down from the unclouded sky with summery fierceness, and after a little while the travellers realized that the canoe trip might mean a lot of hard work. more than that, the canoe seemed to be anchored to the bottom, and, so far as could be judged from occasional glances toward the distant shore, did not move at all. the work became harder and harder, and hugh and jack at last realized that here was a struggle between the paddles and the tide, with the chances rather in favor of the tide. this, of course, meant that they must work harder. coats were stripped off, the crew bent to their work, and at last found that the craft did move, although very, very slowly. after a half hour's hard paddling jack said to hugh: "i tell you, hugh, watching that shore is like watching the hands of a watch. if you look at the shore you would think that we were perfectly motionless. it's only when you take some object on the beach and notice its position, and then, five or ten minutes later, look at it again that you find that our position has changed with relation to it, and that it is farther behind than it was when you last saw it." "yes," said fannin, "i've done lots of canoeing in my time, but i guess i shall learn something on this trip as well as the rest of you. we're pretty heavily loaded, and if we have head winds and tides much of the time we'll have to put in about all the hours every day working at these paddles. besides that, we've got to figure on being wind-bound for a certain number of days, and, taking it all in all, we can't hope to go very far. nevertheless, we can go far enough to see a good deal." the progress of the canoe was made more slow by the fact that its track skirted the shore, following quite closely all its windings, and hardly ever cutting across the bays, large or small, that indented the island. jack asked fannin why the indians did not go across from one headland to another, thus saving much paddling; and fannin explained that this was done partly to avoid the force of the tide, and partly from the habitual caution of the east coast indians. "on the waters of the gulf," said mr. fannin, "gales often spring up without giving much warning, and quite a heavy sea may follow the wind almost at once. these canoes, especially when heavily loaded, as ours is, cannot stand much battering by the waves." as the sun sank low, after a long spell of paddling, the bow of the canoe was turned into the mouth of qualicum river; and a little later, when close to the shore, the vessel was turned bow out and the stern pushed shoreward, till it grated gently on the pebbly beach. all hands at once sprang out, and it was a relief to get on firm ground again and to stretch the limbs, contracted by nearly twelve hours of sitting in one position. now the rolls of blankets were tossed on the beach, the provision box and mess kit and other property were unloaded and carried up to the meadow above. in a few moments a fire had been kindled, and preparations for the evening meal were begun. now, jack and fannin began putting together their fishing rods; hugh took his rifle and looked it over, wiping off the moisture that had accumulated on it, and got out some ammunition. the party wanted fresh meat and was going to try hard to get it. meantime the indians had taken out the boards from the canoe, placed them on the beach, and were sliding the vessel up, far above high-water mark. before jack had made many casts he had a rise or two, and he was doing his best to hook a fish when charlie's shout of "dinner" caused them all to lay aside their tools and repair to the fire for supper. it was a simple meal of bacon, bread, and coffee; but the work of the day had given all hearty appetites and they enjoyed it. then, a little later, jack went back to his fishing, and fannin, hugh, and hamset put off in the canoe and disappeared behind a bend of the river. being unable to do anything with the fish, which were now jumping everywhere at the mouth of the river, jack worked along up the stream, and around the next point was more successful. a fish rose to his flies and was hooked, and, after a brief struggle, was dragged up on the beach. it was a beautiful trout, only weighing half a pound, to be sure, but none the worse on that account, if regarded simply from the point of view of so much food. encouraged by this success, jack fished faithfully and carefully, and before long had killed half a dozen others, all about the same size as the first. most of these were taken in more or less shallow water near the beach, but at length he came to a place where an eddy of the stream had dug out a big hole not far from the edge of the bank, and casting over this two or three times, he had a rise which almost made his heart stop beating. the fish missed the fly, but rose again to another cast, and this time was hooked on a brown hackle. and then for a little while jack had the time of his life. the fish was far too strong for him to handle, and for a little time kept him running up and down the beach, following its powerful rushes, taking in line whenever he could, and yielding it when he must. once or twice the rush of the fish was so prolonged that almost all the line went off the spool, and he even ran into the river up to his knees in the effort to save some of his line. at last, however, the runs grew shorter, and the fish yielded and swayed over on its side and was towed up to the beach. but as soon as it saw jack it seemed to regain all its vigor, and darted away with a powerful rush. this was its last effort. gradually jack drew it into water which was more and more shallow, and finally up, so that its head rested on the beach. then seizing the leader he dragged it well in, and in a moment he had it in his hands. it was a beautiful and very powerful fish, and must have weighed between four and five pounds. a little later another fish was taken, not quite so large, to be sure, but big enough to give the angler a splendid fight; and then, as the sun had disappeared behind the forest, jack strung his trout on a willow twig and made his way back to camp. charlie received him with delight. "well," he said, "you're the kind of a man i like to be out with--somebody that can go out and get food to eat. i bet them other fellows won't bring in anything; but we've got enough here nearly for breakfast and dinner to-morrow. i wish if you have time you'd go out to-morrow morning and catch some more." "i'd like to," said jack. "those two big fellows over there gave me as much fun as i ever had in my life." "well," said charlie, "you'll have better fun than that to-morrow morning when you're eating that fish." "no," said jack, "i don't believe it. i think that i would rather have the fun of catching those two fish than eating the best meal that was ever cooked." from the camp jack wandered away along the beach and over the meadows back toward the forest that came down from the higher land. here he saw that this must be quite a camping place for indians, and that some had been there within a few days. there were the remains of recent fires, tent poles that had been cut only a few days before; and some little way back from the beach, and hardly to be seen among the timber, was an indian house in which jack discovered four canoes. when he returned to camp, charlie said: "i heard them fellows shooting, but i reckon they didn't get nothing; maybe a duck or two, but nothing fit to eat, like them fish you brought in." "yes," said jack, "i heard the shot, but it was from the shot-gun, not from a rifle." in the meantime the party in the canoe had pushed its way quite a long distance up the river. there was a possibility that a deer might be seen along the bank, or a brood of ducks feeding in the shallow water, and rifles and shot-gun were ready to secure anything that might make its appearance. for a long way the canoe advanced through the dense forest without much difficulty. then it came to a series of shallow rapids, up which so large a craft could not be taken. the canoe was then drawn as near the bank as possible. the indian carried the two white men ashore on his shoulders, and all three followed up the stream through the now darkening woods. they found many old tracks of deer, and from time to time passed the fresher slide of an otter; but no game was seen. as the light grew more and more dim, they faced about, went back to the canoe, and turned its nose down the stream. as the vessel swept noiselessly along the swift current, two or three broods of ducks were surprised by its sudden approach from behind the bend. on the upward journey the birds, warned by the noise of the paddles, had seen the craft before it was near them, and had crept ashore and hidden themselves in the grass. but now there was not time for this. a flock of mallards, startled from the water, sprang away in flight, and two of them were stopped by fannin, and fell back into the stream, to be picked up by hamset as the canoe swept by. it was only gray light next morning when all hands were astir. while the breakfast was being cooked bundles of bedding were rolled up and transported to the shore; and as soon as breakfast was over and the dishes washed, the canoe was pushed off and loaded; the paddlers took their places, and they set out again at just six o'clock by mr. fannin's watch. the day was bright and pleasant, with light airs from half a dozen quarters, but no breeze strong enough to justify the setting of the sail. just after they had pushed out of the mouth of the river, jack called fannin's attention to a flock of birds sitting on the water; and they were presently made out to be scoter ducks, of two kinds. there was an enormous multitude of them, and almost all seemed to be males. when too closely approached, fifty or five hundred of them would rise on the wing, swing out over their fellows, and then alight on the outside of the flock. "where in the world do all those birds come from, mr. fannin?" asked jack. "these are the birds that we call coots down on the atlantic coast; but i don't think at any one time i ever saw so many of them as we see this morning." "i don't know just what they're doing here," said fannin. "but, as nearly as i can see with my glasses, they seem to be all males; and i shouldn't be a bit surprised if the females were all ashore, at little springs or lakes, raising their broods. pretty soon these birds will begin to moult, and then the indians will try to get around them and drive them ashore and kill them. but this is a method that seldom succeeds with these birds. if they see that they are going to be forced on the shore they will dive and swim back under the boat." "that's pretty smart," said jack. "i have heard of the loons doing something like that, but i didn't suppose a coot had sense enough for that." "yes," said fannin, "that's what they're said to do." as they paddled along the head of a seal appeared above the water, close to them, and after watching them for a moment or two sank back out of sight. "son, why don't you try one of those fellows with your rifle," suggested hugh. "it looks as if there were time enough to draw a bead on one and kill it. i hear these indians eat that sort of meat; and i suppose what they can do we can too, if we get a chance." jack pulled his gun out of its case, put a couple of cartridges in his vest pocket, and declared he would try the seals the next time one gave him a chance. he did so, but the animals kept their heads above water so short a time that he was unable to get a satisfactory sight on one, and did not fire. "well," said hugh, "these fellows are pretty watchful and pretty quick; and as you don't know when they're coming up, it's a pretty hard matter to shoot at them." "so it is," said fannin, "and yet i think if one had practice enough they would be easy to kill. certainly the indians here, and still more to the north, get a great many of them, shooting them and then paddling quickly up and putting a spear in them before they sink. these little seals that we see are, of course, nothing but the common harbor seal; but when the big fur-seal herds pass up the coast the indians get a good many of them in that way, though many are killed by paddling up close to them when they are asleep on the water and spearing them. a long line is attached to the lance, the head of which is barbed, so that it will not draw out; and at length they pull the seal up close to the canoe and kill it, either with a club or by spearing it again. seal meat and seal oil are pretty important parts of the native food supply on this coast; but more so to the north than down here, where the food is more varied." "well," said hugh, "we've surely got to get some fresh meat of one kind or other, on this trip; if we don't, our grub will give out, and we'll have to travel back to the settlement hungry. there seems to be a world of food lying around,--deer, and fish, and seals, and all that. you see, fannin, jack and i are prairie men, and don't know how to earn a living on this water. if we were travelling back on the plains, or in the mountains, we'd think it mighty queer if we couldn't keep the camp in meat; but here we don't know how to go to work to do it. don't either of these indians understand how to catch these fish or to kill these animals?" "i expect the indians do," said fannin, "but i don't, for i never have had occasion to live in the country along the shore here. i'm something like you, a mountain hunter. but we ought to be able to catch some salmon, and to do it right here. you know that in a few days or weeks now all the rivers along the coast will be full of salmon, running up toward the heads of the stream to spawn. at the present time they are gathering in the salt water, each fish pushing toward the mouth of the river, in which it was hatched, and down which it made its way toward the sea. they say that all salmon go back to the streams in which they were bred to spawn. now, when they are in salt water, and before they reach the mouths of the rivers, the salmon will bite, and a great many of them are caught by trolling, either with bait or with a spoon. haven't you some fishing tackle there that you could throw overboard now, and let the bait follow the canoe? if we could get a few fish it would help out mightily with our eating." "why, yes," said jack; "of course there's some fishing tackle. let's get it out and try them." hugh bent down; and after fumbling in the provision box for a few moments, brought out a package which he passed over to fannin, saying to him: "you know more about these things than either of us, and you'd better pick out the lines and baits that are to be used." the long, strong line, with a lure of metal and feathers attached to it, was soon overboard, and dragging in the long sinuous wake that stretched out behind the canoe. jack held it in one hand as he wielded the paddle. all the power that they had was needed to push the boat along; and if one man should sit and fish in idleness it would not have been fair to the others. jack sat hopefully, expecting each moment to feel a tug on the line, but none came. "tell me, mr. fannin," he asked, "don't salmon bite after they get into the fresh water? you said that when in salt water they were caught in numbers. does that mean that they do not take the bait in fresh water?" "yes," replied fannin, "that's just what it means. when they get into the fresh water they seem to lose all interest in the food question, and will not take the bait or rise to a fly. some friends of mine, who are great fishermen, have tried bait,--spoons, flies, and grasshoppers,--but no attention was paid to any of these things. there's a story, you know, about some british commissioner, sent out years ago, when england and the united states were quarrelling over the question of who owned oregon and washington, and they say that this commissioner was a great salmon angler. they say that he was here during the salmon run, and fished the streams faithfully for them, without even getting a rise, though he could see millions of them. the story goes that he was so disgusted with the way the salmon acted that he went back to england and reported that the great territory in dispute was not worth quarrelling about, and not worth holding by great britain, because the salmon in the stream would not rise to a fly." "that's sure comical," said hugh; "but after all there's a good deal of human nature in it. we're all likely to look at things from our little narrow point of view and to think only of matters as they interest us." before very long jack found the holding of the trolling line something of a nuisance, and at fannin's suggestion passed it over to jimmie, the steersman, who tied it about one of his arms and kept up the work of paddling. that there was salmon about now was very evident, for great silvery fish were frequently seen jumping out of the water, or floundering about on the surface, throwing shining drops about them in showers. "why do these fish jump in that way, mr. fannin?" asked jack. "it's common enough to see fish jump out of the water and then fall back, but these, when they strike the water, act almost like a fish thrown on the shore, and flopping there." "the indians say," replied fannin, "and i guess very likely it's true, that this flopping around by the salmon is done for the purpose of ridding themselves of certain parasites that are attached to their bodies. i've often seen these parasites. they are flat, oval crustaceans, and a good deal like the common sow bugs--those little flattish, purple, many-legged bugs that we find under the bark of dead trees or sometimes under stones, back in the east. almost all salmon caught in salt water have some of these things stuck to them, sometimes only one and sometimes a dozen. they will be found chiefly about the fins, and especially on those of the back. they cling closely to the skin, and some force is needed to dislodge them; but as soon as the fish get in the fresh water they die and drop off." they were paddling along, not very far from a kelp bed, which lay north and south, along the channel that they were following for a mile or more, when suddenly jimmie dropped his paddle and began to haul in on his line. a moment's work, however, showed that he had no fish on it, and he let it go again. but fannin told him to draw in the line and see that the spoon was all right; for it occurred to him that the current might have carried the spoon in among the leaves of the kelp bed, that it might have caught in one of them, and been torn off. when the end of the line was recovered it appeared that this was just what had happened; and fannin, grumbling at the indian's carelessness, put on another spoon and threw the line overboard, but this time kept it in his own hand. it had hardly straightened out, when there was a violent tug on it, and fannin dropped his paddle and began to haul in the line rapidly, hand over hand. every one in the boat was more or less excited at the capture, and they all stopped paddling. the great fish was drawn nearer and nearer; sometimes out of sight, and sometimes struggling on the surface of the water and making a great splashing. it was not very long before it was close to the side. all the paddles were taken in; and fannin, being very careful to keep the fish away from the side of the canoe, let his right hand down close to the line, and grasped the fish close behind the gills, and lifted it into the canoe. jack, hugh, and charlie cheered vigorously, and the indians grinned with delight. it was a fine silvery fish, of ten pounds weight, fat and firm, promising delicious food. the fish was passed aft for the inspection of hugh and jack; and fannin called their especial attention to the presence on its back of three of the parasites of which they had been talking only a few moments ago. then, after they had all admired the fish, it was laid aside in a shady place and the canoe went on. chapter xi food from the sea the voyagers worked on steadily through the day, and three or four hours before sundown they landed at comox spit, two or three miles from the village of comox. all through the day numbers of hair-seals had been seen diligently fishing in the shoal waters, and often an old one was accompanied by her tiny young. there were hosts of water-fowl about the shore,--ducks of several kinds, seagulls, guillemots, and auks; while along the beach ran oyster catchers, turnstones, and many other shore birds. all these were picking a fat living there from the water or from the gravelly beach at the water's edge. the larger fowl fed on fish and mollusks on the bottom; the lesser ones on the small crustaceans, which are abundant among the vegetable life near the beach. at the end of the day the canoe passed through a great multitude of ducks, which seemed to contain many thousands of birds. near these were hundreds of great seagulls, sitting on the sand spits which project from the islands far out into the water. as the canoe moved toward these great flocks of ducks, the noise of their rising, the whistling rush of their wings and the pattering of their feet upon the water made such a tumult as almost to drown ordinary conversation. it was low water when they landed, and the boat's cargo had to be carried a long distance up to the meadow above the beach. after this had been done, the fire kindled and the tent put up, charlie called to them: "why don't you men try that mud flat for clams? you have a salmon to do to-night, but that won't last very long, and you had better try to get some more fresh meat." arming themselves with sharpened sticks, they scattered out over the mud flat, looking carefully for signs of clams, and before long were hard at work gathering them. jack had dug clams in the east before, but this was new business for hugh; and it was fun for jack to tell him how to look for the clams and how to unearth them when found. it took them but a short time to gather over half a bushel of the bivalves, which were taken up to the camp and washed off and covered up. their dinner of salmon was greatly enjoyed. after dinner jack and fannin, seeing some fish jumping out at the mouth of the river, pushed off in the canoe and spent some time casting for them. but although they tried almost all their most attractive flies, they did not get a single rise, though the fish kept jumping all around them. while still occupied at this, the sun went down and before long the indians began to make an extraordinary disturbance about the camp fire--shouting, rushing about, stooping down, and then throwing up their hands. when the two anglers reached the shore and inquired what had caused all the excitement, hugh picked up by the wing and held aloft a tiny mottled owl. the little bird had been hunting about over the flat, and, attracted by the light of the fire, had flown about it several times; and the indians, excited by its near approach, had begun to throw stones at it. a well-aimed shot by jimmie had brought down the bird, which charlie suggested would do for the next day's dinner. "we haven't got down quite to eating owls," said jack, with a laugh. "well," said hugh, "i've eaten owl a number of times, and it's not at all bad eating, though, of course, it depends a little bit on how hungry you are. i guess most everything that runs or flies is pretty good to eat, if one only has appetite enough. i have tried a whole lot of things, and i put owl down among the things that are real good." "how did you come to eat owl, hugh?" asked jack. "and when was it?" "it's a good many years ago," said hugh, "that i started, late in december, south from the platte river with lute north, expecting to load up a wagon with buffalo meat at once. we didn't take much grub with us as we meant to be gone only for a few days; and as buffalo had been plenty in the country to which we were going, we thought we could soon load the wagon. "we travelled three days without seeing a head of game, and then crossed the republican river and kept on south. in the river bottom we killed a turkey, but all the four-footed game seemed to have left the country. after going south two days longer and finding no game, not even an old bull, we turned back, for provisions were getting low. we crossed the republican again, but got stuck in the quicksands; and the wagon sunk so low that the water came into the wagon box and wet our things, without doing much harm, however, for the sugar was the only thing that was spoiled. the flour got wet, and left us only about enough for two or three more loaves of bread. but we had a little piece of bacon left, so we had enough to carry us through. it took some hours to get the wagon out; and that afternoon, after leaving the river, we saw three old bulls feeding on the side of a ridge. at first lute and i both intended to go after them; but as there was a better chance of approaching them if only one man went, and as lute was a fine shot, i told him to go ahead, and i waited in the wagon. he took a circuit and got around the bulls so that the wind was right, then crept up behind a ridge until he was within a hundred yards, and fired--and the bulls ran off over the hills. when lute came back, and i asked him how he came to miss them, he could give no explanation. 'i had as good a bead on that bull as i ever had on anything, and yet i missed him clean,' he said; 'shot clear over him.' "we camped that night in a wide and deep ravine, and in the morning when we got up we found that we were covered with snow, which was two or three feet deep, and which still kept falling. this was certainly a bad state of things. we lay in camp all day, only leaving it to tie the horses up to some brush where they could get something to eat. it stopped snowing that night, and the next morning we started out to try to kill something, but had no luck. the snow was so deep in the ravine that we could not travel there, but on the divide the wind had blown it all off. lute saw a wolf, but could not get a shot at it. i had seen nothing. we spent the rest of the evening trying to break a road out to the divide, and at night we made our last loaf of bread and ate half of it. it took us all the next day to get out to where the horses could travel, but we made some little distance, stopping at night and melting some snow for the horses, and for a cup of coffee apiece. next morning, as we were hitching up, i saw a white owl hunting along the edge of the ravine. the bird alighted about half a mile away, and i took my rifle and went out to try to kill it. i got to within seventy-five yards of it, and then it saw me; so i fired, and it did not fly away. when i got hold of it i found that i had shot high, and that my ball had just cut the top of its head. half an inch higher, and i would have missed. we ate half the owl that morning, and the rest that night. the next night we crossed the platte. when within four or five miles of town, just when we didn't need it, we killed a white-tail deer." "well," said jack, "you must have been pretty hungry when you got it." "yes," said hugh, "but it isn't very hard to go without eating. a man feels pretty wolfish for the first twenty-four hours, but then he doesn't get any hungrier. after that he begins to get weak; not very fast, of course, but he can't do as much as he can when he's well fed. he can't walk as far or climb as hard. to go without water, though, is a very different thing. if a man can't drink, he suffers a great deal, and keeps getting worse all the time." "well," said fannin, "in this country no man need suffer for want of water. these mountains are covered with it; it is running down them everywhere. there is usually food too, though sometimes fish and game, and seaweed and fern roots fail, and then the indians get hungry. one thing the indians eat, which i never saw eaten anywhere before, and that is the octopus or devil fish, as they're sometimes called. it isn't bad eating, and the indians think a great deal of it. they cut off the arms and boil them, and then when the skin is peeled off, they are perfectly white, looking almost like stalks of celery. the meat is tender and quite good, though to tell the truth, it hasn't got much flavor to it." "you speak of fern roots, mr. fannin," said jack, "i didn't know that they were ever eaten." "yes," replied fannin. "they're gathered and roasted in time of scarcity, and will support life for a time. the indians here have quite a variety in the way of vegetable food in dulse, seaweed, and berries. they dry the berries of different kinds, making them into cakes when they're nearly dry, and using them as a sort of bread in winter. there's what is called the soap-berry, which they use as a sort of flavoring. the berries are dried and pressed into cakes. when they want to use it, a portion of a cake is broken off, crumbled into fine pieces and put into a bucket with a little water. then a woman with bare arm begins to stir the mixture with her hand, and soon it becomes frothy. the more she stirs it, the more it foams up; and as the volume increases, more water is added, until at last the vessel which contains it, and which may hold several gallons, is full of this foam. then the indians sit about it, and scraping up the foam on their fingers, draw them between their lips. the taste of the foam is sharply bitter, something like the inner bark of the red willow. i've always supposed that these berries possessed some tonic quality like quinine. there are two or three kinds of seaweed that the indians eat. one they boil, and it makes a dish a great deal like what we call 'greens.' the other is dried, pressed into cakes, and used later in soups. this seaweed seems to be full of gelatine and thickens the soup. it is still the custom in the villages which are far from the settlements, for young women to chew this seaweed fine before cooking it. it's necessary to make it small before the boiling will soften it. the indians who live near the settlement, however, chop up the vegetable with a knife, a pair of scissors, or a tobacco cutter." "well," said jack, "i guess we'll want to avoid any soup if we stop at any indian villages." "well," said fannin, "it might be a good idea to be on the lookout, but they use this seaweed chiefly in the winter, so i don't think we need to be alarmed." camp was broken early next morning, and a start made soon after daylight. there was a long day of paddling. camp was made shortly before sundown, and soon after supper was eaten all hands went to bed. of course, efforts were made to procure fresh meat, but no more salmon were caught, nor any deer seen, though each day fannin was lucky enough to kill a few ducks with a shot-gun. each night as the time for camping approached, mr. fannin and the indians would be on the watch for a good landing-place. this had to be carefully chosen on account of the danger of scratching the bottom of the boat or striking it sharply on some rock or pebble, which might result in accident and cause several days' detention, or possibly even a serious calamity. when a landing was made, it was the first duty of the party to unload the canoe, and then to drag it up on the beach, safe above reach of the waves. as has been stated, the prow of the canoe was turned away from the shore, and she was backed toward some place where the sand was smooth and free from stones, or else where the pebbles were smoothly spread out, and as nearly as possible of the same size. the approach to the shore was slow and made carefully, and the paddles of those in the stern were thrust, handles down, against the beach, to ease the shock of her touching. then the steersman leaped overboard, and lifted and drew the canoe as far up the beach as he could. the others disembarked and helped to lift her still farther on to the beach. then her load was taken out, and carried up above high-water mark. after the whole load had been transported to the spot selected for the camp, every one, except the cook, who at once busied himself with preparations for the meal, returned to the water's edge. the loose boards in the bottom of the canoe--put there to protect the bottom from the careless dropping of some heavy article, or from a too heavy footfall--were taken out and placed on the beach, so as to form a smooth roadway for the canoe to slide on, and she was then dragged well up above high-water mark. the indians went into the forest to cut poles and pins for the tent, which was soon set up, and the beds made. before dinner was ready, the camp was in complete order. sometimes it happened that no satisfactory landing-place could be made, and then it was impossible to get the canoe out of the water on the rocks or the narrow beach where they were obliged to camp. in such cases the indians, after they had eaten, would re-embark, take the canoe out some distance from the shore and anchor it there, and spend the night in the vessel. next morning all the operations of unloading the canoe were reversed. while breakfast was being cooked the blankets were rolled up, the tent torn down, and everything but the mess kit and the provision boxes carried down to the canoe. after breakfast, and while the dishes were being washed, the canoe was loaded, the last thing put aboard being the mess kit and the provision boxes. about noon the next day, upon rounding a point of land, some low houses were seen in a little bay, and fannin, after speaking to the indians, said to the others: "here's the village of the cape mudge indians. had we not better stop here and see if we can't buy some dried salmon? we have got to have some provisions, unless you hunters can do better." when they paddled up to the village they found that it consisted of large houses made of "shakes," somewhat like the indian village that they had seen near nanaimo. in front of several of the houses stood poles, from forty to sixty feet high and curiously carved. one such pole, not yet erected, and in process of being carved, bore on one end the head of a large bird, which by some stretch of imagination might be taken for that of an eagle. the indians seen here, though little resembling the indians jack and hugh were familiar with on the plains, were at least clad like indians, that is to say, in breech-clout and blanket. physically they bore little resemblance to the more symmetrical horse indians of the plains, for, though their bodies seemed large and well developed, their legs were small and shrunken. the party's stay here was short, but they succeeded in purchasing a few salmon and then pushed off again. just outside of the village was a burial place of considerable size, in which were many small houses. the bodies of the dead were deposited in the small board houses, though those of poorer people were said to be placed in old canoes, which were then covered with boards. in front or at the side of each house stood a number of small poles, ten or twelve feet high, which indicated the number of potlatches or great feasts that the dead man had given, each pole standing for a potlatch. fastened to stouter and larger poles were small profiles of canoes carved out of thin boards, which showed how many canoes the dead man had given away during his life. over some of the houses stood large crosses, eight or ten feet high and covered with white cloth. "you see," said fannin, "a good many indians along the coast here are supposed to be christians, though it is pretty hard to tell just how much the indians understand of what the missionaries tell them, and just how far their lives are influenced by their teachings. no matter how good christians these indians who are buried here may have been, every one of them has been fitted out by his relations with a canoe for use in the land of the future, for they can conceive of no country where there is no water, nor of any means of getting about except in a canoe." that night after dinner as they were seated about the fire, hugh and fannin pulling at their pipes, charlie smoking a cigarette, and the indians--who that night slept aboard the canoe--singing one of their plaintive songs, jack asked mr. fannin to explain the meaning of the word "potlatch," which he had used earlier during the day. "well," said fannin, "potlatch is a word of the chinook jargon, and means to give, or a gift, according to the connection in which it is used. as we've been paddling along you've heard the indians say, 'potlatch tsook,' which means 'give water.' in other words, they want a drink. the great ambition of every indian in this country is to get property in such quantity that he can give a big feast, call all the people together, sometimes one village, sometimes all the villages of the tribe, and then hand around presents to everybody. it is in this way, according to their estimation, that they become chiefs or men of importance. wealth, in fact, seems to constitute a standard of rank among them, and the man who gives away the most is the biggest chief. later, he receives the reward of his generosity, for at subsequent potlatches, given by other people, he receives a gift proportionate to the amount of his own potlatch. when, therefore, an indian has accumulated money enough, he is likely to buy a great lot of food, crackers, tea, sugar, molasses, and flour, as well as calico and blankets. then he proceeds to invite all his friends, up and down the coast, to a potlatch. the feast consists mainly of boiled deer meat and salmon and oolichan oil, with the other food i have just mentioned. every guest has all the crackers he can eat. perhaps there is a small canoe full of molasses. each guest receives so many yards of calico, a part of the blankets are distributed among the visitors, and the remainder are scrambled for among the young men, the donor perhaps getting on top of a house and throwing the blankets down into the crowd below. the feasting and the giving may last for a week; and when the affair is over the guests go their several ways, leaving the giver of the potlatch a poor man. when the next potlatch takes place, however, he recovers a portion of his wealth, and after a few more have been given, he is better off than ever. sometimes at these feasts canoes are given away, and even guns and ammunition; and the greater the gift, the more is due the giver when those who have received gifts from him themselves give potlatches." "well," said jack, "that's a queer custom and a queer way of thinking. it seems, in certain ways, though, a good deal like the orders that were given in the bible, to take all you have and give it to the poor. but i suppose as a matter of fact, instead of giving it to the poor, these men who give these potlatches try to give to the rich instead, so that they may receive their gifts back again." "well," said hugh, "you will find among indians everywhere, that one making a gift to another, or a contribution for any purpose, expects to receive it back again. if a man should die before he had paid back the gift, his relations are required to make it up." "i guess indians are alike everywhere," said fannin. "queer people, queer people." "well," said hugh, "that's just exactly what the indians say about us: 'the white people are queer.'" chapter xii the island deer the next morning, after the canoe had been loaded, hugh said to fannin: "what's the course of the canoe from here? are you going to cross over any of those channels, or shall you follow the shore?" "we'll follow the shore," said fannin. "if this canoe wasn't so heavy we could carry it across this little point and save ourselves three or four miles of paddling, for you see, we've got to go way east and then come back west again, and follow around the bay that lies just over there." "that's just what i thought," said hugh. "now, suppose instead of my going into the canoe, and helping you fellows to paddle, i take it afoot across this neck, and along the shore; and see if i can't kill something. we need meat and there must be lots of deer here, though we've not seen any yet. there's plenty of sign, though." "that's a good idea," said fannin, "and i wish you would do it. you'll have a lot of time to hunt, but keep close to the shore and if you see us coming, get down on the beach and make a fire as a signal for us; otherwise we might overlook and pass you." "all right," said hugh, "i'll do so." "don't you want to go along, jack?" asked mr. fannin. secretly jack did want to go, very much, for he had an idea that hugh would find some game, and that there would be a chance to kill one of these island deer; but on the other hand, he thought he should not shirk his share of the paddling, and that one man could kill any deer that was seen just as well as two. so he said: "no, i'll go in the canoe;" and they pushed off and were soon growing smaller in the distance. hugh started across the open meadow, which lay between them and the other side of the long point. as he passed along through the grass, he saw many deer beds, and a number of tracks of wild animals among which was one in a muddy place, made by an enormous wolf. he walked slowly and watched the country, and at last came to the shore, followed it and was soon walking under the tall evergreens that grew down to the beach. turning into the forest, he moved quietly along among the great tree trunks. the ground was free from undergrowth, and moss covered, and here and there little rivulets trickled over the ground, sometimes bridged by fallen tree trunks, over which great bunches of soft green moss hung down to the ground. here and there, in the moss, were seen the sharply defined tracks of deer, seemingly just made, yet no indication of life was seen, save the occasional shadow of a bird, moving among the tree tops far above him. hugh had gone perhaps half a mile, keeping nearly parallel to the beach, and back from it about a hundred yards, when without warning, a deer stepped out from behind a group of tree trunks, and stood looking curiously at him. there was no wind, and the animal did not seem in the least alarmed. the shot was an easy one, and it was the work of but a few seconds to fire. the animal fell at once, and stepping up to him, hugh found that it was dead. it was very small, scarcely larger than a yearling black-tail of the rocky mountains, although it was a full grown buck. it resembled the rocky mountain black-tail somewhat, but its ears were small and the tail was quite different, being haired below. in a very few moments hugh had prepared the animal for transportation to the beach, and putting it on his back walked down to the shore. the canoe was not yet in sight, and hugh considered a little if it would be better to go on farther to see whether he could get another deer, but after thinking a few moments he determined to be satisfied with the one he had secured. so he built his fire as a signal for the canoe, skinned his deer, and for an hour or two sat waiting. at last a black speck was seen on the water close to the shore of the point, and as it crept forward, it grew larger and larger, until hugh could recognize his fellow travellers. when they came up to him, they wore broad smiles of satisfaction at his success, and when he had stepped on board the canoe went on again. it was not long after this that they were obliged to run seymour narrows, a contracted channel through which the tide boils, making eddies, whirlpools, and tide-rips, and where it was hard to see how a canoe could live. just before reaching it they passed a cliff on valdes island that was full of interest for jack and fannin. the dark gray precipice, crannied and creviced from base to summit, was occupied by a multitude of sea birds which were nesting in the holes and fissures in the rocks. of these, by far the most numerous were the pigeon guillemots, thousands of which were fishing in the waters close to the shore, or flying backward and forward between the water and their secure homes in the rocks. it was a pretty sight to see them diving for food, emerging from the depths with something in their bills, rising from the water, and each one swiftly flying toward some hole in the face of the precipice into which it disappeared without checking its flight; or at the mouth of which it alighted, and, clinging swallow-like to the inequalities of the rock, was met by its mate who took from it the food it had brought. then the bird would leave its position, fly horizontally over the water for a little distance, and drop vertically into the water, striking it with a great splash. the scene was a busy and noisy one, for the birds were continually chattering and calling among themselves. gracefully floating on the water, or winnowing their slow way to and fro over its surface, were white-breasted seagulls of several kinds; and fishing and hunting along the shore were ravens and crows, while white-headed eagles rested in the tall trees. before attempting the passage of seymour narrows, it was necessary to ascertain the stage of the water. to pass the narrows when the tide was against them was obviously impossible; nor would it do to attempt a passage at half tide, even if it were in their favor, for at that time the tossing waters would prove extremely dangerous to the canoe,--so the indians told fannin, and so fannin reported to the others. the bowman and two or three of the party landed near the head of the narrows and climbed high enough on the hillside to see the whole of the sluice-way, and as soon as the indian had looked at it, he turned about and started back, declaring that it was just at the end of the flood, and they should start without delay. to jack, the sight of the boiling water, the tossing waves and hurrying tide-rips seemed rather alarming, but there was no time to think of this. they embarked, and a few strokes of the paddle sent the canoe dashing along the rapid current. for the white occupants of the canoe, there was nothing to do but to paddle hard, each in his own place. it was interesting to watch the skill with which the indians guided the craft. it was of the first importance that steerage way should be kept on the canoe, for there were constant eddies and whirlpools, which must either be avoided or taken advantage of; and yet at the rate at which the craft was being hurried along by the tide, it was not easy to add to her speed. before long, the run became very exciting. hats were torn off and thrown into the bottom of the boat, perspiration started from every brow, and the men tore at their paddles as if their lives depended on it. even hugh, who was rarely moved, seemed to partake of the general excitement and his eye glowed and his color rose as his white hair and beard flew out in the wind. hamset, standing erect, in the bow of the canoe, flourished his mighty paddle, and in his own language shouted directions to jimmie, and in chinook to the remainder of the crew. at length the channel was reached, and here it became evident that the vessel had been a little late in starting; for, meeting the beginning of the ebb-tide, the canoe was checked, and presently it stood still and for nearly half an hour obstinately refused to move forward. but at length the efforts of the paddlers seemed to overcome the current and the boat started on, very slowly at first but fast enough to encourage the motive power. redoubling their efforts they rounded a little point, and taking advantage of a favoring eddy, passed out into quieter water and camped half an hour later in a little bay, which fannin said might fairly be named fatigue bay. that night, after the evening meal had been eaten, there was still an hour or two of daylight; and while fannin and charlie got out their lines and prepared to go fishing, hugh and jack took their rifles and climbed a thousand feet or so up the hillside to look at the view that lay before them, up and down the channel. during the climb they saw fresh bear-tracks and a number of familiar birds,--the louisiana tanager, the black-throated green warbler, and some others. not far away, a ruffed grouse was heard drumming. while perched on the face of the hillside, hugh told jack the simple story of the killing of the deer. "there was no special hunting to it," he said, "i just went through the timber, quietly, and presently the deer walked out and got shot. i didn't even know that it was there, but i'm glad to have the meat." they sat there until the sun had set, delighted with the calm beauty of the scene. in the trees above their heads, the little birds moved about uttering soft, faint notes. up from a ravine on the right came, again and again at short intervals, the vibrating thunder of the ruffed grouse's drumming, low and muttering at first, and finally dying away into the silence. twilight was upon the hill before they returned to camp, and as they picked their way down the steep rocks they heard from the direction of the boat a shot, and then another--both from hamset's rifle, and learned a little later that the indian had been shooting at a seal. fannin and charlie had caught some rock-cod, curious red and black fish with staring eyes, said to live at great depths. as the cliff rose straight up from the water's-edge, and there was no beach on which the canoe could be drawn, it was necessary that night to anchor it at a distance, and the two indians slept in it and chanted their plaintive songs until the middle of the night. around the camp fire the white men sat in silence, watching the strange shadows cast by the dancing flames on the overhanging rocks, or listening to the faintly heard rushing of the waters in the narrows, which they had just passed; or to the moonlight drumming of the grouse on the mountain side above them. it had been a hard day, and there was little inclination to talk. charlie, however, who was gratified at the killing of the deer, commented on that, and on deer hunting in distant lands. "why," said he, "you ought to see them pueblo indians go deer hunting down in arizona! they start off without anything but a knife, and when they find a deer, they just start to run after him and don't stop until they get him." "you don't mean," interrupted jack, "that they run him down?" "they do," said charlie; "run him down, catch him and cut his throat. why, sir, they are the best trailers in the world, and as for travelling, they can kill any horse that was ever foaled. they start after the deer, and when he sees them coming, of course he lights out, and is not seen again for some time. the indians take his trail, and start off at a dog trot, which they can keep up all day. every time they start the deer, he lets them get a little closer, and at last he's so tired that he only keeps a few yards ahead of them, but they keep on until he fairly drops, plum give out! i have known them, when the deer got pretty tired, to turn him and drive him right into the camp and kill him there, to save themselves the trouble of packing in the meat--make the game pack itself, you see." "that's a pretty tough story," said hugh, "but i guess it's all right. i've heard something about those fellows, though i never saw them. i once walked down an antelope, myself, and i wouldn't have believed it, if i hadn't done it. the antelope was wounded, of course. "the camp needed meat the worst way, and nobody seemed to be able to kill anything. there were antelope in the country, but very wild. i started on foot one afternoon, to try to get something, and after travelling two or three miles i looked over a little ridge, and saw three buck antelope feeding up a ravine toward a table-land above the valley where i was hunting. i could easily get around to the head of the ravine up which they were going, and if i could get there before they reached it, i would be sure to kill one of them. i started running as hard as i could, and had got within a quarter of a mile of the ravine, when, on taking a look, i saw that they had nearly reached the top. i was still about a hundred and fifty yards away when i saw the horns of one of them, as he walked up on the mesa. i dropped, and, when i had a fair shot, fired. i ought to have killed of course, but whether it was because i was so anxious to get him, or because i had been running hard and my hand was unsteady, i only broke the buck's hind leg just above the hock. all three started off, but the wounded one soon tailed out and then turned down a broad valley which led into the one up which i had come, but several miles farther from camp. well, i started after that buck, and after a long walk found him lying down in the valley. he saw me and ran off down the valley, long before i was able to shoot. i followed as fast as i could, running till my wind gave out, and then walking till i got it again. whenever i could get near enough, i fired a shot, just to keep him going. at last he grew so tired that he would let me get pretty close up to him before starting, and finally he lay down behind a bank, where i could creep up and kill him. i carried the meat into camp that evening, but when i got there i was so thirsty that i could not speak. my throat was swollen and my tongue was half as big as my fist." "well," said jack, "the antelope is a tough beast and will take a lot of killing, and of course you know better than i do, hugh, that the plains indians always speak of it as the swiftest and most long winded of animals." "yes," said hugh. "a man often ties an antelope's horn round his horse's neck by a string, to make the horse swift and long winded." "i saw a few antelope," said fannin, "when we crossed the plains, but not many, and i never killed one. they are mighty interesting animals, and what always seemed to me the most extraordinary thing about them is that they shed their horns." "yes," said hugh, "that's so, of course, all mountain men have always known that, but i heard only a few years ago that them professors that claim to know everything about all animals only found it out within the last fifteen or twenty years. something strange about that." "yes," said fannin, "but i suppose, maybe, these professors never had a chance to see many antelopes or know much about them." "yes, likely," said hugh. "well," he added, "it's getting late, and i expect we're all ready for bed. let's turn in;" and they did so. the next morning an early start and a full day's paddling carried the travellers to a point known as struggle cove, which they reached several hours before sundown. the country here looked better for hunting than any jack had seen, and he determined to start out to see if he could not find a deer. the woods were open, the ground carpeted, and the trees draped with a luxuriant growth of bright green moss, on which the foot fell as noiselessly as on a cushion. higher up on the mountain side there was the usual tangle of underbrush, but a little valley that skirted its base was comparatively open. as soon as dinner had been eaten jack set out. he had not gone far from camp when he came on to fresh deer tracks, which, after a little, turned up the hill and into the thick brush, where it seemed useless to follow. two or three other tracks were seen, all of which led into the same thick place; but at length he saw one that kept up the valley, and as it had been made but a short time before, he had strong hopes that he should see the deer. he followed the track very slowly and carefully, and as it grew more and more fresh, his caution became greater. he entered a low growth of hemlock, going very slowly, and, just as he was passing out, on the other side, he heard a deer jump, not fifty yards away, and in a moment saw it bound off up the mountain side. he threw up his gun and was just about to press the trigger when the animal stopped and looked back, giving him a certain shot. with the sound of the rifle the deer sank and rolled part way down the hill. this was very satisfactory. they had now two deer--enough to keep them in fresh meat quite a long time, for the weather was so cool that meat would not spoil. the deer taken was a buck, whose horns, still in the velvet, as did also his teeth, showed that he was full grown. yet, compared with the rocky mountain deer that jack had seen, he was quite a small animal. jack was doubtful about his ability to carry the carcase to camp, which was quite distant. but after dressing the deer and removing the head and shanks, he got it on his shoulders and slowly staggered toward the camp. it was a heavy load, and he was often obliged to stop and rest. before he got half way to his destination he was rejoiced to see hugh striding toward him. "well," said hugh, as he came up to where jack was sitting, "i had half a notion that you had killed something, and knew that if you had you would find your meat a pretty heavy load, so i came up to spell you in carrying it in. pretty heavy, isn't it?" "yes," said jack, "it weighs something, and the hardest part about it is to get it upon my back again after i've dropped it off to rest." "well," said hugh, "i'll smoke a pipe, and then take it the rest of the way. i guess i'm something more used to big loads, to say nothing about being some bigger and stronger." after hugh had finished his pipe he swung the deer on his shoulders with hardly an effort, and jack could not help envying him the splendid strength that he displayed. the advent of the second deer in camp was greeted with rejoicing. the indians grinned at the prospect of unlimited meat; charlie was delighted because he knew that the party would rather eat deer than bacon; and fannin and hugh realized that the provisions would hold out just so much longer for this reinforcement of food. it was at this camp that a slight modification of the manner of propelling the canoe was proposed and carried out. when the party had left nanaimo a couple of long, heavy, rough oars of indian manufacture had been thrown into the boat; and during the many days of paddling that had elapsed, the idea had occurred to fannin that if these oars could be used, more power could be applied to them than to two paddles. he therefore consulted with hamset on the question of rigging some rowlocks for the canoe, and this was easily arranged. the indians chose a couple of cedar saplings, each of which had two small branches growing from it on the same side, at right angles to the stem and three or four inches apart. he cut off about six inches of the main stem, trimmed down the side branches to within three inches of their point of outgrowth, and then split the main stem lengthwise so as to leave the branches standing up, looking like two thole pins. with a large awl he punched several holes in the side of the canoe just below the gunwale, and, taking some cedar twigs, warmed them in the ashes of the fire, and when they had become hot and pliable he sewed the piece of wood holding the thole pins firmly to the gunwale, afterward driving wedges beneath it so as to make it tight. this formed a capital rowlock. this was done on both sides of the boat, and thereafter fannin and charlie handled the oars, and their influence was felt at once in the increased speed of the canoe. rowing was much harder work than paddling, but it was also much more effective. the next day, however, the oars were not needed; the wind blew fair, the sail was hoisted, and the party ran through cardero channel and up loughborough inlet to its head, camping late in the afternoon. the scenery was very beautiful, with rounded or dome-shaped mountains timbered to their summits, and occasionally a sharp granite peak which ran up much higher and was covered with snow. the hills stood back at some distance from the water, and thus looked lower than they really were. it was not easy to find a good place to camp here. the meadow at the head of the inlet looked as if it might shelter many mosquitoes, but a little farther down the inlet was a flat, grass-grown but dangerously near to high-water mark. fannin shook his head doubtfully when he looked it over, for on the grass were a few fragments of seaweed; though the fresh meadow grass seemed to show that the flat was seldom covered by the tide. camp was made, and after supper fannin and both of the indians started off to look for game. jack and hugh were keeping camp, when suddenly jack observed that the water was rising higher than had been expected, and it was soon evident that a few inches more would cover the flat. they waited for a little while, in the hope that it would recede, but presently all hands had to rush about to keep things from getting wet. it took but a short time to roll up the bedding and carry it into the forest, to pull down the tent and to lift the provisions and mess kit up on drift logs. half an hour later camp had been remade in the forest, and six inches of water covered the flat where they had expected to sleep. chapter xiii an adventure of the cassiar the next morning the canoe started down the inlet, following the opposite shore. as they rounded a point of rocks, a few miles below the camp, they saw standing on the rocks close to the shore two deer, a buck and a doe. the sun was yet low, directly behind the canoe, and in the eyes of the deer. the deer saw the vessel, but did not seem able to make it out. the various members of the party got their rifles in readiness and put them where they could be easily reached, and then continued their steady paddling toward the deer. they had come to within a hundred and fifty yards of them, and might have pushed much nearer had not one of the indians fired a shot. this was the signal for a general fusillade, the result of which was--nothing. it is very often a fact that when several men are firing at one object it is missed by all. there is always a little excitement; each man is anxious to fire as soon as he can, for he is nervous and wishes himself to kill the game. the hurry and confusion throws every one a little off his balance, and the result is poor shooting. after the deer had disappeared into the forest, and the paddling had been resumed, hugh said: "well, i expect i've seen that happen fifty times. when you get a lot of men shooting at a group of animals they almost always get clear off, or if one of them is killed it's just an accident. i remember once seeing half a dozen antelope gallop by not more than fifty yards from a company of soldiers that were halted, and i believe every man fired half a dozen shots and not a hair was touched." "yes," said fannin, "you take even a couple of men who know each other, and who try to fire at game at the same time, and the result is always likely to be a miss; and if there are a lot of men firing at will they send their bullets in every direction except the right one." jack felt mortified at his failure to hold his gun as he felt he should have; but he was a little consoled to think that he had done no worse than the two older hunters who had also been shooting. charlie, on the other hand, not having a gun, seemed to be quite delighted with the result and did not hesitate to deride the other members of the party on their bad shooting. at the mouth of the inlet and between that point and philip's arm the tide was running very strong. the canoe had a fine sailing breeze behind it, the sails were spread, and the men worked hard at the paddling, but they were barely able to overcome the tide. jack was interested in the appearance of the current as it ran through the narrow channel. he could see that the surface of the water, instead of being level as we always suppose it to be, was here inclined, and that the water was evidently higher at the point from which it came than at the point toward which it was flowing--in other words, it was like the water in a stream flowing from a high level to a lower one. jack called hugh's attention to this singular appearance, and hugh at first hardly believed that it could be so. but, after carefully looking, he acknowledged that it seemed to be. fannin said that this was often the case in these narrow channels where the tide ran swiftly. just before they reached philip's arm the wind fell, and all save the indians landed on the shore, and, tying a rope to the bow of the boat, pulled it up around the last point into the quiet water beyond. here they took to the paddles again, and went on until dark, for some time looking in vain for a place where they could camp. the shore rose steeply from the water, and there was no place for one to spread his blankets. at last, quite after dark, as they were coasting along the shore, the sound of the running water was heard; and, landing near the mouth of the creek, they found a bit of moderately level ground. now, by the light of the fire, brush, stumps and rocks were cleared away and holes filled up, so that a comfortable night was passed. the next morning there was a fine breeze, and with some help from the paddles the canoe made good progress. during the day the mouth of two broad but short arms of the sea were passed, which fannin told them were frederick's and philip's arms. they enter the coast between mountains three or four thousand feet high, and are spots of great beauty. about the middle of the morning jack saw a couple of canoes, each of which held two or three indian women. jack asked fannin who these people were, and fannin appealed to hamset, who told him that they were women who had been gathering berries. while they were still a long way off hamset hailed the women with a curious singing call, and they replied with the same call, faintly heard across the waters. as the canoe approached the shore there was much conversation between the indians who chattered at a great rate. they all seemed disposed to stop and visit for a while, but fannin was anxious to push on, and after a few inquiries of one of the women about the rapids which were just ahead, the vessels parted company. long after the canoes were out of ear-shot of ordinary conversation the indians continued their talking to each other, in musical tones, laughing at each other's jokes as they came across the ever widening stretch of water. soon after leaving the indians, the canoe reached the mouth of a narrow channel through which ran a rapid, swifter than any yet seen. the passage was less than a hundred yards in width, and the water, so far as it could be seen ahead, presented to the eye nothing but a milk-white torrent, whose tossing waves were from three to five feet high. the indians seemed to hesitate a little about running this rapid, and both went ashore and followed down the bank for a little way, looking for the best course to follow. on their return they said that the passage might be made, and in a few moments the canoe was darting over the white water. all that could be done was to keep her straight. her motion was so rapid that it was quite impossible to feel the water with the paddles. while it lasted the run was quite exciting; but it was soon over, for the channel was only half a mile in length, and there was but little time to think about their possible danger or the pleasure of the passage. to jack it was a delightfully exhilarating ride, and there was enough uncertainty to it, a possibility of danger, in fact, which made it the most exciting experience of the trip. as the canoe moved slowly along over the stretch of quiet water at the foot of the rapids jack happened to glance over the side of the canoe, and saw, lying quietly on the white sand, a large school of beautiful trout. the fish were very large, some of them apparently a foot and a half long. he felt a great longing to stop there and take some of these fish, but they all felt that they had no time now to go fishing. the trout paid no attention to the craft, lying perfectly motionless, except when its shadow fell upon them. then they moved slowly away into the sunlight. threading its way among the beautiful islands which dotted cardero channel, the canoe moved slowly along until a point was reached where its course must be changed from southeast to northwest, to pass through the narrow passage between the mainland and stuart island, through arran rapid and then up into bute inlet. here there had been a fishing station for dog-fish--small sharks, valuable only for the oil that their liver contains, and destructive to all fish life. for some distance the shore was strewn with the carcases of dog-fish captured by the indians; and in some places the trees were almost black with the crows and ravens which had gathered here in great numbers to feed on the dead fish. the birds were very tame indeed, and often sat indolently on a limb, under which the canoe was passing. cocking their heads to one side they looked down on the travellers in an unconcerned and impudent fashion that was amusing or provoking according to the mood of the individual at whom they were gazing. at the head of the bay, just beyond the point where the ravens were so plenty, is an indian village where nearly a hundred years before the explorer vancouver had spent a winter during his voyage along this coast. the village is at the head of a deep bay. a beautiful clear stream of ice-cold water runs by it, and there is a considerable area of arable land on either side of the stream. the canoe stopped here, for the indians who were navigating it said that they wished to inquire of their friends about the passage of the rapids just ahead. as they waited, jack noticed running across the bay a number of small logs in a line, and finally inquired of fannin what this meant, and fannin asked the indians. after some little conversation fannin turned to jack and said: "why, that's a line running across the bay from one side to the other, and supported, as you see, by these log floats. about every twenty feet or so, smaller lines, six feet in length, and each one carrying a baited hook, hang down from the main line. you can easily see that as this main line runs right across the bay, no fish can get up or down without passing the baits. i expect they catch a whole lot of fish." "why," said hugh, "there's something that looks like home! that's nothing but a trot line, such as i've seen a thousand times when i was a boy back in kentucky. it's a sure good way of catching cat fish, but i never would have expected to see it out in this country and among these indians." beyond this village the canoe, after passing the very noticeable mountain which stretches across stuart island, and which looks like a high wall built along the coast, ran arran rapids. before entering the passage the party landed and climbed the hills, from which the whole stretch of troubled waters could be seen. to jack and hugh, and possibly to fannin, the prospect seemed rather terrible, and the roar of the torrent was not assuring. in some places the water was tossed up as if by a heavy gale, and white-capped waves reared snowy crests high in the air. near such an area of agitation were seen other spaces where deep whirlpools sucked away the water, leaving their centres much lower than the neighboring level; and scattered about among the waves and whirlpools were other stretches of water less violently agitated, where the green oil-like fluid rolled over and over with a slow, repressed motion. all the time the dull roar or a muffled moaning rose from the channel. "this," said fannin, "is what the indians call a '_skookumtsook_'" (strong water). the indians were watching the flood, waiting for the proper time to make a start, and at last hamset rose and led the way down to the canoe. the tide was just at the full; and at the end of the rapids the ebb was met and a hard struggle ensued, the paddles and oars flying as fast as they could. the canoe began to go backward, and as it slowly yielded to the irresistible force, hamset, the bowman, turned and shouted that they must make for the shore. they did so, and when they had nearly reached it he turned again and declared that a present must be given to the water or they would all be drowned; but before this sacrifice had been made, a few strokes carried the vessel into an eddy, which enabled it to creep along close to the shore until the more quiet water at the mouth of bute inlet was reached. just after leaving the rapids they came upon an indian camp, whose people had come down from their main village at the head of the inlet. the canoe pushed to shore to enable the travellers to talk with the people of the camp, and to make inquiries about the inlet, and what was to be found at its head. the indians had pleasant faces and manners, and seemed a kindly folk, much interested in the movements of the three "boston men," for they were quick to recognize hugh, jack, and charlie as different from fannin. they said that their village stood on a flat at the head of the inlet where the homalko river entered it. on the mountains about the village they said there was much ice, and that a trail led from the village to one of these glaciers. "now," they said, "our houses are empty, all our people being scattered along the coast fishing." this camp was the last to start out to try its luck. for provisions they had a porpoise, which they had killed on the way down, some herring, and one twenty-five pound salmon. charlie, who discovered the salmon, seized it at once, and lifted it up to view; and hugh, who was always amused at charlie's interest in the question of eatables, joked him about the way he "froze to" the fish, which fannin presently bought for "four bits" or half a dollar. a little later hugh, who was wandering about the camp, called jack, and pointed out to him one of the rakes with which the indians caught herrings. it was just as the sailor had described it to them when they were on the steamer; and it was easy to see how the keen points of the nails which projected from either edge of the pole could pierce and hold the herring. after they had left the village of the friendly homalko indians the canoe moved slowly along up the inlet, and an hour or two before sunset made camp on a gravelly beach two or three miles above the amor point. near camp there were a few trees, and noticeable among them a tall dead spruce, in which was a huge eagle's nest. from the time of their arrival until dark one of the eagles was coming and going, bringing food to the whistling young, whose voices were plainly heard and whose movements were sometimes seen. no feature of this coast was more interesting or more surprising to jack than the abundance of the eagles. they were seen everywhere and at all times. sometimes during the morning fifteen or twenty of the great birds were passed, and half a dozen of their nests. jack talked with fannin about their abundance. "of course they're plenty," said fannin, "and there's no reason why they shouldn't be. you see they're absolutely without enemies; no one ever thinks of injuring them, and none die except from old age or accident. they breed undisturbed, and there is, as you have seen, an unending supply of food. why shouldn't they increase? i can fancy that a time might come when the eagles would be so abundant here as to be a pest. though, just what harm they could do, it is hard to say. i hate an eagle, myself, and would be glad to destroy them all if i could; but then, i have a special reason for it." that night, as they were sitting about the fire, jack asked fannin what his reason was for disliking the eagles; and after a little hesitation fannin told him a story. "it was back in the sixties," he said; "and i had joined the rush to cassiar, and my partner and myself had struck a prospect late in the summer. it looked well, and we held on until too late. the snow came, and fell heavily, and we made up our minds that we would have to winter there, yet we had practically nothing to eat. we had built a cabin, but it was not fitted up for winter, and there was no stock of provisions. the question was, what should we do? if we started to go back to our own cabin, two hundred miles away, where our main supplies were stored, we could probably get there on short commons. on the other hand, this would mean wintering away from our prospect, doing no work on it through the winter, and wasting some weeks of time in spring to get back to it. on the other hand, if one of us stayed in the cabin with what provisions we had, and the other went back and got a fresh supply, we could winter by the prospect, work on it during the winter, and be on hand in the spring to push the summer work. this seemed the best thing for us to do. then came the question: 'who should go for the grub?' we were both willing to go. there was no special choice between going and staying. the man who stayed behind would have a pretty lonesome time of it, but would have enough to occupy him. the man who went would have a lonely time, too, but he would be travelling constantly and working hard. we could not make up our minds which should go, and finally we drew lots for it, and it fell to me to go. i took my snowshoes and toboggan and some grub, and started. as i would be gone some weeks, most of the food must be left with my partner, and i could depend in some sort on my rifle. i should have no time to hunt, but there was always some likelihood of running on game. "i started early one morning, and that afternoon it began to snow, and it kept on snowing for four days. i travelled slowly, for the ground was covered deep with a light, fluffy snow, on which snowshoes were not much good; and it was hard to haul the toboggan. moreover, the ground being hidden, i could not choose my way, and two or three times i got among rocks and timber, and broke one of my snowshoes. that meant a halt to mend it--a further delay. it was soon evident that i was going to run short of food. i kept going as fast as i could, and kept a good lookout for game, but saw nothing, in fact, not even a track. "about the tenth day out i saw one of these eagles roosting on a tree in the trail ahead of me; and, without seeming to notice it, i pressed on, thinking that before long i would be near enough to kill it, and that would give me so much more food. before i came within reach, however, it left its perch and soared into the air. but instead of flying away, it merely wheeled high over the valley; and at night, when i went into camp, it alighted in a tree not far off, and sat watching me. this continued for days, and all the time my grub allowance was growing smaller. i cut myself down first to half rations and then to quarter rations. i was beginning to grow weak, and still had a long distance to go before reaching our cabin. two or three times when the eagle had flown near me i had shot at it on the wing, hoping to kill it; but with no result except to call forth the whistling cry, which some writer has described as a 'maniac laugh.' "what with my hunger, my weakness, and my loneliness, it got so after a while that that eagle got on my nerves. i began to think that it was following me; just watching and waiting for me to get weak, and stumble, and fall, and freeze to death; and that then it would have a good meal off me. i began to think it was an evil spirit. every day i saw it, every day i looked for a chance to kill it, and every day it swung over me in broad circles and laughed at my misery. "i had now been travelling twenty days and knew that i must be getting close to the cabin. my grub was all gone, and i could hardly stagger along; but i still clung to my toboggan, for i knew that without that i couldn't take food back to my partner; and the thought of him back there at work on short allowance, and sure to starve to death unless i got back to him, added to my trouble. "at last one day about noon i came in sight of the cabin, just able to stagger, but still dragging the toboggan, which had nothing on it except my blanket and a little package of ammunition. i went up to the cabin door, opened it, went in and partly closed the door, leaving a crack through which i could watch for the eagle. i hoped that he would stop on one of the big trees near the cabin, and watch for me to come out. he did so, lighting on a limb about a hundred yards from the door. he made a big mark. i put the rifle through the crack, steadied it against the jamb, took as careful a sight as i ever took at anything, and pulled the trigger. when the gun cracked, the eagle spread his wings, soared off, and taking one turn over the valley, threw back his head, laughing at me. he sailed away over the mountains, and i never saw him again. "two or three full meals put heart into me once more, and with a good load of food, i started back to my partner. although the way was all uphill, i got to him in about two weeks. on the way back i killed two deer and some rabbits, and did not have to break into the load of provisions on my toboggan. when i reached him, i found that he was living in plenty. he had killed four caribou that had wandered down close to the cabin one night, and still had the carcases of two hung up, frozen. since that time i have never had any use for eagles." chapter xiv bute inlet bute inlet is the most remarkable as well as the most beautiful of the larger fiords of the british columbia coast. its great length and the height of the mountains that wall it in make it unequalled. nowhere at the sea-level can such stupendous mountains be seen so near at hand, nor such sublime views be had. at its mouth the inlet is only about a mile in width, and in its widest portion it is not more than two and a half miles. at the entrance, the hills are not especially high or rugged, but rise from the water in a series of rounded undulations. densely wooded to their summits, they roll away in smooth green waves to the higher more distant mountains of the interior. no sharp pinnacles of granite nor dark frowning precipices interrupt the green of the forests. the dome-shaped hills come into view one after another, always smooth and ever green. the scene is one of quiet picturesque beauty. a little farther up the inlet the scenery changes. the shores rise more abruptly from the water's edge, but though the mountains increase in height the soft green foliage of firs and cedars still rises toward the summits in an unbroken sweep. then masses of rock lift themselves above the timber line, glittering in the sunlight as though studded with jewels, or when shadowed by clouds frowning down cold, black, and forbidding. soon patches of snow begin to appear on the mountains; at first visible only as narrow white lines nestling in the deeper ravines, but farther along large snow banks came into view and before long extensive snow fields are seen, glittering white on the summits, or even down among the green of the mountain sides. the canoe started early and a fair wind enabled them to set the sail and to sit back at ease all through the long day and view undisturbedly the enchanting scenery which they were passing. jack had often heard his uncle describe a trip that he had made to norway, and his journey up some of the fiords of that rock-bound coast. as he now watched the shore and the mountains of bute inlet slip by, these descriptions were constantly brought to his mind. scarcely less impressive than the wonderful cliffs and mountains that he was seeing, were the beautiful streams, fed by the melting of the perpetual snow high upon the hills. these streams plunged over the precipices in beautiful falls and cascades. long before the water reached the rocks below, it was broken up into finest spray; and a white veil of mist waved to and fro before the black rocks, in fantastic and ever changing shapes. here the mountains had become much higher than any they had approached before. instead of peaks from twenty-five hundred to four thousand feet in height, they were close to those that reached an altitude of six or eight thousand feet. one of these was mt. powell, a naked peak stretching up like a pyramid, more than six thousand feet high; and farther on there were others still higher. the first of the glaciers was seen just to the north of fawn bluff, and was recognized by hugh, who called out to jack: "there, son, there's a chunk of ice. don't you see how it shines, blue in the sunlight, just like one of the glaciers that we got sight of in the piegan country?" "so it is, hugh. i recognize it. my! don't i wish we could get up close to it; but it's awful high on the mountains and terribly thick timber below it." "yes," said hugh, "i reckon it would be quite a climb to get up there." "how different these mountains are," said jack, "from our rockies. they rise so much more steeply; but like the rockies, there is a big cliff of wall rock on the top of each one of them." "yes," said hugh, "in the mountains that we see from the plains the slope is more gradual; first foot hills, and then a long timber slope, and then lastly the rocky peaks that rise above the timber line. but here there are no foot-hills, and there are no gradual rising slopes between us and the main peaks. a man's eye doesn't get a chance to adapt itself to the highest hills by measuring the gentler slopes that are nearer to him. here the mountains rise either in a continual slope or else in a series of cut walls, one above the other, to the straight up peaks. i don't believe the distance on foot to one of these mountains is more than twice the mountain's height. i don't believe many people that have not been here have had a chance to stand at the sea-level and look straight up to a snow peak right above them as high as these are. that is what makes these mountains seem so high and so wonderful." a few moments later the canoe rounded a point and a long reach of the inlet was exposed to view. "there," said fannin, "look off to the right! there's something that i don't think many people have seen." "my! i guess not!" exclaimed jack. off to the right was a tall mountain whose summit was hidden, but which seemed to end in a long horizontal crest crowned by a wavy covering of palest blue, the lower end of a great glacier. it could be conjectured that, running down from some very high point, this river of ice reached the top of this mighty precipice, and little by little was pushed over, breaking off in huge masses, which, from time to time, fell over the cliff and down into the hidden recesses at its foot, where possibly another smaller glacier made up of these icy fragments ran, for a little way, down the valley. "look at those little grassy spots scattered here and there along the mountain side," said fannin; "how are those for goat pastures? how bright those little meadows are by contrast with the dark foliage of the forest, the gray of the rocks, and the white of the snow banks. those must be great feeding places for the goats, and there, i guess, they are never bothered except by the eagles that try to catch the kids. surely there they must be safe from everything except enemies that can fly. except for the goats and the wood-chucks, i don't believe there are any living things up there but birds. i'll bet there are lots of ptarmigan up there, brown in summer and white in winter. the little mother bird scratches out a hollow in the turf and moss near some fringe of willows, and lays her brown spotted eggs there, which by this time are hatched. the young are queer, downy little chicks, buff in color, and streaked here and there with brown. you would hardly think it possible that they could stand the cold winds, the fogs, the rain, and the snows that they must be exposed to." "did you ever find a nest, mr. fannin?" asked jack. "yes," said fannin, "when we crossed the mountains on our way from the east, nearly twenty years ago, i found the nest of a white-tailed ptarmigan high up on the range, but i have never seen a nest of these black-tailed ptarmigan, such as we killed up on the head of the north arm. once or twice, though, i have come across a mother with her young ones, and i tell you the mother is a plucky bird. if you catch one of the young birds she will come back and attack you and make a pretty good fight. i have had one come up to my very feet and then fly against my legs, pecking at my overalls and rapping my legs with her wings, trying to frighten me into letting the young one go; and, of course, i always did it after i had finished looking at it." "i don't suppose there's much game up here," said hugh to fannin, "except these goats that live high up in the mountains. it seems too cold and damp here for anything like deer." "well," said fannin, "i don't know much about that. i, myself, have never been here before, and bute inlet is as strange to me and just as beautiful as it is to you." while all this talk was going on the canoe, pushed along by a good wind, had been hurrying up the inlet. they passed one great gorge between two mountains, so nearly straight that, as they looked up at it, they could see on the mountain's crest a great glacier; and, pouring out beneath it, a thundering torrent, which rushed down the gorge toward the inlet. from beneath the blue mountains of ice a tiny white thread ran down the slope, constantly increasing in size, its volume swollen by a hundred lesser streams which joined it on its way. always a torrent, and always milky white, it swept on, sometimes running along an even slope, at others leaping down precipices a hundred feet high, now undermining a thick crust of soil green with spruces, again burrowing beneath snowdrifts which almost filled the gorge. long before they came to it they heard the roar of its fall; and as they passed its mouth they could not hear the words that one called to the other. the rush of this great mass of water jack thought enough to frighten one. when they reached the mouth of the homalko river, at the head of the inlet, the sun had disappeared and the great walls of rock about them cast dark shadows. the peaks of the mountains were still touched by the sun, and the snow took on a rosy tint; and even the black granite walls were lightened and softened by a ruddy glow. but over the snow fields, on the high mountains, the rock walls and peaks cast strange, long shadows. as the sun sank lower and lower these shapes seemed to lengthen and to march along as if alive. slowly this glow faded, until only the highest peaks were touched by it; and then, one by one, as they grew dull, twilight, with stealthy footstep, cast shadows that softened and blended the harsher outlines of the scene. at the mouth of the homalko river began a couple of miles of long, hard pulling against its hurrying current. at last, however, after winding through wide meadows and among clumps of willows, they saw before them an open spot, and presently the houses of the indian village appeared, standing close to the border of the timbered stream. soon they had landed close to the houses, transferred their load to their shelter, and lifted the canoe up onto the meadow. the day had been one of excitement, if not of continued effort, and all were tired and hungry. moreover, as soon as the river had been entered, vast swarms of mosquitoes attacked them and made life miserable. happily, the insects did not enter the siwash house that they had appropriated, but any one who ventured out of doors was at once attacked. that night the party went to bed with little delay, hoping to spend the next two or three days in an investigation of the mountains that walled in the narrow river valley on both sides. when jack awoke next morning he saw that it was daylight,--gray dawn, as he thought,--and he turned over and settled himself for another nap, to await charlie's announcement that breakfast was nearly ready. a little later some movement awakened him, and when he opened his eyes he saw fannin standing by the fire already dressed. jack asked: "is it time to turn out, mr. fannin?" but mr. fannin, with an expression of much disgust on his usually cheerful countenance, answered briefly: "you can sleep all day, if you want to." "what do you mean?" said jack, in some astonishment. "mean?" replied fannin; "why, it's raining, and you can't see across the river." jack hardly understood what this meant, but as he got up to dress he heard the heavy patter of rain on the building, and when he looked out of doors he saw that the valley was full of a white fog, almost thick enough to be cut with a knife. nothing could be seen of the surrounding mountains, the mist hid everything except a few yards of muddy water by the house, and the lower branches of the forest behind it. it was useless to venture out of doors, because nothing could be seen. it would have been folly to attempt to climb the mountains in such a fog. the rain continued all day long, and the white men sat around the fire and smoked and talked and grumbled. the indians had a better time. immediately after breakfast they returned to their blankets and went to sleep. after lunch they slept again until dinner was ready, and after dinner they went to bed for the night. every little while one of the white men would go to the door in the hope that he might see some sign of fair weather, but none greeted him. the second day at the indian village was like the first; it rained all day long, and this was followed by a third day of downpour. there seemed no prospect that the rain would ever stop. fresh provisions had given out, and the party was once more reduced to bread and bacon. the fourth morning it was still raining, and, after consultation, it was determined that the bow of the canoe should be turned down the inlet and that they should seek fairer weather on the more open water of the gulf. to all hands it was a disappointment to go away without seeing something of the mountains they had so much admired at a distance. but the flight of time and the scarcity of provisions made it seem necessary to proceed on their way. accordingly, on the morning of the fourth day the canoe was loaded and the travellers clad in oil skins and rubber coats, headed down the homalko river. the rain still fell with the steady persistent pour of the last few days, the mountain sides were veiled with a thick mist, and the party had only the memories of the wonderful beauties of the sail up the inlet to console them, as they swung their paddles on the return journey. the mountain climbing, the exploration of the glaciers, the views of the towering snow-clad heights, and the hunting of the sure-footed goats--these pleasures must all be abandoned. so they paddled down the inlet through the fog, with nothing to see and with nothing to do but to paddle. during the next two days the weather continued bad, with wind and rain. the party camped at clipper point on bute inlet and at deceit bay on redonda island. on the third day, near white island, a heavy gale sprang up, blowing from the quarter toward which the canoe was headed, and the paddlers not only were unable to paddle against it, but could not even hold their own. it was therefore necessary to land, unload the canoe, and take it up on the beach out of reach of the waves, and to wait until the wind went down. fresh meat was still needed, and hugh, jack, and fannin started out to see whether they could get anything. the country was a pleasant one to hunt in, and consisted of open ridges with bushy ravines between, and a little scattering timber on the ridges. deer and bear signs were plentiful, and jack was much interested in noticing the great size of the stones turned over by the bears in their search for worms, bugs, and ant eggs. one large piece of granite, lately turned out of its bed by a bear, was not less than two feet in any direction, and so heavy that jack could not stir it. jack was walking quietly along a ridge, watching on either side of him, when a small buck that he had passed unseen, ran out of the brush and half way up the slope of the ravine, and stopped to look back. it was a fatal error, for a moment later jack's ball pierced his heart. like all the deer here, this one was small. jack remembered his struggle with a previous deer, and only attempted to carry half of it into camp. when he got there he sent one of the indians for the remainder. hugh had also killed a small deer, which he had brought into camp; and so, for the present, all anxiety about fresh meat was at an end. they had a good dinner that night. after it was over, they lounged in much comfort around the crackling blaze, for the rain had gone with the gales that had blown, and the night was fair and cool. "hugh," said jack, "you must have seen bears feeding often, and i wish you would tell me how they do it. of course i've seen places where they have torn logs to pieces, and turned over stones; and the other day i saw that black bear gathering berries up on the river at the head of the north arm, but that's the only bear that i've seen feeding. i wish you'd tell me how you've seen bears act when they were feeding." "well," said hugh, as he pushed down the fire in his pipe with the end of his forefinger, "that's asking me to tell you a good deal. i've happened to see bears feeding a number of times; but, of course, usually i was more interested in killing the bear than i was in seeing how it gathered its grub, and when the time came for a good shot, i fired." "yes," said jack, "that is natural and i suppose that is just what i would have done; but i can't help wondering how the bears, which are such big, strong fellows, living as everybody says, on berries, mice, beetles, and ants, ever get enough to eat to keep themselves alive; and yet, as i understand it, they always go into their holes fat, in the autumn." "so they do, so they do," assented hugh. "well," said jack, "tell me, then, how do they keep themselves alive?" "that's hard to tell," said hugh. "of course, on the plains, as long as there are buffalo, the bears get a plenty. there are always buffalo dying of old age, being mired in the quicksand, drowned in the rivers, blinded by fire, or killed by the wolves; and the bears, being great travellers, come across these carcases all the time, and feed on them. then, of course, they catch buffalo sometimes, by crawling on them through the brush; and at other times, by hiding near a buffalo trail and grabbing an animal that goes past. you've surely heard wolf eagle tell about the big fight that he saw once up in the piegan country, between a buffalo bull and a bear, and if you have, you will remember that the bull killed the bear." "yes," said jack, "i think i heard of that, but don't know that the story was ever told me in detail; what was it?" "why, the way wolf eagle tells it, he was cached down near a little creek waiting for a bunch of buffalo to come to the water, so that he might kill one. they came on, strung out one after another, and had got nearly down to the edge of the water when, as they were passing under a cut bank, a bear that was lying on the ledge of this bank jumped down on the leading heifer and caught her around the neck. of course, the buffalo all scattered, and the bear was trying to bite the heifer and kill her, and she was trying to get away. in a minute, however, a big bull came charging down the trail, and butted the bear, knocking him down and making him let go the heifer. then there was a big fight, and one which scared the indian a whole lot, so much that he did not dare to show himself, as he would have had to, to get away. the bull kept charging the bear, and every time he struck him fairly he knocked him down; and every time the bull charged, the bear struck at him and tried to catch him by the head and to hold him, but this he could not do. they fought there for quite a little time, both of them fierce, and both of them quick as lightning. after a while, the bear had had all the fight that he wanted, and tried to get away, but the bull wouldn't have it. he kept knocking him down and goring him, until at last he had killed him. even after the bear was dead, the bull would charge the carcase, and stick his horns in it and lift it off the ground. the indian said that the bull was a sight: that he didn't have any skin on his head and shoulders, but that he was mad clear through, and seemed to be looking around for something else to fight. wolf eagle was almighty glad when at last the bull went off and joined the band." "that's a mighty good story, hugh," said jack. "i guess in those old days, bears killed a good deal of game, didn't they?" "i expect likely they did," said hugh. "i know that whenever you hear any story about anything a bear has done, the indians speak of his killing something. you remember old white calf robe? you must have seen him in the camp. he was there two years ago at the medicine lodge. i remember him there, distinctly." "no," said jack, "i don't think i do remember him." "well," said hugh, "he tells a story about being carried home by a bear, one time, many years ago, after he had been wounded in war. i don't doubt but that the old man believes that he is telling the plain truth, just as it happened; but in that story, he travelled along with a bear and a wolf, and i know that he says that the bear killed an elk for him to eat, and i think the wolf killed something for him, too, but i can't be sure. "but of course," hugh went on, "bears don't get very much meat. certainly they don't live on meat, by any means. when they first come out in the spring, they generally travel pretty high up on the bare ridges, and live largely on the fresh green grass that starts early on the hillsides. they are always on the watch for mice and ground squirrels, and they dig out a good many wood-chucks, but i fancy their main food is grass. then, a little later, roots start up which they like to gather,--pomme-blanche, camas, and a whole slew of other plants,--and that carries them along pretty well until the berry time. in the early summer i have seen them in little mountain parks, digging out mice or ground squirrels. a bear will see where a mouse or ground squirrel has a run close to the surface of the ground, and if his nose or any other sense tells him that it is inhabited, he will quickly run his paw along the tunnel, digging it up, and if the animal happens to be there, throwing it out on the surface of the earth. then it is fun to see a big bear that will weigh three or four hundred pounds, and maybe twice as much, dancing around and striking the ground with his paws to try to kill the little animal that is dodging about, trying to get away. you'd never think how mighty active a bear can be under those circumstances. "when berry time comes the bears spend a great deal of time around the sarvis berry patches, the plum thickets, and the choke-cherry groves; and every now and then a number of indian women gathering berries, will run across one, and the women will get scared half to death, and light out for camp. once in a long time an indian gathering berries will suddenly come on a bear, and the bear will kill him; or, perhaps, sometimes an old bear that is mean will lay for an indian, and kill him just for fun. "the indians say that when the sarvis berries are ripe, bears will ride down the taller bushes, pressing the stems down under their breasts, and walking along them with their forelegs on either side of the stem. i never saw them do it, but i've seen plenty of places where the bushes have been ridden down in this way, and had bear hair stuck to them. i once saw a mother and some cubs picking huckleberries high up in the mountains during fall. they walked about from one bush to another, and seemed to be picking the berries one by one, though i was so far away that i couldn't tell much about it. "it's fun to see them turn over stones, and they're mighty cute about it, too. now, if you or i have occasion to turn over a stone, the chances are we'll stoop over it, take hold of it by its farther edge, and pull it over toward us, and of course, unless we straddle it or watch it pretty close, we're likely to drop it on our toes; but a bear always turns a stone over not toward himself, but to one side. he gets his hind feet well under him, braces one fore foot, and then with the other fore foot turns over the stone, swinging it out from him to one side, and after he has finished the motion, he drops his head into the bed where the stone lay and gobbles up whatever insects are there. sometimes he makes a claw or two with one foot into the bed, perhaps to turn up the ground to see whether there are some insects below the surface, or to see if there may be the hole of some little animal passing close beneath the stone." "that's mighty interesting, hugh," said jack, "and i am greatly obliged to you for telling us about it. now, mr. fannin, have you seen much of the way bears of this country feed?" "no," said fannin, "i have not. you see in this country we don't have a chance to see very far. it's all covered with timber, and it's only once in a while, in such a situation as we got to the other day when we were goat hunting, that we have an opportunity to see any considerable distance. so, really, all that i know about the feeding of bears is what i have discovered from cutting them open and seeing the contents of their stomachs. i told you the other day about how the bears sometimes came in and carried off hogs for us." "yes," said jack, "i remember that, of course. hugh," he went on, "where are bears most plenty back in our country?" "well," said hugh, "there are a good many bears along the missouri river, and in the low outlying ranges like the moccasin, judith, snowy, and belt mountains, but i think the places where they are the plentiest is along the foot of the big horn range. you take it in the early summer, there's a terrible lot of bears to be found there." "and which are the most plentiful, the black or the grizzly?" asked jack. "why," said hugh, "there's no comparison. the grizzlies outnumber the blacks about three to one, i should say. black bears in that country are mighty scarce." "and in this country," said fannin, "you can say the same of the grizzly." chapter xv the work that glaciers do the next morning the sea was as calm and placid as if its surface had never been ruffled by a gale, and the canoe pushed along at a good rate of speed. during the early part of the afternoon jack saw on a long, low rock, close to which the canoe would pass, a number of shore birds, running here and there, busily feeding at the edge of the water, but did not recognize them, and asked fannin what they were. after a close look, fannin replied: "those here are turnstones; those others seem to be black oyster catchers." "oh!" said jack, "try and kill some of them please. i have never seen either bird. i know the oyster catcher of the atlantic coast, for i have seen several that were killed on long island. i should like to have some of these birds in my hand." fannin got his gun ready and presently fired both barrels at the birds, and in a few moments jack was admiring them, and comparing each sort with its corresponding species of the atlantic coast. before the gun was fired, he had noticed that the oyster catchers acted very much like those he had seen on long island. they had the same sharp whistle and ran along the shore in the same way; but these in his hand were entirely black, while those that he had seen in the east were brownish with much white, and only a little black. during the day they saw many old squaw ducks, which jack knew in the east only as winter birds. about the middle of the afternoon the wind rose again, and began to blow so violently that it was necessary to go ashore and camp. at the point where they landed, deer seemed to be plenty, and the beach was dotted in many places with their tracks, made during the day. the recent rains, however, had made the underbrush quite wet, and as there was plenty of fresh meat in camp, there seemed no special reason for hunting. during the night a deer passed along the beach near the tent, and when he had come close to the place where charlie had made his bed, the animal saw the tent or smelt its occupants, stopped and stood for a while, and then jumped over charlie, running off with long bounds, into the forest. the next morning the wind still blew hard, and it was uncertain whether the party could get away or not. the two indians therefore asked permission to hunt, and fannin loaned his rifle to jimmie. an hour or two later hamset returned without anything; but a little later jimmie came in with a broad grin on his face, his clothes in tatters. he was soaked to the skin, but in a high state of delight, for he had killed a deer--his first. he was quite exhausted, for he had carried the animal quite a long way through the woods down to the beach, where he had left it, unable to bring it farther. fannin and charlie at once went off to get it; and while they were gone, the boy, in a mixture of chinook, english, and signs, told hugh and jack the story of his hunt. he had gone a long way through the forest, but at last had seen a deer feeding, and crept up close to it. it had looked at him. he had fired twice at it, the last time striking it in the throat and breaking its neck, and it had fallen dead. he ended his account with a loud shout of laughter and the words: "_hai-asmowitch_ (big deer), me kill." later in the day he confided to fannin the information that "the hearts of his friends were very good toward him because he had killed a deer that was big and fat." as they coasted along the shore that day they saw a blue grouse sitting on a rock, on a small island, and landing found about a dozen full-grown birds. the shot-gun accounted for four or five of them, and jack and hugh shot the heads off several more that took refuge in the branches of the trees. food, therefore, was now plenty. as they were passing near the mouth of the hotham sound, and close to the shores of hardy and nelson islands, the remarkable twin falls, just within the entrance of the sound, came into view. they seemed so attractive that it was decided to visit them on their return trip. on rounding a point on the shore of hardy island, two moving objects, on a low seaweed-covered point half a mile ahead, were seen. for a time they puzzled indians and white men alike. they were not deer, for they were too low; nor bears, for the color was not right; nor seals, for they had neither the shape nor the movements of those animals. so there was much guessing at random as to what they were. but at last, when the canoe had come close enough for the creatures to be seen distinctly, white men and indians made them out to be eagles. they were young birds, so young and inexperienced, in fact, that they permitted the canoe to approach within fifty feet of them without moving from their places, and when at last they did consent to disturb themselves the canoe was within thirty or forty feet of them. then one flew to a pine, a few yards distant, while the other hopped on a log six feet from where he had been sitting, and surveyed the canoe with the utmost indifference. though full-grown they had probably never seen white men before. they had been feeding on a dog-fish, which lay there among the seaweed, still breathing and writhing, although the birds had torn a great hole in its side. that night camp was made on nelson island. it rained very hard, and everything became wet. there was a fine chance for grumbling at the weather if they wanted to, but these were old travellers, and accustomed to meet with philosophy whatever fortune sent them in the way of weather and discomfort. besides this, they were getting used to rain, for some had fallen every day since they had reached the head of bute inlet. the next day they would enter jervis inlet, of whose beauties they had heard so much that they thought it would be almost as wonderful as bute. a study of the admiralty charts, with which fannin had provided himself before leaving victoria, and which were carried in a tin case in the provision chest, seemed to confirm all that they had heard of jervis; and it was with anxious hearts and earnest hopes for good weather that the party went to bed that night. they were not disappointed. the day dawned fair, an early start was made, and they paddled toward the mouth of the inlet. for some miles a long point ahead of them cut off the view of the inlet, and when they passed this point, its beauties were revealed as a real surprise to them. directly before them, but on the farther side of the inlet, rose a superb snow cone, five thousand feet in height; and beyond that could be seen a broad bay leading up to a narrow dark green forest, closely shut in between two ranges of mountains, far down whose sides extended the white mantle which in this region crowns every considerable height. a little farther on the travellers found themselves directly in front of marlborough heights, mountains which, even in this land of grand scenery are unequalled for majesty. two of them rise almost sheer from the water's edge to a height of over sixty-one hundred feet, and the third, standing a little farther back from the water, lifts its great head between the two, as if looking over its brothers' shoulders. the summits of these do not run up into peaks and needles of rock, but appear rather like blunt cones of solid granite. there is a little timber on the slopes, but except for this nothing is to be seen but the black rocks. scarcely a patch of snow was visible, for the unceasing winds, which blow on these lofty peaks, sweep the snow into the valleys and lower lands before it can lay hold on the smooth bare granite. some of these peaks rise in unbroken cliffs. other heights come down to the water's edge in a long series of steps, many of them showing the rounded, smoothing action of the great glacier which passed over them as it cut out this cañon. down near the water, tall grass and underbrush grow among these dark, rounded, naked rocks, which look like the backs of so many great elephants sleeping in a jungle, whose growth is not tall enough to hide them. though for the most part narrow,--not more than a mile in width,--the inlet often broadens out and has a lake-like appearance, especially where side valleys come down into it, showing the course of tributary streams of the old glacier. at deserted bay, a little river enters the inlet, and at its mouth is a wide stretch of meadow land. long before they reached this point something white could be seen on the shore. hugh and jack were curious to know what it could be, and appealed to fannin and the indians for information. no one could tell, and the glasses only made the white objects appear a little larger. gradually, however, as the canoe approached them, it was seen that here was an indian village and a burial place, and that the white objects were the white cloth coverings of the crosses and the houses of the dead. there seemed to be no one at the village, and the canoe did not stop, but kept on until sunset, reaching a level, grassy piece of land at the mouth of a mountain torrent, where the party put ashore and camped. evidently this was a favorite camping-ground, for there were found here the remains of fires, a rude shanty put up for protection against the weather, many old poles, and a scaffold erected for the purpose of drying fish. down the side of the mountains came thundering the large stream which had formed the little flat where they camped, and which was more than a brook and rather less than a river. after camp had been made, hugh, fannin, and jack climbed the mountain for a few hundred feet along the stream's course, and they were greatly impressed by the tumultuous rush with which it tumbled from pool to pool in tempestuous descent. the hillside was so steep that climbing was done by pulling one's self up by the trees, underbrush, and rocks. the ever rising spray of the torrent had moistened the earth, grass, and moss, making the ground so slippery that it was often difficult to keep one's footing. the stream made leaps of twenty, forty, and fifty feet at a time, falling with a dull sullen roar into the deep rocky basins which it had dug out for itself, making the milk-white foam which they contained surge and whirl over and over in unceasing motion. the constant moisture of the stream nourished a rank growth of vegetation. rocks and fallen tree trunks were covered by a thick growth of long, pale green moss, into which the feet sank ankle deep, and from which water could be wrung as from a well-soaked sponge. in the crevices of the rocks grew bunches of tall grasses, sparkling with drops of water, as though there had been a rain storm. everywhere there were tall flower stalks, brilliant with blossoms of yellow or blue. back from the bed of the stream grew a thick tangle of undergrowth and young trees, which it would have been very hard to penetrate. many questions suggested themselves to jack during the climb. but the noise of the fall was so great that it was impossible to hear conversation, and it was not until they had reached camp that he was able to try to inform himself in regard to any of the matters about which he had wished to ask. that night as they sat around the fire after dinner, he said to fannin and hugh: "i want to know how these big arms of the sea came to be formed. why is it that every little way here we find an immense cañon running away back into the mountains, and the sea ebbing and flowing in it? of course there's some reason for it. i don't understand what it is, but somebody must know." hugh smoked in silence for a few moments, and then, taking his pipe from his mouth and clearing his throat, said: "yes, somebody must know, of course, and i expect to them that does know, it's mighty simple. i expect likely your uncle, mr. sturgis, knows about all these things, but i don't. i've got an idea from what i've heard him say, and from what i've seen up in the northern countries, that these big cañons were cut out by glaciers,--these big masses of ice, very heavy, and moving along all the time. it's easy for any one who has ever been around a glacier to see something of the terrible power that such a mass of ice has, and to see how it cuts and grinds away the surface of the earth and rock that it passes over. you've heard, and i've heard your uncle talk about these here cañons on the coast of norway, that, from his tell, seem about just like these that we are travelling up and down, except that maybe these are bigger. we can all understand that if a very big glacier got running in a certain course, and kept running for thousands and thousands of years, it would cut out in the surface of the mountains a deep, narrow groove that might be like these cañons; but as i say, i don't know anything about them. i'm just guessing from what i've heard say." "well," said fannin, "i don't know much about them either, but judging from what i've read, you're about on the right track. the books i've read say that there was a time, a good way back, when the whole of the northern part of north america was covered with a big sheet of ice, thousands of feet thick. that is what was called the glacial period, or ice age. this ice, if i understand it, was thicker towards the north--where it was piling up all the time, and getting still thicker--than it was toward the south, where the climate was milder, and where it was melting all the time. now, although ice seems to us, who perhaps don't know much about it, about as firm and solid as anything can be, yet really it is not so. learned men have made lots of experiments, which show that ice will change its form; and we all know that these glaciers that we see here are moving all the time, and, what's more, that they are moving faster in the middle than they are at the sides, where they rub against the mountains; in other words, where there is friction. that shows that ice is plastic, somewhat we'll say like molasses in january. it will flow, but it flows very slowly, and to make it flow at all the pressure on it may have to be very great. in other words, there's got to be a great force behind it, pushing it. now the books say, that in the time of the ice age the sheet of ice that covered the country, being thick toward the north and thin toward the south, was constantly moving slowly from north to south; and i think the men that have studied them have seen in the scratches that the ice sheet made on the rocks and in the gravel and boulders and so on, that it carried along with it from one place to another strong evidence of this motion. then, after a while, as i understand it, the weather got warmer, the ice sheet kept melting faster and faster from the south toward the north, and gradually the land got bare of ice. of course it melted first on the lower lands, and last on the hills and mountains and peaks. it melted very slowly, and as it melted it left behind it on the mountains and in sheltered places where it was coldest, masses of ice which continued to flow along as ice streams, long after the general ice sheet had disappeared. these masses that were left did not move from north to south, because they were no longer being pushed in that direction. they just flowed down hill. "if i understand it, there is only one place now in the world, in the north at least, that is covered by an ice sheet, and that's greenland. but in the northern mountains there are still a lot of remnants of the old ice sheet, and it is these remnants, i think, only thousands of times more powerful than they are now, that cut out these inlets that we are travelling over. "we think that these are mighty deep, and so they are; but maybe you don't recognize how much depth there is below the water. sometimes these inlets are sixty or eighty fathoms deep. there's from three hundred and fifty to five hundred feet from the surface of the water to the bottom of the inlet, and nobody knows how deep the mud may be there before you could reach the bed-rock below it." "i am very glad to know this," said jack. "most of it i have heard before; it sounds pretty familiar, but i never before heard it in such a connected way, and i never understood just what it meant. it seems to me pretty clear now, all except one point that i want to ask about. we all know how easily ice slips down over any surface, and there doesn't seem to be much friction. now i can't understand just how the ice should cut out such a groove in the earth in any length of time, however long it might be. how is that? can you explain it to me?" for a little while fannin sat thoughtfully staring into the fire, and then he replied: "well, i think i understand it myself, and i think i can make you understand it as i do, but of course i do not guarantee that i am right about it. i only give you my idea. "suppose you take a piece of pine board and tilt it up and brace it to represent the side of your mountain. then suppose you take a strip of paper, two inches wide, and we'll say of an indefinite length, because you've got to draw that paper down over that board, for say a thousand years, and never let it stop; for the glacier never stops, it is always being renewed at its head, and keeps on pushing down the mountain sides, just as a brook does that starts from a spring on a hilltop. now, you might draw that paper down over that board for a thousand years, if you lived so long, and you would never wear much of a groove in the board. if you did wear one, it would be awful slow work. but now suppose, in the place of that strip of paper, you have a strip of sandpaper, just as wide, and just as long, and keep drawing that down for a thousand years, you can see that long before your thousand years were over you would have cut a big groove in the board, and in time, of course, you'd cut through the board. that, according to my understanding, is the way that the glacier acts. it isn't the ice by itself that cuts out the groove, but the ice is constantly picking up and rolling along under it fragments of rock and pebbles, and sand, and grinding these hard substances against the hard rock that makes up the faces of the mountains. so it is sawing down into the mountains all the time. "did you ever go into a marble yard and see the people cutting the stone into blocks there? they have metal saws that go backward and forward, sawing on the marble, but if they had nothing but the metal to saw with, they would wear out their saws before they would saw the marble, so they put fine sand between the saw and the marble; and that sand, moving backward and forward, cuts through the marble pretty nearly as a knife cuts through cheese. we have seen here, and you have very likely seen in other places, how the water that comes out from under a glacier is white or gray. that is, it is full of something held in suspension in the water, and that something is the fine powder which is ground off the pebbles and rocks that are being pushed along under the glacier, and ground off the face of the mountains too. it's what you might call flour of rock. that's my idea of how the glaciers cut these deep grooves. we've seen, as we did just below here, lots of great, rounded rocks, on the shore, and we've seen in a number of places, big scratches in the rocks; and these scratches, i suppose, were made by some big chunk of rock, pushed along under the mass of the ice and scratching against the face of the mountains, gouging out quite a furrow in the rock. i don't know that i can explain it any plainer than that. of course, it's a big subject." "well," said jack, "i don't see how anything could be plainer than that; and it seems to me that i understand just exactly how the thing is done. i suppose sometime, when i go to college, i will get a chance to find out all about these things; and when i do, it will be a mighty good help to me to have seen these things here and to have had your explanation. i couldn't think how the ice, by itself, could cut out these grooves, and yet i believe i have had it all explained to me before; but never, i think, by such clear examples. that explanation of the sandpaper makes it mighty clear." "well," said fannin, "we saw at the head of bute inlet a lot of these glaciers. of course they were high up on the mountains, and mighty small compared with the ice that must have cut out these inlets; still, i believe if we could get up close to them we would see pretty clearly how they work, and you'd understand the whole thing a great deal better than you do now. if i were you, i'd be on the watch for things that have a bearing on this work of the ice, and if you keep the thing in your mind, it will be likely to work itself out very clearly." "well," said hugh, "i think i begin to savvy this glacier business, a little, myself. fannin has, sure, given us a pretty good explanation." for a number of days, jack, hugh, and fannin had been studying the charts with much interest, speculating about princess louise inlet, a tiny branch, only four or five miles long, which puts off from the head of jervis inlet. on the chart, its entrance appeared a mere thread, but within it widened and seemed to be several miles in length, though not very wide, while at its head were one or two quite high mountains. this inlet they reached the next day. it was yet early morning when, coasting along close to the shore, they saw a narrow break in the precipice under which they were passing. as they advanced, they saw that it stretched some distance inland. this, they believed, must be the entrance to princess louise inlet, but no one knew. it was almost low water and a current of considerable force was drawing out of the narrow channel. the men landed, and fannin and hamset walked a little way up the beach to see whether the passage was practicable or not. they were soon turned back, by coming up against the vertical walls of the precipice, but the indians declared that if they started now they could go through. re-embarking, the canoe was pushed up into the narrow channel, where now the water seemed to be almost still, and a few strokes of the paddle sent the vessel in between high walls, which could almost be touched by an outstretched paddle from either side of the boat. out in the main inlet the sun had been warm and bright, but here the water, shadowed by the tall rocks which rose on either side, was overhung by a thick, cold mist. although passing along close under the walls of the inlet on either side, they could only occasionally see them, and they groped along aimlessly, not knowing where they were going. the sun does not penetrate this narrow gorge until it has risen high in the heavens, and in the darkness and utter silence of their surroundings, the place seemed very solemn. the strangeness of the situation awed them all, and hardly a word was spoken, or if one ventured a remark he spoke in a low tone. hamset in the bow was keenly on the lookout for rocks or obstructions of any kind, but the chart had said "deep water," for the inlet, and they paddled on with confidence. as they advanced the mist grew thicker and the canoe's bow could not be seen from the stern. no sound was heard save the regular dip of the paddles, and each one of the crew was wrought into a high state of expectancy, not knowing what the next moment might bring forth. an hour after their entrance into this twilight, the mist before them grew a little lighter, and in a few moments, without any warning, the dark curtain was lifted from the water and rolled away up the mountain sides. the mist rose slowly, and there appeared, first the trees on the beach, then, immediately back of them, the piled-up rocks which had fallen from the precipice; and lastly, as the clouds and vapor rose higher and higher, the black vertical cliffs and snow-clad peaks of the mountains. in a few moments not a cloud or a trace of mist was to be seen, except in one long, narrow ravine where it still remained, shut in by high walls of granite. the indians continued the regular movements of their paddles, but those of the white men were idle, and for some little time not a word was spoken. before them was a basin, which they were now entering, less than a quarter of a mile in width. all about them was an unbroken line of snow--here close at hand, there miles away--patched toward its lower border with occasional masses of green or gray. beneath the edge of the snow line was the sombre gray of the mountain side, dark and forbidding. still farther down the slope scanty and ill-nourished timber grew in scattering clumps or single trees, down to the verge of the precipices that overhung the water's edge. to the south and east the hills rose sharply and continuously, forming an unbroken wall until the snow level was reached; but toward the northeast this wall did not exist, and a wide but steep valley, the ancient bed of a tremendous glacier, stretched away for miles toward the snowy heights of the interior. the water before them seemed like a beautiful lake lying among the mountain peaks. in its unruffled surface each detail of the walls of rock that shut it in on every hand was mirrored with faithful accuracy. down the great valley which opened to the northeast, among, over, and under enormous masses of rock, whose harsh and rugged outlines were softened by no appearance of verdure, a large river, the course of which could be traced far back toward the heights, poured, in a series of white falls. they could watch it until it became no more than a delicate white thread, and at last it could not be distinguished from the snowdrifts that lay in the ravine near its source. beyond this valley, to the north, the rocks again became steep with overhanging precipices rising from the water's edge. about them great snow fields stretched away toward mount albert, showing here and there, by their broken white or sky-blue color some ice river that ploughed its way down the slope. it took the white men some time to take in all the inlet's details, and to become accustomed to their tremendous surroundings. at last hugh turned to jack, and said: "son, did you ever imagine a place like this?" "no," said jack, "i never had a notion that in all the world there was anything like this,--so grand and so beautiful. it makes one feel as if he dare not speak aloud. it comes pretty near like being in church." "right you are," said hugh. "i don't believe i ever felt so solemn in my whole life. did you ever see such rocks, or such snow, or such a river as that one over there? did you ever see anything that seemed to you as big as this does? i thought i had been in sightly places, and seen high mountains, but this beats them all." "it's a wonderful sight," said fannin, from the bow. "i've lived twenty years in british columbia, but this beats anything i've ever seen." "yes," said hugh. "it's something that you can't talk about much, in fact. a man is poor for words here." "and just think," said jack, "how cold and dark it was when we started in, and then how suddenly the light and beauty of everything came to us." "yes," said fannin, "but that's not so surprising. you see this inlet is so narrow and shut in on every side by high mountains, that the air here does not feel the sun until near midday. the temperature of this place must be a good deal lower than that of its surroundings; but just as soon as the air is warmed up it rises and carries the mist away with it." "oh, hugh," said jack, "look at these rocks here, where the sun strikes them. don't they look as if they were painted? see that patch of yellow there--just about the color of a canary bird. part of that is reflection from the water, i guess; and i suppose it must be some moss growing on the rock that gives that rich color. then there is a red brown, that looks like iron rust, sometimes it is red, and sometimes it is yellow, and sometimes it is brown, and again it is red. and then, see the flowers and plants up there! there's a fern growing from a crack in the rock, and there are some mosses, some of them brown, some goldcolor, and some bright green. there's a red flower! look at that cluster of hare-bells! what a contrast all that brilliant light and color is to the white and the gray of those outstanding mountains!" "well," said fannin, "i suppose we ought to be moving, for we should paddle up to the head and get back to the inlet in time to go out with the ebb. the indians say that at half tide the water runs so swiftly in that narrow channel that it is dangerous." "come on, then," said hugh. "i hate to think of anything but this show that is before us; and i'd like mighty well to camp here for one night, but i suppose we haven't got the time." "yes," said jack, "we've got to think of what is coming to-morrow, of course; but i do hate to leave this place." they dipped their paddles into the water, and the canoe moved swiftly over its glassy surface. as they paddled on, jack suddenly called: "there's a seal, the first living thing i've seen in here!" from time to time the seal showed his smooth round head above the water, not far from the canoe. a few moments later hugh called out: "there's a brood of ducks in there, near the shore!" "where are they?" asked jack; "i don't see them." "there," said hugh, "close into the shore you can see them or their shadows, though they are a good deal blurred and made indistinct by the reflection of the trees above them." "yes," said jack, "there seems to be mighty little life visible here. down toward the mouth of the inlet i have once or twice seen a gull, but beyond these things and the starfish, clinging to the rocks, there's mighty little that speaks of life." near the head of the inlet fannin got out the longest fishing lines that they had, and, tying a few rifle cartridges to it, let it down over the side of the canoe, trying to find the bottom, but he was unable to reach it. on the way back toward the mouth of the inlet they paddled along close to the shore, in many places under the cliffs which overhung the water. here it was possible to examine them closely and to study their details, and jack was astonished to see how much vegetation they supported and how varied was the life that they exhibited. everywhere near the water the granite was patched with lichens of different kinds and different colors, giving a brilliant effect to the rocks. near the mouth of the inlet they landed on a low point of shore that ran out, and stood there for a little while, taking a farewell look at the narrow fiord. it was an impressive sight, and with full hearts the white men turned their backs on the wonders they had seen and took their way back out into the broad channel of jervis inlet. chapter xvi a mother's courage as they turned north again and paddled on up the inlet the talk was naturally of the wonders that they had just left. "surely," said jack, "this is the most wonderful place that i have ever seen." "yes, indeed," said hugh, "it beats all the countries that my eyes have ever rested on, and i never expect to see anything so wonderful again." "it was beautiful," said fannin, "and how cold and gloomy it was one moment and how bright and beautiful the next." "yes," said jack, "and yet when it was brightest and most beautiful it seemed cold all the time. it reminded me of what i've read about the arctic regions. there was not a thing but snow and ice and just a few straggling stunted trees. i remember reading somewhere about a point down at the other end of south america where there is nothing to be seen but rocks and a little timber and snow and icebergs. that is the way princess louise seemed to me, but i do wish that we had had time to land and follow up that big river toward those heights." "that would have been a nice trip," said fannin; "but i guess it would have been an awful hard one. it looked to me as if those rocks were big and hard to climb among. we'd have had to carry our beds and our grub on our backs, and it might have taken us a long time to get up even to the foot of that big peak that stood up so high." "yet, i suppose there must be lots of life up there," said jack; "birds and animals, and of course if there are birds and animals there must be vegetation to support them." "sure," said fannin. "i don't doubt but that there are goats and deer and ptarmigan, probably bears, and possibly other animals. of course the sheep don't get down so close to the salt water, at least i have never seen them there. i don't doubt, though, but there's plenty of life up there." "anyhow," said jack, "it looks as if the country had not changed a bit since the glacier came pouring down through those valleys and was working its way toward the salt water." "i don't believe it has," said fannin, "except that trees have grown; perhaps some little soil has been made here and there; but except for that i suppose the country is unchanged." for a while they paddled on in silence, and then, as they rounded a point, came a call from fannin: "hello! there's an indian village." three or four houses stood on the bank but a short distance back from the water's edge, and near them were a few people busy at different tasks. when they saw the canoe they all stopped and began to stare at it. down on the beach, just above the water's edge was an old man working over a canoe. fannin said: "let's push in there and see if we can buy some potatoes or other food." they pushed up to the beach, and when close to it saluted the old man with the usual phrase, "_kla-haw-ya tillicum?_" (how are you, friend?) the man gave an answering shout, and hamset turned to them and said: "i guess he can't talk with us"; which was fannin's translation into english. [illustration: when they saw the canoe they all stopped and began to stare at it--_page _] they landed and found that the man was mending some cracks in his canoe by fastening over them strips of tin, seemingly cut from an old tin can, by means of tacks and a primitive stone hammer--a cylinder of stone with enlarged flat ends. hamset began to talk with him in chinook, but the man apparently did not understand, and replied by a speech in some language which hamset could not comprehend. there was a long talk, in which each of the two indians made a speech, which was not understood by the other. fannin tried the old man in canadian french, and hugh made signs to him, but there seemed to be no common ground of communication. after each remark by the old man, hamset would hopelessly reply after hearing him through: "_wake nika kumtux-mika wahwah_" (i don't understand your talk). within a rude fence near one of the houses was what looked like a garden, in which were growing plants that resembled potatoes. presently a bright thought came to jack, and he walked down to the canoe, took from the provision box a potato and handed it to the old man. it was amusing to them all to see the expression of perplexity clear away from the old indian's face and understanding and satisfaction appear. he laughed delightedly and shouted to the women at the house, and a little later two of them came down carrying a large basket of potatoes--and very good ones too. these were put into the canoe, and paid for by "four bits." then at hugh's suggestion jack gave the old man a piece of tobacco. they wandered up to the houses, looked into them, and presently returned to the neighborhood of the canoe. leaning against one of the houses was a two-pronged salmon spear, which jack wanted and which the old man sold him for half a dollar. jack thought that the implement might be useful a little later, as the salmon were now beginning to run into the fresh water streams in considerable numbers. hamset said that these indians were called hanéhtsin. he declared that most of the people must be away fishing, and said that there must be many of them who could speak chinook, although this man could not. next morning as they were eating breakfast a canoe came in sight from the direction of the village, and when it landed the paddlers proved to be their friends of the night before, who brought them some more potatoes and several salmon just from the water. these having been duly paid for at the rate of twenty-five cents each--for a twenty pound salmon--they brought forth from the canoe a large basket of berries which a small boy who was with them, and who had some knowledge of the chinook jargon, announced was a "potlatch," or gift--very likely in return for the bit of tobacco that jack had given to the old man the night before. a little later, the canoe being loaded, the party pushed off from the shore, and, leaving the indians sitting idly in their canoes, paddled back down the inlet. "what i can't understand, mr. fannin," said jack, "is how it is that these indians don't understand one another. of course, i don't suppose that all the different tribes on this coast speak the same language, any more than our indians out on the plains, but i should suppose that there would be some common way of talking to each other, just as the plains indians all understand the sign language." "well," said fannin, "you'd think so, of course, but that's one of the queer things about this country. while often you'll find a great many villages that speak the same language, and while you'll find in most of the villages a number of people that can talk chinook, it's nevertheless the fact that stowed away in bays and inlets all along this coast are little tribes that speak a language that is not understood by any other tribe. i have talked with a few people out here who were regular indian 'sharps,' and who had been among indians over most of the country, and they say that there are a number of indian languages spoken here that are absolutely different from each other and different from any other languages in north america. this is a mighty queer thing, and i can't understand it at all. i've always supposed that it was this fact that obliged the indians to get up this chinook jargon, which is a kind of a trade talk, used all up and down the coast and a good way inland, too, to enable these people to talk among themselves. i have never seen any of these indians here using the sign language, and you can see for yourself that this old chap did not understand what it was that hugh was trying to say to him with his hands. they do say that this chinook jargon was gotten up before the white men came here to this country, and you can see how necessary it would be to people coming in contact with others who spoke a language different from their own. now, i suppose that in the old times there used to be considerable travel along this coast, north and south, and considerable intercourse between the different tribes of indians. and while we know that the northern indians could not talk with the southern ones, yet they visited and traded, and made war and made peace again. it must have been necessary for them to understand each other in some way, and that's the way this jargon came to be invented. of course, it's changed a lot, i fancy, and especially since the white people got in here." "but about this indian here," said hugh, "it seems to me that he ought to be able to understand our indians. their villages cannot be more than a hundred miles from one another, and to an indian a hundred miles is nothing. these ucletah must sometimes come up to the head of this inlet, and these people who live up here, hanéhtsin,--don't you call them,--must go down the inlet and go up and down the shore. it would seem as if they must have met sometimes, and as if they would have some common speech." "yes," said fannin. "they ought to, but i don't believe they have. of course i know no more about them than you do, but you saw the experiments that were tried upon that old chap that we've just left." "yes," said hugh, "there's no going back on that. he didn't understand, no matter how much he ought to have understood." "hugh," said jack, "did you count the number of people at the village?" "yes," said hugh, "i did: three women, three children, and the old man." "well," said jack, "did you count the dogs?" "no," said hugh; "i reckon i forgot to count the dogs. there were a lot of them, i know." "nineteen," said jack. "i counted them. three or four times i had them all counted, and then a lot more would show up. there were a lot lying down sunning themselves when i got there, and after they had got up and come round to threaten us, a lot more came out of the house. this nineteen that i counted didn't include the pups. i looked into a little pen built of sticks, near one of the houses, and there were nine puppies in there, just able to waddle, and i saw some others not much older wandering about." "ah," said charlie, "call it 'dogtown'; we haven't any better name for it." "all right," laughed jack. "i'll put it down." "mr. fannin," said jack, after a pause, "i was thinking last night of the hammer that that old siwash was using to mend his canoe. that was a regular primitive implement, wasn't it?" "yes," said fannin; "you often see the indians still using these hammers. i suppose to an indian they are just as good, and maybe lots better, than a white man's hammer." "yes," said jack, "i don't see why they shouldn't be; but while the hammer was old-fashioned and primitive, the strip of tin which he was nailing over the cracks in the bottom of the canoe and the tacks were modern. where do you suppose he got them?" "why, from a trading schooner, of course," said fannin. "there are three or four small schooners that sail up and down the coast here, trading with the indians for oil and fish, and a little fur, and the chances are that the tin came from some old tin can thrown overboard by such a schooner, and that the tacks were bought from it. of course it may be that these people have been to comux or even to nanaimo." "that salmon spear is interesting, too," said jack, "and i hope we'll have a chance to get some food with it." "these spears," replied fannin, "are very useful to these people. this one, as you see, is about sixteen feet long, the main shaft being about twelve feet and the two prongs about four. it is a well finished tool and rather attractive to the eye, wrapped as it is with the neat strips of bark about the ends of the shaft. that flat handle with the deep notches at the upper end, for two of the fingers of the man who is to throw it, give a good hold. then the two prongs at the other end bound firmly to the shaft, and tapering to a point below, and slightly diverging, make a good implement for throwing into a school of fish; but the interesting part of the thing is the way the spear heads are fastened on to make it effective. you see the line looped about the shaft close above the point where the diverging prongs leave it, that each end of the line is long enough to reach clear to the end of the prongs, and that to each extremity of this line is attached a spear point. the socket which slips on the sharpened end of the prong is made of the horn of the deer, or of the mountain goat, or even of bone; and the piercing point is either a sharpened nail or some other sharp bit of iron lashed to the socket with a fishing line or a strand of kelp. when the spear is to be used, the heads are slipped on to the points of the prongs, and are held in position by the tension of the cord, which is so short that some little effort is needed to slip the socket on to the point. when a salmon has been deeply pierced by the iron point, his struggles slip the socket off the prong and the fish struggles about for a few moments at the end of the cord until he is so exhausted that he can be brought to the surface of the water and lifted into the canoe. if the point were firmly attached to the prongs the attempt to haul a vigorous fish to the surface might very well result in the pulling out of the spear point and the loss of the fish." all the day long the canoe moved slowly down the inlet, stemming the flood tide which at times made them all work at their paddles with an energy that no one of the crew greatly enjoyed. before them the snowy tops of the mountains and the blue glaciers looked cool and inviting, but no breath of air ruffled the smooth surface of the inlet, and the fierce rays of the sun, both direct and reflected from the water, scorched them all day long. about the middle of the afternoon, as they were passing a point opposite moorsam bluffs, a level spot was found, covered with forest. a pleasant brook ran down here, and the spot looked like an attractive camping place. when they landed they found evidences that it was one favored by the indians of the inlet, for there were here relics of many a camp. piles of stone blackened by fire, white heaps of the bones of the deer and mountain goat, decayed vegetation and fragments of discarded clothing and skins, worn-out implements, a tiny baby basket or indian cradle, and many other articles left by former occupants were scattered about over the ground, and showed that the indians often stopped there and sometimes remained for a considerable time. in fact there were so many evidences of human occupancy that it was agreed that some other spot which had not been quite so much frequented by indians would be a better location for their camp; and moving a few hundred yards further down the inlet they found such a place at the mouth of the boisterous brook which here tumbled into the salt water. here jack and hugh and fannin, finding a good beach, took a plunge in the salt water, and while thus engaged found that the little bay was alive with salmon. on shouting this to the others the indians put off in the canoe, and for half an hour hamset perseveringly threw the salmon spear into the school of fish that were breaking everywhere about the canoe. for a few minutes jack and hugh watched him; but as he failed to secure anything, they soon grew tired, and at length went ashore into the camp. half an hour later the canoe returned to the shore, and the indians had three good-sized fish to show for their efforts. "well," said hugh, "from the number of fish that seemed to be out there in that little piece of water, i should think these fellows might have loaded the canoe with them in this time." "yes," said fannin, "that's true; but it's wonderful how much room there is in the water around a salmon, and then you have got to hit the fish just right or else you will not drive the spear into him. if you are not used to seeing salmon you will think there's an awful lot of fish out there; but you just ought to see them in some of the rivers in the province here. why, sometimes they are so thick that you literally can't see the bottom for their backs. a good many people, who have never been on a stream during the salmon run, think that the stories about their abundance must be lies; but they are not. you can't exaggerate their numbers. i have seen people go down to the stream with a pitchfork, and throw out the fish they wanted onto the bank, just as you would lift a load of turnips on a fork if you thrust it into a pile of them. when the fish are running, of course, the bears and eagles have no trouble at all in catching all they want. even the hogs go down to the stream and take out the fish. in fact, during the salmon run, and for some months after it, settlers who expect to kill their hogs keep them shut up; because, if they are allowed to feed on the salmon the flesh becomes flavored with fish to a point where people can't eat it. that sounds like a pretty good story too, but it's true. later in the season, when the dead fish are in the streams,--and there are always many of them,--the hens of the settlers eat them, and often eat so many that their eggs can't be used on account of the fishy taste. that's another good one, but it's true." "well," said hugh, "those stories sound pretty hard to believe, but i guess they are true. of course we've always heard about buffaloes, and how many there used to be, and i expect i've told stories to people who had never seen them, about the numbers of these animals that sounded just as hard to believe as your stories do to me. it don't trouble me a little bit to believe what you told me about the taste of the flesh of these animals. everybody knows, i reckon, that the food that an animal eats gives its flesh good flavor or bad flavor." "yes," said jack, "that's so, of course. i have heard my uncle tell a great many times about some kinds of ducks living up on long island and eating little clams and other shell-fish, and being strong and fishy to the taste, while the same ducks, when they go down south and live in water that is fresh or nearly so, eating nothing but grass and roots, are as delicate and fine flavored as can be." "that's gospel truth, son," said hugh, "and you see the same thing out on the plains and in the mountains. take it early in the season, before the grass begins to grow, and the first green thing that grows out of the earth is a wild onion. if you kill, up at the edge of the mountains, a buffalo or a mountain sheep, just after these onions have sprung up, you can hardly eat the meat." "yes," remarked jack, "and i have heard, too, that the milk of the cows is often flavored with these onions." "i know that's so," assented fannin. "but what gets me," said hugh, "is the multitude of these salmon that there must be. of course we haven't seen many of them; but from what you say, fannin, they just crowd every river that comes into the salt water, and there are an awful lot of rivers along this coast." the camp had a great dinner that night. the indians transfixed a large fat salmon with a stick, which was thrust into the ground so that it overhung the fire at an angle. there the salmon roasted until it was done, and then its bones were picked as clean as any bear could have picked them. a smaller salmon, slim and red fleshed, was cut into steaks and fried, and there was unlimited deer meat. it was all very delicious; and after the meal was over the party sat around the fire for a little while, too lazy to talk, and then went to bed. the next morning, before the canoe was loaded, jack spent an hour or two leaning over its side, and watching the movements of the different marine animals at work in the shallow water near the shore. there were hundreds of little crabs, the largest about the size of a silver half-dollar, clambering over the stones like so many goats, and apparently feeding on the vegetable matter that grew on them. they walked slowly here and there, plucking the food with their curiously swollen white claws, using the right and left claw alternately, so that while one was holding the food to the mouth the other was gathering a fresh supply. they seemed wholly absorbed in what they were doing. their jaws moved continuously, and they had a most businesslike and methodical aspect. the larger crabs were of a deep purple color, while the smaller ones were mostly dull, grayish green, a protective color which corresponded very closely with that of the stones on which they fed. they seemed to get along peaceably; though once in a while, if a small crab came too near a large one, the latter would make a threatening dash at the little fellow, which would at once retreat with many defensive demonstrations of its claws. fixed to the sides of many of the stones were the curved white tubes of marine worms; some of them deserted and empty; while from the mouths of others there protruded a cluster of deep crimson tentacles, the whole looking like some beautiful white-stemmed flower. if the red cluster was cautiously approached and touched it instantly withdrew into the tube which then appeared empty. but five minutes later a small spot of red began slowly to appear, far down in the tube; and gradually drawing nearer the aperture, the arms would be gently thrust out, and the animal would resume its flower-like appearance. on certain stones and rocks were great numbers of barnacles, which were not the least interesting of the living creatures jack saw. at those stages of the tide when the water did not reach them their shells remained closed, and showed no signs of life; but as soon as they were fairly covered by the water, each little pair of valves opened, and the tiny arms were extended and waved through the air with a regular motion which ceased only when they had grasped some morsel of food that was floating by. when this took place the arms were quickly drawn into the shell, and the valves closed; and for some little time the animal remained quiet. on the beach and in the water were many sea urchins and starfish, some of which moved about over the bottom. both progressed slowly; the sea urchins by a continuous motion of the long spines, with which their shells are covered; and though the animal's rate of advance could hardly be noticed if one kept looking at it, jack found that they did move, and seemed to be capable of quite long journeys. jack took up one of these sea urchins to look at its under side, and found that it had a continuous movement of the mouth and soft parts, as though striving to obtain air. when he put it into the water again he placed it on its back, on a flat stone, and was interested in seeing it turn over and right itself by the same quiet, but continuous, movement of the spines. the starfish moved much more rapidly than the sea urchins. they seemed to drag themselves along by some slight up and down motion of their arms, and also by hooking the ends of these arms around the angles of the rocks, thus pulling themselves forward for a short distance. starfish were very common along this coast, and were of all sizes and colors. jack had noticed them brown, black, yellow, orange, red, and purple. they ranged in size from the diameter of a five-cent piece up to ten inches across the arms. they seemed most abundant on the shore just about low water mark, but were by no means confined to this situation. often they were seen clinging to the rocks where they had been left bare by the tide; and sometimes a great cluster of the large red or purple ones were collected in an angle of the rock, showing against a background of shining black mussels and brown seaweed with very striking effect. a light breeze blowing down the inlet made it possible to set the sail, and the canoe slipped rapidly along over the water. the tide was ebbing, and their progress was good; but at length a turn in the fiord shut off the breeze, the paddles were called for, and they had several hours of hard paddling. the canoe was passing so close to the shore that the mountains on that side were hidden from view, while on the other shore the hills were low and not especially picturesque. jack kept looking at one point after another, hoping that each would be the last, and that when the one ahead was rounded he would see the broad waters of the beautiful bay into which they had looked some days before toward the twin falls. after several disappointments he said to hugh: "hugh, this reminds me of riding over the plains. i have been watching these points, hoping that each would be the last, just as when riding over the prairies i always looked at the hill ahead of me and thought that from that hill i should be able to see some distance; but there was always another one just beyond." "yes," said hugh, "i know just what the feeling is, and i guess everybody does who has ever travelled the prairies. why, even the indians tell about some man who prophesied to them long ago, when dogs were their only animals, about a time when they would get horses. he said that when they got horses they would always be on the move, and that they would ride up on a hill and see another hill beyond; and then they would want to get to that one to see what was beyond it; and so would keep going all the time, and never be quiet." it was the middle of the afternoon when the last point was rounded and they came in sight of the twin falls. even then an hour or two was needed to bring the canoe to what looked like a good camping place, near the falls. when they reached the shore they were disappointed, for the timber was so thick and high, and the cliff over which the water fell was so nearly straight up and down, that it was impossible to obtain any view of the cataract from the land. but by pushing out a few hundred yards from the shore its whole majesty was seen. two wide streams of water flow on either side of an island in the river, plunging over the cliffs, and falling quite five hundred feet before they meet with any check; then from here are two more leaps of three hundred feet each, and then other lesser ones of two hundred or one hundred and fifty feet. the stream falls between dark green walls of douglas firs on either side; and the rocky face of the mountains is entirely hidden. before the water strikes the rocks it has become spray, and from each little bench thin clouds of white mist rise to the treetops and float off with the wind. the dull roar of the falls is almost deafening. sometimes it sinks to the muttering of distant thunder, and then rises louder than before, sounding like the boom of heavy guns in the distance. close over the tops of the trees they saw, as they first approached the spot, a splendid white-headed eagle, swinging about on motionless wing. now and then, as he turned, the bright sunlight flashed upon his head and tail, and caused them to shine like silver, while his dark body looked black against the sky. unmoved by the tumult below him, and unshaken by the blasts that were now causing the mighty trees to bend their heads, he floated to and fro in his broad eyrie, the only living thing seen in all the wide landscape. on landing, it took some time to fix the tent and cut the fir and hemlock boughs which were needed to make comfortable the uneven ground where the beds were to be spread. but after this had been done jack took his rifle and declared that he was going up the hill to see what he could see. hugh said that he would go too, and the two set off. from the spot where the camp had been pitched a broad, well-beaten trail led up to the mountains. but this soon grew very steep. great boulders had to be climbed over or gone around. great green leaves and a slippery moss hid the ground and made it difficult to know just where they were stepping. more than once jack, who was in the lead, narrowly escaped an ugly fall. presently the trail gave out or was lost, and then the easiest mode of progress was to walk along the fallen tree trunks, which in many places lay piled high on one another, as a lot of jackstraws would look if thrown down at random. even such a road presented some difficulty; for sometimes a span of the bridge would be missing, and it would be necessary to descend to the ground and clamber up among the rocks. at last the first leap of the falls was reached, but from here very little could be seen, for the foliage and mist entirely obscured the view. further up, for a hundred yards on either side of the stream, the ground and the foliage were damp and dripping from the heavy spray, and the wet moss which covered everything made climbing difficult and even dangerous. the forest along the stream was open, and jack and hugh pursued their way, sometimes being obliged to climb up walls that were almost vertical. still higher up the forest began to give way to little open parks, and before very long the appearance of the sky above them showed that the timber was either much lower or entirely absent. they were not greatly surprised, then, when after a little time they came out of the forest into an open country, in the midst of which was a high, naked, rocky hill. at different points on the hill they saw a number of white objects which they recognized as goats. they did not feel that they needed any goats, but these animals were still sufficiently new to hugh and jack to make them wish to see them again at closer range. a little manoeuvring took them out of the sight of the goats, and they began to climb the hill. after they had ascended some distance they crept out onto a rocky point and could see, above, below, and on each side of them, small groups of these animals feeding on the ledges and steep slopes. quite close to them was an old goat, about which was playing a little kid, not a beautiful or graceful object, but one very curious in its clumsiness and its high spirits. it ran about its mother before and behind, sometimes climbing a little way up on a steep bank, and then throwing itself down on its side, rolling over and over until a level place was reached, when it would rise, and after a rest climb up the slope and repeat the performance. the mother paid little attention to her young one, but fed slowly along, constantly approaching closer and closer to jack and hugh, who commented on the goats' odd appearance and their no less extraordinary actions. [illustration: drove her short horns deep into his side--_page _] suddenly hugh stretched out his hand and caught jack's arm and whispered to him: "look at that lion!" jack looked, but could see nothing, and before he could ask the question "where?" a great yellow animal flashed out from the top of a bank close to the old goat, flew through the air, and fell upon the back of the kid, which sank to the ground with a low, whining cry. instantly the mother whirled on her hind legs, and with a swiftness hardly to be believed of such a clumsy-looking animal, plunged at the panther crouching on the ground over the kid and drove her short horns deep into his side back of the shoulder. the force of the blow knocked the animal to the ground, but he turned, bent the fore part of his body round and grasped the goat by the back and side with both paws, and seized her body with his teeth back of the fore shoulder. the goat seemed to draw back a few inches, and then made another plunge forward, driving her horns into her enemy again. the panther loosened his hold on the goat, struggled to his feet, and staggered a half dozen steps away, and then fell over on his side. the mother goat made no effort to pursue him, but nosed at the dying kid, as if trying to induce it to get on its feet again. on her side were a few drops of blood, where the panther's claws had scratched her, but on neither side of the ridge of the back where he had clawed her with the other foot and had bitten her was there to be seen any evidence of an injury. this had all happened so quickly that the watchers had no time to comment on it nor to shoot. when it was over they sat up and looked at each other, no longer thinking to hide from the goat. "that's a wonderful thing to have seen, isn't it?" said jack. "yes," said hugh. "i confess it beats me. it reminds me a little bit of that story i was telling you the other night about the buffalo bull that killed the bear. who'd have thought that that goat could have killed that panther. i've always heard that these mountain goats were great hands to fight, and that they didn't know enough to be afraid of anything; but i never expected to see it myself as we have seen it." "but where did that lion come from?" said jack. "i didn't see him until he jumped." "he was lying right on that ledge over there when i first saw him, crouched flat all except his head, which was lifted high enough to just see over the bank. as soon as i saw him i grabbed you, and a minute after he jumped," explained hugh. "well," said jack, "we want to take his hide back with us to camp. i expect he's dead, all right." "yes," said hugh, "i guess he's dead, but what about the old goat? she's going to stay with that kid of hers, and i surely don't want to walk up any too close to her. she's likely to treat us the way she did the panther." "yes, i guess so," said jack; "and, of course, we don't want to kill her, though, to be sure, her head would go mighty well with that panther skin." "i'll tell you," said hugh, "let's go round a little bit and get above her and roll some rocks down, and perhaps she will walk off." this suggestion was carried out, and the old goat at length was induced to leave her kid and slowly go off, finally disappearing over a ledge at some distance. jack and hugh went down to look at the panther. they found in his side, just back of the shoulder, four round perforations, and discovered that four of his ribs had been broken where the goat's head had struck him. after they had skinned him they found that the beast's lungs had been pierced three times by the goat's horns and the heart once. it was no wonder that the cat had died. "i suppose," said hugh, "that we might as well take that kid along with us. it's eatable, and the indians probably will like it just as well as deer meat." "all right," said jack. "if you will take the skin, i will take the kid." "come on, then," said hugh. "we had better hurry, it's getting on toward dark; and the road down this hill is a rough one." by the time that they reached the trail below it was quite dark, but they met with no accident. when they reached camp again they had an interesting story for fannin. the indians, too, gathered around and asked the meaning of the holes in the panther's skin, remarking that they did not look like bullet holes, and there were no places where the balls had come out. fannin explained to them what had taken place. the indians nodded sagely, and hamset said to fannin: "once before i've heard of a thing like this. i have also heard of a goat fighting a bear that had killed her kid, and driving it away. these white sheep are great fighters. i have seen them killed with many marks on their skins, showing where they had been cut by the horns of others they had been fighting with; and i have seen two which had in their hams the horns of other goats that had been broken off in the flesh. they fight a good deal. one of my relations once told me that he had crept up close to a goat, and rose up to shoot the animal. when it saw him, it put all its hair forward and rushed at him, but he killed it before it reached him." jack, hugh, and fannin spent some time that night over the panther skin, cleaned it and laced it over a frame where it might dry. whether it would dry or spoil would, of course, depend upon the weather of the next few days. bright, dry weather with some wind would surely cure the skin; but continued damp weather, which would keep it moist, would as surely spoil it. the camp ground that they occupied to-night had been used by indians as a stopping place, and lying on the beach were a number of bones. one of the most oddly shaped ones was picked up by fannin, who asked jimmie what animal it belonged to. the boy did not hesitate, but answered in chinook, "_tuicecolecou_" (porpoise neck). jack and hugh were mightily astonished at this identification, but fannin pointed out to them that this bone, which is made up of all of the vertebræ of the neck grown together so as to form a single bone, is most characteristic, and could scarcely have escaped the observation of the indians, who kill great numbers of these marine mammals. chapter xvii jack meets a seal pirate from the camp at twin falls the course was southeast, and passing between captain and nelson islands the canoe entered agamemnon channel. early in the afternoon they came out on malaspina straits. a fresh breeze carried the canoe along at a good rate of speed, and in the evening camp was made on the mainland, a little beyond merry island. the following day, as they were approaching an indian village, situated near the point where the trail from the head of seechelt inlet came down to the shore of the gulf, they saw a trading schooner anchored off it. provisions were growing low, and it was determined to visit the vessel and see whether food could be purchased. as they paddled toward it, a dog which was running up and down the deck barked loudly at them in seeming salutation, and they saw the figure of a man watching them from the stern. presently they were near enough to hail him, and he invited them to come aboard, which they did. the indians remained in the canoe, and kept it from rubbing against the schooner's side. the man was a splendid, big, hearty young fellow, but a cripple, having lost his leg just below the knee. he talked with them about where they had been, what they had done and seen, and spoke of the vessel's owner, who had gone inland with a back load of trade goods, to try to secure some furs that were said to be at an indian camp some miles inland. "i ought to have gone with him," he said, "but you see i can't get around very easily with only one leg. in this country there is so much moisture and so many rocks, that it's pretty hard for a man to get around at all. he needs two legs, and good ones at that. i can't walk far or long, and this confounded pin of mine sometimes gets stuck in the soft ground or wedged between rocks, and keeps me anchored until i can pull it out. so, really, i am no good except to keep shop and help to work the ship. it seems mighty good to see the white folks again; we have been out all summer, and i've not seen anybody except the indians, and i don't care much for them. "now, you two," he said, as he pointed to jack and hugh, "you come from my country. this man," he said, pointing to fannin, "belongs here. he is a canuck." "you are an american, sir?" asked jack. "yes," said the man, "i am an american; just about as much american as anybody can be. i come from the state of maine, and that's about as far east as the united states goes." "that's so," said jack. "the old pine tree state is a great state." "right you are, young fellow," said the man. "she's a great state, and she has sent out some good men; it's a pity i wasn't one of them--but i wasn't. my name is crocker, and i was born right near the shore, and have been a fisherman and a sailor all my life. the worst luck ever happened to me was when i drifted along this coast and kept on sailoring here. this is the way that i lost my leg." "well," said hugh, "that was sure a piece of bad luck. i should think on one of these boats a man would need two good legs, just as much as he does on a horse. i have seen some one-legged men who could ride all right, but they were never so sure in the saddle as if they had two legs." "no, i expect not," said crocker. "i would have had two good legs right now if i hadn't come round on this coast and took to sealing." "why," exclaimed jack, "how did sealing make you lose your leg?" "well," said crocker, "it was in this way: i made two or three voyages, as mate of a sealing schooner,--first with indians, and then with japs. the last voyage we made with the indians we didn't get any skins, and the captain proposed to me that we cross over to japan, and get a crew of japs and then go north to the commander islands, and make a raid on them, and steal seals from the russians. of course i said it was a go, and just before the next season began we went over and got a crew of ten japs and sailed. "when we came in sight of the islands we found that there was a russian gun-boat anchored near them, and so we stood out to sea for two or three days, and then, going back to the islands, we found the gun-boat had gone. now we thought we had a sure thing on a load of seal skins. we sailed in pretty close to the shore, and then i took a boat and six japs and we started in for the beach, the schooner standing off, just outside the rocks. as we rowed in towards the beach we could see that the rookery was a big one and that seals were plenty. it seemed as if things were going our way. we pulled in hard toward the rookery, and just as the boat was going to ground and the bowman got ready to hold her off a lot of russian soldiers raised their heads up over the bluff and fired at us. "it was about the first bunch of soldiers i ever saw that could hit anything; but they certainly hit us. four of the japs were killed at the first firing. one more was shot through the lungs and another through the thigh, breaking the bone. i got a shot through this leg, below the knee. i tried mighty hard to push off so as to get away, but the soldiers ran down to the beach and into the water, caught the boat and hauled it ashore. they threw the japs overboard, for both of the wounded ones died pretty soon, and they carried me up onto the bluff and over to the little houses where the sealers lived. "you see these russian soldiers didn't care anything about the japs, but they treated me pretty well. they gave me a good bed and tried to set my leg, but both bones were badly smashed, and i made up my mind that without a doctor there if they tried to set the leg they would make a botch of it, and the leg would go bad and i would croak. so after a day or two i picked out one of the nerviest of the chaps and had him take my leg off. he didn't know what to do, but i sat up and helped him, saw that the arteries were taken up right and tied, and that the bone was squarely sawed off, with good flaps left that were sewed up. three or four days after the leg was gone the gun-boat came back and her surgeon came ashore. he looked at the leg, dressed it, and said that it was a good job, and that he wondered that any of those soldiers had known how to take a leg off like that. you see, he could talk a little english and good french, and i could talk a little french and good english, so we got on pretty well. he seemed to take a kind of a shine to me, too, and after i got a little strength he had me brought on board the ship, and after a little while we sailed for petropaulovski. before we got there i learned from something that he said that the soldiers had told him about my sitting up and telling them how to take off the leg. he seemed to think that was a great thing. "when we got to town they carried me ashore and up to the jail and took me in. but before they had fairly got me locked up, the doctor, who had left the ship before i did, came in and showed the governor of the jail an order, and then i was taken to a mighty comfortable house, and stopped there for quite some time. the doctor used to come in two or three times a day and talk to me. finally i got able to get up and be around, and by that time the doctor had had a carpenter make me a wooden leg; so i pegged around with that leg and a cane, and got to having a pretty good time; but, of course, i didn't know what they were going to do with me. "there was a prince in town, a russian prince. he was the head, so they said, of the russian fur company. once or twice he sent for me and questioned me about the seal stealing, and i told him all i knew, for there wasn't any use of making any secret of it. he seemed to be a pretty good sort of a fellow, and at length one day, after i had been there some months--it was winter, and mighty cold at that, you bet--he said to me: 'i ought to send you to the mines, but i don't believe you would be very useful there, with that one leg of yours, and i think the best thing to do with you in spring, when the weather opens, is to send you to yokohama on some vessel.' of course i didn't have any ambition to go to the mines, and i was mighty glad to be let off as easy as that. so when spring came, they found a little schooner that was going to sail to japan, and they put me on board of it, and off i went. and what do you think that prince did? just as i was going to step into the boat to be carried out to the schooner he suddenly appeared, shook hands with me, and wished me good luck and handed me a little canvas bag, which was pretty heavy, and said: 'take good care of that, and make it go as far as you can'; and, by jove! when i opened that bag and counted what was in it there was six hundred dollars. "that doctor and that prince," he said slowly, as he rubbed his chin, "were mighty good to me. they treated me white. i wish though that the doctor had got around to the island four or five days before he did, and maybe i would have two legs now." they had listened with much interest to the sealstealing story, and jack was anxious to ask crocker many questions about the strange animals that he must have seen during his voyage in the north pacific, when he followed the seal herds after they left the islands, and about the great journey that the seals make south and west and east and north again, back to their starting point. but fannin was anxious to get on, and after he had purchased from crocker the provisions they needed, with a hearty handshake and with many good wishes the canoe travellers stepped over the side and pushed off. the next morning was notable for the passage of the canoe through multitudes of black sea ducks, which jack said were coots. the flock, or succession of flocks, were as numerous as those observed some weeks before off comox spit. there must have been many thousands of these birds scattered over several miles of water, and continually rising as the canoe disturbed them, either flying back over it or off to one side. late in the afternoon the travellers, as usual, began to look for a camping place along the shore, and for some time without success. the rocky shores rose straight up from the water and seemed very inhospitable; but at length a little bay, the most encouraging place in sight, invited the tired travellers to investigate it, and it was found that, although the little beach was almost everywhere piled high with driftwood, there was a narrow pebbly place where, by squeezing up close together, there would be room enough for the white men to sleep. a tiny trickle of water through a streak of wet moss ran down each side toward the bay, and it seemed that camp might be made here. the canoe was unloaded and its cargo carried up over the raft of floating drift logs to the beach. a little hole was scraped in the sand to catch the water that fell, drop by drop, from crevices in the rock. the largest stones were removed from the spot where the beds were to be spread, and a fire was kindled. long ago there had fallen from the shelf of the cliff, many feet above the beach, a giant fir tree, whose roots still rested where they had always been, and whose top was supported by the bottom of the bay. the spot where the beds were to be spread was directly beneath this leaning stick of timber, which, as it was six or eight feet through, would even offer a little shelter in case it should rain that night. charlie, however, suggested that this was not a safe place for the white man to sleep, as during the night the tree might fall and crush them. but the other men laughed at him, and pointed out to him that as the stick had never changed its position for forty or fifty years, the chances were that it would not break or slip on this particular night. charlie said that this might be true and went about his cooking. his spirits, however, were not high, for, even with what had just been bought from crocker, the provision box was still very light. the fresh meat had been nearly all eaten, the baking powder had all been used, there was left nothing but a little bacon, a few cans of tomatoes, some flour, coffee, and raisins. to relieve the impending famine, jack and fannin went up on the hills to look for game, and, although they had found no deer, they started three or four grouse, of which two were secured and brought to the camp for the next morning's breakfast. as the party turned into their blankets that night charlie looked at the great stick of timber which overhung them and said: "well, i hope we'll be alive in the morning." "oh," said hugh, "you go to bed, charlie; you're like a cow-puncher i once knew. he called himself a fatalist, and said that he believed 'whatever was to be would be, whether it happened so or not.'" fannin said: "the only thing i am afraid of for to-night is that maybe this tide will rise so high that it will drown us out, and we will be floated off among this drift." when they turned in, the fire, by which dinner had been cooked, was still glowing brightly under the old drift log against which charlie had built it; and the only sound heard in camp was the lapping of the water against the beach. that night jack had a curious dream. he thought that he was asleep in his room at his home in thirty-eighth street, when suddenly he was awakened by a bright light, and, rushing to the window, saw that the house across the street was blazing and that a number of policemen clad in white were dancing in front of the fire. as he watched them, and wondered anxiously about the fire, the smoke from the house seemed to turn and move in a thick cloud straight into his window, causing him to choke and cough. at this jack awoke, and sitting up in his blanket he saw the great drift log, against which the fire had been built, glowing like a furnace. charlie, clad only in his shirt and drawers, was darting about with a bucket of water in his hands, dashing it on the flames. the fire was soon put out; and next morning, on reckoning up their losses, it was found that they were not very serious. a few cooking utensils, a towel or two, and a coat were the only things seriously damaged. if the fire had burned a little longer and communicated itself to the rest of the drift stuff, the members of the party might have been very uncomfortable, and their loss might have been serious. when they started the next morning, the surface of the water was smooth and unbroken. there was no breath of air, and great clouds obscured the sky. before them was seen the white lighthouse of port atkinson, and on either side of the channel they were following rose a low, rock-bound, fir-fringed coast. here, for almost the first time since the trip had been begun, no striking mountain ridges or snow-capped peaks were seen. the tide was running straight against them, and they had to work hard to advance at all. after they had passed the port atkinson lighthouse the inlet broadened and spread out over wide flats. the canoe kept close to the shore, to avoid the ebbing tide, and startled from the grassy shore a number of blue herons which were resting or fishing at the water's edge. sometimes, as they rounded a little point, a group of hogs were encountered, eagerly rooting in the bare flats for shell-fish. the first one of these groups that he saw astonished jack, because the hogs were accompanied by a number of crows. about each hog, on the ground or resting on its back, or flying about it with tumultuous cries, were three or four black-winged attendants, which wrangled bitterly over the fragments of fish that the pig unearthed and failed to secure. sometimes a crow would pounce on a clam or other edible morsel actually under the nose of the hog, and would snatch it away before the hog realized what was happening. "fannin," said hugh, as they were passing along, "does this sort of thing happen regularly? do these crows follow the hogs around all the time?" "no," said fannin, "crows know too much for that. they only get together and follow them when they come down to the flats looking for clams. they have learned that the hogs turn up a great deal of stuff that they themselves like; and they have become regular attendants on them. you know it isn't so very long since they didn't have any loose hogs in this country. it is only within the last few years that they have turned them out to look out for themselves." "well," said hugh, "of course there's lots of difference in size, but these crows flapping about these hogs remind me more than anything of the way the buffalo birds act out on the prairie. they are just as familiar and at home with the buffalo and cattle and horses as these crows are with the hogs here." "it's comical," said fannin, "how familiar any set of birds will get with animals and people or anything else, just as soon as they find that they don't hurt them." they were now at the mouth of burrard inlet and had only a few miles more to go before reaching hastings where fannin lived, and where their canoe voyage would end. they had been about a month afloat. the sand flats, over whose shoal waters the canoe was passing, seemed to be the home of a multitude of flat fish or flounders. they lay on the bottom, and so closely resembled it in color that it was impossible at the distance of a few feet to distinguish them from the sand. the fish remained absolutely motionless until the bow of the canoe was within two or three feet of them; and then they swam quickly away with a flapping motion that did not seem to carry them off very rapidly as compared with the arrow-like darting motions of most fish; but they stirred up a cloud of sand and mud that effectually concealed them. "these flat fish are mighty queer animals, mr. fannin," remarked jack. "they don't look to me like anything i have ever seen before in the world." "no," said fannin, "i guess they are not. they are mighty queer kind of fish; and, if i understand it right, they are all skewed around." "how do you mean?" asked jack. "why," said fannin, "i understand when they are hatched they are right side up like other fish; but soon after that they have to lie on their side. that covers one of their eyes, and that eye works its way up through the head onto the top; so that, as a matter of fact, the two eyes on a flat fish which you see when you are looking down on him are both of them looking out of the same side of the head. what looks to you and me like the back, is really his side, and what looks to you and me like his white belly is really his other side. i don't understand about it very clearly, but there's a man back east who has worked that whole thing out. somebody sent me a copy of his paper one time, and i guess i have got it somewhere in the shop now." before night had come the canoe had gone up the inlet to fannin's shop. here they went ashore, and that night, for the first time in weeks, sat down at a table and slept in beds. it was learned at hastings that the indians were catching a good many salmon at the head of the north arm; and it was proposed that instead of ending the trip here, the canoe should keep on up the arm and see the fishing. the next morning, therefore, they went on up the inlet. on the way they met three canoe loads of returning indians, and each canoe was piled high with beautiful silvery salmon, weighing eight or ten pounds each, which the indians had caught with spears and gaffs in the salmon river. fannin, who spoke with the indians, told the others that this was the fishing party, and that now there were no indians at the head of the north arm. it was, nevertheless, decided to go up there. when they reached the mouth of the river they found the tide lower than it had been when they had been there some weeks ago; but soon it commenced to rise, and as the water deepened they began to pole the canoe up the stream, though frequently all hands were obliged to jump overboard and push and lift the canoe over the shoals and into the deeper water. as the tide continued to rise this became necessary less frequently, and before long the water was so good that they could push along with but little effort. during the passage up the shallow stream many salmon were seen in the clear water--fine, handsome fish, dark blue above; sometimes showing, as they darted away from the approaching canoe, the gleaming silver of their shapely sides. the sight of these beautiful fish greatly excited jack, and several times he struck at them with his paddle, but always miscalculated the distance, and could never feel even that he had touched a fish. at length he called out: "mr. fannin, can't we stop here and try to catch some of these fish? they are so big and splendid that i want to get hold of one." "oh," said fannin, with a laugh, "wait a bit. you are going to a place where you'll see a hundred for one that you see now." "well," said jack, rather grumblingly, half to himself and half to hugh, "i suppose he is right, but it seems as if we might stop right here and catch some of them. the sight of these fish is enough to make any man a fisherman right off." again he called out: "do you think we will be able to catch any fish to-night?" "yes," said fannin; "i think that with the spear or the gaff we ought to get all we want." "but just think," said jack, "what fun it would be to catch one of these with a rod. it looks to me as if they would break any tackle that we have." "no," said fannin, "you can't catch them on a hook when they get into the fresh water. i thought i had told you that before. the salmon in fresh water will not take a hook. they will take one in the salt water, but as soon as they enter the river, no. i'll tell you about that to-night when we get into camp." after several hours' work the canoe reached a point in the river where there was a high jam of drift logs, which it was impossible to pass. the sticks of the jam were too large to be chopped through, and the canoe was far too large to be carried about the jam to a point farther up the river; besides, it was well on toward sundown. camp was made therefore on a smooth sandbar just below the jam, and in a short while the spot had assumed a comfortable, home-like appearance. on the shore of the river was a rather neatly built shed, which had evidently been recently occupied by indian fishermen. this served as a storehouse for provisions and the mess kit, and a sleeping place for charlie and the indians. a little farther up the stream was placed the white tent fly, closed at the back with an old sail and in front with a mosquito netting. near the storehouse a cheery fire crackled against an old cedar log, and on the beach, farther down, drawn out of the water, was the canoe. after dinner was over, and when they were sitting about the fire, jack, whose mind was still full of the salmon he had seen, addressed fannin. "now, mr. fannin, what more can you tell me about the salmon not taking bait in the fresh water? i believe you spoke to me about it when we saw our first salmon, but i have forgotten what you said." "well," said fannin, "i can't tell you why they do not feed in fresh water, but all fishermen say that they do not, and it is certain that none of them are caught on a hook after they begin to run up a stream. down in california, where the rivers are all muddy, people explain their refusal to feed by saying that in those waters the fish cannot see the fly or bait, and so do not take it; but such an explanation will not answer for a clear-water stream such as the one we are on. you must have noticed that the water here to-day was as pure and clear as in any trout stream you ever fished." "yes," said jack, "i don't see how anything could be clearer than this water; and i am sure the fish could see the bait or a fly." "yes," said fannin, "they certainly could; and if they wanted a fly they would rise to it. there's a man down here at moody's mills who is a great fisherman, and he has fished in these streams for trout and salmon for fourteen years. he says that in all that time he has hooked a salmon only twice, and he believes in each of these cases the fish accidentally fouled the hook. no; when the fish get into the fresh water, they seem to forget everything except their desire to get up to the head of the water and spawn." "well," said jack, "eastern salmon come into the stream to spawn just as these fish do. they also try to get to the heads of the rivers for this one purpose; yet we all know that the fishermen go salmon fishing, and expect to catch salmon on the atlantic coast just at the time that the fish are running up the river, and we know that they do catch them, big ones, running, i believe, up to thirty-five or forty pounds." "well," said fannin, "i know that is true, and i don't know just why there should be such a difference in the fish of the two coasts; but i believe that it exists. some day, very likely, we will be able to explain it; but i can't do it now, and i don't believe i know anybody who can." the next morning jack and hugh were up long before breakfast, and were talking about the difference between the surroundings of this camp and those to which they had been accustomed for the last few weeks. ever since their departure from nanaimo they had spent practically all their time on the water or on the seashore; and, except in a few cases, had hardly been a hundred yards from the beach. the present camp, therefore, had about it something that was new. they could not hear the soft ripple of the beach or the roar of the great waves pounding unceasingly against the unyielding cliff. the water which hurried by the camp was sweet and fresh. all about them were green forests, whose pale gray tree trunks shone like spectres among the dark leaves. the birds of the woods moved here and there among the branches or came down to the water's edge to drink or bathe. except for the canoe, and but for the character of the rocks, they might have imagined themselves on some mountain stream, a thousand miles from the seacoast. said jack to his companion: "we have had lots of surprises on this trip, hugh, and this camp is one of the greatest of them." "yes," said hugh, "i know just what you mean. it seems mighty pleasant here to be in the timber with that creek running by; and yet i don't know but i like the open sea better, where a man has a chance to look about and see what is near him." "well," said jack, "we certainly have seen lots of different country on this trip, and i wish we were just starting out instead of just getting in." "well," said hugh, "i believe i feel a little that way myself; though, to tell the truth, i shan't be sorry to get back to a country where there are horses, and where a man can look a long way around and see things." "oh, hugh!" said jack, interrupting the talk, "look at those little dippers there! let's go and watch them." they strolled to the edge of the beach and there saw a number of the queer little birds. they were, as usual, bowing, nodding, and working their wings, or tumbling into the water, disappearing there to come to the surface again some distance away, when they would rise on the wing and fly to the beach or to some almost submerged boulder in the current. some of them were walking along the shore, from time to time stopping and nodding as if to their shadows in the water; or again taking their flight from point to point near the little stretch of beach that, upon examination, appeared barren of food. sometimes one of the birds would bring up out of the water some little insect or worm, which it would beat against the stones and then devour. jack and hugh watched them for some time, but presently the coming of others to the border of the stream disturbed the dippers, and they flew away up or down the stream. they did not particularly mind being looked at by two men, but they thought that five were too many, and they all disappeared. at breakfast it was suggested that they should take a short trip on foot up the stream to see what the river would offer. they were crossing the jam when hugh's keen eye detected a movement in the water beneath them. kneeling down on the floating logs they were astonished to see that the deep pool beneath the jam was full of salmon. they all stretched out at full length on the logs and stared down into the clear water beneath them. through the openings between the logs every movement of the shoal of great fish, slowly moving about but a few feet from their faces, could be seen. the water was beautifully transparent, and it was easy to distinguish the color and form of each fish. the humped back and hooked jaw of the most fully developed males could be readily distinguished, and were in strong contrast with the slim and graceful forms of the female fish. there were probably between four and five hundred salmon in the pool, which was not a very large one. the fish crowded together so thickly that it was only occasionally possible to see the pebbly bottom. it was not long before jack remembered the salmon spear in the canoe, and soon after he had thought of it, he and one of the indians started back to get it. the salmon were so close together in the pool and seemed so near to the surface of the water that he thought that the spear could not be thrust down into the slow moving mass without transfixing one or two of them. when the spear was finally brought to the log jam each one of the company secretly wished to be the first to catch a salmon, yet each was too polite to say what he wished, and they passed the implement from hand to hand, asking each other to make the first attempt. fannin and hugh seemed to want jack to make the first attempt, but he declined flatly and said: "you ought to do it, mr. fannin, because you are more skilful than either of us, but if you don't want to do it let hugh try his hand; he is the oldest person present." hugh also declined with great promptness and positiveness, but was at length prevailed to take the spear. he lay down on the logs with his face close to an opening, into which he introduced the points of the spear, lowering it through the pellucid water until the end of the shaft was in his hands and he had fitted his fingers into the notches cut there. then he watched until he saw a fish precisely under him, and made a forcible thrust, driving the spear deep down into the water and causing a little flurry among the salmon, which moved their tails a little and then darted away. then hugh arose with a mortified look and said: "well, i thought i had one that time, but it seems not. you fellows will have to try your hands now." fannin was the next to make a thrust, and made half a dozen without effect. the fish did not even dodge the strokes, but each time the spear went down toward them there was a general quivering of the whole school, as if each fish had started a little. the thrower of the implement looked at them with a somewhat perplexed expression, and said: "it certainly seemed to me as if that spear went through the whole school." when he had recovered the spear he passed to jack and told him to try his hand, but jack's luck was no better than that of his companions. to him, as he lay on his face looking down into the pool, shadowed by the log jam, the depth of the water seemed to be about five or six feet, yet as he thrust his spear into it and it passed down toward the fish, the handle being in his hand, he could see that the points were still quite a long distance above the backs of the fish, and no matter how hard he threw the spear, it created but little disturbance. hugh, jack, and fannin were now stretched out at different points on the log jam, gazing at the fish beneath them. for some time they did not realize where the difficulty lay, and now and then one of them would say: "oh, please let me have the spear for just a minute; they are so thick here that i know i can't help catching one if i only thrust it at them." but all thrusts were futile. at last, going ashore, and cutting a slender pole more than twenty feet in length, the depth of the water was measured, and it appeared that the spear was far too short to reach the fish. the excitement was too great to leave things in this condition and return to camp, so hugh and fannin soon added six or eight feet to the length of the salmon spear and besides made a long gaff. with these two implements they returned to the pool, and found no difficulty in catching salmon enough to supply the table. all along the river, which they followed up for several miles, they found great numbers of salmon, and with the salmon were a great many trout, some of them of very large size. fannin explained that these fish followed up the salmon to feed on the spawn as it was deposited. he declared that while the salmon were running the trout would pay no attention to a fly. certain it was that all jack's efforts to get a trout to rise to the fly were unsuccessful. the evening after the day they had reached this camp they discussed the question as to whether they should climb the mountains and have another goat hunt. after a little discussion it was decided to do so; but the next morning when they got up they found that it was raining heavily. it rained continuously during the day until noon, when they regretfully broke camp, and paddled down the inlet to hastings, where they paid off and dismissed the indians and their canoe. the unemotional savages shook hands calmly with their companions of the last month. they arranged in the canoe their blankets and provisions and the few cooking utensils which had been given them, and then paddled off down the inlet and were soon out of sight, bound for nanaimo. a day or two later the travellers started for new westminster, to return to victoria. jack and hugh were loath to part with fannin, and they persuaded him to go with them on the stage as far as the town and to see the last of them when they took the steamer back to the island. the next morning all three boarded the stage, and, after a delightful ride through the great forest of the peninsula, they found themselves once more in new westminster and shaking hands with mr. james. chapter xviii millions of salmon mr. james gave to jack a number of letters which had come to victoria for him and then been forwarded to new westminster. they were the usual home letters which he read with great delight, and, besides these, one from his uncle, mr. sturgis, which told him that he had been detained at the mine and would not be able to meet jack at tacoma for at least two weeks. mr. sturgis advised his nephew to spend the time in british columbia and to allow himself two or three days to get from victoria to tacoma, where they would meet. hugh also had received a letter from mr. sturgis, the purport of which was the same, and the two began to discuss the question as to how the next ten days were to be spent. when they had reached new westminster mr. james had urged them to take two or three days' trip with him up the fraser river on the steamboat, partly to see the scenery, but chiefly to get to the end of the canadian pacific railroad which was then being built east and west. the western end started at the town of yale. the distance by steamer was not great, though the swift current of the fraser is so strong that progress up the stream is not very rapid. this invitation hugh and jack now determined to accept, but as the salmon fishing was just at its height, they wished to spend a day investigating that. in those days it used to be said that every fourth year the run of salmon was very great. the next year the number of fish taken would be smaller, the next still smaller; then the number would increase again until the fourth year, when there would be a great run. as it happened, the year of jack's visit was one of the years of plenty. a great run was looked for, but up to the middle of july no fish had been taken, though for a week previous the boats had been drifting for them. the fishermen, however, were not discouraged, for at the mouth of the river were constantly seen great numbers of small black-headed gulls, oolichan gulls, so called, which jack recognized as bonaparte gulls. long before they returned to new westminster salmon had begun to be taken in considerable numbers, the first catch being made about the last of july. the run kept increasing slowly until before their return to new westminster it had become impossible for the canneries to use all the fish caught, and a portion of the boats were taken off. early in august the catch was from seventy-five thousand to eighty thousand fish per day, though only one half of the boats were employed. the canneries were all running at their fullest capacity and the enormous catch was the talk of the town. the next morning soon after breakfast mr. james called for his friends, and a little later they started out to visit one of the canneries in order to get some idea of the method by which one of the chief sources of wealth of the province was handled. on their way down to the wharf, mr. james talked interestingly on the subject. "the fish," he explained, "are all caught in ordinary drift gill nets which are cast off from the boats in the usual manner, and are allowed to drift down the stream with the current, meeting the advancing salmon which are swarming up the river. the other day i got from ewing's cannery the record of the catch of a few of the boats, on one or two average days. for example, on august ninth five boats took nine hundred and seventy fish; the same day six boats took one thousand six hundred and sixty-seven fish. on august tenth, six boats took one thousand four hundred and ninety-two fish, and on august eleventh six boats took one thousand five hundred and thirty-eight fish." "now, these fish," mr. james went on, "are chiefly sock-eyes, and average from eight to ten pounds in weight, but among them are a good many 'spring salmon' which the books call quinnat, and these run from fifty up to seventy and eighty and even a hundred pounds. these records i have just given you give an average of about two hundred and forty-four fish to the boat, or rather more than two thousand pounds. now, of course, the boats cannot take up their nets and make long journeys to the wharves to unload their fish. that would be an unnecessary waste of time, and would not pay, so that at all hours of the day and night steamers patrol the river, collecting from the row boats that do the drifting the fish they have netted. when a steamer gets a load she comes and ties up at the wharf and there unloads her fish. you will see them presently now, for here is where we turn in." leaving the main street they turned down an alley and entered a loosely put up wooden building, from which came a strong odor of fish which showed it to be a cannery. mr. james pushed through the building without stopping until they reached the wharf where they saw a tug tied up. great piles of shapely glittering fish were lying on her deck, and working over them were men with poles, in the end of each of which was a spike. each man on the deck pierced a fish with the spike on his pole and threw it up on the wharf where lay a great pile of its fellows. they threw out the fish just as a farmer would throw hay out of a wagon with a pitchfork. hugh and jack had never seen so many fish before, and for a little while were almost stunned by their mass. no one paid any attention to them, but each person went on with his or her work. at one end of the pile stood a couple of indians who were taking fish from the wharf, and throwing them one by one into a large tub of clear water. immediately next to this tub stood a row of tables at which were people armed with long knives. a woman next to the tub reached down, got a fish from it, placed it on the table before her and removed the head, sliding the fish along to a man next to her, who, by a single motion of his knife removed the entrails and cut off the fins and tail. the fish, thrust again along the table, fell into a tub of clean water and was washed by an attendant. thrown on an adjacent cutting table, it was passed along to a cam, armed with knives about four inches apart, which was constantly revolving, thus cutting the fish into lengths. the pieces were then placed in the tin cans which were filled up even-full. jack and hugh stared at these different processes which went on without a pause. it seemed as if each operator might be a machine. each one performed a certain task and only that, and beyond that did nothing but shove each fish along, then reach back and take another. the knives, it seemed, always fell in the same place, and cut off the same parts with the same precision. it was a rising and falling of arms and knives, in the preparation of a food which was soon to be distributed all over the globe. at length they reached the cutting table. "here," said mr. james, "you can see how systematically the thing is done. it isn't enough that the fish should be cut into pieces, but it must be cut into sizes that are just about long enough to fill the can so that as few motions as possible need be gone through with to get the can level full." "there! do you see!" he went on, pointing to a chinaman, who with two or three motions of his right hand filled a can, just even-full; and then slid it along the table to a man next to him, who slipped on it the circular cover of tin and passed this on to the next man, who was handling a soldering iron and a bit of solder. in but a second, as it seemed to jack, the soldering of the can was finished, and then with a push the can went on to join those which were being bunched up by the chinamen, and placed in a shallow tray made of strap iron. when this tray was full a hook on the end of a chain running down from a traveller near the ceiling was hooked into a ring attached to chains running to the four corners of the tray, the tray was lifted, and run along the traveller a short distance until it stood over a vat of boiling water. it was then dropped into this, hung there for a few moments; and then, rising again, moved a little farther along the traveller, and descended on a table. by this table stood a chinaman, holding a small wooden mallet with which he tapped each can. "you see," said mr. james, "the expansion of the contents of the can under heat makes the cover bulge, and when the chinaman taps it with the mallet he can tell at once by the sound, whether the solder is perfectly tight or not. if, when the mallet strikes it, the cover yields much, he knows that there is an escape for the air and the can is thrown out. there, see him throw that one out? when the chinaman taps the cans it seems as if he were paying little attention to the work, but when a defective can comes along he detects it at once and casts it aside, just as he did that one." this happened to be the only one rejected of this lot, and the operator at once reversed his mallet and began to tap them over again. "what is he doing now, mr. james?" asked jack. "is he going over them again?" "no," said mr. james; "look closely at the mallet and you will see that he has reversed it; and in this end of the mallet there is a little tack. each time he strikes a can he punctures it, allowing, as you see, air, water, and steam to escape. as soon as this is done, the other workmen, with their soldering irons seal up these little bits of holes, and the work is done. now the only thing to do is to label the cans, box them, and ship them to the markets." "how many fish do they put up here in a day, mr. james?" asked jack. "about five hundred cases," said mr. james. "it's a lot, isn't it?" "i should say so," said jack, "it makes my head swim to think of it, and that is being done all along the river, isn't it?" "yes," said mr. james. "it is, and it keeps up for weeks and sometimes for months. the run of sockeye salmon usually lasts from four to six weeks, and during that time the factories run from four in the morning to seven or eight at night; and the work goes on constantly, sundays as well as week days." "well," said hugh; "i don't see how there are any salmon left in the river. i should think you would catch them all. there must be a lot of factories just like this all along the river; what becomes of the people living farther up the stream?" "i can't answer that very well, myself," said mr. james, "except that i know that there are plenty of them. here comes a man, though, who can tell you. he is an old fisherman, and has been in the canning business for years. oh, mcintyre!" he called out to a raw-boned, weather-beaten man who passed not far from them. mr. mcintyre looked at him, came over, and was introduced to hugh and jack as the proprietor of the cannery. he was glad to see them, and readily talked about salmon and salmon canning. "mr. johnson, here," said mr. james, "was wondering that there were any salmon left in the river for the people who live above here. he thinks you are catching them all." mr. mcintyre laughed loudly as he replied: "oh, not all of them; there are a few that get up. you see, this year we have not been able to use all the fish we caught, and we have taken off one half the boats. i don't believe that one fish is caught out of ten thousand that enter the river. everybody between here and the head of the river captures all the fish he wants, and in the autumn you will see fish that have spawned and died, floating down the river by the million. of course, i don't know how many are taken here, but i fancy more than two million or two and a half million fish. the indians all the way up the river have no trouble whatever in catching all they want. if you should go up the river you would see their camps along the shore, and you would see, too, that they were catching many fish." "how do they catch them, mr. mcintyre?" asked jack. "they catch them chiefly in purse nets; scooping them up out of the water, just as fast as the net can be swept." "you ought to take them up the river, charlie," he added, turning to mr. james, "and let them see what goes on between here and yale." "that's just what i am trying to do," said mr. james. "i want to get them to go up with me and i hope perhaps we can start to-morrow." much time was spent at the cannery, for jack and hugh did not seem to tire of watching the swift, certain, and never-ending movements that went on here for hours until the whistle blew for noon. then, indeed, they reluctantly left the factory and returned to the hotel. [illustration: an indian salmon weir--_page _] it must be remembered that all this occurred some twenty-five years ago, and that since that time wonderful changes have taken place in the methods and operations of salmon canning. this is merely an account of what jack saw when he visited new westminster. chapter xix fishing with a siwash the next morning, with mr. james, jack and hugh boarded the comfortable steamer which was to take them up the fraser to the town of yale, the head of navigation of the lower river. mr. james was anxious to have them see the end of the canadian pacific railroad, of which all the residents of the province were immensely proud at that time, for it was the first railroad that had been built in british columbia. incidentally they would view the scenery of the fraser, and would see many other interesting things. near its mouth the fraser is very muddy, and hugh and jack spoke of its resemblance in this respect to the missouri, with which they were so familiar. as the steamer ploughed its way up the river the water became less and less turbid, until, when yale was reached, though by no means colorless, it had lost its muddy appearance and was beautifully green. the current is everywhere rapid, and at certain points where the channel is narrow the water rushes between the steep banks with such violence that at times it seemed doubtful whether the vessel could overcome its force. at such points jack and hugh were always interested in watching the struggle, and noting by points on the bank the slow but steady passage which the vessel made in overcoming the force of the water. for some distance above new westminster the river is broad and flows through a wide alluvial bottom covered with a superb growth of cotton-wood trees; but farther up the channel is narrow; and mountains rise on either side, not very high but very steeply, and on them they saw frequent evidences of landslips which had laid bare long stretches of dark red rock, which contrasted beautifully with the green of the forests. as they passed along, mr. james pointed out one mountain after another, and told of the silver mines and the silver prospects that had been found on each. in many places along the river were seen extensive stretches of barren land covered with cobblestones and boulders which to jack seemed out of place in a region where vegetation was so universal. "why is it, mr. james," he asked, "that nothing seems to grow on these great piles of pebbles and cobblestones?" "why," said mr. james, "that is old mining ground. many of these gravel bars have been worked over by placer miners; and these piles of stones were left after the soil and fine sand had been washed for the gold which it contained. many of these bars have been worked over a number of times, and all of them, twice. along this river it has been just as it has been back in the states. after gold was discovered, the white man first went over the ground and washed the gravel, getting most of the gold; and then, after he got through, the chinaman, slow, patient, persistent, and able to subsist on little or nothing, went over the ground again and found in the abandoned claims money enough to pay what seemed to him good wages; in other words sufficient to give him a living, and enable him to save up money enough to take him back to his own country, where he lived comfortably for the rest of his life. "i am no miner," mr. james continued, "but you must talk with hunter. he is a civil engineer with a lot of experience, and i saw him on the boat this morning. i understand that he has a mining scheme which is big, though, of course, it is only a speculation as yet." mr. james stopped talking and looked about the deck, and then walked over to a tall, thin man who was standing near the rail, smoking. after speaking to him, the two came to where jack and hugh were sitting. introductions followed, and after a little time mr. hunter explained what it was that he proposed to do. "quesnelle lake," he said, "lies away north of yale and east of the river, in a country where some good prospects have been found. from the lake, quesnelle river flows into the fraser. the bed of quesnelle river is supposed to be very rich in gold. it is said that it is so rich that the chinamen anchor their boats in the river and dredge the dirt from the bottom, take it ashore and wash it, and in this way make good wages. i have received a dominion grant to mine this river, or so much of it as i can. of course, as yet, this is a mere prospect, but i am going up there now to find something definite about it. i shall have to do some dredging to find out what there is in the bottom of the river. if i find that the dirt there is rich enough, i shall build, across the river near quesnelle lake, a dam strong enough to hold back for three or six months of the year--during the dry season, in other words--the water of the lake, so that the volume which passes through the river channel will be greatly diminished. this will leave bare a great portion of the river channel, which can then be mined by ordinary hydraulic processes. as i say, there is as yet nothing certain about the matter, but there seems sufficient prospect of profit in it to make it worth while to attempt it." "that seems a reasonable scheme," said hugh, "though, of course, as yet there are a number of 'ifs' to it." "there are a good many," said mr. hunter; "but i believe that in the course of the next three months i shall know much more about it than i do now." "i believe, mr. hunter," said jack, "that you have travelled a great deal over the province, have you not?" "yes," said mr. hunter, "a good deal. i have been over the whole length of it and over much of its width, but i know little about its northwest corner. there i never happened to be; but from the fraser and kootenay rivers, down to the boundary line and all along the western part of the province, i have been." "is there any place near here," said jack, "where one could go into the mountains for say a week or ten days, with a prospect of getting a little hunting? i don't mean for deer and goats, because i suppose these are found almost everywhere, but with some prospect of finding sheep, and perhaps elk? i believe that bears exist everywhere, and of course the meeting with them is a matter of luck." mr. hunter considered for a moment or two, and then said: "do you want to make a little hunting trip of this kind, and now?" "yes," said jack, "mr. johnson, here, and i were thinking of doing that." "well," said mr. hunter; "i believe i know just the place for you. it's only a short distance from hope, a town just below yale, on the river, and if you can get started at once, four or five days ought to take you into a good sheep country, where there are also a few deer and goats. you could have three or four days hunting there, and could get back to take the steamer down the river and get to westminster inside of two weeks." "that's a little bit more time than we have to give to the trip," said jack, "but perhaps we could do that, and perhaps we could gain a day or two in the travelling." "perhaps you might," said mr. hunter, "those things depend largely upon the outfit you have and chiefly on the energy of the man who runs your outfit. if you get somebody who is a rustler, who will get you up every morning before day and have the train on the march before the sun is up, and travel all day, you can get along pretty rapidly." "well," said hugh, "it seems to be a matter that depends largely upon ourselves. son and i are fair packers, and if we can get horses and a man to wrangle them and somebody that knows the road, we ought to be able to keep them moving." "i'll tell you what i will do," said mr. hunter. "when we get to yale i will telegraph to an acquaintance of mine in hope, and find out what the prospect is of getting the outfit that you want." hugh and jack both thanked mr. hunter, and after some inquiry about the character of the country to be traversed, the talk turned to other subjects. it was but a little later when the boat began to pass groups of indians camping along the shore; and near each camp were seen the drying stages on which they were curing the fish that they took. horizontal poles were raised five or six feet above the ground and these were thickly hung with the red flesh, making a band of bright color which stood out in bold relief against the green of the trees and the cold gray of the rocks. jack and hugh looked at these camps with much interest. "it looks some like a little camp on the plains when there has been a killing and the meat is just hung up to dry, doesn't it, son?" remarked hugh. "a little," said jack, "but i cannot separate the camp from its surroundings of mountains and timber and big water." "no," said hugh, "that is hard to do, but of course these people are gathering their meat and drying it just as our indians gather their meat and dry it." in front of the tents and shelters in which the indians lived down on the bank of the river, were scaffolds made of long poles thrust into the rocks and resting on other rocks, projecting out well over the water. on each one of these stood one or more indians engaged in fishing with a hand net which he swept through the water, just as had been described the day before by mr. mcintyre. to see it actually done made the operation so much easier to understand than when it had been simply described. the indians swept their nets through the water from up stream downward, and at almost every sweep the net brought up a fish, which the man took from it with his left hand and threw to a woman standing on the bank above the stream. they could be seen to perform some operation on it, and sometimes a woman with an armful of fish went up and hung them on the drying scaffold. mr. hunter was standing by them, also observing the fishing, and jack said to him: "mr. hunter, i can't see clearly enough to understand just what these nets are and how they are worked. can you explain it to me?" "yes," said mr. hunter. "it's very simple, and when you go ashore at yale, you will be able to see the indians catch fish in just this way, and you can see for yourself just how it is done. you know what an ordinary landing net is, don't you--a net such as we use for trout?" "yes, of course i do," said jack, "it's pretty nearly what we call a scap net along the salt water, except that it is not so large or so coarse." "yes," said mr. hunter. "you know that a landing net has a handle, a hoop, to which the net is attached, and a large net hanging down below the hoop. now if you imagine a landing net four or five times as big as any you ever saw, you will have an idea of the general appearance of one of these purse nets when spread. the hoop of the purse net is oval and made of a round stick, the branch of a tree bent so that the hoop is about four feet long by three feet broad. this hoop is attached to a long handle. running on the stick, which forms the hoop, are a number of wooden rings, large enough to run freely. the net is attached to these small wooden rings, and if the handle is held vertically the weight of the net and rings will bring all the rings together at the bottom of the hoop, so that the net is a closed bag. now from the end of the handle of the purse net a string runs to the hoop and is attached to the wooden rings that run on it in such a way that if you pull on the string the little wooden rings spread themselves out at equal distances all around the hoop, and the net becomes open, just as an ordinary landing net is when open. as the indian is about to sweep the net to try to catch a fish, he pulls the string which spreads the net, and the net is then swept through the water with a slow motion. the string which holds it open passes around the little finger of one hand; and if the fisherman feels anything strike against the net, the string is loosened, the rings run together, and the net becomes a closed bag which securely holds the object within it. the salmon, swimming against the current, pass along close to the steep bank where the force of the water is least, and the eddies help them. the indians know where the salmon pass, and sweep their nets along there to meet them; and, as you see, catch lots of fish." "that makes it just as clear as anything," said jack, "and i am very much obliged to you for telling me about it. i want to understand these things that i see, and sometimes it is pretty hard to do so without an explanation. now, if you will let me, there is another question i would like to ask you. what do the women do in preparing the salmon for drying? i can see that they are using knives. do they just cut off the head, or do they take out the backbone?" "i am glad you asked me this question," said mr. hunter, "because there's a difference in the way the indians save the fish. the coast indians just cut off the head and remove the entrails, but these indians up here are more dainty; i suppose, as a matter of fact, they are more primitive, and do not understand the importance of collecting all the food they can, although they ought to understand that, for they have certainly starved many times when the salmon run has been a poor one. up here, the indians only save the belly of the fish. by a single slash of her knife, the woman cuts away the whole belly from the throat back to a point behind the anal fins, and extending up on the sides to where the solid flesh begins. this portion is retained and hung up to dry. the whole shoulders, back and tail are thrown into the water again. there is another thing that i believe will interest you. you see these stages from which they are fishing? well, you might think that anybody might come along and build a stage and go to fishing, or that whoever came first in the summer to one of these stages might occupy it, and use it during the season, but that isn't the fact. these stages are private property, or rather family property, and the right to occupy and use each point descends from the father to the oldest son of the family." "well," said jack, "that's new to me. i never heard of anything like it. did you, hugh?" "no," said hugh, "it's one ahead of me." "well," said mr. hunter, "you will find quite a lot of customs of that kind along this coast. certain tribes and certain families have the right to hunt or fish in certain localities and it's a right that is universally respected among the indians. a man would no more think of interfering with another family's fishing stage or trespassing on his hunting ground than he would think of disturbing a cache of food that did not belong to him." "that's another thing i had not heard of, mr. hunter," said jack; "the fact that the indians have separate special places where they have the right to hunt and where other people have not that right." "yes," said hugh, "that's new to me, and would seem quite queer to anybody in our country." "what is your country, if i may ask?" said mr. hunter, courteously. "why," said hugh, "son and i have been for the last three or four years on the plains and in the mountains back in the states." "oh, in the rocky mountains?" said mr. hunter. "yes," said hugh. "there, of course, your game is chiefly buffalo, i suppose, and they wander a good deal, do they not?" "yes," said hugh, "they wander some, but not so much as most people think. a great many people say that in summer the buffalo all go north and in winter they all go down south, but that's not so. there are movements of the herds with the seasons, but they are not very extensive." "mr. hunter," said jack, taking advantage of a moment's pause, "i have heard something about the caches that the indians make of their food, but i have never seen one in this country. will you tell me how they arrange them?" "certainly," said mr. hunter. "these indians, here, after their fish have dried, pack them together; and in a tree, far above the reach of animals or insects, they build something that you might call a little house or a big box, in which they store the food and leave it there against a time of need. the house or box, whichever you choose to call it, is built of shakes, that is, of thin planks split from the cedar, is fairly well jointed, and has a tight and slightly sloping roof so that the moisture cannot get into it. usually they are seen along the streams or near favorite camping grounds, and i should not be at all surprised if we saw one before reaching yale. they are quite commonly seen." "and you say," said jack, "that they are never disturbed?" "absolutely never," said mr. hunter. "indians would suffer great privations before taking food belonging to other people, because they know to take away this food might mean starvation to the owners. of course if an absolutely starving outfit of indians found a cache they might take from it a little food, perhaps enough to carry them on for a day or two along their road; but if they did, they would leave some sign at the cache to say who had taken the food, and they would feel bound, at some later day, whenever it were possible, to return what they had taken with good interest." by this time the day was well advanced, and a little later mr. hunter pointed to a few dilapidated buildings standing near the river and said: "there is all that's left of the town of hope. the situation is a beautiful one, in a wide bottom; but there is no life in the settlement. it is from this point on the river that the trail starts for kootenay about five hundred miles distant, and all the mail and express matters used to leave from here. the town was founded in the early days of the mining excitement, when it was thought that the diggings of the fraser were inexhaustible. people used to think that this would be a great town, and there was an active speculation in building lots, but as the washing on the lower river ceased to pay, the tide of emigration passed on. hope was left behind, and the owners of town lots will have to wait a long time for their money. at the same time, when the railroad is finished it will of course pass through hope or near it, and there may be a future for the place; but that will depend upon agriculture and not on mining." a little later in the day the steamer tied up to the bank at yale. it was quite a large town, spread out at the foot of a great mountain, and it seemed to have the characteristics of all western railroad towns. it was from here that the canadian pacific railroad was being built eastward, and yale was thus the supply point and the locality where all the laborers employed on the road congregated during holidays. to jack the place seemed as cosmopolitan almost as san francisco. he recognized english, scotch, and french; and noticed some germans, swedes, and some americans; indians and chinese were numerous, and negroes jostled mexican packers and muleteers; while there were many mixed bloods whose parentage could hardly be determined from their countenances. jack learned that a stage ran from yale to lytton, where the river is again practicable for steamers, and that this was the route taken by persons going to the mines at cariboo. mr. hunter, knowing jack's interest in birds, took him to see a taxidermist who had a considerable collection of bird skins brought together from the immediate neighborhood. here he saw many eastern and western birds, the most interesting of which were the evening grosbeak, the pine grosbeak, and a species of gray crowned finch. by the time the birds had been inspected the sun had set and they returned to their quarters at the hotel. immediately after breakfast next morning, jack, hugh, and mr. james walked along the railroad two or three miles up the river and into the cañon. the scenery was very beautiful. the walls of the cañon were nearly vertical, the stream tearing along between them at a high rate of speed. just at the entrance of the cañon stands a high rock or island, which divides the current into two streams of nearly equal size. on a flat rock they all sat down, and while the two older men filled their pipes and smoked mr. james told jack the story of this rock. "of course you understand," he said, "that the salmon has always been the most important food of the year to the fraser river indians. it supplies them with their winter food, and indeed with provisions for almost the entire year. to them, as to almost all the indians along this coast, the salmon is the staple food, just as back on the plains the buffalo is what the indians there depend upon. just as back in that country the buffalo is somewhat a sacred animal, so here the salmon are in a degree sacred; and just as back there the indians perform certain ceremonies when they are going out to make a big hunt, so here the capture of the first salmon is celebrated with religious ceremony." hugh nodded and said, "i guess indians are alike the whole continent over." "well," said mr. james, "each summer the first fish that came up the river and was taken, was regarded not as belonging to the person who took it but to the good spirit; i suppose that means the chief god. as soon as caught, therefore, it was to be taken to the chief of the tribe, and delivered into his keeping. a young girl was then chosen and after having been purified, she was stripped naked and all over her body were marked crossed lines in red paint, which represented the meshes of the net. she was then taken to the water's edge and with solemn ceremonies the net marks were washed off. this was supposed to make the people's nets fortunate. prayers were made to the good spirit and the salmon was then cut up into small pieces, a portion was sacrificed, and the remainder was divided into still smaller pieces, one of which was given to each individual of those present. this, squawitch tells me, was the regular annual custom. now, about this rock. one season the people had eaten all their food and had gathered here at the river for the fishing, but as yet no fish had been caught, and they were starving. it happened that the first salmon caught was taken by a woman, and she being very hungry, said nothing about its capture but at once devoured it. this was a crime and for it she was changed by the good spirit into this rock, which was thrown into the river where we see it now, to remain there forever as a memorial of her offence, and a warning to others." "my, that's a good story, mr. james," said jack. "yes," said hugh, "that's a sure enough indian story." the pipes being knocked out they started on up the river. just above the first tunnel jack saw on a stage down near the water's edge, an old indian fishing with a purse net, and as it seemed, catching a salmon at every sweep he made. this was too much for jack to resist, so he clambered down the rocks to the indian's stage. after watching him for a little while, and noticing closely how he handled the net, jack took from his pocket a quarter and held it out to the indian, at the same time reaching out his hand for the net. the indian gave it to him readily enough, and began to dress the fish he had already caught, while jack stepping out on the stage over the water, began to sweep the net through the current just as the indian had done. at the first sweep he felt something strike the net and loosened the string. he raised the net and--with some difficulty, for it was big--brought up to the stage a great ten pound salmon. he reached the net back to the indian to take the fish from it; and, then spreading it again, he repeated the operation. in ten minutes he had caught nearly as many salmon, all of which were about the same size. no doubt the indian would have been willing to have him fish all day for him, but his two companions, on the railroad track above, were getting impatient and called to him. jack gave back the net to the indian, climbed up the bank and overtook his companions, all three then going on up the track. it was an interesting experience, and one that not many people have enjoyed. on their return to town hugh asked mr. james if there was any one in the town, so far as he knew, that had ever crossed the mountains to the head of the peace river, and followed that stream down to the eastward. mr. james thought for a moment or two, and then said: "why, of course. i know just the man, and i can take you to him. it's old man mcclellan. he used to be an old hudson bay man, and has travelled all over the country. i am very sure that i have heard him tell about making that trip across the mountains." a little inquiry brought them to mr. mcclellan's store. they found him a hardy old scotchman who seemed glad to give them such information as he could. he told them about the streams that they must go up to reach the head of the peace river, and that there was a two days' portage between the two waters, those flowing east into the hudson bay, and those west into the pacific. "the distance is not so great," he said, "but it's a rough country and ye'll have to go slowly, but it is a fine country to travel through; lots of game, moose, caribou, and mountain goats, and plenty of fish. ye'll never have to starve there." "well," said hugh, "i don't know as we'll ever be able to make that trip, but i've often thought about it and wanted to. one time, a good many years ago, i got hold of the travels of alexander mckenzie, the man who found the frozen ocean, and he crossed the mountains from hudson bay to the pacific ocean, and i have always thought that i would like to make that trip myself, but i am getting old now for trips. i can't get around as easy as i could twenty years ago." "pshaw, man," said the old hudson bay voyager, "never talk like that! you're good for many years of travel yet. faith, i'd like to take that trip with you, if you don't put it off too long. it's a fine country, and i'd like to go through it again." that evening at the hotel they saw mr. hunter, who told them that he had communicated with the people at hope, and had found that it would be easy for them to get a packer and an indian guide and horses to go off on the hunting trip if they wished to. the outfit could be ready to start to-morrow morning if they felt like it. jack and hugh thought this would be a good thing to do, and got from mr. hunter the name of the man at hope who could give them the desired information and assistance. they asked mr. james if he would not join them on the hunt, but his business required him to return to new westminster at once. it was determined, then, that all should start on the boat at three o'clock the next morning, jack and hugh getting off at hope and trying to make a start for the sheep country that same morning. chapter xx off for a hunt in the mountains it was still dark when the boat started, and except jack, hugh, and mr. james, all the passengers promptly disposed themselves to sleep for a time. the captain had promised to stop at hope and let the two hunters off, and their bags and blankets were all piled near the gangplank to be rushed off at a moment's notice. in little more than an hour the boat whistled, slowed down, and drew up close to the bank; the wheel was reversed until the boat lay up close to the wharf, the gangplank was run out, hugh and jack shook hands with mr. james and ran ashore, each carrying his bag and gun, while two of the deck-hands followed with their rolls of blankets, tossed them to them on the ground, and then rushed back. the gangplank was drawn in, the boat whistled and started up, soon disappearing around a bend. meanwhile, two white men and two indians had approached them and accosted hugh. the older of the two white men introduced himself as john ryder, with whom mr. hunter had communicated the day before. "your animals are all ready, mr. johnson," he said; "and all we have to do is to buy provisions and pack the loads and start." "well," said hugh, "that's just exactly what we want; and the sooner we get off the better it will please mr. danvers, here, and me. where are your animals, and where can we get something to eat, and what time will the stores be open?" "if you will come with me," said ryder, "i will show you the hotel and the animals; and as soon as you have had your breakfast we can buy our supplies and start. these indians here will carry up your things." "very good," said hugh, "they may as well take the blankets to the corral, wherever that is; and we'll take the bags and guns with us." ryder conducted them to the hotel where, as yet, no one was awake; and then, followed by hugh and jack went to the corral where there were a dozen horses. the outfit seemed a good one; the animals strong and fat. ryder proposed to take six pack animals, three with saw bucks, and three with aparejos. hugh and jack looked over the riggings, which seemed in good order; and then they all returned to the hotel. after a talk with ryder it was arranged that they should take ryder, a boy to wrangle the horses, and an indian who professed to know the hunting country. these with the six packs would make eleven animals. "it's more than i counted on taking," said hugh, "but perhaps it's better to take a horse or two extra rather than sit around for two or three days and fuss over it. we won't save in money and we'll lose quite a little time." by ten o'clock the provisions had been purchased and made up into convenient packs. ryder was to furnish a tent and cook-outfit, and got the things together at the corral. then hugh, jack, and ryder and his assistant in a very short time packed all the horses except those which were to carry the provisions. these were taken down to the store and left there, and before noon the packed train, with ryder in the lead, went out of hope and struck up across the divide between nicolume and the head of the skagit river. for some distance they followed the old wagon road which leads up between high steep mountains, through beautiful scenery. the cedars and firs were grand, the mountains towered high and were streaked with white dykes, and the gulches and ravines where deciduous trees grew, were bright with the red of the mountain maples. toward night they reached a place called lake house, a cabin on the edge of a wide meadow--marshy with some standing water and surrounded by willows and alders. here jack set up his rod and caught a few fairly good trout weighing nearly half a pound apiece, and many little ones which he threw back. hugh came up to see how he was getting along; and soon they went back to the camp together. in the morning everything was wet, for there had been a very heavy dew. they got off in good season and after stopping once or twice to tighten, as the ropes grew dry, they went on and made good time. during the morning they passed two or three pack trains, the animals of which were loaded with long boxes whose contents neither hugh nor jack could guess; but at the first opportunity they asked ryder, who explained to them what these boxes contained. "you see," he said, "it seems that every chinaman, when he dies wants to go back and be buried in his own country; and they make arrangements before they die that they shall be taken back. i believe one chinaman here has the contract of sending back all british columbian chinese, and he sublets the job, it being understood that the various subcontractors will deliver the bodies at certain specified places. sometimes a chinese is shipped soon after he dies, sometimes not for three or four years. they seal them up in zinc cases about six feet long and two feet wide and put these cases in crates of wood. these they pack lengthwise of the horse, making for them a sort of platform which rests on an aparejo. the long cases project forward from the horse's neck and back over his hips, and are pretty hard on their backs; but they ride well enough after the ropes have been thrown over them." not long after leaving the lake house the wagon road came to an end, and then for a while the trail followed down the skagit river. all day the way led through the mountains, and all day the trail kept climbing higher, so that when they camped that night ryder said that the altitude was about five thousand feet. all day long every one was busy hurrying the horses along, and no time was taken for hunting. that night there was a heavy frost, and when they awoke the next morning, it was very cold. five of the horses were lost, and it took some time to recover four of them, and then they moved on, leaving one behind, which, however, turned up later and was brought along. this also was a day of climbing, for they passed over a mountain about seven thousand feet high. several times jack and hugh heard the familiar call of the little chief, or rock hare, so familiar an inhabitant of the slide rock of all the mountains of the main divide. that night they camped on a creek called whipsaw, and as there was no grass at the camp for the horses, they were turned out to the mountain side to feed. after they had got into camp, ryder told jack that on the creek, a couple of miles below the trail, there was a deer lick; and suggested that they should go down and try to kill a deer, as fresh meat was needed. they went down and found a spot where animals had evidently been at work gnawing and licking the saline clay; but, though there were abundant signs all about, no deer were seen. the next day after passing through a beautiful open country dotted with great pines, whose cinnamon-colored trunks rose fifty to sixty feet from the ground without a branch, they reached alison's on the smilkameen. here they stopped for a little while. mrs. alison, a very intelligent and kindly woman, took great pride in showing jack and hugh the children's pets--a great horned owl, a sparrow hawk just from the nest, some attractive green-winged teal and mallards caught young, and a tame magpie which talked remarkably well and spoke the names of two of the children--"alfreda" and "caroline"--very plainly. keeping on down the river, they camped below alison's. the way down the river was beautiful, for on either hand rose high, steep, slide rock mountains, marked with sheep and goat trails, criss-crossing in every direction. here and there along the stream stood an indian cabin. "i tell you, son," said hugh, "we're in a game country now, or what has been a game country. in times past there have been a heap of sheep on these mountain sides here. you see their trails running everywhere. of course, when a sheep trail is once made in the slide rock it lasts just about forever, unless there is some slip of rock on a mountain side and the rocks roll down and cover it up." that night the indian, baptiste, confirmed what hugh had said. ryder interpreted for him, saying that sheep and goats were plenty near here and that to-morrow they would hunt. "in spring," baptiste said, "when ploughing the land, i often see goats far down on the cliffs close to the river, but as summer advances and it grows warm and the flies become troublesome, the goats gradually work up to the tops of the mountains. there they paw holes in the earth, in which they stand and stamp; and sometimes wallow and roll to get rid of the flies." "all right," said hugh, "we will see what baptiste can show us to-morrow." "the way that indian talks," he added, "sounds to me just like kutenai. i have heard a lot of kutenais talk in the blackfeet camps, and elsewhere, and i would like to know if this baptiste is a kutenai." "i guess not," said ryder; "he's a smilkameen." "ask him," said hugh, "if the smilkameens and kutenais are relations." the answer, given through ryder, was "no." "ask him," said hugh, "if their languages are alike." baptiste replied: "yes, the two languages are not quite the same, but they sound alike." he added: "in the same way the tongue spoken by the okanagan indians is much like my language." hugh shook his head and said: "that may be so, but i don't feel a bit sure about it. often it's very hard to make an indian understand what you're trying to get at, even if you can speak his own language; but after it has to go through two or three interpreters there's a big chance of a misunderstanding somewhere." "well, hugh," said jack, "what shall we do to-morrow? go on farther or stop here and hunt? i understand that baptiste says that there are plenty of goats hereabouts, and if we want some we can easily get them." "well," said hugh, "we need some meat and we might just as well stop here for a day if you think best and see whether we can kill a kid or two, or a dry nanny. you know i don't think much of goat meat; and yet, of course, it's meat, and good for a change from bacon. i'll ask baptiste what the prospects are." calling up ryder, hugh had begun to question baptiste, when, out of the darkness, another indian stepped up to the fire and saluted the white men in pretty fair english. a little talk with him developed that he was tom, a brother of baptiste. after a few questions baptiste and tom both agreed that there was every opportunity to kill goats here. tom said that in the early summer he often saw them from the trail, as he was travelling back and forth. it was finally decided that they should stop here for one day and make a hunt and then proceed to the sheep country. the next morning baptiste, tom, hugh, and jack started on foot up a small creek which came out of the hills near baptiste's house. the way was steep and narrow and they had followed the stream up two or three miles before any pause was made. two or three times the glass revealed white objects, which close observations showed to be weather-beaten logs. suddenly tom stopped and declared that he saw a goat. the white men all looked through their glasses and declared that it was a stump, but after going a little further and looking at it again it appeared that the white men had been looking at the wrong object, and that tom's goat was lying on the ledge in plain sight. after going a little farther along another goat was discovered high on the hillside, a little below the first and quite close to it. they were six or seven hundred yards away and close to the creek. to approach them it would be necessary to go up the stream to a point well above them, and then to climb the mountains on which they were, get above them, and then come down behind a point which would apparently be within shooting distance of them. before they reached the point where the creek must be crossed, hugh said to jack: "now, son, you go with tom and try to get these goats, and i will take baptiste and go farther up the stream and climb that high hill you see. i may get a shot there, and you have a good chance here." jack crossed the stream with tom and they tugged up the side of the mountain, which was very steep and much obstructed by fallen timber. two or three times jack had to sit down and puff for breath, for it was nearly a year now since he had done much in the way of climbing stiff mountains, but tom seemed tireless. at last tom declared that they had climbed high enough above the goats to make it safe to work along the mountain side to the point above them. the hillside was more or less broken with ravines and all of these were rough with slide rock and fallen timber. they had just reached the edge of one of these gulches and had stopped for a moment's rest when the highest of the goats, which they could now see below them, came running up out of the timber from below to where the other goat was lying. this one got up, and it was then seen that there were four goats, two old ones and two kids; and all began to move up the mountain side. evidently something had frightened them. they had not seen jack or tom, nor smelt them, but were looking down into the valley. they moved off along the mountain side going up diagonally, and jack and tom watched them until they disappeared behind some ledges. then the two set off after them as hard as they could go. it was pretty wild travelling across the gulches, but when they came out onto the ledges where the goats had gone, the footing was easier and the going better. they followed the ledges for some little distance, keeping to a goat trail. in this trail were seen now and then tracks where something had just passed along, but there were no hoof marks. the trail was too hard for that, but every now and then a place would be seen where some animal had stepped on a stone and partly turned it over, or where the moss was knocked from a stone where a hoof had struck it but a very short time before. they kept along the trail, passing through some low timber and presently came out again onto the ledges, and there--hardly forty feet away from them stood three goats. one of them was clambering up a little ravine and just about to disappear behind the rocks, the other two, a mother and her kid, stood on a rock, looking up the mountain side. "shoot!" said tom, "shoot!" jack fired two shots at the nearest goat and kid, and both of them fell off the rock they had been standing on and began to roll down the hillside. tom gave a wild whoop of joy and shouted, "good shoot! good shoot!" and then asked jack if he wanted to kill the other, but jack said "no," these two were enough, and they started down the hill to get the game. the animals had rolled a long way, but at length they found them, took off the skins, and took what meat they needed. tom went down the stream, and cutting some long shoots of a tough shrub, he worked them back and forth, partly splintering them, and made from them two rather stiff ropes which he tied together with a knot. with these he made up a pack of the skins and meat, put the load on his back, and they started for the camp. when they reached the trail down the valley they sat down for some time and waited for hugh and baptiste; but, as they did not come, after some hours' waiting, tom took his pack on his back and they went on to the camp. while they were waiting, jack inquired of tom as to the names of the sheep and goats, and tom said, as nearly as jack could make out, that in the smilkameen tongue, the male mountain sheep was called "_shwillops_," while the ewe was called "_yehhahlahkin_." the goat in smilkameen was called "_shogkhlit_," while the port hope indians called goat "_p'kalakal_." tom said that farther on, in the country to which they were going, there were many sheep. an hour after jack and tom had reached camp, hugh and baptiste returned, bearing the skin of a two-year-old male goat, which had been killed on the other side of the mountain they had climbed. it had been a hard tramp and a long stalk. that night as they talked about game and hunting, baptiste said that at the head of the okanagan lake caribou were very plenty. the distance from where they were would be about eighty or ninety miles. the next morning while jack was preparing the goat skins for packing up, he was much surprised to find the ears of the goats full of wood ticks. in one of the ears he counted no less than twenty ticks, and some of them were so deep down in the ear that when he was skinning the head he saw the ticks as he cut off the ears. he wondered whether this might not account in some part at least for the apparent inattention of goats to sounds. he asked baptiste about this, but got no particularly satisfactory answer to his question; and he thought perhaps the indian did not understand him, but baptiste did say distinctly that sometimes ticks got into ears of human beings and made them deaf. while jack was attending to his goat skins, hugh and tom went off to another mountain to look for sheep. a little bunch of seven were found lying down in an excellent position. there was no wind and a careful stalk was made; but just as the two got up to within shooting distance a light breeze began to blow from them to the sheep, and at the very instant that hugh was pulling his trigger at a ram that was lying down, the bunch smelt them and sprang to their feet. it was too late for hugh to hold his fire, and instead of killing the ram he cut a little tuft of hair from the brisket. in an instant the whole bunch of sheep were out of sight. hugh came into camp much depressed and related his adventure to jack. "i expect, son," he said, "that that indian thinks you can shoot all around me. all the way coming home, after i missed that sheep, he kept telling me what a good and careful shot you were. he said he had taken out many white men to hunt, but he never saw anybody that shot as straight and as carefully as you." jack laughed and said: "he little knows the difference between you and me, hugh, in matters of shooting. anybody could have hit those goats, for they gave me all the time there was, and they weren't more than forty yards away. it was like shooting at the side of a barn." "well," said hugh, "of course if i had known that those sheep were going to jump up, i could easily have fired quicker but i thought i had all the time there was and i intended to shoot so that that ram would never get up; but i never could explain it to that indian, you bet." "oh," said jack, "he will have plenty of time to see you shoot later on, i expect." the next morning the train was packed early and they started on. baptiste led the way, jack followed him, and hugh and tom came behind. ryder brought up the rear and watched the animals. an hour or two after, two blue grouse were startled from the trail and flew up into the tall trees where they stood on the great limbs with outstretched necks. "hugh," said jack, "give tom an idea of your shooting." "why, what's the use," said hugh, "wasting two cartridges on those birds. this kid meat is good enough." "no," said jack, "i want to have tom see you cut those birds' heads off." "well," said hugh, "all right, if you wish me to." drawing his horse a little out of the trail, but not dismounting, he fired two shots which brought down the two grouse. tom was sent for them, brought them in, and found that in each case the bullet had cut off the bird's neck. the indian looked at the birds rather solemnly and then at hugh, and then shook his head as if he could not understand how the man who could miss the sheep the day before should have been able to make these two shots. jack laughed at him and said: "good shot, eh, tom?" tom declared that the shot was good. one day's journey brought the party to the ashnola country, a region of high rounded hills, over which farther back from the river rose still higher peaks and precipices of rocks. it is a country of beautiful scenery and abounded in game. a large lick, where animals had been licking and gnawing the earth until great hollows had been dug in it, was seen; and farther along as they travelled up the trail on the south side of the creek they saw a number of sheep working down on to a cut bank, which was evidently a lick. before the sheep were noticed they had seen the party and there was then no opportunity to hunt them. the animals were only three or four hundred yards away and were not alarmed. later in the day, on another cut bank, another band of fifteen sheep was seen at a lick and might have been easily approached but the party did not stop. all these sheep were ewes and lambs. that night the train climbed pretty well up a mountain and came on a little bench seven or eight hundred feet above the main stream, where they camped. the country seemed to be full of sheep, for jack, going out to look for water, came across a band on a grassy hillside, but too far off to be shot at. the camp was a pleasant one in a little group of pines with water not far off, and the hillsides covered with admirable grazing for the animals. after supper, baptiste and tom told them that three or four miles back in the hills were high rocky peaks where many sheep were to be found, and it was determined that the next day they should visit these hills. the indians said that it was possible to get up there with horses, but that the trail was steep and hard. jack and hugh, after talking the matter over and counting up the days and realizing that two days later it would be necessary for them to start back to the coast, determined that instead of taking their animals they would carry their blankets on their backs and would visit these hills, camp there, and have a look at the country, and then would return to camp and thence to hope. the next morning they were off early, accompanied by the two indians, while ryder was left to look after the animals. chapter xxi last days in british columbia as the indians had said the trail was very steep, but after a time they reached an open timber plateau country, beautiful to travel through but without apparent game. after a little while, however, the timber grew less, and they could see before them gently rolling hills from which at some distance rose a bald, snowy mountain. they walked swiftly along, and the great mountain grew nearer. "i tell you, hugh," said jack, "that looks like a good sheep country!" "yes," said hugh, "it does, and from what we have seen i expect there are plenty of them there." "this is the sort of place where we ought to find big rams," said jack, with a laugh. "right," replied hugh; "but you've hunted enough to know that big rams are not always found where they ought to be." "no," said jack, "that's an old story; the big rams are always 'farther back.'" "yes," said hugh, "they are always 'farther back,' but what that means, i guess nobody knows. i expect that as a matter of fact, the big rams, keeping together as they do, for all the season except in rutting time, and being few in numbers compared with the ewes and young ones, are harder to find, just because they are few in number." the afternoon was far advanced when they reached the foot of the mountain. here, snow lay on the ground two or three inches deep. by a little spring they found a white man's camp that had been made early in the season. in the fresh snow hugh pointed out to jack the tracks of a wolverine which had been about the camp recently, nosing around to see what it could find. a few moments later one of the indians came up, and hugh said: "tom, do you know whose camp this is?" "yes," said tom, "three young men who were here the moon before last. they hunt a great deal. they fire a good many shots. not kill many animals." the fireplace, the picket pins, and a shelter built of spruce boughs, showed that the people had been here for some time. "well," said hugh, "let's camp right here. there is a good shelter for us in case it rains, as it looks likely to do now. now, tom, you and baptiste get supper, will you, and son and i will take a little walk from the camp, and see what we can see." the two started off, not toward the mountain but rather toward a large ravine which ran down from it. they had gone but a few hundred yards, when, as they were nearing the crest of a little ridge at the foot of an old moraine which ran down from the mountain, hugh put out his hand and sank slowly down to the ground. jack crouched beside him, and hugh said: "there's a sheep just over the ridge; crawl up and kill it." jack cautiously approached the ridge and looking over, saw not more than seventy-five yards away a sheep walking away toward the next ridge. the wind was right, and it was evident from the animal's actions that it had neither seen nor smelt the men. her hips were toward him, and he did not wish to fire at her in that position for fear of spoiling the meat, so he waited. a moment later she walked over the ridge and out of sight, and hugh and jack followed. when they looked over the next ridge, they saw the sheep, broad-side toward them. the sun was low and glittered on jack's front sight and troubled him a little; and he took aim two or three times without pulling the trigger. as it was, he shot a little too high, but the animal fell, and they hurried up to it. it was moderately fat, and jack and hugh carried the meat into the camp on their backs. the next morning they were early afoot and climbed the mountain. they had gone hardly a mile from the camp when they found seven sheep feeding on a perfectly bare hillside where there was no cover whatever. it was useless to try to approach them, and as they were in the direction in which the two wanted to go, hugh and jack disregarded them, and presently the sheep ran off. constantly climbing, they came nearer and nearer the top of the mountain. the grass began to give way to pebbles and stones, and the snow got deeper and deeper. presently they reached the top of the mountain; and, crossing its narrow crest, looked down into a beautiful little glacial basin which contained a charming lake and meadow. feeding in this meadow were twelve sheep, far, far below them, and quite out of reach. the wind was blowing fiercely across the mountain top and they crept down into a shelter behind some rocks and for some time sat there and watched the sheep. soon after they were first seen, the animals went down to the border of the lake and drank, and then came up on to the meadow again and lay down. after a little while, some movement, or perhaps the glitter of some piece of metal about the men, startled the sheep. they rose and looked at them, and then walked off, and after a little while began to feed again. later, when jack and hugh got up and climbed to the top of the mountain, the sheep, not much alarmed, moved slowly off and climbed up the mountain side into a deep icy gorge in which was a great mass of snow. jack and hugh went on for some distance, looking down into one big cañon after another, but seeing nothing more, turned back to go to the camp. on the way back they came upon a flock of white-tailed ptarmigan of which there were about twenty-five. jack had never killed one of these birds, and was anxious to have a full grown one in his hands. "is there any reason, hugh," he asked, "why i should not kill one of these birds?" "none at all, so far as i see," said hugh. "the wind is blowing so hard that nothing ahead of us will be able to hear the firing. if you want to kill one, do so." the wind was blowing a perfect gale and when jack approached the pretty birds, they rose at some little distance, flew a few yards, and then alighted on a snow bank in which they at once scratched out shallow hollows where they crouched, more or less protected from the wind. the gale made it difficult for jack to hold his gun steady and the first shot that he fired was a miss, for he overshot the bird. at the crack of the gun they all rose and flew a little farther away, and his next shot killed one. it was in almost full winter plumage, though there were others in the flock that had only partly changed from the black and tawny of summer to the white winter coat. jack wanted to skin the bird, but the ball from his rifle had raked its back and torn off a great many feathers. nevertheless he put it in his pocket so that at night he would have an opportunity to study it by the light of the fire. on the way home the two men had a beautiful view from the top of the mountain, looking down into a most picturesque basin walled in on all sides by superb mountains and containing a beautiful lake. between the tops of the mountains and the valley there were three benches or steps. the lake lay in the valley. the next morning hugh loaded the indians up with most of the camp equipment and some of the meat, and sent them back to camp, he and jack retaining only their guns and blankets. they made a long round of the lower slopes of the mountains, seeing a number of sheep, and at length came to a place where deer were more numerous than they had ever seen them before. it would have been easy to kill a great number, but as they had no means of transporting the meat to the camp they did not fire at all. toward midday they came out into a little park where a number of deer were lying down, and walking quietly up to them, got within fifteen or twenty steps of the animals before they seemed to take the alarm. it was now time to turn back and return to camp. there hugh and jack made packs of their blankets and set out for the lower ground. for some time the tracks of the indians were plainly visible,--but at length it began to snow, and the tracks were soon covered. moreover, their landmark, the mountain which lay behind them, was no longer visible, and the only guide they had was the wind, which blew from the right or southeast. "well," said hugh, "we've got to look out now, or we are liable to get lost." "yes," said jack, "it's quite likely that we won't be able to strike a trail leading down the mountain, but of course we will be able to find the camp." "oh, yes," said hugh; "no trouble about that, only i would rather go into camp by the same trail i left it by, if i can. however, if we don't hit the trail the only thing we'll have to do is to follow down the ridge to the river and there we'll find the trail of the packtrain, and that will take us straight to the camp." "it would be rather a good joke on you, hugh," said jack, "if we were to get lost." "so it would," said hugh; "so it would, son. perhaps we would have been smarter if we hadn't sent those indians off. of course this is their country and they know it, and you and i have never been here before. we're all right, however, if the wind doesn't shift. if that should change we might easily enough get twisted. however, we've got the river sure to take us to camp." an hour or two later, some time after they had got into the timber, hugh stopped and said: "son, i think we're off the track. i believe we've kept over too far to the left and have missed the trail. i don't see anything that i recognize as having seen before." "well," said jack, "you can't prove anything by me. i don't see anything that i've seen before and this snow and these gray tree trunks all look alike to me. i have been watching for the past half hour to see where we were, but i haven't any idea of it." "well," said hugh, "it's cold and snowy and likely to be wet; let's push down to the river and get to camp that way, if we can't any other." an hour and a half later they were going down a steep hill clothed with lodge-pole pines, and before long had come to the level land, and in a few moments were out of the timber. on the lower ground the snow had changed to rain and the trees and bushes were wet. there, before them, ran the river; and there close to the river was the deep trail worn by the feet of the horses. turning up the river they followed the trail, climbed the hills, and just at dark were once more in camp. ryder was a little disposed to laugh because they had come into camp from the side opposite to that from which they had left it; but hugh said, and jack agreed with him, that on a night like that it was good to get to camp in any way they could. the next day the train was packed early, and three days of long, fast travel took them back to hope. there they learned that the next morning there would be a steamer down the river, and they prepared to take it. long before daylight, hugh and jack, with bags and blankets, were waiting in the canoe for the appearance of the steamer and as soon as it was seen coming they fired four shots to attract the pilot's attention. presently the boat shut off steam and began to back, and the canoe was soon alongside. the baggage was tossed out; a handshake and a good-by to ryder and baptiste, and after a moment more the wheels were turning and the steamer sped down the river carrying hugh and jack toward new westminster. the night was spent here, a pleasant call made on mr. james, and the following morning they embarked for victoria, and the next night were at tacoma, where they found mr. sturgis. it was a pleasant meeting. mr. sturgis told them much about his mine, and what he had seen on his journey to and from it, while jack was full of the beauties of the british columbian coast. but he said, that as far as he saw, it was not a good hunting country. "of course, there are lots of deer and goats and some bears, but they are too easily killed to make hunting very good sport." "but then," said mr. sturgis, "you really didn't hunt, did you? you just followed the beach." "that's true," said hugh, "and it isn't fair, of course, to judge a country that you have only just touched. now, take it on that little trip that we made from hope. i don't know as i ever saw sheep and goats so plenty, and there were plenty of deer in the only place we had time to look for them. but of course we just put in a few days to use up the time until we had to get here to see you." "well," said jack, "i suppose that anybody who has been used to hunting on the plains and on the foot-hills of the mountains where buffalo and elk are plenty is likely to have a wrong idea of the game in a country where the animals don't gather together in great big bunches." "yes," said mr. sturgis, "that's true enough, i guess." after dinner that night mr. sturgis said: "well, it is time for us all to get back to our different jobs. you and i have got to go back to the ranch, hugh, and see how the beef round-up is getting on; and you, jack, have got to get east as fast as you can, and get to school. i think as good a way as any for us to return is to go back over the railroad that is just being built from portland, and in that way we will see a new country. the country will be new, even to you, hugh, won't it, as far east as idaho?" "yes," said hugh, "my range has never been out west of lake pend d'oreille and flathead lake and all this oregon and washington country is new to me." "well," said mr. sturgis, "let's get down to portland and then go up the columbia river till we strike the railroad. i know general sharpe, one of the officials of the road, and i think he will help us across the break between the end of the track in washington territory and the settlements in montana. what do you say?" "i say 'bully!'" exclaimed jack. "it suits me," said hugh, "but where will this bring us out?" "well," said mr. sturgis, "it ought to bring us out about deer lodge, and there is a little narrow-gauge road being built over from corinne in utah on the union pacific, which by this time must be somewhere near these montana towns. of course, when we get on a railroad that connects with the union pacific we are just about home." the next morning the railroad carried them to kalama, where they took the steamer to portland. the sail between the two points was beautiful. at one time they could see from the steamer's deck no less than six different snow-covered peaks, which ranged from nine to fourteen thousand feet in height. these were mt. ranier, st. helens, adams, hood, jefferson, and the three sisters. from portland the steamer took them up the columbia river through a beautiful country to the cascades. for the first few miles of the sail the bottom was wide and the hills were distant, but after a time they reached a stretch where the river flowed between walls of rock. a great sheet of lava covers the whole face of the country. from the hills, which stretch back from the river and are covered with long yellow grass, rose numberless walls and piles of lava rock which cast black shadows. the country was open, and the park-like slopes were dotted with dark spruces and pines. along the river water and wind had worn the rocks into curious shapes, sometimes like columns or obelisks, or again like great ovals set on end. along the bank of the river at several points thousands of blue-bloused, broad-hatted chinamen were busily at work, evidently on a railroad embankment. "this," mr. sturgis said, "is a railroad being built by the o. r. & n. company between portland and the dalles." "well," said hugh, "it seems to be the same story everywhere; railroads being built, and then people following the railroads; farms and big towns growing up; the game all going, and when the game goes of course the indian goes too." "yes," said mr. sturgis, "this is material prosperity for the united states. you and i have seen the beginning of it, but i don't believe that either of us have any notion at all of where it is going to end. but there is one thing that we can be sure of, that no consideration of game or indian or other natural thing is going to be allowed to interfere with the material growth of the country. we people who know how things used to be, and who like them as they were, may grumble and think the change is for the worse; but nobody will pay any attention to our grumbling and the changes will go on." at the cascades they changed to a train which took them seven miles around the rapids, and, then boarding another steamer, proceeded, until, just at dusk, they reached the dalles. "do you know, jack," said mr. sturgis, when their journey was just about over, "that this country that we have been passing through is historic ground?" "no," said jack, "i didn't know that." "well," said mr. sturgis, "you have heard of the old fur trade, haven't you, and astoria, and how john jacob astor sent people out to found a trading station at the mouth of the columbia river?" "no," said jack, "i don't believe i have." "i have, though," said hugh; "and i have known two or three men in my time that worked in that outfit. one man especially who went across the country with a man named hunt." "yes," said mr. sturgis, "that's it. mr. astor sent ships around the horn with supplies to found this station, and he also sent an expedition across the country. the cross country party had trouble with the indians and starved, and generally had a hard time, and, after the post was established, while they got lots of furs they had considerable trouble with the indians all the time. the british claimed the country, and the hudson's bay people said that astoria was in their territory. then came the war of , and the fort at astoria was surrendered to the hudson's bay people; and that was the end of that trading post, so far as the americans were concerned. but all up and down this river that we have been travelling up, the northwesters and the hudson's bay men used to go backward and forward portaging around these rapids that we have just been over, and working as hard as the old fur traders always worked. the story of these travels has been written by a good many of the people who took part in them, and some day it will be worth your while to hunt up these old books and read that story. it is a fascinating one." "yes," said hugh, "it's sure an interesting story; though i have never seen the books, i have heard a good deal of it told. it used to be talked about a whole lot in early days." "well," said mr. sturgis, "a lot of those old astorians, as astor's employees at astoria were called, wrote books giving their experiences, and it would be well worth your while to read them. i remember the names of some of them--alexander ross, ross cox, franchere--and besides them some of the hudson's bay people, into whose hands the place passed later, wrote exceptionally interesting accounts of life at the fort, of their journeys up and down the river, and of their travels over the mountains. "sometime, when we get back, jack, ask me about these books and i will make a list of them for you. most of them are out of print now, and can only be had at the libraries; but they are books that will repay reading, and the same thing can be said of a great number of volumes dealing with the exploration of the western country. it is astonishing that we americans know so little about matters which should be of so much interest to us. do you realize how little is known about the work of these early explorers, traders, and trappers? some few of us are familiar with it, but most of the people back east know nothing whatever about these men. pretty nearly all of this work has been done within the past seventy-five years, some of it within fifty years, and none of it goes back a century." "here is hugh," he went on; "he has knowledge of the western country back almost to the time of that early exploration, and he certainly has known many men who were of the early generation of the trappers. isn't that so, hugh?" "yes," said hugh, "that's sure enough true, mr. sturgis. i knew well uncle jack robinson, the bakers, bridger, beckwourth, and a whole lot of men that came into the country in the thirties or before. i have met old bill williams and perkins, and know old man culbertson well. i guess likely he's alive now." "why, even you, jack," said mr. sturgis, "know old man monroe, and he, according to all accounts, came into the country in ." "that's so, uncle george," said jack; "that goes back a long way, doesn't it?" "well now, do you realize that probably before any of us die this whole western country will be crowded full of people; that there will be railroads running in all directions, and that the centre of population of the country will be probably moved from pittsburg, where it is now, to somewhere in the mississippi valley, and perhaps not far from the big river itself?" said mr. sturgis. "i haven't been out here so many years," he continued, "but i have seen changes take place in this country that have astonished me, and i can see that these changes are going to keep taking place, and that almost before we know it sections of country through which now we can travel for weeks at a time without seeing any people will be full of ranches and farms and towns. we think of the united states as being a big country now, but i believe it hasn't made a beginning yet." "well, mr. sturgis," said hugh, "i guess likely what you say is right. but what's going to happen to all the old things that used to be in the country? what's going to happen to the game, to the buffalo, to the indians?" "why," said mr. sturgis, "the game, and buffalo, and indians are natural things, and they cannot stand up in the face of civilized things. the game will be killed off except in little spots like yellowstone park; the indians will be crowded onto their reservations and kept there, and will either be turned into farmers or cow men, or else will starve to death. the people of this country are going to see, i believe, that all this waste region, for that is what they call it, shall be made to produce something. cattle will take the place of buffalo, sheep will take the place of deer and antelope. after a while farmers will come in, and then the big cattle and sheep men will be crowded out in turn. the farmers will raise crops from the ground instead of sheep and cattle. people will have farms and a few head of cattle, but the days of the 'cattle kings' will pass away. it's a process of evolution, my boy," he said to jack, "and you and i will see it work itself out." chapter xxii the homeward road at the dalles the travellers had changed from steamer to train, and, journeying all night on the cars, reached walla walla early next morning. here they found a beautiful town of about five thousand inhabitants, situated in a section possessing a fertile soil and a delightful climate. gardens were growing and fruit ripening, and all things were bright and green. twelve miles from walla walla was the almost deserted town of wallula. here a branch line of the northern pacific railroad took the party on to south ainsworth on snake river. nothing could have presented a greater contrast than the two towns which were seen on the same day, walla walla and ainsworth. the first was from every point of view attractive, the second a sand waste on the banks of the snake river, a hopeless straggling little town of a dozen or twenty houses set down in the midst of a dreary desert of sage brush, utterly monotonous and uninteresting. here the travellers were obliged to pass one day, and all through that day and all through the night the wind blew with steady, persistent force, carrying with it the sands of the plain, which it piled up here and there in great dunes and then lifted again and carried on to some other point. the sandhills were constantly shifting and being tossed backward and forward, as restless and inconstant as the waves of the ocean. often the sand is piled high upon the sparse vegetation, and again it is carried away so that the roots of that vegetation are uncovered. after one day here they boarded a train and left for spokane falls, which was just about at the end of the track which was being built eastward. as they jogged slowly along in the caboose of the freight train, which moved unsteadily over the newly laid track, they had an opportunity to see much of the country. at first there was little to it that was attractive, but after leaving snake river the quality of the land seemed to improve, and hugh frequently called attention to the good grass, and declared that he believed that some day this country would be full of cattle. jack, who had been thinking of what his uncle had said two or three days before, said to mr. sturgis: "you don't think, uncle george, that any part of this country like ainsworth will ever be good for anything, do you?" "yes, my boy, i do," said mr. sturgis; "of course we cannot see now how this country will ever be made use of, but fifty years ago who would have thought that the salt lake valley was capable of cultivation, or thirty or forty years ago that walla walla would ever be a town. i believe that this country will fill up with cattle and for a little time will be a grazing country, and then i think that it will come to be a farming country. the winters here are mild, the soil is good, and there is plenty of water. there are going to be people here, and towns, but i don't know when." a little distance after leaving a station called summit they passed big lake, and here entered a territory where there were already farms. they could see frequently houses with good barns, and the fields were dotted with haystacks. there were also herds of cattle and horses, all fat and in good condition. it was nearly night when they reached spokane. as court was in session the town was thronged with people, and they had great difficulty in securing rooms. at last, however, a loft was found where they spread their blankets and passed a good night. before dark, however, they took time to walk along the spokane river to see the falls, a series of beautiful cascades which were well worth looking at. mr. sturgis had provided himself with letters from the officials of the northern pacific railroad to the employees along the road, and the next morning they left for lake pend d'oreille. thirty-five miles travelling took them to westwood, the end of the track, and there they took a stage for the lake. the three were the only passengers, and the ride was long and dusty, yet possessed many features of interest. the road ran for the most part along the railroad's right of way, and they could see all the various operations of the building of this great transatlantic highway. after they had passed the end of the track they came to one of the enormous railroad camps which always precede the iron of a new road. here was a real canvas city, and its inhabitants were white men, chinese, horses, mules, and dogs. everything was on a large scale. the eating tents covered an area equal to that of a good-sized town. there were hundreds of sleeping-tents. there were great forges at which many blacksmiths worked, and huge water troughs at which twenty-five horses could drink at a time. the bread-pan in the cook tent was large enough to serve a full-grown man as a bath tub. hugh and jack could only stare and wonder and point out to each other one astonishing thing after another; and even mr. sturgis, whose experience had been much wider than that of either of his companions, was much impressed. as the stage approached the lake, the road became constantly rougher. they passed from the railroad camp and saw first the bridge workers, next the graders, and then the "right of way" men, whose business it was to chop their way through the forest and clear off all the timber along the line of the track for a width of fifty feet. after the timber was felled it was left to dry and was then set on fire. "that's bad business," said mr. sturgis; "these men think of nothing but the convenience of the moment. all these fires that they are kindling and that they are leaving to burn here may set the hills on fire, and large tracts of country may be burned and much valuable standing timber destroyed." "yes," said hugh, "these men think of nothing but the quickest way of getting rid of anything that they don't use." "it's the fault of the contractors," said mr. sturgis, "and some means should be found to stop such a destruction of timber." a little later, as the stage approached the lake, they could see the woods on fire everywhere. the stage-driver told them that this had gone on for some time, and that on two or three occasions recently the fires had been so extensive that the stage had been unable to get through to the lake, and had been forced to turn around and return. on this day the driver went carefully and succeeded in picking out places where he could get through, though more than once the stage drove between piles of blazing logs which made it uncomfortably warm for the passengers. the timber was largely pine and hackmatack, but there was also some white and some yellow birch. not long after the fire had been left behind they came into an open country, from which, ahead of them, they could see a large sheet of water; and presently from a hill they looked down upon beautiful lake pend d'oreille, surrounded on all sides by towering, timbered hills. at the end of the stage line there was an engineer's camp; and here, to mr. sturgis' great surprise, he met among the engineers two friends whom he had not seen for years and whom he little expected to meet in this far off spot. the surprise was a mutually delightful one. his friends seized him, and jack, and hugh, and insisted on their sharing the hospitality of their camp, and a very delightful evening was spent there. some distance down pend d'oreille river, or as it is often called, clark's fork of the columbia, and so some miles from the engineer's camp, was a place known as siniaqueateen, which in the flathead language means "the place where we cross." here was the supply depot for the engineer department of the northern pacific railroad, and here were the headquarters of mr. galbraith, the commissary, who had charge of the advance transportation of the railroad. to him mr. sturgis had a letter from the railroad officials; and to siniaqueateen the travellers went the next morning. it was a small settlement, consisting of a trader's store and house, and two or three other stores and houses, and the office buildings belonging to the railroad. here is the ford across the river which gives the place its name; and here is where the trail between the flathead lake and the kootenay district of british columbia, distant over two hundred miles, crosses the stream. from time immemorial this has been a crossing place for the indians, travelling north and south through the country. now on the bank of the river there was a camp of kutenai indians. about the ferry were lounging many indians, who, to jack's eye seemed quite different from the coast indians, and much more like the people of the plains to whom he was accustomed. he asked mr. galbraith about these people, and mr. galbraith, who knew a number of the individuals of the two tribes, told him something about them. "these flatheads that you see here belong in the country as do also some kutenais, but not those that have just come in, and are in camp here. they are from the north and are bringing down their furs to trade." "why do they call them flatheads, mr. galbraith?" asked jack. "they don't seem to have their heads flattened as the coast indians have. the heads of these people are shaped like those of any one." "well," said mr. galbraith, "i don't know why they are called flatheads, but that is the name for them in this country. they do not call themselves by that name. they call themselves kallispelms. they are pretty good indians, hunt all through this region, farm a little, and have plenty of horses. in july or august they always come down to the lake shore, because then, when the water is low, and the big meadows on the edge of the lake are exposed, the camas grows up, and they dig the roots which form a considerable portion of their vegetable food." "i have heard of camas," said jack, "but i don't think i ever saw it grow to know it. what is it like?" "why," said mr. galbraith, "i don't know what the books call it; but it is a root that grows in damp places, has two long leaves like a lily, and a slender stalk that bears a blue flower. the root is shaped somewhat like an onion or a tulip. the women gather them in great quantities. then, after they are gathered, they are cooked and then dried for use in the winter. after they have been dried the roots are about as big as the end of your finger; and just after cooking they are sweet, something like a chestnut. the indians make a very good bread by squeezing a lot of the newly cooked bulbs together." "how do they cook them?" asked jack. "oh, in the usual way," said galbraith. "they dig a big hole in the ground; build a fire in it in which they heat stones and then spread grass over the hot stones. they then pile in a great quantity of the roots, covering them with grass, and next with hot stones. then the whole thing is covered with earth, and the pit is left alone for three or four days. the women know when to open it, and when they do so and take off the stones and the grass the heat of the stones has cooked the roots which have turned dark brown in color and are ready to use. it's fun to see the children cluster around when the pit is opened, and to see them struggle to get the grass which has covered the roots. this grass is covered with a sweet syrup and the children delight to suck it. i suppose there are a lot of roots and berries which the indians know of and use, of which we know nothing at all." "yes," said jack, "i know that is so in my country. there is hardly any time in the summer but there is some vegetable food ripening that the indians know of and use." "there's another root called kaus, that the kutenais know of," said mr. galbraith. "they dry and pound up these roots and then mix them with water and bake them in cakes, and they make a good bread. these roots are sweet and aromatic. of berries, the sarvis berry is perhaps the most important, and it grows abundantly all through the mountains, but there are a number of other berries, fruits, and roots." that night mr. sturgis had a talk with mr. galbraith, who said that he could very easily take them across the lake in the company's sailboat, and then would give them saddle and pack horses to take them up the pend d'oreille river, to the jocko or any other point that they might wish to go to. at the jocko, they could hire some indian or half-breed to drive them on to deer lodge, and from deer lodge they could take the stage to missoula or silver bow, which he understood was then the end of the track of the narrow-gauge road running up from the south. to all hands this seemed the best way to get home; and as they were now on the very borders of montana it seemed that they had but a short distance to go before they would once more be in their own country. the next morning early, accompanied by mr. galbraith and with a crew of three or four voyageurs, they started out from siniaqueateen for the lake. the river gradually became more and more wide and the scenery was very beautiful. the stream valley was broad, and smooth grassy meadows dotted here and there with willows and other small trees sloped gently up to the higher land from the water's edge. before they had reached the lake, a number of indians were seen paddling close along the shore in their canoes, which were of a type entirely new to mr. sturgis as well as to jack and hugh. these structures were sharply pointed at both ends, and as much as anything resembling cylinders of bark. "these canoes are different from anything i ever saw before," said hugh. "i know the birch canoes of the north, and i have just come back from a voyage in the wooden canoes of british columbia, but i never saw anything like this. what are they made of, and how are they made?" "they are made of pine bark," said mr. galbraith, "and they are queer canoes. i never saw them anywhere except in the country west of the rocky mountains and about two or three hundred miles north and south. the indians take the bark from the white pine in very large sheets and make rolls of it, which they stow away dry until they need it. then they soak the bark in water until it becomes soft and pliable and easy to handle. then they make a frame of small cedar poles lashed together with strips of cedar bark, and this frame is then covered with sheets of this pine bark, which are sewed together with tamarack roots, and patched with resin from the fir tree. the outside of the bark is on the inside of the canoe, and the indians paddle on both sides. these canoes are mighty cranky, and upset very easily. of course sails are never used in them, but the indians keep close to the shore, and do not dare to cross over from point to point." the next morning there was a good breeze. they started to cross the lake and soon after noon reached the northern pacific's camp at the mouth of clark's fork. the company's surveyors were laying out the line up this river; and their supplies and mail were ferried across the lake and carried east along the line of the road which led up toward the coeur d'alene mountains. here mr. galbraith, with great energy got together an outfit of pack and saddle animals, and the next morning a little train of seven animals filed out of the camp and took the trail for missoula. the journey up clark's fork was a delightful one and took about seven days. the party travelled fast, stopping neither to hunt nor fish. deer and bear signs were plenty, and in a few cases white-tailed deer were seen, but none were killed. the daylight hours were spent in riding through the beautiful river valley and among the great cinnamon-colored trunks of giant pines that formed the chief timber of the country, and at night the party was always ready for supper and bed. hugh and mr. sturgis were enthusiastic about the prospects of this region, where there was much fine land and unlimited grazing. at the jocko, the wagon road began; and here the pack train was dismissed and the travellers' guns and blankets were transferred to a wagon driven by one of the large tribe of mcdonalds, descendants of some old hudson's bay trader who had married a flathead woman. they were then taken to missoula, and from there to deer lodge, _le logis de chevreuils_, as their driver called it. from deer lodge it was a matter of a little staging to melrose, which was then the terminus of the utah and northern railroad. here mr. sturgis, jack, and hugh found themselves back again in bustling, hurrying america, and oppressed by the feeling that they must at once get back to their work. they were soon once more on the cars, flying at high speed toward their destinations. three days later on the union pacific railroad mr. sturgis and hugh shook hands with jack and left him alone, and three days later he was once more in new york. * * * * * * transcriber's note: every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible. some minor corrections of punctuation have been made. a number of minor spelling errors have been corrected without note. https://archive.org/details/goldgoldincaribo philuoft "gold, gold, in cariboo!" [illustration: corbett seizes his one chance for life.] gold, gold, in cariboo! a story of adventure in british columbia by clive phillipps-wolley author of "snap" "a sportsman's eden" &c. illustrated by godfrey c. hindley new edition blackie and son limited london glasgow and dublin contents. chap. page i. the gold fever, ii. a "gilt-edged" speculation, iii. a little game of poker, iv. the mother of gold, v. "is the colonel 'straight?'" vi. the wet camp, vii. facing death on the stone-slide, viii. their first "colours," ix. under the balm-of-gilead tree, x. the shadows begin to fall, xi. "jump or i'll shoot," xii. a sheer swindle, xiii. the bullet's message, xiv. what the wolf found, xv. in the dance-house, xvi. the price of blood, xvii. chance's gold-fever returns, xviii. on the colonel's trail again, xix. "good-bye, lilla," xx. the accursed river, xxi. pete's creek, xxii. gold by the gallon! xxiii. the hornet's nest, xxiv. drowning in the forest, xxv. in the camp of the chilcotins, xxvi. rampike's winter quarters, xxvii. the search for phon, xxviii. the king of the big-horns, xxix. phon's return, xxx. cruickshank at last! illustrations page corbett seizes his one chance for life _frontis._ "with a scream of fear the chinaman sprang out" lilla accosts the colonel in the dance-house "gold--gold in flakes, and lumps, and nuggets" chapter i. the gold fever. in the april of , victoria, british columbia, was slowly recovering from what her inhabitants described as a serious "set back." from the position of a small hudson bay station she had suddenly risen in ' to the importance of a city of , inhabitants, from which high estate she had fallen again with such rapidity, that in there were only left in her to mourn the golden days of the "frazer river humbug." in ' the gold fever broke out in california, and for ten years, in the words of an eye-witness, , adventurers of every hue, language, and clime were drifting up and down the slopes of the great sierra, in search of gold, ready to rush this way or that at the first rumour of a fresh find. in ' california's neighbour, british columbia, took the fever. the cry of "gold, gold!" was raised upon the frazer, and the wharves of san francisco groaned beneath the burden of those who sought to take ship for this fresh eldorado. in a year most of these pilgrims had returned from the new shrine, poorer by one year of their short lives, beaten back by the grim canyons of the frazer river, or cheated of their reward by those late floods, which kept the golden sands hidden from their view. in ' and ' the miner cursed victoria as a city of hopes unfulfilled, and left her to dream on undisturbed of the greater days to come. she looked as if, on this april day of ' , her dreams were of the fairest. the air, saturated with spring sunshine, was almost too soft and sweet to be wholesome for man. there was a languor in it which dulled the appetite for work; merely to live was happiness enough; effort seemed folly, and if a man could have been found with energy enough to pray, he would have prayed only that no change might come to him, that the gleam of the blue waters of the straits and the diamond brightness of the distant snow-peaks might remain his for ever, balanced by the soft green of the island pine-woods: that the hollow drumming of the mating grouse and the song of the meadow lark, and the hum of waking nature might continue to caress his ear, while only the scent of the fresh-sawn lumber suggested to him that labour was the lot of man. and yet, in spite of this seeming dreaminess in nature, the old earth was busy fashioning new things out of the old, and the hearts of men all along the pacific slope were waking and thrilling in answer to the new message of mammon--"gold! gold by the ton, to be had for the gathering in cariboo!" the reports which had come down from quesnel, of the fortunes made in ' upon such creeks as antler and williams, had restored heart to the victorians, and even to those californian miners who still sojourned in their midst, so that quite half the people in the town, old residents as well as new-comers, were only waiting for the snows to melt, ere they rushed away to the mining district beyond the bald mountains. but the snows tarry long in the high places of british columbia, and the days went on in spite of the men and their desire, and bread had to be earned even in such an elysium as vancouver island, with all the gold which a man could want, as folks said, within a few weeks' march of them; so that hands and brains were busy, in spite of the temptations of hope and the spring sunshine. moreover, there were dull dogs even then in victoria, who believed more in the virtue of steady toil than in gold-mining up at cariboo. thus it happened, then, that a big, yellow-headed axeman, and a ray of evening sunlight, looking in together through an open doorway upon wharf street, found a man within in his shirt sleeves, still busily engaged upon his daily task. "hullo, corbett, how goes it? come right in and take a smoke." the voice, a cheery one with a genuine welcome in it, came from the inside of the house, and in answer the axeman heaved his great shoulder up from the door-post and loafed in. in every movement of this man there was a suggestion of healthy weariness, that most luxurious and delightful sensation which comes over him who has used his muscles throughout the day in some one of those outdoor forms of labour which earn an appetite, even if they do not gain a fortune. as he stood in the little room looking quizzically at his friend's work, ned corbett, in his old blue shirt and overalls, with the axe lying across one bare brown forearm, might have served an artist as a model for labour; but the artist into whose studio he had come had no need for such models. there was no money in painting such subjects, and steve chance painted for dollars, and for dollars only. round the room at the height of a man's shoulder was stretched a long, long strip of muslin (not canvas, canvas would cost six bits a picture), and this strip had been sized and washed over with colour. when corbett entered, chance had just slapped on the last patch of this preliminary coat of paint, so that now there was nothing more to be done until the morrow. "well, steve, how many works of art have you knocked off to-day?" asked corbett. "works of art be hanged!" replied his friend. "i've covered about twenty feet of muslin, and that at five dollars a picture isn't a bad day's work. what have you done?" "let me see, i've cut down a tree or two and earned an appetite, and--oh, yes, a couple of dollars to satisfy the same. isn't that enough?" "all depends upon the way you look at things. i call it fooling your time away." "and i call this work of yours a waste of talent worse, fifty times worse, than my waste of time. look at that thing, for instance;" and ned pointed to a large canvas, bright with all the colours of the rainbow. "that! well, you needn't look as if the thing might bite, ned. that is the new map of ophir, a land brimming 'ophir'--forgive the joke--with coarse gold, and, what is more important, bonded by those immaculate knights of the curbstone, messrs. dewd and cruickshank." "an advertisement, is it? well, it is ugly enough even for that. how much lower do you mean to drag your hapless art, you vandal? 'auctioning pictures,' as you call it, is bad enough, but this is simple sign-painting!" "well, and why not, if sign-painting pays? you take my advice, ned; get the 'sugar' first, the fame will come at its leisure. sign-painting is honest anyway, and more remunerative than felling trees, you bet." "that may be," replied the younger man, balancing his axe in his strong hands, "and more intellectual, i suppose; but, by george, there's a pleasure in every ringing blow with the axe, and the scent of the fresh pine-wood is sweeter than the smell of your oil-paints." "pot-paints, ned, two bits a pot. we don't run to tube-paints in this outfit." "well, pot-paints if you like; but even so you are not making a fortune. we can't always sell those panoramas of yours, you know, even at a dollar a foot." "that's _your_ fault, ned; you've no eye for the latent merits of my pictures, and therefore make a shocking mess of the auctioneer's department. however, i am not wedded to my art. if lumbering and painting don't pay, what do you say to real estate?" and as he spoke, chance put his "fixins" together and proceeded to lock up the studio for the night. "real estate! why, fifty per cent of the inhabitants of the queen city are real estate agents professionally, and most of the others are amateurs. be a little original, outside your art anyway, old fellow. i don't want anything to do with real estate, except in acre blocks beyond the city limits, and a jolly long way beyond at that!" "is that so?" asked a mellow voice from behind the last speaker. "then, my dear sir, messrs. dewd and cruickshank can fix you right away. what do you say to a little farm on the gorge, fairly swarming with game, and admirably suited for either stock raising or grain growing?" "viticulture, market-gardening, or a gentleman's park! better go the whole hog at once, cruickshank," laughed chance, turning round to greet the new-comer, a dark, stout man with an unlit cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth. "you must have your joke, mr. chance; but the farm is really a gem for all that, and with the certainty of a large advance in price this summer, a man could not do better than buy." "what, is the farm better than a claim in ophir?" laughed chance. "ah, well, that is another matter!" said cruickshank. "the farm is a gilt-edged investment. there is, of course, just a suspicion of speculation in all gold-mining operations, though i can't see where the risk is in such claims as those you mention. by the way, have you finished the map?" "yes, here it is," replied the artist, producing a roll from under his arm, and partly opening it to show it to his questioner. "i call it rather a neat thing in sign-boards, don't you? i know i've used up all my brightest colours upon it." "yes, it will do; and though i don't suppose williams creek is quite that colour," laughed cruickshank, "i am happy to say that our reports are not over-coloured, even if our map is. do you know the duke of kent, mr. corbett?" "no. who is the duke of kent? i'd no idea that we had any aristocrats out here." "oh, the duke's is only a fancy title; most titles are that way in the far west." "my sentiments exactly, colonel cruickshank," replied corbett; and anyone inclined to quarrel with him might have thought that corbett dwelt just a thought too long upon the "colonel." but cruickshank was not inclined to quarrel with a man who stood six feet two, and girthed probably forty inches round the chest, and who was reported, moreover, to be master of quite a snug little sum in good english gold. "the duke of kent has a claim alongside those which we bonded last fall, and he tells me that he has already refused a hundred thousand dollars for a half share in it." "a hundred thousand dollars for a half share! great cæsar's ghost, why, you could buy half victoria for the money!" cried chance. "well, not quite, but a good deal of it, and yet i've no doubt but that we have quite as rich claims amongst those we offer for sale. how can it be otherwise? they lie side by side on the same stream." "have you seen any of these claims yourself, colonel?" asked corbett. "every one of them, my good sir. my clients are for the most part my own countrymen, and you may bet that i won't let them be done by any beastly yank." "civil to you, steve," laughed corbett. "i beg your pardon, mr. chance, but there are americans _and_ americans; and you can understand that a man who has spent the best years of his life wearing the queen's uniform feels hotly about some of the frauds practised upon tender-feet by californian bilks." "why, certainly; don't apologize. i suppose there are a few honest men and a good many rogues in every nation. did you say you had seen the claims yourself? i thought you were in victoria in the fall." "no; dewd and i were up together. i came down and he stayed there. there is big money in them. change your minds, gentlemen, and give up art for gold-mining." "no, thanks; i think not," replied corbett. "no! well, you know best. good-day to you. you won't take a drink, will you?" "no, i won't spoil my appetite even for a cock-tail." "so long, then!" and with a flourish of his gold-headed cane, which was meant to represent a military salute, the somewhat florid warrior dived through a swing-door, over which was written in letters of gold, "the fashion bar." "say, corbett," remarked chance as cruickshank disappeared, "don't you make yourself so deuced disagreeable to my best customers. cruickshank's orders keep our firm in bread and cheese, and i can see you want to kick the fellow all the time he is in your company." "all right, old chap; but i didn't say anything rude, did i? if he would only drop the 'british army' and 'we english' i wouldn't even want to be rude. what the deuce does he care whether he gets his dollars from a britisher or a yank?" "not much, you bet! but here we are. hullo, phon, have you got the muck-a-muck ready?" "you bet you! soup all ready. muck-a-muck heap good to-day you see;" and laughing and chattering phon dived into the tent, and rattled about the tin plates and clucked as if he were calling chickens to be fed. phon was a character in his way, and a good one at that; a little wizen, yellow body, with an especially long pig-tail coiled up on his head like a turban; eyes and tongue which were in perpetual motion, and a great affection for the two white men, who treated him with the familiarity of old friendship. "what are you in such a deuce of a hurry for to-night, phon?" asked corbett a little later, when the chinaman rushed in to take away the remains of dinner. "s'pose i tell you, you no let me go?" replied the fellow, half interrogatively. "go! of course i'll let you go. i couldn't help myself, i suppose. where are you going to--the hee-hee house?" "no, no. hee-hee house no good. no makee money there. pay all the time. me go gamble." "gamble, you idiot! what, and lose all your pay for a month?" "'halo' (_anglice_ not) lose. debbil come to me last night; debbil say, 'phon, you go gamble, you win one hundred dollars.' i go win, you see." "please yourself. you'll see as much of that hundred dollars as you did of the devil. who's that calling?" phon went out of the tent for a moment and then returned, and holding up the tent flap for someone to enter, said: "colonel cruickshank want to see you. me go now?" "all right! go to blazes, only don't expect us to pay you any more wages if you lose. come in, colonel." "won't you come out instead, mr. corbett? it's better lying on the grass outside than in to-night." "guess he is right, ned. come along, you lazy old beggar!" cried chance. and the three men in another minute were all lying prone on a blanket by the embers of a camp-fire, smoking their pipes and chatting lazily. corbett's tent--a marvel of london make, convertible into anything from a turkish bath to a suit of clothes, and having every merit except the essential one of portability--stood upon the very edge of the encampment, commanding a view of the sea and the olympic range on the farther shore. the encampment itself was a kind of annexe of the town of victoria, standing where james bay suburb now stands, although what is to-day covered with villas and threatened by an extension of the electric tramway was in ' a place of willows and wild rosebushes. here lived part of the floating population of victoria, miners _en route_ to cariboo, remittance-men sent away from home to go to the dogs out of sight of their affectionate relatives, and a good many other noisy good-fellows who liked to live in their shirt sleeves in the open air. corbett and chance were the aristocrats of this quarter, thanks to the magnificence of their abode and the general "tonyness" of their outfit. in their own hearts they knew that they were victims to their outfitter--that they were living where they were instead of in a house merely out of regard for their tent, and for those mysterious camp appliances which all fitted into one another like chinese puzzles. that was where the shoe pinched. in a moment of pride they had pitched their tent (according to written instructions) and unpacked their "kitchen outfits," and _they had never been able to repack them_. it was all very well to advertise the things as packing compactly into a case two feet by one foot six inches, but it required an expert to pack them; and so, unless they were minded to abandon their "fixings," they had to stay by them. therefore they stayed, and said they preferred the open air, even when it rained, as it sometimes does even on vancouver island. later on they learnt better, and were consoled for their losses by the sight of the hundred and one "indispensable requisites of a camp life" cast away by weary pilgrims all along the frazer river road. it is a pity that the gentlemen who sell camp outfits cannot be compelled to pass one year in prospecting before they enter upon their trade. but an april evening by the straits of fuca, with a freshly-lit pipe between your teeth, will put you in charity even with a london outfitter. the warm air was full of the scent of the sea and the sweet smoke of the camp-fires, while the chorus of the bull-frogs sounded like nature's protest against the advent of man. as the darkness grew the forest seemed to close in round the intruding houses, and for a while even the estate agent was silent, oppressed by the majesty of night and nature. it was corbett who broke the silence at last. "do you know that long, blue valley, steve--you can hardly see it now,--the one that goes winding away back into the mountains from the gate of the angels?" steve nodded. he was too lazy to answer. "that valley is my worst tempter. i know i ought to settle here and work: keep a store and grow up with the country; but i can't do it. that valley haunts me with longings to follow it through the blue mists to--" "to the place where the gold comes from--eh, ned? to the place where it lies in lumps still, not worn into dust by its long journey down stream from the heart of its parent mountain. old sobersides, you have been reading your _colonist_ too much lately." ned smiled, and knocking the ashes out of his pipe, began to refill it. "how much of all these yarns about gold up at antler and williams creek do you believe, colonel?" he asked, turning to cruickshank. "do you really think anyone ever took out fifty ounces in a day with a rocker?" "i know it, my good sir. i have seen it. when antler was found in the bed-rock was paved with gold, and you could not wash a shovelful of dirt that had not from five to fifty dollars' worth of dust in it." "oh, there's gold up in cariboo, ned, but it wants finding. you've only got to go into the saloons to know that there is plenty of dust for the lucky ones. fellows pay with pinches of dust for liquors whose names they did not know a year ago." "_paid_, you mean, chance," corrected cruickshank. "they are all pretty near stone-broke by now. but are you longing to go and bail up gold in your silk hat, mr. corbett?" "i am longing to be doing something new, colonel. i've taken the prevalent fever, i think, and want to make one in this scrimmage. i can't sit still and see band after band of hard-fists going north any longer. town life may be more profitable, perhaps, but i want to be with the men." "bully for you, ned! english solidity of intellect for ever! why, you villain, you're as bad a gambler as yankee chance." "worse, i expect, mr. chance," remarked cruickshank, eyeing the two young men critically. "you would play to win, he would play for the mere fun of playing." "which would give me the advantage," retorted corbett; "because in that case i should stop when i was tired of the game." "never mind the argument," broke in chance; "gambler or no gambler, if you go i go. i'm sick of that picture of the pines and the waterfall, anyway." "so is victoria. 'bloomin' red clothes'-props and a mill-race,' one chap called the last copy i tried to sell," muttered corbett. "well, why not buy a couple of those claims of mine?" suggested cruickshank. "i always like to do a fellow-countryman a good turn, and it would really be a genuine pleasure to me to put you two into a good thing." "how many have you left, colonel cruickshank?" he could not help it for the life of him, but the moment cruickshank became more than ordinarily affectionate and open-hearted corbett put on the colonel, and, as it were, came on guard. he was angry with himself directly afterwards for doing so, but he could no more help it than a man can help pulling himself together when he hears the warning of the rattlesnake. "only three, mr. corbett; and i doubt whether i can hold those till to-morrow morning. i am to meet a man in town at nine about them." "what do you want for the three?" "as a mere matter of curiosity?" put in chance. "well, let me see. they are ' -foot' claims, right alongside the places where the big hauls were made last year; but they are the last, and as you are an englishman and a friend--" "oh, please be good enough to treat this as a purely business matter," ejaculated corbett, blushing up to the temples, whilst anyone looking at cruickshank might for the moment have thought that his speech had had exactly the effect he intended it to have. "well, say two thousand dollars apiece; that is cheap and fair." "two thousand dollars apiece! what a chap you are to chaff, cruickshank!" cried chance, breaking in. "do you take us for millionaires?" "in embryo if you buy my shares, certainly, my dear sir." "perhaps. but look here, say a thousand dollars apiece, half cash, and half when we make our pile." "can't do it; but i'll knock off a hundred dollars from each claim, as we are friends." "the market value is two thousand dollars, you say, colonel cruickshank (my dear chance, do leave this to me), and you have yourself inspected these claims?" "certainly." "and they are good workable claims, adjoining those you spoke of?" "undoubtedly, that gives them their principal value." "very well then, i'll buy the three. here is a hundred dollars to bind our bargain. we'll settle the rest to-morrow. now, let me give you a drink." "thank you. are the claims to stand in your name?" "in chance's, phon's, and mine. how will that do, steve?" "settle it your own way; if you have gone crazy i suppose i must humour you. but there is a good deal owing to our firm from yours, colonel, isn't there?" "of course. that can be set off against a part of the sum due as payment for the claims. good-night, mr. corbett. thank you for the confidence you show in me. treat a gentleman like a gentleman, and an honest man like an honest man, say i." "and a thief or a business man like a thief or a business man," muttered chance, as cruickshank walked away. "oh, ned, ned! what a lot nature wasted on your muscles which she had much better have put into your head!" chapter ii. a "gilt-edged" speculation. "ned, were you drunk last night, or am i dreaming?" asked chance next morning, as the two sat over their breakfast, while the canoes of the early indian fishers stole out along the edges of the great kelp beds. it was a lovely scene upon which corbett's tent looked out, but chance at the moment had no eyes for the blue water, or the glories of the snow range beyond, all he could think of was "three claims at two thousand dollars apiece." "neither, that i am aware of, steve. you eat as if you had all your faculties about you, and i've no head ache." "then you did not buy three claims from cruickshank at two thousand dollars apiece?" "yes, i did; and why not?" "where is the money to come from?" "i'll see to that," replied corbett. "i am quite aware that six thousand dollars is twelve hundred pounds; but if you don't want to take a share in my speculation, i propose to invest that much of my capital in the venture, and even if i lose it all i shall still have something left, besides my muscles, thank god. you two, phon and yourself, can work for me on wages if you like, or we'll make some other arrangement to keep the party together." for a minute or two chance said nothing, and then he began laughing quietly to himself. "say, ned, you took scarlatina pretty bad when you were a kiddy, didn't you?" "i don't remember, old chap. why do you ask?" "and whooping-cough, and measles, and chicken-pox, and now its gold fever, and my stars isn't it a virulent attack?" and chance broke out laughing afresh. "i don't see," began corbett, growing rather red in the face. "oh, no; you don't see what all this has to do with me," interrupted chance, "and it's infernal impertinence on my part to criticise your actions, and if i wasn't so small you would very likely punch my head. i know all that. but, you see, we two are partners, and i am not going to dissolve partnership because i think you are taking bigger risks than you ought to. if you put up three thousand dollars i will put up as much, and part of it can come out of the money owing to the firm." "but why do this if you think the risk too big?" asked corbett. "why ask questions, ned? i feel like taking the risk; i am a yankee, and therefore a natural gambler. you of course are not, are you? and then it's spring-time, and from twenty-three to the other end of threescore years and ten is a long, long time; and even if we 'bust,' there'll be lots of time to build again. so we will go halves, the third claim to be held in phon's name, and phon to work on wages." "let us have old phon in. phon! phon!" shouted corbett. the chinaman, who was cleaning the tin plates by a creek hard by, came slowly towards them. "well, phon, did you lose all your dollars last night?" asked his master. "me tell you debbil say me win--debbil know, you bet," replied phon coolly. "and did you win?" "me win a hundred dollars--look!" and the little man held out a roll of dirty notes, amounting to something more than the sum named. "you were in luck, phon. 'spose i were you, i no go gamble any more," remarked corbett, dropping into that pigeon english, which people seem to think best adapted to the comprehension of the chinaman. "oh yes, you go gamble too. debbils bodder me very bad last night. they say you go gamble, chance he go gamble, phon he go gamble too. all go gamble togedder. and then debbil he show me gold, gold,--so much gold me no able to carry it. where you goin' now?" "i guess your friends, the devils, might have told you that too," remarked chance. "don't you know?" "no, me no savey. you tell me." "corbett and myself are going up to cariboo mining, and if you like you can come as cook, or you can come and work on wages in our claims. how would you like that?" "me come, all-lite me come; only you give me one little share in the claims--you let me put in one hundred dollars i win last night." "better keep what you've got and not gamble any more," replied corbett kindly. "halo! halo keep him. 'spose you not sell me share i go gamble again to-night." "better let him have his way, ned. let the whole crowd go in together, 'sink or swim.'" "very well, phon, then you will come." "you bet you, misser corbett. who you 'spose cook for you 'spose i no come?" and having proposed this final conundrum, phon retired again to his kitchen. "rum, the way in which he seemed to know all about our movements, ned," remarked chance, when the chinaman had done. "oh, he overheard what we said last night, or at breakfast this morning," replied corbett. "he wasn't here last night, and he was down by the stream whilst we were at breakfast." "all right, old man, perhaps his 'debbil' told him. it doesn't much matter anyway. did you see this piece in the _colonist_?" "about us? no. read it out." "'we understand that colonel cruickshank, the napoleon of victorian finance, the mammoth hustler of the pacific coast, has determined to conduct those gentlemen who have bought his bonded claims to the fortunes which await them. this additional proof of the colonel's belief in the property which he offers for sale should ensure a keen competition for the one claim still left upon his hands, which we understand will be raffled for this afternoon at p.m. at smith's saloon. tickets, ten dollars each. we are informed that amongst the purchasers of claims in the cruickshank reserve are an english gentleman largely interested in the lumber business, and an american artist rapidly rising into public notice.'" "what cheer, my lumber king!" laughed chance as corbett laid down the paper. "these journalists are wonderful fellows, but i suspect most of that paragraph was inspired and paid for by the 'mammoth hustler.' by the way, if it is true that he means to personally conduct a party to williams creek, it does really look as if he had some belief in the claims." "yes, if he means to; but i expect that is simply to draw people to his raffle this afternoon." "probably; but if he were to go up to williams creek we might as well go up with him. you see, he has travelled along the trail before." "well, i'll see about that, and make any arrangements i can for getting up to cariboo, if you will try to get our accounts settled up, steve. i'm no good at figures, as you know." "that's what!" replied chance laconically; and the two young men got upon their legs and prepared to start on their day's business. it will be as well here to enter upon a short explanation of the law as it then stood in british columbia with regard to the bonding of claims. experience had shown that in the upper country, early winters and late springs, with their natural accompaniment of deep snows, made mining impossible for about half the year. in consequence of this a law had been passed enabling miners to "bond" claims taken up late in the fall until the next spring. upon claims so bonded it was not necessary to do any work until the st of june of the ensuing year, so that from november to june the claims lay safe under the wing of the law; but should their owners neglect to put in an appearance or fail to commence work upon the st of june, they forfeited all right to the claims, which could then be "jumped" or seized upon by the first comer. it was under this law that corbett and chance had bought, so that it was imperatively necessary that they should reach their claims by the st of june; and although there was still ample time in which to make the journey, there was no time to waste. the cariboo migration had already begun, and every day saw fresh bands of hard-fists leave victoria for the mines. already the gamblers had gone, the whisky trains and other pack trains had started, and the drain upon the stock of full-grown manhood in victoria was easily noticeable. it was no vain boast which the miners made that the men of cariboo were the pick of the men of their day. physically, at any rate, it would have been hard indeed to find a body of men tougher in fibre and more recklessly indifferent to hardships than the pioneers who pushed their way through the frazer valley to the gold-fields beyond. in that crowd there was no room for the stripling or the old man. the race for gold upon the frazer was one in which only strong men of full age could live even for the first lap. and this was the crowd which corbett and chance sought to join. to some men the mere idea of a railway journey, entered upon without due consideration and ample forethought, is fraught with terrors. luckily neither corbett nor chance were men of this sort. chance was a yankee to the tips of his fingers, and had therefore no idea of distance or fear of travel. the world was _nearly_ big enough for him, and he cared just as little about "crossing the herring-pond" as he did about embarking on a ride in a 'bus. as for corbett, nature had made him a nomad--one of those strangely restless beings, who, having a lovely home, and knowing it to be lovely, still long for constant change, and circle the world with tireless feet, only to bring home the report that "after all england is the only place fit for a fellow to live in." the odd part of it all is, that that being their conviction, most of these wanderers contrive to live out of england for three parts of their lives. it was no wonder, then, that when corbett and chance met again at dusk everything had been, as chance said, "fixed right away." "it's a true bill about cruickshank, old man," corbett said. "and if you can get the bills paid and our kit packed he wants us to start with him on the _umatilla_ for westminster the day after to-morrow." "i don't know about getting the bills paid," replied chance. "a good many fellows who owe us money appear to have gone before to cariboo, but i reckon we must look upon that as the opening of an account to our credit in the new country." "not much of an account to draw upon; but i suppose it can't be helped. i believe, though, that to do the thing properly we ought both to get stone-broke before starting," remarked corbett. "that will come later. hullo, cruickshank! what is in the wind now?" cried steve, turning to the new-comer. "gold, gold, nothing but gold, chance. but i say, gentlemen, are those your packs?" asked the colonel, pointing to two small mountains of luggage which nearly filled the interior of the tent. "yes. that is chance's pack, and this is mine. there will be a sort of joint-stock pack made up to-morrow of the kitchen stuff and the tent. and i think that will be all." "and you think that will be all, mr. corbett?" repeated cruickshank. "you are a strong man; can you lift that pack?" and he pointed to the biggest of the two. "oh yes, easily; carry it a mile if necessary," replied corbett, swinging the great bundle up on to his shoulders. "you _are_ a stout fellow," admitted cruickshank admiringly; "but hasn't it occurred to you that you may have to carry all you want for a good many miles? and even if you can do that, who is to carry the joint-stock pack? not phon, surely?" "well, but won't there be any pack ponies?" asked corbett. "for hire on the road, do you mean? certainly not." "all right, then," replied corbett, after a minute or two spent in solemnly and somewhat sadly contemplating all the neatly-packed camp equipage. "i can do with two blankets and a tin pannikin if it comes to that. can't you, steve?" "a tin pannikin and blanket goes," answered chance. "to blazes with all english outfits anyway!" "well, i don't know about that," put in cruickshank, who seemed hardly as well pleased at his comrade's readiness to forswear comfort as might have been expected. "i thought that you fellows might like to take a few comforts along with you, so i had mentally arranged a way in which we might combine pleasure with profit." "pleasure with profit by all means, my boy. unfold your scheme, colonel; we are with you," cried chance. "well, stores are terribly high up in cariboo. whisky is about the only thing these packers think of packing up to the mines, and if you fellows had the coin i could easily buy a little train of cayuses down at westminster pretty cheap, and load them up with stuff which would pay you cent per cent, and between us the management of a little train like that would be a mere nothing." "how about packing? you cain't throw a diamond hitch by instinct," remarked chance, who knew a little from hearsay of the life of the road. "oh, i can throw the hitch, and so i guess can your heathen, and we'll deuced soon teach both of you to take the on-side if you are wanted to." "how much would such a train cost?" "the ponies ought not to cost more than fifty dollars apiece; as to the stores, of course it depends upon what you choose to take. the ponies will carry about two hundred pounds apiece, if they are good ones." "what do you say to it, steve?" asked ned. "seems a good business," replied chance, "and we may as well put our last dollars into a pack-train as leave them in the bank or chuck them into the frazer. a pack-train goes." and so it was settled that the two friends should invest the balance of their funds in a pack-train and stores for cariboo. the venture looked a promising one, with no possibility of failure or loss, and even if things went wrong the boys would only be stone-broke; and who cares whether he is stone-broke or not at twenty-three, in a new country with no one dependent upon him? it was only eighteen months before that edward corbett had left home, a home in which it was part of the duty of about five different human beings to see that master edward wanted for nothing. at about the same time one of the finest houses in new york would have been disturbed to its very foundations if it were suspected that mr. steve chance wanted for any of the luxuries of the nineteenth century, and yet here were steve chance and ned corbett, their last dollar invested in a doubtful venture, their razors abandoned, their toilet necessaries reduced to one cake of soap and a towel between two (cruickshank condemned the habit of washing altogether upon the road), and their whole stock of household goods reduced to two light packs, to be carried mile after mile upon their own strong shoulders. there was daily labour ahead of them such as a criminal would hardly have earned for punishment at home, there was a certainty before them of bad food, restless nights, thirst, hunger, and utter discomfort, and yet this life was of their own choosing, and a smile hovered round the lips of each of them as the pipes dropped out of their mouths and they turned over to sleep. as for "gold," the prize which both of them appeared to be making all these sacrifices for, neither of the boys, oddly enough, had thought of it that night. with phon it was different, but then he was a celestial. he played for the stakes. both the whites played, though in different ways, for the fun of the game. chapter iii. a little game of poker. "well, ned, how do our fellow-passengers strike you? this is a pretty hard crowd, isn't it?" asked chance, as his eyes wandered over the mob of men of every nationality, who were jostling one another on board the steamer _umatilla_, ten minutes after she had left victoria for new westminster. "yes, they look pretty tough, most of them," assented corbett; "but a three-weeks' beard, a patch in the seat of your pants, and a coat of sun-tan, will bring you down to the same level, steve. civilized man reverts naturally to barbarism as soon as he escapes from the tailor and the hair-dresser." "that's what, sonny! and i believe the only difference between a white man and a siwash, is that one has had more sun and less soap than the other." "oh, hang it, no! i draw the line there," cried corbett. "but look, there go the gamblers already;" and ned pointed to a little group which had gathered together aft, the leading spirit amongst them appearing to be a dark, overdressed person, who was inviting everybody at the top of his voice to "chip in and take a drink." "they don't mean to lose much time, do they?" remarked chance. "and, by the way, do you see that the 'mammoth hustler,' our own colonel, is among them?" "and seems to know every rascal in the gang," muttered corbett. "come and look on, ned, and don't growl. you don't expect a real-estate agent to be a saint, do you?" remonstrated chance. "not i. i don't care a cent for cards. you go if you like. i'll just loaf and look at the scenery." "as you please. i don't take much stock in scenery unless i have painted it myself, and even that sours on me sometimes;" and with this frank and quaintly expressed confession, steve chance turned and pushed his way through the crowd to a place behind cruickshank, who welcomed him effusively, and introduced him to his friends. ned saw the artist gulp down what looked like a doctor's prescription, and light up a huge black cigar, and then turning his back upon the noisy expectorating crowd, he leant upon the bulwarks and forgot all about it. before his eyes stretched a vast field of blue water; blue water without a ripple upon it, save such as the steamer made, or the diving "cultus" duck, which the boat almost ran down, before the bird woke and saw its danger. here and there on this blue field were groups of islands, wooded to the water's edge, and inhabited only by the breeding ducks and a few deer. as yet no one owned these islands, and, except for an occasional fishing indian, no one had ever set foot on most of them. everything spoke of rest and dreamful ease. what birds there were, were silent and asleep, rocked only in their slumbers by the swell from the passing boat, or else following in her wake on gliding wings which scarcely seemed to stir. there was no wind to fret the sea, or stir an idle sail. nature was asleep in the spring sunlight, her calm contrasting strangely with the noise, and passion, and unrest on board the tiny boat which was puffing and churning its way through the still waters of the straits. as for ned, his ears were as deaf to the oaths and noise behind him as his eyes were blind to the calm beauty beneath them. his eyes were wide open, but his mind was not looking through them. as a matter of fact ned corbett, the real ned corbett, was just then day-dreaming somewhere on the banks of the severn. "can you spare me a light, sir?" this was the first sound that broke in upon his dreams, and ned felt instinctively in his waistcoat pocket, and handed the intruder the matches which he found there. "thank you. i was fairly clemmed for a smoke." "_clemmed_" for a smoke! it was odd, but the dialect was the dialect of ned's dream still, and as he looked at the speaker, a broad burly fellow, who evidently had made up his mind to have a chat, a pouch of tobacco was thrust out to him with the words: "won't you take a fill yourself. it's pretty good baccy, and it ought to be. i had it sent to me all the way from the wyle cop." "the wyle cop!" ejaculated ned. "i thought there was only one wyle cop. where do you come from, then?" the stranger's face broadened into an honest grin. "what part do i come from? surely you ought to guess. dunno yo' know a shropshire mon, when yo' sees un?" he added, dropping into his native dialect, and holding out to corbett a hand too broad to get a good grip of, and as hard as gun-metal. ned took the proffered hand eagerly. the sound of the home dialect stirred every chord in his heart. "how did you know i was shropshire?" he asked, laughing. "how did i know? well, i heard your friend call you corbett, and that and your yellow head and blue eyes were enough for me. but say," he continued, resuming the yankee twang which he had acquired in many a western mining camp, "if that young man over there is any account to you, you'd better go and see after him. they'll skin him clean in another half hour unless he owns the bank of england." corbett's eyes involuntarily followed those of his newly-found friend, and he started as they rested upon steve chance, who now sat nervously chewing at the end of an unlit cigar in the middle of the poker players. "your friend ain't a bad player, but he ain't old enough for that crowd," remarked roberts; and so saying he pushed a way for himself and his brother salopian through the crowd to the back of chance's chair. except for the addition of chance, and another youngish man who appeared to be at least half-drunk, the party of poker players was the same which sat down to play when the _umatilla_ left the victoria wharf. cruickshank faced chance, and the same noisy dark fellow, who had been anxious to assuage everyone's thirst in the morning, appeared to be still ready to stand drinks and cigars. but the little crowd was quieter than it had been in the morning. the players had settled down to business. "how deuced like cruickshank that fellow is!" whispered corbett to roberts. "which?" answered his friend. "there are two cruickshanks playing--dan and bub." "but is the colonel any relation to the other?" "i do not know which you call the colonel: never heard him called by that name before; but that's bub" (pointing to the ringleader of the party), "and that's dan" (pointing to the colonel). "some say they are brothers, some say they are cousins. anyway, i know _one_ is a scoundrel." "the deuce you do. which of them?" but his inquiries were cut short and his attention diverted by the action of a new-comer, who just then pushed past him with a curt, "'scuse _me_, sir." "let him through," whispered roberts. "i tipped him the wink, and if you let him alone he'll fix them." ned was mystified, but did as he was bid. indeed it was too late to attempt to do otherwise, for the last-joined in that little crowd, a withered gray man, whose features looked as if they had been hardened by a hundred years of rough usage, had quietly forced his way to the front until he had reached a seat at steve chance's elbow. it was noticeable that though the crowd was by no means tolerant of others who tried to usurp a front place amongst them, it gave way by common consent to the new-comer, who was moreover specially honoured with a nod and a smile from each of the cruickshanks. steve only seemed inclined to resent the old man's familiarity, and for any effect it had he might as well have hidden his resentment. "pretty new to this coast, ain't you, sir?" remarked mr. rampike, after he had watched the game in silence for some minutes. "yes, i've only been out from the east a year," replied steve shortly, as he examined his hand. "bin losing quite a bit, haven't you?" persisted his tormentor. steve growled out that he _had_ lost "some," and turned his back on old rampike with an emphatic rudeness which would have silenced most men. "'scuse me, sir, one moment," remarked rampike utterly unabashed, and half rising to inspect steve's hand over his shoulder. a glance seemed to satisfy him. "who cut those cards?" he sung out. "dan cruickshank," answered a voice from the crowd. "who dole those cards?" he persisted. "bub cruickshank," replied the voice. "then, young man, you pass;" and without stirring a muscle of his face he coolly took from the astounded steve four queens, and threw them upon the table. for a moment steve sat open-mouthed, utterly astounded by his adviser's impudence, and when he tried to rise and give vent to his feelings, corbett's heavy hand was on his shoulder and kept him down. meanwhile an angry growl rose from the gamblers, but it was drowned at once in the laugh of the crowd, as without a sign of feeling of any kind, or a single comment, old rampike slowly pulled from a pocket under his coat-tails an old, strangely-fashioned six-shooter, which he began to overhaul in the casual distrait manner of one who takes a mild interest in some weapon of a remote antiquity. one by one, as the old hard-fist played with his ugly toy, those who objected to his intervention found that they had business elsewhere, so that when at last he let down the hammer, and replaced his "gun" under his coat-tails, steve and the two shropshiremen alone remained near him. glancing round for a moment, the old man came as near smiling as a man could with features such as his, and then recovering himself he turned to steve and remarked: "this ain't no concern of mine, mister, but my pardner there, roberts, i guess he takes some stock in you and he called me, so you'll 'scuse my interfering, but ef you should happen to play agen with california bilks, you mout sometimes go your pile on a poor hand, but pass four aces, quicker nor lightning, if bub cruickshank deals 'em," with which piece of advice the old man retired again into his shell, becoming, as far as one could judge, an absolutely silent machine for the chewing of tobacco. chance, now that he had had time to pull himself together, would gladly have had a talk with his ally; but old rampike would have none of him, and corbett, in obedience to a sign from roberts, put his arm through his friend's and carried him off to another part of the ship. "let the old man alone," remarked roberts, "talking isn't in his line. that is my share of the business. i sing and he fiddles." "all right, as you please; but i say, mr. roberts," said chance, "what in thunder did your partner mean by making me throw down four queens?" "mean! why, that bub cruickshank had four kings or better. you don't suppose that those chaps are here for their health, do you?" "here for their health?" "well, you don't suppose that they have come all the way to british columbia to play poker on the square?" "then who are the cruickshanks?" demanded chance. "that is more than i know. bub cruickshank is just about as low-down a gambler as there is on the coast; not a chap who pays up and stands drinks when he is bust, like the count and that lot." "and is the colonel his brother?" "some say he is, some say he isn't. but i never knew him regularly on the gambling racket before, though he won a pile of money up at williams creek last fall. "then you have been in cariboo," corbett remarked. "in cariboo? rather! i was there when williams creek was found, and for all that had to sing my way out with a splinter in my hand, and not a nickel in my pocket." "how do you mean 'sing your way out?'" "i mean just what i say. my hand went back on me and swelled, so that i couldn't work, and i just had to sing for my grub as i went along. old rampike had a fiddle and used to play, and i used to make up the songs and sing 'em. perhaps you've heard the 'old pack mule.' it's a great favourite at the mines: "ted staked and lost the usual way, but his loss he took quite cool; he was near the mines, and he'd start next day riding on his old pack mule." "riding, riding, riding on his old pack mule," sang chance. "oh, you know it, do you? seems to me it suits your case pretty well. well, _i_ made that;" and so saying the poet protruded his portly bosom three inches further into space, with the air of one who had done well by his fellow-men and knew it. "are you coming up to cariboo this spring?" asked corbett. "no, we haven't dust enough to pay our way so far, more's the pity." "why not come with us? i'll find the dollars if you'll lend a hand with our pack-train," suggested corbett. "well, i don't know, perhaps i might do worse; and as to that, if you are taking a pack-train along i daresay i could pretty nearly earn my grub packing. but i must talk it over with rampike." "all right, do you fix it your own way," put in chance; "but mind, if you feel at all like coming, there need be no difficulty about the dollars either for you or your partner. i am pretty heavily in your debt anyway." "not a bit of it. those bilks owe us something perhaps, and if they get a chance they won't forget to pay their score. but i guess they'll hardly care to tackle rampike, or me either for the matter of that;" and whistling merrily his favourite tune, "riding, riding, riding on the old pack mule," the cariboo poet went below for refreshment. chapter iv. "the mother of gold." from victoria to the mouth of the frazer river is about seventy miles, and thence to new westminster is at least another sixteen. as the steamers which used to ply between the two young cities in ' were by no means ocean racers, none of the passengers on board the s.s. _umatilla_ were in the least degree disappointed, although the shadows of evening were beginning to fall before they passed the sandheads, and ran into the yellow waters of the frazer. very few of those on board had eyes for scenery. a rich-looking bar or a wavy riband of quartz high up on a mountain-side would have attracted more attention from that crowd than all the beauties of the yosemite, and even had they been as keen about scenery as cook's tourists, there was but little food for their raptures in the delta they were entering. the end of a river, like the end of a life, is apt to be ugly and dull, and the frazer exhibits no exception to this rule. child as she is of the winter's snows and the summer's sun, she loses all the purity of the one and the gleam of the other long before she attains her middle course, and at her mouth this "mother of gold" is but a tired, dull, old river, sordid and rich with golden sands, glad, so it seems, to slip by her monotonous mud-banks and lose herself and her yellow dross in the purifying waters of the salt sea. as corbett gazed upon the wide expanse of dun-coloured flood, he saw no sign even of that savage strength of which he had heard so much, except one. far out, and looking small in the great waste of waters, was a stranded tree--a great pine, uprooted and now stranded on a sunken bank, its roots upturned, its boughs twisted off, and its very bark torn from its side by the fury of the riffles and whirlpools of the upper canyons. to corbett there was something infinitely sad in this lonely wreck, though it was but the wreck of a forest tree. had he known the great sullen river better he would have known that she brought down many sadder wrecks in those early days--human wrecks, whose wounds were not all of her making, though the river got the evil credit of them. as it was, the first sight of the frazer depressed him, and his depression was not dispelled by the sight of new westminster. the idea of a new city hewed by man out of the virgin forest is noble enough, and whilst the sun is shining and the axes are ringing, the life and energy of the workers makes some compensation for the ugliness of their work. but it is otherwise when the sun is low and labour has ceased. then "stump-town" seems a more appropriate title than new westminster, and a new-comer may be forgiven for shuddering at the ugliness of the new frame-houses, at the charred stumps still left standing in the main streets, at the little desolate forest swamps still left undrained within a stone's-throw of the grand hotel, and at all the baldness and beggarliness of the new town's surroundings. to ned corbett it looked as if nature had been murdered, and civilization had not had time to throw a decent pall over her victim's body. certainly in new westminster might be, as its citizens alleged, an infant prodigy, but it was not a picturesque city. however, as the s.s. _umatilla_ ran alongside her wharf, a voice roused corbett from his musings, and turning he found cruickshank beside him. "what do you think about camping to-night, corbett?" asked the colonel. "it will be rather dark for pitching our tent, won't it?" now, since the poker-playing incident corbett had not spoken to cruickshank. indeed he had not seen him, and he had hardly made up his mind how to treat him when they met. that cruickshank had a good many objectionable acquaintances was clear, but on the other hand there was nothing definite which could be alleged against him. moreover, for the next month ned and the estate-agent were bound to be a good deal together, and taking this into consideration, ned decided on the spur of the moment to let all that had gone before pass without comment. cruickshank had evidently calculated upon corbett taking this course, for though there had been a shade of indecision in his manner when he came up, he spoke quietly, and as one who had no explanations to make or apologies to offer. "yes, it is too dark to make a comfortable camp to-night," assented corbett. "what does chance want to do?" "oh, i vote for an hotel," cried steve, coming up at the moment. "let us be happy whilst we may, we'll be down to bed-rock soon enough." "all right, 'the hotel goes,' as you would say, steve;" and together the young men followed the crowd which streamed across the gangway to the wharf. there the arrival of the s.s. _umatilla_ was evidently looked upon as the event of the day, and a great crowd of idlers stood waiting for the disembarkation of her passengers; and yet one man only seemed to be there on business, the rest were merely loafing, and would as soon have thought of lending a hand to carry a big portmanteau to the hotel as they would have thought of touching their hats. this one worker in the crowd was an old man in his shirt sleeves, who caught ned by the arm, as he had caught each of his predecessors, as soon as his foot touched the wharf, and in a tone of fatherly command bade him "go up to the mansion house. best hotel in the city. it's the miners' house," he added. "three square meals a day every time, and don't you forget it." ned laughed. the last recommendation was certainly worthy of consideration, and as no one else seemed anxious for his patronage he turned to cruickshank with, "is it to be the mansion house?" "oh yes," replied the latter, "all the hard-fists stay with mike." "how long do you mean to stay here anyway?" asked chance. "four or five days,--perhaps a week," replied cruickshank. "there is a boat for douglas to-night, but we could not buy the horses and the stores so as to be ready in less than a couple of days." "that is so. we shall have to stay a week then?" asked steve. "unless you like to intrust me with the purchase of your train. i could hire a man to help me and come on by the next boat if you want particularly to catch this one--" the eyes of corbett and chance met, and unluckily cruickshank saw the glance, and interpreted it as correctly as if the words had been spoken. corbett noticed the flush on the man's face and the ugly glitter in his eye, and hastened to soothe him. "oh no, colonel, it is deuced good of you," he said; "but we would rather wait and all go together. we are looking to you to show us a good deal besides the mere road in the next six weeks. but what are we to do with our packs now?" "we can't leave them here, can we?" asked chance, pointing to where their goods lay in a heap on the wharf. "i don't see why not," growled cruickshank; and then added significantly, "murder or manslaughter are no great crimes in the eyes of some folk around here, but miners are a bit above petty larceny;" and so saying he turned on his heel and left chance and corbett to shift for themselves. "better take care what you say to that fellow," remarked corbett, looking after the retreating figure; "although i like him better in that mood than in his oily one." "oh, i think he is all right; at any rate you won't want my help to crush him, ned, if he means to cut up rough." "not if he fights fair, steve; but i don't trust the brute--i never did." "just because he plays cards and calls himself a colonel? why, everyone is a colonel out here. but to blazes with cruickshank anyway. come and get some grub." and so saying steve chance entered the principal hotel of new westminster, down the plank walls of which the tears of oozing resin still ran, while the smell of the pine-forest pervaded the whole house. the "newness" of these young cities of the west is perhaps beyond the imagination of dwellers in the old settled countries of europe. it is hard for men from the east to realize that the hotel, which welcomes them to all the comforts and luxuries of the nineteenth century, was standing timber a month before, that the walls covered with paper in some pretty french design, and hung with mirrors and gilt-framed engravings, were the homes of the jay and the squirrel, and that the former tenants have hardly had time yet to settle in a new abode. and yet so it is: we do our scene-shifting pretty rapidly out west, and though there may not be time to perfect anything, the general effect is wonderful in the extreme. the westminster hotel was a gem of its class, and even ned and steve, who had become fairly used to western ways, were a little aghast at the contrast between the magnificence of some of the new furniture and the simplicity of the sleeping accommodation, as illustrated by the rows of miners' blankets neatly laid out along the floor. luckily cruickshank had cautioned them to take their bedding with them, or they might have been obliged to pass a cheerless night in one of the highly-gilded arm-chairs, which looked as comfortless as they were gaudy. the old tout upon the wharf, who owned what he advertised, had not misrepresented his house. as he had said, the meals were square enough even for the hungry miners who swarmed around his board, and though it was dull to lie upon their oars and wait, steve and ned might have found worst places to wait in than the mansion house. for at westminster a delay arose, as delays will the moment a man begins packing or touches cayuses out west. of course there were a few horses to be bought, but equally, of course, everyone in the city and its suburbs seemed to know by instinct that corbett & co. were cornered, and must buy, however bad the beasts and however high the prices. an old indian, one captain jim, who with the assistance of all his female relatives used to pack liquor and other necessaries to the mines, had part of an old train to sell, horses, saddles, and all complete, and for the first three days of their stay at westminster corbett & co. expected every minute to become owners of this outfit. but the business dragged on, until the noble savage upon whom they had looked as the type of genial simplicity had become an abomination in their eyes, and they had decided to leave the management of him to cruickshank, resolving that if the train was not bought and ready to be shipped on the next boat to douglas that they would go without a pack-train altogether. in the meanwhile they had to get through the time as best they could, assisted by the cariboo poet, who had stayed on like themselves at westminster. to chance this was no hardship; what with a little sketching, a little poker, and a great deal of smoking, he managed to get through the days with a good deal of satisfaction to himself. as to ned, the delay and inaction disgusted him and spoilt his temper, which may account in some measure for an unfortunate incident which occurred on the second day of his stay at the mansion house. as the day was hot and he had nothing to do, the big fellow had laid out his blankets in a shady corner and prepared to lie down and sleep the weary hours away. before doing so he turned for a minute or two to watch a game of piquet, in which roberts appeared to be invariably "piqued, repiqued, pooped, and capoted," as his adversary, a red-headed irishman, announced at the top of his voice. tired of the game, ned turned and sought his couch, upon which two strangers had taken a seat. going up to them, ned asked them to move, and as they did not appear to hear him he repeated his request in a louder tone. perhaps the heat and the flies had made him irritable, and a tone of angry impatience had got into his voice which nettled the men, one of whom, turning towards him, but not attempting to make room, coolly told him "to go to blazes." as the man turned, ned recognized him as bub cruickshank, the brother or cousin of the colonel; but it needed neither the recognition nor the laugh that ran round the room to put ned's hackles up. without stopping to think, he picked up the fellow by the scruff of his neck and the slack of his breeches and deposited him with the least possible tenderness upon an untenanted piece of the floor. before he had time to straighten himself, the dislodged bub aimed a furious kick at ned, and in another minute our hero was in the thick of as merry a mill as any honest young englishman could desire. time after time ned floored his man, for though bub knew very little of the use of his hands he was a determined brute, and kept rushing in and trying to get a grip of his man at close quarters, and, moreover, it was a case of one down the other come on, for as soon as ned had floored one fellow and put him _hors de combat_ for a short time, his companion took up the battle. "take care, corbett,--take care of his teeth!" shouted roberts all at once; and ned felt a horrible faint feeling come over him, robbing him for the moment of all his strength, as bub fastened on his thumb. for a moment the shropshireman almost gave up the battle. those only who have suffered from this dastardly trick of the lowest of yankee roughs, can have any idea of the effect it has upon a man's strength. but corbett was almost as mad with rage at what he considered unsportsman-like treatment as he was with pain, so that he managed to wrench himself free and send his man to earth again with another straight left-hander. meanwhile the red-haired irishman, who had been playing piquet with roberts, had lost all interest in his game since the fight began, and was fairly writhing in his seat with suppressed emotion. at last flesh and blood (or at least _irish_ flesh and blood) could endure it no longer, so that, jumping up from his seat, he took ned just by the shoulders and lifted him clean out of the way as if he had been a baby, remarking as he did so-- "you stay there, sonny, and let me knock 'em down awhile." but the poor simple celt was doomed to disappointment. the truth was that ned had been greedy, and taken more than his share of this innocent game of skittles, so that, as mr. o'halloran remarked sorrowfully at supper, he did but get in "one from the shoulther, and thin them two murtherin' haythens lit right out." when the scrimmage was over roberts took ned on one side, and after looking at the bitten thumb and bandaging it up for his friend, he gave ned a little advice. "fighting is all very well, mr. corbett, where people fight according to rules, but you had better drop it here. if you don't, some fellow will get level on you with the leg of a table or a little cold lead. if you must fight, you had better learn to shoot like old rampike." "where is old rampike now?" asked ned, anxious to turn the conversation, and feeling a little ashamed of his escapade. "rampike went right on by the boat that met the _umatilla_. he got a job up at williams creek, and will be there ahead of us." "then you mean to come up too, roberts, that's right," said corbett genially. "yes, i am coming up with your crowd. i met the count in town last night and borrowed the chips from him. i am thinking that if you make a practice of quarrelling with cruickshank and all his friends you will need someone along to look after you." "but who is the count, and why could you not have borrowed the money from us?" asked corbett in a tone of considerable pique. "the count! oh, the count is an old friend, and lends to most anyone who is broke. it's his business in a way. you see, he is the biggest gambler in the upper country. skins a chap one day and lends him a handful of gold pieces the next. he'll get it back with interest from one of us even if i don't pay him, so that's all right;" and honest roberts dismissed all thought of the loan from his mind, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for a professional gambler to lend an impecunious victim a hundred dollars on no security whatever. luckily for ned his fellow countryman took him in hand after this, and what with singing and working managed to keep him out of mischief. for roberts found corbett work in westminster which just suited his young muscles, though it was as quaint in its way as roberts' own financial arrangements in their way. it seemed that in the young city there was no church and no funds to build one, but there was a sturdy, energetic parson, and a mob of noisy, careless miners, who rather liked the parson; not, perhaps, _because_ he was a parson, but because he had in some way or other proved to them that he was a "man." had they been on the way down with their pockets full of "dust" the boys would soon have built him anything he wanted, whether it had been a church or a gin-shop. i am afraid it would have mattered little. as it was they were unluckily on their way up, and their pockets were empty. but as the will was there the parson found the way, and all through that week of waiting ned and a gang of other strong hardy fellows like himself made their axes glitter and ring on the great pines, clearing a site, and preparing the lumber for the first house of god erected in new westminster. who shall say that their contribution had not as much intrinsic value as the thousand-dollar cheque which croesus sends for a similar object. a good deal more labour goes to the felling of a pine ten feet through than to the signing of a cheque, anyway. chapter v. "is the colonel 'straight?'" at the very last moment, when all corbett's party, except cruickshank, had yielded to despair, the indian jim gave in, and sold his animals as they stood for sixty dollars a head. this included the purchase of pack-saddles, cinches, and other items essential to a packer's outfit. the steamer for douglas started at p.m., and it was long after breakfast on the same day that the eyes of corbett and chance, who were smoking outside their inn, were gladdened by the sight of phon and cruickshank driving ten meek-looking brutes up to the front of the mansion house. having tied each pony short by the head to the garden rail, cruickshank began to organize his forces. there were the ponies, it was true, but their packs and many other things had still to be bought. there was much to be done and very little time to do it in. then it was that cruickshank showed himself to the greatest advantage. for days he had appeared to dawdle over his bargaining with jim, until ned almost thought that indian and white together were in league against him; now he felt miserable at the mere memory of his former suspicions. cruickshank knew that no man can hurry an indian, and therefore abstained from irritating jim by attempting the impossible. the result of this was that at the end of the time at his disposal cruickshank had by his indifference convinced jim that he cared very little whether he got the horses or not, so that now the indian was in a hurry to sell before the steamer should carry cruickshank and his dollars away to douglas. so cruickshank bought the ponies, bought them cheap, and, moreover, just in time to catch the boat. this was all he had struggled for. but now that he had white men to deal with his tactics changed. these men knew the value of time and could hurry, therefore cruickshank hurried them. to every man he gave some independent work to do. no one was left to watch another working. whilst one dashed off to buy stores another took the horses to the forge to be shod, and old phon was left to repair the horse furniture and overhaul the outfit generally. cruickshank himself went off to buy gunny sacks, boxes, ropes, and such-like, rendered necessary by the absence of _aparejos_, needing the knowledge of an expert in their selection. it was already late in the afternoon, and ned, hot and dusty, and as happy as a schoolboy, was helping the smith to shoe the last of the ponies, when roberts, who had done his own work, walked into the forge. for a minute or two roberts stood unnoticed, observing his fellow-countryman with eyes full of a sort of hero-worship, commoner at a public school than in the world. but ned was one of those fellows who win men's hearts without trying to do so; a young fellow who said what he thought without waiting to pick his words, who did what he liked, and luckily liked what was good, and honest, and manly, and who withal looked the man he was, upstanding, frank, and absolutely fearless. ned had been in the forge for perhaps half a day or more, and had already so won the heart of the smith that that good man with his eyes on the boy's great forearm had been hinting that there was "just as much money in a good smithy as there was in most of them up-country claims." but ned was bent on gold-mining and seeing life with the hard-fists, so though he loved to swing the great smith's hammer he was not to be tempted from his purpose, though he was quite ready to believe that a smith in new westminster could earn more by his hands than many a professional man by his brains in westminster on the thames. "hullo, rob! have you got through with your work?" cried ned, catching sight of his friend at last. "yes. i've done all i've got to do; can i lend you a hand?" "why, no, thanks; my friend here is putting on the last shoe. but what is the matter? you look as if you had got 'turned round' in the bush, and were trying to think your way out;" and ned laid his hand laughingly on his friend's shoulder. roberts laughed too, but led the younger man outside, and once there blurted out his trouble. "look here, corbett, ever since that gambling row i've had my eye on cruickshank, and i thought that i knew him for a rascal, but blow me if he hasn't got beyond me this time." "how so, rob?" "well, i'm half-inclined to think he's honest after all. he is a real rustler when he chooses anyway," added the poet admiringly. "oh, i expect he is as honest as most of his kind. why shouldn't he be? all men haven't the same ideas of honesty out here; and if he isn't honest it doesn't matter much to us, does it?" asked ned carelessly. "doesn't it? ain't you trusting him with a good many thousand dollars?" asked roberts with some asperity. "no, i don't think so. you see, rob, if he is, as you thought, a card-sharper and a bogus estate-agent, my money is lost already; he can't clear out with the claims or the packs even if he wants to. but why do you think he is a rogue?" "i tell you i'm beginning to think that he isn't." "bully for you, that's better!" cried ned approvingly; "but what has worked this change in your opinions, rob?" "well, last night that scoundrelly siwash, captain jim, tried to work a swindle with those pack-ponies, and cruickshank wouldn't have it. jim was to sell you a lot of unsound beasts at eighty dollars a head. you would never have noticed that they had healed sores on their backs, and if cruickshank had held his tongue he was to have had twenty dollars a pony, and the way he 'talked honest' to that indian was astonishing, you bet." "how did you find all this out?" asked ned. roberts looked a little uncomfortable and flushed to the roots of his hair, but at length made the best of it, and admitted that he had followed the two men and overheard their conversation. "you see, ned," he added, "it's not very english, i know, but you must fight these fellows with their own weapons." for a while ned said nothing, though he frowned more than roberts had ever seen him frown before, and his fingers tugged angrily at his slight moustache. "roberts," he said at last, "i agree with you, this sort of thing isn't very english, i'm hanged if it is; but i've been pretty nearly as suspicious as you have, so i can't afford to talk. once for all, do you know anything against the colonel?" "no," hesitated roberts, "i don't know anything against dan, but bub--." "oh, to blazes with bub!" broke in corbett angrily. "a man cannot be responsible for every one of his cousins and kinsmen. from to-day i mean to believe in cruickshank as an honest man, until i prove him to be a knave. you had better do the same, rob; spying after a fellow as we have been doing is enough to make an honest man sick;" and ned corbett made a wry face as if the mere thought of it left a bad taste in his mouth. "all right, that's a-go then. he was honest about these cayuses anyway, and if he does go back on us we'll fire him higher than a sky-rocket;" and so saying roberts lent ned a hand to collect the said cayuses. these at the first glance would have struck an english judge of horseflesh as being ten of the very sorriest screws that ever stood upon four legs; but at least they showed to roberts' practised eye no signs of old sore backs, none of those half-obliterated scars which warn the _cognoscenti_ of evils which have been and are likely to recur. taken in a body, they were a little too big for polo ponies, and a little too ragged, starved, and ill-shaped for a respectable costermonger's cart. there was one amongst them, a big buckskin standing nearly . hands, which looked fairly plump and able-bodied, but atoned for these merits by an ugly trick of laying back her ears and showing the whites of her eyes whenever she got a chance. the most typical beast of his class was one job, a parti-coloured brute (or pinto as they call them in british columbia), with one eye brown and the other blue, and a nose of the brightest pink, as if he suffered from a chronic cold and a rough pocket-handkerchief. job's bones stared at you through his skin, his underlip protruded and hung down, giving him an air of the most abject misery, and even a yorkshire horse-dealer could not have found a good point to descant upon from his small weak quarters to his ill-shaped shoulder. but though job's head was fiddle-shaped there was a good deal in it, as those were likely to discover who had given sixty dollars for him, and expected to get sixty dollars' worth of work out of him. he had not been packing since the days when he trotted as a foal beside a "greasers'" train for nothing. at present he was the meekest, most ill-used-looking brute on the pacific coast, and corbett was just remarking to roberts "that that poor devil of a pony would never be able to carry a hundred and fifty pounds let alone two hundred over a bad road," when the buckskin let out, and caught the bay alongside of him such a kick on the stifle as made that poor beast go a little lame for days. no one noticed that the bite which set the buckskin kicking was given by old job, who moved his weary old head sadly, just in time, however, to let the kick go by and land on the unoffending body of his neighbour. an hour later all the horses were up again at the hotel, and the bill having been settled phon and roberts drove the train down to the wharf, where the steamer for douglas, a small stern-wheeler, was waiting for her passengers and her cargo. with the exception of job, all the cayuses were put on board at once and secured, but seeing that there was still a good deal of luggage in small parcels up at the hotel, chance kept "that quiet old beast job, just to carry down the odds and ends;" and job, with a sigh which spoke volumes to those who could understand, plodded away to do the extra work set aside as of right for the meek and long-suffering. it is an aggravating employment under any circumstances, the employment of packing. many men, otherwise good men, swear naturally (and freely) as soon as they engage in it; but then, why i know not, the very presence of a horse makes some men swear. steve knew very little about packing anyway, and had he known more he would not have found it easy to fasten his bundles on to the back of a beast which shifted constantly from one leg to another, and always seemed to be standing uphill or downhill, with one leg at least a foot shorter than the other three. when steve spoke to him (with an angry kick in the stomach), job would lift his long-suffering head with an air of meek dejection, and shifting his leg as required plant a huge hoof solidly upon steve's moccasined foot. if i could paint the look on that great ugly equine head as it turned with leering eye and projecting nether lip, and looked into the anguished face of steve chance, i should be able to teach my reader more of cayuses (the meanest creatures on god's earth) than i can ever hope to do. but even with job to help him, steve got his load down to the boat at last, and put all aboard except a new pack-saddle, which he had taken off the pack-horse and laid down on the ground beside him. with lowered head and half-shut eyes job stood for some minutes patiently waiting, and then, as steve came over the side to drive him on board with his fellows, the old horse heaved a long, long sigh, and before steve could reach him lay down slowly and gently upon that pack-saddle. of course when he got up, the pack-saddle was demolished, and as the last whistle had sounded, there was no time to get another before leaving westminster. a new saddle would have to be bought at douglas, and that would cost money, or made upon the road, and that would mean delay, so job, with a cynical gleam in his wall-eye, trotted meekly and contentedly on board. he had entered his first protest against extra work. five minutes later the steamer _lillooet_ cast loose from her moorings, the gangway was taken in, and the gallant little stern-wheeler went cleaving her way up through the yellow frazer, on her forty-mile run to the mouth of harrison river, steaming past long mud-flats and many a mile of heavy timber. a day and a half was the time allowed for the journey from new westminster to douglas, but corbett and chance could hardly believe that they had taken so long when they came to their moorings again at the head of the harrison lake. to them the hours had seemed to fly by, for their eyes and thoughts were busy, intent at one moment upon the bare mud-banks, watching for game or the tracks of the game, the next straining to catch a glimpse of deer feeding at dawn upon the long gray hills--hills which were a pale dun in the light of early morning, but which became full of rich velvety shadows as the day wore on. overhead floated the fleecy blue and white sky of spring-time; on the hills patches of wild sunflower mingled with the greenish gray of the sage brush, and here and there, even on the arid barren banks of the frazer itself, occurred little "pockets" of verdure--hollows with fresh-water springs in them, where the tender green of the young willows, and the abundant white bloom of the choke cherries and olali bushes, made edens amongst the waste of alkaline mud-banks, edens tenanted and made musical by all the collected bird-life of that barren land. the only difficult bit of water for the little steamer was the seven miles of the harrison river, a rapid, turbulent stream, up which the s.s. _lillooet_ had to fight every inch of the way; but beyond that lay the lake, a broad blue lake, penned in by steep and heavily-timbered mountains, and beyond the one-house town of douglas, at which ned and his fellow-passengers disembarked about noon of the second day out from westminster. from douglas the ordinary route was by river and lake, with a few short portages to _lillooet_ on the frazer; and in there were steamers upon all the lakes (lillooet, anderson, and seton), and canoes (with a certainty of a fair breeze in summer) for such as preferred them. but ned and his friends had decided that as they had a pack-train, and would be compelled to pack part of the way in any case, they might just as well harden their hearts and pack the whole distance, more especially since they had ample time to make their journey in, and not too much money to waste upon steamboat fares. so at douglas cruickshank bought another pack-saddle for about twice what it would have cost at westminster (freight was high in the early days), and suggested that as the one house (half store, half hotel) was full to overflowing, they might as well strike out for themselves, and as it was only mid-day make a few miles upon their road before camping for the night. "you see," argued cruickshank, "it's no violet's camping where so many men have camped before, and a good many of them greasers and indians." corbett and chance were new to the discomforts of the road, and had still to learn the penalty for camping where indians have camped; but for all that they took the colonel's advice and assented to his proposal, though it meant bidding good-bye to their fellow-men a day or two sooner than they need have done. once the start had been decided upon cruickshank lost no time in getting under weigh. the diamond hitch had no mysteries for him, the loops flew out and settled to an inch where he wanted them to, every strand in his ropes did its share of binding and holding fast; his very curses seemed to cow the most stubborn cayuse better than another man's, and when he cinched the unfortunate beasts up you could almost hear their ribs crack. job alone nearly got the better of the colonel, but even he just missed it. cruickshank cinched this wretched scarecrow a little less severely than the rest, but when later on he saw old job with his cinch all slack, a malevolent grin came over his face, and he muttered, "oh, that's your sort, is it, an old-timer? so am i!" and after giving job a kick which would have knocked the wind out of anything, he cinched him up again before he could recover himself, and then led him to drink. as the horse sucked down the water greedily cruickshank muttered to himself, "_bueno_, i guess your load will stick now until you are thirsty again." after this job and the colonel seemed to have a mutual understanding, and as long as he was within hearing of cruickshank's curses there was no better pack-pony on the road than old job. it seems as if men who have been used to packing, and have had a spell of rest from their ordinary occupation, itch to handle the ropes again; at least, it is only in this way that i can explain the readiness displayed by so many of ned's fellow-passengers to lend a hand in fixing his packs for him. in an hour from the time of disembarkation the train was ready to start, and the welcome cry of "all set!" rang out, after which there was a little hand-shaking, a lighting of pipes, and the procession filed away up the river, cruickshank leading the first five ponies, then roberts plodding patiently along on foot, then another five ponies, and then, as long as the narrow train would permit of it, ned and steve trudging along, chatting and keeping the ponies on the move. cruickshank was already some distance ahead, and even steve and ned were almost outside the little settlement, when a big red-headed irishman, whom corbett remembered as his fighting friend at westminster, came running after him. "say," asked mr. o'halloran, rather out of breath from his run. "say, are you and that blagyard partners?" "which?" asked ned in amaze. "my friend chance?" "no, no, not this boy here--that fellow riding ahead of the train." "cruickshank? yes, we are partners in a way," replied ned. "and you know it was his brother you laid out? faith, you laid him out as nate as if it was for a berryin'," he added with a grin. "i've heard men say that the colonel is bub cruickshank's brother," admitted ned; "but the colonel is all right, whatever bub is." "and you and he ain't had no turn-up along of that scrimmage down at westminster?" persisted o'halloran. "not a word. i don't think he knew about it." "oh yes, he did. i saw bub and him talking it over, and you may bet your boots the only reason he didn't bark is that he means to bite--yes, and bite hard too. it's the way with them dark, down-looking blagyards," added the honest irishman, in a tone of the deepest scorn. "ah, well, i don't think cruickshank is likely to try his teeth on me," laughed ned. "if he does i must try that favourite rib-bender of yours upon him," and ned gripped o'halloran's hand and strode gaily after his train. for a moment the red-headed one stood looking after his friend, and then heaving a great sigh remarked: "indade and i'd like a turn wid you mesilf, but if that black-looking blagyard does a happorth of harm to you, it's kornaylius o'halloran as 'll put a head on him." chapter vi. the wet camp. as his pack-train wound away along the trail from douglas, ned corbett gave a great deep sigh as if there was something which he fain would blow away from him. and so there was. as he left the last white man's house between douglas and lillooet, he hoped and believed that he left behind him towns and townsmen, petty delays, swindlings, and suspicions of swindlings. he was going to look for gold, and give a year at least of his young life to be spent in digging for it, and yet this absurd young englishman was actually thanking his stars that now, at last, he was rid of dollars and dollar hunters, business and business men, for at least a month. there was food enough on the beasts in front of him to last his party for a year. he was sound in wind and limb, his rifle was not a bad one, and he had seen lots of game tracks already, and that being so he really cared very little whether he reached his claims in time or not. but of course, as cruickshank said, there was ample time to make the journey in, time indeed and to spare, as every one he had met admitted, so that no doubt steve and he would reach williams creek in time, find the claims as cruickshank had represented them, and make no end of money. that would just suit steve; and after all a lot of money would be a good thing in its way. it would make a certain old uncle at home take back a good many things he had once said about his nephew's "great useless body and ramshackle brains," and besides, he would like a few hundred pounds himself to send home, and a bit in hand to hire a boat to go to alaska in. that had been ned's day-dream ever since he had seen a certain cargo of bear-skins which had come down from that ice-bound _terra incognita_ to victoria. so ned sighed a great sigh of relief and contentment, took off his coat and slung it on his back, opened the collar of his flannel shirt and let the soft air play about his ribs, turned his sleeves up over his elbows, tied a silk handkerchief turban-wise on his yellow head, and having cut himself a good stout stick trudged merrily along, sucking in the glorious mountain air as greedily as if he had spent the last six months of his life waiting for briefs in some grimy fog-haunted chamber of the temple. he would have liked the ponies to have moved along a little faster, because as it was he found it difficult to keep behind them, five miles an hour suiting his legs better than two. but this was his only trouble, and as every now and then he got a breather, racing up some steep incline to head back a straggler to the path of duty, ned managed to be perfectly happy in spite of this little drawback. as for the others, cruickshank, who had seemed restless and nervous as long as he had been with the crowd of miners on the boat and at douglas, had now relapsed into a mere automaton, which strode on silently ahead of the pack-train, emitting from time to time little blue jets of tobacco smoke. steve seemed buried in calculations, based on a miner's report that the dirt at williams creek had paid as much as fifty cents to the shovelful, an historical fact which phon and the young yankee discussed occasionally at some length; and old roberts, having agreed to leave his suspicions behind him, shared his tobacco cheerily with cruickshank, and from time to time startled the listening deer with scraps of his favourite ditties. it was the refrain of the old pack mule, "riding, riding, riding on my old pack mule," which at last roused steve chance's indignation against the songster. "confound the old idiot!" growled the yankee; "i wish he wouldn't remind me of the unattainable. i shouldn't mind riding, but i am getting pretty sick of tramping. isn't it nearly time to camp, ned?" "nearly time to camp? why, we haven't made eight miles yet," replied corbett. "oh, that be hanged for a yarn! we have been going five solid hours by my watch, and five fours are twenty." "that may be, but five twos are ten, and what with stoppages to fix packs, admire the scenery, and give you time to munch a sandwich and tie up your moccasins, i don't believe we have been going two miles an hour. but are you tired, steve?" "you bet i am, ned. if there really is no particular hurry let us camp soon." "all right, we will if you like. hullo, cruickshank!" cruickshank turned. "steve is tired and wants to camp--what do you say?" cruickshank hesitated a moment and then agreed to the proposition, beginning at once to loosen the packs upon the beasts nearest to him. "here, i say, steady there!" cried corbett; "you take me too literally. steve can go another mile if necessary. we'll stop at the next good camping-ground." "i'm afraid you won't get anything better than this," replied the colonel. "why, what is the matter with this? you didn't expect side-walks and hotels on the trail, did you, corbett?" even in his best moods there was a nasty sneering way about cruickshank, which put his companions' backs up. "no, but i did think we might find a flat spot to camp on." "did you? then i'm sorry to disappoint you. you won't find anything except a swamp meadow flatter than this for the next ten miles or so, and the swamps are a little too wet for comfort at this time of year." "do you mean to say, cruickshank, that we can't find a flatter spot than this? why, hang it, man, you couldn't put a tea-cup down here without spilling the contents," remonstrated corbett. "well, if you think you can better this, let us go on; perhaps you know best. what is it to be, camp or 'get?'" "oh, if you are certain about it i suppose we may as well stay here; but, by jove, we shall have to tie ourselves up to trees when we go to sleep to prevent our straying downhill." and ned laughed at the vision he had conjured up. a minute later a bale,--bigger, heavier, and more round of belly than its fellows,--escaped from steve chance's grip and fell heavily to the earth. steve was not a strong man, certainly not a man useful for lifting weights, besides he was a careless fellow, and tired. for a moment steve stood looking at the bale as it turned slowly over and over. twice it turned round and steve still looked at it. the next moment it gathered way, and before steve could catch it was hopping merrily downhill, in bounds which grew in length every time it touched the hillside. steve, assisted by phon, had the pleasure of recovering that bale from the group of young pines amongst which it eventually stuck, and brought it with many sobs and much perspiration to the point from which it originally started. it took steve and phon longer to get over that two hundred feet of hillside than it had taken the bale. that first camp of theirs has left an impression upon ned's mind and steve's which years will not efface. ned was too tough to look upon it as more than a somewhat rough practical joke, likely to pall upon a man if repeated too often, but to chance that camp was a camp of misery and a place of tears. there was water, but it was a long way downhill; there was, as cruickshank said, timber enough to keep a mill going for a twelvemonth, but whatever was worth having for firewood was either uphill or downhill--you had to climb for everything you happened to want; and to wind up with, you absolutely had to dig a sort of shelf out of the hillside upon which to pitch your tent. it was here, too, that steve had his first real experience of camping out. he helped to unpack the horses, but he took so long to retrieve the bale which had gone downhill that some one had to lend him a hand even with the one beast which he unpacked. he volunteered to cook, but when on investigation it was discovered that he would have fried beans without boiling them, a community unduly careful of its digestion scornfully refused his assistance. in despair he seized an axe, and went away as "a hewer of wood and a drawer of water." by and by the voice of his own familiar friend came to him again and again in tones of cruel derision: "where is that tree coming down, steve?" "i don't know and don't care, but it's got to come somewhere," replied the operator angrily, as he hewed blindly at the tough green pine. "but it won't do for firewood anyway, steve, this year, and if you don't take care you will never need firewood again. don't you know how to make a tree fall where you want it to?" and ned took the tool from his hand, and completing what his companion had so badly begun, laid the tree out of harm's way. "well, it seems that i can't do anything to please you," grumbled steve, now thoroughly angry. "when there is anything that you and cruickshank reckon you want my help in you can call me, corbett. i'll go and smoke whilst you run this show to your own satisfaction." "no you won't, old man, and you won't get riled either. just be a good chap and go and cut us some brush for bedding. see, this is the best kind," and ned held out to his friend a branch of hemlock. although an hour later ned noticed that there was every kind of brush _except_ hemlock in the pile which steve had collected, he wisely complimented him on his work, and said nothing about his mistake. a man does not become a woodsman in a week. meanwhile the tent had been pitched; cruickshank was just climbing up the hill again after driving the ponies to a swamp down below, and old phon was handling a frying-pan full of the largest and thickest rashers of bacon on record. little crisp ringlets of fried bacon may serve very well for the breakfast of pampered civilization, but if you did not cut your rashers thick out in the woods you would never stop cutting. lucky would it have been for steve and ned if rough fare and a rocky camp had been the worst troubles in store for them, but unluckily, even as they lit their post-prandial pipes, the storm-clouds began to blow up the valley, ragged and brown, and whilst poor steve was still tossing on a sleepless pillow, vexed by the effects of black tea on his nerves, and crawling beasts upon his sensitive skin, the first great drops of the coming storm splashed heavily on the sides of the tent. of course the tent was new. everything the two young miners had was new, brand-new, and made upon the most recent and improved lines. none of the old, time-tried contrivances of practical men are ever good enough for beginners. so the fourth or fifth drop of rain which hit that tent came through as if it had been a sieve, and when well-meaning steve rubbed his hand over the place "feeling for the leak," the water came in in a stream. when the next morning broke, the wanderers looked out upon that most miserable of all things, a wet camp in the woods. the misery of a wet camp is the one convincing argument in favour of civilization. it was still early in the year, and the season was a late one even for british columbia, amongst whose mountains winter never yields without a struggle. on the dead embers of last night's camp-fire were slowly melting snowflakes, and a chill wet wind crept into ned's bosom, as he looked out upon the morning, and made him shudder. but ned was hard, so that careless of rain and puddles he splashed out past the camp-fire, and after a good many failures kindled a little comparatively dry wood, over which to make the morning tea, and then drew upon himself the scorn of that old campaigner cruickshank by washing. what work they could find to do the men did, but even so the hours went wearily by. cruickshank was opposed to making a start, for fear lest the rain should damage the packs, which now lay all snug beneath their _manteaux_. so they waited until cruickshank was tired of smoking, and roberts of hearing himself sing; until corbett could sleep no more, and steve was hoarse with grumbling. only phon, lost in thought which white men cannot fathom, and the pack animals full of sweet young grass, seemed content. for three whole days the party stopped in the same camp, gazing hour after hour upon a limited view of stiff burnt pines, with the melting snow drifting down through them, and the fog wrapping them and hiding away all the distance. even the fire of piled logs shone, _not_ with heat but with damp, and the monotonous splash of the drops as they fell from a leak in the tent into the frying-pan set to catch them, combined with phon's harsh cough, to break the silence. at last, when even ned was beginning to think of rheumatism, and to long for a glass of hot toddy and a turkish bath, the sun came back again, and cast long rich shadows from the red stems of the bull-pines across the trail, over which steve nearly ran, in his anxiety to leave the wet camp as far behind him as possible. but even the wet camp was only the beginning of troubles. three days they lost waiting for the sun, and in the next camp they waited three more days for their horses. at the first camp cruickshank had been careful to hobble the horses, which would not have strayed had he left them free in a small naturally inclosed pasture, like that swamp at the foot of the side hills. but at the second camp, where the feed was bad and the ways open, he neglected to hobble any of them, and, oddly enough, old packer though he was, he overlooked the whole band in his first day's search, so that no one went that way to look for them again, until it occurred to corbett to try to puzzle out their tracks in that direction for himself. there he found them, in the very meadow in which they had pastured the first night, all standing in a row behind a bush no bigger than a cabbage, old job at their head, every nose down, every ear still, even job's blue eye fixed in a kind of glassy stare, and the bell round job's neck dumb, for it was full of mud and leaves. it was deuced odd, ned thought, as he drove the beasts home. cruickshank didn't seem to know as much of packing and the care of horses as he appeared to know at first; but if he knew too little, that wall-eyed fiend, job, knew too much. anyway, they had taken eight days to do two days' travel, up to that time. it was well that they had ample time in which to make their journey to cariboo. chapter vii. facing death on the stone-slide. it was the last day of corbett's journey between the harrison and the frazer, and a boiling hot day at that. with the exception of corbett himself, and perhaps cruickshank, whose back alone was visible as he led the train, the whole outfit had relapsed into that dull mechanical gait peculiar to packers and pack animals. to chance it seemed that he was in a dream--a dream in which he went incessantly up and up or down, down day after day without pause or change. to him it seemed that there was always the same gray stone-slide under foot, the same hot sun overheard, and the same gleaming blue lake far below; like the pack animals, he was content to plod along hour after hour, seeing nothing, thinking of nothing, unless it was of that blessed hour when the camp would be pitched and the tea made, and the soothing pipe be lighted. but though chance had no eyes for it, the end of this first part of his journey was near at hand. fourteen miles away the great grisly mountains came together and threw a shadow upon seton lake, building a wall and setting a barrier over or through which there seemed no possible way of escape. as corbett looked at it, he could see the trees quite plainly on the narrow rim of grass between that mountain wall and the lake, and though he could not see that too, he knew that through them ran a trail which led to lillooet on the frazer. even ned longed to reach that trail and catch a glimpse of the little town, in which he and his weary beasts might take at least one day's rest and refreshment. since leaving douglas, cruickshank and corbett had been upon the best of terms. cruickshank knew how everything ought to be done, and corbett was quick and tireless to do it, so that between them these two did most of the work of the camp; and though ned noticed that his guide was not as anxious to get to lillooet as he had been to get away from douglas, he made allowances for him. cruickshank was hardly a young man, and no doubt his strength was not equal to his will. as to the straying of the horses at the second camp, there could be but one opinion. it was a bad mistake to leave them unhobbled; but after all everyone made mistakes sometimes, and though that mistake had involved the loss of a great deal of time, it was the only one which could be laid to cruickshank's account. so far not one single thing, however unimportant, had been left behind in camp or lost upon the trail; there had been no accidents, no lost packs, nor any sign of sore backs. day after day cruickshank himself had led the train, choosing the best going for his ponies, and seeing them safely past every projecting rock and over every _mauvais pas_. on this day for the first time cruickshank proposed to give up his position in front of the train to ned. stopping at a place where there was room to shunt the rear of his column to the front, the colonel hailed ned, and suggested that they should change places. "come on and set us a quick step, corbett. even if you do overtire the ponies a bit, it doesn't matter now that we are so near lillooet. they can rest there as much as they like." "very well. i expect _you_ must want a change, and i'll bet old steve does. why, you have hardly had anyone to speak to for a week," replied corbett good-naturedly. "that's so, but i must save my breath a little longer still. if roberts will go behind with phon and chance, i'll keep the first detachment as close to your heels as i can; and, by the way, we had better make a change with the horses whilst we are about it." "why?" asked ned. "what is the matter with them?" "not much, but if we are to have any more swimming across places where the bridging is broken down, we may as well have the horses that take kindly to water in front, and send that mean old beast to the rear;" and the colonel pointed to job, which with its head on one side and an unearthly glare in its blue eye, appeared to be listening to what was being said. "all right, we can do that here if you will lend a hand. which shall we put the bell on?" and ned took the bell off job, and turned that veteran over to the second half of the train. "put it on this fellow; he takes to the water like an otter, and he will make a good leader. wherever his packs can go, any of the others can follow;" and cruickshank pointed to the great bulging bales upon the back of the buckskin. "i expect steve and roberts packed him, didn't they?" cruickshank added. "well, they aren't pretty to look at, but i guess they'll stick;" and so saying, he gave the buckskin a smack on his quarters which sent that big star-gazing brute trotting to the front, where ned invested him with the order of the bell. "is it all right now, cruickshank?" asked corbett. "all right." "forrard away then!" cried ned, and turning he strode merrily along a narrow trail, which wound up and up across such sheer precipitous side hills as would make some men dizzy to look at. a slip in some places would have meant death to those who slipped, long before their bruised bodies could reach the edge of the lake glittering far below; but neither men in moccasins nor mountain ponies are given to slipping. after the rain had come the sunshine and the genial warmth of spring, under the influence of which every hill was musical with new-born rivulets, and every level place brilliant with young grass. the very stone-slides blossomed in great clumps of purple gentian, and over even the stoniest places crept the tendrils of the oregon vine, with its thorny shining leaves and flower-clusters of pale gold. now and again the trail rose or fell so much that it seemed to ned as if he had passed from one season of flowers to another. down by the lake, where the pack animals splashed along the bed of a little mountain stream, the first wild rose was opening, a mere speck of pink in the cool darkness made by the overhanging bushes. here by the lake side, too, were numerous butterflies--great yellow and black "swallow tails," hovering in small clouds over the damp stones, or camberwell beauties in royal purple, floating through sun and shadow on wings as graceful in flight as they were rich in colour. higher up, where the sun had heated the stone-slides to a white heat, were more butterflies (fritillaries and commas and tortoise-shells), while now and again a flash of orange and a shrill little screech told ned that a humming-bird went by. in the highest places of all, where the snow still lingered in tiny patches, the red-eyed spruce-cocks hooted from the pines, the ruffed grouse strutted and boomed in the thickets, and the yellow flowers of lilies gave promise of many a meal for old ephraim, when their sweet bulbs should be a few weeks older. to ned, merely to swing along day after day in the sunshine and note these things, was gladness enough, and it was little notice he took of heat, or thirst, or weariness. unfortunately he became too absorbed, and as often happens with men unused to leading out, forgot his train and walked right away from his ponies. when this fact dawned upon him it was nearly mid-day, and he found himself at the highest point which the path had yet reached, from which, looking back, he could see the train crawling wearily after him. he could see, too, that cruickshank was signalling him to stop, so nothing loth ned sat down and waited. the path where he sat came out to a sharp promontory, and turning round this it began to pass over the worst stone-slide ned had yet seen. most of those he had hitherto encountered had been mere narrow strips of bad going from fifty to a hundred yards across, but this was nearly five hundred yards from side to side, and except where the trail ran, there was not foothold upon it for a fly. properly speaking it was not, as the natives called it, a stone-slide at all, but rather the bed or shoot, by which, century after century, some hundreds of stone-slides had gone crashing down into the lake below. as soon as ned had assured himself that the train was once more as near to him as it ought to be, he knocked off as much of the projecting corner as he could, and passed round it on to the slide. looking up from the narrow trail, the young englishman could see the great rocks which hung out from the cliffs above; rocks whose fellows had been the makers of this slide, letting go their hold up above as the snows melted and the rains sapped their foundations, and then thundering down to the lake with such an army of small stones and debris that it seemed as if the whole mountain-side was moving. when this stone-avalanche crashed into the water a wave rolled out upon the lake big as an ocean swell from shore to shore. looking down, a smooth shoot sloped at an angle from him to the blue water. "well, that is pretty sheer," muttered ned, craning his neck to look down to where the lake glistened a thousand feet below, "and if one of our ponies gets his feet off this trail, there won't be anything of him left unbroken except his shoes;" and so saying, he turned to see how the leader would turn the awkward corner which led on to this _via diabolica_. as he did so the report of a pistol rang out sharp and clear, followed by a rush and the clatter of falling stones, and the next moment ned saw the leading pony dash round the overhanging rocks, its ropes all loose, its packs swinging almost under its belly, its bell ringing as if it were possessed, and its eyes starting from its head in the insanity of terror. at every stride it was touch-and-go whether the brute would keep its legs or not. each slip and each recovery at that flying pace was in itself a miracle, and ned hardly hoped that he could stop the maddened beast before it and the packs went crashing down to the lake. stop the pony! he might as well have tried to stop a stone-slide. and as he realized this, the danger of his own position flashed across him for the first time. coming towards him, now not fifty yards away, was the maddened horse, which probably could not have stopped if it wanted to in that distance, and on such a course. behind ned was four hundred yards of such a trail as he hardly dared to run over to escape death, and even if he had dared, what chance in the race would he have had against the horse? above him there was nothing to which even his strong fingers could cling, and below the trail--well, he had already calculated on the chances of any living thing finding foothold below the trail. instinctively ned shouted and threw up his hands. he might as well have tried to blow the horse back with his breath. in another ten seconds the brute would be upon him; in other words, in another ten seconds horse and packs and ned corbett would be the centre of a little dust-storm bounding frantically down that steep path to death! in such a crisis as this men think fast, or lose their wits altogether. some, perhaps, rather than face the horror of their position shut their eyes, mental and physical, and are glad to die and get it over. ned was of the other kind: the kind that will face anything with their eyes open, and fight their last round with death with eyes that will only close when the life is out of them. there was just one chance for life, and having his eyes open, ned saw it and took it. twenty yards from him now was that hideous maddened brute, with its ears laid back, its teeth showing, the foam flying from its jaws, and its great blood-shot eyes almost starting from their sockets. twenty yards, and the pace the brute was coming at was the pace of a locomotive! and yet, though corbett's face was gray as a march morning, and his square jaws set like a steel trap, there was no blinking in his eyes. he saw the blow coming, and quick as light he countered. never on parade in the old school corps did his rifle come to his shoulder more steadily than it came now; not a nerve throbbed as he pressed (not pulled) the trigger, nor was it until he stood _alone_ upon that narrow path that his knees began to rock beneath him, while the cold perspiration poured down his drawn white face in streams. one man only besides corbett saw that drama; one man, whose features wore a look of which hell might have been proud, so fiendish was it in its disappointed malice, when through the dust he saw the red flame flash, and then, almost before the report reached him, saw the body of the big buckskin, a limp bagful of broken bones, splash heavily into the seton lake. but the look passed as a cloud passes on a windy morning, and the next moment cruickshank was at corbett's side, a flood of congratulations and inquiries pouring from his ready lips. as for ned, now that the danger was over, he was utterly unstrung, and a bold enemy might have easily done for him that which the runaway horse had failed to do. perhaps that thought never occurred to any enemy of ned's; perhaps the quick, backward glance, in which cruickshank recognized old roberts' purple features, was as effectual a safeguard to the young man's life as even his own good rifle had been; be that as it may, a few moments later ned stumbled along after his friend to a place of safety, and there sat down again to collect himself. meanwhile, roberts and cruickshank stood looking at one another, an expression in the old poet's face, which neither corbett nor cruickshank had ever seen there before, the hand in his coat pocket grasping a revolver, whose ugly muzzle was ready to belch out death from that pocket's corner at a moment's notice. at last cruickshank spoke in a voice so full of genuine sorrow, that even roberts slackened his hold upon the weapon concealed in his coat pocket. "you've had a near shave to-day, corbett, and it was my fault. i am almost ashamed to ask you to forgive me." "how--what do you mean? did you fire that shot?" "i did, like a cursed idiot," replied cruickshank. roberts' face was a study for an artist. speechless surprise reigned upon it supreme. "i did," cruickshank repeated. "i fired at a grouse that was hooting in a bull-pine by the track, and i suppose that that scared the cayuse--though i've never known a pack-horse mind a man shooting before." "nor i," muttered roberts. "i suppose you didn't notice if you hit that fool-hen, colonel cruickshank?" "no; i don't suppose i did. i'd enough to think of when i saw what i had done." "well, it didn't fly away, and it ain't there now," persisted roberts. "perhaps you'd like to go and look for it." however, cruickshank took no notice of roberts' speech, but held out his hand to corbett with such an honest expression of sorrow, that if it was not sincere, it was superb as a piece of acting. without a word corbett took the proffered hand. there are some natures which find it hard to suspect evil in others, and ned corbett's was one of these. only he made a mental note, that though cruickshank had only made two mistakes since starting from douglas, they had both been of rather a serious nature. only one man climbed down to look at the dead cayuse as it lay half hidden in the shallow water at the edge of the lake, and that was only a chinaman. of course he went to see what he could save from the wreck; equally, of course, he found nothing worth bringing away; found nothing and noticed nothing, or if he did, only told what he had seen to old roberts. there seemed to be an understanding between these two, for phon trusted the hearty old shropshireman as much as he seemed to dread and avoid the colonel. chapter viii. their first "colours." "lillooet at last!" steve chance was the speaker, and as his eyes rested upon the frazer, just visible from the first bluff which overlooks the lillooet, his spirits rose so that he almost shouted aloud for joy. there beneath him, only a short mile away, lay most of the things which he longed for: rest after labour, good food, and pleasant drinks. steve's cravings may not have been the cravings of an ideal artist's nature, but let those who would cavil at them tramp for a week over stone-slides and through alkaline dust, and then decide if these are not the natural longings of an ordinary man. to tell the whole truth, steve had amused himself and his comrade roberts for more than a mile by discussing what they would order to eat and drink when once they reached comparative civilization again. even the hardest of men tire in time of bacon and beans and tea. a "john collins," a seductive fluid, taken in a long glass and sipped through a straw, was perhaps what steve hankered after most; but there were many other things which he longed for besides that most delectable of drinks, such for instance as a "full bath," a beefsteak, and clean sheets to follow. alas, poor steve! there was the frazer to wash in if he liked, and no doubt he could have obtained something which called itself a steak at the saloon, but a "john collins" and clean sheets he was not likely to obtain west of chicago. indeed, to this day long glasses and "drinketty drinks" are rare in the wild west; "drunketty drinks" out of short thick vulgar little tumblers being the order of the day. and apart from all this, lillooet, though larger in than it is to-day, was even then but a poor little town, a town consisting only of one long straggling street, which looked as if it had lost its way on a great mud-bluff by the river. benches of yellow mud and gray-green sage-brush rose above and around the "city," tier above tier, until they lost themselves in the mountains which gathered round, and deep down at the foot of the bluffs the frazer roared along. since chance had last seen the frazer at westminster its character had considerably changed. there it was a dull heavy flood, at least half a mile in breadth from bank to bank; here it was an angry torrent, roaring between steep overhanging banks, nowhere two hundred yards apart. there the river ran by flat lands, and fields which men might farm; here the impending mountains hung threateningly above it. the most daring steamboat which had ever plied upon the frazer had not come nearer to lillooet than lytton, and that was full forty miles down stream. in one thing only the frazer was unchanged. at lillooet, as at westminster, it was a sordid yellow river, with no sparkle in it, no blue backwaters, no shallows through which the pebbles shone like jewels through liquid sunshine. and yet, artist though he was in a poor tradesman-like fashion, steve gazed on the frazer with a rapture which no other stream had ever awakened in him. at the portage between seton and anderson lakes he had passed a stream such as an angler dreams of in his dusty chambers on a summer afternoon, but he had hardly wasted a second glance upon it. only trout lay there, great purple-spotted fellows, who would make the line vibrate like a harp string, and thrash the water into foam, ere they allowed themselves to be basketed; but in the frazer, though the fish were only torpid, half-putrid salmon, that would not even take a fly, there was gold, and gold filled steve's brain and eyes and heart just then to the exclusion of every other created thing. all he wanted was gold, gold; and his spirits rose higher and higher as he noted the flumes which ran along the river banks, and saw the little groups of blue-shirted chinamen who squatted by their rockers, or shovelled the gravel into their ditches. so keen, indeed, was steve to be at work amongst his beloved "dirt," that tired though he was, he persuaded ned to come with him and wash a shovelful of it, whilst dinner was being prepared. right at the back of the town a little company of white men had dug deep into the gravel of the beach, set their flumes, and turned on a somewhat scanty supply of water, and here steve obtained his first "colours." a tall old man who ran the mine lent him a shovel, and showed him where to fill it with likely-looking dirt; taught him how to dip the edge of his shovel in the bucket, and slowly swill the water thus obtained round and round, so as to wash away the big stones and the gravel which he did not want. the operation looks easier than it is, and at first steve washed his shovel cleaner than he meant to, in a very short time. by and by, however, he learnt the trick, and was rewarded by seeing a patch of fine gravel left in the hollow of the shovel, with here and there a tiny ruby amongst it, and here and there an agate. the next washing took away everything except a sediment of fine black sand,--sand which will fly to a magnet, and is the constant associate and sure indication of gold. steve was going to give this another wash when old pete stopped him. "steady, my lad, don't wash it all away; there it is, don't you see it!" and sure enough there it was, up by the point of the shovel, seven, eight--a dozen small red specks, things that you almost needed a microscope to see, not half as beautiful as the little rubies or the pure white agates; but this was gold, and when the old miner, taking back his shovel, dipped it carelessly into the water of his flume, chance felt for a moment a pang of indignation at seeing his first "colours" treated with such scant ceremony, although the twelve specks together were not, in all probability, worth a cent. but the sight of the gold put new life into chance and filled phon's veins with fever. one night at lillooet, steve said, was rest enough for him; and most of that night he and phon spent either down by the river or in the saloon, watching the chinese over their rockers, or listening to the latest accounts from cariboo. men could earn good wages placer mining at lillooet in ' , even as they can now, but all who could afford it were pushing on up stream to golden cariboo. what was five dollars a day, or ten, or even twenty for the matter of that, when other men were digging out fortunes daily on williams creek and antler cunningham's, and the cottonwood? and in this matter cruickshank humoured steve's feverish impatience to get on. here, as at douglas, the gallant colonel showed a strange reluctance to mingle with his fellows, or at least with such of them as had passed a season in the upper country, and even went so far as to camp out a mile away from the town, to give the pack animals a better chance of getting good feed, and to secure them, so he said, against all temptations to stray up stream with somebody else. horseflesh was dear at lillooet in ' ; and the colonel said that morals were lax, though why they should have been worse than at westminster, ned could not understand. however, it suited him to go on, so he raised no objection to cruickshank's plans, more especially as the rest did not seem beneficial to his honest old chum, roberts, who had been the centre of a hard-drinking, hard-swearing lot of mining men, ever since he arrived at lillooet. whenever ned came near, these men sunk their voices to a whisper, and once when cruickshank came in sight, the scowl upon their brows grew so dark, and their mutterings so ominous, that the colonel took the hint and vanished immediately. when ned saw him next he was at their trysting-place, a mile and a half from the saloon, and very impatient to be off,--so impatient, indeed, that he absolutely refused to wait for roberts, who, he "guessed," was drunk. "those old-timers are all the same when they get amongst pals, and as for roberts, we are deuced well rid of him, he is no use anyway," said the colonel. this might very well be cruickshank's opinion. it was not ned's, and ned had a way of thinking and acting for himself, so without any waste of words he bade his comrades "drive ahead," whilst he turned back in search of roberts. by some accident this worthy had not heard of the intended start, and was, as ned expected, as innocent of any intention to desert as he was of drunkenness. when ned found him he was sitting in the barroom with a lot of his pals, and the conversation round him had grown loud and angry; indeed, as ned entered, a rough, weather-beaten fellow in his shirt sleeves was shouting at the top of his voice, "what the deuce is the good of all this jaw? lynch the bilk, that's what i say, and save trouble." but ned's appearance put a stop to the proceedings, though an angry growl broke out when he was overheard to say that cruickshank and steve had started half an hour ago, and that he himself had come back to look for old roberts. "don't you go, bob," urged one of his comrades; "them young britishers are bound to stay by their packs, but you've no call to." "not you. you'll stay right here, if you ain't a born fool," urged another. but bob was not to be coaxed or bantered out of his determination to stay by his brother salopian. "no, lads," he retorted, "i ain't a born fool, and i ain't the sort to go back on a pal. if corbett goes i'm going, though i don't pretend to be over-keen on the job." "wal, if you will go, go and be hanged to you; only, bob, keep your eye skinned, and, i say, _shoot fust_ next time, _shoot fust_; now don't you forget it!" with which mysterious injunction bob's big friend reeled up from the table (he was half-drunk already), shook hands, "liquored" once more, and left. he said he had some business to attend to down town; and as it was nearly noon, and he had done nothing but smoke and drink short drinks since breakfast-time, he was probably right in thinking that it was time to attend to it. whilst this gentleman rolled away down the street with a fine free stride, requiring a good deal of sea-room, ned and his friend had to put their best feet foremost (as the saying is) to make up for lost time. when you are walking fast over rough ground you have not much breath left for conversation, and this, perhaps, and the roar of the sullen river, accounts for the fact that the two men strode along in silence, neither of them alluding to the conversation just overheard in the saloon, although the minds of both were running upon that subject, and ned noticed that the pistol which roberts pulled out and examined as they went along was a recent purchase. "hullo, you've got a new gun, rob," he remarked. everything with which men shoot is called a gun in british columbia. "yes, it's one i bought at lillooet. i hadn't got a good one with me." "well, i don't suppose you'll want it, now you have got it," replied corbett. "well, i don't know. i _might_ want it to shoot grouse with by the side of the trail." and the old fellow laid such an emphasis upon his last words and chuckled so grimly, that ned half suspected that he had wetted his whistle once too often after all. chapter ix. under the balm-of-gilead tree. from noon of the day upon which ned corbett and old roberts strode out of lillooet until the night upon which we meet them again was a fortnight and more, a fortnight of which i might, if i chose, write a history, but it would only be the history of almost every mining party and pack-train that ever went up the frazer. the incidents of those days are indelibly engraved upon the memories of steve and of corbett, but to roberts they passed without remark and left no impression behind. the life was only the ordinary miner's life; and there was nothing new to the old-timer in buoyant hopes wearing away day by day; nothing new in the daily routine of camps broken by starlight and pitched again at dusk; in trails blocked by windfalls or destroyed by landslips; in packs which would shift, tie them ever so tightly; in stones which cut the moccasins, and prickly pears which filled the sole with anguish; or in cruel fire-hardened rampikes, which tore the skin to rags and the clothes to ribands. three weeks upon the road had done its work upon the party, had added much to their knowledge, and taken much away that was useless from their equipment. when they left westminster they were five smart, well-fed, civilized human beings; when they struggled up out of the valley of the frazer towards cariboo, at soda creek, they were five lean, weather-hardened men, their clothes all rags and patches, their skin all wounded and blistered, every "indispensable adjunct of a camp," as made by mr. silver, discarded long ago; but every article of camp furniture which was left, carried where it could be got at, ready when it was wanted, and thoroughly adapted to the rough and ready uses of those who took the trouble to "pack it along." even to steve it seemed ages now since his nostrils were used to any other odour than the pungent scent of the pines; ages since his ears listened to any other sound than the roar of the yellow river and the monotonous tinkle of the leader's bell; ages even since washing had been to him as a sacred rite, and a clean shirt as desirable as a clean conscience. and yet corbett and chance had seen, on their way up, men who led harder lives than theirs; blue-shirted, bearded fellows, who carried their all upon their own shoulders; and others who had put their tools and their grub in the craziest of crafts, and, climbing one moment and wading the next, strove to drag it up stream in the teeth of the frazer. as ned saw the frail canoes rear up on end against the angry waters, he understood why the old river carried so many down stream whose dead hands grasped no dollars, whose dead lips told no tales. but the river trail had come to an end at last, and the five were now steering north-east for the bold mountains and their gold-bearing rivers and creeks. they had now put many a mile between themselves and soda creek, and were lying smoking round their camp-fire, built under a huge balm-of-gilead tree, which stood in the driest part of what we call a swamp, and canadians a meadow. the pack-saddles were set in orderly line, with their ropes and cinches neatly coiled alongside them; the packs were snug under their _manteaux_, and the tent was pitched as men pitch a tent who are used to their work, not with its sides all bellying in, strained in one place slack in another, but just loose enough to allow for a wetting if it should happen to rain in the night. now and again the bell of one of the pack animals sounded not unmusically from some dark corner of the swamp, or the long "ho-ho" of kalula, the night-owl, broke the silence, which but for these sounds would have been complete. suddenly a voice said: "great scott! do you know what the date is?" since the pipes had been lighted no one had spoken, and as cruickshank broke the silence, it was almost under protest that ned rolled round on his blanket to face the speaker, and dropped a monosyllabic "well?" the men were too tired to talk, and night, which in these northern forests is very still, had thrown its spell upon them. steve and phon merely turned their heads inquiringly to the speaker, who sat upon a log turning over the leaves of a little diary, and waited. "to-morrow will be the th of may." "the th of may--what then?" asked ned dreamily. he was hardly awake to everyday thoughts yet. "what then! what then! why, if you are not at williams creek by the st of june your claims can be jumped by anyone who comes along." "but can't we get there by the st of june?" asked ned, sitting up and taking his pipe out of his mouth. "impossible. if you could drive the ponies at a trot you could only just do it. it is five good days' journey with fresh animals, and we have only four to do it in, and grizzlies wouldn't make our ponies trot now." "well, what are we to do?" broke in chance. "you calculated the time, and said that we had enough and to spare." "i know i did, but i made a mistake." "oh to blazes with your _mistakes_, colonel cruickshank," cried chance angrily; "they seem to me a bit too expensive to occur quite so often." "don't lose your temper, my good sir. i couldn't help it, but i am willing to atone for it. i calculated as if april had thirty-one days in it, and it hasn't; and, besides, i've dropped a day on the road somehow." "looking for horses," growled roberts, "or shooting grouse, maybe." "what do you propose to do, colonel cruickshank?" asked corbett, whose face alone seemed still perfectly under his own control. "well, mr. corbett, i've led you into the scrape, so i must get you out of it. if either you or roberts will stay with me i'll bring the horses on for you to williams creek, whilst the rest can start away right now and make the best of their time to the claims. you could do the distance all right if it wasn't for the pack-ponies." "but how could _i_ stay?" asked corbett. "well, you needn't, of course, if roberts doesn't mind staying; otherwise you could assign your interest in your claim to him, and he could go on and hold it for you." "but it will be deuced hard work for two men to manage nine pack-ponies over such a trail as this." "it won't be any violets," replied cruickshank, "you may bet on that; but it's my fault, so i'll 'foot the bill.'" "i don't know about its being your fault either," broke in corbett, "i was just as big an ass as a man could be. i ought to have calculated the time for myself. can't we all stop and chance it?" "what, and lose a good many thousand dollars paid, and every chance of making a good many thousand more, for which we have been tramping over a month--that would be lunacy!" broke in chance. "well, if you don't mean to lose the claims, i know no other way of getting to williams creek in time," said cruickshank; and, looking up at the sky, he added, "you might have two or three hours' sleep, and then be off bright and early by moonlight. the moon rises late to-night." it was a weird scene there by that camp-fire; and there were things written on the faces of those sitting round it, which a mere outsider could have read at a glance. the moon might be coming up later on, but just at that moment there was neither moon nor star, only a black darkness, broken by the occasional sputtering flames of the wood fire. out of the darkness the men's faces showed from time to time as the red gleams flickered over them; the faces of corbett, steve, and roberts full of perplexity and doubt; the eyes of phon fixed in a frightened fascinated stare upon the colonel; and cruickshank's face white with suppressed excitement, the coarse, cruel mouth drawn and twitching, and the eyes glaring like the eyes of a tiger crouching for its prey. "well, what had we better do?" asked corbett at last from somewhere amongst the shadows, and cruickshank's eyes shifted swiftly to where steve and roberts lay, as if anxious to forestall their answer. "i'll stay, ned corbett. it's safer for me than it would be for you," said roberts. "i can only lose a little time, not much worth to anyone, and you have a good deal to lose." after all it was only a small question. they had driven the pack animals now for a month, and, whoever stayed, would only at the worst have to drive them for another week. the work, of course, would be rather heavy with only two to divide it among; but on the other hand those who went ahead would have to make forced marches and live upon very short rations. ned was rather surprised then that roberts answered as if it was a matter of grave import, and that his voice seemed to have lost the jolly ring which was natural to it. "don't stop if you don't like to, old chap. phon can assign his interests to you and stay behind instead." "no, no, me halò stay. halò! halò!" and the little chinaman almost shrieked the last word, so emphatic was his refusal. "it's no good leaving phon," replied roberts, casting a pitying look towards that frightened heathen; "he would see devils all the time, and be of no use after it got dark. i tell you, i'll stay and take care of the ponies; and now you had better all turn in and get some sleep. you will have to travel pretty lively when you once start. i'll see to your packs." probably ned had been mistaken from the first, but if any feeling had shaken his friend's voice for a moment, it had quite passed away now, and roberts was again his own genial, helpful self. after all, he was the very best person to leave behind. except cruickshank, he was the only really good packer amongst them. he was as strong as a horse, and besides, he had no particular reason for wanting to be at williams creek by the st of june. "you really don't mind stopping, rob?" asked corbett. "not a bit. why should i? i'd do a good deal more than that for you, if it was only for the sake of the dear old country, my lad." again, just for a moment, there seemed to be a sad ring in his voice, and he stretched out his hand and gripped ned's in the darkness. ned was surprised. "the old man is a bit sentimental to-night," he thought. "it's not like him, but, i suppose, these dismal woods have put him a little off his balance. they _are_ lonesome." with which sage reflection ned turned his eyes away from the dark vista down which he had been gazing, and rolling round in his blankets forgot both the gloom and the gold. for two or three hours the sleepers lay there undisturbed by the calls of the owls, or the stealthy tread of a passing bear, which chose the trail as affording the best road from point to point. at night, when there is no chance of running up against a man, no one appreciates a well-made road better than a bear. he will crash through the thickest brush if necessary, but if you leave him to choose, he will avoid rough and stony places as carefully as a christian. towards midnight cruickshank, who had been tossing restlessly in his blankets, sat up and crouched broodingly over the dying embers, unconscious that a pair of bright, beady eyes were watching him suspiciously all the time. but phon made no sign. he was only a bundle of blankets upon the ground, a thing of no account. by and by, when cruickshank had settled himself again to sleep, this bundle of blankets sat up and put fresh logs on the camp-fire. the warmth from them soothed the slumberers, and after a while even cruickshank lay still. phon watched him for some time, until convinced that his regular breathing was not feigned, but real slumber, and then he too crept away from the fire-side, not to his own place, but into the shadow where roberts lay. after a while an owl, which had been murdering squirrels in their sleep, came gliding on still wings, and lit without a sound on the limb of a tall pine near the camp. the light from the camp-fire dazzled its big red-brown eyes, but after a little time it could see that two of the strange bundles, which lay like mummies round the smouldering logs, were sitting up and talking together. but the owl could not catch what they said, except once, when it saw a bright, white gleam flash from the little bundle like moonlight showing through a storm-cloud, and then as the bigger bundle snatched the white thing away, the listening owl heard a voice say: "no, my god, no! that may do very well for a chinee; it won't do for a britisher, phon!" and another voice answered angrily: "why not? you white men all fool. you savey what _he_ did. s'pose you no kill him, by'm bye he--" but the rest was lost to the owl, and a few minutes later, just as it raised its wings to go, it saw the smaller bundle wriggle across the ground again to its old place by the embers. chapter x. the shadows begin to fall. when corbett woke, the first beams of the rising moon were throwing an uncertain light over the forest paths, and the children of night were still abroad, the quiet-footed deer taking advantage of the moonlight to make an early breakfast before the sun and man rose together to annoy them. the camp-fire had just been made up afresh, and a frying-pan, full of great rashers, was hissing merrily upon it, while a kettle full of strong hot coffee stood beside it, ready to wash the rashers down. men want warming when they rise at midnight from these forest slumbers, and roberts, knowing that it would be long ere his friends broke their fast again, had been up and busy for the last half-hour, building a real nor'-west fire, and preparing a generous breakfast. cruickshank too was up, if not to speed the parting, at any rate to see them safely off the premises, a smile of unusual benevolence on his dark face. between them, he and roberts put up the travellers' packs, taking each man's blankets as he got out of them, and rolling in them such light rations as would just last for a four days' trip. in twenty minutes from the time when they crawled out of their blankets, the three stood ready to start. "are you all set?" asked cruickshank. "all set," replied chance. "then the sooner you 'get' the better. it will be as much as your heathen can do to make the journey in time, i'll bet." "why, is the trail a very bad one?" "oh, it's all much like this, but it's most of it uphill, and there may be some snow on the top. but you can't miss your way with all these tracks in front." "you will be in yourself a day or two after us, won't you?" asked corbett. "yes. if you don't make very good time i daresay i shall, although the snow may delay the ponies some. but don't you worry about them. i'll take care of the ponies, you can trust me for that." "then, if you will be in so soon, i won't trouble to take anything except one blanket and my rifle," remarked ned. "oh, take your rocker. it looks more business-like; and, besides, all the millionaires go in with 'nothing but a rocker-iron for their whole kit, and come out worth their weight in gold.'" there was a mocking ring in cruickshank's voice as he said this, at variance with his oily smile, but steve chance took his words in good faith. steve still believed in the likelihood of his becoming a millionaire at one stroke of the miner's pick. "i guess you're right, colonel. i'll take my rocker-iron, whatever else i leave behind. lend a hand to fix it on to my pack, will you?" and then, when cruickshank had done this, steve added with a laugh: "i shall consider you entitled to (what shall we say?) one per cent on the profits of the mine when in full swing, for your services, colonel." "don't promise too much, chance. you don't know what sort of a gold-mine you are giving away yet;" and the speaker bent over a refractory strap in steve's pack to hide an ugly gleam of white teeth, which might have had a meaning even for such an unsuspicious fool as ned corbett, who at this moment picked up his winchester and held out his hand to cruickshank. "good-bye, colonel," he said. "what with the claims and the packs, we have trusted you now with every dollar we have in the world. lucky for us that we are trusting to the honour of a soldier and a gentleman, isn't it? good-bye to you." it was the kindliest speech ned had ever made to cruickshank. weeks of companionship, and the man's readiness to atone for his mistake, had had their effect upon corbett's generous nature; but its warmth was lost upon the colonel. either he really did not see, or else he affected not to see the outstretched hand; in any case he did not take it, and ned went away without exchanging that silent grip (which a writer of to-day has aptly called "an englishman's oath") with the man to whom he had intrusted his last dollar. as for old roberts, he followed his friends for a couple of hundred yards upon their way, and then wrung their hands until the bones cracked. "give this to rampike when you see him, ned. i guess he'll be at williams creek, or antler; williams creek most likely," said the old poet in parting, and handed a note with some little inclosure in it to ned. "all right, i won't forget. till we meet again, rob;" and corbett waved his cap to him. "till we meet again!" roberts repeated after him, and stood looking vacantly along the trail until steve and corbett passed out of sight. then he, too, turned and tramped back to camp, cheering himself as he went with a stave of his favourite ditty. the last the lads heard of their comrade on that morning was the crashing of a dry twig or two beneath old roberts' feet, and the refrain of his song as it died away in the distance-- "riding, riding, riding on my old pack-mule." ned corbett could not imagine how he had ever thought that air a lively one. it was stupidly mournful this morning, or else the woods and the distance played strange tricks with the singer's voice. but if ned was affected by an imaginary minor key in his old friend's singing, a glimpse at the camp he had left would not have done much to restore his cheerfulness. the embers had died down, and looked almost as gray and sullen as the face of the man who sat and scowled at them from a log alongside. the only living thing in camp besides the colonel was one of those impudent gray birds, which the up-country folk call "whisky-jacks." of course he had come to see what he could steal. that is the nature of jays, and the whisky-jack is the canadian jay. at first the bird stood with his head on one side eyeing the colonel, uncertain whether it would be safe to come any closer or not. but there was a fine piece of bacon-rind at the colonel's feet, so the bird plucked up his courage and hopped a few paces nearer. he had measured his distance to an inch, and with one eye on the colonel and one on the bacon, was just straining his neck to the utmost to drive his beak into the succulent morsel, when the man whom he thought was asleep discharged a furious kick at an unoffending log, and clenching his fist ground out between his teeth muttered: "a soldier and a gentleman! a soldier and a gentleman! yes, but it came a bit too late, mr. edward corbett. hang it, i wish you had stayed behind instead of that fool, roberts." of course the "whisky-jack" did not understand the other biped's language, but he was a bird of the world, and instinct told him that his companion in camp was dangerous; so, though the bacon-rind still lay there, he flitted off to a tree hard by, and spent the next half-hour in heaping abuse upon the colonel from a safe distance. that "whisky-jack" grew to be a very wise bird, and in his old days used to tell many strange stories about human bipeds and the balm-of-gilead camp. but there was half a mile of brush between ned and their old camp, so he saw nothing of all this; and after the fresh morning air had roused him, and the exercise had set his blood going through his veins at its normal pace, he went unconcernedly on his way, talking to steve as long as there was room enough for the two to walk side by side, and then gradually forging ahead, and setting that young yankee a step which kept him extended, and made poor little phon follow at a trot. though ned and steve had grown used to isolation upon the trail with ten laden beasts between the two, they made several attempts upon this particular morning to carry on a broken conversation, or lighten the road with snatches of song. perhaps it was that they were making unconscious efforts to drive away a feeling of depression, which sometimes comes over men's natures with as little warning as a storm over an april sky. but their efforts were in vain; nature was too strong for them. in the great silence amid these funereal pines their voices seemed to fall at their own feet, and ere long the forest had mastered them, as it masters the indians, and the birds, and the wild dumb beasts which wander about in its fastnesses. the only creature which retains its loquacity in a pine-forest is the squirrel, and he is always too busy to cultivate sentiment of any kind. cruickshank had warned them that the trail led uphill, and it undoubtedly did so. at first the three swung along over trails brown with the fallen pine needles of last year, soft to the foot and level to the tread, with great expanses of fruit bushes upon either side,--bushes that in another month or two would be laden with a repast spread only for the bear and the birds. salmon-berry and rasp-berry, soap-berry and service-berry, and two or three different kinds of bilberry were there, as well as half a dozen others which neither ned nor steve knew by sight. but the season of berries was not yet, so they wetted their parched lips with their tongues and passed on with a sigh. then the road began to go uphill. they knew that by the way they kept tripping over the sticks and by the increased weight of their packs. by and by steve thought they would come to a level place at the top, and there they would lie down for a while and rest. but that top never came, or at least the sun was going round to the south, and it had not come yet. and then the air began to grow more chill, and the trees to change. there were no more bushes, or but very few of them; and the trees, which were black dismal-looking balsams, were draped with beard-moss, the winter food of the cariboo, and there was snow in little patches at their feet. when the sun had gone round to the west the snow had grown more plentiful, and there were glades amongst the balsams, and at last steve was glad, for they had got up to the top of the divide. but he was wrong again, for again the trail rose, and this time through a belt of timber which the wind had laid upturned across their path. heavens! how heavy the packs grew then, and how their limbs ached with stepping over log after log, bruising their shins against one and stumbling head-first over another. at first steve growled at every spiked-bough which caught and held him, and groaned at every sharp stake which cut into the hollow of his foot. but anger in the woods soon gives place to a sullen stoicism. it is useless to quarrel with the unresponsive pines. the mountains and the great trees look down upon man's insignificance, and his feeble curse dies upon his lips, frozen by the terrible sphinx-like silence of a cold passionless nature. as long as the sunlight lasted the three kept up their spirits fairly well. the glades in their winter dress, with the sunlight gleaming upon the dazzling snow and flashing from the white plumes of the pines, were cheery enough, and took corbett's thoughts back to christmas in the old country; besides, there were great tracks across one glade--tracks like the tracks of a cow, and ned was interested in recognizing the footprints of the beast which has given its name to cariboo. but when the sun went, everything changed. a great gloom fell like a pall upon man and nature: the glitter which made a gem of every lakelet was gone, and the swamps, which had looked like the homes of an ideal father christmas, relapsed into dim shadowy places over whose soft floors murder might creep unheard, whilst the balsam pines stood rigid and black, like hearse plumes against the evening sky. "ned, we can't get out of this confounded mountain to-night, can we?" asked chance. "no, old man, i don't think we can," replied ned, straining his eyes along the trail, which still led upwards. "then i propose that we camp;" and chance suited the action to the word, by heaving his pack off his shoulders and dropping on to it with a sigh of relief. perhaps the three sat in silence for five minutes (it certainly was not more), asking only for leave to let the aching muscles rest awhile; though even this seemed too much to ask, for long before their muscles had ceased to throb, before steve's panting breath had begun to come again in regular cadence, the chill of a winter night took hold upon them, stiffened their clothes, and would shortly have frozen them to their seats. "this is deuced nice for may, isn't it, steve?" remarked ned with a shiver. "lend me the axe, phon; it is in your pack. if we don't make a fire we shall freeze before morning. steve, you might cut some brush, old chap, and you and phon might beat down some of the snow into a floor to camp on. i'll go and get wood enough to last all night;" and corbett walked off to commence operations upon a burnt "pine stick," still standing full of pitch and hard as a nail. but ned was used to his axe, and the cold acted on him as a spur to a willing horse, so that he hewed away, making the chips fly and the axe ring until he had quite a stack of logs alongside the shelter which steve had built up. then the sticks began to crackle and snap like chinese fireworks, and the makers of the huge fire were glad enough to stand at a respectful distance lest their clothes should be scorched upon their backs. that is the worst of a pine fire. it never gives out a comfortable glow, but either leaves you shivering or scorches you. having toasted themselves on both sides, the three travellers found a place where they would be safe from the wood smoke, and still standing pulled out the rations set apart for the first day's supper, and ate the cold bacon and heavy damper slowly, knowing that there was no second course coming. when you are reduced to two slices of bread and one of bacon for a full meal, with only two such meals in the day, and twelve hours of abstinence and hard labour between them, it is wonderful how even coarse store bacon improves in flavour. i have even known men who would criticise the cooking at a london club, to collect the stale crumbs from their pockets and eat them with apparent relish in the woods, though the crumbs were thick with fluff and tobacco dust! as they stood there munching, ned said: "i suppose, steve, we did wisely in coming on?" "what else could we have done, ned?" "yes, that's it. what else could we have done? and yet--" "and yet?" repeated steve questioningly. "what is your trouble, ned?" "do you remember my saying, when i bought the claims, that with cruickshank under our eyes all the time we should have a good security for our money?" "yes, and now you have let him go. i see what you mean; but you can rely upon roberts, can't you?" "as i would upon myself," replied corbett shortly. "but still i have broken my resolution." "oh, well, that is no great matter; and besides, i don't believe that the colonel would do a crooked thing any more than we would." "he-he! he-he-he!" it was a strangely-harsh cackle was phon's apology for a laugh, and coming so rarely and so unexpectedly, it made the two speakers start. but they could get nothing out of the man when they talked to him. he was utterly tired out, and in another few minutes lay fast asleep by the fire. "i am afraid that quaint little friend of ours doesn't care much for the colonel," remarked ned. "oh, phon! phon thinks he is the devil. he told me so;" and steve laughed carelessly. what did it matter what a chinaman thought! a little yellow-skinned, pig-tailed fellow like phon was not likely to have found out anything which had escaped steve's yankee smartness. chapter xi. "jump or i'll shoot." three days after they left the balm-of-gilead camp, ned corbett and his two friends stood upon a ridge of the bald mountains looking down upon the promised land. "so this is eldorado, is it?" ned corbett himself was the speaker, though probably those who had known him at home or in victoria would have hardly recognized him. all the three gold-seekers had altered much in the last month, and standing in the bright sunlight of early morning the changes wrought by hard work and scanty food were very apparent. bronzed, and tired, and ragged, with a stubble of half-grown beards upon their chins, with patches of sacking or deer-skin upon their trousers, and worn-out moccasins on their feet, none of the three showed signs of that golden future which was to come. beggars they might be, but surely croesus never looked like this! "we shall make it to-day, ned," remarked chance, taking off his cap to let the cool mountain breeze fan his brow. "we may, if we can drag him along, but he is very nearly dead beat;" and the direction in which ned glanced showed his companion that he was speaking of a limp bundle of blue rags, which had collapsed in a heap at the first sign of a halt. "why not leave phon to follow us?" asked steve in a low tone. low though the tone was, the bundle of blue rags moved, and a worn, shrivelled face looked piteously up into ned's. "no, no, steve," replied corbett. "all right, phon, i'll not leave you behind, even if i have to pack you on my own shoulders." thus reassured, the chinaman collapsed once more. there was not a muscle in his body which felt capable of further endurance, and yet, with the gold so near, and his mind full of superstitious horrors, he would have crawled the rest of the journey upon his hands and knees rather than have stayed behind. "thank goodness, there it is at last!" cried corbett a minute later, shading his eyes with his hand. "that smoke i expect rises from somewhere near our claims;" and the speaker pointed to a faint column of blue which was just distinguishable from the surrounding atmosphere. "i believe you are right, ned. come, phon, one more effort!" and steve helped the chinaman on to his legs, though he himself was very nearly worn out. ned took up the slender pack which phon had carried until then, and added it to the other two packs already upon his broad shoulders. after all the three packs weighed very little, for ned's companions had thrown away everything except their blankets, and steve would have even thrown his blanket away had not ned taken charge of it. ned knew from experience that so long as he sleeps fairly soft and warm at night a man's strength will endure many days, but once you rob him of his rest, the strongest man will collapse in a few hours. as for their food, that was not hard to carry. each man had a crust still left in his pocket, and more than enough tobacco. along the trail there were plenty of streams full of good water, and if bread and water and tobacco did not satisfy them, they would have to remain unsatisfied. it had been a hard race against time, and the last lap still remained to be run; but that smoke was the goal, and with the goal in sight even phon shuffled along a little faster, though he was so tired that, whenever he stumbled he fell from sheer weakness. the bald mountains so often alluded to in cariboo story are ranges of high upland, rising above the forest level, and entirely destitute of timber at the top. here in late summer the sunnier slopes are slippery with a luxuriant growth of long lush grasses and weeds, and ablaze with the vivid crimson of the indian pink. in early spring (and may is early spring in cariboo) there is still snow along the ridges, and even down below, though the grasses are brilliantly green, the time of flowers has hardly yet come. here and there as the three hurried down they came across big boulders of quartz gleaming in the sun. these were as welcome to steve as the last milestone on his road home to a weary pedestrian. where the quartz was, there would the gold be also, argued steve, and the thought roused him for a moment out of the mechanical gait into which he had fallen. but he soon dropped into it again. a hill had risen and shut the column of smoke out of his sight, and the trail was leading down again to the timber. away far to the east a huge dome of snow gleamed whitely against the sky-line. that was the outpost of the rockies. but steve had no eyes even for the rockies. all he saw was a sea of endless brown hills rolling and creeping away fold upon fold in the distance, all so like one to another from their bald ridges to the blue lakes at their feet, that his head began to spin, and he almost thought that he must be asleep, and this some nightmare country in which he wandered along a road that had no end. luckily ned roused him from this dreamy fit from time to time, or it might well have happened that steve's journey would have ended on this side of williams creek in a rapid slide from the narrow trail to the bottom of one of the little ravines along which it ran. both men were apparently thinking of the same subject. so that though their sentences were short and elliptical, they had no difficulty in understanding each other's meaning. men don't waste words on such a march as theirs. "another three hours ought to do it," ned would mutter, shifting his pack so as to give the rope a chance of galling him in a fresh place. "if we get there by midnight, i reckon it would do." "yes, if we could find the claims." "ah, there is that about it! have you got the map?" "yes. i've got that all right. oh, we shall do it in good time;" and ned looked up at his only clock, the great red sun, which was now nearly overhead. the next moment corbett's face fell. the path led round a bluff, beyond which he expected to see the trail go winding gradually down to a little group of tents and huts gathered about williams creek. instead of that he found himself face to face with one of those exasperating gulches which so often bar the weary hunter's road home in the frazer country. the swelling uplands rolled on, it was true, sinking gradually to the level of williams creek, and he could see the trail running from him to his goal in fairly gentle sweeps, all except about half a mile of it, and that half-mile lay right in front of him, and was invisible. it had sunk, so it seemed to ned, into the very bowels of the earth, and another hundred yards brought him to the edge of the gulch and showed him that this was the simple truth. as so often happens in this country which ice has formed (smoothing it here and cutting great furrows through it elsewhere), the downs ended without warning in a precipitous cliff leading into a dark narrow ravine, along the bottom of which the gold-seekers could just hear the murmur of a mountain stream. it was useless to look up and down the ravine. there was no way over and no way round. it was a regular trap. a threadlike trail, but well worn, showed the only way by which the gulch could be crossed, and as ned looked at it he came to the conclusion that if there was another such gulch between him and williams creek it would probably cost him all he was worth, for no one in his party could hope to cross two such gulches before nightfall. "it's no good looking at it, come along, steve!" he cried, and grasping at any little bush within reach to steady his steps, ned began the descent. who ever first made that trail was in a hurry to get to williams creek. the recklessness of the gold miner, determined to get to his gold, and careless of life and limb in pursuit of it, was apparent in every yard of that descent, which, despising all circuitous methods, plunged headlong into the depths below. twice on the way down steve only owed his life to the stout mountain weeds to which his fingers clung when his feet forsook him, and once it was only ned's strong hand which prevented phon from following a great flat stone which his stumbling feet had sent tobogganing into the dark gulf below. for two or three minutes ned had to hold on to phon by the scruff of the neck before he was quite certain that he was to be trusted to walk alone again. even steve kept staring into that "dark-profound" into which the stone had vanished in a way which corbett did not relish. though he had never felt it himself, he knew all about that strange fascination which seems to tempt some men, brave men too, to throw themselves out of a railway-carriage, off a pier-head, or down a precipice, and therefore ned was not sorry to be at the bottom of that precipitous trail without the loss of either steve or phon. "say, ned, how does that strike you? it's a 'way-up' bridge, isn't it, old man?" and the speaker pointed to a piece of civil engineering characteristic of cariboo. two tall pines had grown upon opposite edges of the narrow ravine in which the gulch ended. from side to side this ravine was rather too broad for a single pine to span, and far down below, somewhere in the darkness of it, a stream roared and foamed along. the rocks were damp with mist and spray, but the steep walls of the narrow place let in no light by which the prisoned river could be seen. in order to cross this place, men had loosened the roots of the two pines with pick and shovel, until the trees sinking slowly towards each other had met over the mid-stream. then those who had loosened the roots did their best to make them fast again, weighting them with rocks, and tethering them with ropes. when they had done this they had lashed the tops of the trees together, lopped off a few boughs, run a hand-rope over all, and called the structure a bridge. over this bridge ned and his comrades had now to pass, and as he looked at the white face and quaking legs of phon, and then up at the evening sky, ned turned to steve and whispered in his ear: "pull yourself together, steve. this is a pretty bad place, but we have got to get over at once or not at all. that fellow will faint or go off his head before long." luckily for ned, steve chance had plenty of what the yankees call "sand." "i'm ready, go ahead," he muttered, keeping his eyes as much as possible averted from the abyss towards which they were clambering. "i'll go first," said corbett, when they had reached the roots of the nearest pine; "then phon, and you last, steve." then bending over his friend he whispered, "threaten to throw him in if he funks." of course the bridge in front of corbett was not the ordinary way to williams creek. pack-trains had come to williams creek even in those early days, and clever as pack-ponies are, they have not yet developed a talent for tree climbing. so there was undoubtedly some other way to williams creek. this was only a short cut, a route taken by pedestrians who were in a hurry, and surely no pedestrians were ever in a much greater hurry than steve and ned and phon. consider! their all was on the other side of that ravine; all their invested wealth and all their hopes as well; all the reward for weeks of weary travel, as well as rest, and shelter, and food. they had much to gain in crossing that ravine, and the slowly sinking sun warned them that they had no time to look for a better way round. they must take that short cut or none. and yet when ned got closer to the rough bridge he liked it less than ever. where the trees should have met and joined together a terrible thing had happened. ned could see it now quite plainly from where he stood. a wind, he supposed, must have come howling up the gulch in one of the dark days of winter, a wind so strong that when the narrow gully had pent it in, it had gone rushing along, smashing everything that it met in its furious course, and amongst other things it had struck just the top of the arch of the bridge. the result was that just at the highest point there was a gap, not a big gap, indeed it was so small that some of the ropes still held and stretched from tree to tree, but still a gap, six feet wide with no bridge across it, and black, unfathomable darkness down below. ned corbett was one of those men who only see the actual danger which has to be faced, the thing which has to be done--that which is, and not that which may be. for instance, ned saw that he had to jump from one stout bough to another, that he would have to cling to something with his hands on the other side, and that it would not do to make a false step, or to clutch at a rotten bough. that was all he saw. so he leapt with confidence (he had taken twenty worse leaps in an afternoon in the gymnasium at home for the fun of the thing), and of course he alighted in safety, clambered down the other pine-tree trunk, and landed safe and sound on the farther shore. he had never stayed to think of the awful things which would have happened if he had slipped; of that poor body of his which might have gone whirling round and round through the darkness, until it plunged into the waters out of sight of the sun and his fellow-men. but all men are not made after this fashion. when ned turned towards the bridge he had just passed his face turned white, and his hands, which had until then been so firm trembled. what he saw was this. phon had been driven ahead of steve, as corbett and steve had arranged. as long as the big broad trunk of the pine was beneath him, with plenty of strong boughs all round him to cling to, phon had listened to steve and obeyed him. now it was different. phon had come to the end of the pine, to the place from which corbett had leaped, and nothing which steve could say would move him another inch. chinamen are not trained in athletics as white men are, and to phon that six-foot jump appeared to be a simply impossible feat. steve might threaten what he liked, but jump phon would not. the mere sight of the horrible darkness below made his head reel, and his fingers cling to the rough pine like the fingers of a drowning man to a plank. and now ned noticed a worse thing even than this phon had been driven to the very end of the tree by steve, and steve himself was close behind him. the result was that the weight of two men had to be borne at once by the thin end of what, after all, was but a small pine, and one extended almost like a fishing-rod across the ravine. so the tree began to bow with the weight, and then to lift itself again until it was swinging and tossing, swaying more and more after every recoil, so that at each swing ned expected to see one or both of his friends tossed off into the gulf below. there must come an end to such a scene as this sooner or later, and ned could see but one chance of saving his friend. "chance," he shouted, "hold tight! i am going to shoot that cursed chinaman!" the miserable wretch heard and understood the words, and saw the winchester, the same which had sent the runaway cayuse spinning down the stone-slide, come slowly up to corbett's shoulder. "jump or i'll shoot! it's your last chance!" and phon heard the clank of the pump as his master forced up a cartridge into the barrel of his rifle. it was now death anyway. phon realized that, and even at that moment his memory showed him plainly a picture of that pinto mare, whose bruised and battered body, with a great ghastly hole between the eyes, he had seen by the edge of seton lake. that last thought decided him, and with a scream of fear he sprang out, and managed to cling, more by sheer luck than in any other way, to the pine on the williams creek side of the ravine. when ned grounded arms and reached out to help phon across the last few feet of the bridge he was wet through with perspiration, and yet he was as cool as a new-made grave. "ned," said steve five minutes later, "i would give all the gold in cariboo if i had it, rather than cross that place again!"--and he meant it. for a few minutes steve's gold fever had abated, and in the terror of death even the chinaman had forgotten the yellow metal. and yet their journey was now over, and within half an hour's walk of them lay the claims they had bought, the wonderful spot of earth out of which they were to dig their heart's desire, the key to all pleasures and the master of nine men out of every ten--gold! ned laughed to himself. was a steady head and the agility of a very second-rate gymnast worth more than all the gold in cariboo? [illustration: "with a scream of fear the chinaman sprang out."] chapter xii. a sheer swindle. it is hard to sever the idea of a journey's end from ideas of rest and comfort. a is the starting-point, b the goal, and no matter how distant, no matter how wild the region in which b lies, the mind of the traveller from a to b is sure to picture b as a centre of creature comforts and a haven of luxurious rest. thus it was then that steve and corbett hurried through the lengthening shadows, eager for the city that was to come, their eyes strained to catch a glow of colour, and their ears alert for the first hum which should tell of the presence of their fellow-men. after the gloom of the northern forests, the silence of the pack-trail, and the monotony of forced marches, they were ready to welcome any light however garish, any revelry however mad it might be. life and light and noise were what both hankered after as a relief from the silence and solitude of the last few days, and it is this natural craving for change in the minds of men who have been too much alone, which accounts for half the wild revels of the frontier towns. as a matter of history, the first impression made by williams creek upon the sensitive mind of the artist chance was one of disappointment. perhaps it was that the heavy shadows of the mountains drowned all colour, or that the day was nearly over and the dance-house not yet open; whatever the cause williams creek struck chance with a chill. it was a miserable, mean-looking little place for so much gold to come from. in his visions of the mines steve had dwelt too much upon the glitter of the metal, and too little on the dirt and bare rock from which the gold has to be extracted; extracted, too, by hard labour, about the hardest labour probably which the bodies of men were ever made to undergo. as his eyes gradually took in the details of the scene, steve chance remembered cruickshank's glowing word-pictures of the mines, and his own gaudy map of them, and remembering these things a great fear fell upon him. steve had accomplished a pilgrimage over a road upon which stronger men had died, and brave men turned back, and now the shrine of his golden god lay at his feet, and this is what it looked like. in the shadow of a spur of wooded mountains, lay a narrow strip of land which might by comparison be called flat. it was lower than the bald mountains which were at its back, so the melted snows of last winter had trickled into it, until the whole place was a damp, miserable bog, through the centre of which the waters had worn themselves a bed, and made a creek. there were many such bogs and many such creeks about the foothills of the bald mountains, but these were for the most part hidden by an abundant growth of pine, or adorned by a wealth of long grass and the glory of yellow lily and blue larkspur. but this bog was less fortunate than its fellows. gold had been found in the creek which ran through it, so that instead of the spring flowers and the pines, there were bare patches of yellow mud, stumps rough and untrained where trees had stood, tunnels in the hillside, great wooden gutters mounted high in the air to carry off the stream from its bed and pour it into all manner of unexpected places, piles of boulders and rubbish, so new and unadorned by weed or flower that you knew instinctively that nature had had no hand in their arrangement. and everywhere amongst this brutal digging and hewing there were new log huts, frame shanties, wet untidy tents, and shelters made of odds and ends, shelters so mean that an african bushman would have turned up his nose at them. instead of the telegraph and telephone wires that run overhead in ordinary cities, there were in the mining camp innumerable flumes, long wooden boxes or gutters, to carry water from point to point. these gutters were everywhere. they ran over the tops of the houses, they came winding down for miles along precipitous side-hills, and they ran recklessly across the main street; for traffic there was none in those days, or at any rate none which could not step over, or would not pass round the miners' ditch. in rights of way were disregarded up in cariboo, but an inch of water if it could be used for gold-washing was a matter of much moment. "i say, ned, this looks more like a chinese camp than a white man's, doesn't it?" remarked steve with a shudder. "what did you expect, steve,--a second san francisco?" "not that; but this place looks so dead and seems so still." "silence, they say, is the criterion of pace," quoted ned; "but i can hear the noise of the rockers and the rattle of the gravel in the sluices. it looks to me as if men were at work here in grim earnest.--good-day. how goes it, sir?" the last part of corbett's speech was addressed to a man of whom he just caught sight at that moment, standing in a deep cutting by the side of the trail, and busily employed in shovelling gravel into a sluice-box at his side. "day," grunted the miner, not pausing to lift his head to look at the man who addressed him until he had finished his task. "are things booming here still?" asked chance. "booming, you bet! why, have you just come up from the river?" and the man straightened his back with an effort and jerked his head in the general direction of the frazer. "that's what," replied steve, dropping naturally into the brief idioms of the place. "seen anything of the bacon train?" asked the miner after a pause, during which he had again ministered to the wants of his sluice-box. "the bacon train! what's that?" "brown's bacon train from oregon. guess you haven't, or you'd know about it. bacon is played out in williams creek, and we are all going it straight on flour." the thought of "going it straight on flour" was evidently too much for steve's new friend, for he actually groaned aloud, and dug his shovel into the wall of his trench with as much energy as if he had been driving it into the ribs of the truant bacon brown. "that will suit us royally," ejaculated ned. "we shall have a small train here in a day or two, and there's a good deal of bacon amongst our stores." "you've got a train acomin'! by thunder! i thought i knowed your voices. ain't you them two britishers as were along of cruickshank?" "strike me pink if it isn't rampike!" cried steve, and the next minute the old gentleman who had helped steve in his little game of poker climbed out of the mud-pie he was making, and shook hands, even with the chinaman. "but where's roberts, and where's cruickshank?" he asked. corbett told him. "wal, as you've left roberts with him i suppose it's all right. did you meet any boys going back from these parts?" "only two, going back for grub," replied ned. "i guess they told you how short we were up here, and they are worse off at antler." "no, they said very little to us. they had a bit of a yarn with cruickshank though. he was leading out and met them first. he didn't say anything about the want of grub to us." "that's a queer go. why, it would almost have paid you to go to antler instead of coming here. you would get two dollars a pound for bacon up there." "ah! but you see we were bound to be here for the st of june, because of those claims we bought." "is that so? bob did say summat about those claims. do you know where they are?" "here's our map," replied corbett, producing the authorized map of dewd and cruickshank, upon which the three claims had been duly marked. "is dewd in the camp?" he added. "i don't know; but come along, there goes cameron's triangle. let us go and get some 'hash,' and we can find out about dewd and the claims." and so saying rampike laid aside his shovel, put on his coat, and led the way down to a big tent in the middle of the mining camp. here were gathered almost half the population of williams creek for their evening meal, the other half having finished theirs and departed to work upon the night-shift; for most of the claims were worked night and day, their owners and the hired men dividing the twenty-four hours amongst them. here, as on board the steamer, rampike was evidently a man of some account; one able to secure a place for himself and his chums in spite of the rush made upon the food by the hungry mob in its shirt sleeves. at first all three men were too busy with their knives and forks to notice anyone or hear what men were saying about themselves, but in a little while, when the edge of appetite was dulled, ned caught the words repeated over and over again--"bacon brown's men, i guess," and at last had to answer point blank to a direct question, that he had "never heard of mr. brown before." "these fellows hain't seen brown at all," added rampike. "they're looking for dewd. have you seen him anywhere around?" at the mention of dewd's name a broad grin passed over the faces of those who heard it, and one man looked up and remarked that a good many people had been inquiring kindly after dewd lately. the speaker was a common type amongst the miners, but in those early days his rough clothes and refined speech struck ned as contrasting strangely. truth to tell, he had been educated at eton and oxford, had thrown up a good tutorship to come out here, and here he was happy as a king, though all his classical education was thrown away, and his blue pantaloons were patched fore and aft with bits of sacking once used to contain those favourite brands of flour known respectively as "self-rising" and the "golden gate." as he rose to his feet with the names of the brands printed in large letters on either side of him, he looked something between a navvy and a "sandwich man." "dewd," he went on, "has been playing poker lately a little too well to please the boys. say, o'halloran, do you know where dewd is?" "faith and i don't. if i did, sandy m'donald would give me half his claim for the information. hullo, have you got here already, sonny? i was before ye though." and ned's red-headed friend of fighting proclivities held out his hand to him over the heads of his neighbours. "what does sandy want him for?" asked someone in the crowd. "you'd betther ax sandy. all i know is that he went gunning for him early this morning, and if he wasn't so drunk that he can't walk he'd be afther him still." "who's drunk, pat,--dewd or sandy?" "oh, don't be foolish! whoever heard of dewd touching a drop of good liquor. that's the worst of that mane shunk; he gets you blind drunk first and robs you afther." "what, have you been bitten too, o'halloran?" asked the tutor; and while the laugh was still going at the wry face poor corny o'halloran pulled, rampike and his three friends slipped quietly out of the room. "i guess we may as well locate those claims of yourn right away," remarked rampike as soon as they were clear of cameron's tent, "so as there'll be no trouble about securing them to-morrow. not as i think any one is likely to jump 'em. let me see your map." ned handed over the map before alluded to. "why, look ye here, these claims are right alongside the nugget, the richest claim on the creek!" cried their friend, after studying the map for a few minutes. "quite so, that is what gives them their exceptional value," remarked chance, quoting from memory cruickshank's very words. "oh, that's what gives them their 'ceptional vally, is it, young man?" sneered rampike. "wal, i guess they ought to have a 'ceptional vally' to make it worth while working them there;" and rampike, who was now standing by the nugget claim alongside the bed of the creek, pointed upwards to where the bluffs, two hundred feet high, hung precipitously over their heads. it was no good arguing, no good swearing that the map must be wrong, that cruickshank had marked the wrong lots, that there was a mistake somewhere. "just one of the colonel's mistakes, that's what it is. come and see the gold commissioner, he'll straighten it out for you," retorted rampike, hurrying the three off into the presence of a big handsome man, whose genial ways and handsome face made "the judge" a great favourite with the miners. all he could do he did, and was ready to go far beyond the obligations of his office in his desire to help cruickshank's victims. it was a very common kind of fraud after all. the colonel had drawn a sufficiently accurate map of the williams creek valley; he had even given accurately every name upon that map, and moreover the claims which he had sold to corbett & co. adjoined the nugget claim, and had been regularly taken up and bonded by his partner and himself. cruickshank's story indeed was true in every particular. gold was being taken out of the nugget mine at the rate of several lbs. per diem; why should it not be taken out of the claims which it adjoined? there was only one objection to cruickshank's map,--he had not drawn it in relief. there was only one objection to corbett's claim--the surface of it would have adjoined the surface of the nugget claim had they both been upon the same level, only,--only, you see, they were not. there was a trifling difference of two hundred and fifty feet in the altitude of the nugget claim and the bluff adjoining it, and corbett's claim was on the top of that bluff. now a claim on the top of a bluff, where no river could ever have run to deposit gold, and whither no water could be brought to wash for gold, was not considered worth two thousand dollars even in cariboo. chapter xiii. the bullet's message. "wal, those'll maybe make vallible building lots when williams creek has growed as big as 'frisco, but somehow trade in building lots ain't brisk here just now." no one answered old rampike. steve and ned felt rather hurt at the levity of his remarks. it is poor fun even for a rich man to be robbed of six thousand dollars, and neither ned nor steve were rich men. in fact, in losing the six thousand dollars they had lost their all except the pack-train. "it ain't no manner of good to grizzle over it," continued this philosopher, "cruickshank has got the cinch on you to rights this time. six thousand dollars cash, the pleasure of your company from victoria, and your pack-train to remember you by! ho! ho!" and although it was very annoying to ned, and quite contrary to rampike's nature to do so, he laughed aloud at his own grim joke. the laugh roused chance. he was a yankee to the tips of his finger-nails, one of those strange beings who "bust and boom" by turns--millionaires to-day, bankrupts to-morrow, equally sanguine, happy, and go-ahead in either extreme. "ned," he said, his face relaxing into a somewhat wintry smile, "i guess you were right after all. cruickshank is no britisher, you bet." "glad you think so; hang him!" growled ned. "no britisher could ever have planned so neat a swindle," continued steve meditatively. "by jove, it is a 'way up'!" and this strange young man really seemed lost in admiration at the smartness from which he himself had suffered. "i don't see much to admire in a thief and a liar. we prefer honesty to smartness in my country, thank god!" there was no disguising the fact that ned corbett was in a very ugly temper. not being one of those who look upon the whole struggle for wealth as a game of chance and skill, in which everything is allowable except a plain transgression of the written rules of the game, he could not even simulate any admiration for a successful swindler's smartness. old rampike saw his mood, and laying his hand on his shoulder gave him a friendly shake. "never mind, sonny," he said. "it's no good calling names; and as for being stone-broke, why there isn't a man in cariboo to-day, i reckon, who hasn't been stone-broke, aye and most of 'em mor'n once or twice." "oh, yes, i suppose that is so," said ned a little wearily, but rousing himself all the same. "what can a man earn here as a digger in another fellow's claim?" "anything he likes to ask almost. men who are worth anything at all as workers are scarce around these parts." "then we sha'n't starve, that is some consolation. by the way, i have a note here for you. this confounded business nearly made me forget it;" and so saying corbett produced from an inner pocket the little note given him by roberts at the balm-of-gilead camp. for a few moments rampike twisted and turned the note about, trying to decipher the faint pencil-marks in the dim light. at last he got the note right side up and began to read. evidently he hardly understood what he read at first, for those who were watching him saw that he read the note through a second time, as if looking for some hidden meaning in every word. when he had done this a vindictive bitter oath burst from between his set teeth. "if cruickshank ain't dead by now, my old pal roberts is. you may bet on that. look ye here!" and the speaker handed ned a flattened, blood-stained bullet which he had taken from roberts' letter. "do you know what that is?" he asked. "it looks like a revolver bullet," answered ned. "and so it is. that's the identical bullet as dan cruickshank fired at a grouse and _hit a cayuse_ with. pretty shooting, wasn't it?" and rampike ground his teeth with anger. "what the deuce do you mean?" cried steve in blank astonishment. "mean--mean! why, that if you warn't such a durned tenderfoot you'd have tumbled to the whole thing long ago! men like cruickshank don't leave horses unhobbled by mistake, don't hit and scare pack-horses on a stone-slide by mistake, don't get to williams creek a day late by mistake. oh, curse his mistakes! if he makes one more there'll be the best pal and the sweetest singer in cariboo lying dead up among them pines." "do you mean that cruickshank did these things on purpose?" asked corbett slowly, his face growing strangely hard as he spoke. "read rob's letter," said rampike, and gave ned the scrap of paper on which rob had found time to write a brief record of the journey from douglas, ending his story in these words--"cruickshank means corbett mischief, so i am staying instead of the lad. what his game is with the pack-ponies i am blowed if i know, but if i don't come in with them inside of a week, do some of you fellows try and get even with the colonel for the sake of your old pal roberts." for several minutes after reading this note no one spoke; each man was thinking out the situation after his own fashion. "will you trust me with grub for a fortnight, rampike?" asked ned at last. "yes, lad, if you like; but you won't want to borrow. men like you can earn all they want here;" and the miner looked appreciatively at the big-limbed man before him. "i'll earn it by and by, rampike. i'm going after roberts first," replied ned quietly. "how's that?" demanded rampike. "i'm going after roberts and cruickshank. can i have the grub?" "if that's your style, you can have all the grub you want if i have to go hungry for a week. when will you start?" "it will be dark in two hours," replied ned, "and the moon comes up about midnight. i shall start as soon as the moon is up." "impossible, man!" cried chance. "i could not drag myself to the top of that first bluff unless i had had twenty-four hours' solid sleep, if my life depended upon it." "i know, old fellow, and i don't want you to; but you see a life may depend upon it." "but you aren't going alone, corbett. i'll not hear of that." "we will talk about that by and by, steve. let us go and turn in for a little while now. i am dead tired myself." and so saying corbett turned on his heel and followed rampike to his hut, where the old man found room for all three of them upon the floor. "if steve and i go to look for roberts can you find a job for our chinaman until we come back? i should not like the poor beggar to starve," said ned, pointing to where phon lay already fast asleep. the moment he laid down his head phon had gone to sleep, and since then not a muscle had twitched to show that he was alive. whatever his master might choose to arrange for his benefit the chinaman was not likely to overhear or object to. "oh yes, i can fix that easy enough. i'll set him to wash in my own claim. i can afford to pay him good wages as well as feed him. men are scarce at williams creek." again for a time there was silence in the hut, corbett and rampike puffing away at their pipes, and steve chance trying hard to keep his eyes open as if he suspected mischief. at last nature got the better of him; the young yankee's head dropped on his arm, and in another moment he was as sound asleep as phon. then ned stood up and went over to sit beside the old miner rampike, remarking as he did so: "thank heaven steve is off at last. i thought the fellow never meant to go to sleep." "what! do you mean to leave him behind?" asked rampike. "does he look as if he could do another week's tramping?" retorted ned, glancing at the limp, worn-out figure of his friend. "he has pluck enough to try, but he would only hinder me." "if that's so, i'll chuck my claim and come along too." "nonsense, you can't afford to lose your claim; and, besides, you couldn't help me." "couldn't help you! how's that?" snorted rampike indignantly. "a man can always hunt better alone than with another fellow. one makes less noise than two in the woods." "but you ain't going hunting?" "yes i am,--hunting big game too." and there was a light in ned corbett's eye, as he overhauled his winchester, that looked bad for an enemy. "you ain't afraid of--losing your way?" asked rampike. he was going to say "you ain't afraid of cruickshank, are you?" but a look on corbett's face stopped that question. "no, i'm used to the woods," ned answered shortly; and then again for a while the two men smoked on in silence. presently corbett knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and put it away carefully in his pocket. "do you work in the night-shift on your place?" he asked rampike. "either me or my partner is there all the while." "shall you be there to-night?" "i'll be going on at midnight, but i'll fix up a pack with some grub in it for you before i go." "thank you, i'll leave that to you, if i may. will you call me before you go? i mean to try to get all the sleep i can before the moon is up." "well, lie down right now. i'll call you, you bet. you're a good sort for a britisher--give us a shake;" and rampike held out a hand as hard and as honest as the pick-handle to which it clung day after day. perhaps it was the thought of his old friend's danger which made rampike blind and careless, or perhaps it was only his natural clumsiness. in any case he steered very badly for his own door, so badly indeed that he tripped over chance's prostrate form, dealing him a kick that might have roused a dead man. but steve only turned over restlessly in his sleep, like one who dreams, and then lay as still again as ever. ned smiled. "no danger of waking him, i think, when i want to go. poor old steve! the loss of the money does not seem to spoil your sleep much." five minutes later, when rampike had gone out to get together the provisions which his guest needed, anyone listening to that guest's regular breathing would have been of opinion that the loss of the dollars troubled ned corbett as little as it troubled steve chance. chapter xiv. what the wolf found. about midnight rampike returned to his hut, and as the moonlight streamed through the doorway across the floor, corbett rose without a word and joined the old miner outside. "you didn't need much waking, lad." "no; and yet i slept like a top. but i _felt_ you were coming, and now every nerve in my body is wide awake." rampike looked at his companion curiously. "you're a strong man, ned corbett, but take care. i've known stronger men than you get the 'jim-jams' from overwork." ned laughed. he hardly thought that a man who had not tasted liquor for a month was likely to suffer much from the "jim-jams." "that's all right," said rampike testily. "you may laugh, but i've seen more of this kind of life than you'll ever see, and i tell you, you'd better stay where you are." "what! and let cruickshank go?" "what are you going to do with cruickshank when you catch him?" "bring him back to look at the _mistake_ he made about my claims," answered corbett grimly. "and suppose cruickshank don't feel like coming back? it's more than likely that he won't." "then it will be a painful necessity for roberts and myself to pack him back." "if you get him back the law can't touch him, and the boys won't lynch him just for swindling a tenderfoot." "the law can't touch him?" "why, certainly not. if you were such a blessed fool as to buy claims without a frontage on the crik, that's your business. he didn't say as they weren't on the top of a mountain." "but no mountain was shown on his map," argued corbett. "i guess he'd say as he couldn't draw maps well and the one steve chance copied was the best he knew how to make. he sold you what he said he'd sell you, and if you didn't ask any questions that's your fault." this was a new view of the case to corbett, and for a moment he felt staggered by it, but only for a moment. after all, it was not for the sake of the claims that he had made up his mind to pursue cruickshank. "thanks, rampike, for trying to make me stay here. i know what you mean, but i am not as nearly 'beat' as you think i am, and i wouldn't leave old roberts alone with that scoundrel even if i was. have you got the grub there?" "well, if that's your reason for going i've no more to say, except as i reckon roberts is pretty good at taking care of himself. however, a pal's a pal, and if you mean to stay by him, i'll not hinder you. here's the grub;" and so saying he helped ned to fix a little bundle upon his shoulders, taking care that whatever weight there was should lie easily in the small of his back. "it's only dried venison," continued rampike, "and i didn't put any bread in. bread weighs too much and takes up too much room. you can go it on meat straight for a week, can't you?" "i'll try to. give chance a helping hand if you can. he is a regular rustler if you can get him any work to do." "don't worry yourself about your pals. you are going to look for dick rampike's old partner, and you may bet your sweet life that he won't let _your_ pals starve." the two men, who had been walking slowly through the mining camp, had now reached the foot of the trail by which ned had arrived at williams creek. "well, good-bye, rampike," said ned, stopping and holding out his hand. "it's no good your coming any farther. don't let steve follow me." "good-bye, lad; i'll see that steve chance don't follow you. he ain't built to go your pace," he added, looking after ned, "if he wanted to, but there'll be me and some of the boys after you afore long, if there's going to be any trouble;" and with this consoling reflection in his mind, the old hard-fist returned to his cabin, pulled off his long gum boots, and lay down on the floor beside the still sleeping chance and phon. mr. rampike had not as yet had time to furnish his country residence, and after all, in his eyes a bed was rather a useless luxury. 'what's the matter with a good deal floor?' he often used to ask; and as he never got a satisfactory answer, he never bothered to build himself a bunk. meanwhile ned corbett was standing for a moment on the top of a bluff above williams creek, whence he could still see the lights of the camp, and still hear faint strains of music from the dance-house and the monotonous "clink, clink" of the miner's pick. the next moment he turned his back upon it all; a rising bank shut out the last glimpse of the fires and the last faint hum of human life. the forest swallowed them up, and ned was alone with the silence. never in all his life had he been in so strange a mood as he was that night. it seemed to him that every nerve and muscle in his body, every faculty of his brain, had been tuned to concert pitch. all his old calmness had deserted him, and in place of it a very fire of impatience devoured him. wherever the trail allowed of it he broke into a long swinging run, and yet, though the miles flew past him, he was not satisfied. on! on! a voice seemed to cry to him, and in spite of his speed the voice still urged him to further efforts. that was the worst of it. instead of the silence the forest seemed full of voices,--not voices which spoke to his ear, but voices which cried to the soul that was within him. the shadows were full of these inarticulate cries, the night air throbbed with them, all nature was full of them, and of a secret which he alone seemed unable to grasp. but it was no good standing still to listen, so he pressed on until he came to the bridge of pines where the day before phon had clung, swinging between this world and the next. here corbett hesitated for the first time, standing at the top of that arch of pines, looking across the black gulf in which the unseen waters moaned horribly. if his foot slipped or his hands failed him for the tenth part of a second, he would drop from the moonlight into eternal darkness, leaving no trace behind by which men could tell that ned corbett had ever existed. for a moment a cold horror seized him, he clung wildly to the boughs round him and looked backwards instead of forwards. but this fit only lasted for a moment, and then the bold english blood came back to his heart with a rush. "good heavens!" he muttered, "am i turning chinaman?" and as he muttered it he launched himself boldly across the gap, caught at the rope to steady himself, and having crossed the bridge set his face firmly once more for the bald mountains above him. all through the night corbett maintained that long swinging stride, climbing steadily up the steep hills and passing swiftly down the forest glades, tireless as a wolf and silent as a shadow. when the dawn came he paused in his race, and sat down for a quarter of an hour to eat a frugal meal of dried meat. had he been living the normal life of a civilized man in one of the cities of europe, he would have needed much less food and eaten much more. all civilized human beings overeat themselves. perhaps if the food at the bristol or the windsor was served as dry and as little seasoned as rampike's venison, less would be eaten and more digested. breakfast over, ned resumed his course. even during his hurried meal he had been restless and anxious to get on. fatigue seemed not to touch him, or a power over which mere human weariness could not prevail, possessed him. as the air freshened and the stars paled, the tits and "whisky-jacks" began their morning complaints, their peevish voices convincing ned that they had been up too long the night before. a little later the squirrels began to chatter and swear angrily at him as he passed, and a gray old _coyoté_ slinking home to bed stood like a shadow watching him as he went, wondering, no doubt, who this early-rising hunter might be, with the swift silent feet, white set face, and stern blue eyes which looked so keen and yet saw nothing. then the sun rose, and at last, taking a hint from the tall red-deer, ned threw himself down on the soft mosses, trusting in the sun to warm him in his slumbers, as it does all the rest of that great world which gets on very well without blankets. until the shadow had crept to the other side of the tree under which he lay, ned corbett slept without moving; then he rose again, ate a few mouthfuls of dried meat, took a modest draught of the white water which foamed and bubbled through the moss of the hillside, and again went on. one day went and another came, and still corbett held on his course, and on the third day he had his reward. at last on the trail in front of him he saw the tracks of horses, nine in number, all of them shod before and behind as his own had been, and the tracks of _one_ man driving them. that was singular. there were two men left with ned corbett's pack-train. where had the other gone to? backwards and forwards he went, bending low over the trail and scrutinizing every inch of it, but he could see no sign of that other man. perhaps he had tired and had found room upon one of the least laden of the pack animals. it would be hard upon the beast and most uncomfortable for the rider, but it was possible. or perhaps the tracks of the man who "led out" had been quite obliterated by the feet of the beasts which followed him. that too was possible, and ned remembered how he had noticed upon the trail that a horse's stride and a man's were almost exactly the same length, so that it might be that for a few hundred yards at any rate one of the animals had gone step for step over cruikshanks or old rob's tracks. but this could not have lasted for long; either the man or the beast would have strayed a yard or two from the track once in the course of a mile; but corbett had examined the tracks for more than a mile, and still the story of them was the same: "nine pack-horses driven by one man over the trail nearly a week ago;" that was the way the tracks read, and ned could make nothing else out of them. there was one thing, however, worth mentioning. corbett had hit upon the tracks on the path by which he himself had come from the balm-of-gilead camp to williams creek, at a point as nearly as he could judge five miles on the williams creek side of that camp. so far then the pack-train had followed him, but at this point it had turned away almost at right angles to follow a well-beaten trail which corbett and steve had overlooked when they passed it a week earlier. "that, i suppose, is where we went wrong, and this must be the proper pack-trail to williams creek," soliloquized ned, and then for a moment he stood, doubting which way he should turn. should he follow his pack-train, or should he go back until the tracks told him something of that other man, whose feet had left no record on the road? the same instinct which had urged him on for the last three days, took hold upon him again and turned him almost against his will towards the old balm-of-gilead camp. it was nearly dark when he reached it, and he would perhaps have passed it by, but that he stumbled over the half-burnt log which had been used as the side log for his own fire. since ned had camped there a little snow had fallen, a trifling local storm such as will take place in the mountains even in may, and this had sufficed to hide almost all trace of the camp in that rapidly waning light. as well as he could, corbett examined the camp, going carefully over every inch of it; but the only thing he could find was a cartridge belt, hung up on the branch of a pine,--a cartridge belt half full of ammunition for a revolver. this he at once recognized as belonging to roberts. "by jove, that's careless," he muttered, "and unlike the old man. i should have thought at any rate that he would have found out his loss before he got very far away, and have come back for the belt." in another quarter of an hour it was too dark to see his hand before his face, so making the best of a bad business ned sat down at the foot of a big pine, and leaning his back against it tried to doze away the time until the moon should rise and enable him to proceed on his way. but though corbett's muscles throbbed and his limbs trembled from over-exertion, no sleep would come to him. in spite of himself his brain kept on working, not in its ordinary methodical fashion, but as if it were red-hot with fever. indeed poor ned began to think that he was going mad. if he were not, what was this new fancy which possessed him? for some reason beyond his own comprehension his brain would now do nothing but repeat over and over again the refrain of roberts' favourite song. the tune of "the old pack-mule" had taken possession of him and would give him no peace. without his will his fingers moved to the time of it; if he tried to think of something else his thoughts put themselves in words, and the words fell into the metre of it, and at last he became convinced that he could actually with his own bodily ears hear the refrain of it, sad and distant as he had last heard it before leaving that camp. there it came again, wailing up out of the darkness, the very ghost of a song, and yet as distinct as if the singer's mouth had been at his ear-- "riding, riding, riding on my old pack-mule." when things had gone as far as this, ned sprang to his feet with a start. there was no doubt about _that_ weird note anyway; and though it was but the howl of a wolf which roused him from his doze, ned shuddered as the long-drawn yell died away in the darkness, which was now slowly giving way to the light of the rising moon. brave man though he was, ned corbett felt a chill perspiration break out all over him, and his heart began to beat in choking throbs. the wolf's weird music had a meaning for him which he had never noticed in it before. he knew now why it was so sad. had it not in it all the misery of homeless wandering, all the hopelessness of the ishmael, whose hand is against every man as every man's hand is against him, all the bitterness of cold and hunger and darkness? was his own lot to be like the wolf's? "great scott, this won't do!" cried the lad, and snatching up his pack he blundered away upon the trail, prepared to face anything rather than his own fancies. as he moved away down the trail corbett thought that he caught a glimpse of the beast, whose hideous voice had dispelled his dreams and jarred so roughly upon his nerves. fear makes most men vicious, and corbett was very human in all his moods, so that his first impulse on seeing the beast which had frightened him was to give it the contents of his revolver. stooping down to see more clearly, he managed to get a faint and spectral outline of his serenader against the pale moonlight, and into the middle of this he fired. a wolf's body is not at any time too large a mark for a bullet, even if it be a rifle bullet; but a wolf's body is a very small mark indeed for a revolver bullet at night, and so ned found it, and missed. to his intense surprise, however, the gray shadow was in no hurry to be gone. though the report of the revolver seemed curiously loud in the absolute silence of a northern night, the wolf only cantered a few yards and then stood still again, and again sent his hideous cry wailing through the forest aisles. "curse you, you won't go, won't you?" hissed ned, his nerve completely gone, and his heart full of unreasonable anger; and again he fired at the brute, and this time rushed in after his shot, determined if he could not kill him with a bullet to settle matters with the butt. but the wolf vanished in the uncertain light as if he had really been a shadow, and his howl but the offspring of corbett's fancy. for a few yards ned followed in the direction in which the beast seemed to have gone, until his eyes fell upon a swelling in the snow, near to which the wolf had been when the first shot was fired. what is that other sense which we all of us possess and for which there is no name,--that sense which is neither sight nor hearing, nor any of the other three common to our daily lives? before ned corbett's eyes there lay a low swelling mound of snow, smooth white snow, still and cold in the pale moonlight. there were ten thousand other mounds just like it in the forest round him, and yet before _this_ mound corbett stood rooted to the ground, whilst his eyes dilated and he felt his hair rising with horror, and in the utter stillness heard his own heart thundering against his side. until that moment ned corbett had never looked upon the dead. he had heard and read of death, and knew that in his turn he too must die; but as it chanced, he had never yet seen that dumb blind thing which live men bury, saying this _was_ a man. and yet it needed not the disappointed yell of that foul scavenger to tell him what lay beneath the snow. slowly he compelled himself to draw near, and stooping he completed with reverent hands what the claws of the hungry beast had already begun, and then the moon and the man, with wan white faces, looked down together upon all that remained of cheery old rob. corbett knew at last why there had been no peace for him in the forests that night. there was no mystery about his old comrade's death. the whole foul story of murder was written so large that the woods knew it, and were full of it. this was the story which the shuddering pines had whispered all along the trail, and at last corbett had grasped their secret and knew what the voices kept saying. just where the curly hair came down upon his friend's sturdy neck, was a small dark hole; a trifling wound it looked to have killed so strong a man, and yet when the bullet struck him there, roberts had fallen without knowing who had struck him. then for one moment, perhaps, the man who did this thing had stood glaring at what he had done, more afraid of the dead man at his feet than his victim had ever been of any man. the position of the body told the rest of the story. though he could kill him, cruickshank dared not leave those death-sharpened features staring up to heaven appealing for vengeance against the murderer, so he had seized the corpse by its wrists and dragged it away from the camp-fire, away to where the dark balsams threw their heaviest shadows, and there left it, its arms stretched out stiff and rigid for the snows to cover and hide until it should melt away into the earth whence it came. and what was corbett to do? men do not weep for men--their grief lies too deep for that--and, moreover, there is nothing practical in tears. and yet what was corbett to do? he might hide the dead again for awhile, but in the end he would be meat for the wolf and the raven. "oh god!" he cried in the bitterness of his spirit, "is this nothing unto thee? dost thou see what man has done?" and even then, while the infinitely small pleaded from the depth of the forest to the infinitely mighty, a little wind came and shook the tops of the pines, and the dawn came. thereafter, as far as corbett knew, time ceased. only the pines went by and the trail slipped past under his feet, until, in spite of all his efforts, and although the trees seemed still to go past him, he himself stood still. then there came a humming in the air and the thunder of a great river in his ears, and the earth began to rise and fall, and suddenly it was night! * * * * * * * * it was on a monday morning that ned corbett started from williams creek to search for cruickshank, and on saturday old bacon brown from oregon brought his train into antler, and with it a tall, fair-haired man, whom he had found upon the trail some fifteen miles back he said--a man whom he guessed had had the "jim-jams" pretty bad, "and come mighty nigh to sending in his chips, you bet." chapter xv. in the dance-house. "chassey to the right, chassey to the left, swing your partners round, and all promenade!" sang old dad, fiddler and master of ceremonies at antler, british columbia. it was early in june. the moon was riding high above the pine-trees, and the men of the night-shifts were dropping in one by one for a dance with lilla and katchen before going to supper. claw-hammer coats and boiled shirts were not insisted upon in the antler dance-house, so most of the men swaggered in in their gray suits and long gum boots, all splashed with blue mud, and took their waltz just as we should take our sherry and bitters, as a pleasant interlude between business and dinner. some fellows found time to eat and sleep, and a few were said to wash, but no one could afford to waste time in changing his clothes at the cariboo gold-mines in ' . when your overalls wore out you just handed your dust over the store-keeper's counter and got into a new pair right there, and some fellows took off their gum boots when they lay down for a sleep. wasn't that change enough? at any rate the hurdy girls were content with their partners, and their partners were all in love with the "hurdies." now, it may be that some unfortunate person who knows nothing of anything west of chicago may read this book, and may want to know what a "hurdy" is or was, for, alas! the "hurdies," like the dodo, are extinct. be it known then to all who do not know it already, that the hurdy-gurdy girls (to give them their full title) were douce, honest lassies from germany, who, being fond of dancing and fond of dollars, combined business with pleasure, and sold their dances to the diggers at so many pinches of dust per dance. it was an honest and innocent way of earning money, and if any sceptic wants to sneer at the gentle hurdies, there need be no difficulty in finding an "old-timer" to argue with him; only the arguments used in cariboo are forcible certainly, and might even seem somewhat "rocky" to a mild-mannered man. well, now you know what a "hurdy" was, and when i tell you that a troop of hurdies had just come up from kamloops, you will understand that antler was very much _en fête_ on this particular june night. indeed, the long wooden shanty known as the dance house was full to overflowing, full of miners having what they considered a good time--dancing in gum boots, drinking bad whisky, singing songs, and swearing wonderfully original "swears." but there was no popping of pistols, no flashing of bowie-knives at antler. that might do very well in californian mining camps, but in british columbia, in early days, even the strong men had been taught by a stronger to respect the law. so old dad took command in the noisy room, and was under no apprehension for his personal safety. he might be dead drunk before morning or "dead-broke" before the end of the season, but there was very little chance that a stray bullet would end his career before that terrible time came round when the camp would be deserted, and he would have to sneak away to the lower country to earn his living by pig-feeding and "doing chores." but the pig-feeding days were far distant still, so that this most dissolute yet tuneful fiddler continued to incite his clients to fresh efforts in dancing. there were those, though, even at antler, who were too staid, or too shy, or too stolid to dance, and for the benefit of such as these small tables had been arranged, not too far from the refreshments--small tables at which they could sit and smoke in peace. at one of these, in a pause between the dances, a tall, fair-haired girl, all smiles and ribbons, came to a halt before a solitary, dark-visaged misanthrope, who sat abstractedly chewing the end of an unlit cigar. [illustration: lilla accosts the colonel in the dance-house.] "what's the trouble, colonel? have you anyone murdered?" the words were lightly spoken, and a laugh rippled over the speaker's pretty face, but no answering smile came into the smoker's deep-set eyes. on the contrary, he sprang to his feet with so fierce an oath that lilla started back, and the smokers at the next table turned with savage scowls to see who it was who dared to swear at their little german sweetheart. "by mighty, i believe the girl's right!" said one of these; "the fellow looks pretty scared." "like enough. a fellow who cain't speak civil to a woman might do anything," growled another. this last was a yankee, and yankees have a great respect for the ladies, all honour to them for it. meanwhile the colonel and the dancing-girl stood facing each other, the smile dying out of her face as the scowl died out of his. she was half-frightened, and he had overheard his neighbours' remarks, and recognized the necessity for self-control. "i beg your pardon, lilla. what a brute you must think me! but don't you know better than to wake a sleeping dog suddenly?" "but no dog is so mean as to bite a woman," protested lilla. "that's so, and _i_ only barked. i've been so long packing all alone that i have lost my company manners. won't you forgive me, lilla?" and he held out his hand to her. now it was part of lilla's business to pour oil upon the troubled waters of society at antler, and, besides, the colonel was an old acquaintance and excellent dancer, so lilla took his hand. "well, i'll try, but you pay me a fine. see, not once have you asked me to dance this time in antler. now dance with me." "is that all, lilla? come then." and so saying he offered the girl his arm, and walked away with her to another part of the room out of ear-shot of the angry yankee. "i wanted to talk to you, lilla," he began; but just then the music struck up, and the girl, who had quite recovered her spirits, beat the ground with a pretty impatient toe, exclaiming, "the talk will keep; come on now, we mustn't lose a bar of it." and then, as her partner steered her gracefully over the floor, she gave a little contented sigh and muttered, "so you have not forgotten. ach, himmel! this is to dance." and indeed the dark-faced man might have committed many crimes, but he was not one to trample upon a woman's tenderest feelings by treading on her toes, tearing her dress out at the gathers, and disregarding good music. on the contrary, he had a perfect ear for time, steered by instinct, and held his partner like one who was proud of her and wanted to show her off to advantage. when the music ceased, and not until then, lilla and the colonel stopped dancing, and the girl had just enough breath left to say in a tone of absolute conviction: "you _must_ be a good man, i think, you dance so well." "of course i'm a good man, lilla," laughed her partner. "why should i not be?" "well, i don't know, but you frightened me pretty bad just now. what was it with you?" "oh, nothing--at least nothing much. i was sulky and you startled me. are you never sulky, lilla?" "what is that sulky, _traurig_?" asked the girl. "no, not quite. more like what you feel when a frock won't fit you, lilla." "so! i understand: well, wherefore are you sulky?" "i can't sell my freight at my price. just think what rough luck it was for me that bacon brown got in so soon after me. and after bringing the stuff so far and _at such a cost too_!" and again for a moment the colonel's face looked white and drawn in the lamp light. the frazer river trail was a bad one, but once its perils were passed there seemed to be no reason why an old packer should turn pale at the mere memory of them. "ach, sacrifice!" cried the girl. "you sell your bacon a dollar a pound, and you call that sacrifice. have you no shame?" "all very well for you, lilla. you are a girl who owns a gold-mine; i'm only a poor packer. by the way, have you done anything more about pete's creek since last season?" "no, but i think i'll do something soon." "better send me to find it for you, lilla, before someone else gets hold of it, and give me a share in it for my work. i'll take you, and you keep the creek. how will that do?" "and what do i become--ach, i mean what shall i get for my share?" her partner laid his hand upon his heart and made her his most impressive bow, but the girl only burst out laughing merrily. perhaps the noise and bright lights of a dance-house are unfavourable to sentiment. "ach so, colonel. bacon a dollar a pound, and you will trade yourself for the richest gold-mine in cariboo and me! _danke schön_," and she curtsied to him laughingly. "as you please, lilla. but will you bet me that i don't know where your creek is?" "i know you don't know anything about it, except what i told you last fall." "don't be too sure. you'd better trust me, lilla. it isn't the other side of the frazer in the chilcotin country, is it?" "i told you so much, and then--" "it isn't up at the head of the chilcotin?" "on which bank?" "the right." "ach so! i knew you didn't know," and then the girl stopped, and for a moment suspicion looked out from her simple blue eyes. lilla wasn't quite sure whether her dancing partner had not been trying to pump her. but the colonel saw the look, and knowing that he had obtained all the information which he was likely to get, he deftly turned the conversation into a fresh channel. "of course it's only my chaff, lilla. i would rather have the pretty gold on your head than all the gold in pete's creek, even if there was such a place, which i doubt. but who is the new invalid you are nursing?" "a britisher as you are, colonel; only i find him better-looking," replied lilla mischievously. "he might easily be that, lilla. i'm getting old, my dear, with waiting for you. but how did you find this new treasure?" "bacon brown brought him in." "brown brought him in! when?" "three days from to-day--when his train came along." "where did he find him? is he one of his men?" "ach no. i tell you he is english not yankee. brown found him dying on the trail." "on the trail! where?" "i don't know quite where, but somewhere between this place and where the trail forks for williams creek." whilst the girl had been speaking her companion had shifted his position, so that he now stood with his back to the light, so that no casual observer would have noticed even if his face should turn white and his hand shake. "what is your friend like, and what was the matter with him, lilla?" asked the colonel after a while, with a certain show of carelessness, dropping out his words disjointedly between his efforts to light a cigar. "well, i can hardly tell you, he lies down all the time. he is too weak to stand up, but he looks a fine man, tall and big--oh, very big, and hair like a deutscher's, and blue eyes, more blue, i think, than mine;" and she opened those pretty orbs very wide to let her questioner see how very blue eyes would have to be to be bluer than her own. "is that so, and lilla is half in love with him already? oh, lilla, lilla! and when will this beautiful person be well again?" "don't talk foolishness," replied the girl, blushing furiously. "how could i love a man who has the 'jim-jams?'" "the 'jim-jams!' what! from drink?" "i don't know. but there, there's the music, come along;" and once more lilla bore away the best waltzer in antler to the tune of some slow rhythmical german air. during the dance the girl said nothing, and after it was over she left her partner for someone else (mind you, dancing meant business for lilla); but towards the end of the evening she sought out the colonel again, and leading him on one side, said: "what will you do when you have sold your freight?" "i don't know. anything. why?" "i have a fancy, and you shall not laugh at me. pete gave me the map to find his creek when he died. that is good. now comes another englishman, also dying. i am, what do you call it--_abergläubig_?" "i don't know superstitious perhaps?" "perhaps superstitious. suppose this man gets well, he has no money, he is dead-broke, and very young. do you see?" "i see. you say he is ill and a 'dead-beat.' most of your patients are that way, lilla." "no, he is not a 'dead-beat.' i think he is--ach, well no matter. but see here, if you will give money for the outfit and grub, and take this man along when he is well again, i will give you the map, and you two can take half the mine between you. is that good?" "but why give him a quarter of your mine?" "i give you a quarter also; and i tell you pete was english, and you say you are english, and he is english. i think pete would have liked it so, and this shall bring me luck." "as you please, lilla. i would go for you for nothing. shall i have the map to-night?" and at that moment the light fell upon the man's face, which he had moved somewhat during the conversation, and showed that the mouth was twitching and the eyes glittering with strong excitement which would not be entirely suppressed. "no, not to-night. when corbett is well. i may change my mind before then, you know, and give you all the mine, and myself too--who knows!" and with a nod and a smile, half mocking, half friendly, lilla the hurdy girl turned on her heel and left the dancing-room for a little poorly furnished chamber, where, behind a hudson bay blanket hung up as a curtain, lay ned corbett in the first quiet sleep he had enjoyed since bacon brown found him insensible upon the trail which leads to antler. chapter xvi. the price of blood. it was neither day nor night in antler, but that time between the two when the stars are fading and the moon has set and the sun has not yet risen. the men of the night-shift had gone back to the claims; the hurdy girls had all followed lilla's example and slipped away to their own rooms, and though the big dancing hall was still open, the only people in it were a few maudlin topers dozing over their liquor. out in the main street there was no light, no light either of sun or moon; no light at all except one feeble ray which flickered from lilla's window, and fell upon the black water which hurried through the wooden boxes laid across the highway. by and by a man came out of the gloom, blundered heavily over the boxes, and swore savagely below his breath as if the boxes had consciously conspired for his downfall. when he had picked himself up again from the mud, this night-bird stood looking fixedly towards the light. had he swayed unsteadily from side to side, and perhaps fallen again, there would have been nothing worth watching about him. rye whisky, the fresh night air, and the ditches laid across the roads, used often to persuade very honest gentlemen to pass their nights beside the gutter. but this man stood firmly upon his feet, looking steadily at the light ahead of him. presently he appeared to have made up his mind, for after looking up and down the road to see whether anyone was watching him, he stole up to the window and crouched beside it in such a position that he could peer in unseen. inside the room the light fell upon bare wooden walls, from which hung a little mirror, and a man's coat and broad-brimmed hat. there was a rifle in one corner, and half the room appeared to be partitioned off from the rest by a bright red hudson bay blanket hung up as a curtain. in spite of the rifle and the coat an expert would have decided at once that the room was a woman's room. there was a trimness about it not masculine, a cleanliness not indian. whatever a red lady's virtues may be, cleanliness and order are not among them. but the figures upon which the light fell explained the anomaly of a rifle and a mirror hung side by side in a miner's shack, and explained, too, why a room in which hung a miner's coat and hat was swept and garnished and in order. in a bunk against the wall lay a fair-haired man, his eyes shut in sleep, with one powerful arm thrown limp and nerveless upon the outside of his bed. the man who watched him felt a nervous twitching at his throat as his eyes rested upon the big brown hand, contrasting so strongly with the white linen upon which it rested; for lilla had given her patient of her best, and ned corbett was sleeping between the only pair of sheets in cariboo. the worst was evidently over for corbett. the fever, or whatever his disease had been, had left him, worn and pulled down it is true; but the peacefulness of his sleep, the calm child-like restfulness of his face, told both his watchers that unless a relapse took place his young life would be as strong in him as ever before many days had passed. the colonel, peering in at lilla's face as she sat and watched her patient, saw very little chance of a relapse whilst _she_ was corbett's nurse. if tender care and ceaseless watching would save him, corbett would be saved. the colonel fancied, indeed, that he saw even more than this. his eyes ever since very early days had peered deep into the hearts of men and women; not from sympathy with them, not even from idle curiosity, but to see what profit could be made out of them. now he thought that he recognized in lilla's eyes, and in the caressing touch of her hand as she brushed back corbett's yellow hair, something which he had often seen before, something which he had generally turned to his own advantage at whatever cost to the woman. "the little fool!" he muttered. "she has got stuck on him because he has blue eyes and yellow hair like a deutscher. great scott, what simpletons these women are!" perhaps the colonel's guess as to the state of lilla's heart was a shrewd one, perhaps not. at any rate if the girl was in love with her handsome patient she was not herself conscious of it as yet, and as she sat crooning the tender words of a german love song, she was unconscious that they had any special meaning for her. "_du du liegst mir im hertzen,_" she sang; but as she sang, she believed that the only feeling which stirred her heart for the sick man at her side was one of pity for a helpless bankrupt brother. for some time lilla sat dreaming and crooning scraps of german songs, and then a thought seemed to strike her, and she drew from her bosom a little leather case. opening this she drew from it what looked like an old bill, and indeed it was an old bill-head, frayed and torn as if it had been carried for many, many months in some traveller's pocket. but there was no account of goods delivered and still unpaid for upon that dirty scrap of paper. as lilla turned it to catch the light, the man at the window had a glimpse of it, and started as if someone had struck him. "old pete's map, by thunder!" he exclaimed; and so loudly did he speak, or so noisy was his movement as he tried to obtain a better view of that precious document, that lilla heard something, and replacing the paper in her pocket rose and came to the window. there was only a thin partition of rustic boarding and the bosom of a woman's dress between the most reckless scoundrel in cariboo and the key to cariboo's richest gold-mine. he could hear her breathing on the other side of that thin partition, and he knew that his strong fingers could tear it down and wrench away that secret before the woman and the sick man her friend could even call assistance. but he dared not do the deed. life was still more than gold to him, and he knew that earth would be hardly large enough to hide the man who should wrong lilla from the vengeance of the hard-fists she had danced with and sung to in their merry moods, and nursed like a sister in their sickness. "no," he muttered, when lilla had resumed her seat, "i daren't do it, and i daren't stay another hour. if that fool gets his wits back the cat will soon be out of the bag, and the only question of interest to me will be,--'is it to be begbie or lynch?' if the boys knew, i believe it would be lynch!" and muttering and grinding his teeth, a prey to rage and baffled greed, colonel cruickshank turned and retraced his steps to his own quarters. once, and only once, he stopped before he reached them, and stood with knitted brows like one who strives to master some difficult problem. at last a light came into his face, and his coarse mouth opened in an evil grin--"i will, by jove i will! it will be as safe there as anywhere. cruickshank, my boy, you shall double the stakes and go for the pot. if i had only seen more of that map--" the rest of his sentence was lost as he entered the shack where his goods were stored, and half an hour later, when the sun was still only colouring the sky a faint saffron along the horizon, he strode up to the store of ben hirsch, general dealer, money-changer, and purchaser of gold-dust at antler. old ben was fairly early himself that morning. he had smoked so much the night before (being a german jew) that he really needed a breath of fresh air to pull him together, before he engaged in another day of chicanery, bargaining, and theft. but the sight of the dashing colonel at such an hour in the morning considerably astonished him. there was something wrong somewhere, of that he felt quite certain, and wherever there was anything wrong there was profit for the wise old jew. so his beady eyes twinkled beside his purple beak, and he gave the man he looked upon as his prey the heartiest greeting. "goot-mornin', colonel, goot-mornin'. ach, vot a rustler you are! no vonder zat you make much gold. haf you zold ze pacon yet?" "not a cent's worth, uncle. will you buy?" "ach! you laugh at me. i haf no monish, you know i haf no monish. ze freight eats up all ze profit." "keep that for tenderfeet, ben," replied cruickshank roughly. "freight on needles won't bring them up to fifty cents apiece, even in cariboo. will you buy or won't you? i've no time to talk." "vot is your hurry, colonel? ze pacon and ze peans von't shpoil." the colonel turned to go. "_ach, himmel!_" cried the jew, throwing up his hands deprecatingly. "how these english herren are fiery. colonel, dear herr colonel, pe so goot as to listen." "well, what is it? i'll give you five minutes in which to make a bid. after that i'm off straight to williams creek." "pacon is cheap zere, colonel; almost cheaper zan here. put i vill puy. are ve not from of olt be-friended? vot you zay, twenty-five cents ze pound?" "twenty-five fiddlesticks! do you think i don't know the market prices?" but it is not worth while to record all the haggling between hirsch and cruickshank. it was a match between the jew, cool, crafty, and cringing, and the christian (save the mark!), hurried, and full of strange oaths as become a soldier, "sudden and quick in quarrel." from the very outset the colonel had one eye on ben and the other on the door, and his ears seemed pricked to catch the tramp of men who might be coming in pursuit. of course the jew saw this, and every time the colonel started at some sudden sound, or reddened and swore at his obstinate haggling, ben's ferret-like eyes gleamed with fresh cunning and increased intelligence. like an expert angler he had mastered his fish, and knew it, and meant now to kill him at his leisure, without risking another struggle. and yet (to maintain the metaphor) this fisher of men all at once lowered his point and seemed to let his captive go. "vell, colonel, all right. suppose you give ze ponies in, i give you your price." "you're a hungry thief, ben. the ponies are worth the money; but i am not going to do any more packing, so take them and be hanged to you." "goot. it is a deal zen." "yes, if i may keep the pinto. i want a pony to pack my tools and blankets on." "tools. vot! you go prospecting, eh?" "yes. i think so." "ach so! by and by you strike it rich. then you bring your dust to old ben--eh, colonel?" "maybe. but where are those dollars?" "how vill you have them, colonel,--in notes or dust?" asked the jew. "in dust, of course; those flimsy things would wear out before i could get them down the frazer. besides, i've heard that your notes aren't always just like other people's, ben;" and the colonel pushed over a little pile of dirty "greenbacks." "ach, these are goot notes; but the gold is goot too, colonel. vill you veigh it?" "you bet i will," replied the colonel, making no parade of confidence in his friend. there was good gold in old ben's safe, but the tenderfoot who did not know good gold from bad often got "dust" of the wrong kind. this cruickshank knew, so that he was careful to examine the quality of the dust in the two small canvas bags, and careful, too, in the weighing of them--trying the scales, and leaving no hole open for fraud to creep through. at last even he was satisfied. "yes, ben, that will do--it's good for the money." "goot dust, isn't it? very goot dust and full measure. see!" and the old jew put it in the scales again. "but, _donner und blitzen_, vot vants ze sheriff so early?" the last part of the sentence was jerked out at the top of his voice by the dealer in gold as he turned excitedly to stare out of the little window on his left. "the sheriff! did you say the sheriff? give me the gold. where is he?" cruickshank had turned as white as the dead, and his hand shook as if he had the palsy, but for all that he managed to snatch up the two small canvas bags from the counter and hide them away in the bosom of his flannel shirt. "i zink i zee him go into ze dance-house. but vot is your hurry, colonel? shtay and vet ze deal. vot, you von't! ah vell, ze rye is not pad." and so saying mr. benjamin hirsch filled a small glass for himself, and with a wink drank to his departing guest. ben hirsch was certainly right in calling colonel cruickshank a rustler, a yankee term for a man who does not let the grass grow under his feet. half an hour after ben's cry of "sheriff" the colonel stole out of antler, driving old job in front of him, with blankets, gold-pan, and all the rest of a prospector's slender outfit, securely fastened upon the pony's back. as soon as he was well out of sight of the camp, the fugitive diverged from the main trail, and took instead a little-used path, leading direct over a difficult country to soda creek, on the frazer. along this he drove his pony at a speed which made that wall-eyed, cow-hocked quadruped grunt and groan in piteous fashion. in all his days job had never before found a master who could and would get a full day's work out of him, without giving him a single chance to wander or even knock his packs off amongst the timber. at last, when the sun had begun to go west, cruickshank paused, sat down upon a log, and lit his pipe. as he smoked and thought, the lines went out of his face, until he almost looked once more the oily, plausible scoundrel whom we first met in victoria. "yes," he muttered, "it was a bold game, but i made my bluff stick. why, if old ben knew that i didn't have even a pair to draw to, wouldn't he 'raise cain?'" and so saying, he put his hand inside his shirt and drew out the two little bags of gold-dust, weighing them nicely in his hands, and regarding them as lovingly as a mother would her first-born. for a minute or two his fingers played with the strings which fastened the mouth of each sack, but finally thought better of it and put them back into his pocket without untying them. to this man life was a game of poker, and for the present he considered that he had risen a winner though the odds had been against him, and with his winnings in his pocket he smacked old job on the quarters, held up his head, and felt ready for a fresh deal. and old ben--what of him? did he hurry away to secure the pack-ponies and their loads, or to see what the sheriff wanted at the dance-house? not a bit of it. _he_ knew (none better) that the sheriff was away at williams creek, and he knew, too,--he knew enough of human nature to be sure that dan cruickshank would never return to antler unless he was brought back against his will. he had sold his packs and his ponies for two little bags of gold ("of gold, ho, ho!" chuckled the jew), and even if he should find anything wrong with the gold he would not dare to come back to claim his packs. "i vonder vot dan has peen up to," mused the son of israel. "he play ze carts a leetle too vell for his friends, i know, put it must pe zomething worse zan zat. ach vell, it was ver goot zat i knew a leetle how to conjure;" and still chuckling and muttering to himself, he took from a shelf just below the counter two small bags similar to those in cruickshank's shirt front, and put them tenderly and reverently away in his safe. _they_ contained good gold-dust. those which cruickshank was carrying away contained a good many things, the price of innocent blood for instance, but ben hirsch would not have given many dollars for all that they contained. whilst the colonel was looking for the sheriff, ben had substituted bags of copper pyrites for bags of gold. chapter xvii. chance's gold-fever returns. "well, steve, what is the news? i can see that you are just bursting with intelligence. out with it, little man." "bell has struck it rich again. it's a fortune this time, they say." "is that all? poor bell! he'll be drunk, then, at victoria the whole of the winter. i shouldn't be surprised if this second stroke of luck killed him." the speakers were our old friends ned corbett and steve chance, and when steve joined him ned was sitting with his long gum boots tucked under a table in the antler dance-house, smoking his evening pipe. it was nearly a month since cruickshank had stolen away from antler, and since then ned had recovered all his old strength and vigour. at first he had brooded incessantly over cruickshank's escape, but as the days went by he realized that there was no chance for him, without knowledge of the country and without funds, against a man like the colonel, with a fortnight's start of him. together with one or two miners to whom he had told his tale he had made an attempt to follow cruickshank's tracks, and had succeeded in tracking him and his pony as far as the main trail to soda creek. here the tracks, which were already old, became confused with others, and sorely against their will the pursuers had to give up the chase. "cruickshank has got clean away with you this journey, partner, and i guess you may as well own up to it," was the verdict of one of his comrades. and ned, recognizing the justice of it, threw up the sponge, and owned himself beaten for the time; but although he said no more about the claims or the packs or the comrade of whom he had been robbed, he consoled himself with the thought that life was long and had in it many chances, and that whenever his chance came, however late, it would find his hand as strong and as quick to take vengeance as it was to-day. as soon as his story had become known, and men had seen what manner of man he was, ned had found no difficulty in getting employment in the claims, and, indeed, he had done so well that he had been induced to send a message to his friends at williams creek, in answer to which steve and phon had hastened to join him at antler. rampike promised to come up later on in the fall, but as yet he had plenty to do in his own claim. for a full fortnight the three comrades had worked away steadily with pick and shovel, and now, in spite of all his troubles, ned was his own cheery self again, proud of the strength which enabled him to do almost as much as two other men, and content with the work which kept him supplied with all the necessaries of life. but if ned corbett was content, his comrades were not. steve hated the daily labour for daily wage, and phon was hardly strong enough for the work, and anxious to go off prospecting on his own account. "what a phlegmatic old cuss you are, ned! don't you envy bell a bit?" "not i. why should i? i am strong and well again, thank god. i've plenty of fresh air and hard work, and i'm earning ten dollars a day--" "and spending eight. you won't make a fortune that way." "who said that i should? who said that i wanted to? why, my dear chap, just think for a moment. if i did make a fortune i should have to stop at home and invest it and look after it. _stop at home_, do you hear, steve?" "you'll die a pauper, ned," asserted chance solemnly. "and you, perhaps, a millionaire. poor old chap! i'm sorry for you. i am indeed. well, lilla, what can i do for you?" and ned, rising, took off his hat, as if he had been saluting a duchess. "the boys want a song, ned. will you sing for them?" asked the girl, her pretty eyes brightening and her cheeks flushing as she took ned's hand. somehow, though ned had often sought her, he had seen very little of his gentle nurse since he had become convalescent. "bother the boys!" quoth this young man of big muscle and limited intelligence. "i'm not going to do any work to-night. i have earned enough money for the day; but," he added quickly as he saw the girl's look of disappointment, "i'll sing for you, little sister, and you can give the money to the next dead-beat you nurse back again to life." "i never nursed any dead-beats," began lilla. "oh no, of course not. never heard of ned corbett, or pete of lost creek, or any of that crowd, did you, lilla? now i'm going to sing;" and with that he threw back his head, and sang in a full rich baritone a song of his canadian lumbering days:-- a song of the axe. when winter winds storm, and the snow-flakes swarm, and the forest is soft to our tread; when the women folk sit, by their fires fresh lit, oh, ho, for the toque of red! with our strong arms bare, it's little we care for politics, rates, or tax; let the good steel ring on the forest king-- oh, ho, for the swing of the axe! your diamonds may glitter, your rubies flame, our gems are but frozen dew; yet yours grow tame, being always the same, ours every night will renew. let the world rip: tighten your grip, make the blades glitter and shine; at it you go, swing to each blow, and down with the pride of the pine! for the trees, i ween, which have long grown green in the light of the sun and the stars, must bend their backs to the lumberer's axe, mere timber and planks and spars! then oh, ho, ho! for the carpet of snow! oh, ho, for the forest of pine! wealth shall be yours, with its business and bores, health and hard labour be mine! "_health and hard labour be mine!_" thundered a score of voices, and a score of strong labour-hardened hands came crashing down upon the rough deal tables. "bravo, ned!" "that's your sort for cariboo!" "mate, we'll wet that song if you please," and a dozen other similar expressions of approval rewarded ned for his efforts, but steve chance did not go as far as the rest of the audience. "a pretty good song, ned," he said, "with lots of shouting in it, but no sense." "give us a better, little one," replied his friend good-naturedly. "ah, lilla, you are a brick--i beg your pardon, but i don't know the german for a fairy who brings a thirsty man just what he wants;" and ned buried his moustache in a foaming glass of lager. "that beats all the champagne and such like trash into fits," he added with a sigh of satisfaction as he put down the empty glass. "now, steve, beat my song if you can." "beat it! no trouble to do that. if the boys don't shout themselves silly over my chorus i'll take a back seat." "you wouldn't stay there if you did," laughed ned; "but drive on, my boy." thus adjured, steve got up and sang with a spirit and go of which i am unable to give any adequate idea, the song of-- the yankee dollar. with sword or shovel, pick or pen, all strive to win the yellow ore; and "bust or boom," our natural doom, is but to love the dollar more. _chorus._ the yankee doodle dollar, oh! i'm no saint or scholar, oh! i only know, that high or low, all love the yankee dollar, oh! in miner's ditch some strike it rich, and some die in the collar, oh! but live or die, succeed or sigh, all strive to win the dollar, oh! "chorus, gentlemen,--'_the yankee doodle dollar_ oh!'" sang chance, and the whole room rose to him and sang as one man-- the yankee doodle dollar, oh! i'm no saint or scholar, oh! i only know, that high or low, all love the yankee dollar, oh! there was no question as to steve's victory. ned had stirred the hearts of a few, and pleased all, but steve had played upon the principal chord in the heart of antler, and for weeks the men hummed the empty words and whistled the frivolous, ranting little air of "_the yankee doodle dollar, oh!_" until even its author was sick of it. "you see, ned, everyone thinks the same except you," said chance, when the applause had somewhat moderated. "why the deuce are you so pig-headed? now that we have saved a few dollars why should we not go prospecting and make our pile like other people? i'm sick of all this picking and scratching in other men's claims." "'yo mun larn to scrat afore yo peck,'" replied ned stolidly, quoting a good old shropshire proverb; "and 'scratting' for ten dollars a day doesn't seem to me to be very badly-paid labour." "you forget, ned, that this cain't last. how do you mean to live during the winter?" "sufficient unto the day--" began ned, and then suddenly altering his tone he added, "what is it that you want me to do, steve?" "what do i want you to do? why, what any other man in cariboo would do if he had half your chance. take lilla's offer and go and look for pete's creek for her." "pete's creek! why, my dear steve, you don't seriously believe in that cock-and-bull story, do you?" "don't you believe lilla?" retorted chance. "of course i believe lilla," replied corbett hotly, "but she only tells the story as it was told to her." "by a dying man who knew that he was dying, to a woman who had nursed him for weeks like a sister! according to you, pete must have been a worse liar than ananias, ned." "i didn't say pete lied either, but pete may not have been sane when he died. you know that he had been drinking like a fish before lilla got hold of him." "yes, and slept out a couple of nights in the snow. i know that. but he died of pleurisy, not of the jim-jams." "well, have your own way, but nothing will make me believe in that creek. it had too much gold in it," replied corbett. "and even if i did believe in it, why should i take lilla's gold? hasn't she done enough for me already?" "perhaps. but if you don't get it for her, i guess someone else will come along and find it for himself." "why don't you go for it, steve, if you believe in it?" "so i would if lilla would trust me; but you see lilla is not spoons on me, and she is on you." corbett flushed to the roots of his yellow hair. "don't talk rot, chance, and leave lilla's name alone." "i'm not talking rot," said chance seriously. "but say, ned, do you mean to marry that girl?" "marry your grandmother! i don't mean to marry anyone, and no one is such a fool as to want to marry me." "all right, ned, don't lose your temper; but i know, old chap, that you would not like to get lilla talked about, and the boys are beginning to say that lilla got rid of her heart when you got rid of your fever." "the boys are a parcel of chattering idiots, whose mouths will get stopped pretty roughly if they talk like that before me," growled ned. "but really, steve, this is too ridiculous. fancy anyone wanting to marry me!" and the speaker looked down with a grin at his mud-spattered, much-mended pants, passed his hand meditatively over a rough young beard of three months' growth, and burst out laughing. ned corbett was heart-whole, and he did not see why everyone else should not be as lucky in that respect as himself. chapter xviii. on the colonel's trail again. the day after the conversation recorded in the last chapter happened to be sunday--a day which at antler differed very little from any other day, except that a few tenderfeet, mostly britishers, struck work on that day, and indulged in what some of their friends called a "good square loaf." ned corbett was one of these sunday loafers. of course there was no church at antler, nor any parson except upon very rare occasions. but ned had an ear for the anthems which the mountain breezes are always singing, and an eye for nature's attitude of reverence towards her creator. every sunday it was ned's wont to go out by himself, and lie on a rock in the sun out of hearing of the noise of the great mining-camp, saying nothing at all himself, but thinking a good deal, and keeping quite quiet to hear what nature had to say to him. as he was coming away from such a loaf as this, he met lilla wandering up the banks of a mountain stream, gathering berries and wild flowers. ned thought that his little friend had never looked prettier than she did at that moment--her soft yellow hair blown out by the breeze, her little figure moving gracefully amongst the boulders, the colour of wild roses in her cheeks, and a deep strong light in her blue eyes, like the light of the stars when there is frost in the northern sky. for a little while he watched her, as she hummed a song amongst the flowers and added fresh treasures to the already overgrown bouquet in her hand. "if she would take a man just as he is, she would make a sweet little wife for a cariboo miner," thought the young man; "that is, if he meant always to remain a cariboo miner. but, poor child! i'm afraid she'd find a shropshire welcome rather chilly even after cariboo. ah! well," he added to himself as he went jumping over the boulders to meet her, "luckily i don't want a wife, and lilla doesn't want a husband." the next moment lilla and he stood face to face. "did i frighten you, lilla?" he asked, picking up some flowers which the girl had dropped. "did you think i was a grizzly?" "not so bad as that, ned. but what do you up here?" "i'm taking a 'cultus coolee,'" replied he, using the indian phrase in use among the miners for a walk which has no object. "you are doing the same, i fancy. let us do it together." "what! you wish to come with me? well, come then," replied lilla. "you can help me carry these." ned took the bouquet, and after a while said, "i have been wanting to have a good talk with you, lilla, for some time." "so, ned! what is it about?" she tried hard to speak in an unconcerned off-hand way, but in spite of her, her colour rose and then paled, and her voice had an unnatural ring in it. ned looked at her. could there be anything in what steve suggested the other night? he asked himself, and then almost in the same second he repented him of the thought. ned corbett was not one of those men who twist their moustaches complacently, and conclude that every woman they meet must fall in love with them. "i want you to tell me about pete and his creek again," he said. "steve chance is awfully keen to go prospecting, and to go and look for this gold-mine of yours." "and why not, ned? i wish you would, for my sake." "i would do a good deal for your sake, lilla," he answered; "but i can't believe in this creek, you know." "not believe in it! why not, ned?" "there was too much gold in it; the whole story is too much like a fairy tale. and then, you know, when you took him in, pete was as penniless as i was." "penniless! what's that?" "hadn't a cent to his name, i mean, and you fed him and took care of him." "ach, so. well, what has that to do with the creek?" "people who find gold-mines ought not to be dependent upon good little girls like you for their bread and cheese. it's not natural, you know." "ach, now you make me to understand. but you yourself, you don't know cariboo ways. pete had plenty of dust, oh, lots and lots of dust, when he came down; but, of course, he blew it all in before i saw him." to anyone not conversant with mining life that "of course" of lilla's was delicious. to the steady-going collector of hard-earned copper and silver it seems anything but a matter of course to "blow in" a fortune in a fortnight; but then things were not done in an ordinary jog-trot fashion either in california in ' or in cariboo in ' . "oh! of course, of course!" returned ned with a smile which he could not hide. "i beg your pardon, lilla. i had forgotten for a moment that i was in cariboo, and thought as if i were at home again. well, and what was the matter with your beggared croesus when you found him?" "if you mean what was the matter with pete, i have before told you. he drink too much one night, and then he fall asleep in the snow, and when he wake in the morning he have the pleurisy, i think you call him." it was a long sentence for lilla, who was getting a little bit roused by the young scoffer at her side; and, moreover, her english was always best when produced in small quantities. "and why did they bring him to you?" "where else could they take him? the boys can't leave their claims to nurse sick men, and at night they are too tired to nurse anyone. and besides--" "and besides," interrupted her companion, "lilla is never tired. oh, dear, no! her eyes never want sleep, nor her limbs rest after dancing with all those roughs on a floor like a ploughed field." "don't you call the boys roughs, ned. they are not rough to me. of course i had to nurse old pete. what are women meant for?" "something better than camp-life in cariboo," replied corbett warmly; "but it is just as well for me that you don't think so." "well, and so i nursed him," continued the girl, disregarding ned's last speech altogether; "and sometimes he told me where he had been, and how much gold he had found, and at last one day when he knew that he must die he told me of this creek in chilcotin with gold in the bed of it--free gold, coarse gold in nuggets and lumps, and as much as ever you want of it." "why did he not bring down more of it, instead of letting you keep him as you kept me?" asked the doubter. "_ach, himmel!_ keep you! i didn't keep you. you are too proud, and will pay for every little thing; but old pete, he understood cariboo ways. to-day you strike it rich and i am stone-broke. very well. i lend you a handful of dollars and start you again. you don't need to thank me. any gambler would do as much. by and by i strike it even rockier than you struck it. all right, then you 'ante' up for me. that's cariboo." "is it?" asked ned, looking into the eager friendly face of this exponent of a new commercial creed. "is that cariboo? well, lilla, i expect samaria must be somewhere in cariboo. but finish your story about pete." "oh, pete! well, pete just died quietly, and he knew it was coming, and before it came he pulled out this," and the girl drew from her bosom an old frayed bill-head which we have seen before, "and gave it to me, and told me that as soon as i found--ach, what am i saying? i forget." and lilla suddenly brought her story to an abrupt conclusion, with stumbling tongue and flaming cheeks, for as a fact the old man had told her that this map of his was the key to much gold, and that when she should have found a man worthy of her, she was to send him to bring it to her, and it should be to her for a dowry. but this was not quite what the honest little hurdy girl cared to tell ned corbett at present. however, ned never noticed her embarrassment. his eyes were busy with the document in his hand. "it seems a good clear map, and looks as if the man who made it was quite sane," he muttered. "sane? what is that--'sane?'" asked lilla. "level-headed" answered ned shortly. "you bet he was level-headed, ned. _ach, mein freund_, how you doubt! i tell you there are not many men in cariboo who would not go to look for that creek, if i would let them." again ned remembered steve's words, "she'll only trust you because she has lost her heart to you." "did you ever give anyone a hint as to where the creek was, lilla?" "no, never. at least no, i didn't tell him, but one man nearly guessed once." "nearly guessed once?" "yes. he said he knew more than i thought and i had better trust him, and wasn't the creek at the head of the chilcotin? and i said, 'well, which side of the chilcotin?' and then he smiled, and i felt angry. and when he said on the right bank i was glad, and i cried 'no, it isn't, i knew you didn't know.' and then he smiled more, and i saw that i had told him what he wanted to know. but after all that is not much, is it?" "who was the man, lilla?" "colonel--colonel--ach, i forget, there are so many colonels in america." "true, but what was he like?" ned had a queer fancy to know who this clever cross-examiner might be. "a thick dark man, stout and smooth." "with a lot of rings on his fingers?" "yes, always lots of rings. oh, he was a fine man, and such a dancer!" "cruickshank." "that is it--cruickshank, colonel cruickshank. but how did you know, ned?" "oh, i have seen him before," replied corbett quietly. this was indeed news to him, but he felt that he must be very careful not to frighten lilla, to whom oddly enough the name of the man who had robbed corbett had never yet been mentioned. that he had been robbed of course she knew, but by one of those strange accidents which often happen, she had never heard who had robbed him. "so that is all you can tell me about the creek is it, lilla?" said ned after a long pause. "well, if you still wish me to go at the end of this week, i will go for you; if i find it you shall pay me ten dollars a day for my work, and phon and steve the same; and if not,--well, if not, i shall have earned a right to teaze you if you believe in such cock-and-bull stories for the future." and ned gave lilla her bouquet and prepared to leave her, for they had by this time reached the door of her little cottage. "oh no, ned, that is not so at all, at all. if you don't find it, of course i pay the cost; and if you do, we go shares in the find." "as you please, lilla, but we have got to find the creek first," and so saying he turned and strode off to his own hut. there were many reasons now why he should go to look for pete's creek, but the belief in pete's creek or the hope of finding it was not amongst them. cruickshank knew something of the whereabouts of the creek, cruickshank with his insatiable love of gold; and ned himself had tracked him towards soda creek, where he must cross the frazer to get to chilcotin. yes, that was it. the tables were turning at last, and if there was such a place as pete's creek, ned would find cruickshank there, and shoot him like a bear over a carcase. chapter xix. "good-bye, lilla." it was not ned corbett's nature to say much about what he felt. like most of his countrymen ned was reserved to a fault, and prided himself upon an impassive demeanour, suffering failure or achieving success with the same quiet smile upon his face. the english adage "don't cry until you are hurt" had been only a part of the law of his childhood; the rest of it read according to his teachers: "and then grin and bear it." but even steve, who knew corbett as intimately as one man can know another, was astounded at the readiness with which, after one wild effort to grapple with the man who had killed roberts, corbett had been content to settle down quietly to his daily labour in the claims at antler. he could understand that his friend would take his own losses quietly. steve, like all yankees and all true gamblers, was a good loser himself, and didn't expect to hear a man make a moan over his own misfortunes, but he had not expected to see ned abandon his vengeance so readily. after lilla's incidental mention of cruickshank, steve began to understand his friend better. his impatience to be on the war-path again was the real thing; the assumed calmness and content had after all been but the mannerism of the athlete, who smiles a sweet smile as he waits whilst the blows rain upon him, for a chance of knocking his man out of time before his own eyes close and his own strength fails him. "so! you've only been lying low all this time, old man, and i thought you had forgotten," said chance, when ned told him of his conversation with lilla. "great scott, i wouldn't care to be cruickshank!" "forgotten!" echoed corbett. "do you suppose i am likely to forget that roberts risked his life for mine, and that cruickshank took it--took it when the old man sat with his back to him, and his six-shooter hanging in a tree?" "no, i don't suppose you would forget, ned. when shall we start? phon and myself could be ready to 'pull out' to-morrow." "that would suit me, steve, but i am afraid that you and phon are embarking on a wild-goose chase. i don't believe in that creek of pete's one bit more now than i did before i saw lilla's map." "that's all right, ned; but you see cruickshank believed in it, and so do we." "yes, cruickshank believed in it, and in looking for the one we shall find the other. that is why i am going." "i know all about that; but as long as we both want to find the same place, i don't see that it matters a row of beans why we want to find it," replied steve. "and mind you," he added, "i would be just as glad to let a little daylight into cruickshank as you would." "very well, if that is your way of looking at it, we need lose no more time. you are old enough to know your own business." "that's what. how about a cayuse?" "i bought one yesterday for a hundred dollars." "a hundred dollars! great scott, what a price!" "yes, it is a good deal, but old dad wouldn't let the beast go for less. he calculated it at so much a pound, and told me that if i knew where to get fresh meat cheaper in antler i'd better buy it." "fresh meat! i like that. has old dad taken to selling beef upon the hoof, then?" "seems so. anyway i had to pay for the bobtail almost as if i were buying beefsteak by the hundredweight." "well, i suppose we cain't help ourselves; we shall only be stone-broke again. it appears to be a chronic condition with us. let's go and look at the brute." an inspection of the bobtail did not bring much consolation to either steve or ned, for in spite of the smart way in which he had been docked, he was as ragged and mean-looking a brute as anyone could want to see. besides, he was what the up-country folk call "a stud," and anyone who has ever driven these beasts, knows that they add vices peculiar to their class to the ordinary vices of the cayuse nature. "he ain't a picture, but we've got to make the best of him," remarked steve. "so if you'll just fix things with lilla, i'll see about getting grub and a pack-saddle. we _might_ be ready to start to-night." this was steve's view on tuesday at mid-day. at five o'clock on wednesday he was a humbler man, heartily thankful that at last he really had got together most of the things necessary for one pack-horse. the last twenty-four hours had been passed, it seemed to him, in scouring the whole country for pack-saddles, sweat-clothes, cinch-hooks, and all sort of things, which hitherto (when cruickshank and roberts had had charge of the train) had seemed always at hand as a matter of course. "hang me if the cayuse doesn't want more fixing than a brooklyn belle," muttered steve. "but say, ned," he added aloud, "do you mean to start to-night?" in another two hours it would be comparatively dark in the narrow canyons through which the trail to soda creek ran, and in two hours the three travellers could not hope to make much of a journey. "better wait till to-morrow, boys," remarked an old miner who had been lending a hand with the packing, trying in vain to show ned how the diamond hitch ought to go. "it ain't no manner of use starting out at this time o' day." "i would start if it were midnight, jack," replied corbett resolutely. "once we get under weigh things will go better, but if we stayed over the night in camp, something would be sure to turn up to waste another day. are you ready there, steve?" "all set, sonny," replied steve, giving a final try at the cinch for form's sake. "then just drive on. i am going to get the map from lilla;" and so saying he bent his steps towards the dance-house, whilst, one leading and the other driving, his companions trudged away along the trail to soda creek. when he reached the dance-house lilla was waiting for him, and together the two turned their backs upon antler and walked slowly away under the pines. "so then," said lilla, "you will really go away to-night." "yes, we are really going, lilla, to look for your golden creek. don't you feel as if you were a millionaire already? chance does, i know, and has decided to whom he will leave his estate when he dies." ned spoke lightly, and laughed as he spoke. he saw that the girl was depressed, and wanted to cheer her up. but lilla only gave a little shiver, though the evening air was far from cold. "don't talk of dying, ned. it is not good to talk of. men die fast enough out here." she was thinking, poor little soul! how very near death that gallant yellow-haired friend of hers had been when she first saw him, and perhaps death might come near him again whilst she was not by to watch over him. ned looked surprised at her mood, but passed lightly to another subject. "as you please, lilla. where am i to find you when we come back from chilcotin?" "_das weiss der lieber gott_," she answered, speaking half to herself. and then recovering herself she added in a firmer voice, "either here or at kamloops: most likely at kamloops, if you are not back soon." "but we shall be back soon. what ails you to-night?" "it is nothing, ned; but it seems as if summer had gone soon this year, and these great mountains will all be white again directly. i don't think you will get back here this fall." "not get back this fall! why, surely, lilla, you don't think that we mean to jump your claims, or make off with your gold?" "no, no! of course not. i know you don't care for the gold, ned, like the other men. you don't care for anything like other men, i think." "don't i? just wait until i come back from chilcotin and pour buckets of dust into your lap. see if i won't want my share then?" "i wonder how long it will be that i must wait, ned? i think sometimes that we shall never meet again. tell me, do you think such atoms as we are could ever find their way to one another, up _there_? it seems so hard to lose one's friends for ever." and the girl looked despairingly up into the great blue vault above them, wherein even the greatest of the stars are but as golden motes. "yes, little sister," answered ned seriously. "i don't think that such as you will have much difficulty in finding their way up there." after this the two were silent for some time, standing on a rise above antler, looking out upon the deepening gloom of the evening, ned's heart very full of tenderness towards the little woman to whom he owed so much. it would have been so easy, ned could not help thinking, to put his arm round her and comfort her; but then, would that be a good thing for either of them? the world was all before them, and the world was not all cariboo. "come, lilla," he said at last, "this won't do. the night air is chilling you. you must run back now. what would the boys say if their little favourite came back without her smile? by george, they would give me a short shrift if they thought that it was my fault." "the boys! ach, what do the boys care? all women can laugh, and dance, and sing. one woman is all the same to them as another." well as ned knew his little companion, he had never seen her in this mood before, and his face betrayed the wonder which her bitterness awoke in him. a woman's eyes are quick, even in her trouble, to note the effect of her words upon anyone she cares for, so that lilla saw the expression in ned's face, and tried hard to rally her courage and laugh her tears away. after her fashion the poor little hurdy girl was as proud as any titled dame on earth, and since ned had not said that he loved her, she would try hard to keep her own pitiful little secret to herself. "don't look like that, ned. don't you know when i am acting. but, seriously, i am cross to-night. i wanted my gold, and i wanted to keep my play-fellow too. we have been such good friends--haven't we, ned?" it was no good. in spite of her that treacherous voice of hers would falter and break in a way quite beyond her control. flight seemed to her the only chance. "ach well, this is folly," she said. "_auf wiedersehen_, my friend," and she held out to him both her hands. it was a dead still evening, and just at that moment the horn of the pale young moon came up over the fringe of dark pine-trees and lit up lilla's sweet face, finding in it a grace and purity of outline which the daylight overlooked. but even the moonlight could add nothing to the tenderness of those honest blue eyes, which had grown so dim and misty in the last few minutes, or to the sweetness of that tender mouth, whose lips were so pitifully unsteady now. "_auf wiedersehen_" ned repeated after her. "_auf wiedersehen_, lilla,--we shall meet again." for a while he stood irresolute. what did shropshire or all the world indeed matter to him? he asked himself, and in another moment he might have spoken words which would surely have marred his own life and not made hers one whit happier. luckily just then a wild laugh broke the silence and recalled ned to himself. it was only the owl who laughed, but it sufficed. the dangerous charm of the silence was broken, and pressing the girl's hand to his lips he dashed away up the trail. steve chance and phon had made nearly four miles and begun to pitch camp whilst he was getting that map. chapter xx. the accursed river. this world is a world of contrasts, in which laughter and tears, darkness and light, unite to make the varied pattern of our lives. when ned corbett left lilla standing with tears which would not be denied upon her white cheeks, he felt as if he should never laugh again, and the ball in his throat rose as if it would choke him. in spite of the pace at which he strode through the moonlit forest aisles, his thoughts dwelt persistently upon the girl he had left behind him, or if they wandered at all from her, it was only to remind him of that snow-covered camp in the forest, at which he had taken his last farewell of that other true friend of his. and yet half an hour after he had wrung poor lilla's hands in parting, ned corbett stood watching his comrades, his sides aching with suppressed laughter. phon's voice was the first sound to warn ned that he had almost reached the camp, but phon and steve were both far too absorbed in the problem before them to notice his approach. "you sure you no savey tie 'um hitch?" asked the chinaman, who was standing with his hand upon the pack-ropes, whilst chance held the cayuse by the head. "no, phon, i no savey. you savey all right, don't you?" "i savey one side," replied the chinaman. "s'pose the ole man throw the lopes, i catch 'um and fix 'um, but i no savey throw 'um lopes." "what the devil are we to do then?" asked chance, looking helplessly at the pack and its mysterious arrangement of ropes. "if the old man does not overtake us to-night we can't start before he gets here to-morrow morning. i wonder what the deuce is keeping him?" phon gave a grunt of contempt at his white companion's want of intelligence. he had a way of looking upon steve as somewhat of an ignoramus. "what keep the ole man? you halo comtax anything, chance. young woman keep him of course. young woman always keep ole man long time, all same china. you bet i savey." "you bet you are a jolly saucy heathen, who wants kicking badly," laughed steve. "but say, if corbett does not come along, what _are_ you going to do with the packs?" "i fix 'um, you see," replied phon, suddenly brightening again and taking the pony by the head. "now then, you hold him there--hold him tight. he heap bad cayuse;" and phon handed the lead-rope to chance, whilst he himself swarmed nimbly up a bull-pine under which the pony now stood. a few feet from the ground (say seven or eight) a bare limb projected over the trail, from which the chinaman could just manage to reach the top of the packs, so as to tie them firmly to the bough upon which he stood. this done he descended again from his perch, hobbled the pack animal, and stood back to survey his work. he had tied up the pony's legs, and tied him up by his packs to a bull-pine. things looked fairly safe, but phon was not content. "you hold him tight!" he sung out; "s'pose he go now he smash everything." a minute later phon had undone the cinch and set the pack-saddle and its load free from the pony's back, and then picking up a big stake he hit the unfortunate cayuse a hearty good thump over the quarters, and bade him "git, you siwash!" the result was funny. a general separation ensued, in which--thanks to a pair of active heels--(horse's) a little blue bundle of chinese manufacture went in one direction, a hobbled cayuse went jumping away like a lame kangaroo in another, while the pack swung in all the mystery of its diamond hitch intact upon the bough of the bull-pine. it was a quaint method of off-saddling a pack-pony, but as phon explained when he had picked himself up again, it saved the trouble of fixing the packs next day. but such scenes as these are of more interest to those to whom packing is a part of their daily toils than to the average englishman. the ordinary traveller puts his luggage in the van, or has it put in for him, and glides over his journey at the rate of forty miles an hour without even seeing, very often, what kind of country he is passing through. it is quite impossible to travel quite as fast as this through cariboo even on paper; but i will make the journey as short as i can, though for phon and his friends it was weary work at first, with a pack-horse which would not be driven and could not be led. when the ordinary lead-rope had been tried and found useless, phon slipped a clove-hitch round the brute's lower jaw, after which he and corbett together led, throwing all their weight upon the rope and pulling for all they were worth. it seemed as if this must move even a mule; but its principal effect upon the "stud" was to make him sit down upon his quarters in regular tug-of-war fashion, rolling his eyes hideously, and squealing with rage. the application of motive power (by means of a thick stick) to his other end only elicited a display of heels, which whizzed and shot about steve's ears until he determined to "quit driving." after this the steed proceeded some distance of his own accord, and flattering terms were showered upon him. "after all he only wanted humouring," ned said; "horses were just alike all the world over. kindness coupled with quiet resolution was all that was necessary for the management of the most obstinate brute on earth." so spoke corbett, after the manner of englishmen, and the "stud" poked out his under lip and showed the whites of his eyes. he knew better than that, and for some time past had had his eye upon a gently sloping bank covered with young pines and some dead-fall. as he reached this he tucked in his tail, bucked to see if he could get his pack off, and failing in that let go with both heels at the man behind him, and then rolled over and over down the bank until he stuck fast amongst the fallen timber, where he lay contentedly nibbling the weeds, whilst his owners took off his packs and made other arrangements for his comfort, without which he pretended that it was absolutely impossible for him to get up again. this sort of thing soon becomes monotonous, and our amateur prospectors found that though they were doing a good deal of hard work they were not making two miles an hour. luckily for all concerned the "stud" died young, departing from this life on the third day out from antler, a victim to the evil effects of about a truss of poison weed which he had picked up in his frequent intervals for rest by the roadside. it was with a sigh of sincere relief that corbett and steve and phon portioned out the pack among them, and said adieu to their dead cayuse. whilst he lived they felt that they could not leave behind them an animal for which they had paid a hundred dollars, but now that he was dead they were free from such scruples, and proceeded upon their journey at a considerably increased rate of speed. flower-time was past in cariboo, and the whole forest was full of fruit. upon every stony knoll, where the sun's rays were reflected from white boulders or charred black stumps, there grew innumerable dwarf raspberry canes, bearing more fruit than leaves. by the side of the trail the broad-leaved salmon-berry held up its fruit of crimson velvet, just high enough for a man to pluck it without stooping, and every bush which steve and ned passed was loaded either with the purple of the huckle-berry or the clear coral red of the bitter soap-berry. best of all berries to ned's mind was that of a little creeper, the fruit of which resembled a small huckle-berry, and reminded the thirsty palate of the combined flavours of a pine-apple and a ribston pippin. altogether, what with the fool-hens and the grouse (which were too careful of their young to care properly for themselves) and the berries, it was evident to ned that no man need starve in the forests of cariboo in early autumn; but there were broad tracks through the long grass and traces amongst the ruined bushes of another danger to man's life every bit as real and as terrible as the danger of starvation. the fruit season is also the bear season, and the long sharp claw-marks in front of the track told corbett that the bears were not all black which used the trail at night and rustled in the dense bush by day. though they never had the luck to meet one, ned and steve had their eyes skinned and their rifles loaded for grizzly every day until they issued from the forest on to the bare lands above the frazer. as they could not get a canoe at soda creek they had to tramp down stream to chimney creek, where a few chinamen were washing for gold. these men, in return for some trifling gift of stores, took the party across the river, and so worked upon the mind of their fellow-countryman with stories of the great "finds" up stream of which they had heard that his eyes began to glisten with the same feverish light which had filled them at lillooet. the frazer had a peculiar fascination for phon, and no wonder, for there is something about this river unlike all other rivers--something which it owes neither to its size nor its beauty. the frazer looks like a river of hell, if hell has rivers. from where ned corbett stood, high up above the right bank, he could get glimpses of the river's course for some miles. everywhere the scene was the same, a yellow turbid flood, surging savagely along through a deep gully between precipitous mud bluffs, whose sides stained here and there with metallic colours--vivid crimson and bright yellow, made them look as if they had been poured hot and hissing from nature's cauldron, and that so recently that they had not yet lost the colours of their molten state. the rolling years are kind to most things, beautifying them with the soft tints of age or veiling them with gracious foliage, but the banks of the frazer still look raw and crude; the gentler things of earth will have nothing to do with the accursed river, in which millions of struggling salmon rot and die, while beside its waters little will grow except the bitter sage bush and the prickly pear. when corbett and chance reached chimney creek the fall run of salmon was at its height, and added, if possible, to the weird ugliness of the river. from mid-stream to either bank every inch of its surface was broken by the dorsal fins or broad tails of the travelling fish, while in the back waters, and under shelter of projecting rocks, they lay in such thousands that you could see the black wriggling mass from a point several hundred yards away. from the shingle down below you could if you chose kill salmon with stones, or catch them with your hands, but you could not walk without stepping on their putrefying bodies, which while they still lived and swam took the vivid crimson or sickly yellow of the frazer's banks. they looked (these lean leprous fish) as if they had swallowed the yellow poison of the river, and it was burning their bodies alive. and yet like the men their betters they still struggled up and up, reckless of all the dangers, though out of every hundred which went up the frazer not three would ever find their way back again to the strong wholesome silvery sea. the glutted eagles watched for them, the bears preyed upon them, indians speared them; they were too weak almost to swim; their bodies were rotting whilst they still lived, and yet they swam on, though their strength was spent and they rolled feebly in a flood through which, only a few months earlier, they would have shot straight and strong as arrows fresh loosed from the bow. gold and desolation and death, and a river that roared and rattled as if playing with dead men's bones; a brittle land, where the banks fell in and the ruined pines lay, still living, but with their heads down and their roots turned up to the burning sky; a land without flowers, jaundiced with gold and dry with desire for the fairer things of earth--this is what corbett saw, and seeing, he turned away with a shudder. "my god!" he said, "gold should grow there; nothing else will; even the fish rot in that hell broth!" "you aren't polite to father frazer, ned. so i will propitiate him;" and the yankee turned to the yellow river, and holding high a silver dollar he cried, "see here, old river, steve chance of n'york is dead broke except for this, and this he gives to you. take his all as an offering. the future he trusts to you." and so saying steve sent his last coin spinning out into the gully, where for a moment it glittered and then sunk and was lost, swallowed up in the waves of the great river, which holds in her bed more wealth than has ever been won from nature by the greed and energy of man. chapter xxi. pete's creek. for an hour steve and ned toiled steadily up the yellow banks, bluff rising above bluff and bench above bench, and all steep and all crumbling to the tread. the banks of the frazer may possess the charm of picturesqueness of a certain kind for the tourist to whom time is no object, and for whom others work and carry the packs, but they were hateful as the treadmill and a very path of thorns to the men who toiled up them carrying a month's provisions on their backs, and wearing worn-out moccasins upon their swollen, bleeding feet. it was with a sigh of heartfelt thankfulness that corbett and chance topped the last bench, and looked away to the west over the undulating forest plateau of chilcotin. men know chilcotin now, or partly know it, as the finest ranching country west of calgary, but in the days of which i am writing it was very little known, and steve and his friends looked upon the long reaches and prairies of yellow sun-dried grass, dotted here and there with patches of pine forest, as sailors might look upon the coast of some untrodden island. to steve and phon this yellow table-land was the region of fairy gold. it was somewhere here that the yellow stuff which all men love lay waiting for man to find it. surely it was something more than the common everyday sun which made those chilcotin uplands so wondrously golden! so thought steve and phon. to ned all was different. as far as the eye could see a thousand trails led across the bluffs, gradually fading away in the distance. they were but cattle trails--the trails of the wild cattle of those hills--blacktail deer and bighorn sheep, but to ned they were paths along which the feet of murder had gone, and his eye rested on the dark islands of pine, as if he suspected that the man he sought lurked in their shadow. "well, ned, which is the way? let's look at the map," said chance. ned produced the map, and together the two men bent over it. "the trail should run south-west from the top of this ridge, until we strike what old pete calls here a 'good-sized chunk of a crik.' that is our first landmark. 'bear south-west from the big red bluff,' he says--and there's the bluff," and ned pointed to a big red buttress of mud upon the further bank of the frazer. "that's so, ned, but i can see another big red bluff, and there are any number of trails leading more or less south-west," replied chance. "well, let's take the biggest," suggested corbett, and no one having any better plan to propose, his advice was taken. for some time all went well. the trail was plain enough for a blind man to follow, and the walking, after that which they had experienced in the forest and along the banks of the frazer, was almost a pleasure to them. unfortunately there were a few drawbacks to the pleasures of travel even in chilcotin. in cariboo and up the frazer the indians had already learnt that the white man's rifle could kill nearly as far as a man could see, and they respected the white men, or feared them, which did as well. but in chilcotin the red men were untamed (they are less tamed still, probably, than any indians on the pacific coast), and it was necessary for ned and his friends to take care lest they should blunder unasked into some hunter's camp. this upon the evening of their first day upon these table-lands they very nearly did, but as luck would have it, they saw the thin column of blue smoke winding up from a clump of pines just in time, and slunk away into the bed of pete's "good-sized chunk of a crik," where they lay without a fire until the dawn of the next day. luckily for them the nights were still fairly warm as high-land nights go, but after sundown the air is always fresh upon these high tablelands, and no one was sorry when the day broke. the expedition, steve chance opined, had ceased to be "a picnic." food was becoming somewhat scarce, and already ned in his capacity of leader had put them upon rations of one tin cupful of flour per diem, two rashers of bacon, and a little tea. a cupful of flour means about four good-sized slices of bread, and although a man can live very well upon two slices of bread for breakfast and two at dinner, with a rasher of bacon and a little weak tea at each meal, and nothing between meals except twelve hours' hard work in the open air, he ought not to be sneered at if he feels a craving for some little luxury in the way of sugar or butter, or even another slice of bread. every now and then, it is true, something fell to one of the rifles; but they dared not shoot much for fear of attracting the attention of wandering indians, and besides it is astonishing how little game men see upon the march. you can march or hunt, but it is difficult to both march and hunt successfully at the same time. on the third day upon the chilcotin table-lands, the trail which the prospectors had been following "played out." for four or five miles it had grown fainter and fainter, and now the party stood out in the middle of a great sea of sunburnt grass, with no road before them and no land-marks to guide them. "i'll tell you what it is, steve, we have rather made a mess of this journey. it seems to me that unless there is something wrong with the sun we have been bearing too much to the west. it looks as if we were going a point to the north of west, instead of south-west, as we intended to do," said ned after a careful survey of their position. "likely enough," assented his companion. "i don't see how a fellow is to keep his course amongst all these ups and downs. besides, we followed the trail." "yes, and the trail has played out. i expect it was only a watering trail, though it is funny that it seems to start out of the middle of nowhere. let's steer by the sun and go nearly due south. we must hit off the chilcotin in that way." "what, the chilcotin river? yes, that seems a good idea. lead on, macduff!" so it was that with his companion's assent ned turned nearly south, and hour after hour strode on in silence over the yellow downs, until the sun had sank below the horizon. "it's time to camp, ned," cried steve, who had fallen a good deal behind his companions; "and that is rather a snug-looking hollow on our left. we should be sheltered from that beastly cold night-wind in there. what do you say?" "all right, if you must stop," replied ned, looking forward regretfully. "but ought we not to make another mile or two before we camp?" "you can do what you please, but i cain't crawl another yard, and don't mean to try to. bring yourself to an anchor, ned, and let's have grub." of course ned yielded. it was no good going on alone. "say, ned," cried steve a few minutes later, "we aren't the first to camp here. look at this." "this" was the carcase of a mule-deer, which lay in the hollow in which steve wanted to camp. "well, old chap, that spoils your hollow, i'm afraid. it is too high to be pleasant as a bed-fellow. by jove, look here!" and stooping, ned picked up the empty shell of a winchester cartridge. "the fellow who killed that deer has camped right alongside his kill," remarked steve. "see here, he has cut off a joint to carry away with him;" and steve pointed to where a whole quarter had evidently been neatly taken off with a knife. "it's some indian, i reckon, out hunting." "no, that is no indian's work, steve. an indian would have cleaned his beast, and even if he did not mean to come back for the meat he would have severed the joints and laid them neatly side by side. it is almost a part of his religion to treat what he kills with some show of respect. the man who slept here was a white man." "cruickshank?" suggested steve. "yes, i think so," replied ned quietly. "but he must have been here some weeks ago." "great scott! then we'll get the brute yet." "we may, but he has a long start of us, and the grub is getting very light to carry;" and ned lifted his little pack and weighed it thoughtfully. and ned was right, the man had a long start of them. from the evening upon which they found the ungralloched stag to the end of the month corbett and his friends wandered about day after day looking for pete's creek or cruickshank, but found neither. they had reached the chilcotin of course, and on its banks had been lucky enough to kill one of a band of sheep, upon which they lived for some days, but they could find no traces of that stream which, according to the old miner, flowed over a bed of gold into the river. they had washed pansful of dirt from a score of good-sized streams, and phon had let no rill pass him without peering into it and examining a little of the gravel over which its waters ran, but so far the gold-seekers had not found anything which seemed likely to pay even moderate daily wages. neither had they found anywhere traces of cruickshank. between the dead stag and the chilcotin they had come across two or three camps, probably the camps of the man who had killed that stag, but even corbett began to doubt if the man could be a white man. whoever he was he had worn moccasins, had had but one pack animal with him, and there were no scraps of paper, or similar trifles, ever left about the camps to show that he had carried with him any of the scanty luxuries which even miners sometimes indulge in. it was odd that he left no indian message in his old camps--no wooden pegs driven in by the dead camp-fire, with their heads bent the way he was going. but this proved nothing. he might be a white or he might be an indian. in either case it looked as if, after hunting on the left bank of the chilcotin, he had crossed to the other bank as if making for empire valley, and, knowing as much as he knew about the position of pete's creek, cruickshank would hardly have been likely to leave the left bank. ned began to fear that his quest was as hopeless as steve's. it was a chill, dark evening, with the first menace of winter in the sky, when ned announced that the grub would not hold out more than another week. "we have made it go as far as possible, and of course if we kill anything we can live on meat 'straight' again for a time, but i think, steve, we have hunted this country pretty well for pete's creek, and we may as well give it up," said ned. "and how about cruickshank? do you think he has cleared out, or do you think he has never been here?" "i don't know what to think, but i expect we shall come across old rampike on the frazer, and i shall stop and hunt with him." that word "hunt" has an ugly sound when the thing to be hunted is a man like yourself, and steve looked curiously into ned's face. would he never get tired and give up the chase, this quiet man who looked as if he had no malice in his nature, and yet stuck to his prey with the patience of a wolf? "what do you propose, ned? fix things your own way. i am sick of dry bread and sugarless tea, anyway." corbett laughed. he thought to himself that had he been as keen after the gold as steve had been, he would hardly have remembered that the tea had no sugar in it. phon, to his mind, was a much better stamp of gold-seeker than his volatile yankee friend. "all right! if you leave it to me, i propose that we go down to the frazer, following the chilcotin to its mouth, and prospecting the sources of all these little streams as we go. you see, so far we have only been low down near the bed of the chilcotin. what i propose to do now, is to keep along the divide where the streams rise. at any rate we shall see more game up there than down here." "_nawitka_ and _hyas sloosh_, as the siwashes say. any blessed thing you please, ned, only let us get out of this before we starve. what do you say, phon?" "very good, not go yet," replied the chinaman. "s'pose not find gold down low, find him high up." "phon sticks to his guns better than you do, steve," remarked corbett. "i daresay. a herring-gutted chinaman may be able to live on air. i cain't." but the morrow brought phon the reward of his faith, and twenty-four hours from the time when steve chance had asked only to be allowed to "get out of the confounded country by the shortest road," he would not have left it for ten thousand dollars. this was how it happened. about mid-day, the sun being unusually hot, a halt had been called to smoke the mid-day pipe and rest legs wearied with the steep climb from the river bed to the crest of the divide. "don't you think, ned, we might be allowed a square inch of damper for lunch to-day? we are going back now, and i am starving," said steve. "all right. half a damper among the three if you like, but not a mouthful more." even this was more than he had hoped for, so steve chewed the heavy damp morsel carefully; not that he distrusted the powers of his digestion, but because he was anxious to make the most of every crumb of his scanty repast. just below where the three were sitting grew a patch of orange-coloured indian pinks. "i guess there's water not far from those flowers," remarked steve, "and i want a drink badly before i light my pipe." dry bread is apt to stick in a man's gullet however hungry he may be, so that the three went down together, and found that, as steve suspected, the pinks were growing in a damp spot, from which oozed a tiny rill, which, as they followed it, grew and grew until the rapidity of its growth roused their curiosity, and led them on long after they had found the drinking-place they sought. all at once it seemed as if the stream had been augmented by water from some subterranean source, for its volume grew at a bound from that of a rill to that of a good-sized mountain stream, which gurgled noisily through the mosses for a few hundred yards, and then plunged through a cleft in the rocks to reappear, three or four hundred feet below, a dark rapid mountain-torrent, running between walls of wet black rock. "it is a queer-looking place, isn't it, steve? any fellow might go all over this country and miss seeing that creek. i wonder if it is worth while climbing down that place to prospect it?" but whilst the strongest stood doubting, the weakest of the party had scrambled like a cat over the rocks, and could now be seen on his knees by the brink of the dark waters, washing as he had never washed before. at last the little blue figure sprang to its feet, and waving its arms wildly, yelled: "_chicamon! chicamon!_ me find him. _hyóu chicamon!_" (_anglice_ heaps of money). diphtheria, cholera, the black death itself, rapid though they are in their spread, and appalling though they are in their strength, are sluggish and weak compared to the gold fever. in one moment, at that cry of "chicamon! chicamon!" (money! money!), chance had recovered from his fatigue, corbett had awakened from his dreams of vengeance, and both together were scrambling recklessly down the rocks to the pool, beside which phon was again kneeling, washing the golden dirt. in spite of his native phlegm and his professed disregard for gold, ned corbett actually jostled his companions in his eagerness to get to the water; and though his pet pipe dropped from his mouth and broke into a hundred pieces, he never seemed to know what had happened to him. when phon washed his first panful of dirt in pete's creek it was broad noon; when ned corbett straightened his back with a sigh and came back for a moment almost to his senses, it was too dark to see the glittering specks in their pans any longer. from noon to dusk they had toiled like galley slaves, without a thought of time, or fatigue, or hunger, and yet two of these were weak, tired men, and the third, under ordinary circumstances, really had quite a beautiful contempt for the sordid dollar. when corbett looked at the gleaming yellow stuff, and realized what power it had suddenly exerted over him, he actually felt afraid of it. there was something uncanny about it. but there was no longer any doubt about pete's creek. they had struck it this time, and no mistake; and if there was much "dirt" like that which they had been washing since noon, a few months of steady work would make all three rich men for life. in most places which they had seen, the gold had been found in dust: here it was in flakes and scales, as big as the scales upon the back of a chub. in most places a return of a few cents to the pan would have been considered "good enough:" here the return was not in cents but in dollars, and yet even now what was this which phon the chinaman was saying, his features working as if he were going into an epileptic fit? "this nothing, nothing at all! you wait till to-mollow. then we see gold,--heap gold not all same this, but in _lumps_!" and he got up and walked about, nodding his head and muttering: "you bet you sweet life! heap gold! you bet you sweet life!" whilst the red firelight flickered over his wizened features, and dwelt in the corners of his small dark eyes, until he resembled one of those quaint chinese devils of whom he stood so much in awe. as far as ned and his companions could calculate, their first seven hours' work had yielded them something like a thousand dollars-worth of pure gold; and already ned corbett almost regretted the price he had paid for it, as he listened to the eager, crazy chatter of his companions, and tried in vain to put together the good old pipe which he had shattered in his rush for that yellow metal, which gleamed evilly, so ned thought, from the tin pannikin upon chance's knee. there was another thing which corbett could not forget. it was true that they had found pete's creek and the gold, but there was no trace of cruickshank. chapter xxii. gold by the gallon! after the finding of pete's creek there was no more talk of returning to the frazer. in corbett's camp the reign of gold had begun, so that no man spoke of anything or thought of anything but the yellow metal. gold was a god to all the three of them, and phon and chance and corbett alike bowed their backs and worshipped, grovelling on their knees and toiling with pick and pan and rocker all the day long. only corbett rebelled at all against the tyranny of the strange god, and he rebelled in thought only. each day, in his heart, he swore should be the last which he would waste down by the creek, and yet every fresh dawn found him at his place with the others. luckily for the gold-seekers, pete's creek was rich in other things besides mere gold. trout abounded in the water, and huckle-berries grew thick some little distance down stream; and in addition to these good things corbett soon discovered that the trails which ran thread-like over the face of the cliffs above pete's creek owed their existence to the feet of generations upon generations of white goats--staid stolid brutes, with humps upon their backs, little black horns upon their heads, wide frills to their hairy pantaloons, and beards worn as seafaring men used to wear them, all round their chins and cheeks. these were the aborigines of pete's creek, and were if anything more confiding and more easily killed than the trout. every morning at early dawn the gold-seekers saw the goats clambering slowly back to the lairs, in which they hid during the daytime, and just after dark the rattling stones told them that their neighbours were on their way down again to the lowlands. whenever ned wanted one for the pot, the stalk was a very simple thing, the goat standing looking at the approaching gunner with stony indifference, until a bullet rolled him over. food was plentiful enough about the creek, and ned was able to lay aside what little flour remained, keeping it until the time came when winter should make a move to some lower camping ground an absolute necessity. so then the three had nothing to do but to gather up the gold-dust, and add pile to pile and bag to bag of the precious metal. all worked with energy, but no one with such tireless patience, such feverish vigour, as the little chinaman. compared to him chance was a sluggard, and even corbett's strength was no match for the ceaseless activity of this withered, yellow little mortal, whose bones stared through his skin, and whose eyes seemed to be burning away their sockets. the stars as they faded in the morning sky saw phon come down to work; the sun at mid-day beat upon his head but could not drive him away from his rocker; and night found him discontented because the hours in which man can labour are so few and so short. as long as phon could see the "colours" in his pan he stuck to his work, and when he could see no longer he carried his treasure to camp and kept it within reach of him, and if possible under the protection of ned and ned's rifle. even in the night season this slave of gold took no rest. in victoria in old days the devils used to come to him, and tell him all manner of things--when to gamble and when not to gamble, for instance; now they haunted him, and filled him with fears lest someone else should snatch his treasure from him. in spite of the absolute stillness which reigned round the creek, phon believed that he was watched day and night, nor could corbett's rough rebukes or chance's chaff shake him in this belief. twice he woke up, screaming that someone was taking away the gold, and once he swore positively that he had seen a face looking at him as he washed the rich dirt--a face which peered at him from the bushes, and disappeared without a sound before he could identify it. there were no tracks, so of course phon was dreaming; but perhaps, even if there had been anyone watching from the place at which phon saw the face, he would not have left a very distinct track, as the rock just there was as hard and unimpressionable as adamant. corbett, as he watched his servant muttering to himself and glancing nervously over his shoulder at every wind which stirred in the bush, felt convinced that the gold had turned his brain. and yet in some things phon was sane enough. it happened that there was, in a sudden bend of the stream, a great boulder, which broke the course of the water, and sent it boiling and gurgling in two small streams about the boulder's base. from the very first this boulder fascinated phon. for centuries it had stood in the same place, until green things had grown upon it, and gray lichens had spread over it. it was a favourite resting-place for the white-breasted dipper on his way up stream; the fish used to lie in the shelter of it, where their struggle against the water need not be so severe, or to wait for the food which was washed off its piers and buttresses: and sometimes even the deer would come and stand knee-deep in the stream, to rub the velvet off their horns against its angles. but phon the chinaman had guessed a secret which the old rock had kept for centuries--a secret which neither the birds nor the fish nor the deer, nor even those wise white-bearded patriarchs, the goats, had ever heard a whisper of. that rock was set in gold, and phon knew it. year by year the pebbles and the gravel and disintegrated rock were washed lower and lower down the bed of the stream, and all the while the gold kept sinking and staying, whilst the gravel and sand went on. but even gold must move, however slowly, in the bed of a rapid stream, and at last golden sand and flakes and nuggets all came to the bend where phon's rock stood. here the gold stopped. gravel might rest for a while, and then rattle on again; pebbles and boulders might be torn away from their anchorage under the lee of the rock by the eager waters, but gold never. once there phon knew it would stay, clinging to the bottom, and even working under the rock itself. knowing this phon looked at the rock, and greed and discontent tortured him beyond endurance. he had already amassed far more gold than he could possibly spend upon the paltry pleasures he cared for; but he loved the yellow metal for itself, not for the things it can purchase, and this being so, he proceeded to match his cunning against the strength of the rock. first he gathered great piles of quick burning wood from the banks and piled them upon his victim as if he would offer a sacrifice to mammon, and this he set fire to, bringing fresh supplies of wood as his fire burnt low. after a while the rock beneath the fire grew to a white heat, and then by means of a wooden trough which he had made, phon turned a stream of cold water from the creek upon the place where the fire had been, and these things he continued to do for many days, until at last the giant yielded to the pigmy, and the great boulder, which for centuries had withstood the force of the stream in flood-time and the grinding ice in winter, began to break up and melt away before the cunning of a wizened, yellow-skinned imp from china. about this time, and before the rock was finally split up and removed, phon suggested that it would be better to try to divert the stream from its bed at some point just above the rock, so that they might be able to get at the gold when the boulder had been removed. to do this flumes had to be made, and axes were in request to hew them out. at the first mention of axes steve became uneasy. there had been two axe-heads in the outfit originally, and he had been intrusted with one of them, and had lost it. "i know i had it in the last camp," he asserted. "then you had better go back for it; the last camp is only about five hours' tramp from here. or if you think that you can't find your way to it, i will go," remarked corbett. "i can find my way all right," replied chance in an injured tone, nettled at the implied slur upon his woodcraft; "but do you think it is worth while going back for it?" "certainly. you could no doubt make a hundred dollars here in the time it will take you to get that axe, but a hundred dollars would not buy us an axe-head at pete's creek." this argument being unanswerable, steve took the back track, and after being away from camp all day, returned about sundown with the missing axe and an old buckskin glove. "so you found the axe, i see?" was corbett's greeting when the two met. "yes, i found it; i knew to a dot where i left it. but it was deuced careless to leave it anyway, wasn't it? by the way, you did not leave anything behind you in that camp, did you?" "no, not i. i always go round camp before leaving to look for things. i only wonder that i did not see your axe." "oh, you wouldn't do that, i left it sticking in a cotton-wood tree a quarter of a mile from camp. but didn't you leave your 'mitts' behind?" "no, my dear chap. i tell you i don't leave things behind. here are my mitts;" and the speaker drew from his pocket a pair of buckskin gloves much frayed and worn. "then who in thunder is the owner of this?" exclaimed chance, holding up a single glove very similar in make to those which corbett wore. "your own glove, i expect, steve, isn't it? i haven't seen you wearing any lately, and one wants them pretty badly amongst these rocks. you thought that you had caught me tripping, did you, my boy?" and ned laughed heartily at his companion's crest-fallen appearance. "no, ned, this isn't mine," replied steve seriously. "see here, it would hold both my hands." "that is odd. where did you find it, steve?" and taking the glove in his hands ned examined it carefully. "you can't tell how long it has been out," he muttered, "the chipamuks or some other little beasts have gnawed the fingers; but the only wonder is that they haven't destroyed it altogether. where did you say you found it?" "about a quarter of a mile from camp. a bear has been round the camp since we were there, and i was following his trail for a bit to see what i could make of it when i came across this." "was it a grizzly's or a black bear's track which you followed?" "i couldn't make out. the ground was hard, and i'm not much good at tracking. i could hardly be sure that it was a bear's track at all." "it wasn't a man's track by any chance?" "confound it, ned, i am not such an infernal fool as you seem to think. yesterday you suggested that i couldn't find my way to the old camp, and now you ask me whether i know a bear's track from a man's." "don't lose your temper about it, old fellow. a man's track is very like a bear's, especially if the man wears moccasins and the ground is at all hard. of course if you are certain that what you saw were bears' tracks there's an end of it. after all, this glove may have been where you found it since last summer. it might have been pete's perhaps." and so the matter dropped and the glove was forgotten, for there were many things to occupy the attention of ned and steve in those days; and as for phon, he never even heard of the glove, being busy at the time upon some engineering work in connection with that great boulder of his at the bend in the stream. for several days the chinaman had ceased to wash or dig, all his time being devoted to preparations for the removal of the boulder, and at last, one morning, when the gully was full of the pent smoke of his fires, he was ready for the last act in his great work, and came to corbett and chance for help. on the top of the rock were the ashes of phon's fires, and at its feet, where once the waters ran, was dry ground, while from summit to base the rock itself was split into a hundred pieces, so small as to offer no serious difficulties to the united efforts of the three men who wanted to remove them. for centuries the rock had stood upon a kind of shelf, from which the three men, using a pine-pole as a lever, pitched one great fragment after another until the whole of the rock's bed lay bare. then for a moment they paused, while the smoke drifted about them, and the corded veins stood out strangely upon their pale faces. surely they were dreaming, or their eyes were tricked by the smoke! phon had guessed that the boulder had caught and held some portion of the gold which had come down the mountain stream in the course of the last few centuries, but the sight upon which he gazed now was such as even he had only dreamed of when the opium had possession of him body and soul. the bed of the boulder was a bed of gold--gold in flakes and lumps and nuggets; gold in such quantities that as steve and ned looked at it a doubt stole into their minds. surely, they thought, it cannot be for this common, ugly stuff, of which there is so much, that men toil and strive, live and die, and are damned! [illustration: "gold--gold in flakes, and lumps, and nuggets."] the wet pebbles amongst which the gold lay were twice as beautiful, and as ned wiped the perspiration from his brow he thought that a quart of gold would be but a small price to pay for a quart of honest bass. but phon had no such fancies. with a wild cry, like the cry of a famished beast, the chinaman threw himself into the hollow he had cleared, clawing and scratching at the gold with his long, lean hands until his nails were all broken and his flesh torn and bleeding. nor was chance far behind phon in the scramble. together the two delved and scratched and picked about the bed-rock, amassing little piles and stacks of nuggets from the size of a pea to the size of a hen's egg, and so busy were they and so intent upon their labour that neither of them noticed corbett, who after phon's first wild cry had turned away in disgust, and now sat solemnly smoking on a log by the camp-fire. taking his pipe from his mouth, he blew away a long wreath of fragrant smoke, and as he watched it dissolve in space his thoughts fashioned themselves into these strange words: "confound your gold anyway! i don't want any more of it in my share of life's good things." chapter xxiii. the hornet's nest. after the removal of phon's boulder there was no more talk of washing with pan or rocker, no more thought of digging or mining. even chance and phon were content with the quantity of gold which lay ready to their hands at pete's creek. the only trouble was that at pete's creek the yellow stuff was absolutely worthless, and that between pete's creek, where the gold lay, and those cities of men in which gold is of more value than anything else upon earth, were several hundred miles of wild country, where a man might be lost in the forest, or drowned in the river, or starved on the mountain, just like a beggarly _coyoté_, and that although he was richer than a rothschild. steve had heard of men in cariboo who had paid others ten dollars a day to carry their gold-dust for them, and he would gladly have done as much himself; but, unluckily, the only men within reach of him were as rich as he was, and wanted help just as badly. so steve joined corbett and phon, and the three men sat together looking down upon as much wealth as would buy the life-long labour, aye, the very bodies and souls, of a hundred ordinary men, and yet they were conscious that it was about even betting that they would all three die beggars--die starving for want of a loaf of bread, though each man carried round his waist the price of a score of royal banquets! steve was the first to break the silence. pointing away over the rolling forest lands, towards the bed of the frazer river, he said: "it looks pretty simple, ned, and i guess we could get there and back in a week." "do you? you would be a good woodsman if you got to the river in a week, and a better one if you ever found your way back here at all." "how's that? you don't mean to say that you think it possible that we shall lose the creek again now that we have found it?" "we ought not to, steve, but that is a bad country to get through and an easy one to get lost in;" and corbett's eyes dwelt mistrustingly upon the dark, dense woods, the deep gullies, the impervious stretches of _brûlé_, and the choking growth of young pines which lay between the knoll upon which they sat and the distant benches of the frazer river. "well what had we better do, ned? if we don't take care we shall get caught in a cold snap before we know where we are." "we had better leave here to-morrow morning, i think, steve, carrying all the gold we can with us, and make straight for the frazer. there we may meet some miners going out for the winter, and if they have not struck it rich themselves they may be willing to pack the stuff out for us. if not, we must look for old rampike and wait for the spring." "what! and put up with nearly another year of this dog's life with all _that_ lying there?" "i'm afraid so, steve. you can't order a special train from here to new york though you are a millionaire." for a little while steve chance sat moodily biting at the stem of his unlit pipe, and then he asked corbett-- "are you going to join rampike for his fall hunt, ned?" "certainly. why not?" "oh, i don't know, only i thought that you might have changed your mind;" and chance's eyes wandered round to the pile of gold nuggets over which phon kept guard. "that can make no difference, steve. i don't want what cruickshank stole from me. i want to settle with him for my countryman's life." "much good that will do poor old roberts. but as you please. we are all mad upon one subject or another. do you still think that cruickshank is somewhere hereabouts?" "i don't think that he is on this side of the river or we should have come across his tracks before now, but i fancy he is somewhere in this chilcotin country." "you don't think that that glove could have been his?" "you said that there were no men's tracks anywhere near it, so i suppose not." "that's so; but i've seen some of your tracks since, ned, which looked awfully like those bear tracks. i'm hanged if i know whether they were bear tracks after all!" "it is a pity you were so positive about them at first then. but it is too late now in any case. if the tracks were made by cruickshank he is far enough from here by now." again the conversation ceased for a time, the only sound being the rattle of pete's creek in the dark gorge below. "it is a pity the goats have all cleared out. don't you think you could find one, ned, before we start?" asked chance at length. "no, i'm certain that i could not. we must be content with trout (if phon can catch any), and the flour which i saved when we struck the creek." "ah, i had forgotten that. is there much of it?" "about half a pound apiece _per diem_ for a week." "short commons for a hungry man, especially as the berries are nearly all gone." "it _will_ be hungry work for us until we reach the frazer, but there is a little goat's meat left and the fish." "say, phon, you think you catch plenty fish by to-morrow?" "s'pose you come 'long an' help i catch 'em," replied phon. "all right, i'll come. how much gold you pack along with you, phon?" steve added as the three went down to the creek to fish. "me halo pack any," was phon's unexpected reply. "halo pack any! why, don't you want any gold?" "yes, me want him, but me not pack any. me not go to-mollow. me stop here!" "stop here! what, alone! how about the devils?" poor phon glanced nervously over his shoulder. the shadows were growing deeper and deeper amongst the pine stems, and the trees were creaking and groaning with a little wind which generally rose about sundown. "s'pose you want find men carry gold to victollia, one man go catch 'em. one man plenty. s'pose two man stop here, that heap good. no one steal 'um gold then," and the speaker pointed to the bags of dust. "nonsense, phon. who do you suppose would take the gold?" "debil take him; debil take him, sure. debil watch him all the time. s'pose all go, debil take him quick." "well, i'm afraid your friend the devil will take the stuff to-morrow morning, for to-morrow morning we all leave this place. you had better pack as much dust as you can carry if you are afraid to leave it." "no. me halo pack any. s'pose all go, me stop 'lone." it was a resolute reply in spite of the man's frightened face, and the tone of it arrested ned's attention. "have you ever really seen anyone about the camp?" he asked. "no, me halo see him, me halo see him. only me know him there. all the time he go lound an' lound and look at the gold and come closer. me halo see him, me feel him looking all the time. stop here, misser ned, stop here." "the gold has made you crazy, phon," said ned, somewhat contemptuously, disregarding the piteous appeal in the man's tone and gesture. "however, if you like to stay, it will do no harm. you can catch plenty of fish, and we shall be back in a fortnight or so." and then turning to steve, ned added, in a lower tone: "he'll change his mind when he sees us start, and if he doesn't we cannot drag him through that country against his will." that night the three discoverers of pete's creek worked as hard to collect a store of little trout as they had ever worked to gather gold, and at dawn two of the three stood ready to start on their march to the frazer. in spite of all ned's persuasions phon remained firm in his resolution to stay with his treasure. for him the woods were devil-haunted; articulate voices whispered in every wind; faces of fear were reflected from every starlit pool; and yet, in spite of all the terrors which walk at night, phon refused to leave his gold. in him greed was stronger even than fear. "he will be raving mad before we get back," muttered ned, as he gazed at the frail blue figure crouching over the camp-fire; "but what can we do? we can't 'pack' the fellow along with us." "no, we cain't do that," replied steve. "poor beggar! i wouldn't be in his shoes for all the gold in the creek." and as he stared in a brown study at the charred stumps and rough white woodwork in that gloomy canyon, at the broken rock and the dead fires, chance began unconsciously to hum the air of "the old pack-mule." "confound you, steve," cried corbett angrily, "stop that! isn't it bad enough to hear the winds crooning that air all night, and the waters of the creek keeping time to it? shut up, for heaven's sake, and come along!" and without waiting for an answer ned turned his back upon the gold camp and plunged boldly into the woods between it and the frazer. it had been arranged that corbett should go ahead with the rifle, and that chance should follow him with an axe. "any fool can blaze a tree, but it takes a quick man to roll over a buck on the jump," had been steve's verdict, and he had allotted to himself the humbler office. from the moment they left camp until nightfall, it seemed to steve that he and his companion did nothing but step over or crawl under logs of various sizes and different degrees of slipperiness. to follow the sinuous course of a mountain stream through a pine-forest may look easy enough from a distance, but in reality to do so at all closely is almost impossible. as for pete's creek, it ran through a deep and narrow canyon, the walls of which were precipitous rocks, along which no man could climb. the bed of the creek for the most part was choked with great boulders, amongst which the water broke and foamed, rendering wading impossible; and along the edges of the canyon up at the top the pines grew so thick, or the dead-falls were so dense, that it was all ned could do to keep within hearing of the creek. the constant forking of the stream made careful blazing very necessary, and this took time, and the course of the stream was so tortuous that they had frequently to walk four miles to gain one in the direction in which they wanted to go, so that when at last they reached a bare knoll, from which they could look out over the forest, it seemed to ned and steve that the frazer valley was no nearer, and the crawling folds of the great chilcotin mountains no more distant than they had been at dawn. but the folds of the mountains were already full of inky gloom, and it was evident that a stormy night was close at hand, so that whether they had made many miles or few upon their way, it was imperatively necessary to camp at once. almost before the fire had been lighted night fell, a night of intense darkness and severe cold, a cold which seemed to be driven into the tired travellers by a shrill little wind, which got up and grew and grew until the great pines began to topple down by the dozen. from time to time one or other of the sleepers would wake with a shiver and collect fresh fuel for the dying fire, or rearrange the log which he had laid at his back to keep the wind off; but in spite of every effort the night was a weary and a sleepless one both for ned and steve, and in the morning, winter, the miner's deadliest foe, had come. for a month or more yet there might not be any serious snowfall, but the first flakes of snow were melting upon corbett's clothes when he got up for the last time that night and found that the dawn had come. far away upon the distant crest of the black mountains at his back, ned saw the delicate lace-work of the first snow-storm of the year like a mantilla upon the head of some stately spanish beauty. "by jove, steve, we have no time to lose," said ned. "look at that!" and he pointed to the mountains. "if this is going to be an early winter, phon is a lost man." "lead on, ned," replied steve, "i'll follow you as long as my legs will let me, but if you can find any way of avoiding those dead-falls to-day, do so. nature never meant me for a squirrel or a blondin." "the only other way if you don't like balancing along these logs is down there over these boulders, and the water there is thigh-deep in places, and cold as ice;" and corbett pointed to the bed of the creek a hundred feet below. "let's try it for a change, ned, it cain't be worse than this," panted steve, who at the moment was crawling on his hands and knees through a mesh-work of burnt roots and rampikes. "all right, come along," said ned, and using their hands more than their feet, the two men crept down the rock wall of the canyon until they reached the bed of the creek. here things went fairly well with them at first. the water was icy cold, but their limbs were so bruised and feverish that the cold water was pleasant to them; and though the boulders over which they had to climb were slippery and hard to fall against, they were not more slippery and very little harder than the logs above. after two or three miles of wading, however, steve's limbs began to get too numbed with cold to carry him any further, and a return to dry land became necessary. looking up for some feasible way out of the trap into which they had fallen, ned at last caught sight of what appeared to be fairly open country along the edge of the canyon, and of a way up the rock wall which, though difficult, was not impossible. "here we are, steve," he cried as soon as he saw the opening. "here's an open place and a fairly easy way to it. come along, let's get out of this freezing creek;" and so saying he went at the rock wall and began to scramble up like a cat. steve was either too tired or too deliberate to follow his friend at once, and in this instance it was well for him that he was so, for a second glance showed him a far easier way to the upper edge of the canyon than the direct route taken by ned. clambering slowly up by the easier way of the two, steve was surprised not to find ned waiting for him when he at length gained the top of the rocks, and still more surprised when, after waiting for some minutes, he heard a faint voice below him calling him by name. "steve! steve!" cried the voice. "what is it, and where are you, ned?" answered chance. "here, underneath you. look sharp and lend me a hand, i can't hold on much longer!" by ned's tones his need was urgent, and yet chance could not get a glimpse of him anywhere. dropping on to his knees and crawling to the edge, steve leaned over until half his body was beyond the edge of the cliff. then he saw his friend, but even then he did not comprehend his peril. the rock wall at the point at which ned had tried to scale it ended in a kind of coping, which now projected over his head; but as if to make amends for this, a stout little juniper bush offered the climber a convenient hand-rail by which to swing himself up on to the top. and yet with the juniper within reach of him, there hung ned corbett yelling for help. "why don't you get hold of the bush, ned, and haul yourself up? i cain't reach you from here," cried steve. "daren't do it!" came the short answer. "there's a hornet's nest on it!" and as ned spoke steve caught sight of a great pear-shaped structure of dry mud which hung from the bush over the creek. "well, get down and come round my way." "can't do it. i can't get back," answered ned, who, like many another climber, had managed to draw himself up by his hands to a spot from which descent was impossible. at that moment, whilst steve was devising some kind of extempore ladder or rope, there was a rattle of falling stones, and a cry: "look out, steve, catch hold of me if you can!" and as the frail hold of his hands and feet gave way, ned made a desperate spring and clutched wildly at the very bough from which that innocent-looking globe of gray mud hung. the next moment, at the very first oscillation of their home, out rushed a host of furious-winged warriors straight for corbett's face. luckily for him steve had clutched him by the wrist, and though the sudden attack of the hornets upon his eyes made ned himself let go his hold, his friend managed to maintain his until, amid a perfect storm of angry wings and yellow bodies, the two lay together upon the top of the cliff. if steve had let go at that moment when the hornets rushed out to war, ned corbett must have fallen back upon the rocks at the bottom of the canyon, and there would have been an end to all his troubles. as it was he lay upon the top of the cliffs, and realized that the worst of his troubles were but beginning. "are you much stung, steve?" he asked. "you bet i am, ned. look! that would hardly go into an eight-and-a-half lavender kid now," and steve held out his right hand, which was already much swollen. but ned did not take any notice of it. instead he pressed his hands against his eyes and writhed with pain, and when steve laid his hand on him he only muttered: "my god! my god! steve, how will you and phon ever find your way out? i am stone blind!" chapter xxiv. drowning in the forest. perhaps no two men were ever in more desperate plight than were steve chance and ned corbett as they lay upon the edge of pete's creek canyon in the chilcotin country on that d of october, . for a week at least they had been living upon very meagre rations, made up principally of brook trout and berries; for a day and a half they had been stumbling hurriedly through one of the densest mountain forests in british columbia; and now, when chance's strength was exhausted and the grub half gone, ned the guide and hunter was utterly bereft of sight. for ten long minutes the two sat silent, then ned lifted his head in a helpless dazed way, and steve saw that both his eyes were completely closed by the hornets' stings. "chance, old chap, this is bad luck, but it will all rub off when it's dry. there are only two things now for you to choose between, either you must go on alone and bring help for phon and myself from the frazer, or go back and bring phon out with you. you and he could catch a fresh supply of trout up at the pool, enough at any rate to keep body and soul together." "and what is to become of you, ned?" "oh, i shall get all right. i must get on as best i can in the dark for a day or two, and then if you can spare me the rifle, i shall be able to forage for myself. if you _can_ spare the rifle i can do with half my share of the grub." steve chance laughed. it was not the time which most men would have chosen for laughing, but still steve chance laughed a quiet dry laugh. the yankee didn't like hard times, and didn't pretend to, but he had got into a corner, and had not the least idea of trying to back out of it. "say, ned, is that what you'd expect an 'old countryman' to do? i guess not. and if it comes to that, men don't go back on a pal in the new country any more than they do in the old. if you stay here, i stay with you. if we get out of this cursed country we get out together, and if we starve we starve together. let's quit talking nonsense;" and chance, whose spirit was about two sizes too big for his body, got up and busied himself about making a fire and a rough bed for his sick comrade, as if he himself had just come out for a pic-nic. now you may rail at fortune, and the jade will only laugh at you: you may pray to her, and she will turn a deaf ear to your prayers: you may try to bribe her, and she will swallow your bribes and give you nothing in return: but if you harden your heart and defy her, in nine cases out of ten she will turn and caress you. thus it was in steve's case. he was as it were fighting upon his knees, half dead but cheery still, and the woman-heart of fortune turned towards him, and from the time when he set himself to help his blind comrade things began to mend. in the first place, when he tried the creek for trout, he found no difficulty in catching quite a respectable string of fish in a little over an hour, although for the last two days he and ned had almost given up fishing as useless outside phon's pool. then on the way back from his fishing he met a stout old porcupine waddling off to winter quarters. stout as he was, the porcupine managed to move along at quite a lively pace until he reached a pine, up which he went as nimbly as a monkey; but steve was ready to do a good deal of climbing to earn a dinner, and did it (and the porcupine, too, "in the eye"). thanks to these unhoped-for supplies of fish and fresh meat the two companions were able to camp and rest for a couple of days, during which the inflammation in ned's eyes abated considerably, although he still remained totally blind, in spite of the rough-and-ready poultices of chewed rose-leaves constantly prepared for him by steve. "do you feel strong enough to walk, ned, if i lead you?" asked steve after breakfast, on the third morning in the hornet's-nest camp. "yes, i'm strong enough, but you can't lead a blind man through this country." "cain't i? i've been looking round a bit, and it's pretty clear ahead of us. i've caught a good lot of trout now, and if you will carry the rifle and the axe, ned, i'll try if i cain't find a way out for both of us." "and how about blazing the trail?" "oh, i reckon we must let that slide. we can go by the creek when we want to get in again. my blazing don't amount to much so far, anyway." "why not?" "well, it's no good raising cain now, old man, because the thing is done. i said 'any fool could blaze a trail,' and i was wrong; seems as if i'm a fool who cain't blaze one. anyway, i blazed all those trees for the first two days as _they came to me_, not as they passed me, and i reckon my blazes won't show much from this side of the trees." a moment's reflection will make the whole significance of steve's admission plain even to those who have never seen a blazed tree. in making a new trail through a thickly-timbered country it is customary to blaze or chip with the axe a number of trees along the trail, so that anyone following you has only to look ahead of him and he will see a succession of chipped trees clearly defining the path. if the trail is to be a permanent one, the man blazing it chips both sides of the marked tree, so that a man coming from either end of the trail can see the blazes. if, however, you only want to enable a friend or pack-train to follow you, you save time and blaze the trees as you come up to them, on the side facing you as you advance. this of course affords no guidance to you if you want to return along your own trail, and this was exactly what steve had done. but bad as his mistake was, it was too late to set it right, and realizing this ned made light of it, hoping against hope that whenever his eyes should be opened again he would be able to recognize the country through which they had passed, and so find his way back to phon. but in his heart ned never expected to see phon or the golden creek again. as he trudged along in the darkness, holding on to the end of steve's stick, he could hear the refrain of that old song following him; and though his eyes were shut he could see again both those camps in the woods, the one in which he had found roberts dead, and the one in which, as he now believed, he had left phon his servant to die. as a rule ned's mind was far too busy with the things around him to indulge in dreams and forebodings, but now that his eyes were shut his head was full of gloomy fancies and prophesies of evil. "i can't hear the creek any longer, steve," he said at length, as he and his guide paused for breath. "no, and i'm afraid, old fellow, that you won't hear it again. i've lost it somehow or other, trying to get round those dead-falls." "are you sure that you can't hit it off again?" "sure! you bet i'm sure. what do you suppose that we have been going round and round for the last half hour for? i've tried all i know to strike it again." "that's bad, but it can't be helped; steer by the sun now and the wind. the frazer is down below us, to our left front." for an hour leader and led blundered on in silence. following ned's advice steve took his bearings carefully, and then tried to steer his course by the sun and the way the wind blew upon his cheek. but in an hour he was, to use an americanism, "hopelessly turned round." you cannot go straight if you want to in the woods unless you have a gang of men with you to cut a road through live timber and dead-fall alike; you must diverge here to escape a canyon, there to avoid a labyrinth of young pines, and even if you try to cut across a dead-fall you will be obliged to achieve your object by tacking from point to point, just as the fallen trees happen to lie. when he took his bearings, steve was confident that nothing could make him mistake his general direction: a quarter of an hour later, when he had sunk out of sight of the sun, in a perfect ocean of young pines, he began to doubt whether his course lay to his right or to his left. the sun was hidden from him, no wind at all touched his cheek, and in that hollow amongst the pines he could not tell even which way the land sloped. he felt like a drowning man over whom the waves were closing, and in his helplessness he became more and more confused, until at last he was hardly certain whether the sun rose in the east or in the west. to the man who sits quietly at home and reads this it may seem incredible that a level-headed man, and no mean woodsman as woodsmen go, should ever entirely lose his head and distrust his memory of the common things which he has known all his life. and yet in real life this happens. men will get so confused as to doubt whether the needle of their compass points to the north or _from_ the north, and so muddled as to their landmarks as to be driven to the conclusion that "something has gone wrong" with the compass, making it no longer reliable. as for steve he had lost confidence in everything, and was wandering at random amongst woods which seemed endless--woods which shut out all life and stifled all hope, which laid hold of him and his comrade with cruel half-human hands, stopping and tripping their tired feet and tearing flesh as well as clothes to ribands. "are we getting near the bench country yet, steve?" asked ned at length. "we don't seem to me to be going very straight." "how can you tell, ned? are you beginning to see a little?" "devil a bit, but it feels as if we were scrambling along side-hills instead of going steadily downhill all the time, though i daresay it is only my fancy. i'm not used to going about with my eyes shut." "and _i_ am," said steve bitterly. "that is just what i've been doing all my life, and now we shall both have to pay for it. we may as well sit down and die here, ned. i cain't keep this farce up any longer. i'm clean turned round and have been all day;" and with a great weary sigh steve chance sank down upon a log and buried his head in his hands. he was utterly broken down, physically and mentally, by the difficulties of forest travel. even to the hunter these british columbian forests are full of difficulties, but to a man like steve they are more full of dangers than the angriest ocean. for an hour or two hours, or for half a day, a patient man may creep and crawl through brush and choking dead-fall, putting every obstacle aside with gentle temperate hand, and hoping for light and an open country; but even the most patient temper yields at last to the persistent buffets of every mean little bough, and the most enduring strength breaks down when dusk comes and finds the forest tangle growing thicker at every step. to steve chance every twig which lashed him across the eyes, every log against which he struck his shins, had become a sentient personal enemy, whose silence and apathy only made his attacks the harder to bear, until before the multitude of his enemies and the darkness of the trackless woods, the young yankee's strength and courage failed him, and he sat down ready if need be to die, but too thoroughly exhausted to make another effort for life. had there been a ray of hope to cheer him he would have kept on, but a day's wandering in the dark labyrinths of a mountain forest, where the winds have built up barriers of fallen pines, and where the young trees rise in dark green billows above the bodies of their unburied predecessors, is enough to kill hope in the most buoyant heart. "don't throw up the sponge, steve," said a voice at his elbow. "we'll reach the frazer yet." the speaker was blind, and though he had never opened his mouth to complain all through that weary day, be sure that the led man had borne many a shrewd buffet which his leader had escaped. if the forest was dark to steve, it was darker to blind ned corbett, but he at any rate was unbeaten still. "i think that i shall be able to see a little to-morrow, steve," he went on; "and i believe that i can put your head straight now." "i don't see how even you can do that, ned," replied chance despondently. "don't you? well, let's try. are there any deer tracks near us?" "yes, here's an old one leading right past the log we are sitting on." "that's good. now follow that downhill, and if you lose sight of it look for another and follow that downhill too. the stags may go a long way round, but it is long odds that they will go at last to water, and all water in this country leads to the frazer." ned's reasoning seemed so sound to steve that for a time it inspired him with fresh energy, and although at nightfall he had not yet reached the promised stream, he rose again next day with some faint hope to renew the search. but the stags of chilcotin were neither blind nor lame nor tired, so that a journey which occupied more than a day at the pace at which tired men travel, was but an afternoon's ramble for them. for the men, their followers, the end was very near. at mid-day upon the fourth day of corbett's blindness, he and steve were slowly picking their way through logs and over boulders which seemed to everlastingly repeat themselves, when ned felt a jerk at the stick by which steve led him, and the dry sal-lal bushes crushed and the stick hung limply in his hand. there was no one holding on to the other end of it! "what, steve, down again?" he cried. "hold up, old man!" but there was no answer. "steve," he cried again, "are you hurt?" but not even a rustling bush replied. whatever was the matter, steve chance lay very still. "great heavens, he can't be dead!" muttered the poor fellow; and the horror of the thought made the cold perspiration break out upon his brow. "steve! steve!" he cried, and falling upon his knees he groped among the bushes until his hand rested upon his comrade's quiet face. there was no blood upon either brow or cheek (ned's questioning hand could tell that much), so no stone had struck him in his fall, and as he pressed his hand against steve's chest a faint fluttering told ned that life was not yet extinct. but if not extinct it was at a very low ebb, and when he had raised his comrade's head and made a rough pillow for it of logs, ned corbett sat down in the silence and in the darkness to wait alone for death. he could do no more for steve. if he wanted water he could not get it, indeed if he dared to move a yard or two away it was ten to one but that he would never find his way back again. there was food enough in his pack for one more slender meal, and probably the food in poor chance's pack would never be wanted by him, but when that was gone, unless god gave him back his sight, strong man though he was, ned corbett could only sit there day by day in the darkness and starve to death. he wondered whether a death by starvation was painful, whether in such straits as his it would be unmanly to kiss the cold muzzle of his good winchester and then go straight to his maker and ask him what he had done amiss that all these troubles should have come upon him. but ned corbett put the thoughts away from him. suicide was after all only a way of sneaking out of danger and away from pain--it was a form of "funking;" and though ill luck might dog him, and bully him, and eventually kill him, ned ground his teeth and swore that it should not make him "funk." but it did seem hard to think of steve's sanguine hopes as they sat in their tent by victoria's summer sea, to think of the weary pack-trail to williams creek, the worthless claims, old roberts' stony face gazing piteously to heaven, the gold in piles at pete's creek, and all the rest of it; and then to think that their share in the play must end here, drowned in a forest of pines, lost in the dark and forgotten, whilst that thief would return to the light and live out his days amongst his fellow-men in wealth and honour. just at this point the bushes at ned's feet stirred, and a faint voice murmured: "ned--are you there, ned?" in a moment cruickshank was forgotten, and the whole pageant of the unsuccessful past vanished. steve lived, that was enough for ned. "yes, old man, of course i am. what is it?" "where am i, ned, and what has happened?" "you've tumbled down and stunned yourself, i think, steve; but lie still a little and you'll come round all right." "i don't think that's it, old man. i'm not in any pain, but i think (don't get riled at me)--i think i am going to send in my chips!" "nonsense, steve. don't make a blessed school-girl of yourself." corbett spoke roughly to rouse his comrade to fresh effort, but his own voice was very husky in spite of himself. "it's no good, ned, you cain't get another kick out of me; and it doesn't much matter, anyway. do you remember that indian superstition about the owls hooting when a chief is going to die?" "one of poor rob's yarns, wasn't it?" "yes, one of rob's. there! do you hear the owls now? there must be a dozen of them at least." "what rubbish, steve; and anyway you aren't a chief, and the owls only hoot for a chief's death." chance did not answer, but instead, from somewhere high up in the mountain forest, came a deep hollow "whoo, whoo!" answered almost immediately from the pines just below where the white men lay. again and again the cries reverberated through the forest, and chance shuddered as he heard the hollow prophecy of death, whilst corbett, who had started to his feet, stood straining every muscle and every sense to catch each note of that weird hooting. suddenly a smile spread over his swollen features as he said: "do you hear that, steve?" and at the same moment a sharp "thud, thud" seemed to come through the forest and stop suddenly at the very edge of the clearing in which ned stood, and steve turning feebly on his elbow saw a beautiful black and gray face, out of which stared two great eyes, and above it were ears, long twitching ears, which seemed to drink in every forest whisper. for a moment steve saw this, and noted how the shadow of the fluttering leaves played over the deer's hide, and then there came a sudden flash of white, and in a few great bounds the apparition vanished, clearing six-foot logs as if they had been sheep hurdles. "a mule deer, wasn't it?" asked ned, who in spite of his blindness seemed to have understood all that was happening. "yes, a mule deer, and a rare big one too. of course i was too slow and too weak to get the rifle;" and with a groan steve sank back upon his side and shut his eyes again. "no matter, steve, the owls will get him, and we shall have our share. did you hear that?" as ned spoke a rifle-shot woke the mountain echoes, followed by another and another, each shot lower down the mountain than the one preceding it. "great scott, how infamously they shoot!" muttered ned. "the first fellow wounded him and he isn't down yet. ah, there--at last!" he added, as a fourth shot was followed by an owl's cry, differing somewhat from those which had preceded the advent of the deer. "what do you mean, ned?" asked chance, who had been sitting up watching and listening open-mouthed to his comrade's soliloquy. "mean? why, indians, of course. 'whoo, whoo' means 'where are you?' and 'hè, hè' means 'i've killed, come and help me pack him home;'" and ned put his hands to his mouth, and drawing a deep breath sent the deep sepulchral call-note of the owl echoing through the forest. "it's life or death, steve," he remarked; "if the indians aren't friendly it's death, but it will be a better death anyway than starving here in the dark." chapter xxv. in the camp of the chilcotins. as the echoes of ned's hoot died away amongst the pines, both he and steve became conscious that they were no longer alone. someone else had entered the clearing, and a pair of human eyes were intently fixed upon them. this both the white men knew, not by sight or hearing, but by that other sense for which we have no better name than instinct. they had not heard a rustle among the leaves, nor had steve seen so much as a shadow upon the grass, and yet both men turned simultaneously towards the same point, and ned, in spite of his blindness, said "_clahowyah_" as confidently as if he held his visitor by the hand. "_clahowyah_" (how do?), repeated a deep guttural voice from the shadow of the pines, and as he spoke a broad-shouldered wiry redskin stepped softly over the logs to meet the whites. if he always moved as silently as he moved then, it was no wonder that the listening deer so often found themselves looking down the barrel of anahem's hudson bay musket before their great ears had given them any warning of their danger. "thank god, we are saved," whispered ned, as the chief's words reached him. "he has traded with whites, or he wouldn't speak chinook. lead me up to him." but anahem saw the outstretched hand as soon as chance, and stepping quickly forward took it. "_mika halo nanitch?_" (you don't see?), he asked. "_halo!_" replied ned, and he pointed to his swollen eyelids. "_mika comtax_--by and by _skookum nanitch_" (i understand, by and by you'll see all right), replied the chief, and then turning he repeated the owl's call twice, and almost immediately a low answer came to him from the woods above. luckily for steve and ned, the chief of the chilcotins had met many white men when in his early days he had hunted on the stikeen river, and all those whom he had met had been servants of a company which has always kept good faith with its indian neighbours and employés. the honesty and fair dealing of the hudson bay company saved the two white men's lives from anahem and his tribesmen, as it has saved many a hundred lives both of redskins and whites since the day when the two races first met. anahem knew that a fresh class of whites had lately come into his country--whites who cared nothing for skins and trading, but who spent all their time digging and making mud-pies by the river banks. he knew it because he had heard of them, had seen their strange canoes upon the frazer, bottom upwards sometimes; and once he had found one of their tin cups, with something scratched upon it, hanging to a pine-tree, underneath which lay a little pile of bones which the _coyotés_ had cleaned. probably these men, he thought, were gold-diggers, and lost as that other one had been lost, whose bones he had seen; but at any rate they were both very weak, and one was blind, so for the sake of that great company which was honest, anahem determined to help these men, who, within half an hour of their first meeting with the chief, lay warm and at rest within the glow of his camp-fire. then it seemed to steve that their troubles fell away from them like the forest shadows before the firelight, and it seemed already years ago since he and ned had sat down in the bushes to die. anahem's tribe was out for its fall hunt, and ned and steve had luckily wandered within the arms of the great drag-net of men, which was still sweeping the hillsides for game. as they lay by the camp-fire ned and his companion could hear the hunters calling to each other; but the net was broken now, and the cries were the cries of the owl who has killed, not of the owl who still seeks his quarry. here and there high up amongst the woods steve could see a little column of smoke, marking the spot where some belated hunter had made up his mind to pass the night. the fire would serve to cook his food and keep him warm; and if any friend chose to come and help him home with his game, the smoke would guide him. but most of the hunters brought back their game to camp that night, dragging it along the trails, or packing it on their backs, so that before steve slept he had seen fifteen carcases brought in as the result of this one hunt. he had often wondered in old days, how men who neither ploughed nor sowed nor kept cattle could manage to live through the long winter months: now he wondered no longer. the chilcotins had been in camp for a week, and there were only six men amongst them who had muskets, and yet there were four great stacks of raw hides in their camp already--stacks as high as a man's head, and on every bough within a hundred yards of the fires were hanging strips and chunks of deers' meat. the camp reminded steve of the appearance of a hawthorn bush, in which a butcher-bird has built its nest,--the whole place was red with raw meat, and there were piles of soft gray down and hair, three and four feet high. these were the scrapings of a hundred hides, roughly cleaned by the indian women during the week. in such a camp as anahem's hunger is an easy thing to cure, and that and blindness were ned's chief complaints; and even the blindness yielded in a day or two to a certain dressing prepared for ned by the squaws. but steve chance did not recover as easily as corbett did. the prostration from which he suffered was too severe to be cured by a long night's rest and a couple of square meals. at night he lay and tossed in broken slumbers, and dreams came to him which wearied him more than if he had never slept. he saw, so he said, the gold-camp every night of his life, and phon the only human being in it; and all the while phon stood in a flood of gold dust, which rose higher and higher, until it swelled and broke over him and ran on a yellow heavy flood like the flood of the frazer. day after day ned waited and hoped against hope, until the chilcotins were ready to strike their camp and go home for the winter. he had already done his utmost to persuade anahem to search for phon, but the chief took very little notice of him. either he thought that ned like steve was rambling in his mind, or he did not understand him (for anahem spoke very little chinook, and ned spoke less), or, and that is probable too, he did not think it mattered much what became of a chinaman; and as to the gold, if it really was there, it would probably wait until the white men could go and look for it themselves. if ned would have gone with him, anahem would have gone perhaps to look for the creek; but ned could not leave chance whilst he was ill, and steve would not get well, so that ended the matter. there seemed only one course open to ned, and he prepared to take it. anahem had told him as they talked one night over the camp-fire that he had seen the smoke of a white man's fire coming from a dug-out on the banks of the frazer. "how long ago was that?" asked ned. "on my way up here, about the time of the young moon," answered anahem. "then that may be rampike," muttered ned; and the next day he got anahem to show him the direction in which the dug-out lay. "could i get there in two days?" he asked. "a _skukum_ (strong) indian could. the sick white man can be there on the third day at nightfall." this was enough for ned. next morning he bought some meat and dried salmon from his indian friends, and guided by anahem and followed by chance he left the camp. if chance's strength would hold out until they could reach the dug-out, he could nurse him there at his leisure, and by and by, when steve was stronger, ned and rampike could go out together to look for phon and cruickshank. it was not impossible after all that they should find phon still alive, though fish and roots and the inner bark of trees would be all that he could get to live upon. but would chance's strength hold out? that was the trouble. he was terribly worn and weak, and his eyes shone feverishly, and he neither slept well nor eat well in spite of the fresh keen air. as he followed anahem up a steep bluff steve panted and his knees were unsteady, and when the chief stopped at last upon a bald ridge overlooking the pine-woods, he lay back upon his light load saying, "it's as well you've stopped, chief, at last. another hundred yards, and i should have bucked my pack off." anahem looked surprised that even a sick man should complain of such a trifling hill. an old squaw would have carried two sacks (a hundred pounds) of flour up it without a murmur, and steve's pack did not weigh half that. "your bones," he said, smiling rather contemptuously, "white bone, our bones wild bone," and then turning to corbett he pointed out to him where the deep-bellied frazer roared along in the valley below the pine-woods, and to one spot upon its banks, where, so he said, was the white man's dug-out. "you see," he said, "where the sun will set." "_nawitka_" (certainly), answered ned. "now, look on the frazer's banks under there where the sun will set, and you will see one patch all the same, like blood." "yes, i see it." "now, look to that side of it," and he waved his hand to the left, "and you will see one great mud-mountain like this;" and with his stick he drew in the sandy soil at his feet a picture of a great cathedral organ, with pipes reaching from the river to the sky. ned was startled by the strange likeness which the chief's picture bore to a thing which the chief could never have seen, but he held his peace and looked for the mud-mountain. "yes, chief," he said. "i see a great mountain of mud, but i cannot see the shape of it from here." "not see the shape of him! ah, my friend not see well yet," said anahem pityingly; and though ned knew very well that his sight was as good as it had ever been, he said nothing. he didn't want anahem to think that wild sight like wild bone was better than the civilized samples of the same. "well, you see the mountain. by and by you come closer and see his shape. under that mountain, in the bank on this side the river, stop one white man. you keep along this trail," and anahem pointed to the track upon which they stood, "along the ridge, and by and by it will go downhill, and on the night of the third day you will see the white man. good-bye," and before they knew that he was going the old chief turned, and like the shifting shadow of a cloud which the winds blow across the hillside, he moved away and was gone. there was no sound as he went--no twig snapped, no overall scraped against the bushes. in silence he had come, and in silence he had gone. for a moment the two with "parted lips and straining eyes stood gazing where he sank," for indeed it seemed to them as if the sea of the woods had opened and swallowed up their friend. then chance spoke: "a creepy old gentleman, ned; rather like one of phon's devils." "a deuced good devil to us, anyway. if we ever find phon and the gold we shall owe our good luck to him, as we owe him our lives." "yes, i wish he had stopped. i should like to have given him a 'potlatch.'" "just as well that you didn't offer him anything. he might have liked this rifle, but i really doubt whether he knows enough about gold-dust to make him value that." "that's what, ned. but come on and let us get through this beastly forest to those open benches below;" and chance made as if he would burst his way through the barriers of serried pines which intervened between him and the frazer valley. "what, again, steve?" cried ned. "isn't one lesson enough for you? if you tried that you would be lost again in ten minutes. no more short cuts for me. i mean to stick to the trail, and you must follow me;" and so saying corbett took up his bundle and went ahead at a quiet steady pace which, in five or six hours, brought steve to the land of his desire, where what trees there were were great bull-pines standing far apart, and giving men lots of room for their feet below and wide glimpses of heaven above their heads. as soon as they reached the open country chance's spirits improved, and his strength came back with his spirits, but for all that he was still so weak that the progress which ned and he made was very slow, and their provisions were again at a perilously low ebb when they came in sight of that strange freak of nature, opposite to which dwelt (so they hoped) their old friend rampike. the bluff was exactly as anahem had drawn it: an organ cast in some titanic mould, the pipes of it two hundred feet from base to summit, and stained with all manner of vivid metallic colours. at its foot was the gray frazer, and the dull sky of early winter hung low about its head; but the organ was dumb from all eternity, unless those were its voices which ignorant men attributed to the winds and the fretting foaming river. for awhile the two wanderers stood staring in wonder at this strange landmark, and then steve's weary face lit up with a smile and a mist came over his eyes. "ned, as i hope for heaven, there's smoke!" and he stretched out his arm and pointed to where a thin blue column curled up against the sky. ned saw the smoke as clearly as steve, but in spite of steve's entreaties he absolutely refused to press on towards it. "no, old fellow, we will camp here for a couple of hours, and you must eat and sleep. that smoke is a long way from here yet, and we may miss it to-night after all when we get low down amongst those sand-hills." from where they stood the column of smoke looked within a stone's-throw, but corbett knew well how the clear atmosphere of british columbia can deceive eyes unused to measure distance amongst her mountains. so in spite of steve's protestations the two men camped, and though he did not know it, steve ate ned's lunch, and ned carried steve's away in his pocket in case they should not be able to reach the river by nightfall. that slender ration in ned's pocket was the very last food which the two men possessed, and ned was already reproaching himself for his rashness in starting so poorly provided. "what if after all rampike should not be at the dug-out, or, if there, should be himself short of grub?" luckily for steve and ned it seemed as if fortune had almost spent her malice upon them, for that evening as they reached the edge of the last bench above the frazer, they saw that they had steered a true course. right below them, issuing from a little black funnel in the mud-bank itself, rose the column of smoke, and in the bed of the river, upon a sand-bar, they could see a man working a cradle. chapter xxvi. rampike's winter quarters. "hallo, there! hallo!" cried steve as soon as his eyes fell upon the man and his rocker; but steve's voice was so pitiably weak and small in a country where mud-banks are built like mountains, that it did not even wake an echo. "come along, steve; it's no good shouting for half an hour yet. look out for the prickly pears!" said ned, and so saying he plunged into a little ravine, whose beggarly barrenness cried aloud to winter to come and hide it from the face of the sun. "it's all very well to tell a man to look out for them," answered steve in the peevish voice of sickness, "but there is nothing else to step on. it's all thorns and sharp stones in this confounded country." "never mind, stick to it, old chap." "just what i am doing, worse luck to it," muttered steve, trying to tear himself away from a patch of little cacti upon which he had inadvertently sat down. ned turned and saw steve's plight, and the white woe-begone face of his comrade only heightened the comedy of the position. so that there, at the last gasp, sick and worn-out, these two failures, with their stomachs empty and their soles full of thorns, stood and laughed until the tears rolled down their cheeks. from the next step in the bench which led to the river ned joined his deep bass to steve's, and together they shouted their loudest to attract the man's attention. in vain. whoever he was the man worked on, bending over his rocker, with the gold fever at his heart and the boom of the great river in his ears. "it's no good, we must go right down to him," said ned; and five minutes later he and steve stood together upon the bar on which the man was at work. but so intent was he upon his rocking, or so silent was the approach of his visitors' bare and bleeding feet over the great boulders, that it was not until ned's shadow fell upon him that the gold-worker was aware of a stranger's presence. then quick as thought he sprang to his feet, snatching up a winchester as he did so, and covering his men with it before he had time to look into their faces. "stand off!" he roared, "or by 'mity i'll let light through you!" and for the moment it seemed a mere toss-up whether he would shoot or not. but the men he spoke to were as reckless of life as he was. hardship had taught them that a human life is not such a wonderfully big stake as the fat townsmen seem to think. "you're in a tearing hurry to shoot, ain't you?" asked steve coolly. "how would it be if we were to talk first? don't you know us, rampike?" at the first sound of steve's voice the miner had dropped his rifle into the hollow of his arm, and now he came forward, and holding out a huge hairy paw, yellow with river mud, said simply, "shake." it was not a very effusive greeting, but men don't "gush" much in the upper country, and yet that glimpse of a friendly face, and grip of a friendly hand, acted as a wonderful restorative upon the tired natures of both steve and ned. the sky itself seemed to get clearer and the mountain air less chill now that they had run against a "pal" once more. "wal, sonny, did you strike pete's creek?" was old rampike's first question after they had all three "shaken some." "we did so," answered steve. "any 'pay' up there?" "i should smile," replied the yankee, using the slang of his country, and throwing down the belt of dust which he had clung to through all his wanderings. "why, this is free gold!" "you bet it is; and there is enough for everyone we know and to spare," added steve, "where that came from." for a minute or two rampike only turned the gold over and over in his hands and said nothing. at last he asked: "did you git cruickshank?" "no, never saw him," answered ned. "praise the lord you ain't got everything. i ain't sure as i wouldn't ruther look at him through the back-sights of this here, than find a crik like yourn;" and the old man passed his hand caressingly along the barrel of his " . ." "but, say, you look mighty hard set. have you any grub along with you?" "not an ounce of flour, and this is the last of our meat;" and so saying ned pulled out of his pocket the ration which he had kept for chance. "it's pretty lucky that i'm well heeled in the way of provisions, ain't it, else we'd all starve. wal, come along up to the 'dug-out;'" and so saying he picked up his coat and rifle and led up to the bluff, until all three stood before the door of his winter residence. next to the homes of the pre-historic cavemen, and a few rude stone-heaps in which the caucasian ossetes live, the "dug-outs" along the frazer river are the most miserable abodes ever fashioned for themselves by men. and yet these holes in the hill, with doors and roofs aflush with the hillside, are better adapted to resist the intense cold of a british columbian winter than either frame-shack or log-hut. "come right in, lads," said rampike, putting his foot against the planks which served him for a door, and thus rudely clearing the way for his visitors into a little dark interior with walls and floor of frazer river mud. a rough table, a solitary chair, and a kind of bench furnished the hovel somewhat more luxuriously than might have been expected, but unless you took a deep interest in geology the walls and general surroundings in rampike's reception-room were distinctly crude and unpleasant. if, however, you cared for geology, you could study specimens of the frazer river system through the wide chinks between the boards which walled the room without even leaving your chair. indeed, there was more "bed rock," as rampike called it, than boarding in the composition of his walls. but neither geology nor furniture attracted any attention from steve or ned. when they entered the cabin their eyes lit upon two things only, and it was a good hour before they took any real interest in anything else. the two centres of attraction were a frying-pan and a billy, round which all three men knelt and served, making themselves into cooks, stokers, or bellows, until the billy sang on the hearth and the bacon hissed in the pan. then for a while there was silence, and this story does not begin again until someone struck a match upon the seat of his pants. i believe it was rampike, because, having had more experience than steve, he could bolt his food faster. i know that it was not ned, for he could never finish his meal until about the end of steve's first pipe. steve said it was because the englishman eat so much. ned said that in england men eat their food, in america they "swallered down their grub." "swallerin' down your grub," he said, "was a faster but less satisfactory process than eating your food." but as i wish to remain upon friendly terms with both disputants, i cannot enter into this matter. "do you reckon to go in again this fall?" asked rampike, without any prelude but a puff of tobacco smoke. "to the creek?" said ned, reaching across his neighbour for the billy. "yes, we must go in, and that soon." "what's your hurry? steve here cain't travel, and you're pretty nigh played out though you are hard; and as for the gold, that'll stay right there till spring." "you forget that there were three of us at antler. phon is up at the creek now." "phon! what, that chinee! is he up at the crik?" "if he is alive he is," answered ned. "he may have starved for all i know." "starved! not he; but you'll never see _that_ heathen agen. he'd live on dirt or nothin' at all, any chinee can do that; but you bet your life he ain't up there now. he's just skipped out to victoria by some other road with all the dust he can pack along. that's what phon has done." "you don't know him, jim, and you aren't fair to him. no westerner ever is fair to a chinaman. phon will stay by the creek. my only fear is that we sha'n't be able to find the creek." "not find the crik, you say! why, ned corbett, _you_ ain't no bloomin' tenderfoot in the woods, are you? you ain't likely to forgit your way to the bank when the whole business belongs to you?" "perhaps not, but i've been blind for a week;" and then answering the inquiry in rampike's eyes, ned lighted his pipe and told the whole story of his own and steve chance's wanderings, from the time when they struck pete's creek until their return to the frazer. now and again rampike broke in upon the thread of the narrative with some pertinent question, or a comment as forcible as a kick from a mule, but he managed to keep his pipe going pretty steadily until ned came to steve's feat in "blazing." then the old man's wrath broke out, and his pipe even dropped from his mouth. for a moment he looked at steve in speechless indignation, and then he expressed himself thus: "strike me pink," he said, "ef a real down-easter ain't a bigger born fool in the woods than any bloomin' britisher i ever heerd tell on. that's so." after this there was a pause, during which steve snored peacefully, and old rampike, having made an exhaustive examination of the bowl of his pipe, proceeded to refill it with chips from his plug of t. & b. at length ned began again: "you've been looking for the creek yourself, haven't you?" "no. i stayed right here, making wages on that bar there." "i wonder who made those camps then which we found along the divide. i can't think that those were indian camps;" and ned told his companion of the camps which he and steve had stumbled upon during their search for pete's creek, as well as of that glove found by the bear tracks. "bear tracks!" growled rampike, "not they. a softy who would blaze the wrong side of a tree wouldn't know bear tracks from the tracks of a gal's shoe with a french heel to it. cruickshank's tracks, that's what _they_ was, and ef you don't see more of 'em before you get your gold out of pete's crik you may call me the biggest liar in cariboo!" "you don't mean to say that you think cruickshank would dare to dog _us_?" "dog _you_! that man would dog the devil for gold." this was a new idea to ned. if there was any truth in it, then all phon's stories of faces seen in the pool, of eyes which watched the gold, of figures which rustled ever so lightly over the dry sal-lal on the canyon's edge, when all save phon and the night owls slept, all these stories might be something more than the imaginings of a crazed chinaman's brain. for a while ned sat silently smoking and looking thoughtfully into the embers. then he rose, and knocking the ashes out of his pipe said: "i am going to look for phon to-morrow if steve seems well enough to be left here. shall you come?" "yes, i reckon i may as well. you cain't hev all the sport, sonny. i'm ruther partial to gunning myself." chapter xxvii. the search for phon. for ten days or a fortnight after the conversation recorded in the last chapter, rampike and ned corbett wandered about the country trying to "locate" pete's creek. they started, as they had arranged to, upon the very next morning, leaving steve chance with ample provisions, to sleep and eat and rest himself after the hard times which he had been through, or if he wanted a little exercise and amusement there was the bar down below the dug-out upon which he could earn very fair wages by using rampike's rocker. from the dug-out to the mouth of the chilcotin was no great distance, and ned felt certain that anyone who knew his way to it could reach the camp in which he had left phon in one day from the river's mouth. unfortunately neither he nor rampike knew their way to it, and still more unfortunately they went the wrong way to work to find it. at the end of a fortnight they both saw their mistakes, but it was too late to remedy them. instead of taking up his own tracks at once and trying to follow them back through the woods to the creek, ned had taken rampike up the course of the chilcotin, in the hope that he would be able to identify pete's creek amongst the hundred and one creeks and streams which emptied themselves into the main river from its right bank. in this he failed signally, and when the search was over it was somewhat late to take up the back tracks, which were already faint and partly obliterated. however, there was nothing else to be done, so rampike and corbett started again, following the tracks step by step until they came at last to the chilcotins' camp. here they found dead fires and dry bones, and piles upon piles of soft gray fur, and over all these signs of slaughter more than one track of the inquisitive deer whose kinsmen had been so ruthlessly butchered all round. where the principal camp-fire had stood, was a message written to whomsoever it might concern, a message written with twelve unpeeled sticks, each about six inches long, driven into the ground one behind the other, in indian file, their tops or heads all bent one way, towards the south. there were two other sticks, but these were peeled and white, and their heads bowed towards the frazer. old rampike touched the sticks with the toe of his moccasin. "pretty good writin', i call that," said he; "beats school-teachers' english to my mind. 'twelve injuns gone south, two whites gone down to the frazer,' that's what that fellow says, and the piles of fur will tell you why they were all here, and a squint at them bones will give you a pretty fair notion when they went away." so far, no doubt, the records were plain enough. unfortunately it had not occurred to the indian historians to point out from which direction those two whites had come to them, and a short distance outside the limits of the chilcotin camp all trace of them ceased, for winter had come upon the chilcotin uplands. the higher ned went the colder the weather grew, until at last he felt that he had fairly entered the domain of the ice king. on the bald hills the yellow grass was hidden, and on the long pastures the little clumps of pines were powdered and plumed with snow. all colour had gone from the landscape. there were no more red flushes of indian pinks amongst the sun-dried grass, no more gleamings of sunlight upon lakes of sapphire blue. all was white, white, dead white, or a still more lifeless gray where the wind had swept the lakelets and left the rough ice bare. in the glare of the winter sun, ice crystals floated instead of the mites which used to dance in the summer sunshine, and on those gray blots, which had been lakes where ducks called and shook their dripping wings, stood now the mud-huts of the musk-rats, and beside them at the edge of the ice stood their owners, rigid, silent, and watchful, as everything seemed to be in this silent winter-world. as far as the eye could see, in heaven or on the earth, there was nothing which lived or moved except those musk-rats, and you could not tell that they lived until the ice crunched under your feet. then they vanished. there was no sound. you did not see them go, only when you looked again the little rigid figures were there no longer. even old rampike almost shivered as the biting wind caught him when he topped the ridge, and he drew his coat together and buttoned it as he turned to ned. "it's real winter up here, sonny, and i reckon it will be mighty lonesome for that heathen of yours by the crik, unless he and cruickshank hev jined and gone into partnership. i'm beginning to think as he has got starved after all." ned made no reply. it _was_ horribly lonesome; but if phon and cruickshank had met, ned didn't think that the chinaman would care whether the sun warmed or the winter wind froze him, whether he lay alone or in the midst of his fellow-men. ned had a hideously vivid recollection of another snow scene, and of a certain little black bullet hole in the nape of a man's neck. well, after all, he reflected, death by gunshot might be preferable to a slow death by starvation and cold, and day by day it became more abundantly clear that neither rampike nor ned would find their way to phon that winter. the snow had changed the whole surface of the country so thoroughly that even had ned passed through every inch of it with his eyes open he would never have recognized it again. there were hollows where before there had been hills, hills where there had been hollows. the drifting snow had made a false surface to the land and covered every landmark; and, moreover, the two searchers began to feel that it would not do to remain in the uplands any longer, unless they too would be cut off and buried away from their fellow-men by the tons upon tons of soft feathery stuff which the skies threatened to pour down upon them every day. "it's no good talking, ned, we're beat and we've got to give in. if your heathen hasn't skipped out some other way he's a corpse, that's just what he is, and we've no call to risk our skins collecting corpses," said rampike as he sat in the dug-out, to which the two had returned after nearly three weeks' search for phon. "the almighty seems to have a down on you, my lad, someways, and if one may say so without harm, he seems to be standin' in with cruickshank, but you bet he'll straighten it out by and by. up to now cruickshank has won every trick, and you're jest about broke; but no matter, we'll stay right with him all the while, and we'll get four kings or a straight flush and bust the beggar sky-high at the finish: see if we don't. what we've got to do now is jest to hole up like the bars. winter's coming right away." it was a long speech for rampike, but the occasion was a serious one, and the old man felt that it would require all the influence which he could bring to bear to make ned corbett accept his defeat, and take some thought for his own safety. "what makes you think that winter is so close?" ned asked. "wal, there's a many reasons. the weather has been hardenin' up slowly all the while, and yesterday i saw the tracks of a little bunch of ewes along the top of that bench above us. the big-horns are comin' down, and when they come down you may look out for real winter. you bet." after this there was silence for a time. steve and ned were thinking of the long account unsettled between themselves and cruickshank, and a little too of the weary months during which they must lie dormant, as rampike said, "like bears in a hole." at last there was a clatter on the floor. jim's pipe had fallen from his mouth, and the old man was snoring peacefully in that beauty sleep with which he generally preluded his night's rest. as he lay there with his coat under his head and his patched flannel shirt turned up to his elbows, showing a hard sinewy forearm, jim rampike was a type of that strong wild manhood which flooded the west from ' to ' , spending its force in a search for gold in spite of nature and in the face of any odds, and yet utterly careless of the gold when won. let those who will preach upon the sordid motives which drew all that muscle and pluck to the west; others will remember how freely the miners squandered that for which they risked so much. there were no misers amongst the miners of the west; the fortunes they made were mere counters in a game which they played, not for the stakes but for the sake of the game itself--for its very dangers and hardships; and, thanks chiefly to one strong man, who still lives in the country which owes him so much, their game was played in british columbia with less loss of life and less lawlessness than in any other mining centre in america. to jim mining or prospecting was what big game hunting is to richer men. he had prospected alone for months in the rockies, he had won big stakes in california in the great "rushes," and he had starved and toiled, loafed and squandered in turn, until his hair was as gray as a badger's coat and his lean frame strong and wiry as a wolf's. when he made a pile he set himself diligently to "paint the nearest town red." drinks for every man and jewellery for every woman he met as long as the dust lasted was his motto; and if the dust which he had taken months to gather would not melt quick enough by fairer means, he would smash costly mirrors, fill champagne glasses only to sweep rows of them down with his cane until the champagne or the dust was all gone, or else he would put every cent upon the turn of a card in the hands of a man whom he knew did not play fair. in a month at most jim's spree was over. for that month he had been the most noticeable fool in a town of noisy roisterers; at the end of it he was "dead-broke" again and happy. then without an idea of the eccentricity either of his own or the gambler's conduct, he would betake himself to that worthy and borrow from him enough gold to begin life again; and to the gambler's credit be it said, that he never refused to grant such a loan, never looked for interest upon it, nor troubled himself much about the return of the capital. freely if dishonestly he came by his gains, freely at any rate he gave; and many a man owes a good turn to the very men whose delicate sense of touch drew more gold into their pockets than was ever won by any single miner's pick. they are, after all, only symbols for which we all of us spend our lives, and if the yellow dust led the old man to live the life he loved, and which suited him, what did it matter? as ned watched the red firelight flicker about the strong square jaw, and redden like blood on the great forearm, he felt that there was at any rate one man in cariboo in whom he could unhesitatingly trust. before turning over to sleep ned softly opened the door of the hut and looked out. the night was clear and bright, so clear that the hills opposite seemed to have come closer to the hut than they had been by day. overhead stars and moon seemed to throb with a strange vitality, and burn with a cold fire all unlike the faint and far presentment of stars in an english sky. nor was the boom of the river, which was as the accompaniment to every song of nature's changing moods, the only sound upon the night air. there was a voice somewhere amongst the stars--a loud clear "honk, honk!" a cry of unseen armies passing overhead, and ned as he listened recognized in the cry of the geese another of nature's prophecies of winter. but the cry of the geese and the boom of the river only emphasized the solitude which reigned around. nature was alone on the frazer that night, except for one great shadowy figure which ned suddenly became aware of, moving upon the sand-bar upon which he had first seen rampike. for a while corbett thought that the moon was playing strange freaks with him, and so thinking he covered his eyes and changed his position. but no, it was no fancy. from side to side with a slow swinging motion the great dark bulk lurched silently along. if its tread had been as heavy as that of a battalion, ned would not have heard it at that distance through the roar of the river, but that never occurred to him. the form gave him the idea of noiseless motion, and besides, at the second glimpse, he knew the beast that he was watching. the lord of the frazer walked in his own domain. a moment before the mystery of the night had ned corbett in its clutches, but the sight of the grizzly banished dreams at once, and the moon a minute later looked down upon another actor in the night's drama, one who hid his shining rifle barrels beneath his ragged coat, and tried hard but in vain to still the loud beatings of his heart; for the sight of so noble a foe stirred the blood of the shropshireman as fiercely as the sight of the gold had stirred phon's sluggish blood. but the hunter toils in vain quite as often as his brother the gold-seeker, and when ned corbett reached the river bed the bear had gone--gone so silently and so speedily that but for those huge tracks in one of which both ned's feet found room, corbett would have vowed that what he had seen was but another shadow of that haunted river bed. chapter xxviii. the king of the big-horns. "this here's the last day's huntin' as you'll get for quite a while, and don't you forget it." the speaker was rampike, and he spoke with the emphasis of conviction. ned corbett, who stood beside him at the door of the dug-out, seemed inclined to argue with him, but rampike did not wait to hear what he had to say. "you think," said the old man, "as it ain't partickler cold jest because the air is dry and there's plenty of sunshine. wait until you get out of the sunshine and you'll know more about it. why, look there at the old river--she don't close up for nothing." ned looked in the direction indicated by rampike's outstretched hand, and noticed for the first time that on the yellow flood of the frazer a strange white scum had risen, which seemed to gather as it drifted by so as to almost impede the river's progress in places. this was the beginning of the ice. "there'll be a bridge to-morrow, i shouldn't wonder, as you mout drive cattle over. if you want any more huntin' you'd better get it to-day. we could do with another sheep or two." and so saying the old man went back into the cabin. the air of british columbia is so dry and the sunlight so bright, that until the shadows begin to fall or the wind begins to blow, it never occurs to anybody that the thermometer may have fallen to "ten below." to ned corbett, as he shouldered his rifle and climbed the first hill, it seemed that the weather was about what you would expect in england in october, but he changed his mind after he had been for five minutes in a narrow gully with a northern aspect into which no sunlight came. there indeed he began to wonder why, in spite of his toil, he earned no healthy glow such as exercise should bring, and even when he emerged upon the top of the bench he was almost afraid to open his mouth lest the bitter cold should creep down his throat and freeze his vitals. but there was that upon the glittering snow-covered table-land which diverted his attention from the cold. at first he thought that the herds of some distant rancher had wandered to the frazer, and were now feeding before him in little mobs and bunches of from ten to twenty head. there were so many beasts in sight, and in the wonderfully clear atmosphere they looked so large, their dark coats contrasting with the snow upon which they stood, that it never occurred to ned that they were sheep. a second glance, however, revealed the truth, just as a second thought reminded him that there was no rancher then in british columbia from whom these herds could have wandered. here and there ned could see the yellowish-white sterns of a band feeding from him, or the splendid sweep of a noble pair of horns against the clear sky. these were no domestic cattle, bred to be butchered, but a great army of big-horns driven from their mountain haunts by the advance of winter. for a while ned lay and looked at them as they scraped away the snow to get at the sweet sun-dried grasses beneath, and then he began to consider how best he might win some trophy from them with which to adorn the hall of that long, low house of his father's which looked from shropshire across the hills to wales. there were giants amongst them, ned could see that, and his fingers itched to pull the trigger at more than one great ram; but the chiefs of the herd, nine in number, lay like nine gray images of stone in the middle of a level, park-like expanse, round which the smaller beasts fed and kept guard. for a long time corbett lay and looked at the silent nine, with their heads turned in different directions, as if each had undertaken to watch one particular quarter for a coming foe. at last one of the nine rose slowly, and stood looking intently towards corbett. at the moment he himself had risen somewhat upon his hands and knees to get a fairer view of the coveted horns, and possibly at a thousand yards the ram had seen enough of ned's cap above the sky-line to make him suspicious. had a gray-faced old ewe seen as much she would have given the alarm, but the ram was bolder or more careless. for ten minutes corbett had to remain as he was, his head rigid, and the spines of a prickly pear running into the palms of his hands. at the end of that time the ram lowered his head, turned round, and lay down again. it was only an odd-looking boulder, he thought, after all; but had he looked ten minutes later the ram would have missed that boulder upon the sky-line, for ned corbett was going at his best pace downhill to a point from which he thought that he could creep to within two hundred yards of his prey. ned was going at his best pace, because the sun stood so high in the heavens, that under ordinary circumstances the sheep would have already been on the move for the timber. as it was there could not be much time to spare in spite of the temptations of the new-found pasture, and as ned's snow-clogged moccasins kept letting him down upon the hillside, he just lay where he fell, and, in his own words, "let himself rip" until he reached the bottom. there he pulled up with a jerk, a somewhat bruised and breathless person, but utterly reckless of such small matters as bruises if he could only get up to his point of vantage in time. alas for the hopes of mortals! when ned corbett had reached the top of the opposite bank his breath was coming thick and short, and great drops of perspiration were splashing on to the snow from his brow, but there was not one single sheep in sight where half an hour before he had seen five hundred. the white table-land was empty. ned could have seen a sparrow on it if there had been one to see, but there was no living thing there, only across and across it were the tracks of many feet, and in one place where the rams had been, long plunging tracks, and then, as it were, a road along which the herd had trotted steadily away to the timbered gulches above. that stalker's curse, the wind, had brought some hint of ned's presence to the watchful beasts, and they had not waited for anything more. "confound the wind!" ned muttered, "i'll be shot if i can understand how it happened;" and plucking a few hairs from his yellow head he let them go, and watched them as they drifted straight back into his face. "the wind is all right now," he growled. "well, i've not done with them yet;" and having made quite sure that the nine chiefs had gone up a certain gully, he began to make another detour in order to get above them. up and up he went, the snow getting deeper as he climbed higher, and the trees growing wider apart. now and again he had to force his way through a thick place of young pines, where, as his shoulders brushed against them, the boughs discharged whole avalanches of soft, heavy snow upon his head, half blinding him for the moment. once he saw the sunlight gleam upon what looked like a spear-head low down on the other side of a pine-hole, but as he looked a big brown ear flickered forward beside the spear-head, and next moment a great stag had risen, and for half a second stood looking at the intruder. but ned let the stag go. he did not want stags just then, and, besides, in the green timber on the ridge where he stood there were lots of them, and all large ones. the little fellows lived lower down, it seemed. so he pushed on, until all at once the frost got hold of him. in a moment his heart seemed to stop beating, his knee remained bent in the very act of climbing over a log, his hands stuck to his sides, and his eyes stared as if he had seen a ghost. right below him, not sixteen paces away, stood the statue of the thing he sought. it could not be a live beast; it was too still. only for a second ned dared to look before he sank into the snow behind a juniper bush, but in that second he saw that what he looked on was the statue of an old, old ewe, big almost as a six-year old ram, and gray with age, her villainously-inquisitive head turned (luckily for ned) downhill. for a few seconds the ewe stood searching the depths of the gully below, and then, without so much as a glance uphill, tossed her head in the air and walked silently forward past corbett's hiding-place. one after another, all at the same sober pace and all as silent as shadows, ten or a dozen old ewes went by in the footsteps of the first. then there was a little noise--you would not have heard it anywhere else, but in the silence of the snow it was quite loud--and forty or fifty ewes and lambs went by, all, even the lambs, looking inquiringly down into the gully below, but none of them wasting so much as a glance upon the ground above them. after the lambs had gone by there was a pause, a break in the stream, and corbett's heart began to throb louder than it had any right to. so far he had not even drawn a bead upon the sheep. sixty beasts at least had gone by him one after another within sixteen paces, and he had let them go. he knew well from experience that the last comers would be the rams, and last of all would come the master of the flock. there was a kind of knoll just below him, and the first sight he got of each new-comer was upon this. one after another the sheep appeared, like figures upon a pedestal, at this spot, stood awhile, gazed, and then passed on. at last a ram stood there, his great horns standing out very wide from his head. "not of much account," thought the hunter. "he's a four-year old; maybe fourteen inches round the butt--not more anyway," and he let him go. twice after that ned raised his rifle and refrained. the biggest had not come yet. at last he could stand it no longer. how could he tell that the beauty before him was not the master ram? and if so, in another second he would be gone. the rifle rang through the mountains, a dozen blue grouse rattled out of the pines and swung downhill on wide, motionless wings, the ram toppled right over and went bumping down the gully out of sight. there was a wild rush of hurrying feet and the thud, thud of beasts that leapt from rock to rock, and then all was still. rushing forward in the direction taken by the herd, corbett found himself stopped by a ravine--a deep-cut, uncompromising cleft in the rock, bare stone on either side, and a sheer fall between of some hundreds of feet, and from side to side not less than twenty-five to thirty feet across. ned stopped dead. this was beyond any man's power, even with a fair run and a good take-off, and yet every lamb in that band had jumped it--jumped it clear! as he stood marvelling at the great leap before him, a stone rattled down from the other side of the ravine, and raising his eyes corbett saw what many a man has sought season after season in vain, a ram, big and square-built as a mountain pony, with great horns curling close against his head in a perfect curve, horns which measured at the very least, eighteen good inches round the butt. ned had only a second to look at him in, and even before he could pull the trigger the ram had turned; but for all that ned heard the loud smack of his bullet, and he knew that it was not the rock against which it had struck. "got him right on the shoulder-blade," he muttered, as he started full of hope to circumnavigate the head of the ravine. it was a long way round, but ned got over the ground quickly, and soon found his wounded beast hobbling slowly away upon three legs. for two solid hours ned followed his ram, who, in spite of his wound, could go just fast enough to keep his pursuer out of range. meanwhile the sun was sinking fast, and in spite of himself ned had to admit that he must give up the chase. even for an eighteen-inch head he dared not risk a night out on these mountains with the thermometer at ten degrees below zero. "just one more ridge," he muttered to himself, "and then i'll give him up;" and so muttering he climbed painfully through the deep snow to the top of yet one more of those little ridges, over so many of which he had climbed that day. as his head came over the sky-line, ned's heart dropped into his boots, and he felt the sickness of despair. the ram had vanished. he could see for half a mile in front of him, but there was no ram. could it be that after all that weary tramp, and in spite of all those great splashes of blood, his prey had gathered fresh strength, and making a final effort had got clean away from him? for a moment ned thought that it must be so, but the next his eye lighted upon what looked like a great gray boulder, a boulder though which had no snow upon it, and which moved ever so little. then as he rushed forward the gray thing staggered to its knees, lurched heavily forward, and lay still again. a few seconds later ned corbett's hands clutched the solid crown of one who had been a king amongst the high places of the earth. but there was no time for rest, much less for exultation. the crimson of the setting sun was already beginning to flush along the forest floors, and ned, as he looked over the country below him, felt his heart grow sick at the thought that if he returned as he came he could not reach the hut before dark. was there no other way--no short cut? ned rather thought that there was, and determined to try it. instead of going up and down every gully on the face of the range, he would make for the edge of the divide and follow it round until he reached a point opposite to his camp, then he would descend, taking his chance of finding an easy way down. but before starting on his homeward journey, ned hacked off the head of his victim and bound it (a heavy load) upon his own shoulders. if he had to stop out all night and risk death by frost-bite, he might as well take with him a souvenir of his hardships should he be lucky enough to survive them. as for the meat, rampike and steve could help him bring that in, later on. if the _coyotés_ let it alone it would keep well enough; and ned thought that a rag, which he had drawn through his rifle barrels and fastened to the carcase, would keep off the _coyotés_. having made his preparations he started, and toiled steadily until he reached the ridge, where the walking became infinitely easier. ned had not much time to look about him, but for all that his eyes were not shut, and he could not help noticing one valley some distance away in the opposite direction to his camp. it seemed to him that he had seen that valley before, but it was far off, and the light was failing. it was night when ned reached the dug-out; there was a harsh grinding sound down in the river bed, and his clothes, which had been wet with perspiration, were frozen stiff and cold. but as he gazed at his ram's head, ned corbett was content. chapter xxix. phon's return. the day after ned corbett's sheep-hunt was too cold even to go and bring in the carcase. a wind had risen, not much of a wind it is true, but just enough to drive the cold right through a man like blades of sharp steel, so that ned and steve and rampike remained in the dug-out, smoking and trying to keep warm, or from time to time going to the door to watch the great river gradually yielding to the power of the frost. the white scum of the day before had grown into blocks and hummocks of ice, and these came down grinding and roaring through the mist. in one more night the great frazer would be fettered for the winter. in the mist which hung over the freezing waters, everything assumed unnatural proportions. rocks loomed out like mountains, bushes like forest trees, and a sneaking fox looked larger than a grizzly bear. it was a weird scene, and it held corbett and his companions fascinated until the bitterness of the cold drove them back for a few moments to their fire. in this way they spent their day until nearly three o'clock, when the light began to fail, and corbett, who was at the door, cried to rampike, who was inside the hut: "great scott, jim, come here! what is that?" "that" to which corbett's pointing finger called attention was a strange upright mass of ice, which came riding towards them upon a little floe, a floe which later on was caught and whirled round and round in a backwater of the river just below the cabin. "a tree, ain't it, steve?" said jim, appealing to chance, who had followed him out. "a tree, i reckon, ned, as has got wedged in somehow among the drift." "yes, i guess it's a tree," steve assented. "but what with the mist and the way the thing dances around, it's mighty hard to tell what it is." "well, i'm getting as full of fancies as a woman," said ned, "but i could have sworn when i saw it first, that that thing was a man." "a man? by heaven, it _is_ a man!" yelled jim. "look, look!" and with white, scared face he stared at the thing as it came circling round again in the endless, meaningless dance of the drift through the mist. "if it's a man, it is no good standing here," said corbett quickly. "bear a hand to drag him ashore." and snatching a rope from the inside of the hut, he sprang down the steep bank to the shore, though the faces of his followers showed plainly enough that, terrible as dead men always are to the living, there was something about this river-waif which made him a horror greater even than the dead who die on land. by some strange chance the body (for it was a body) had got jammed between two pieces of drift in such a manner that it stood upright, waist-high above the flood, bowing and curtseying with every movement of the water, but so coated with ice that, but for its general outline and a rag of clothing which still fluttered from it, none could have guessed its nature. for a moment corbett feared that it would break out of the backwater, and be whirled down the stream before he could get his rope over it; but no, the stream had not done with its plaything yet. the winter would be a long one, and what matter if this wayfarer by the frazer tarried even a day and a night in the backwater? the rocks had stayed there for hundreds of years. there was no hurry about such things. round and round in the same order came the hummocks, a bit of a wrecked canoe on one, on the next only the wreck of a man. round and round whirled the long loop of corbett's lariat, until the silent rider came bowing past him within his reach. then the rope flew out, and the long loop poised and settled silently about the rider's neck. quick as thought ned was jerked upon his knees, and for a moment it seemed as if the angry river would suck him in and add him to the number of its ghastly dancers. but ned was young and strong and loved life, so that he stayed himself against a great boulder and called aloud for help. "hold on to the rope!" he yelled to his comrade. "the thing fights like a salmon!" do you know what it is to feel the electric thrill which travels all down your spine when you stick in a good fish? do you know how his every struggle vibrates along your own nerves, until your heart almost stops with excitement? if you do, you may be able to picture what those three men felt as the frozen corpse plunged and struggled on the rope, now sucked down by the under-tow, now springing beneath the buffets of the drifting ice. ned shuddered and felt sick as he braced himself against its unholy strength; but the shropshire breed is like the bull-dog's, once fast in anything it will never let go whilst life lasts; so that in spite of the river, and the fear which chilled his marrow, ned persisted until he drew his ghastly capture hand over hand to shore. there is something very horrible in the helpless way in which the head of a drowned man rolls about when you lay him down once more upon dry land, but even that is not so ghastly as were the actions of the warped and rigid mummy which corbett and his friends carried to their cabin. from the waist up the body was stiff and straight, but below the waist the legs had been frozen into such strange curves and angles, that when they laid it down upon the floor the corpse went rolling and bumping over and over, and then lay rocking to and fro as if it would never be still. every gust of wind set it in motion again, and the horror of the thing grew to such an extent that ned at last rose, saying: "i can't stand this, boys; the thing seems to be laughing at us. let's fix it in a chair so as to keep it still until morning." "and what are you going to do with it, then?" asked chance. "bury it, i suppose, steve. oughtn't we to?" "wal, i don't want to dictate to no man, but ef you're goin' to make a practice of bringing corpses to this shanty, i quit," remarked jim, who had been strongly opposed to robbing the frazer of its prey from the first. "don't cut up rough, old chap. if your body was going down in that seething hell of waters, you'd be glad if anyone would drag you ashore and give you decent burial. let it bide until to-morrow, jim, and i'll bury it myself." "very well. that's a go. now just lend a hand to cinch him on to this chair for the night, so as he won't be crawlin' around in the dark;" and old jim with ned's assistance fastened the body into a chair which stood by the rough deal board which served them for a table, and there left it. why is it that, to even the boldest men, the dead are so very terrible? is it their inhuman calm, their silence, or the mystery to which they alone hold the key, that awes and chills the hottest human heart? whatever the cause of it, the nameless terror exists, and neither strong ned corbett, nor scoffing chance, nor hard old jim were proof against it. with that _thing_ sitting in their one seat waiting for the morning to come that it might be buried, all three men crept away into the furthest corner of their tiny shack, and, trembling at every log which creaked and sputtered on the hearth, covered their heads with their blankets and prayed for daylight to come. but the hours of the night are longer than those of the day. the lesson-books say that the twenty-four hours are all of the same length, just sixty minutes of sixty seconds in each, but the lesson-books lie. who that has lain awake from midnight till dawn will believe that the six hours before sunrise are no longer than the six which succeed sunset? of course they are longer, but the hours of that one night in the hillside above the fast-freezing frazer were the longest since god made the world. down below the listeners could hear the grinding and roaring of the frozen river, and the shriek of the rising night wind as it tore through the deep canyons. now and again a loud report echoed in the stillness as an ice-crack spread from side to side of some frozen mountain lake, and all night long there were inarticulate murmurs and groanings of water prisoned beneath ice, and the long howling of starved wolves amongst the snow. the indians believe that their dead hunters assume the forms of wolves, and if so, the whole of the dead chilcotins were out hunting, adding their hideous voices to those other voices of the night, which had in them nothing that was familiar, nothing that was in sympathy with man or man's daily life. it seemed to the sleepless listeners that their own souls had lost their way and strayed into some waste place, where it was always winter and always night, and then as they strained their ears so that they could hear the beat of each others' hearts, a terrible thing happened. it was only a chair which creaked, but the creaking of it seemed to deaden every other sound, and nature herself held her breath to listen. there it was again! creak, creak, creak, and a scraping sound upon the mud floor. unless the ears of three men had gone crazy with fright, that grisly visitor of theirs was pushing its chair along the floor as if it would rise up and be gone. all through the night the noises went on: the chair creaked, the feet of the dead moved upon the floor, and once in the dim light of early dawn, one who dared to look for a moment, fancied that he saw a long lean hand move slowly across the table. yet even fear yields at last to sleep, and before the full dawn came there were four sleepers in that hut,--three who should wake and one who should sleep on for ever, and all four comrades, who for a little while had pursued that will-o'-the-wisp, wealth, together. for the dead man was phon! the ice shroud which had hidden him before had melted in the night, and the strength of the frost had gone out of his poor dead limbs, and in the searching white light of the day he lay huddled up on the chair, his head fallen forward upon the table, and his body a limp mass of faded blue rags. even before ned raised his head they all knew him, and when ned pointed silently to a little dark spot at the nape of the dead man's neck, no one expressed any surprise. there had been just such another mark at the nape of dead robert roberts' neck. "two!" groaned rampike. "my god, two of 'em, and we ain't beginning to get level with him yet!" before they saw the corpse upon the previous evening the men had been sitting, according to their wont, round their rough table smoking and poring over chance's old map of british columbia. that map was the nearest approach to a book in their possession, and they often studied it and made yarns about it; but the night of phon's arrival all three had bent over it with more than their ordinary interest, because ned had told them of his fancy that he had recognized a certain valley from the main ridge. it was just in front of this map that the corpse had been placed, when rampike had cinched it into its chair for the night. "i guess we had better clear 'em all away," said the old man after a pause, and with a comprehensive wave of his hand he indicated the corpse and the map, the cups and the half-smoked pipes which still littered the table. ned and steve came to their comrade's assistance, and the three made as if they would lift phon from his seat, but at the very first touch all shrank back, while chance cried out: "look at its hand! look, look, it is writing!" like men in a nightmare the three stood, unable to move or to speak, whilst that long lean hand which lay upon the map moved slowly along. like the finger of a clock, or a shadow upon a dial, it crept along slowly, slowly, and ever as it went they heard the grating of one long untrimmed nail against the canvas. it seemed to the onlookers that the hand took hours to travel across three inches of the map, and then the limp body gave a lurch and slid with a soft heavy thud to the ground. the slight movement caused by jim's first touch had disturbed the balance of the body, out of which all the rigid strength of the frost had now gone, so that the slackened muscles left to themselves shrank up and collapsed. this was what really happened, but to rampike and the rest it seemed that the dead wrote. "that's jest what he's come for. thet's the way to pete's crik as he's bin a showin' you, and thet's where you'll find the man as shot him and old rob. bear a hand, we can carry him out now. i guess there ain't no call for him here any longer." and so saying rampike took hold of the corpse, and with ned's assistance bore it out and laid it down upon the snow. upon the map upon which phon's dead hand had rested there was a fine wet line drawn by his nail--a line which led from the very spot where the dug-out stood upon the bank of the frazer, to a point upon the right bank of the chilcotin, a good deal to the north of the spot at which corbett believed that the gold-camp lay. steve chance took a pencil, and whilst the others bore out the body he marked the line carefully, that it might not dry up and vanish away. even as he did so, a wild cry which he knew well came from the bench above the cabin. it began in a low key, and rose higher and higher until it was like the wail of a banshee, then it died away sullenly, and steve heard rampike's voice outside the cabin calling to him: "come along and lend a hand, steve. if we don't bury him pretty soon those blasted wolves will get him." steve hurried out, and together the three tried hard to make some sort of a grave for phon in the hillside. they might as well have tried to dig into adamant. "it ain't no good," growled rampike at length; "and if you jest bury him in the snow the wolves'll get him. not as it matters much." "we'd better put him back in the frazer than leave him here," said ned. "that's so. he cain't stay in the cabin now as he's thawed out, but i ain't sure as we can get him back agen into the river." jim was right. the earth which the chinaman had robbed of its hidden treasure refused to receive him; the friends he had lived amongst would have none of him, now that death's seal was upon him; and even the river, which had spewed him up upon its banks, had now closed its portals against him, so that it was only after half an hour's hard labour that chance and corbett were able to hew out a hole in the solid ice, through which to send back its dead to the frazer. for one moment ned corbett stood with his hat in his hand, looking up to the sky, wondering whither the spark of life had gone and commending it to its creator, and then he pushed the body head first through the hole. the ice round the spot where the three men stood was clear and still fairly thin, so that they saw, or thought that they saw, a face pressed against it for a moment, staring with wild eyes towards the world of the living, and then the stream caught it and it shot down and was gone. the man had dreamed all his life of the golden secrets which lay in the bed of the mighty frazer. he had looked forward to the days when he should carry the golden spoils of british columbia to his own sunny land; but fate had mastered him, and though his body might roll amongst those golden sands, and his dead hands touch the heavy nuggets, it would profit him nothing. the dead have no need of gold! chapter xxx. cruickshank at last! after the burial of phon there was no more rest for the men in the "dug-out." the frazer was frozen hard, and offered a firm white way by which the three outcasts might return to some place where there were warmth and light and the voices of their fellow-men. but none of the three cared to profit by this way of escape. to them a mist seemed always to hang over the river, and the voices of the dead came to them through it; and to ned corbett it seemed that day and night one mournful old tune rang in his ears, and day and night rampike polished his rifle and thought of the "pal" he had lost, and the murderer who had escaped him. "it ain't no manner of use, ned," he said one day towards the end of winter, when the ice was already breaking up. "i know as i might jest as well stay another month, and then go with you to look for this crik. but i cain't do it. somethin' keeps callin' to me to git, and i mean makin' a start to-morrow whether you and steve come or stay." they had been together all through the dreary winter, and had hoped to go out together in the spring, back to that summer land by the sea from which they had all come. they were weary for awhile of the rush and struggle for wealth, and were pining for the smell of the salt waves and the drowsy lap of the sea upon the shore. they had talked over these things together when the noonday was dark with falling snow, and now that spring was at hand they little liked the idea of being parted. "hold hard, old man," said corbett. "let us see if we can't arrange to go together. which way do you think of going?" "thar's only one way, the way as _he_ showed us," answered rampike, nodding over his shoulder towards the river down which phon had gone to his rest. for a few minutes corbett made no answer, but sat staring fixedly out of the little window at the frazer. "it's infernal foolishness," he said at last--"infernal foolishness, i know, and yet i feel as you do, jim. i shall never rest until i have tried phon's way. i'm getting as superstitious as a siwash." "superstitious is a mighty long word, but it don't amount to much. there's a heap of things happens as you cain't account for." "perhaps," assented ned, and then took up once more steve's ragged map of british columbia, and studied for the hundredth time the course traced upon it by the dead man's nail. "it runs south-south-east from here," he said. "yes, i know, and that'll be clar up that bluff and on to the divide, and then over a lot of gulches, i reckon, until we strike the chilcotin. it'll be a pretty rough trail, you bet." "well, rough or smooth, jim, if steve doesn't mind waiting here for us, i'll come with you and start as soon as you please. what do you say, steve?" now steve chance, as the reader knows, was by nature a decent obliging fellow, and, moreover, steve had had all the rough travel that he cared about for years to come, so he answered readily enough. "if you'll pass me your word that you'll be back inside of three weeks, i'll stay. but you don't expect to see cruickshank, i hope?" "i know as we shall see him," said rampike quietly. "summat tells me as _his_ time's up." the very next day rampike and corbett started up the bluffs above the dug-out. down below them the ice in the frazer was already beginning to "run," but the snow on the mountain-sides lay hard and unmelted still, so that travelling without snowshoes was fatiguing in the last degree. from the top of the ridge the two men got a good view of the country through which they had to travel. the mountains, as far as they could see, followed the course of the frazer until its junction with the chilcotin, where they bent into a kind of elbow; in fact the two rivers and their attendant mountains formed two sides of a triangle, between which lay gulches and ravines innumerable, and the base of this triangle was the course laid out for them by phon. "looks as if that chinee corpse had bin laughin' at us after all," muttered rampike. "a man would want wings to cross that country." "never mind, let's try it, jim," said corbett; and together the two men pressed on, floundering sometimes up to their armpits in the deep snow, and sometimes finding an easy way where the country at first sight appeared impassable. on the third day of their journey, towards evening, they entered a narrow snow-choked canyon, which seemed to lead through the second main ridge of mountains to the chilcotin. as they entered this canyon ned corbett paused and looked searchingly up and down it, as if looking for some sign to distinguish it from its fellows. but he found none. like a hundred others which they had seen, this gully was deep and narrow and full of snow. the pines which grew on its sides seemed only just able to keep their heads above the white flood. somewhere far down below, no doubt, there was a creek, which sang and flashed in the summer sunlight; but it was buried now out of sight by the snow and gagged by the frost. "do you think you know this here place, ned?" asked rampike, who had been watching his comrade's face. "i _feel_ as if i did, and yet i can't see anything, jim, that i could swear to." "is that so? well, it's no matter, because we must stick to this canyon anyway. it leads out on to the chilcotin," replied the old man, and so saying he led on. after a while he paused. "say, ned, is that a sheep-trail across there on the other side?" ned looked hard in the direction indicated, shading his eyes with his hand to get a better view. "it looks more like a bear's trail," he replied, "only the bears are all holed up still." "it's pretty well used, whatever it is, and i guess we should find it a sight better travelling there than it is here. shall we try it?" as it happened the snow was exceptionally deep where the two men stood, so that they sank up to their knees at every step. a beaten trail of any kind would therefore save them an infinite amount of labour. "yes, let's," said ned, with the brusqueness of a man who needs all his breath for other uses. to get to the trail corbett and rampike had to cross the canyon, and in places this was almost impossible, both men sinking from time to time almost out of sight in the snow. twice rampike voted that they should give up the attempt, and twice corbett persuaded him to go on. at last, sweating and trembling with exertion, they got clear of the worst of the snow and stood upon the edge of the trail. for a moment no one noticed anything. they were both too tired to use their eyes even. then a sudden gleam of triumph flashed into rampike's face, and he swore savagely between his teeth, as he was wont to do when anything moved him deeply. bending over the trail he scrutinized it carefully, fingering the soiled snow, and making an impression with his own foot that he might compare it with the tracks before him. when he raised his face to corbett's he had regained all his old coolness, but there was a cold glitter in his eyes which spoke of repressed excitement. "what is it, jim?" asked corbett. "what is it? don't you see? it's the trail of the bar we've bin' huntin' this long while, that's what it is. i suppose we'd better toss for the shot." the trail was the trail of a man. the moment corbett looked carefully at it he saw that; and yet, cold-blooded as it seemed to him afterwards, he never hesitated for a moment, but when rampike produced a coin and sent it spinning into the air, cried "heads!" with all the eagerness of a boy tossing for first innings in a cricket match. "tails it is! that thar is a lucky coin to me," said rampike; "that's why i always pack it around." and so saying he replaced an old english shilling in his pocket and began examining the lock of his winchester, whilst ned looked anxiously up and down the valley as if he expected every moment to see their foe come into sight. "oh, no fear of his comin' just yet awhile," said jim, noticing his comrade's glances. "he went up the canyon about an hour ago, and i don't reckon as he'll be along this way agen before morning. i wonder what he's up to, anyway?" to men like rampike and corbett the testimony of the trail upon which they stood put some facts beyond all dispute. that some man who wore moccasins used it at least twice a day, and had so used it for a month past, they knew as certainly as they knew anything. that he had passed along the trail within the hour they also knew, and that he was cruickshank they guessed with a confidence which left no room for doubt. "i guess, ned, as this here must be pete's crik as we've got into." "that is what i've been thinking for some time," replied ned. "then that's his trail to the diggings from the river. but what does he want at the river so often? that licks me." as ned had no explanation to offer, the two stood silent for a moment, until the old man's eyes fell upon the tracks which he and ned had made across the canyon. "if we don't hide those we shall scare our game," he muttered. "lend a hand, ned, to cover some of them up." "i guess that'll do," he admitted, after half an hour's hard work. "looks as if a bar had come across until he smelled them tracks of his and then turned back agen. cruickshank 'll never notice, anyway, so we may as well foller this trail to the river. step careful into his tracks, ned. i'd like to see what he has been at on the river." these were the last words spoken by either corbett or rampike for quite half an hour, during which they followed one another in indian file, stepping carefully into the same footprints, so that to anyone but a skilled tracker, it would appear at first sight that only one man had used the trail. at the end of half an hour they paused. the roaring of a great river was in their ears, and the grinding of a drift ice. "that's the chilcotin," whispered corbett. "the frazer, more like," replied rampike. "yes, i thought as much," he added a moment later as he came round a corner of the bluff round which the trail ran. "we've struck the junction of them two rivers. this creek runs in pretty nigh the mouth of the chilcotin." almost whilst he was yet speaking, corbett caught the speaker by the belt and dragged him down in the snow at his side. in spite of the suddenness and roughness of such treatment the old man uttered no protest. the question he wanted to ask was in his eyes as he turned his head cautiously and looked into his comrade's face, but with his lips he made no sound. putting his lips to jim's ear, ned whispered: "there's a canoe just below us on the beach, lie still whilst i take a look at it;" and then he crawled away upon his belly until he could peer from behind a boulder on the sky-line, at the valley below. in that valley, between steep banks and piles of great ice-worn boulders, the last two hundred yards of the chilcotin river rushed by to join the frazer, and amongst these boulders, at the very edge of the open water, lay a rough indian canoe. at the side of the canoe the trail stopped. "so that's the carcase as we have to watch," said rampike's voice in ned's ear. "there's no need to keep down, lad, he ain't here. let's go along the trail and take a look." and so saying rampike rose and walked down to the canoe. the sight which there met his eyes and ned's struck both men dumb for a while with wonder. what they saw was the work of one man, in one winter, without proper tools, without sufficient food, and with the awful odds against him of place and weather. "the devil fights hard for his own," muttered ned; and indeed it seemed as if one man, unaided by supernatural powers, could not have accomplished what this man had done. corbett forgot that the greed of gold is almost a supernatural power. out of the trunk of a tree, felled by his own hands, the man who dwelt in this snow-choked canyon had made himself a canoe, his one tool the blade of his axe. the canoe so built was neither beautiful nor strong, but it was just strong enough for a fearless man to risk his life in, and beautiful enough, when it had its cargo on board, to tempt nine men out of ten to risk their souls to obtain it. for the cargo of that canoe was the world's desire--the omnipotent, all-purchasing gold! in a hundred small sacks this cargo was stored away, each sack made either of deer-skin or the clothes of the man who made them. he had risked his life and sacrificed the blood of others to get the yellow dust, and now he gave the very clothes from off his back, in spite of the bitter winter cold, to make sacks to save it in. as ned looked and counted the sacks, and thought of old roberts and phon, of the money wasted and the toil unrewarded, he sighed. for the first time he regretted that he had lost the toss. "wal, come on, ned," said rampike, breaking in upon this train of thought suddenly, "i'm goin' to watch right here. it's mighty lucky as we came when we did. that fellow means to skip as soon as ever the river clears." ned said nothing, but in silence followed his companion to a lair behind a great block of gray stone, from which they could look down upon the trail opposite to them. "i guess it's safest here, though if the ice breaks up a bit more we sha'n't be able to get back if we want to," said rampike; for in order to reach a position which commanded cruickshank's trail, rampike had led the way across the river, stepping warily across the ice, which was already split up into great pieces, which ground against each other and moved slowly with the stream. "it's not more than a hundred yards, i reckon, and i'll back her to shoot good that far, even by moonlight," were the last words which rampike muttered as he drew a bead upon an imaginary figure on the trail across the river, and after this silence came and wrapped the two men round. all through the gloaming and the night, even until the dawn, there was only a great gray stone which stood upon one side of the chilcotin and looked down upon the trail on the other side. there was no movement anywhere save the movement of the ice in the river and of the moon as she rose and sank again in the clear night sky, nor was there any sound save the grinding of the ice as it broke into smaller and yet smaller pieces, and was borne along to join the hurtling mass which was hurrying down the frazer. at first the shadows crept out into the valley, and one who was watching them gripped his rifle hard, and his breath came thick and fast. again the moon rose and the shadows fled, and all was white and motionless and dumb. after this it grew darker again; the moon had gone and a chill wind made the watchers shiver, and one of them drew a white thread out of the material of his coat, and doubled it and tied it round the muzzle of his rifle, so that it made a great knot where the sight was, serviceable instead of a sight in the half darkness. the wind was cold, and the watchers' clothes were rigid with frost, but rampike's fingers scarcely trembled as he tied that knot, and his face was firm and cold as ice. at last there was a sound far away up the canyon. "crunch crunch, crunch crunch," it sounded with a regularity unlike any sound in nature. it was no rolling of the rocks, no creaking of the frozen pines, not even the tread of any beast of prey. it was the step of a man, and colonel or no colonel, the man whose tread echoed in that wintry dawn, brought with him to his doom some traces of that early training which had come to him from the drill-sergeant. in the streets of a great city a hundred men may pass and no one hears their tread, or knows that he hears it, and yet in spite of the roaring of the rivers and the grinding of the ice, this one man's tread, even in the snow, seemed like the tread of an army, and the sound of it grew and grew until corbett knew that the heavens heard it, and that its vibrations were echoed in hell. at the last they saw him, this man richer than all other men, this man yellow with gold and crimson with other men's blood, and what they saw was a wan, ragged figure, worn to a mere skeleton, its shoulders bent, plodding heavily along with the last load of yellow dust, stolen from pete's creek, hanging heavily in its hands. for a moment corbett doubted if this could really be that same stalwart, smooth-tongued knave who had jockeyed him out of his dollars for three useless claims, but a sharp metallic "clink" upon the rock beside him called him back to himself and reminded him that rampike had no doubts even if he had. inch by inch ned saw the long barrel of the winchester pushed out over the rock, until it rested firmly, its deadly muzzle dark in the dim light of dawn. slowly rampike lowered his head until his cheek lay against the cold metal and his eye trained the weapon upon the man who for gold had not hesitated to kill two of his fellows. one more beat of his heart and he too would feel the kiss of the cold lead and go whither those others had gone. "my god, i can't do it!--cruickshank!" cried corbett, and as he cried out he sprang to his feet and threw up rampike's rifle. "cruickshank!" the cry startled the silence, so that all nature seemed to shudder at the sound, and "cruickshank!" "cruickshank!" the rocks repeated until the sound died away amongst the snows at the head of the canyon. at the first sound of that cry he whose name it was stopped, and as he turned to look across the river the white light of dawn came down and struck him across the face, so that those who looked could see the lines graven on it by fear and hunger and remorse, and then his hands went wildly up towards heaven and he fell. the path which he had trodden so often crossed at this place a sheer slope of hardened snow, in which he had cut footsteps for himself, narrow indeed, but sufficient for the safety of a careful man. until now he had never slipped or dreamed of slipping, and yet now with that cry in his ear, with the last load of gold in his hand, with the river almost clear enough for flight, he slipped and fell. those who looked saw only a face full of mad fear, they heard only the clang of the metal wash-pan, which he wore as miners wear it, at his belt, and then, quick as the first ray of the dawn shoots across the mountain-side, cruickshank shot down that ice-slope, and with a dull heavy plunge, sank in the ice-choked river. for minutes, which seemed hours, the two men who lay behind the rock neither spoke nor moved, only they stared with wide eyes at the empty trail where he had stood, and the jostling hummocks of ice in the river amongst which he sank. "wal," said rampike at last, "that's all, and i guess we take the pot." and he turned to where the canoe full of gold, the price of three men's lives, lay alone in the gray light of dawn. even as he spoke the canoe moved. some will say that the ice on which it rested had been sucked away by the rising river, and that so, it slid down naturally and was borne along with all the other river waifs,--dead pines and dead men's bodies. but rampike, who saw the thing, says that hands like the hands of the dead laid hold upon it and drew it away. then they watched it drift out amongst the ice into the frazer, and there for a while the great river played with it, and moaned and laughed over it by turns, and then it sank, and the gold that was in it, and the sin which that gold begot, are a portion of the load which the old river is so glad to lay down as she rushes into the salt sea beyond the sand-heads at new westminster. _l'envoi._ my story is told, and the days which i wrote of have passed away, but something is still left to remind old-timers of the rush of ' . pete's creek is still yielding a fair return for work done upon it by a company, whose chairman is our old friend, steve chance, but such pockets as that found under phon's boulder have never been found again. as for ned corbett, he is a rancher now on those yellow chilcotin uplands, and the gold which pleases him best is that left by the sun upon his miles and miles of sweet mountain grass. if others have more gold, ned has all that gold can purchase by the frazer or elsewhere, work which he loves, and such health, spirits, and moderate wealth as should satisfy an honest man. +---------------------------------------------------+ |transcriber's note: | | | |obvious typographical errors have been corrected. | | | +---------------------------------------------------+ sport in vancouver and newfoundland [illustration: the mouth of the campbell river. [_frontispiece._] sport in vancouver and newfoundland by sir john rogers k.c.m.g., d.s.o., f.r.g.s. _with illustrations and maps by the author and reproductions of photographs_ london chapman and hall, ltd. richard clay & sons, limited, brunswick street, stamford street, s.e., and bungay, suffolk. to my wife the companion of many wanderings in strange lands preface the following pages are simply a transcription of my rough diary of two autumn holidays in vancouver island and newfoundland in search of sport--should they prove of any use to those who may follow in my steps, i shall feel amply rewarded. j. g. r. contents book i chap. page i to vancouver island ii vancouver to the campbell river iii the fish at the campbell river iv sport at campbell river v fishing-tackle vi to alert bay vii in the forest viii in the wapiti country ix out of the forest x after goat on the mainland book ii i to newfoundland ii to long harbour iii to the hunting grounds iv hungry grove pond to sandy pond v to kosk[=a]codde vi sport on kepskaig vii to the shoe hill country viii homeward bound list of illustrations vancouver original drawings _to face page_ the mouth of the campbell river _frontispiece_ morning mists, mt. kingcome camp on mt. kingcome photos the indian cemetery, campbell river a morning's catch two good fish a lb. fish "dick" totem poles, alert bay the head of nimquish lake driftwood on the beach of lake nimquish, "dick" in the foreground the vancouver forest, showing undergrowth through which we had to make our way lake no. packing out the wapiti, points the shore of lake nimquish a rocky mountain goat the goat country newfoundland original drawings _to face page_ not good enough steve joe dries himself steve bernard in camp the clearing of the storm, shoe hill ridge a view in long harbour photos john denny and steve bernard a newfoundland pond steve spying, sandy pond camp, west end sandy pond the three-horned stag "bad water" a thirty-four point caribou steve skinning the head of the thirty-four pointer lunch on the baie du nord river my camp, shoe hill droke up the two-mile brook, homeward bound a brook in flood maps sketch map of vancouver island sketch map of newfoundland to vancouver island [illustration: vancouver sketch-map of vancouver island [_to face page ._] chapter i to vancouver island from the day i read in the _field_ sir richard musgrave's article, "a seventy-pound salmon with rod and line," and located the river as the campbell river, i determined that should the opportunity arise, i, too, would try my luck in those waters. subsequent articles in the _field_, which appeared from time to time, only increased my desire, and the summer of found me in a position to start on the trip to which i had so long looked forward. living in egypt, the land of eternal glare and sunshine, i counted the days till i could rest my eyes on the ever-green forests of vancouver island. my intention was to arrive in vancouver about the end of july, spend the month of august, when the great tyee salmon run, at the campbell river, and pass september, when the shooting season begins, in hunting for wapiti in the primeval forests which clothe the north of vancouver island. i also hoped, should time permit, to have a try for a rocky mountain goat, and possibly a bear on the mainland. i sailed from southampton on july , on the _deutschland_, the magnificent steamer of the hamburg-american line, and never did i travel in greater luxury. the voyage across the atlantic is always dull and monotonous; it was therefore with great relief that, having passed sandy hook in the early morning, i found myself approaching new york on the th. here i was to have a new experience. i am, i hope, a modest man, and never dreamt that i was worthy of becoming the prey of the american interviewer. the fact of being a pasha in egypt, a rank which i attained when serving in the egyptian army, was my undoing. a kind german friend who had used his good offices on my behalf with the board of the hamburg-american line, gave the show away, for i found myself on the printed passenger list figuring as sir john rogers pasha. to the american interviewer, a pasha was, i presume, a novelty, and the opportunity of torturing one not to be forgone, for as soon as we came alongside the quay at hoboken, a pleasant and well-spoken individual came up to me and, raising his hat, remarked, "the pasha i believe. welcome to america." i then realized what i was in for. had i been a witness in the box, i could not have undergone a more merciless cross-examination. it was almost on a par with a declaration i had to make for the immigration authorities--giving my age, where i was born, who were my father and mother, when did they die, what was the colour of my hair and eyes, and lastly, had i ever been in prison, and if so, for what offence? i really think new york might spare its visitors this ordeal. wriggle as i could, my interviewer was determined to obtain copy, and though i insisted that the title of "pasha" had been entered on the passenger list by mistake, and that it was one not intended for exportation, he was not to be satisfied. giving as few details as possible as to how i had obtained my exalted title, i eventually shook off my persecutor. no sooner had i moved a few steps away, than if possible a more plausible person expressed the great pleasure it gave him to welcome me to new york, and endeavoured to impress on me that it was a duty i owed to myself and to the american nation, not only to explain what a "pasha" was and how i became a pasha, but also to allow my photograph to be taken, which he guaranteed would appear the following day in his paper--naturally the leading journal of new york. on my point-blank refusal to accord any more interviewers an audience or to be immortalized in his paper, he sadly expressed his astonishment that i should refuse the celebrity he wished to confer on me. had not mr. kingdon gould allowed himself to be photographed?--then why not i? other interviewers gave me up as a bad job, but just before landing i was leaning over the side of the steamer when some one shouted, "i have got you!" and i saw that one of my persecutors had taken a snapshot, which i am glad to say must have been a failure, for i did not appear in the new york papers the next day. i acknowledge that one of my interviewers to whom i had refused any information heaped coals of fire on my head, by rendering me valuable assistance in getting my luggage through the customs. i had often heard of the difficulties of the new york customs, but i must say i never met with greater civility, and there was no delay in passing all my baggage, fishing-rods, guns, rifles, no duty being charged. new york possessed few attractions for me, and the call of the campbell river was strong--so july th found me starting for montreal, where i arrived the same night and put up at the excellent windsor hotel. only a top sleeping berth on the trans-continental express was available for the following night, and, as i desired a section--that is two berths, upper and lower--i had to wait till the evening of sunday, the th, before i could start for vancouver. leaving montreal at . p.m., i arrived at vancouver about noon on the th, having travelled straight through. the canadian pacific railway is probably the most extensively advertised line in the world. i cannot say it complied with modern requirements as regards convenience and comfort. every one knows the much-vaunted pullman car system of america--men and women in the same carriage, the only privacy being offered by drawing the curtains across the berths which are arranged in two long rows on either side of the car. if you have a section of two berths, which is essential to comfort, you can stand upright in the lower berth to dress and undress, and put away your clothes where you can. if you have only a single berth, you have to dress and undress as best you can, sitting in your berth. on my first trip to canada, i was only going as far as mattawa, one night in the train, so contented myself with a single lower berth. the upper berth was occupied by a very stout lady, who in descending in the morning, gave me an exhibition of understandings as unexpected by me as it was unintentional on her part. the real advantage of a section, in taking the long trans-continental journey, is that when the berths are put up in the day-time, one has a nice compartment to oneself; that is, if the black porter does not condescend sometimes to occupy one of the seats, and only to move, on being politely requested to do so. the sporting pamphlets of the canadian pacific railway make a sportsman's mouth water. here we have the paradise of the fisherman--there the mecca of the sportsman. it was certainly then disappointing, to say the least of it, to find in the restaurant car, that though passing through the paradise of the fisherman, two days out from montreal, we were eating stale mackerel, and on the return journey when the sporting season was in full swing and duck and prairie hens were being brought in abundance to the car for sale--they were only purchased by the black porters for re-sale at montreal at a handsome profit. none of them appeared at our table. the food was indifferent and dear. everything was "à la carte," and to dine moderately cost ½ to dollars, while a tiny glass of whisky, served in a specially constructed bottle of infinitesimal proportions, was charged at an exorbitant price. food in the car, without wine, beer or spirits, may be put down at to dollars a day, and i would recommend any one making the trip to stow away a bottle of good whisky in his suit-case, from which to fill his own flask for meals. travelling for six days and five nights continuously, one would have thought that some simple bathing arrangements would have been provided. a douche even would have been welcome. the lavatory and smoking-room were one and the same--five to six persons could find sitting accommodation, and four basins had to meet the washing requirements of the entire car. i do not wish to be over critical, but i am glad to say i have met many canadians who agree with me that the arrangements for the comfort of the passengers on the canadian pacific railway are capable of improvement. very different, i was told, was the comfort to be found on the american trans-continental line from seattle via chicago to new york. the train is provided with a bathroom, library and a barber's shop, while an american friend who recommended me to return by the american express, assured me that the food left nothing to be desired. when competition arises between the two trans-continental lines in canada, the second of which is now being constructed, some improvements may be hoped for. the scenery of the rocky mountains has so often been described, that i will not inflict my impressions at any length on my readers. it is certainly fine, but no part of it can in my opinion compare with that of the line from lucerne to milan via the st. gothard, and what a difference in the engineering of the line and the speed of the trains. accidents by derailing of ballast trains seemed fairly common. we saw one on our way across, and two engines which had toppled over the embankment marked the site of at least one other. as regards the rockies, it must be admitted that the effect of their real height is taken away by the gradual rise in level as one crosses the plains. calgary, where the mountains are first approached, stands at , feet above sea-level. all things come to an end, and the morning of july th found us steaming into the city of vancouver, glad that the weary journey was at last over. the town of vancouver is beautifully situated on the mainland overlooking the straits of georgia. i am glad, after my criticisms of the canadian pacific railway, to testify to the comfort and moderate charges of the canadian pacific railway hotel at vancouver. a charming bedroom with bathroom attached cost only dollars, all meals included. excellent beer, locally brewed, was cheap, and a bottle of californian chianti, quite a drinkable wine, cost only a dollar, so there was nothing to complain of. my waiter happened to be an irishman, and he took quite a personal interest in my comfort, whispering into my ear in the most confidential manner the dishes of the day that he recommended as the best. on a day's acquaintance, claiming me as a countryman, he confided to me his story. his father had been manager of a bank in ireland, and he was sent abroad to settle in canada. starting on a farm, and, according to his own story, doing well, a fire destroyed his house and farm implements. drifting through various stages, he arrived at his present position, with which he seemed quite content. he was married, and lived outside the hotel. fishing was his passion, and every spare moment was devoted to it. he was really a most entertaining companion, with a keen sense of humour, and he made the meal-time pass very pleasantly, for he never ceased chatting. a run by steamer to seattle to see some friends, gave me a glimpse of victoria and the exquisite scenery of the trip from vancouver to seattle. at vancouver i had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of mr. bryan williams, the provincial game warden of british columbia, with whom i had been already in correspondence, and to whom i was indebted for much valuable assistance and advice. a true sportsman, his heart is in his job, and if he only be given a free hand and adequate funds, the preservation of game in british columbia will be in safe hands. the licence, dollars, is not a heavy one, but i think it might with justice be graduated, fixing one sum, say dollars, for vancouver island, where only wapiti, an occasional bear and deer are found, and imposing the higher licence for the mainland, to include moose, mountain sheep, goat, caribou and grizzly bear. one would have thought that in the city of vancouver, the centre of a great angling country, every requirement of the fisherman would have been found. the contrary was the case. fortunately i had brought my own fishing-tackle, for in the best sporting shop in the town i could not obtain a suitable spare fishing-line. rods, reels, lines, flies and baits were inferior in workmanship as compared to what one is accustomed at home. i therefore strongly recommend any fisherman to bring all his tackle from home. in the case of rods, reels and lines, new york may have better, as i shall show when i come to discuss the question of tackle later on. from the manager of the bank of montreal, to whom i had a letter of introduction, i met with great courtesy financially as well as socially, and i became free of the excellent vancouver club, so charmingly situated, and only regretted that my short stay prevented my availing myself more of its hospitality. vancouver to the campbell river chapter ii vancouver to the campbell river the morning of july th found me on board the _queen city_, the small but most comfortable steamer of the canadian pacific railway running north to the campbell river and beyond. the captain was a delightful companion, patriotic to a degree, and regretting what he considered the neglect shown by the old country to the dominion of canada, when american and canadian interests were at issue. the steamer was well found and well managed, while the captain's skill in approaching our various stopping-places, often dangerous coves with no lights, at any time of the night and in any weather, was to me a continual source of admiration. i travelled with him three times, and never wish for a more charming host or a captain that inspired more confidence as a navigator. we arrived at the campbell river pier at the unearthly hour of a.m. the proprietor, however, was on the pier waiting with lanterns to show us the way up to the willows hotel, where i was to spend a happy month. the willows hotel, beautifully situated on the valdez straits within a few yards of the sea, is all that a sportsman could desire. clean, well-furnished bedrooms, a bathroom and quite a decent table, all for the moderate sum of dollars a day. the proprietor did not quite realize the fact that the majority of the guests came for the fishing, and not for the food. the lady who directed the establishment seemed to think the latter the more important. the breakfast bell rang at a.m., and breakfast was served from to a.m. lunch or dinner from to p.m., and supper from to p.m. woe betide the guest who broke the rules of the house as regards the hours, for he was expected to lose his meal. in those glorious autumn evenings when it was light up to o'clock, the manageress forgot that a keen fisherman might stay out till or even , if the fish were taking. dinner he could not expect, but a cold supper, if ordered beforehand, might have been laid out in the dining-room. nor could attendance be looked for; servants were few and overworked, and it was but natural they should like to go to bed at o'clock, or be free to wander in the woods or along the foreshore with the special young man of the moment. by making love to the manageress and the chinese cook, i generally succeeded in finding something to eat if i was late, but i often had to forage for myself in the kitchen, and on one occasion came back to find a plate of very indifferent sandwiches laid out for supper. morning tea in one's bedroom was prohibited. i should therefore advise any one addicted to the habit of early morning tea, to provide himself with a "thermos" bottle, and fill it overnight--besides which, if very enthusiastic, a start might sometimes be made at a.m., when a cup of hot tea and a biscuit make all the difference to one's feelings of comfort. the hotel was a strange mixture of civilization and discomfort. we had written menus of which i give a specimen below, but i had to grease my own boots and wash my own clothes, until i found an indian squaw in the adjoining village who for an exorbitant charge relieved me of my washing, though i greased my boots till the end of my stay. the willows hotel. menu. dinner. _soup._ purée of split pea. _fish._ baked salmon (spanish). boiled cod. lobster sauce. _entrées._ beef hot pot. pig's head à la printanière. macaroni au gratin. _boiled._ boiled ox tongue. kipper sauce. boiled ham. _roast._ roast beef. horse-radish. roast pork. apple sauce. roast mutton. jelly. _salad._ sliced beets. fish salad. _vegetables._ boiled mashed potatoes. green peas. _dessert._ snow pudding. peach pie. apple pie. stewed rhubarb. the drawback to the hotel was the logging camp in the neighbourhood. the bar of the hotel was about fifty yards from the hotel itself, in a separate building, and on saturday night many of the loggers came dropping in to waste the earnings of the week. drunkenness on these occasions was far too common, and till the small hours of the morning the sound of revelry from the bar was not conducive to a good night's rest. some of the characters who frequented the bar were weird in the extreme, and when fairly "full"--as the local expression was--the hotel was not inviolate to them. one who particularly interested me might have been taken out of one of fenimore cooper's novels. my acquaintance with him was made on the hotel verandah. with a friendly feeling born of much whisky, he placed his arm on my shoulder, and assured me that although if he had his rights he would be a lord, he did not disdain the acquaintanceship of a commoner like myself; in fact, that he had seldom seen a man to whom he had taken such a fancy, or with whom he would more willingly tramp the woods, if i would only give him the pleasure of my company in his trapper's hut some few miles inland. his suggestion that our friendship should be cemented by an adjournment to the bar did not meet with the ready acceptance he expected, which evidently disappointed him, for he could not grasp the fact that any one living could refuse a drink. poor "lord b.," as he was called, was only his own enemy. as i always addressed him "my lord," which he took quite seriously, we became quite pals. a trapper and prospector by profession, he had a fair education, and when sober was a shrewd man of the local world, which confined itself to prospecting for minerals and cruising timber claims. persistently drunk for two or three days at a time, he would suddenly sober down, put a pack on his back which few men could carry, and disappear into the woods to his lonely log cabin, only to return in a few days ready for a fresh spree. at least, this was his life while i stayed at the hotel, for in one month he appeared three times. no doubt during the winter, when occupied with his traps, he could neither afford the time nor the money for an hotel visit. he was wizened in appearance and lightly built, but as hard as nails. dishevelled to look at when on the spree, as soon as it was all over he became a different character, appearing in neat, clean clothes, and full of reminiscences of backwoods life. he was always a subject of interest to me, and, poor fellow, like many others on the west coast, only his own enemy. another frequenter of the bar had been on the variety stage in london, and his step-dancing when fairly primed with whisky was something to see and remember. we were a pleasant party at the hotel. some came only for the fishing, some _en route_ for alaska or elsewhere on the mainland for the coming shooting season, others returning from sporting expeditions in far lands. we had j. g. millais, the well-known naturalist and author of the most charming book ever written on newfoundland, bound for alaska in search of record moose and caribou. colonel atherton, who, starting from india, had recently crossed central asia and obtained some splendid trophies, the photographs of which made us all envious. f. grey griswold from new york, of tarpon fame, come to try his luck with the tyee salmon, and good luck it was, which such a good sportsman deserved. mr. daggett, an enthusiastic angler from salt lake city, who took plaster casts of his fish, and was apparently an old habitué of the hotel. powell and a young undergraduate friend stern, also bound for alaska, just starting on the glorious life of sport, with little experience--that was to come--but who with the tyee salmon were as good as any of us, and whose keenness spoke well for the future. it was curious that in such a small community three of us, the colonel, millais and i, had fished in iceland, and many interesting chats we had about the sport in that fascinating island. as the sun went down, the boats began to come in, and all interest was concentrated on the beach, where the fish were brought to be weighed on the very inaccurate steelyard set up on a shaky tripod by the hotel proprietor. any one reading sir richard musgrave's article in the _field_, would be led to believe that the fishing was in the campbell river itself. whatever it may have been in his time, the river is now practically useless from the fisherman's point of view. this is due to the logging camp in the vicinity, for the river for about a mile from its mouth is practically blocked with great rafts of enormous logs. the logs are discharged into the river with a roar and a crash, enough to frighten every fish out of the water; the rafts when formed are towed down to vancouver. the river no doubt was a fine one till the logging business was established, and it is possible that late in the autumn fish may run up to spawn--but during the entire month of august, i personally never saw a salmon of any kind in the river itself. flowing out of the campbell lake a few miles away, its course is very rapid, and it falls into the sea about one and a half miles north of the hotel. the falls, impassable for fish, can be visited in a long day's walk from the hotel. the distance is not great, but the impenetrable character of the vancouver forest makes the walk a very fatiguing one. it is most regrettable that no track has been cleared along the banks, to enable the water to be fished and to give access to the falls, which i am told are very beautiful. i endeavoured to reach them by the river, but spent most of the day up to my waist in water, hauling my boat through the rapids, and then only got half-way and saw no fish. below the falls, there is a fine deep pool in which mr. layard, who described his trip in the _field_, states he saw the great tyee salmon "in droves." he does not say at what time of the year he visited the falls or whether the logging camp then existed. it must have been late in the season, for he describes the swarms of duck and wild geese, the seals that were a perfect plague, the sea-lions that were seen several times, and the bear, panther (cougar), deer and willow grouse in the immediate vicinity of the hotel. i can only give my personal experiences during the month of august. forgetting that the shooting season did not begin till september st, i took with me cartridges and never fired a shot, nor did i see anything to shoot at. a few duck were occasionally seen flying down the straits between vancouver and valdez island, but the seals, sea-lions and other game described by mr. layard were conspicuous by their absence in the month of august. no doubt later on, in september and october, different conditions may prevail, but august is the month _par excellence_ for the fisherman and he may leave his gun behind. the tide runs up the river for about yards from the mouth, where there was some water free from logs and rafts. some good sport with the cut-throat trout was to be had, more especially at spring tides. my best catch was fourteen weighing ½ lb. the water was intensely clear; careful wading, long casting and very fine tackle were necessary to obtain any sport. the cut-throat trout appeared to me to resemble the sea trout in its habits, hanging about the mouth of the river and running up with the tide, many falling back on the turn of the tide, but a certain number running up and remaining in the upper reaches. the largest i killed, lb., was immediately in front of the hotel, in the sea itself, one and a half miles from the river, and he took a spoon intended for a tyee salmon. they were most sporting fish and were excellent eating, differing in this respect from the salmon. i only regretted i did not give more time to them, but we all suffered from the same disease, that desire to get the lb. fish, or at least something bigger than any yet brought to the gaff. i started with the best intentions, and talked over with mr. williams at vancouver the possibility of inducing the tyee salmon to take the fly, denouncing, as all true fishermen must do, the monotony of trolling for big fish with a colossal spoon and a six-ounce lead, which takes away half the pleasure of the sport. all the same i found myself sacrificing my principles to the hope of the monster fish which never came, but was always a possibility. the straits between vancouver island and valdez island are about two miles broad, and through them runs a tide against which it is almost impossible to row a boat. the favourite fishing-ground was about yards north and south of the mouth of the river, and tides had to be seriously considered in getting on to the water. another good spot neglected by most of us, except the salt lake city angler, was just opposite the indian cemetery about a mile from the hotel. here, in one morning, i killed three large fish on my way back to the hotel from the more favourite ground which i had fished all the morning in vain. south of the hotel and down to the cape mudge lighthouse, about four miles away, a few tyee salmon were to be met with, but in the water all along valdez island and near the lighthouse, the cohoe salmon were in abundance, and it was the favourite spot for the indian fishermen who were fishing for the salmon cannery at quatiaski. the fish at the campbell river chapter iii the fish at the campbell river different names have been given by different sportsmen to the salmon found on the pacific coast. sir r. musgrave talks of spring salmon of lb. and silver salmon of and lb. i inquired carefully from the manager of the cannery factory in quatiaski cove, and believe the following to be the correct nomenclature. the tyee or king salmon, running from lb. to and upwards. the spring salmon, which appeared to me to be the young tyee, having the same relation to the big tyee as the grilse has to the salmon, from to lb. the cohoe, which run from to lb.; and lastly the blue back, generally termed cohoe, averaging about lb. these latter most of us called cohoe, and were the fish being caught on my arrival at the hotel. the run of tyee had not regularly set in, though a few odd ones were being caught. later on, when making a trip on the cannery steamer which collects fish daily from various stations up and down the coast, the manager of the factory, who was on board, pointed out to me amongst the hundreds of fish we collected, the difference between the blue back and the real cohoe. the former runs much earlier than the latter, and is seldom over lb. in weight; the latter were, he stated, just beginning to run--then the middle of august--and the largest on board weighed lb. it was not, however, till my return from vancouver that i came across the volume on _salmon and trout_ of the american sportsman's library, edited by caspar whitman, and there found recorded all that is known about the salmon and trout of the pacific coast. to begin with, the pacific salmon does not belong to the genus "salmo," but to the genus "oncorhynchus," which, according to messrs. c. h. townsend and h. w. smith, the authors of the most interesting chapters on the pacific salmon in the above-mentioned book, is peculiar to the pacific coast. one peculiarity of the pacific salmon seems to be that they invariably die after spawning, and never return to the sea. in the case of the humpback, i saw this for myself later on in the season, when every stream was literally a mass of moving fish all pushing up to the head-waters, and there dying in vast numbers. the tyee salmon, "oncorhynchus tschawytscha," has many names. it is known to the indians as "chinook," "tyee" and "quinnat," to others as the columbia salmon, the sacramento and king salmon. it appears to range from monterey bay, california, as far north as alaska. messrs. townsend and smith state that in the yukon and norton sounds it attains a weight of lb., and in the columbia lb. the largest i saw caught at campbell river weighed close on lb. the largest fish brought to the hotel by any of us was about lb. the blue back salmon, "oncorhynchus nerka," is stated by the same authorities to run up to lb., and the average to be under lb. this would appear from its description to correspond with the fish pointed out to me by the cannery manager as blue back--though i cannot quite reconcile its other names: red fish, red salmon, fraser river salmon and sockeye--for the fishermen at campbell river spoke of the sockeye as quite a different fish, running at a different season of the year. no doubt, however, the scientists are right. i only wish i had known of this valuable book before instead of after my visit. another of the "oncorhynchi" is the humpback, "oncorhynchus gorbuscha," averaging about lb. i only saw one caught on the rod at campbell river. at the mouth of the oyster river, some miles south, i saw them one evening in incredible numbers, and though right in the middle of immense shoals, i could not get them to look at fly or spoon. a few yards up the river they were said sometimes to take the fly. the silver salmon, "oncorhynchus kisutch," known also as "kisutch," "skowitz," hoopid and lastly cohoe, is stated to attain a weight of lb.--the average weight being about lb. as stated before, the largest i saw was lb. and the largest i caught lb. the above being the fish i met with at campbell river, i need not enter into the other varieties. one interesting fact mentioned in the book to which i am indebted for all the above information is that the steel-head salmon is one of the "salmonidæ." "salmo gairdnerii" differs from all other pacific salmon, in that it alone returns to the sea after spawning, thus following the habits of the true "salmonidæ." the only trout i came across at campbell river or throughout my trip was that known as the cut-throat, so called from the red slash on the throat. on turning to mr. wilson's article on "the trout of america," i was surprised to find that there were thirteen varieties of this fish, but so far as i could identify those i caught, they must come under the heading of "salmo clarkii," the cut-throat or columbia river trout. after many inquiries and after having visited the aquarium at new york, i was led to believe that my fish was the "salmo clarkii pleuriticus," but as those i caught had no lateral red band they must have been the "salmo clarkii." the largest i caught weighed lb., and, as i have mentioned before, it was caught in the sea on a large spoon one and a half miles from the river, when trolling for tyee. the number of fish which frequent the campbell river waters is almost incredible. when it is realized that between one and two thousand salmon of the various kinds are collected daily by the cannery launch, and that all these have been caught with rod and hand-line--the great majority with hand-line--some idea may be formed of their numbers. no one fishing at the campbell river should miss the trip, which through the courtesy of the manager at quatiaski cove is always possible, of going with the cannery steam-launch on its daily round collecting fish at the various stations, north and south. starting from quatiaski early in the morning, the run is down to cape mudge, where perhaps thirty or forty boats, mostly indian, have been working their hand-lines the evening before. from cape mudge up to the seymour narrows, about seven miles, many calls are made. picturesque indian camps are numerous all along the shore, and at each of these a stop is made. the canoes come crowding alongside, and the fish are checked as they are thrown into the deep well in the centre of the launch. each indian has a book in which is entered to his credit the number of his fish, and the launch passes on to the next collecting station, to which single canoes from all sides are gathering. on the return the boats of the successful hotel fishermen stop the launch and hand over their catch, for the fish caught are the perquisites of the men who row the boats. on the day i made the trip we collected about , salmon. the business of the cannery must be a profitable one. so far as i could gather there were but two prices: cents for a tyee, no matter what his weight was, and cents for each smaller fish. associated with the cannery is a general store kept by the cannery owners, and payment is partly made in goods, so the cannery has the double profit, first on the fish and then on the goods bartered in exchange. sport at campbell river [illustration: the indian cemetery, campbell river] [illustration: a morning's catch. lb., lb., lb., lb. [_to face page ._] chapter iv sport at campbell river july th i looked forward to as a red-letter day in my life, for was i not to have my first chance for that lb. fish, about which i had dreamt for so many years? the early morning (we were all up at a.m.) was spent in getting my tackle ship-shape, and, most important of all, in engaging the services of a good boatman--for on his strength and willingness to "buck the tide," as they happily term rowing against the strong tidal currents, depends largely the chance of success. the man i selected was a fine boatman. keen on getting fish--jealous of all others of his craft, and with a capacity for bucking about himself, and what he had done and could do, which i have seldom seen equalled. his command of strong and even highly flavoured language was remarkable, but a little of it went a long way. when i asked his name, he replied, "every one calls me billy." no one on the west coast seems to have a surname, so "billy" he was to me for all my fishing days. billy was, i should say, about twenty-three years of age, slightly built, but extraordinarily strong with an oar. his temper was not of the best, and when i lost a fish he always considered that i was to blame, and resented the unfortunate fact as if it were a personal insult to his own powers as a boatman. i don't believe he ever thought of the cannery or of the sum which under happier auspices would have stood to his credit. his pay was three dollars a day ( _s._) plus the value of the fish. his appetite corresponded with his pay, which was large. he was willing to row all day long with suitable intervals for his meals--but any attempt to keep him on the water at meal-time was somewhat sulkily resented. we fished together for some thirty days, more or less harmoniously, and there was only one great explosion which threatened to sever our connection. through his gross stupidity my boat, which was being towed behind the cannery launch, was upset, and i had the pleasure of seeing all my fishing-tackle, fly-books, the companions of years--all my pet flies, spoons, spring balance--sunk in sixty feet of water--£ worth of tackle gone in a moment. fortunately i had taken my rod and camera on board the launch, or they, too, would have been lost. it was _infra dig._ that he should express any regret, and very unreasonable from his point of view that i should show any annoyance, which i did in what i considered very moderate terms, considering the provocation. on landing, he suggested that i did not seem satisfied with him, which was quite true, and that "joe," a hated rival, was disengaged and available. i very nearly took him at his word and "fired him out"--but we made it up somehow, and he remained my boatman, though i never quite forgave the loss of so much valuable tackle. fortunately i had only a few more fishing days left and had some spare tackle to replace what was gone. our opening day was simply glorious, a bright sun and a crispness in the air which made one feel that it was good to be alive. the scenery was exquisite. the sea calm as a mill-pond, only broken by the oily swirls of the rushing tide, and then there was the possibility of that long-hoped-for big fish, who did not come that day, though every pull from a cohoe might have been him. billy was positively polite, as it was his first day. why many of these west coast men should imagine that politeness means servility, while roughness and rudeness only show equality and independence of character, i never could understand. it was not long before i was in a fish, but as he was only a ½ lb. cohoe, he was hauled in with scant ceremony and was soon in the net. as i shall have something to say about tackle later on, i would only now mention that i was fishing with a fourteen-foot deeside spinning rod, made by blacklaw of kincardine. i had a large nottingham reel with yards of tarpon line, purchased in england, not, alas! in new york; a heavy gut trace with large brass swivels which would have frightened any but a vancouver salmon; a oz. lead, i afterwards came to a oz., and one of farlow's spoons specially made for the tastes of vancouver salmon. my bag that day, fishing morning and evening, was only six cohoe, weighing o½ lb. and one cod about lb. i never had a pull from a tyee. the row home that evening compensated for everything. the sun was setting behind the snow-covered peaks of the vancouver mountains, bare and cold below the snow-line, but gradually clothed with foliage down the slopes till the dense pine forest of the plain between the mountains and the sea was reached, from which the evening mists were beginning to rise. in the foreground, the sea, like molten glass, reflected the exquisite colouring of the northern sunset, its surface broken by the eddies of the making tide, or the occasional splash of a leaping salmon. across the straits on the mainland, the tops of the great mountains clothed with eternal snow were lit up a rose-pink by the rays of the setting sun. i have seldom seen a more beautiful scene, or one which gave such a deep sense of peace. there was a grandeur and immensity about it which satisfied one's very soul, it amply justified the realization of the call of the wild which had brought me so many thousand miles to those distant shores. the morning of the st found me late in starting, as i had to interview cecil smith, who was to be my guide, companion and friend on my hunting trip in september. on that morning, i got only two cohoes of ½ and ½ lb., one spring salmon of lb., and as there was evidently no take on, i went up the river for a short time. i saw no salmon, but landed three cut-throat trout weighing ½ lb., one a good fish of lb. on the way home to luncheon i killed a lb. fish--a small tyee, and going out for half-an-hour in the evening after dinner lost a heavy fish. bad luck as regards the big fish still pursued me. it was true the big run of tyee had not yet begun, but a few were being taken from day to day. on the morning of august st i hooked a heavy fish, but in his second big race, the line slipped over the drum of the nottingham reel and the inevitable break came. my catch that day was only three cohoes and three cut-throat trout. a very high north wind blowing against the tide raised a heavy swell, and fishing was impossible in the afternoon. august nd, i fished all the morning without getting a pull, so decided to try to go up the river to the falls, which attempt, as previously described, was not a success. returning to the sea in the afternoon i found griswold with three fine fish, of , and lb. i landed a small tyee of ½ lb. and four cohoe weighing lb. on august rd, i got my first good fish of lb. and another of lb. the tide was running strong and the lb. fish took out about yards of line, but eventually i got him in hand, when he made two wild runs--threw himself clean out of the water each time and then went to the bottom like a stone and sulked. it took me just under an hour to kill that fish, and i found that he was foul hooked on the side of the head. the lb. fish was a lively one and tired himself out by repeated runs--he never got to the bottom and in about fifteen minutes he came to the gaff. in addition to the two tyee, i had seven cohoe weighing ½ lb., so luck was beginning to turn. august th was a great day. four tyee, , ½, ½ and lb.; one cohoe, lb.; one cut-throat trout, lb., a picture of a fish; one sea trout, lb., and one cod, lb.; all before two o'clock. there was a big take in the evening, and i missed it by getting out too late. griswold had five tyee, the largest lb.; i came in for the tail end of the take and only picked up eight cohoe, weighing ½ lb., and one spring salmon, lb. total weight for the day: ½ lb. august th. i had two tyee, and lb., and sixteen cohoe averaging about lb., and so on day after day, with varying luck and always hoping for that lb. fish which never came. on august th, i got my second biggest fish. the spring tides were racing up and down the straits and it was impossible to hold a boat, much less row it against the tide. by this time from a study of the bottom, at low water, i had a fair idea of how the fish ran up and down with the tide. i accordingly anchored my boat off a point i knew the fish were bound to pass. the anchor was fixed on to a log of wood to which the boat was moored by a running knot. it was billy's duty to cast off the moment i was in a fish. the greatest race of the tide was at about half flood, and the current was so strong that the heavy spoon and oz. lead were swept away like a cork. letting out about thirty yards of line and giving billy the rod to hold, i began casting with the fly, using a fourteen-foot castleconnell rod, fine tackle and a two-inch silver doctor. i soon had a sea trout, ½ lb., and two cohoe, besides many rises, and grand sport these fish gave in the racing tide on a light rod. i had just killed my last fish when the scream of the reel on the rod which billy was holding told me we were in a big fish. taking the rod from billy, i told him to cast off. the fish was racing up with the tide some yards away, but the rope was fouled, or billy bungled, and the result was a smash. hardly had i got out another spoon when i was in another fish. i was evidently lying in their track. this time we got away, and how that fish raced! before i knew where i was we were up about a mile, being literally towed by him on the flowing tide before i could get him in hand. i eventually killed him, almost opposite the hotel, one and a half miles from where i had hooked him: weight, lb. in the evening i got two tyee of and lb. the big fish's measurements were: length, ½ inches; greatest girth, ½ inches, and girth round the anal fin, inches. the well-known formula for estimating the weight of a fish from measurement is as follows-- girth^ × length = weight. ________________ applying this formula, the weight worked out just lb., which the scales corroborated. the weighing machine, an old rusty steelyard, set up on the beach in front of the hotel, left a good deal to be desired; but i had a spring balance weighing up to lb., which i tested at the local store and found to be quite accurate. on august th heavy clouds were piling up, and a break in the glorious weather we had enjoyed from the beginning of august seemed imminent. on august th, my last day at the hotel, i started to fish in a heavy gale from the south-east, the worst wind one could have in these waters. though leaving that night and having all my packing to do, i determined to have one last try for the big fish which had so far evaded me. there was a heavy sea on and it was almost impossible to hold the boat, but billy was on his mettle for the last day's fishing and really did wonders. on the way down to the mouth of the river, i got a lb. cohoe, and on arriving at the best ground i put on a big brass spoon, which mr. daggett had kindly lent me, about twice as long as the farlow spoon. i was letting out the spoon when i got a tremendous pull and a very short run, which apparently took the fish to the bottom or into some kelp. there he remained and simply sulked without taking out a yard of line. the rod was bent double and i put on all the strain possible, but it was a full three-quarters of an hour before i could see my lead coming up to the surface, and my arms and back were aching. how the rod did not break i cannot understand, for the fish came up gradually from straight under the boat; but at last i had the gaff in the biggest but least sporting fish i had killed during the month. he weighed ½ lb. at the hotel, having lost a good deal of blood, and must have been over lb. when he came out of the water. the brass spoon was either bitten or broken in half. [illustration: two good fish. lb., lb.] [illustration: a lb. fish [_to face page ._] having killed forty-one tyee, fished steadily for a month, and seen most of the fish that were caught, i do not think many fish over lb. are killed. one fish caught by a hand-line and small spoon by a young settler named pidcock, i weighed, and he must have been close on lb. my spring balance went down with a rush to its limit of lb., and i heard afterwards that when weighed at the cannery it scaled lb., so when fresh must have been close on lb. this was the biggest fish i saw on the coast. farther north there are other fishing grounds well worth a visit, where the fish are said to run up to lb.--such are the kitimaat river and mccallister's bay at the entrance to gardner canal, about four hundred miles north of campbell river. a steamer runs direct to kitimaat and hartley bay once a month. accommodation can be had at kitimaat, but a camp is necessary at mccallister's bay. fish run as early as may. campbell river is getting too well known, and there are too many boats on the water. the following amusing description of an evening's fishing is from the clever pen of j. g. millais, and was published in _country life_. i venture to reproduce it-- "amidst gorgeous sunset hues we went to fish the usual beat opposite the indian village on august th. the sun had already set, when of a sudden a suppressed excitement ran through the boats. a fresh run of tyee were in and had begun to take. three or four indians were 'fast' at once, and yells for help came down the line. in a moment, while close to the beacon stake at the mouth of the river, mr. powell, sir john rogers and i were 'into' fish at the same moment. "then the circus began. 'look out there; don't you see i'm fast?' 'confound you; get up your line, or i'll be over you.' 'gangway, gangway,' 'where the devil are you coming to!' 'mind your oars,' 'he's off to the tide. hurry' (mac or bill, as the case might be); 'row like blazes,' were a few of the cries that broke from excited anglers, while even phlegmatic indians grinned or yelled 'tyee, tyee' in sympathetic encouragement. we all cleared each other somehow. i do not quite know how. sir john was whisked straight out to sea, and was a quarter of a mile off in no time. mr. powell broke, while my fish, to my horror, went straight for the beacon. i lugged at him to steer clear, and he took the hint so forcibly that he burnt my finger on the line with the rush he made for the deep water. it was like poor dan leno's hunting song, 'away, away and away. i don't know where we're going to, but away and away and away.' we could hear men laughing and joking in the darkness behind, and then in a moment we were out of it all in the silence of the boiling tide. mac was a good boatman, and the way he followed that tyee in the eight-knot current did him credit. this was the strongest fish i have ever hooked. he seemed to do with us just what he chose, and we, like sheep, had to follow. if he had carried out his first laudable intention of a visit to queen charlotte islands he might have defeated us, but seemingly he altered his plan and made a fierce hundred yards' run for the curl of the current at the mouth of the campbell river. here there were nasty lumps of floating kelp, and the two anglers fishing there received our return landwards with shouts of warning. in the gloom i could see by their attitudes that they were intensely interested in our welfare, for the next best thing to playing a fish yourself is to watch another at the game. then began a series of 'magnificent cruises.' it is part of the interest in salmon-fishing that the fish you have 'on' is infinitely larger than anything previously hooked. generally it is a pleasant delusion; but sometimes it is true, and then the conflicting emotions of the play and the thrill of subsequent capture are something to live for. "my fish was, i knew, the biggest i had ever hooked, so one had to follow the same old ways of playing him, coupled with such extra force as that stout tackle warranted. after every great circuit of the boat i resorted to all sorts of devices for tiring my antagonist, but he refused to give in or to allow me to shorten the line. but my fish was as gallant a fighter as ever was hatched, and the better the fighter the quicker he kills himself. half-an-hour has elapsed and i see the lead six feet up the line for the first time. soon we shall see back and tail. yes, there they are, and what a monster. he must be lb. at least. at last he shows side, and that is the beginning of the end. mac, an indifferent gaffer under the most favourable circumstances, now surpasses himself in the fields of incompetence. he makes one or two feeble shots, and then, getting the gaff well home, attempts to lift the fish as i throw my weight on to the reverse side of the light boat to prevent an upset. he heaves with both hands, and a great head appears, when crack goes the steel, and mac sits down heavily in the boat, looking supremely foolish. i was not distressed, however, as that brief view of the fish's head had shown me the hook well placed; moreover, i knew that somewhere under the thwarts we possessed a goodly club. mac, after a few moments' search, produced the truncheon, and, at the first attempt, stunned the salmon with a well-directed blow, and lifting it with his hand drew it into the boat. ha! this is a fish indeed; one of the best of the season, we flatter ourselves, and lb. for certain. but no; those cruel scales blast our hopes by lb. still, a fifty-seven-pounder is something to be proud of, and we rowed home that night at peace with the world. this, then, is campbell river fishing for the great tyee salmon. if you wish to collect records you can do so by sitting all day in your boat for a month and using a tarpon-rod, which kills the biggest fish in two minutes, and a vom hofe reel, which carries a drag that would stop a buffalo." if there are many indians out the rod has not much chance, for their canoes cross and recross in every direction, and as they fish with a short hand-line, a long line let out from the rod is apt to get fouled. fortunately, their favourite ground is by cape mudge lighthouse, where the cohoe abound. i only tried this water once, and was so jostled by indian canoes that i determined to stick to the tyee and the mouth of the campbell river. the large majority of the salmon were really sporting fish. the cohoe had no chance with the strong tackle necessary for the tyee, but still were wonderfully lively, and when caught with light tackle on the fly, gave great sport. in one respect they were all a hopeless failure--they were quite unfit to eat. why it should be so i cannot say. perfect to look at, as good as any atlantic fish, the flesh was like cotton wool, dry and devoid of all flavour. on the other hand, the cut-throat trout were excellent eating. during the entire month of august we had little or no rain. the climate was absolutely ideal and the eye never tired of the exquisite scenery, varying in colouring and effect every day. the row of one and a half miles from the hotel to the best fishing ground, if the tide was not favourable, was a drawback, and personally i should prefer to pitch a camp on one of the many excellent sites at the mouth of the campbell river, so one would be independent of the hotel hours and meals. when the tide is not favourable, a good plan is to leave the boat at the mouth of the river and walk home along the shore to the hotel for meals. the fish generally took best at the turn of the tide, and about half water. many enthusiasts were out at and a.m. and in some cases struck a good rise, but these early mornings without a cup of tea, i fear, did not often appeal to me. the following table shows my bag day by day-- --------+-----------+--------+-----------+-----------+---------------- | | spring | | | sea date. | tyee. | salmon.| cohoe. |cut-throat.| trout. --------+-----------+--------+-----------+-----------+---------------- | no. w. | no. w.| no. w. | no. w. | no. w. july | -- -- | -- -- | | -- -- | -- -- " | | | | | -- -- aug. | -- -- | -- -- | | -- -- | -- -- " | ½ | -- -- | | | -- -- " | | -- -- | ½ | -- -- | -- -- | -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- " | | | ½ | | | -- ½ | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- ½ | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- " | | -- -- | | -- -- | -- -- | -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- " | | | | -- -- | -- -- | -- ½ | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- aug. | | -- -- | | -- -- | -- -- | -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- " | -- -- | | | -- -- | -- -- " | | | | -- -- | ½ | -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- " | | -- -- | | -- -- | -- -- " | | | | -- -- | -- -- " | | -- -- | | ½ | -- -- " | -- -- | | | ½ | -- -- " | | -- -- | | | -- -- " | | -- -- | | -- -- | -- -- | -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- " | | -- -- | | -- -- | -- -- | -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- " | | | | -- -- | -- -- | -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- " | | | | -- -- | -- -- | -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- " | -- -- | -- -- | | -- -- | -- -- " | | | | -- -- | -- -- | -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- " | | -- -- | | -- -- | -- -- | -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- " | | -- -- | | -- -- | -- -- | -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- " | | -- -- | | -- -- | -- -- " | -- -- | | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- " | | -- -- | | -- -- | -- -- --------+-----------+--------+-----------+-----------+---------------- ½ so the last day had come and the fishing was to be a memory of the past. our pleasant party was broken up--millais and his young undergraduate friends, powell and stern, had gone north to wrangel to start on their hunting trip in alaska; griswold back to new york, planning the construction of a special boat and the adding of the great tuna to his many trophies of big sea fish. daggett alone remained, seated daily in the comfortable armchair he had rigged up in his boat, still intent on that lb. fish we had all hoped for, but failed to secure. the pleasant days of friendly intercourse had come to an end. no more the quiet row home in the gloaming after a successful or moderately successful day. no more the nightly gathering on the beach and the weighing of the great fish. the weather itself looked despondent, and was making up its mind to break. the certainty of the past was over, the uncertainty of the future before me, and it was with a sad heart i bade farewell to the willows hotel, and to the fishing days that were now no more. the depressing hour of a.m. found me sitting on the end of the pier waiting for the arrival of the _queen city_, which was only an hour late, and once more i was bound for the unknown. fishing-tackle chapter v fishing-tackle as regards tackle, one rule only must be followed: everything must be of the best, and the best is to be obtained either in england or new york. the choice of a rod is a difficult matter, and depends altogether on the individual idea of what constitutes sport. if by sport is meant the taking of the greatest number of fish in the shortest possible time, in fact the making of a record--no rod is necessary. follow the indian method of fishing with a strong hand-line and no trace, the spoon being fastened on to the line direct. the moment the fish is on, if a small one, he is hauled hand over hand up to the canoe and jerked in--if a tyee, he is played by hand. i have never seen one allowed to make a race, and when fairly done he is hauled alongside the canoe, the line held short with the left hand, while a sharp blow on the head is administered with a wooden club, and he is then done for and lifted into the boat--no gaff being used. it is astonishing how quick the indians are in killing even a large tyee by this method. the hand playing apparently takes all the life out of the fish, and the strong tackle does the rest. i have seen many white men follow this system--but they were all fishing for business and the cannery. only one white man from the hotel fished in this way, and i don't think any of us envied him his so-called sport. the take comes on quite unexpectedly--boats will be rowing backwards and forwards without a pull. suddenly the take comes on and nearly every boat may be in a fish. he, therefore, who can kill his fish quickest will make the biggest bag, if record breaking be his object. i have seen one indian canoe bring in over one hundred fish in a day's fishing--but is this sport? i think all true fishermen will say it is not. after the hand-line comes the rod, and again, if the object be to catch as many fish as possible while the take is on, a small tarpon rod with a vom hofe multiplying reel and an -thread tarpon line, practically unbreakable, may be used. one american tarpon fisher, mr. griswold, a true sportsman too, followed this method and naturally defended it. i do not in any way criticize his methods, i only felt they did not appeal to me. it is true i have seen him kill three fish while i was killing one, but i did not feel at all envious. generous to a degree, he more than once offered to fit me out and instruct me in the art of "pumping" fish, but though much tempted, i did not fall. had i succumbed, i much fear i should have become an ardent advocate of tarpon methods applied to tyee salmon. on the other hand, to fish for tyee with a highly finished -foot split cane, or other make of rod, seemed to me out of place. there were some who did it and gloried in the fact that they had caught a great tyee on an ordinary home salmon rod. it seemed to me a waste of good material, for the rod was likely to be broken or permanently strained in the process of lifting a great fish from the depths of the sea--for after one or two rushes taking out to yards of line, the tyee will often go straight down to the bottom, stand on his head and sulk, and then you want that power to bring him up which only a very stiff rod possesses. one of our number who had killed many a salmon at home, fished with an ordinary -foot rod. the fish seemed to do what it liked with him, and it generally ended in the rod being lowered till the tip touched the water, and the boat disappearing in tow of the fish, up or down the straits with the racing tide. in fact the fish was being played on the line from the reel without the power of a hand-line. to give him the butt would have inevitably resulted in breaking the rod. yet this good sportsman sometimes got his fish and came back triumphant, having had him on for a couple of hours. the local rods, whether those to be obtained in vancouver or at the store on the pier at campbell river, seemed to me most inferior in quality and workmanship, and the same applies to all other tackle, except possibly the leads, which are too heavy to carry about and which can be purchased locally. as stated before, i used a three-piece deeside spinning rod, twelve feet long, built by blacklaw of kincardine--but i must confess that twice my tip was broken by the strain of the weight of a big fish which had to be brought up to the gaff from the bottom of the sea. many a time was this little rod bent double, till i wondered how it ever bore the strain. on it i had killed all my tyee and most of my cohoe, but it suffered in the process, and the middle and top joints had to be replaced on my return home. if i were going again, i should feel inclined to take a -foot rod built on the same lines and of the very best material and workmanship. such a rod would give more power and stiffness than the -foot rod. besides the -foot rod, i had a -foot three-piece castleconnell rod, an old friend. this i used for fishing for cohoe with the fly, and grand sport they gave in the racing tide on a rod which played its fish right down to the reel. an ordinary -foot trout rod for the cut-throat trout completed my rod equipment. _reels and lines._--i started with a large nottingham reel, but soon gave it up. it had the advantage, of course, of not rusting, but the workmanship could not stand the rush of a heavy fish. i lost big fish by the line slipping over the drum and jamming, though i had fixed up the usual guard improvised out of the brass wire handle of a tin can purchased locally. i then came to my largest bronze salmon reel, after which i had no more trouble--though the salt water caused rusting of the screws. the reel should take yards of tarpon line and be of the very best and strongest make. the vom hofe multiplying reels are perfect specimens of workmanship, and the attached leather drag worked by pressure with the thumb is an excellent device. in fact, for the big fish, from tyee to tarpon, i think the american tackle makers beat us as regards reels and lines. i purchased two tarpon lines in london; who the maker was i cannot say. one did good service, the other seemed of inferior quality, for it broke without any special reason. i should recommend yards of or vom hofe tarpon line, which now can be purchased in england at messrs. farlow & son's, or in new york. one great advantage of this line is that it need neither be washed in fresh water after use in the sea nor dried. it can remain on the reel wet without rotting. _gaff._--farlow makes a specially strong gaff lashed into a long ash or hazel handle. i found this quite satisfactory. on the other hand, the american fishermen use quite a short gaff, but fishing with a six or seven foot tarpon rod they can bring the fish much closer up to the side of the boat. a good strong landing net capable of taking a fish up of eight or ten pounds is most useful, and saves gaffing the smaller salmon. _flies._--i started with the idea that the ordinary trout fly on no. or hook should be as good in vancouver as it was in scotland. i had very soon to acknowledge my mistake--the trout preferred a small salmon fly on no. hook; silver grey, silver doctor, wilkinson and jock scott, i found the best patterns. the cohoe took a -inch silver doctor and rose steadily to the fly. _spoons and minnows._--spoons can be obtained locally, either in vancouver or in the campbell river store, but i should recommend their being purchased in england. the spoon specially made by farlow is three inches long, silver on both sides, with a hook attached to the end of the spoon by a strong wire loop. local tastes varied, and in the local store there were many varieties of spoons. one year dull lead spoons were supposed to be most killing--another year it would be brass. each fisherman had his special fancy. mr. griswold had a silver spoon invented by a friend of his, or himself, for which a patent was about to be applied. he naturally, therefore, did not wish to give away the secret. it certainly was a most killing bait, and mr. griswold, between his special spoon and his tarpon methods, killed more fish than any of us for the time he remained at the campbell river. he most generously lent me one of his pet spoons on a day he was hauling in fish and i was getting nothing. i was promptly in a big fish which broke me, owing to the line jamming round the nottingham reel, and away went the patent spoon. i did not feel justified in examining the spoon too closely or taking a drawing of it. it seemed longer than the farlow spoon. the hook was suspended by a chain and the bait seemed to wobble rather than spin. the material was metal with bright silver plating. an ordinary large-sized silver devon minnow spun from the boat, or at cape mudge from the shore, will take cohoe, and good sport can be obtained in this way. a tacomah spoon is deadly for cut-throat trout, but i preferred the fly. _traces._--i took out some specially strong gut spinning traces made by farlow, but i do not think any traces are necessary. the line is quite as invisible as the trace, and a few feet can be made into a trace by fixing two or three swivels--bronze, if possible, instead of bright brass--about two feet apart. for fly fishing, good stout loch casting lines which will land a five or seven pound fish are sufficient. very fine trout casts are unnecessary, except for trout in the river. _leads._--these can be purchased locally, and one is saved the trouble of adding to the weight of baggage. the method of fastening the lead on to the line all depends on whether it is decided to lose the lead when the fish is hooked or to fix it permanently on the line. a six-ounce lead when the fish is being played takes away considerably from the pleasure, owing to the dead weight on the rod. on the other hand, if it be decided to lose the lead each time a fish is hooked, a couple of hundred leads may be required. in the former case, two methods can be adopted: loop up the line about twenty feet from the spoon with a piece of thread, on which is hung the lead; when the strike comes the thread is broken and the lead slips off--or, as described by mr. whitney: tie two swivels on the line, nine inches apart; a small ring is soldered to one end of the lead, join the two swivels by a piece of weak cotton, thread the cotton through the ring of the lead and shorten it to four inches, which loops up the line, and when the strike comes the lead is released. in the latter case, which i adopted, i found the simplest way was to cut the line about ten feet from the spoon and fasten the lead by two split rings and two swivels. starting with a four-ounce lead i soon came to a six ounce, which i believe to be the most suitable, certainly in spring tides. _odds and ends._--one must carry out all one's own repairs, therefore an ample supply of repairing material and spare tackle must be taken. strong silk for splicing breakages, cobbler's wax, seccotine or liquid glue, rod varnish, spare hooks, split rings, bronze single and double swivels, fine copper wire, snake rod rings, and screws for reels. a small portable case of tools, such as the "bonsa," is invaluable, and with this and a sharp clasp knife most current repairs can be made. two good spring balances are advisable, one weighing up to seventy or eighty pounds, and one up to fifteen pounds. both should be tested, which avoids any dispute afterwards as to their accuracy. to alert bay chapter vi to alert bay the morning of the th fulfilled the promise of the previous day. the weather had at last broken, and it was in a dense wetting mist that we crept north, bound for alert bay. we had no delay at the seymour narrows, which can only be navigated at a certain state of the tide. the whole force of the pacific runs through these narrows--not more than half-a-mile broad--and the eddies and whirlpools that are formed are terrifying. there is one great rock in the middle of the passage--a special source of danger. i had visited these narrows in a steam launch from the hotel, and had there seen the water at its worst--a wonderful sight; but the tide was now suitable, and as the _queen city_ passed through there was only a strong current. the best guides and hunters are always snapped up early in the season, and before i left england, mr. bryan williams had secured for me the services of cecil smith--better known in the local sporting world as "cougar" smith, from the number of cougars he had shot. as he lived at quatiaski cove, immediately opposite the willows hotel, i had frequently met him and discussed our plans together. we had arranged to go from alert bay up the nimquish river to the nimquish lake, from which we were to strike in north-west to some valleys in the interior where wapiti were reported as fairly plentiful. cecil smith did not know the ground personally, but his brother eustace, who had been in that part of the country several times, was to meet us at alert bay and act as head guide. unfortunately for us, at the last moment he was unable to come, and we had to find our way as best we could in an unknown and unmapped country. i had to find a man to replace eustace smith, and was fortunate in picking up joe thomson at campbell river, and two better men than smith and thomson i could not have had. smith was to act as head hunter and guide and thomson more particularly look after the cooking and camp generally. thomson came on board with me and we picked up smith at quitiaski cove at about a.m. two other members of the party were even of more interest to me than the men. they were "dick" and "nigger," the latter generally known as "satan." "dick," who belonged to smith, was a most adorable dog and celebrated throughout vancouver for treeing cougars; indeed, as smith himself acknowledged, he owed his reputation as a cougar hunter to dick, who did everything except the actual shooting. it was difficult to say what dick's breed was. he looked like a cross between a spaniel and a retriever. he was one of the most fascinating dog characters i have ever met. he adored his master, who returned his worship, but ingratiated himself with every one; soon discovering that i had a warm corner in my heart for all dogs, we at once became fast friends. "nigger," the property of thomson, was a powerful, black, evil-looking bull terrier, but like many of his kind his character belied his looks, for he really was a soft-hearted, affectionate beast with a special ability for making himself comfortable under any circumstances. thomson asserted that if there was no food, "nigger" subsisted on berries, and he was an adept at catching fish for himself in the river. he had had some trouble with the authorities at comox in a matter of sheep, and so a temporary absence from his native town was desirable, and he became, to his great joy, one of our party. at p.m. on the th we arrived at alert bay, which is situated on an island opposite where the nimquish river discharges itself into the sea. alert bay is an important settlement of the siwash indians, and the village possesses one of the most remarkable collections of totem poles on the coast. the question was, where to put up--hotels there were none. mr. chambers, the local merchant, had in the most generous manner built an annexe to his charming house, containing several bedrooms, but they were all occupied. fortunately, i had been introduced to mr. halliday, the alert bay indian agent, at campbell river, and he most kindly offered me a shakedown on a sofa in his drawing-room, which i gratefully accepted. i found mr. halliday was devoted to music, but seldom could find an accompanist--while to accompany was a pleasure to me, and we passed the evening going through many songs i had not heard for years, which recalled the old country and days long gone by. eustace smith met us here and gave a rough sketch map to his brother cecil, and indeed pointed out to us the peak on vancouver island under which we were to camp, and which only looked about fifteen miles off as the crow flies, and yet what difficulty we had afterwards to find our way through the impenetrable forest! [illustration: "dick"] [illustration: totem poles, alert bay [_to face page ._] the morning of the th was spent in sorting out the kit we could take with us, which, as packing was our only means of transport, had to be cut down to nothing. mine consisted of two flannel shirts, one change of underclothing, two pairs of socks, one sweater, one spare pair of boots, a few handkerchiefs, sponge, soap and towel. one hudson bay blanket, for it was not yet cold in the woods, and one waterproof ground sheet in which the pack was made up, completed my outfit. the men had a single fly to sleep under. my tent, which mr. williams had kindly ordered for me in vancouver, was of the lean-to pattern, made with a flap which let down in front in bad weather, completely closing the tent. being made of so-called silk, it weighed only five pounds. it measured feet × feet, was about feet high in front and sloped back to about feet high behind. it was most comfortable so long as one slept on the ground, but was not high enough behind to take even a small camp bedstead. it was quite waterproof, but should a spark from the fire fall on it, a hole was burnt rapidly. i understand that the following renders the silk almost fire-proof-- dissolve half-a-pound of powdered alum in a bucket of soft boiling water. in another bucket half-a-pound sugar of lead; when dissolved and clear, pour first the alum solution, then the sugar of lead, into another vessel; after several hours pour off the water, letting any thick sediment remain, and soak the tent, kneading it well: wring out and hang up to dry. camp furniture i had none. a tin plate, knife, fork and spoon for each man; a nest of cooking pots which thomson provided, a small tin basin in which we washed and which also served to mix our bread, and lastly the invaluable portable tin baker which will roast or bake anything. it was strange that the hudson bay stores at vancouver could not provide light cooking utensils suitable for packing. they had excellent blankets, waterproof sheets and the larger articles of camp equipment, but light cooking utensils there were none. mr. williams took infinite trouble to get a nest of cooking pots made for me, but on their arrival at campbell river they were found impossible owing to their weight, so i made them a present to smith. we fitted out as regards provisions at mr. chambers' store: the usual articles of food--bacon, pork, beans, tea, sugar, flour, baking powder, oatmeal, dried apples and peaches, a couple of tins of meat, a couple of tins of jam--one of which only sufficed for a meal--some butter as a great treat, and a few potatoes and onions on which i insisted. no liquor could be purchased in alert bay; the sale was prohibited on account of the indian settlement. fortunately, i had secured two bottles of rum from the _queen city_, or otherwise i should have fared badly--as it was, i had to be content with about a dessertspoonful of rum each night before turning in. it is said that the indians will do anything for liquor, and once they get hold of any, drink without any self-restraint. at campbell river i had more than once seen an indian lying on the side of the road hopelessly drunk and insensible. it is therefore a wise provision that the sale of liquor should be prohibited at alert bay. the settlement was full of indians and their squaws, and a very unattractive lot the squaws were. once having seen them, it was difficult to believe in the immorality with which they are credited. these siwashes seemed a degraded race, and one heard of men who deliberately took their wives to logging camps to live on their earnings. the provisions we laid in were supposed to last three men for twenty days, and i was assured we would be helped out with game, an occasional deer, ruffled grouse and plenty of fish once we got into the forest. a man cannot carry a pack weighing more than eighty pounds in the country we had to traverse, and, having cut down everything to the absolute necessaries of life, we still had to make double trips to get our stuff into camp, wasting a day each time. we got away in the afternoon and crossed the straits to the mouth of the nimquish river in an indian canoe. about a mile up the river was the comfortable log house of b. lansdown, a settler. we were lucky enough to find him at home and he agreed to be the third man of our party. at first the idea was that he should help to pack in about three marches to where we proposed to make a permanent camp, and then return; but subsequent events compelled us to keep him the whole time. he was a fourth mouth to feed and at all times had a most excellent appetite. having arranged with two siwash indians to take us up to the lake, a distance of about seven miles, the following morning, we accepted lansdown's invitation to put up at his house, where we were most hospitably entertained. after some food at o'clock i had my first experience of a vancouver forest. a cougar had been killing cattle in the immediate neighbourhood, and smith's and dick's services were requisitioned to bring him to book. crossing the river, we were soon in the densest and most impenetrable undergrowth i ever attempted to crawl through. we were shown the spot where the last kill had taken place, and though we spent till dusk scrambling over and under fallen trees and through a tangle of undergrowth, unable to see five yards ahead, dick could find no trace of the cougar. it had been raining in the morning, so we were all wet to the skin, as forcing our way through the undergrowth was like taking a shower bath. hunting the cougar is, in my opinion, unworthy of the name of sport. success depends on having a good dog to follow up the cougar by scent and to drive him up a tree, when the hunter comes up and pots him. why such a powerful animal--for he is as big as a panther--should be such a coward, i cannot understand. i never heard while on the coast of a single case where the cougar attacked a man. the dog he sometimes goes for, and dick had been once severely mauled. i confess my first attempt at hunting in the vancouver forest was most disappointing, as i had formed no idea of the nature of the forest we were to hunt in. several people at the campbell river hotel had asked me if i knew what i was "up against" in deciding to try for a wapiti. some, including my men, took a brighter view, and assured me that the dense undergrowth was only on the coast, and that as one got inland the forest became more open. had i known what i was really "up against," i think i would have turned back, for never have i endured greater discomfort. in the forest chapter vii in the forest the morning of the th was fine and the river was looking lovely in the brilliant sunshine. just before the indians with their canoes arrived, a doe deer came down on to the shingle across the river. as we required meat, neither sex nor season was taken into consideration. my rifle was not ready, so smith had a shot at about yards and missed. i then had a try and missed the deer, which stood without moving, but with a second shot i brought her down. in a moment "nigger" was into the river and across worrying the carcass--what for i could not understand, for the poor beast was stone dead. it was lucky we secured this meat, for it was the last we saw for many days; but we afterwards regretted our generosity in leaving half the carcass behind as a present to our host's family. on the arrival of the big siwash canoe, with two indians to pole, we loaded up our kit and at last were off on our trip. smith went on through the forest on the chance of seeing any game, when he was to communicate with me. lansdown and thomson went up in lansdown's canoe, but spent most of their time in the water hauling it over the many rapids. my indians were splendid boatmen and poled up all but one of the rapids. the river has a considerable fall from the lake, and heavy rapids and miniature cataracts alternate with deep pools--an ideal fishing water. without stopping to fish, i trailed a small tacomah spoon behind the canoe and got twelve cut-throat trout, weighing lb., by the time we entered the lake. the scenery, as pure river scenery, was superb the whole way, the banks being clothed with dense forest through which the river rushed and tumbled on its short course to the sea. it reminded me very much of the scenery on the kippewa river in eastern canada. the river opened out as we approached the lake, and the scenery as we entered the lake was, if possible, more beautiful than that we had passed through. to the south extended the nimquish lake as far as the eye could see. the perennial snow of the vancouver mountains formed an impressive background, while a dense forest clothed the sides of the steep hills, which in some places fell almost perpendicularly down to the lake. the evening was lovely, the lake without a ripple, mountain and forest reflected as in a mirror. the whole scene gave a feeling of peace which can only be found in communion with nature. camp and dinner took our thoughts away in a more practical direction, and leaving smith and thomson to pitch camp, lansdown and i started for the lake end of the river to secure a few more trout for the pot. there was the most extraordinary collection of driftwood on the beach--colossal trees lying packed across one another, showing how high the lake must rise when the torrents descend from the precipitous mountains. on our return, we found smith and thomson had pitched camp in the forest near the lake, but the ground was sodden and covered with a thick moss. no drier spot could be found, so we had to make the best of it. the mosquitoes were troublesome till sunset, when they disappeared. i had the same experience during the entire trip. very often unbearable the hour before sunset, they disappeared as night closed in, and i never had occasion to use a mosquito curtain. the nights were cold, which perhaps accounted for it. i could not help contrasting the camp and its arrangements with my camping experience in eastern canada, some seven years before. there we had ideal camping grounds, on the bank of some river or lake, dry sandy soil, a fairly open forest with undergrowth only in parts, and lovely views from the tent door over rushing river or placid lake. i had french canadians for companions and guides and they have a perfect genius for making comfortable and even luxurious camps; unlimited supplies, for we travelled with two canoes, and most of our way was over lakes or rivers with short portages; a comfortable tent, and if we were to camp for two or three days, my men soon ran up a dining-table and bench under a birch bark shelter. the table was always laid with a clean napkin, and an excellent dinner of soup, fish, stuffed ruffled grouse, deliciously cooked, was served. we had plenty of knives, forks, plates and drinking cups--in fact, all the comfort which two canoes allow. here, we had only once a decent camp, and that was on lake keogh. the edges of the lake were generally swamps and piled up with driftwood. our camps had to be pitched in the forest, a short distance from the shore of the lake, or on the bank of the river on the most level bit of land we could find. the ground was always sodden, and a few branches of damp hemlock with a waterproof sheet spread over them was my bed. we each had a tin plate, cup, knife, fork and spoon. we all ate together, sitting on the damp ground in front of the camp fire. lastly, the comforting tot of whisky at or after dinner had to be abandoned, for we had only two bottles of rum in case of illness. [illustration: the head of nimquish lake] [illustration: driftwood on the beach of lake nimquish, "dick" in the foreground [_to face page ._] at the first camp we fared quite luxuriously, for we had the venison we had brought along and the trout i had caught _en route_--but later on, the daily fare of bacon and beans became, to say the least, monotonous. in one thing we were lucky: thomson baked the most delicious bread; so we were certain of good bread and tea. the morning of the th broke fine and we got away about . a.m., but before long the rain came down and we plodded along through the forest for some seven hours, during which we did not cover much more than three miles. the undergrowth was nearly everywhere dense, consisting of wine-berries and that curse of the forest, the thorny devil-club. the trees rose from one to two hundred feet in height over our heads. windfalls of timber were numerous, adding to the difficulty of the march. of animal life we could see nothing. deer marks were plentiful, and in the early morning before starting we heard the melancholy howling of two wolves. game might have been in abundance, but what was the good when it was impossible to see more than a few yards ahead. i began to have serious misgivings as to what stalking a wapiti would be like in such a country. the wapiti country was, however, far away and we had still to get there. about o'clock we pitched camp, if possible on a worse ground than that of the day before. packs for two men had been left behind to be brought on next day, which meant that i had to remain in camp on the st with nothing to do, for there was neither game nor fish in the neighbourhood. smith went on to find the way for next day's march, and the other two men went back to bring up the loads left behind. they turned up about p.m. smith got back in the afternoon, having found kitsewa river, which was to be our objective the next day. about p.m. the rain came down in torrents and continued all night. fortunately my little tent was quite waterproof. one great advantage of a camp in the forest is that there is no wind to drive the rain through the tent. i doubt whether my tent would have kept out such rain if the camp had been in the open. september st. the rain stopped about a.m. but the trees and undergrowth were dripping and a bad wet march was before us. getting away about . a.m.--it was always difficult to get the men to make an earlier start--we were soon wet to the skin. smith, having got the compass bearings of the river, tried to find a better route than that he had taken the day before; but towards the end of the march we hit on a very bad windfall on the slope of a steep hill. giant trees lay in a dense tangle, over, under and across which we had to make our way. it was timber crawling at its worst, and the trunks of the trees being covered with damp, slippery moss made the going really dangerous at times. unfortunately i was wearing a pair of strong shooting boots with scafe's patent rubber studs instead of nails. they had no hold on the slippery trunks of the trees we had to cross; the result was a bad fall and a sprained knee which caused me great pain and discomfort for the rest of the trip. i shall never forget the end of that march, for my knee kept giving way, and i stumbled and tumbled about till i was covered with bruises. we made the kitsewa river after six hours' march, and as the rain again set in, we camped at a disused trapper's hut on a high bank overlooking the river. the river here was about thirty yards broad and full of humpbacked salmon, but apparently no trout. we had seen many tracks of deer, wolves and one cougar on the march, but the undergrowth was so dense that shooting was impossible. september nd. the men had again to go back to bring up the packs left behind. these double journeys were most annoying, and yet i do not see how they could have been avoided. we certainly only had the bare necessaries of life--more packers would have meant more mouths to feed and more provisions to carry--yet each double journey meant a lost day. my knee was so swollen and painful i could not move from the tent, so smith decided to go on and hunt for the keogh lake--where his brother eustace had on a previous trip left the material for a rough raft; where the keogh lake was, he was not quite certain, but it had to be found. left alone in camp i could not help thinking what would have happened had i broken my leg. putting the question to the men they said, "oh! it would have been all right--we would have packed in food to you." in fact i would have had to lie in my tent till i recovered or died, for it is impossible to move a sick or injured man through the vancouver forest. with nothing to read and obliged to lie on my back, the day was long in passing, and i find the following entry in my diary: "knee very painful, am quite unable to walk and miserable at the idea that my entire trip may be spoiled and that i may have to turn back. am black and blue with bruises from the many falls i had yesterday after i injured my knee." smith had succeeded in getting one willow grouse, shooting it with a pistol, but he missed two others close to the camp. the men returned about o'clock, having made good time, as we had blazed our track of yesterday. smith got in about p.m., utterly exhausted, and having failed to find lake keogh. here was a man, certainly one of the best woodsmen in the island, defeated by the difficulties of the vancouver forest. it must be remembered the northern portions of the island are unsurveyed, so marching was all compass work. there had probably been some slight error in the bearings given him by his brother, but the fact remained, that keogh lake had still to be hunted for. dick had found a cougar and smith shot him--a fine specimen of a male. smith's appearance with the skin fastened over his shoulder was certainly dramatic, rendered more so by his throwing himself on the ground in a state of utter exhaustion. here the rum came in useful, and after a good tot and some food, he was quite himself again. i think he felt bitterly that he had failed to find the lake, but he had done his best, and no man can do more. september rd. my knee was still painful and i was quite unfit to march. it was useless to start without knowing where we were going, so after consultation we decided that smith and thomson should go ahead and try to find the lake. as it turned out smith had gone too far east the previous day. lansdown and "nigger" remained in camp, but dick, who must have been pretty tired after yesterday's work, refused to leave his master. cutting a strong stick--my daily companion for the rest of the trip--i hobbled down to the river to try and get some fish for ourselves and the dogs. there were shoals of humpbacked salmon in the pools, but they were hideous to look at, as the spawning season was coming on. they would not look at a fly or minnow, so i had resort to the worst form of poaching: "sniggering." i soon had five on the bank and could as easily have had fifty. to us the fish were quite uneatable, but the dogs thoroughly enjoyed them. i could see no sign of trout of any size or in any number. i only caught one tiny cut-throat. dead humpbacks were lying in all the pools, and along the banks of the river; there were tracks of a big bear close to camp and many deer tracks, but the dense undergrowth destroyed any chance of a shot. returning to camp about p.m. i set out for a grassy hollow, fairly open and close to the river where lansdown said deer were certain to come out to feed in the evening. i stood the mosquitoes for about five minutes when i had to retire ignominiously, as they were simply in clouds. night fell and there was no sign of smith or thomson. fortunately the weather had been quite perfect and a bivouac in the woods would be no great hardship. "nigger" was a source of continual amusement to me that day. he was a dog of great character and had become much attached to me. he liked the camp fire and never was so happy as when sitting on his haunches as close as he could get to it and blinking with intense joy. his master, i fear, often drove him away, but he always crept back a few minutes after. he loved, too, to crawl under the fly of my tent and curl up for the night at the foot of my blanket. i spent a portion of the day cleaning and skinning the paws of the cougar, and as i finished each paw, threw it away some distance from the camp. "nigger" carefully watched my proceedings, and when he thought i was not looking, slunk away and had soon retrieved each paw, and carefully buried it for future use. poor beast! i expect he had experienced many a hungry day and instinct had taught him to make provision for the future. september th. smith and thomson had not returned, which meant another wasted day. here we were the sixth day out from the lake, but we had only made two marches and were not yet in our hunting ground. eustace smith had said it was only a two or three days' march at the outside--but he probably travelled alone, very light, and knew his way. the two men turned up about p.m., pretty well tired out, as they had been walking all the day before and from o'clock in the morning. they reported the country ahead very bad going, but they had found a river which must have had its source in the keogh lake; the lake itself they had not reached. i had caught about a dozen salmon parr, so had a poor fry as an addition to the never varying menu of bacon and beans. september th. we did not yet get away till . , as the men were tired after their two days' tramp. we followed the bed of the kitsewa river, crossing and recrossing the stream several times, which was very tiring. fortunately the water was only above our knees, but a slip with his pack gave lansdown a real ducking. though the going was bad over rough boulders, still it was a relief after the struggle through the undergrowth of the forest. the packs were heavy, as we were now packing everything, so our progress was somewhat slow. we had cachéd some provisions in the trapper's hut and had got through six days' supplies, still the packs were as heavy as the men could well manage and a rest every fifteen minutes was necessary. leaving the river after about two miles, we again struck some bad country, and at p.m. arrived at the stream supposed to flow out of lake keogh. the men were pretty well done from the extra heavy packs, so a halt was decided on and we pitched camp as best as could on the side of a precipitous hill. my knee was very painful; marching was anything but a pleasure and i was glad of an early rest. smith went ahead and came back reporting the lake only half-a-mile away, so it was a pity we had not gone on a little further. he had also seen the track of a big bull wapiti and a fresh bear track, which news cheered us all up. september th. starting early we were soon on the shore of the lake--a lovely sheet of water about two miles long, surrounded by steep forest-clad hills a few hundred feet high. the growth round the shore was so thick, and the rocks in parts so precipitous, we decided it would save time to build a raft to get to the end of the lake. we found some logs with which eustace smith had made a raft and soon put them together, and had a rough raft on which we paddled slowly to the north end of the lake. we pitched camp on the first decent camping ground we had found. the men were in shelter under an enormous cedar-tree, of great age and quite hollow in the middle. my tent was pitched on an open bit of ground running out to the lake, over which i had a beautiful view. misfortune was still to pursue us--smith had had a bad fall two days before, but did not attach much importance to it. he now felt very ill and complained of great pain and tenderness in his side. on examining him, it appeared to me that one of his ribs was cracked if not broken. he was not a very strong man physically, though as hard as nails. all we could do was to foment his side with one of our flannel shirts and let him lie in his blankets near the fire, which had been lit at the base of the cedar-tree. there were some open glades at the end of the lake and the country looked more gamelike. i went out in the afternoon to have a look round. the country was more open and i found a two-day-old track of a big bull, so game was in the neighbourhood--there were also fresh bear tracks and bear droppings close to camp. i returned to try for a dish of trout while thomson went out to lie in wait for deer coming out to feed at sunset--a form of sport i did not appreciate. the question of food was now becoming serious, as the men had calculated on plenty of deer and grouse, and we had had no fresh meat since the deer i shot the day we started up the nimquish river. fishing from the shore and from our raft i caught six cut-throat trout, the largest about half-a-pound, with the fly. the lake was very deep and peaty--no doubt there were bigger fish in it, but they would not rise freely; it was late in the season and possibly my flies were not big enough. thomson returned, having wounded a deer--i don't think he was a crack shot, but like all the men i met on the coast, very fond of loosing off. he also reported having met a bear which he missed clean, but doubt was expressed in camp as to the bear. september th. the rain was coming down in torrents and the camp most uncomfortable, while to move on was impossible, as smith was feverish and in considerable pain, quite unfit to carry a pack. i had, therefore, most reluctantly to decide to remain where we were. thomson took "nigger" out to find the wounded deer and returned in the evening successful. the deer was a young doe. there was great joy in camp at the prospect of a meat meal at last, for we had had no fresh meat since august th. during the night we had an alarm. the men had pitched their fly under a very old cedar-tree and the camp fire was lit against the tree, which was hollow. about midnight there was a sound of an explosion and a roar of flames. jumping out of bed, a most extraordinary sight presented itself; the entire tree was in flames from the base to the summit. the fire had evidently crept up the hollow trunk till the whole tree was ablaze. pulling down the fly, the men saved everything from being burnt, but morning found the tree still a roaring pillar of fire. in eastern canada in the fall of the year such an occurrence might have set the whole country ablaze and resulted in one of those tracts of burnt country called "brulés" so common through that country. while on the campbell river we heard of great forest fires taking place on the mainland, but in the north of vancouver island i saw no sign of a burnt forest, for it was too saturated to burn. in the wapiti country chapter viii in the wapiti country september th. we got away in fine weather through the most open country we had yet met. our objective was a lake about three miles away, for having found keogh lake, eustace smith's rough-sketch map now came in useful. the country looked more promising for game, for we came across many well-beaten wapiti tracks and at least two fresh tracks of good bulls. we got into camp fairly early and selected the most level piece of ground to be found some twenty yards from the lake; the edge of the lake itself was swampy. the lake was about a mile long by a quarter of a mile broad. it was the first of a chain of lakes connected by a narrow stream with a rough rocky bed running to the west. the sides were clothed with dense forest and the tops of the surrounding hills were even now covered with snow. the view in the morning was most beautiful --the mist floating up the forest-clad ravines to the distant hill-tops all reflected in the glassy surface of the lake. at sunset it was equally lovely. this lake we called no. , as we understood the chain consisted of three lakes extending westward down the valley which was to be our future hunting ground. smith suggested he should go out, look quietly round, examine the country and search for fresh tracks, so that we could begin our regular hunting the next day. being now in the game country i had given strict orders that no one was to shoot at anything, but to come back and report what he had seen--i was therefore somewhat astounded to hear a single shot at no great distance as i was catching a dish of trout for dinner. smith soon came back looking very dejected. he said he had come on fresh tracks of a good bull, and in following them up saw something brown in the undergrowth which he thought was a small deer, and as we wanted meat in camp he took a snapshot at it, and then found it was the bull and he feared he had wounded it. i had to accept this story, improbable as it was, for there was no mistaking a great bull wapiti for a small deer. [illustration: the vancouver forest, showing undergrowth through which we had to make our way] [illustration: lake no. [_to face page ._] what was done was done, and there was no use making a fuss. if i were making such a trip again, i would ask the men to leave their rifles behind, for they cannot resist shooting at anything that comes their way. he had come back at once to tell me, and begged of me to go out with him and take up the track, which was only about a mile away. the rain was again falling and we had only a couple of hours of daylight, but still i decided to see for myself the tracks and ascertain, if possible, whether the bull had been wounded and where. taking thomson with us, we started and were soon as usual wet through. we found the spot where smith had come on the bull and fired. there were a few traces of blood, but they were all high up on the bushes, and from the pace the wapiti was travelling, it was evident he was none the worse for the light bullet of smith's winchester rifle. we followed the track till dusk and had a weary tramp back to camp in the dark. i had again ricked my knee and was in considerable pain. everything seemed to have gone wrong, first my accident, then smith's, and now a wounded wapiti that we might never find. the prospect of the morrow's work with a swollen and painful knee was not very cheering, and i think we were all rather sad when we turned in that night. september th. it had rained all night and was still pelting when we started. i had to walk with a stick and was unable to carry my own rifle. in a couple of hours we came to the spot where we had left the track the previous evening. smith was a fine tracker, i have seldom seen a better. the bull was going strong and well. we soon came to where he had rested for the night, but there was no pool of blood, so the wound was evidently not serious. in the early morning he had fed down the valley. after about three hours' tracking we came on to the shore of another lake (lake no. ), and thought the bull had taken to the water--to the edge of which he had gone down through heavy swampy ground covered with coarse grass. taking a cast round, we found, however, that he had turned right back and gone up the valley we had just come down, but on the other side of the river connecting the two lakes. following up the track we suddenly heard a crash right ahead, but i could see nothing. smith dashed on and i heard a shout at the top of his voice, "come on, sir john. quick!" it was all very well "come on quick," but with a bad knee, getting through a mass of fallen timber up a fairly steep though fortunately short hill was no easy matter. how i did it i cannot even now understand, but the pain in the knee was forgotten, my stick thrown away, the rifle, which was of course loaded, snatched out of thomson's hand, and i found myself on the crest of the hill looking down into a valley overgrown with dense salmon-berry through which some great beast was crashing his way. i am quite blind without a telescope sight and there was no time to fix it. i could just make out the tips of the bull's horns moving quickly through the undergrowth. i could only guess where the body was, but fortunately the body of a wapiti is a pretty big mark. taking a snapshot as i would at a snipe i heard the welcome thud of the bullet. the bull stood for a moment, which gave me time for a second shot, on which i saw the great antlers sink out of sight in the undergrowth and i knew that the trophy i had come so far to obtain was mine. i confess to an anxious moment as to what the head would turn out to be. the tracks were those of a big bull, but i had only seen the tips of the horn; the spread looked good, but whether he was a six or a sixteen points i could not say. going down to where he lay we found him stone dead, a good thirteen-pointer, which the men naturally declared to be above the average. somehow, i was disappointed, as i expected a bigger head, but after all getting him at all was a pure chance, and having now experienced what hunting the wapiti in these dense forests meant, i was, i think, on the whole very lucky. he looked an enormous beast as he lay. what his weight was i could not guess, but he must have stood about sixteen hands at the shoulder. it took the three of us all we could do to turn him over to examine the wounds. both of my shots were fatal. we found that smith's bullet had inflicted a flesh wound high up in the rump, and would have done no harm. wet to the skin, but happy, i got under a giant cedar which gave shelter from the heavy rain, and lighting a big fire, stripped to the skin to dry my soaking clothes, while the men were removing the head and getting some meat. we soon had wapiti steaks frizzling on the fire, and a brew of hot tea made us all comfortable and happy. the worst of the whole business was the waste of meat and the impossibility of taking away the splendid skin. the head alone was one man's load and to carry out a green skin was quite impossible. packing as much of the meat as we could carry, we made for the camp. the creek flowing down the valley was coming down in heavy spate and we had to cross and recross it many times--no easy matter--before we got home. september th. it was still raining. smith was feeling pretty bad, his side causing him much pain, and he was, i think, beginning to feel anxious about himself. my knee was anything but comfortable. neither of us were up to another day in the forest, so i spent my day fishing and caught about forty small cut-throat trout, the biggest about oz. i saw one fish about lb. throw himself in the lake, but he would not rise when i put a fly over him; it was possibly too late in the season. this lake had practically never been fished, and i was much disappointed to find that the sport was so poor. lansdown had gone back to bring up a small pack left at keogh lake. he returned in the evening, reporting that he had come face to face with a ten-pointer bull who simply looked at him and walked away. such is luck. happily he had not a rifle, or most certainly he would have loosed off. september th. our future plans had now to be discussed and decided on. instead of two or three days' march, we had owing to a chapter of accidents taken ten days to get into the wapiti country. provisions were running short. smith was practically _hors de combat_ and feeling worse every day, and yet viewing the fact that we were now in the wapiti country, and by spending another few days we might reasonably expect to get another bull, i was extremely unwilling to turn back. on the other hand, further exposure in the vile weather we were experiencing might have resulted in smith's serious illness. not liking to assume the responsibility, i left it to him. he reluctantly decided for home. i feel sure he was even more disappointed than i was, for he was a keen sportsman, but in his present condition he was quite unfit to carry a pack, while serious illness might have resulted from exposure to pouring rain. the decision was the only one that could be come to, so there was no use in repining. we accordingly sent thomson and lansdown back to keogh lake with the wapiti head and one pack. smith and i started out on our last chance of finding another wapiti. it was for a wonder a lovely morning, and i felt bitterly the hard luck which had pursued us all the way, and which now compelled us to turn back just as we had reached a game country. we went up a fine valley running from the east of the lake--the most open forest we had yet come to. it was timbered with magnificent spruce-trees, some of which i should say were at least feet in height. there was but little undergrowth, it was the first ideal hunting ground we had struck. we worked all the morning without finding anything but two-day-old tracks. after lunch we suddenly came on quite fresh tracks of a good bull, possibly the one lansdown had seen the day before. taking up the tracks, we followed steadily on and must have come close enough to disturb him, though we neither heard nor saw anything. we came, however, on the spot where he had been lying down and had jumped up and gone off at a gallop. we tracked that bull till dusk and never came up with him. fortunately he took us down the valley to the lake where we were camped, and we got home at nightfall. out of the forest [illustration: packing out [_to face page ._] chapter ix out of the forest september th was a lovely crisp morning with a touch of frost in the air. the lake was looking perfect as we turned our backs on it, leaving the game country and all the chances of another wapiti behind. it was hard luck and i think we were all more or less depressed. we made a good march down the spruce valley till we struck keogh lake in the early afternoon. this was the route by which we should have come in, as it was fairly open, more so than any other portion of the forest we had gone through. the timber was very fine. a small creek ran down the valley, and along it there were many beaver dams. beavers are still protected by law throughout the island. we saw a large one swimming across keogh lake when in camp on our way in, and at night more than once heard the curious noise the beaver makes striking the water with his tail as he dives when frightened. needless to say, regardless of all game laws, the men had several shots at the beaver without doing him any harm. arriving at our old camp at keogh lake we found the cedar still smouldering. having made a new raft we reached camp at the south end of the lake, just as the sky clouded up, evidently preparing for another downpour. the shores of the lake were swampy and it was with difficulty we found a place to camp. it rained that night as if it had never rained before. lansdown now jacked up and i find the following note in my diary:-- "smith still ill and lansdown now sick and very sorry for himself--query, too much wapiti meat--we are a sorry crew, but my knee is free from pain for the first time since the accident occurred." in all the discomforts i was to be "up against," none of my friends had mentioned the possibility of bad weather in september. august at the campbell river had been simply an ideal climate, but from august th to september th, it had rained fifteen days out of the twenty-eight, and by rain i don't mean showers, which were common and did not count, but a steady downpour which lasted all day, and made marching through the undergrowth, alike on fine or wet days, like going under a continual shower bath. september th. it was still raining heavily and the men were not very keen on starting. carrying a pack in wet weather is hard work and apt to chafe the back. on the other hand, i had no prospect of more sport and did not care to pay my men ½ dollars a day that they should rest in camp till the weather cleared. i determined, therefore, to move on, but it was noon before i could get a move on the men, and it required some determination to effect this. it was certainly a miserable march, steady rain the whole time. about o'clock the men gave up and said they could pack no further in such weather. we had struck the kitsewa, which was rushing down in heavy flood, so camped on its bank. thomson was now feeling seedy, and every one was out of sorts and a bit out of temper at the vile weather. september th. the river was down about a foot but still very full. after crossing and recrossing it about ten times and getting wet through, we arrived at our old camp at the trapper's hut about p.m.; a short but fatiguing march owing to the state of the river. we had intended pushing on further after our midday meal, but once more torrential rains had set in and we decided to remain where we were for the day. the river was now simply alive with humpbacked salmon and dozens were lying dead on the banks. bear marks were numerous, but the dense undergrowth rendered any chance of seeing one remote. "nigger" was revelling in his pursuit of fish and repeatedly dashed into the shallows which were boiling with salmon struggling up stream, bringing out a fish each time, one must have been about six pounds. on the march "dick" had come on the fresh track of two wolves and promptly started after them. he gave us some anxiety for the half-hour he was away, for with all his pluck, he would have had a poor chance if he had come up with them. i suppose it was the deserted hut which recalled to lansdown's mind a grim tale of a trapper's fate. the man had started out from civilization on his usual winter expedition. spring came and he failed to return, but this did not cause any anxiety as trappers lead a nomadic life, and it was thought he might have pushed further than he intended or found some specially good hunting ground. two years passed and his existence had been practically forgotten, when a party cruising the woods for timber came on a log hut in a lonely part of the forest. inside they found a man's skeleton lying on the little shelf which constituted the bed. by the side was a rifle and the bony hand still grasped a twig attached to the trigger, a shattered skull told the rest of the tale. on a bench beside the bed were the tin plates, a cup and the mouldy remains of what once had been food. what a tragedy! one could picture illness coming on and the struggle against it. too weak to pack out, he eventually had to take to bed--at first possibly able to get up and cook a little food while provisions lasted--then his strength gradually declined, the lonely nights thinking of the inevitable end, and then the final decision possibly hastened by hearing the howling of wolves round the log cabin. after all, his best friend was his rifle and that was close to hand. who can blame him for the decision he had the courage to carry out? lansdown was one of the men sent out to bury the remains. september th. the morning was fine and we got away about . . thomson announced that the provisions had practically run out--no more flour or sugar and we were two days from the lake. we had actually left some flour and other provisions behind in order to lighten the packs. improvidence seems to characterize these men of the west. so long as provisions are plentiful there is no thought of the future. three spoonfuls of sugar will be put in a cup of tea and a two-pound tin of jam will disappear at a meal--treated as if it were stewed fruit, but the future is forgotten. to-day the poor dogs had no food at all. we ourselves did not fare brilliantly, but a short march on the morrow should bring us to the nimquish lake. we might indeed with an effort have made it in the day. september th. a two hours' march took us to the lake and our last meal was taken on its shores. it was neither luxurious nor plentiful--a few crusts of yesterday's bread fried in some bacon fat which remained on the pan, and a cup of weak tea, for tea too had run out. i hunted for and found a portion of the skin of the deer i had shot on the first day in and which i had thrown into the lake. "dick" and "nigger" devoured it ravenously. poor doggies, they had been two days without a meal. more faithful or longsuffering companions a man never had. they seemed to understand we could not give them what we had not, and while they looked at us eating with anxious eyes, when no scraps were thrown they resigned themselves to hunger and curled up to sleep. [illustration: the wapiti. points] [illustration: the shore of lake nimquish [_to face page ._] i reserve for ever a warm corner in my heart for "dick" and "nigger." how "dick" found his way in the forest was always a mystery to me. of the keenest sporting instinct, he considered it his duty to pursue any track he came across. wolf, bear or deer were all the same to him. i fear even a wapiti would not have been sacred, but in the wapiti country, we always tied him up in camp. over and over again he went away giving tongue loudly till distance drowned his barks. he had no idea in what direction we were marching. sometimes he would be away for an hour and we began to fear something had happened to him but he invariably turned up wagging his tail, having found our tracks and followed them. i have seldom met a more intelligent dog. coming out of the dense forest and suddenly striking the open lake bathed in brilliant sunshine, the effect was dazzling and our eyes were almost blinded. fortunately we saw a siwash canoe across the lake, and were lucky enough to find that mr. dickenson, one of the directors of a timber company, was up on a tour of inspection. he most kindly offered to take me down the river in his canoe, and we decided to fish a little on the way down. in the first pool where the river left the lake i got a couple of nice cut-throat trout, one about lb., on the fly. the pool was simply alive with cohoe salmon, which could be seen on all sides swimming about in the clear water. mr. dickenson trolling with a spoon was soon in a nice fish of about lb., which gave really good sport on a light trout rod before it was landed. shooting the rapids in great form we were very soon opposite lansdown's house, where i landed. and so ended my hunting trip in the vancouver forests. i cannot say much in its favour. it was timber crawling pure and simple from beginning to end--no real stalking, only a snapshot which fortunately got me my wapiti. the weather had been all against us--the camping grounds, with the exception of that on keogh lake, most uncomfortable. food was indifferent owing to difficulty of finding any game; deer there were in numbers, judging by the tracks, but one seldom saw them. there were ruffled grouse, but smith was not very successful with his pistol, and we only got two or three the whole trip. with the fishing i was very much disappointed. the trout in the lakes in the interior were tiny things, hardly worth catching or eating. so long as one has to pack, i do not see how a really comfortable trip can be made. discomfort to a certain extent i don't mind, but we had a little too much of it. i had added one more experience to a life of varied sport, but i mentally resolved that i never again would be tempted to hunt the wapiti in the vancouver forest, or indeed, to go on any hunting trip which depended on packing for transport. who knows whether i shall keep that resolve? that night we put up at lansdown's, and never in the best restaurants of paris or london have i enjoyed a meal more than that which mrs. lansdown with true hospitality placed before us, abundance of food--mutton, potatoes, and other fresh vegetables, eggs, milk and cream. i fear we all ate far too much. after goat on the mainland chapter x after goat on the mainland having still a few days to spare, i decided to try for a rocky mountain goat on the mainland. lansdown had lived for some years at the head of kingcome inlet, one of the great inlets running in to the mainland, just behind the island on which the town of alert bay is situated. he stated that goats were plentiful but that one would have to climb up to the tops of the mountains at this season of the year. he also pretended to an intimate knowledge of every turn and bend of the inlet, and the best campgrounds. i accordingly engaged him and his sixteen-feet rowing and sailing boat for the trip. september th. we started early for alert bay and were fortunate in getting a tow across from the timber company's steam launch, and arrived at alert bay in the early forenoon. we laid in ample supplies of provisions at mr. chambers' store and with some difficulty i got the men to start at p.m. my two bottles of rum had long since been exhausted though only taken in homoeopathic doses. the difficulty was to get more. no spirits were allowed to be sold in alert bay, a passing steamer was the only chance, and fortunately one was due before we started. my friend mr. halliday saved the situation. he as a magistrate gave me a certificate that the rum was required on medical grounds, without which the captain of the steamer would have refused to part with any. i was the envy of the entire indian population as i left the steamer's side with a bottle of rum sticking out of each of my coat pockets. it was a lovely evening and though mr. chambers had offered us a tow with his steam launch, which runs to the head of the inlet once a fortnight, if we would wait two days, i preferred to get away rather than kick my heels about alert bay. rowing up to the mouth of the inlet with a flowing tide we made about seven miles, and camped at o'clock on a rocky islet where we found an ideal camping ground, near which some siwash indians had settled for the summer fishing. the scenery was superb. a background of the snow-covered mountains of the mainland, in the middle distance many islands clad with wood down to the foreshore, a sea like glass in which mountains, islands and forests were reflected and the surface only broken by the eddies of the flowing tide. the sunset was glorious and the colouring indescribable. that evening, we saw a remarkable sight. pilot whales in schools were common at the campbell river, but here came a great whale all alone ploughing his way up the inlet and coming up every few minutes to blow--once he threw his entire body many feet out of the water and came down with a crash which echoed through the surrounding islands. september th. after a hearty breakfast we got away about a.m., but by . the appetites of the men called for a halt. noon never passed without a spell for food being proposed. trolling with a spoon and a hand line, for i had left my rod at alert bay, i got a nice cohoe of about ten pounds, and strange to say quite good eating. at o'clock a halt for the night was suggested, but i would not have it, and as lansdown said there was a good camping ground some four miles away, we pushed on. the sides of the inlet were so steep that it was only in certain places that ground where a tent could be pitched was to be found. lansdown had lived twelve years on the inlet, but his bump of locality was sadly deficient, for it took us three and a half hours to cover that four miles which must have been nearer nine, and i had to take the oar for the last two hours. at last we reached the cove with a shelving sandy beach, but it was pitch dark and the rain was coming down, so i fear i was rather short with poor lansdown, who had kept promising the camping ground a few yards round every point we passed. september th. the camping ground as seen in the daylight was an ideal one. there was no undergrowth, and a grassy glade in the shelter of the great trees was a perfect site for the tents. a head wind had got up and the rain was still pouring down, so the prospects were not very encouraging, but still by tacking and rowing we made about seven miles when we were picked up by mr. chambers' launch and taken on to the head of the inlet where the kingcome river falls into the sea. the scenery all up the inlet was very fine. the hills got more and more perpendicular as the head of the inlet was approached, and were clothed with dense forest down to the water's edge. down the ravines from the hill-tops , feet high poured great waterfalls, and rain-clouds and mist swept over the tops of the hills, giving from time to time a glimpse of distant snow-covered peaks some , feet high. the evening was fine and by o'clock we were anchored in the river opposite a few settlers' houses. we found lansdown's old house, somewhat dilapidated but habitable. there was abundance of sweet hay and it was a luxury to spread my blanket on a hay-strewn dry wooden floor with a rainproof roof over my head. most of the settlers, including lansdown's strapping brother, came round to have a chat and to hear the news from the outside world. they seem to have a fairly easy time chiefly raising cattle, for the delta formed by the washed-down detritus from the hills was a rich white soil on which a fine crop of grass was raised. there were a good number of wild duck about, and the settlers were a sporting lot, so they amused themselves with the evening flighting and with occasional trips up mount kingcome, which overshadowed the valley, after goat, deer and bear. september th. it was a fine morning and the snow-covered peaks of mount kingcome about , feet above us, where we hoped to find our goats, were glistening in the morning sun. smith was _hors de combat_--i had offered to send him home from alert bay, but he said he was quite fit to go on. i think he was a bit nervous when he saw the climb before him, for carrying a pack up the steep mountain was no joke. i was fortunate enough to secure the services of harry kirby, one of the settlers who knew the country well and he was willing to take smith's place; a better man after goat i could not wish to have. he was very deaf and somewhat outspoken. looking me over he said, "you are too stout for goat," which i rather felt to be true, though the trip after wapiti had fined me down considerably. i was, however, in hard condition by this time, and half-way up when we stopped for a midday meal, he quietly remarked, "i think after all you will do," and so my character as a prospective goat-hunter was restored. [illustration: morning mists on mount kingcome [_to face page ._] quite a good track was blazed and cleared for about half-way up the hill, and the path though very steep was not bad, only hard on the men carrying the packs, so spells for rest were fairly frequent. the last half where the track had not been cleared was real bad going. a great torrent swept down the bottom of the steep ravine we were ascending, and it had to be crossed many times, which meant a wetting. the undergrowth was a dense tangle, fallen trees blocked the path and never had we met the accursed devil-club in such abundance. all things must come to an end, and by o'clock we were clear of the forest and entered a fairly open valley, shut in on all sides by steep cliffs. at the end of the valley rose the snow-covered summit of mount kingcome about three miles away. we had been marching since . and had ascended about , feet. we pitched camp in the last clump of wood in the valley, and on the side of the hill. though the forest ceased, there were dense masses of impenetrable cover, consisting of salmon-berry, wine-berry and devil-club, for about a mile up the valley, after which the ground was quite open. large patches of snow were lying on the bare hills just above the cover--and while selecting our camping ground, i suddenly saw a black object moving across a snow patch about half-a-mile across the valley. leaving kirby and lansdown to pitch the camp i took thomson with me, and getting within about yards of the snow patch, saw what looked like a small bear, but as thomson said, "i never saw a bear with a long tail." the animal was moving quickly over the snow and getting closer every minute to a patch of dense cover. no doubt it was a wolverine. i had a long shot at about yards and knocked up the snow under his belly. in a moment he was in the cover and we never saw him again. further up towards the head of the valley we saw a bear moving across a patch of snow, but he, too, disappeared in the cover. evening was now closing in, so we turned towards camp. about a mile away, just opposite the camp and on some almost precipitous rocks a goat suddenly came into view round a corner of the rock. he must have been lying down all the time out of sight, and it was bad luck not having seen him before, for though to climb the face of the cliff was impossible, we might have got a long shot from below; as it was, by the time we had got up to the foot of the cliff, it was too dark to shoot, so we decide to leave him till next day. [illustration: camp on mount kingcome. [_to face page ._] [illustration: a rocky mountain goat] [illustration: the goat country [_to face page ._] at last i had reached a game country, having seen a wolverine, a bear and goat in one afternoon. september st. it had rained all night but cleared up in the morning. before i had turned out, kirby reported the wolverine crossing the same patch of snow opposite the camp about half-a-mile away. slipping on a pair of boots, i rushed out in my sleeping clothes. getting the glass on to the beast, i found that this time it was a bear making tracks for the valley we had come up, and no doubt after the salmon which were rotting in thousands on the bank of the river below. he was into the cover before anything could be done in the way of a stalk, and did not appear again. examining the ground, i found the valley extended up to the base of mount kingcome for about one and a half miles. the sides were precipitous cliffs quite impossible to climb. the slope up to their base was clothed with dense undergrowth, while a creek fed by the melting snow and the rain from the surrounding hills was tumbling noisily down below our camp. the head of the valley narrowed rapidly until completely shut in by the mountains, the tops of which were covered with snow. large patches of snow lay in the hollows of the hills all round, never melting even in the summer months. the air was cold, but bracing, just the day for a stalk. spying the valley carefully, i soon found a goat high up on the cliff to the right. i think it must have been our friend of last evening, who had fed along the side of the hill to his present position up in the valley. the ground did not look impossible, but kirby pronounced against it as too dangerous. higher up on a hill-top at the far end and just on the edge of the snow, i picked up with the glass two more goats and we decided to go for them. it was easy going to the foot of the hill where the valley ended, but a really stiff climb of about one and a half hours to get up to the patch of snow close to which we had seen them, above the line of cover; the hill-side was covered with a sort of heather growing between the rocks and it was very slippery going. as we arrived at the spot and were looking everywhere for the goats, i saw two goats, a nanny and a kid, moving away about yards off and climbing steadily up the face of the cliff. we both thought they were the two we were after, who had seen us or got our wind. we were now , feet up and it was quite cold enough without a blizzard which suddenly set in with a bitter wind, which drove the snow and sleet almost through one. we were huddled under a sloping rock, trying to get a little shelter, when it struck me to send kirby up and see if by any chance the goats were still where we had seen them first, as possibly the two we saw moving away were another lot. it was lucky i did so, for he was back in a few minutes with the good news that our goats were feeding quietly in a hollow behind a ridge not a hundred yards above us. i never was so cold in my life, but leaving kirby behind, i crawled up to the top of the ridge, and looking over saw to my delight a good billy and two nannies feeding a hundred yards away. getting into position for a careful shot, i proceeded to remove the caps of my telescope sight, which i had kept on up to the last moment on account of the rain and the snow. at the critical moment the front cap jammed, and with my half-frozen hands it took me a couple of minutes, which seemed hours, to get it off. peering over i saw the goats moving off, they may have got our wind, for heavy gales were eddying round the top of the hill. the two nannies fortunately went first, the billy was moving on pretty quickly behind. i had just time to get a shot, another moment and he would have disappeared behind some rocks, and i heard the welcome thud of the bullet; he stood for a moment, and as the extraordinary vitality of the mountain goat had been impressed on me by kirby, i gave him a second shot, and he came rolling down the hill like a rabbit, stone dead. had it not been for the jamming of the cap i would certainly have got one of the nannies as well. he was a fine beast, much heavier and bigger than i had expected. the snow was still falling and we were both shivering with cold. while still undecided what to do a momentary break showed us two more goats, one a fine billy right across the valley and a little higher up, and as the day was young we decided to have a try for them. climbing about feet up, we arrived practically at the summit and were spying as to the best way to try a stalk, for the valley was now disturbed and the goats were on the alert and looking about in every direction. unfortunately, the snow set in worse than ever and blotted out any view of the hill. to attempt a stalk on such dangerous ground would have been madness, so we turned back and went down to where we had left the dead goat. the cold was now so intense we could not remain to skin the goat, so made straight for camp. the going on the way down was as bad as it could be. the newly-fallen snow lying on the heather had made it very slippery and almost dangerous. i had many a slip but generally landed sitting down, and arrived at the foot of the hill bruised but thankful, for after all i had got my goat. this was real sport: to find your game, mark him down and then an honest stalk, ending in a kill; but it was stiff work and a little too much for a man of my age. we had come down about , feet, and the snow had turned into rain, which felt quite warm and comforting after the blizzard on the hill-top. kirby was so cold, he asked leave to go ahead, and i soon saw him running down the valley and skipping like a goat from rock to rock. taking it easier, i got to camp about o'clock, fairly tired out. september nd. it rained and snowed all night, and for the first time the little tent was not waterproof. the weather cleared about a.m., and the morning sun broke through the rain clouds and mists which were sweeping away from the hill-tops; the effect was most beautiful. the hills where we had been stalking yesterday were entirely covered with snow, and patches were lying far down in the valley. i sent kirby and lansdown up to skin the goat and bring in the head and skin, while i made preparations for striking the camp and going down the mountain on their return. they returned about noon, and we were just preparing to start when i saw a bear--probably the same one we had seen before, moving rapidly up the valley at the foot of the cliff and across one of the numerous patches of snow. seizing the rifle i dashed down, followed by thomson, to try and get a shot. i left my coat, in which i always carried spare cartridges, behind. by the time i had crossed the creek, the bear was well ahead and looked about yards away. putting up the yards sight, i knelt down, rather breathless and shaky from my run, and fired. the bullet knocked up the snow in a good line but short. this started him off at a run and he was getting farther and farther away as i fired two more shots, which also struck low. my last chance was another shot before he reached the thick cover, and, aiming right over his back, i hit him, where i could not say. he must have been yards away when i fired. on being hit, he stumbled forward and turned right down hill into some dense undergrowth which extended right down to the creek. having only one cartridge left, i sent thomson back to camp for cartridges, and sat down behind the rock from which i had fired to await events. my impression was that he was badly hit and that we would have to follow him up in the cover. to my surprise, i suddenly saw him come out of the cover and come down to the creek. he was not more than yards away and passing between a lot of big boulders, and it looked as if he were heading up the valley. thinking it was my last chance, i fired and saw the bullet hit a rock just over his back. to my horror, i then realized i had left the telescope sight screwed up to yards. worse luck was to follow, for the shot turned him and he came down the creek towards me, very slowly and looking very sick. there was i without a cartridge and a wounded bear apparently walking on top of me. i lay quite quietly behind my rock, and had the pleasure of seeing him come within thirty yards, when he turned slowly and, crossing the creek, entered the dense undergrowth on the other side just as thomson came up with the cartridges. it was as bad a moment as i have ever experienced in my sporting life. at first we could trace his movements by the shaking of the bushes, and at one time, this ceasing, he apparently lay down. i knew it was hopeless following him in such undergrowth, for not only was there the danger of being charged, but if even i could have made my way through the tangle, it would have been impossible to put the rifle to my shoulder. thomson would not give him up, but begged i would lend him my rifle and he would follow him up. i returned to camp utterly disgusted, and in about one hour thomson returned, saying he had crawled through the cover, found lots of blood, saw the bear once in the distance, but could not get a shot. the worst of it was, it was now too late to start, and to make matters more depressing, rain and sleet fell all the afternoon and night. september rd. the rain had now turned to snow, which was lying as low down as the level of the camp. everything was sodden, and a wet march was before us. we got away by o'clock, and had a hard march as the creek was now a roaring torrent, which we had to cross and recross several times. going on the rough boulders, over and round which the flood was pouring, was as bad as it well could be, and we were all wet through by the time we reached the cleared track. our last view of the valley, before we entered the forest, was superb. the rain had cleared away, a bright sun was breaking through the heavy clouds, which were being swept away from the summits of the snow-clad hills and from the slopes of the valley, now dazzling white in the morning sun, while looking back through the forest we were just entering the trees stood out in black silhouette against a background of snow. it was with deep regret i turned my back on the goat valley, where i had seen more game in two days than in all the rest of my trip. by o'clock we reached the kingcome river, but it was too late to make a start that night. september th. we got away at . . the morning was fine, and the inlet and snow-covered peaks behind looked very beautiful. the current always runs down this inlet irrespective of the tide, though it is, of course, stronger with the ebb. we made only one halt for lunch, and by . p.m. reached quiesden--a deserted indian village thirty miles from the head of the inlet; not a bad performance, as we had to row the whole way. here we found an empty mission house, and lansdown somewhat burglariously effected an entrance through a window and opened the door from inside. we soon had a fire going in the dilapidated stove, and settled down comfortably for the night on the bare boards. they were at least dry and we had a roof over our heads. the walls of the sitting-room were mostly decorated with texts, but a coloured illustration representing a young naval officer making violent love to an extremely pretty girl showed that even missionaries have a human side to their nature. the village was entirely deserted, all the inhabitants being away fishing. there were some fine totem poles, and the woods all round were the cemetery of the neighbourhood--the bodies of many departed siwashes, packed in boxes or bundles, being slung up in the forks of the trees--the siwash method of burial. september th. leaving quiesden at . , we had a fine sailing breeze which before night had increased to half a gale, and on arrival at alert bay, about o'clock in the afternoon, mr. chambers most hospitably put me up till my old friend the _queen city_, due at a.m., should arrive. september th. the _queen city_ did not arrive till noon, and bidding good-bye to my kind friends at alert bay and to lansdown, who was returning to his farm on the nimquish, we were soon on our way to vancouver. accounts had to be made up and good-bye said to smith and thomson and my dear friends "dick" and "nigger," for they were all to be landed at some unearthly hour in the morning at quatiaski cove. all the roughing was over, and the comforts of civilization were before me, yet it was with sincere regret that i saw the last of my friends and companions. the discomforts were forgotten, the sodden forest, the rain, the indifferent food, and the poor sport, but the impressive scenery of the vast vancouver forest, the still lakes and rushing creeks, and the beauty of the kingcome inlet, with its setting of snow-covered mountains, will remain indelibly impressed on my memory, and as the prospect of future trips becomes more remote, the recollections of those days will always be with me. the call of the wild may be as strong as ever, but the capacity to respond to it must diminish as years roll on. the man who has not a love for the solitudes of nature and the simple life in camp, misses experiences which to me at least have been amongst the keenest enjoyments of my life. september th. we arrived at vancouver about p.m. that day i saw mr. williams, just returned from inspection and sport in the kootenay district. he reported game plentiful and brought back two fine sheep heads which he had secured after hard work and stiff climbing. i left vancouver on the th and, changing trains at winnipeg, arrived at toronto on october rd--four hours late from winnipeg. leaving toronto the next morning, i spent that evening and the following day at niagara falls, arriving in new york in the early morning of the th. through the kindness of mr. griswold, i had been made an honorary member of the knickerbocker and union clubs. more luxurious and better-managed clubs could not be found in any capital of europe. at a.m. i was once more steaming out of new york on the _blücher_, one of the slower steamers of the hamburg-amerika line, and after a most comfortable voyage, with charming fellow-passengers, i disembarked at southampton on the th--just three months and seven days from leaving england. newfoundland, to newfoundland [illustration: newfoundland] [illustration: sketch-map of newfoundland [_to face page ._] [illustration: not good enough. [_to face page ._] chapter i to newfoundland notwithstanding my resolve that the vancouver trip should be my last one, the call of the wild was once more too strong, and the summer of found me planning an expedition to newfoundland. i think j. g. millais' charming book _newfoundland and its untrodden ways_, as well as the description he personally gave me of the country, were largely responsible for my decision. i sailed from southampton on august th by the _cincinnati_, of the hamburg-amerika line, bound for st. john's, newfoundland, via new york. the ship was crowded and the voyage as monotonous as all atlantic voyages are, while being a slow boat we only arrived at new york on the morning of the th. the heat of new york was intense, and i was not sorry to leave it at midnight for boston, and straight on via st. john's, new brunswick, to sydney, where i took the _bruce_, which runs between sydney and port aux basques, newfoundland, a distance of a hundred miles. i would recommend any one who is taking this route, and is not a total abstainer, to provide himself with a bottle of whisky, for maine, through which a good portion of the journey lies, is a teetotal state, and even on board the _bruce_ not a drop of any form of liquor, even beer, was allowed to be served until the steamer was under way. getting away at eleven o'clock, and after a rather rough passage, for the _bruce_ is only about tons, we arrived at port aux basques at a.m. on the th. it was a lovely morning, and the rocky shores of newfoundland looked particularly wild and attractive in the bright sunshine. port aux basques is a small settlement, and so far as i could ascertain does not contain an hotel, but no doubt some form of lodging-house exists, where, as throughout the island, the visitor would be given a warm welcome and whatever was going, be it little or much. the train was waiting for the steamer. the line is a narrow-gauge one, but the cars were quite comfortable, and the prospect of seeing a new country is always attractive. but how we did bump over that line; whether it was the fault of the laying of the permanent way or the driving i cannot say, but in a long experience of railway travelling i never have been so jolted, the driver seeming to take a special pleasure in pulling up with a jerk sufficient to knock over any one standing up, and then to start, if possible, in a rougher manner. however, no one seemed to mind, and after all passengers should be grateful for having a line at all. my mouth watered at accounts i heard of sea trout fishing, about three hours by launch from port aux basques. i was told that a few days previously three rods got sea trout, averaging three pounds, in the garia river, in a few hours. getting away at . we passed all along the west coast, through a most beautiful country, teeming with salmon rivers, most of them i fear much over-fished, for the west coast rivers are the favourite haunts of the american angler, being easily reached from new york and boston. thompson's hotel, prettily situated on the little codroy river, looked particularly attractive, and two american anglers got off there. i was told there was a late run of big fish in august, an exception, for as a rule all the newfoundland rivers are early ones. at crabbes a local guide, on the look-out for a job, deeply deplored the fact that crabbes should be neglected for the better-known little and big codroy rivers. he assured me there were two rivers, the one ten minutes, the other about two minutes, from the station, "crawling" of course with fish, and that a thirty-five pound salmon had been caught by a local angler a few days before. no doubt he was crying up his own wares. there was neither hotel nor boarding-house at crabbes--camping out was necessary, but the country is a lovely one, and what could be more enjoyable than a comfortable camp on the banks of the river if only the fish were there and the water in fishing trim. black flies and mosquitoes must not, however, be lightly put aside, for they are the curse of the island in the summer months. as we slowly bumped our way north, the scenery became more and more beautiful, until it culminated in the views as the train skirted the humber river, then along deer lake, gradually rising towards the barrens of the centre of the island. all along the sides of the railway the ground was carpeted with wild flowers, a perfect blaze of colour. nightfall found us at the north end of the grand lake, where is situated "the bungalow," a sporting hotel recently established, which from the train looked most comfortable. the food in the dining-car was quite good, but by no means cheap. why one should pay cents, about _s._ _d._, for a slice of fried cod in the very home of the cod, when a whole fish can be purchased for half the money, i could not understand, and although newfoundland abounds in fish neither trout nor salmon were once served in the restaurant car. on thursday the th i arrived at st. john's at . , having travelled without a stop from the previous sunday at midnight. it is much to be regretted that the direct allan line from liverpool to st. john's, which only takes seven days, should not have larger and more up-to-date steamers. the largest boat is under , tons; not very comfortable for crossing the atlantic. as the allan line run excellent boats to quebec, there must be some good reason for the local service to st. john's not being better served. leaving england on august th, and travelling continuously, i did not reach st. john's till the th. it is true i took a slow boat and came by new york. a better route would have been by one of the larger steamers to quebec or rimouski, and then back by rail to sydney, and so on to port aux basques. if the large steamers which pass so close to newfoundland would only make a call at st. john's, to disembark passengers, i feel sure many more tourists would be tempted to visit the island. i was met at the station by mr. blair, jr., whose firm were to provide all my outfit except camp equipment, which i had sent ahead from england. i was much indebted to him for valuable information and advice. i was, i must confess, very disappointed with st. john's, which is not worthy to be the capital of england's oldest colony, and the less said about hotel accommodation the better. the best hotel was really only an indifferent boarding-house, and could not compare in comfort with the hotel of any small provincial town at home. st. john's possessing few attractions for me, i decided to get away as soon as possible. when i left england the steamer _glencoe_, which sails from placentia to port aux basques, all along the south coast, was timed to leave every saturday, but the sailing had been altered to wednesday, leaving me with some idle days, which i could not face in st. john's. i had heard of sea trout fishing and possible salmon in the south-east arm of placentia, where good accommodation was to be had at a fishing inn, known as fulford's. wiring to mr. fulford to know if the sea trout were running, the answer came back that they were all in the ponds, which i did not quite understand at the time, but anything was better than five days in st. john's, so on saturday, august th, i started by the morning train for placentia and fulford's. the rain came down in torrents as we left st. john's at . a.m. and lasted till we arrived at placentia at . --eighty miles in five hours. these newfoundland trains are certainly not flyers. placentia is very beautifully situated at the junction of the two arms of the sea, known as the south-east and the north-east arms. the main town is on a spit of land which extends out into the sea, making the one entrance to either arm a very narrow channel, and through this the full force of the tide races, causing whirlpools and eddies which looked anything but safe. the foreshore was composed of large round stones, not pebbles, and the roar of these as they washed up and down the beach by the waves is one of the characteristics of placentia. they say the people of placentia talk louder than any one else in the island on account of this. i was met at the station by george kelly from fulford's, who told me he had a buggy waiting for me across the ferry; but food was first necessary, and i got a mess of meat at the local hotel for cents. on asking for a glass of beer or a whisky-and-soda, i was told they only kept "sober drinks," an expression which i heard for the first time. the traveller in newfoundland must reconcile himself to teetotalism and tea, unless he can carry his own liquor along. even at the hotel in st. john's only very indifferent beer was obtainable with meals; for anything else one had to go round the corner to a second-rate public-house. now all this seems very unnecessary, for it would appear to me that there is much greater chance of a man getting drunk if he finds himself set down in a public-house after dinner than if he could obtain what he reasonably required in his hotel. but all newfoundland drinks tea, and the sensible traveller will adapt himself to the local customs, as well as to the midday dinner and the light early tea or supper. the ferry was only a couple of hundred yards across, and george and i were soon on our way to fulford's. the drive was a lovely one, the road winding high up over the south-east arm. the weather had cleared up, the sun was shining brightly, the hills were glistening in the sunshine after the heavy rain, and every little stream had become a roaring torrent, which george said promised well for the fishing. after a five-mile drive we arrived at fulford's and i was warmly welcomed by mr. fulford and his wife, really charming people. the house was scrupulously clean. fortunately for me, i was the only guest, and i can only say mrs. fulford gave me the best food i had in newfoundland, while her terms were even more than moderate. the situation of the house was very beautiful, overlooking the mouth of the river, which was about a mile away. i naturally inquired first about the fishing. it seemed i was too late for the sea trout in the river itself, at least in its lower reaches. the sea trout run about july th, in great numbers, but only for a short time. the salmon run earlier. in the season fulford's is crammed, anglers sleeping anywhere all over the house, and struggling with each other for the best water. the river, after a run of about four miles, falls out of what are locally termed ponds--what we would call lochs--and at this season of the year all the fish were in these lochs. at certain distances they are connected one with the other by short runs of a few yards, and here the fish lie. these are known as the four-mile, five-mile, six-mile and seven-mile pools. starting off about o'clock, i drove up to the four-mile pool. the road was fairly good, winding along above the river through the wood, and the drive was most enjoyable. as we gradually ascended, the view, looking back over the south-east arm, was very beautiful, reminding me very much of scotch scenery in sutherland. the entire country was saturated from the morning rain, and we started in our waders, as george said we had swampy ground to pass through before reaching the pool. hitching up the horse where a pathway branched off, we plunged through a very wet swamp for a few hundred yards down to the pool. the water was pouring down from the upper loch, the pool was full of fish all on the move for the run up to the higher waters, the evening was closing in--the black flies and mosquitoes were troublesome. though i cast over many fish i never got a rise. getting home at dusk i found an excellent dinner of roast fowl and wild raspberries and cream awaiting me. the next morning we started early for the seven-mile pool. the going was pretty rough but the scenery very beautiful. we gradually emerged from the woods on to the higher and more open ground. a half-mile walk through a very wet marsh brought us to the bank of the stream between the two lochs, which was in perfect order. it was only a few yards wide and i could cover the entire fishable water with my fourteen-foot castleconnell rod. i rose several fish, killed three who gave good sport, and lost a fly in another. as the water was about fished out we went down to the six-mile pool, where i killed one and lost another, but the fish were all small, ½, ½, , ½ lb. the following day we again tried the seven-mile pool, but the water had run down and there was little or no stream between the two lochs. i got one fish of lb., and never saw another. as there was little chance of more salmon i asked my host if there were any trout in the neighbourhood. he strongly advised me trying a loch nine miles up the road, where he and a friend had got twenty-seven dozen mud trout (? char) in one day's fishing the previous year. after a rough drive over a very bad road for the last three miles we found the loch, but it was so overgrown with water-lilies that there was not a square yard of water on which to cast a fly. whether they had grown up since his visit and whether they died down later on in the season i cannot say, but we had wasted our day. i could not understand the river; thousands of sea trout run up but i never saw or rose one. it was hardly a river, but a series of lochs with connecting streams. there were no boats on the lochs, but i had hoped to find sea trout in the tail of the streams. not one, however, did i even see rise. there are a number of lochs about nine miles up. whether they contained fish or not i cannot say. i think it would well repay mr. fulford, who is the fish warden of the district, to investigate the habits of the sea trout and find out where they eventually lie, presumably in the upper lochs, and put boats on. the salmon i got were in good condition and excellent eating. driving home in the evening about sunset, we generally saw quite a number of nova scotia hares, locally called rabbits, sitting out on the road. i saw no other game of any description, though there are plenty of partridges (ruffled grouse) in the neighbourhood. the steamer was due to sail from placentia on the th inst., at p.m., so i left fulford's with much regret at . a.m. and drove into placentia, where i found she would not sail till midnight owing to the amount of cargo. going into the post office to inquire for letters, i was told i must see the communion plate of the protestant church, which was kept in the post office. it was a very handsome service of plate presented by prince william henry, who as a young naval officer passed a winter in placentia, then i believe the capital of the island. it was weary work getting through the day till the steamer sailed. every berth was taken, so i had a shakedown in the corridor, which was much more airy than any cabin. to long harbour chapter ii to long harbour in planning my trip i had the benefit of j. g. millais' advice. he first recommended me to try the country at the head of the la poile river on the south coast near port aux basques. on inquiry i found out that canoes could not be used. everything would have to be packed, and it would take six men to pack to the hunting grounds. with the memory of my vancouver trip before me, i decided against the la poile country and packing, and chose the ground millais had hunted with such success in . he had gone in by the long harbour river, struck off to the north-west to kesoquit and shoe hill ridge and the mount sylvester region. but the long harbour river was very rough, and his canoes being at hungry grove pond, where a series of ponds led up to sandy pond or jubilee lake, its more modern name, i finally decided on this route, which would bring me quite close to shoe hill ridge and mount sylvester. millais himself had not travelled over this ground, so the map published in his book only gave an approximate idea of the country and its waterways. i had secured the services of steve bernard, millais' head man, and he was to meet me with two other indians at the head of long harbour when i would send a wire. my route was to be placentia to belleoram by the _glencoe_. at belleoram mr. ryan, who is in charge of the telegraph station at the head of long harbour, was to meet me in his sailing schooner the _caribou_, and from long harbour we were to pack in to hungry grove pond, where the canoes were to be ready. we did not get away from placentia till a.m., and crossing placentia bay arrived at burin the following morning in a thick fog, which occasionally lifted, showing a fine, wild coast with rocky headlands on all sides. burin was a pretty spot, and i saw it better on my return when there was no fog. we arrived at grand bank, a big fishing town, in the evening, but the fog outside was so thick that the captain decided to anchor till a.m. and then cross fortune bay to belleoram. grand bank was responsible for the change in the sailing date of the _glencoe_. leaving placentia on saturday she was due at grand bank on sunday. the inhabitants being very religious objected to loading and unloading on sunday, so the sailing was changed to wednesday, and their consciences were satisfied. they forgot, however, that they made some smaller port of call further west break the sabbath, but being one of the most important shipping centres in the cod season their views had to be met. we arrived at belleoram at a.m. on the th, feeling our way along the coast with our foghorn. i and my belongings were turned out on the pier and i felt my trip had at last begun. the _caribou_ was in harbour and a boat put off with steve bernard, who had come down to meet me and help mr. ryan, who was laid up on board with a bad leg. i at once went out to call on mr. ryan, as i wanted to get away as soon as possible. i found a sturdy irishman of about sixty, full of go and energy, and in the cheeriest spirits, only extremely annoyed at the bad leg, which made him pretend to lie up, for lie up he never did, his restless nature would not allow it, and he was always on the move. his illness began with a boil, but he _would_ go off into the woods after caribou and so irritated it, that the boil had developed into a large sloughing ulcer with considerable inflammation. he did not seem to mind it much and insisted on hobbling about the deck. there was only one place at which i was recommended to put up in case i had to stay in belleoram, so i went up to call on mrs. cluett and incidentally forage for breakfast. i received a courteous welcome and had plenty of eggs, bread and butter, and tea. getting back to the _caribou_ i persuaded ryan to make a start. there was a thick fog and it was blowing hard; however, away we went in grand style, steering for the different points which loomed through the fog. as soon as we got into the open and had to cross some twelve or fourteen miles of open sea, an ancient and dilapidated compass was produced from the confusion of below, for the _caribou_ was not altogether a tidy boat; the compass gave a certain moral support, but the needle refused to point in any direction steadily for more than five minutes. ryan would give it a smack, "sure i think she's only about five points out now," and in a few minutes, "she's gone all wrong again." i was entrusted with the steering, which may account for our sighting land about four miles north of the entrance to long harbour. it was a pretty rough crossing, but the old _caribou_ was a seaworthy and dry boat. the weather was what one expects of newfoundland, wild and foggy, and the mountains looming up out of the fog looked bigger and grander than they really were. we had a rattling following breeze, and notwithstanding ryan's assertion that there would be no fog at his house, we ran up the fourteen miles of long harbour and arrived there about o'clock in the afternoon in a dense fog, having left belleoram at a.m. here i found waiting my two other indians, john denny jeddore and steve joe. my party consisted then of steve bernard, head man and hunter, john denny jeddore, generally known as john denny, and steve joe, who had to become joe. john denny at once told me he had signed on as cook, but added quaintly: "i have never cooked for gentles." all the same he was an excellent plain cook, ready to learn anything, scrupulously clean in all his cooking, and a first-rate fellow. joe was general utility man and always cheery. steve bernard was a pure bred micmac, his father having been chief of the micmac tribe, and the other two were half-breeds. john denny's mother was a frenchwoman, which perhaps accounted for his extraordinarily nice manners. my men were somewhat shy and reserved at first, but we soon became great friends, and i can only say i never wish for better men or comrades on a hunting expedition. we never had a word of difference. they were always bright and willing, and under the most uncomfortable circumstances never uttered a word of complaint. i think i may say we parted with mutual regret. they all spoke english, but steve bernard was the most fluent. amongst themselves they chattered in their own soft micmac language, and they never seemed to stop talking. all newfoundlanders have a specially charming accent, which is neither irish nor canadian, and certainly not american. it is very soft and mellifluous. "all right," pronounced as if it were "aal," is the most common expression, and seems to be used on every possible occasion. all my men, instead of dropping their "h's" in the cockney fashion, seemed to aspirate almost every word beginning with a vowel, for instance they always spoke of h'oil, h'oar, h'eat, and h'arm, and so with many other words. the micmacs are catholics, and their headquarters in canada are at restigouche. their settlement in newfoundland is on the conne river. a priest from restigouche visits conne river from time to time and preaches in micmac. at restigouche are published the bible, catechism and other books in micmac, which has the same character as english but only sixteen letters. a micmac paper is also published at restigouche and received once a month at conne river. steve was very amusing over the raising of funds for the construction of a new church at conne river. apparently a sort of bazaar was held at which the chief feature was a "wheel of fortune." steve felt rather sore that he had gambled fifteen dollars and won nothing. all the micmac colony, however, seemed to have enjoyed themselves hugely, gambling, dancing, and eating; they provided the food and afterwards paid for each meal--good for the church! ryan's niece kept house for him at long harbour--a lonely spot with only one other settler within twelve miles, and i received from uncle and niece the warm welcome which every traveller in newfoundland is sure to meet with. the morning of the th was exquisite, the fog had cleared away, the sun was shining brightly, and the placid head-waters of long harbour lay without a ripple at our feet. the hills were not high but beautiful in colour and outline, and i might easily have imagined myself in a scotch deer forest. cases of stores had to be unpacked, tent and camp equipment looked out, and the morning was spent in making up the loads. i had brought an -feet square fly for the three men, two tents for myself, both of the lean-to pattern, one heavier and stronger tent of green canvas feet × feet, the other the feet × feet silk tent i had used in vancouver, and which weighed only lb, my idea being to use it for short trips from the main camp. one pair of hudson bay blankets made into a sleeping bag, a pillow, the usual cooking tins in nests, and the folding baker completed my outfit. this latter is simply invaluable; i purchased one locally in st. john's. camp furniture i had none, but as experience had taught me that the comfort of a bed of balsam on the ground was somewhat overrated, i had brought a sheet of strong canvas feet × feet inches, with gussets on either side, and eyelet holes at the top and bottom. into the gussets were slipped strong poles and these laid on two logs at the head and foot in which notches were cut to receive them, and then the poles were nailed down with one -inch nail at each end, and the canvas at the head and foot laced round the logs. a more comfortable camp bed it was impossible to have and it took about ten minutes to construct. with men such as i had, skilful with their axes, to bring camp furniture was unnecessary: tables, benches, poles for hanging clothes, rifle and gun rests, can easily be made, and one day in a permanent camp is sufficient to have all a hunter can want. my men were as good as, if not better than the french canadians i employed when hunting moose in canada some nine years before. they introduced me to a bench or camp seat i had never seen before. a suitable tree with outstanding branches is cut down, a short section chosen, on which, on one side at least, there are four branches to form the legs; this is split in two and an excellent camp stool is the result. i found we had eight loads, which meant double journeys as far as hungry grove pond, so i started off joe and john denny with two packs, while steve and i took a light camp up to mitchell's point, where the river ran into the head of the long harbour and from which i was assured i could get some good sea trout fishing. we had camp pitched and our midday meal over by o'clock, so started up the river for the sea trout on which we depended for dinner. it was a rough journey along the river bank or in its bed, and although all the water looked tempting it was o'clock before we reached the pool in which the fish were supposed to be. long harbour river is one of the biggest rivers in the south and in the early summer a large number of salmon and sea trout run up, but like most newfoundland rivers that i saw, the pools alternated with long shallow runs, where no fish would lie. there were certainly some beautiful pools, so it was a disappointment, more especially as regards dinner, that i only rose one fish and hooked another which broke away. steve unfortunately cut his foot with the small axe in making camp. it looked nothing, but on his way up the river the wound opened and bled rather freely. i fixed him up with a pad and a bandage, and dressed it on our return to camp with / corrosive sublimate solution made from tabloids, without which i never travel. we had only about half-an-hour to fish if we would get back to camp, some four miles away, before dark, so we really did not give the water a fair chance. we did not get into camp till about . . steve declared he was first-rate at slapjacks, so while i prepared a square of lazenby's soup he set to work on the slapjacks. after using half a tin of butter he produced a sodden mass of dough, on which and the soup we made a poor meal. the flies and mosquitoes were very troublesome, but farlow's "dope" was fairly successful. our camping ground was too near the river and on rather low ground. a very heavy dew fell during the night and everything was soaking in the morning. as the fishing was not likely to prove a success we decided to return to ryan's and push on after our men. getting away about o'clock, for i had sent steve back to ryan's on foot to borrow their dory which brought our camp up, we stopped to boil the kettle and have lunch near a settler's place just beyond the mouth of the river. he was a hardy old man, by name joe riggs, and though he had recently undergone several operations in the hospital at st. john's to remove some diseased ribs, he was working away all alone getting in his hay. he was very lonely and sad for he had only recently lost his wife, and the way he spoke about her was very touching. in winter, however, he went down to anderson's cove, a small settlement at the mouth of long harbour, where a married daughter lived. among the solitary settlers i met, of whom joe riggs was a type, it was remarkable how the spot they had selected for settling on was the very finest to be found, and to poor old joe, long harbour was a sort of earthly paradise which he would not exchange for any other part of newfoundland. on reaching ryan's, where i was ashamed to trespass once more on his hospitality for the night, i found john denny and joe had taken two packs on about eleven miles, to a spot about three miles from hungry grove pond and returned for more loads. i took another indian, micky john by name, to help and the three men started off about o'clock. two were to return the next day, while john denny was to make a double trip down to hungry grove pond. to the hunting grounds chapter iii to the hunting grounds the following day, the th, i had to wait for the men to come back, so did not start till . . the track led up the steep hill behind ryan's house. it was rough going, but nothing in daylight, and the air that morning made one feel glad to be alive. after a steady rise of about two miles we came on to a great wild plateau with hardly a tree to be seen, and i had my first experience of the great barrens of newfoundland. the colouring was exquisite, and though desolate in the extreme the scenery had a great charm of its own, chiefly due to effects of light and shade. deep shadows thrown by the fleecy clouds overhead fell on ridges far away and gave an idea of immensity and distance without which the view might have been monotonous. the air was extraordinarily clear: a ridge which looked a couple of miles away was pointed out to me as six-mile ridge, the head of the divide, from which the ground sloped away to our destination, hungry grove pond. it took us till o'clock to reach the top of the ridge, which at first sight looked so near. the rise the whole way was very gradual, in fact hardly perceptible. the whole country was undulating, low ridges alternating with little valleys, and in each bottom was a small pond from which issued a noisy stream. dwarf balsam was scattered in patches. a bright yellow grass showed where the marshes, locally called "mishes," which we had to cross, lay, and though there had been a spell of dry weather, very wet and boggy some of these "mishes" were. when we reached the six-mile ridge we caught our first glimpse of the top of mount sylvester, just showing a pale blue on the sky-line, while far down below in a valley lay hungry grove pond. i calculated we had come eight miles, for the six-mile ridge had been measured from the old telegraph office instead of the new. dark clouds were now coming up from the coast, and it looked as if we were in for a bad night. i asked steve if he were certain he had brought the pack with my blankets and waterproof sheet. on examining the packs we found that this, the most important to me at least, had been left behind. here was a pleasant position. heavy rain coming up with a cold driving wind and no bedding for the night. but steve was equal to the occasion and showed me what a first-rate man he was. our camp was three miles ahead, ryan's house eight miles behind, and it was o'clock in the afternoon. steve quietly said, "my fault, i go back and fetch up the pack." none of the others offered to go in his place, so laying down his own pack, for which i was to send back from camp, away went steve at a trot. we pushed on to camp, which john had pitched in a small droke, and just as we got in, down came the rain in torrents. getting a tent pitched in heavy rain is poor fun, but camp was soon comfortable and a roaring fire going. i had shot three grouse with my little rook rifle on the march, out of season i may say, but when it is a question of food i fear game laws are apt to be disregarded in the wilds. i soon had a good stew of grouse, potatoes and onions cooking, which was pronounced excellent later on. john was shy of showing his own abilities as a chef and sat humbly at my feet as a learner. after dinner we were talking of poor steve's bad luck and how wet and uncomfortable he must be, and discussing when we should send one of the men back with a lantern to meet him. it was then quite dark, about . p.m., when steve walked quietly into the camp with his pack and simply remarked: "don't think i made bad time." i should think not. he had covered nineteen miles, eleven of them carrying a pack, in four and a half hours--a fine performance. he well deserved the tot of rum which i served out to him. i heard afterwards that in june he had left ryan's house at a.m. with a light pack and arrived at conne river, his home, a distance of forty-eight miles, at o'clock the same evening. i had gathered from millais' book that steve was rather addicted to rum, which was confirmed by a letter from him to mr. blair, saying, "don't forget some rum, for you know how fond i am of it." i rather chaffed him about this letter and he assured me that it was a mistake--he could not write himself and some girl in his settlement had written for him and put the passage in without his knowledge. i can only say that i had no difficulty with steve or any of the others over the question of liquor. i kept the whisky and rum locked up in a box, but i think i might have left it open. i had only six bottles of whisky and three of rum, and on opening the box one of the latter was found broken. i spread this amount over our entire trip till i got back to st. john's. john told me he did not care for rum. joe acknowledged he liked it, but steve more than once refused a tot, even after a hard day. it was a cold camp that night, the ground was saturated, the balsam bedding dripping, and the cold and damp struck up through the thick waterproof sheet and two blankets. the following morning was perfect, a bright sun shining and a cold nip in the air. john had packed two loads down to the pond the previous day, so we started together carrying four loads. track down to the pond there was none, and the ground after last night's rain was soaking. the swamps were full of water and the going very hard, but we had only three miles to cover. on the way i stalked a lot of geese, but only got a shot with the rook rifle at about yards and the bullet fell short. once at the lake all troubles were over and i had to look forward to a comfortable trip in the two peterborough canoes lying ready. micky john was sent home. we had seen a doe caribou on the way and he announced his intention of having a try for venison. joe was sent back to ryan's for the last light load, and steve and john to bring up the two remaining loads from last night's camp. i pitched my tent and made things generally shipshape till the men came back. the camp was an ideal one, situated on a wooded spit of land which separated the main pond from the smaller arm. the ground was sandy and dry, firewood abundant, and a brilliant sun was shining over the glassy lake, the shores of which were densely wooded. packing was done with for the time, two canoes, which enabled us to travel in comfort, were lying pulled up on the sandy beach, and the caribou grounds were a couple of days ahead. what more could a hunter's heart desire. no more letters would be received, no news from the outside world for at least a month, only the joy of solitude in communion with nature, a joy which once experienced can never be forgotten. in the rush and turmoil of life which was to come, when my holiday was over, i could at least have the memories of the happy time now before me to look back on. the men all turned up in good time in the afternoon, so i tried the lake and got three trout about half-a-pound each on the minnow. after an excellent dinner we were soon sleeping the sleep of the just, with roaring fires in front of my tent and the men's fly. hungry grove pond to sandy pond [illustration: john denny and steve bernard] [illustration: a newfoundland pond [_to face page ._] chapter iv hungry grove pond to sandy pond the morning of the st was bright and cold, though rain had fallen in the night, and we got away about o'clock. one hour's steady paddling and rowing, for the larger canoe had oars, took us to the north end of hungry grove pond, about three miles i should say, from which issued a brook communicating with red hill pond. the water was very low and the men spent most of their time in the water dragging the canoes over the rocky shallows. i strolled along the bank and saw many old tracks of caribou, but nothing fresh. we had one portage of about half-a-mile, to pass some bad rapids. the brook was about two miles long and owing to the bad water and portage it took us some two hours to get down to red hill pond. we named the brook the two mile brook. millais had shown a communication between hungry grove pond and red hill pond in his map of the district, but never having travelled over the line we were taking he could not show details. red hill pond takes its name from a rocky reddish bluff, which rises a couple of hundred feet on the east side of the pond. the country is said to be a good one for bear, but we did not even see fresh tracks. the pond is only about a mile long, and we got to the end about lunch-time. i had brought rod rings with me, and had rigged up a rough trolling rod at our first camp, to which i lashed a spare reel. i made it a rule to have this primitive rod and my twelve-foot trout rod trolling over every lake and pond we crossed. i generally put a devon minnow on one rod, and a blue phantom on the other. i used the fly exclusively when we came to any streams. i got one trout, a lively fish of ½ lb., in crossing red hill pond and two in hungry grove pond. there was a rapid and a nice pool at the north end of the pond where we halted for lunch, and putting on a small silver doctor in a few minutes i had six nice trout, some of ½ lb., ready for lunch. john denny said they were all onannaniche or landlocked salmon. i had never seen them before; they were just like sea trout, and played in the same way, jumping out of the water even more frequently than sea trout. they were strong, game fish, and better still, excellent eating. here i got my first mud trout, which i take to be char. they were more flabby and not in such good condition as the onannaniche; their flesh was a bright red, and they were good eating. from red hill pond, after a portage over the short rapid where i had fished, we entered a long weedy pond where fishing was impossible; then came shallow streams with just a perceptible current and three more large ponds, till we reached our camping ground at . at the head of a rough brook, over which we had to portage next day. i calculated we had come about fourteen miles. the steadies required careful navigation, for there were masses of sharp rocks, some just submerged, others showing well above the water. the bow paddler had to keep a sharp look-out, for very little will knock a hole in a peterborough canoe. we were now getting rather anxious for meat, for it is simply impossible to carry tinned provisions in sufficient quantity to satisfy the appetites of four hungry men. the wind had been north-east all day, and fell to a dead calm as steve and i quietly paddled out, skirting the lake shore, with the hope of seeing game. we went about a mile and landed on a sandy beach where there were one or two fresh tracks, and then on about half-a-mile inland to a rocky knoll from which we could spy the surrounding country, which was mostly marsh with patches of dense wood scattered all over the plain and becoming thicker down by the lake's edge. at this season of the year all the stags spend their days in the woods, and only come out morning and evening to feed. there was not a breath of air and the mosquitoes and black fly were out in force; towards sunset we saw a small stag with a poor head come out of a wood about a mile away, and feed down towards us. we had visions of caribou steak and liver and bacon before us, when suddenly the wind veered right round; at the same time a fox on the shore of the lake, who had seen us, kept barking persistently. whether it was the wind or the fox i can't say, but the stag put up his head, turned right round and walked straight away--alas, the hopes of meat were gone. it was getting dusk, so we made for the canoe. on the way we saw a very small doe, but the wind was again wrong and she was off in a moment. we got back to camp in the dark. steve swore we must have meat and asked for my rigby mauser that he might go out at daybreak and shoot anything eatable. i offered him the little rook rifle, so it was decided he would be out before daybreak for meat. i was only hunting heads, but all the indians had strong opinions on the subject of meat. on september st steve was out at daybreak with the small rifle and came back about seven o'clock triumphant, having shot a young stag in good condition. he had crawled within about fifty yards and killed the beast with one shot. i was simply astonished, for i never could have believed that the little rifle, one of rigby's rook rifles, could have killed an animal bigger than an ordinary red deer. steve had brought in the liver and kidneys and left the meat to be picked up on our march, for fortunately it was close to a pond we had to pass through. how we all revelled in a good breakfast of kidneys and liver and bacon. every one was in good humour, for we now had ample meat. the brook was about three-quarters of a mile long and everything had to be portaged. it looked ideal fishing water, and while the men were portaging i fished every pool. i got two onannaniche and two mud trout above the first pool, and then never a rise, though the pools looked perfect. where the brook fell into the next lake looked the best water, but i could move nothing. why, i could not understand, unless it was that the season was late for these waters. when the portage was over steve and john went across the pond for the meat, and joe and i pushed on in the big canoe about a mile across the pond to another rapid, fortunately only about thirty yards long, where we again had to portage. the day had turned bitterly cold and heavy rain clouds were coming up. i had got very warm walking and fishing along the brook, and though i put on a thick jersey the wind seemed to cut like a knife and i got a bad cold which gave me some trouble for days after. poor old joe had spent most of the day up to his waist in water getting the empty canoes down the creek and was looking very miserable. the men wore nothing but their cotton shirts and coats, cotton trousers and moccasins--they were never dry, but never seemed to catch cold. it was just the occasion for a tot of rum. whether it went to joe's head or not i cannot say--he certainly became extra cheerful, and when the other men returned and all the men were carrying the loads across the rapid, joe tumbled twice right into the water and got a thorough ducking. i only made a gesture of taking a tot, when i thought these simple folk would never stop laughing. it was a joke which lasted them the rest of the trip, and in indian circles no doubt i have the reputation of being a great wit. joe laughed if possible more heartily than the others, and though soaked to the skin was quite happy for the rest of the day. just as we were loading up the canoes john pointed to the sky-line about half-a-mile away and quietly said, "that good stag, i think." sure enough there was a heavy beast, the first big stag i had seen, quietly feeding along the crest of the ridge. the wind was right, so we decided to cross the pond, land, and have a closer look at him. his head looked massive, but i could not make out the points. i certainly never had an easier stalk, as the ground was perfect for stalking, and this holds good all over the island. we walked quietly up in perfect shelter to within about yards of where we had last seen the stag, and presently saw the tops of his horns sticking up from behind a low bush. leaving steve behind, i crawled up to within about seventy yards and got my telescope on to count the points. the horns were in velvet, but just stripping--and as the frontal tines were interlocked it was difficult to count the exact number. beckoning steve up we spent some time counting the points, for the poor beast was lying sound asleep with his head nodding. steve could make out thirty points, but said we would get many better heads. we had almost determined to leave him, when i thought after all here was a certainty, so resting my rifle in the branch of a tree in front of me, i shot him through the neck. it was rather murder, for no skill either in the stalk or shot was necessary. however, he knew nothing, but rolled over stone dead. when we got up to him we could only make out twenty-nine points, but the head was quite a pretty one. the body was very big, but not in good condition. calling up the men, we soon had the head and meat down to the canoes and boiled the kettle before starting on. we now had enough meat for some days, though it is astonishing what a quantity of meat an indian can get through; so we could afford to look for that extra good head--which as it happened we never came across. we went on through some shallow and very rocky steadies, and after about a mile came to the last portage into sandy pond or jubilee lake. we had to carry the canoes over this and were soon crossing to the north shore of sandy pond, where we were to make our permanent camp. there was a fine following wind which helped us along, and by sunset we had covered the four miles of lake and arrived at one of steve's trapping camps, which was to be our headquarters. sandy pond is a lovely sheet of water studded with innumerable islands, some densely wooded, some quite bare. in the early mornings and evenings in fair weather the view was exquisite, and i was never tired of the changing effects on the lake. one day there would not be a ripple, another day would come a gale and driving rain, and such a sea that the canoes could not be launched, but as a rule for three weeks we had perfect weather. in crossing sandy pond i caught four nice trout, the two largest about ½ lb. each, so the day's bag was two deer and eight trout. the licence only allows the shooting of three stags, but to shoot meat for food is, i think, an unwritten law of the island, and i feel sure the authorities themselves would not insist on a too strict application of the licence. it is simply impossible to carry enough tinned meat to keep four men going, and with meat at the door when it is urgently needed it is not human nature to resist the temptation. on the entire trip we shot only what was absolutely necessary for food, but with no meat in camp i used to send steve out with the small rifle to shoot a barren doe for the pot, and not a pound of meat was wasted. our camp was pitched in a dense wood, for after the great forests of vancouver the newfoundland timber looks insignificant and only worthy of the name of wood. a good clearing had already been made by steve on his trapping expeditions, and poles for pitching the fly were lying ready. we soon had a most comfortable camp pitched, and with plenty of food and a tot of rum to mark the occasion of arriving in our permanent camp, we passed a happy evening, smoking our pipes in front of a glorious camp fire and discussing the plans and the prospects for the future. we decided to make this our main camp, leaving here most of our stores, and to make flying trips, at first west into the thickly wooded country where the stags were most likely to be found at this time of year, and later north-east up to the barrens and shoe hill ridge. this was steve's advice and i naturally decided to follow it. i had originally thought of working north by mount sylvester, striking the higher waters of the terra nova river and so down to the railway at terra nova, which would have been a shorter way back to st. john's; but steve told me that last season he had been with a party of americans who came in from terra nova, and that the country had been shot out, as they never saw a decent stag till they came on to the barrens hear shoe hill ridge, where they could only stay for two days, during which they secured two good stags. the morning of september nd was exquisite, all the clouds of yesterday had cleared away and a bright sun was shining in a cloudless sky. i had passed rather a bad night coughing, owing to the chill caught the day before, but in the climate of newfoundland one never felt ill. after an early breakfast we started off in the big canoe to explore the shores of the lake and look for signs. stags we could not expect to see, for they were bound to be in the woods, and the whole of the northern shore of sandy pond is densely wooded. about a mile west of the camp was the brook connecting sandy pond with the large lake of kaegudeck to the north. here, i thought, must be the ideal spot for trout, but though i fished for an hour i never got a rise. the brook is only about ten yards wide and quite unnavigable for canoes. we found plenty of fresh marks of deer on the sandy beaches of the lake, but saw nothing. returning to camp we pottered around getting the camp shipshape--including the making of my patent bed, which was a tremendous success. poles for hanging clothes, rests for rifles and fishing-rods, shelves in my tent, and even tables were run up by the men, and the camp was soon all that could be desired in the way of comfort. about o'clock we took the canoe and went east about a mile, passing another brook quite as big as that running from kaegudeck and which takes its rise in shoe hill lake. landing, we went up to a look-out hill about half-a-mile away, from which we had a splendid view of the country to the east. the ground, rugged and intersected with small watercourses, rose gradually to a ridge about three miles away, beyond which, steve said, lay an open plain leading on to shoe hill ridge. the hills looked about feet high and from our look-out we could spy the entire face for some miles; to the south-east lay square box hill crowning the ridge. there were many clumps of timber lining the sides of the watercourses and numerous small ponds lay in the hollows. it looked an ideal caribou country, over which later on in the season all the caribou from the south and west cross to gain the barrens. many well-worn caribou tracks led upwards. it was a lovely evening. we could look over sandy pond with its wooded islands and its forest-clothed shores standing out dark against the setting sun and reflected in the placid waters of the lake. just as the sun went down in a blaze of colour we saw five deer come out of different patches of wood, but only one was a stag, and the head being poor we left him, though to get a shot would have been a very easy stalk. in the short row home i picked up five trout, two being over a pound. i found that just half-an-hour before and half-an-hour after sunset was the best time for trolling, and i could always pick up enough fish for the camp coming home in the canoe after a day's stalking. next morning, september rd, we were up for an early breakfast and got away at a.m. here i first used the rucksack, which was most convenient, as in it we carried our midday meal, an oilskin, if it looked like rain, and a kettle for tea. the lake was dead calm and the morning mists were clearing away as we started. our plan was to work up to the top of the ridge we had seen the evening before, hunt the face of the hill and see if there were any signs of stags on the barrens. unfortunately our chances of deer on the way up were spoiled by a south-west wind which got up about eight o'clock, and blew steadily from behind us the whole way up. we saw four does on one of the islands in the lake, but the whole face of the ridge was devoid of stags. it was only about three miles to the crest of the ridge, and the country being dry the going was good. there were many small swamps and ponds along the side of the hill with small drokes in the hollows, altogether ideal ground for stags. there were not many fresh tracks, though the deep ruts cut by the hoofs of innumerable herds of deer showed what numbers must pass later on in the season. on reaching the top of the ridge we looked over a vast undulating tract of country, the true barrens. there were only three drokes in sight. one about four miles away, which steve pointed out to me as shoe hill droke, where millais camped and from which he got such fine heads in october; nearer still another droke where captain legge had camped two years before and from which he got a forty-pointer; in fact, i was looking over historic ground from a sporting point of view, and there seemed no reasons why i should not be as successful as those who had gone before me. there were neither stags nor does in sight, and no fresh tracks. steve said they would not move up to the barrens before the th or th of september. it made me bitterly regret i was so cramped for time, and that i had to be back to catch the _glencoe_ at belleoram on september th. it is the greatest mistake being tied down to time on any hunting trip; a week extra might have made all the difference in my sport, but steamers did not fit in, and i was bound to be in new york to sail for home on october th. we had a splendid view of the entire country from the look-out hill on the top of the ridge. to the north lay mount sylvester about four hours' march away; to the north-west lake kaegudeck, buried in dense woods; behind kaegudeck lay the hills over the gander. to the east the view was bounded by shoe hill ridge with its droke standing up against the clear sky. to the west was the country we had just come through sloping down to sandy pond, while far behind to the west lay kepskaig hill, which we were to visit later on. after spending some time spying the entire country, we boiled the kettle, had lunch and strolled leisurely down to the lake. meanwhile the placid lake of the morning had changed and the south-west wind, now blowing half a gale, was rolling up big breakers on the shore. we had sent the canoe home in the morning and it was too rough for joe to fetch us, so we went back to the look-out of the first evening and spied the whole country till dark. we saw two stags up on the sky-line near square box hill, but it was too late to go after them; one looked a heavy beast. the wind went down with the setting sun and joe was able to come across for us, but the lake was still too rough for fishing. on september th the glass had fallen badly, a gale was blowing and heavy rain clouds were coming up from the south-west. notwithstanding the prospect of bad weather we decided to go up to square box hill and have a look for the stag we had seen the previous evening. it was a five miles' walk, up hill the whole way, but the ascent was gradual. we had just reached the top of the ridge within about half-a-mile of the hill when the rain came down in sheets. spying was impossible, so we took shelter in a droke, lit a good fire, boiled the kettle and had lunch. we waited till about two o'clock, but there was no sign of clearing, so we plodded back to camp, getting well soaked through. just as we got to camp the rain cleared off, and after a change of clothing we started to fish about five o'clock. we picked up five nice fish, all on the minnow--one about lb. just at dusk a doe came swimming out from one of the islands as if to have a look at us. meat was not over abundant in camp, so i gave steve permission to shoot her with the rook rifle. steve rather prided himself on being a good shot, but he was shooting from a wobbly canoe and missed clean with the first shot, but hit her with the second, and landing, killed her stone dead. by the time the doe was gralloched and in the canoe a heavy fog had come up and it was dark before we reached camp. on this trip i was introduced to two great delicacies. one roast doe's head, and the other roast breast-bone of stag. john was an adept at these dishes, and anything more delicious and tender i have never tasted. the head was only skinned, put in the baker and roasted whole for about six hours, the great advantage of the baker being that the heat can be regulated by the distance it is kept from the fire. in the evening we had a long discussion as to what we had better do. there were no stags to speak of in the country we were in. so a move was necessary, and steve decided we would take all the outfit to the west end of sandy pond, there make our main camp, and with a small camp work down to kepskaig, all through a wooded country where he maintained the stags were now to be found. so we decided to make a start the following morning. our camp was simply infested with grey jays, generally known as robber-birds; there were at least a dozen who made the camp their home. no sooner was a bit of meat hung up in the open than they descended on it and began picking it to pieces. it was very interesting watching them, for they were so tame that joe caught one with his hand. they appeared to be ravenous, and stuffed themselves with meat and then flew away, but steve explained they only went a short distance to store the meat for the bad winter days to come, hiding it in crevices in the bark of the surrounding trees. they worked hard from morning to night and must have laid by a good store, for i left a good lump of venison hanging in the open for their special benefit, the rest of the meat being protected from the flies and the jays by my mosquito net, which i had turned into a meat safe. to kosk[=a]codde [illustration: steve spying, sandy pond] [illustration: camp, west end sandy pond [_to face page ._] chapter v to kosk[=a]codde september th was a lovely morning, not a breath of wind and a cloudless sky, so different from yesterday. getting away at . we made a good four miles an hour, reaching our camping ground at the west end of the lake at . . steve, joe and i were in the big canoe and john, a fine boatman, in the small canoe which skirted the shores of the lake. we disturbed a small stag which was feeding along the shore and which at once disappeared in the woods. the camp was simply perfect, fairly open yet with sufficient shelter from the surrounding woods. behind it rose a hill about feet high, a fine look-out over the entire country. the tents were pitched on a spur of land just where the baie du nord river, or rather its head-waters, left the lake in a tumbling torrent with intervening deep pools, an ideal salmon river to look at, but unfortunately no salmon can pass smoky falls, many miles away to the south of lake meddonagonax. i had caught two trout crossing the lake, but could not resist the first really good fly-fishing water i had come to, so a few minutes after arrival i was on the bank of the river fishing an ideal pool. there was about a quarter of a mile of fishing water, after which was a small lake and then more rapids below. in an hour i had landed twelve trout and char, weighing ½ lb. the trout were all onannaniche and played like sea trout--more often out of the water than in. the largest was ¼ lb., and the two largest char weighed ¾ lb. in the heavy rapid water they gave grand sport. what an ideal camp it was! the best of fishing at the door of the tent, a glorious view over the lake, with its many wood-clad islands to the south, while across the lake the ground was open and sloped gradually upwards, and here steve said he had more than once seen good stags. the whole ground could be spied from the rocky hill behind the camp, from which, too, we could look over all the woodland marshes to north and west and could see the river winding away to distant kosk[=a]codde, and in the further distance kepskaig hill and the country we were to hunt later on. after lunch, about o'clock, steve and i started for the look-outs. there were three in all, behind and to the north of our camp. we decided to go straight to the one farthest north, a mile away, and from which we could command all the open ground near the lake and the numerous glades and marshes lying around us. our only chance was to see a stag coming out to feed about sunset. the country was undulating, and on the north side of the lake gradually rose to hills about feet high. dense woods clothed the ravines running up to the higher ground, while between the woods and the surrounding numerous small ponds were fairly open glades interspersed with marshes. the track worn by the feet of many caribou and cleared in parts by steve, who trapped this country in the winter, was quite good going and we were on the top of our hill long before sunset. the view was a fine one; as we looked right over the entire lake and away to the south we could see the river winding down through the woods to lake kosk[=a]codde, only about four miles away as the crow flies. kosk[=a]codde is the indian for the mackle bird, or little gull pond. on our way up we saw the first sign of a stag cleaning his antlers, and the fresh rubbing showed that he had been on the ground quite recently. having spied the entire country on both sides and nothing being in sight, we decided to return to camp. about half-a-mile from camp we suddenly saw a big stag come out of the woods and feed along a ridge just above the shores of the lake. he was not more than yards away and was walking rapidly as he fed up wind and towards the camp. waiting until he had crossed the ridge and was out of sight, we pushed on across a small dip between us and the ridge, and so to the top of the ridge where he had disappeared. it could hardly be dignified by the name of a stalk, for on looking over there he was standing about a hundred yards away, feeding quietly. on the side towards me the frontals and middles were good, the tops poor, but stags were scarce, and hoping for the best i dropped him with one shot. it was the usual story, the two sides were not alike and the horn next to me was the best one. this is one of the great difficulties of judging heads; on one side may be a fine frontal of seven or eight points concealing the other frontal, which may be a single spike. he was a very heavy stag, in good condition and quite clean, but i should say the head was going back. in one respect it was remarkable--there were three distinct horns, the third with two points growing out of the orbital ridge and completely separated from the horn on the same side. steve said he had never seen one like it. the next morning i sent steve out early to spy the country. he came back having seen only one very small stag and three does. joe was dispatched to cut up yesterday's stag, and bring in the head and meat, while i decided to fish the river down and go out again in the evening on the chance of another stag. taking steve with me, i fished down for about two miles. there was some lovely water, but all the fish were lying in the pools and none in the streams. in the lowest pool i reached i got a fine fish of lb. and five other good ones. by lunch i had twenty-one trout and five char, weighing lb.; a number of small ones i had put back. the trout were all onannaniche and as game a fish for its size as i ever want to catch; in the heavy water they gave grand sport. coming back to camp we saw two old geese and a fine lot of young ones feeding in a marsh across a small lake. seeing us they kept cackling and moving higher up into the reeds. we both went back to camp to fetch the rook rifle, so making a great mistake, for had one of us remained where we were we certainly would have got a shot, for they would not have left the marsh so long as some one was in sight, guarding the narrow mouth of the river by which they were bound to pass. when we got back with the rifle they had disappeared. in the afternoon we went out to the second look-out, and waited till sunset. it was a wonderful evening, not a breath of wind, and the mosquitoes and flies were out in force even on the top of our little hill. in a small pond below us half-a-dozen black duck were swimming about through the reeds, while the hundreds of rings on the water showed that the pond was well stocked with trout, but steve said they were all very small and not worth catching; the pond must have been simply alive with them judging from the number of rises. presently we saw a barren doe come out of the woods and feed towards where we had shot yesterday's stag. the sound of chopping wood in camp was quite distinct in the still air, and whether it was hearing this or whether she had winded where the dead stag had lain, she turned back and swam straight out into the lake for about yards, then turned north and swam at least a mile to a jutting out wooded point where she landed, shook herself like a dog and disappeared in the woods. she swam very high in the water with her scut straight up. it was a pretty sight, as i could watch her all the way with my glasses. i was not very satisfied with the system of hunting we were obliged to follow. sitting waiting on the top of a look-out on the chance of something turning up did not appeal to me, but steve assured me it was much too early to go up to the barrens and that our only chance was in the woods, and i have no doubt he was right. the stags do not move up to the high ground much before september th, though i believe the shoe hill country and right away east holds stags permanently, but the big stags who have summered in the woods do not begin to move much before the th. the season closing on october st, there is not much time for good stags. the close time is from october st to th, when shooting is again allowed. i have a shrewd suspicion that men who go in about october th, to be in time for the second season, are not very particular about dates. i feel i should be sadly tempted myself were i to see a forty-five pointer, say october th. but when the rutting season is on, between october st and th, the stags are easily approachable and the sport cannot be good. we discussed our plans at length--there were not many big stags about, and though the camp was an ideal one i decided, on steve's recommendation, to move down south to lake kosk[=a]codde and kepskaig, where, though the country was fairly wooded, steve said we should have a chance of a good stag. on september th the weather looked like breaking. steve was out at daybreak and spied two stags down the river where we proposed to go. we decided to leave joe in camp and take a light camp and provisions for a week in the big canoe and explore the country to the south. joe was rather sad at being left behind, but though he had a good tent, lots of meat and provisions, the enforced solitude did not appeal to him. while steve and john were packing the canoe i went down to the river and soon had ten trout and char, ½ lb., the two biggest being over lb. each. the canoe was let down the rapids with a rope, the kit being portaged to the bottom of the rapids, only about yards, where the river fell into a small lake or podopsk, a generic term for all the small ponds in the course of a river. after crossing this we had a navigable stream with occasional rapids, all of which we were able to negotiate without unloading. having started at a.m. we reached a rapid at the entrance to kosk[=a]codde about . . here we had to portage about fifty yards. i slipped on the rocks and took an involuntary bath, which was rather annoying. however, a change of clothes was at hand and i was none the worse for my dip. just as we got into the new lake i saw a deer make off on the far side, having seen us. i could not make out whether it was a stag or a hind, as i only saw its rump disappearing in the trees. at the same moment john saw a stag feeding quietly away on our side of the lake. we soon got close enough to see that the head was a poor one. i tried to take a snapshot with the camera, but when i got within fifty yards he saw me and was off. he was a fine big-bodied beast, and may have been one of the stags steve had seen in the morning. we pushed on about one mile, and camped on a promontory stretching out into the lake. there was a nice sandy shelving beach and a perfect camping ground all ready, as it had been cleared by some other party the previous year, and only the undergrowth had to be cut away. [illustration: the three-horned stag] [illustration: "bad water" [_to face page ._] in the afternoon, taking the canoe, we paddled quietly along the shore, and after about two miles landed on a sandy beach to look for signs. a fringe of wood clothed the south shore of the lake, beyond which was a fairly open country. there were plenty of signs, and we were strolling quietly along the beach when steve seized me by the arm and whispered, "deer coming through wood." i confess i could hear nothing, but steve's hearing was marvellously acute. sitting down on a big rock, i got the rifle ready and laid it across my knees. presently i heard a crackling and breaking of branches quite close by, when a noble-looking stag walked out into the open and without looking round or ahead crossed the sandy beach down to the edge of the lake not thirty yards away. we were both in full view, but alas, though his body looked enormous his head was a very poor one, not more than twenty points. he never saw me but bent his head, had a long drink, then looked round for a couple of minutes and walked quietly back into the wood. what would i not have given for my camera!--a more perfect picture could not be imagined. though a gentle breeze was blowing, fortunately in the right direction, there was not a ripple on the waters of the sandy bay, which was sheltered by the wood, and as he stood with his head up and every line of his body reflected in the water below, it was a noble sight, such as one could but rarely hope to see. [illustration: steve joe dries himself.] [illustration: steve bernard in camp. [_to face page ._] allowing some ten minutes to elapse we followed him through the wood, more out of curiosity than anything else. coming out on to an open grassy plain, there he was feeding quietly about yards away. looking round to my left i suddenly saw a second stag not yards away. the horns of the first stag were clean. the second stag had a better head, but the velvet was peeling off and the frontal tines, and indeed most of the horn, were crimson with blood. it was difficult to determine the points, owing to the bits of velvet hanging all about, but getting the glass on to him i saw that though the frontals were good the rest of the head was very indifferent, so he had too to be passed. we whistled to move the second stag but he took not the slightest notice of us, and it was not until we gave him, and incidentally the first stag, our wind that they both went away over the plain at a slinging trot. coming home in the gloaming we saw another stag come out of the wood and walk along the shore. we got within fifty yards of him, but the head was, if possible, inferior to the other two. this was bad luck! we had seen four stags in one day and not one worth shooting. september th. we got away at a.m., crossed the lake in the canoe and made for the top of a small hill about a mile away. the country was undulating. numerous ponds lay in the hollows. clumps of wood (drokes), in which the stags rested during the day, were scattered over the plain; altogether a likely looking ground. we soon saw a big stag about two miles away feeding across a swamp. the head looked a good one but it was impossible to make out the points at such a distance, so we decided to get nearer. as we moved on we saw another stag coming out of a hollow on our left, but the head was a poor one. within four minutes we saw a third stag on our right, but the glass soon showed that he too was not of the right sort. all these were big-bodied animals, but carrying poor heads. following on after the first stag, we saw him enter a small wood. as soon as we got close outside the wood i decided to send steve round and give the stag his wind. i took a position commanding both sides of the wood, on one of which, if steve's drive were successful, the stag must come out. after about half-an-hour's wait a crash in the wood just in front of me told me that our plan had succeeded, and out burst a fine stag and stood looking back into the wood and within twenty yards of me. alas, his horns were in velvet, and although the tops were good he had only one indifferent frontal and a spike for the other. so he too had to go unharmed. again i reproached myself for not having brought the camera. i had missed yesterday and to-day two chances of snapshots such as seldom occur. on getting back to camp john reported having seen a small stag crossing the end of the lake, so at least there were plenty of caribou in the country, though unfortunately no big heads. in the afternoon the light breeze dropped to a dead calm, so starting at . we made for the far west end of the lake, about five miles away, where a long steady ran up for about three miles, and which steve said was a good country for deer. landing a few hundred yards up the steady, we made for the top of a ridge about a hundred feet high, up which led one of the deepest deer tracks i had yet seen. it was at least two feet deep, cut right into the side of the hill, and there were fresh signs everywhere. unfortunately it was one of those dead calm evenings when the stags come out very late, and as we were a good way from camp we could only wait till just after sunset, and saw nothing. on our way home just at the mouth of the steady we saw a barren hind standing in the water. as we wanted meat i sent steve ashore with the rook rifle to get her, which he did after bungling one or two shots. as we were getting the carcass into the canoe, out came another hind, and just behind her a small stag, on the point we had just left, but the head was no good. we got to camp well after dark, but it was a lovely, calm night without a ripple on the lake. september th. we were up at daybreak and across the lake to spy the ground where we had seen the three stags yesterday. nothing was in sight, but we saw for a moment one stag behind our camp on the high open ground; he was just disappearing into a small droke, so we could not make out the head. however, we went after him, but when we had crossed the pond and got up to where he had disappeared, there was nothing in sight, so we decided to get back to camp and move on if possible. just as we reached the camp, looking back for a moment i saw him on the sky-line about a quarter of a mile away, but, getting the glass on, i found the head was no good. as we were making for camp we saw another stag on the shore where we had landed in the morning, but he was like all the rest, unshootable. he both got our wind and saw us and went off at a real gallop instead of the ordinary long slinging trot. we certainly had seen plenty of stags, but as luck would have it not one good head. all the country round kosk[=a]codde was very good for deer. we had been extraordinarily lucky so far in our weather, the "mishes" were all dry but rather fatiguing going, just like walking over a thick bed of dry sponges. the fine weather could not be expected to last for ever, and the chances were that when we most wanted it, on the shoe hill ridge, it would break. sport on kepskaig chapter vi sport on kepskaig though the wind was almost blowing a gale against us we decided to start, and crept along under the shelter of the shore. heavy seas were breaking over the numerous sunken rocks and we shipped a good deal of water. i was not sorry to reach a point about three miles off, where the lake turned round to the north and where we had a following wind, and though the waves were still high they were behind us, and we soon reached a short rapid leading into kepskaig lake. we had covered the distance from our last camp in three and a half hours. unloading the canoe, we got her over the rapid and camped immediately below. in front of the camp, at the bottom of the short rapid, was a nice pool, and while the men were pitching camp and cooking dinner i fished the pool, and in one and a half hours i got twenty-one trout and char; the biggest about ½ lb. although the gale was a strong one the rain had so far kept off, but the clouds were now piling up for heavy rain, and the glass was falling rapidly. we were lucky to have got across, for the wind was now too high to have attempted the lake. we were in a good, dry camp, plenty of fish assured, and we could afford to ignore the weather. kepskaig was a short and somewhat narrow lake, not more than one and a half miles long; from it two steadies led out into meddonagonax lake. the shores were thickly wooded, but at the far end were some fairly open marshes with two good look-out hills, from which we could spy the entire country. we started about . for the far end of the lake, but landed half-way to spy the shores for any feeding stag that might come out. we soon saw a stag with a good-looking head feeding on the shore opposite to us, and were just about to start after him when steve saw another stag feeding across one of the marshes at the far end of the lake. the tops of the horns looked very good, so we decided to go after him first. pushing on in the canoe to the end of the lake, we were soon on the top of one of the small hills, and could see him feeding on towards us and moving very quickly. the glass showed that though he had good tops, both middles and frontals were very poor, so we decided to leave him and go back to the first stag. it was nearly dark when we got to the place we had last seen him, but fortunately he was there still feeding amongst some big boulders on the shore of the lake. a high wind was blowing and he was not more than eighty yards away, so hidden by the rocks and long grass i could not make out his frontals, but tops and middles were good, and waiting, what seemed an indefinite time, to get a broadside shot, at last he began feeding away with his rump straight on to me. i could now hardly see the telescope sight, but fortunately he gave a half turn and as i fired i heard the bullet go home. he galloped madly right into the lake, and stood some yards away among some big rocks from which i could hardly distinguish him. taking the best sight i could i fired again and he dropped stone dead in the water. getting him ashore, we found he was a nice thirty-four pointer, the best head we had yet seen, and as it happened the best head we saw the whole trip. he was in poor condition, having been badly wounded in the body at some time. abscesses had formed round the wounds and steve pronounced his flesh uneatable. it was too dark to do more than pull him out of the water and gralloch him, and we had a hard paddle back to camp in the dark. the rain was now falling heavily and a roaring fire and cosy camp were more than welcome. the following morning it was still raining, but more like a thick scotch mist. we went over to fetch the head, and found that the first bullet had gone in just behind the ribs and raked him through lungs and heart, so the second shot was unnecessary. we saw a hind and calf swimming in the lake, and tried to overtake them to get a snapshot, but hard as we both paddled i only succeeded in getting within about thirty yards, too far for a good photo--the light too was bad, and the result was not a success. i spent the morning sketching and photoing the head, and then steve set to work to skin and clean it. after breakfast there was great excitement, as four otters came swimming up to the rapid, possibly with the idea of going up into the lake above. regardless of season and game laws, steve had a shot with the small rifle and missed, but turned them back. going out to fish i could not get a rise, the otters had evidently scared all the fish out of the pool. the clouds now cleared away and a brilliant sun came out, while hardly a ripple stirred the surface of the lake. in the afternoon we went down again to the end of the lake, climbed the highest look-out hill and stayed there till sunset. the views on all sides were very beautiful and we looked right over meddonagonax with its numerous wooded islands, but saw no stags. we paddled down one of the steadies leading into meddonagonax and so into the lake, hoping to see some feeding stag on its shores, but without success. [illustration: a thirty-four point caribou] [illustration: steve skinning the head of the thirty-four pointer [_to face page ._] it was a wonderful night, the moonlight made it almost as bright as day. the following morning was bright and cold and the mists hanging over the lake were soon dispelled by the morning sun. we got away about . a.m. and went down to the far end of the lake, but only saw one unshootable stag. coming back for breakfast we decided to take a trip to the far end of meddonagonax, where steve said there was good fishing just where the river left the lake. it only took us one and a half hours of a steady row and paddle to get to the end of the lake where the baie du nord river leaves it. we ran down a few hundred yards of rapids and hauled up the canoe, leaving john to prepare lunch. it was an ideal-looking river and steve said he had caught many large trout in it. the pools were perfect to look at, but somehow fish were comparatively few and not in very good condition. i fished down about a mile to where the river fell into a small lake, and caught eighteen trout weighing about nine pounds. steve said it was only a good day's march from where we were to where the river runs into the sea. about half-way down there is a big fall called smoky falls, above which salmon cannot run, but he said salmon were numerous below the falls. in the water we had fished he had caught many big trout in july, so possibly we were too late. leaving at o'clock i trolled all the way home but never got a pull nor did we see a stag. as we had apparently exhausted the ground, we decided to start back in the morning of the th and camp in a steady at the west end of kosk[=a]codde. while john was packing up we had an early morning prowl round the shores in the canoe, but saw nothing. while the packing was being finished i fished the pool at the camp and got thirteen trout weighing ½ lb.--the largest about ½ lb. it was a blazing hot day, we got to our new camping ground shortly after midday, and only caught one trout on the way. going out in the evening we crossed some ideal-looking caribou ground, but saw only one stag with a poor head and a couple of hinds. all our hopes were now centred on the shoe hill ridge country, for though we had seen many stags we were most unfortunate as regards heads. this was the seventh day away from the main camp, and we had seen fourteen stags. i cannot help thinking it was a bad year for heads, or surely we should have seen something better. i sent steve out early on the morning of the th to spy, but he came back and reported nothing in sight. we got away about . , and with a favourable wind were soon passing our old camp on kosk[=a]codde. joe had been uneasy about us, or lonely, and we met him tramping down the river, and, incidentally, disturbing the whole country. he reported a stag (of course a colossal one) which had passed quite close to our old camp. it was lucky no gun was left behind, for he most certainly would have had a shot. about dinner-time we reached a small lake from which the river ran out in a sluggish stream. steve said it was a favourite spot for trout and suggested i should try it while lunch was being got ready. there was a deep hole just above the stream and a light wind was rippling the water. the trout was there in numbers and greedy for the fly. at every cast i rose one or two, and in an hour and a half i had forty trout weighing ½ lb., the biggest about lb. i lost one which must have been at least lb., and put back at least a dozen small ones. i never saw trout in such numbers or so eager to take the fly. it was nice to get back to the cheery camp on sandy grove pond, and to my comfortable camp bed, but joe had spoiled all chance of stags. we saw a good covey of grouse close to the camp, but they were very wild. i thought joe would never go to sleep he had so much to say to his pals, and his stag grew bigger and bigger as the evening wore on, perhaps due to a tot of rum which was served out to celebrate our meeting. the morning of the th broke grey with a light rain, and the glass was falling, but there was no wind. i went down to fish the river for the last time while the men were packing up. in my favourite pool i took eleven fine trout, weighing lb., four others in the smaller streams, lb., and seven in crossing the lake, lb.--a total for the day of twenty-two trout, lb. i lost a fly in a good trout in the big pool. i fished the streams down till steve came to say that all was ready for a start. as we passed the pool i chaffingly said, "i must get that trout which broke me." at the first cast i hooked a -lb. fish, and on landing him steve quietly remarked, "quite right, here is your fly," and sure enough there it was! crossing the lake we saw two stags and landed to look at them, but again the heads were no good. the wind was rising and the rain coming down ere we reached our main camp on sandy grove pond about . p.m. time was now getting short, so we decided to push on to the shoe hill ridge and there hope for a big stag as the deer began moving out of the woods. the evening was wild and wet, so we stayed in camp making arrangements for the morrow's march inland. to the shoe hill country [illustration: the clearing of the storm, shoe hill ridge [_to face page ._] chapter vii to the shoe hill country the morning of the th was grey, and though the glass was falling, the weather looked like clearing. the men dawdled about and it was before we all got away. our plans were to take three good packs up to shoe hill ridge and then send joe back for what we wanted from time to time. we had kippered all the big trout and very excellent they were later on, for no fish were to be had on the barrens. we reached the top of the ridge about o'clock, when heavy rain set in. as i could not walk in an oilskin, there was nothing for it but to get wet through, and very soon i was literally wet to the skin. we were all shivering with cold as a bitter wind was blowing over the open barrens, so at o'clock we halted to boil the kettle under the shelter of a big rock. though wet through, the men were as cheery as ever, and steve challenged joe to race him to the top of a small hill which was millais' look-out when he was camped in the shoe hill droke. they came back having seen nothing. we plodded along, a sorry crew, in the pouring rain, but somewhat refreshed by the hot tea. as we came in sight of a big lake lying south of the shoe hill droke for which we were bound, we saw a good stag lying on the far side of the lake. the head certainly looked the biggest i had seen, but it was hard to use the telescope in the rain and i could not make out the points. however, both steve and i saw that he had very big frontals, though i could only make out two points on the tops. the wind was all wrong and to get a stalk meant going right round the lake, about three miles. the other two men would have had to wait in the rain, and as we were all feeling pretty wretched, we decided to leave him and push on to camp. the decision was mine and i shall always regret it, for i believe he carried the best head we saw on the trip, but i thought as we were to hunt for a week on the shoe hill ridge we had a fair chance of coming on him again, so we passed on to camp. he got our wind at least a mile away and cleared out over a ridge and never was seen again. we got to camp about o'clock and were soon warming and drying ourselves before a roaring fire. we were now in the shoe hill droke, and in the centre of what millais described as the finest caribou country he had seen in newfoundland. there was, however, one great difference. he had been there the end of october, when all the stags had moved up. it was now only the th september, and it remained to be seen what our luck would be. while getting everything shipshape i found my telescope sight was missing. steve always carried it slung over his shoulder and must have left it behind at one of our halts. he assured me it would be "all right" and that he would go out at daybreak and bring it in, which he did. this was the first really uncomfortable day we had had--but our troubles were soon forgotten, and over a roaring camp fire and with a tot of rum each, we looked forward hopefully to our prospects for the next few days. the morning of the th was fine, the sun was shining brightly, the glass was rising, a fresh north-east wind was blowing, altogether a perfect stalking day. the shoe hill droke lay on a slight rise above the shoe hill lake. the droke was a general camping ground for shooting and trapping parties, and the remains of many camps were scattered through the wood. to the north lay mount sylvester, some seven miles away, with a fine open country between; to the south the view was bounded by a ridge about three miles away. a similar ridge lay about the same distance to the east, while to the west lay the country we had crossed the day before. the whole country was undulating and there were scattered clumps of wood affording nice shelter for stags. we could hunt in every direction and could not possibly have been in a better centre. the ground was hard and dry, and it was certainly the best walking in the island. we started north about a.m., and covered a lot of ground, walking continuously until p.m., with an hour's rest for a midday meal. we saw four stags that day, and though two looked shootable, yet after a long tramp in each case we found the horns no good, which was a great disappointment, for we had worked really hard. we also saw for the first time two bands of hinds, one of six with two small very young stags and one of four. we came on the spot where millais had shot his forty-nine pointer and steve pointed with pride to the bones still lying about, also to the scene of captain lumsden's thirty-seven pointer, but it was a poor satisfaction to me to know my predecessors on the ground had got such fine trophies if i could not find a shootable beast. millais, captain lumsden, captain legge and mr. littledale had all shot this country with steve, who certainly knew every inch of it, but october is the month for the shoe hill ridge, when the sport must be grand, for all the stags from the north as well as those from the wooded country all round come up to these barrens in the late autumn. the country was cut up with deep trails, showing where the stags passed on their annual migration south. for pleasure i should choose the early season, up to october st; the weather is finer and some fishing is to be had, but for good heads the late season is certainly the best, for all the stags are out in the open during and after the rut. in the end of october the weather is sometimes fine, but sometimes very broken, and steve told me that he had more than once hunted in heavy snow in that month. on our return to camp everything was most comfortable--benches, tables, shelves in the tent, rests for the rifles; only the big stag was wanted to make the shoe hill droke a hunter's earthly paradise. on the morning of the th we struck east and crossed two ridges till we got to a valley between shoe hill ridge and the hill on which was the kesoquit droke, where millais had camped on his way up from the long harbour river. looking down into the valley, we saw a good stag as regards body and two smaller ones. the head was a pretty open one, but the middles and frontals were poor, so we left him alone. i picked up a single horn with eighteen good points close by. we saw two more stags a long way off and went after them, but the distance was much greater than i thought. on our way we saw another small stag come out of a droke and walk quietly up a slight rise, where he was joined by a still smaller one from the far side of the ridge. neither had shootable heads. they both went in for what steve called their "standing sleep," stuck their legs out and remained perfectly motionless with the head drooping till it almost touched the ground; occasionally they woke up with a start, but were soon sound asleep again. it was a most comical sight and lasted for about a quarter of an hour. i crawled up within about sixty yards without any difficulty and could easily have shot them both. the little stag woke up first, but it was not till we showed ourselves that the bigger stag moved away in a most dignified manner, giving two or three most beautiful chances before he went out of sight. while steve was boiling the kettle i went on to a little hillock to spy the ground, and saw the two stags we were first after, but again the heads were no good. i heard a rustle behind me and, thinking it was steve coming up to call me to dinner, turned round and saw a hind feeding beside me, not five yards away. she started when she saw me, but moved away quite quietly. while eating our midday meal two more hinds fed quietly up to within a few yards and passed by without showing any signs of fear. this country was certainly full of deer, but none of the right sort. when we stopped for dinner we were within one and a half miles of the kesoquit droke, which is only about four miles from the head-waters of the long harbour river. from a small hillock we could see the entire country and the hills over long harbour, while away to the east was the conical hill known as the "tolt." the ground looked very much the same as far as the eye could reach and should be a grand hunting country in october. we could also see the waters of the maelpeg lake, about three miles away. returning to camp, we saw a black fox in the distance, which made steve's mouth water, as he said he could sell a good skin for two hundred and forty dollars. altogether the day had been a very interesting one. we had seen seven stags and a number of does, but unfortunately no good heads. on the th the weather broke badly, the glass fell / ths, a gale of wind and heavy driving rain made stalking impossible and kept us in camp all day. towards evening the wind went round and the rain stopped, and then we saw a wonderful sunset, the heavy rain clouds drifting away across a golden red setting sun. we saw a stag on the sky-line about two miles away, but too late to go after him. on the th the wind had come round to the north, and it was a bright, lovely morning. we took the ground to the north-west, working round by where we had seen the stag the previous evening. we covered a lot of ground and altogether stalked four separate stags, only to find, on getting up to them, that the heads were no good. we must have walked over fifteen miles, but in the bracing air of the barrens fatigue was unknown. we saw another black fox to-day a long way off, and steve said he would be back trapping in three weeks and hoped to get the two black foxes. i picked up a single horn with twenty-two points, very short and thick. there were eight points on the top just like a frontal tine. the morning of the th was very cold and grey, but we hoped it would clear up, so started away over the ridge to the south-west. on topping the ridge, we looked down on a great marshy plain with a few scattered drokes. nothing was in sight, so we walked quietly on towards one of the drokes, from behind which suddenly burst out five hinds pursued by what looked like a good stag, who was grunting as he followed the hinds--the first rutting stag we had seen. they paid so little attention to us that they were almost on top of us before they saw us. unfortunately, the head was poor, as he gave an easy shot. almost immediately after two herds of hinds passed us, while in the distance two more stags were seen feeding about three miles away. we went on towards them, when the rain set in and we had to find shelter for lunch. there was no sign of the weather clearing and stalking was impossible in the heavy rain and mist, so we plodded wearily back to camp, which we reached after dark, wet to the skin. this valley was full of grouse; we saw seven good coveys and i shot three birds for the pot with the small rifle. the rain continued all night, but stopped about a.m. on the morning of the st. we had come up to shoe hill ridge on the th in heavy rain. it had rained on the th and again on the th, so three days out of six were spoiled. the whole country was now soaked with the rain, little rivulets had become torrents, and the marshes were knee deep in water. it seemed useless to remain on, as it meant my missing my steamer in new york, so we decided to pack up and get out. looking back, i think this was a mistake. i might have spent another week in this grand country and taken a later boat home. some big stags might have come up from the woods. on the other hand, the weather was broken and even steve was in favour of moving. all along he regretted that i had not come in for the october shooting, when, he said, i was bound to have got good heads. he was just as keen as i was and sorry to leave. [illustration: lunch on the baie du nord river] [illustration: my camp, shoe hill droke [_to face page ._] homeward bound chapter viii homeward bound just as we had packed up a fearful thunderstorm came on which lasted over an hour, and we did not get away till . , arriving at sandy pond at o'clock, wet through. the water was pouring down the hill sides, every deep deer track was a torrent, and it was heavy going through the marshes. we had a meal and a change of clothes, and, packing the canoes, reached the portage into sandy pond at dusk. the evening was fine; we pitched camp in a nice droke and over a good hot supper at o'clock the discomforts of the day were soon forgotten. by the aneroid the shoe hill droke was feet above the level of sandy grove pond. there was just a last chance of a stag, as steve said there was some good ground in the direction of where i had shot the first stag. i sent him out at daybreak on the nd, and he came back reporting three stags about half-a-mile away, one of which he thought was a good one. we started away and found them feeding in an open marsh without any cover but three great boulders about yards from where they were. the biggest stag had a very pretty head, but careful examination with the glass decided me to let him go. steve said, "pity that not forty-pointer." the position looked so impossible that i told steve we never could have got a stalk or a shot. "i drive him," said steve. wishing to see how he would manage it i told him to go ahead, while i lay behind the big boulder; meanwhile the stags lay down. he took a tremendous round and presently i saw him about a mile on the other side of the stags, who at the moment got his wind, rose and began to trot away, but not towards me. suddenly i saw steve trotting along to turn them, which he did most successfully, for the three stags came along at a swinging trot, the big one behind, and passed in the open about yards from me. the shot was such a sporting one i could not resist it, and as the thud of the bullet came back to me the stag dashed forward at a gallop and rolled over stone dead, shot through the heart. my last stalk and shot of the trip. i cannot pretend that stalking caribou is a high form of sport. if the wind is right and there are not too many hinds about one can take any liberties. of all the animals i have shot the caribou seems to me the most stupid and the easiest to bag under ordinary circumstances. [illustration: up the two-mile brook, homeward bound] [illustration: a brook in flood [_to face page ._] i had a special permit to shoot five stags, but only shot four, not counting the deer we had to shoot for meat, generally hinds. we soon had the meat in the canoes. the brooks and shallow steadies were now full up from the heavy rains, so we poled where we had to portage coming in. the rain was falling in torrents. we saw our last stag as we came up to red hill pond, but he had no head to speak of. by . we reached red hill pond, which was up over two feet. the rain was so bad we decided to camp, and soon had a fire as big as a house going, before which we dried ourselves; the men just as cheerful as if it had been bright sunshine. it was an awful night, a gale tearing through the tops of the trees, and the rain coming down in sheets; but the morning of the rd was fine, as the wind had come round to the north, and we made an early start as we hoped to reach ryan's by nightfall. i had had bad luck; i had seen and stalked forty-two stags and never saw one really good head. i think it must have been a bad year for heads, or millais, lumsden, legge and littledale had cleared the best stags off the ground. a party of americans had come over from the east the previous year, but spent only two days on the shoe hill ridge and got two good stags. steve now regretted that we had not gone back by the terra nova river and lake. he said we could have shot every rapid without unloading and would have reached st. john's much quicker than by going back to belleoram. with a gale of wind behind us, but no rain, we made good time. the two-mile brook was in heavy flood and we poled the canoe up and reached the old camp on hungry grove pond by . here i left all the provisions that were left over, the fly for the men and the kit i was giving them as a present, and we started for a fifteen-mile tramp to ryan's at . . the ground was saturated and we only reached the top of the hill above ryan's at dark. it was awful going down the hill in the dark, and the men fell with their packs more than once. we simply waded and stumbled along till we saw the welcome lights of the house at . p.m.--a real hard day's work. i shot five grouse on the way. by the aneroid the top of the six-mile hill was feet above the sea-level at ryan's. ryan was away, but i received a hearty welcome from his niece. the question now was what was to be done? there was no schooner or sailing boat of any kind; however, as usual, steve and john were not to be defeated, but said they would row me down to anderson's cove in the fishing dory. [illustration: a view in long harbour. [_to face page ._] the morning of the th was lovely and calm, but a wind sprang up just as we got away and it was soon blowing a gale in our teeth and we were shipping heavy seas. steve and john struggled gallantly on, but at o'clock we had to halt, as we could make no way. after about two hours, when we were considering how we could pass the night, the wind dropped as suddenly as it rose and we reached john saunders' house just at dark. anderson's cove was two miles farther on. saunders was a fine specimen of the old settler, and his house was a picture of cleanliness and neatness. the sails of his schooner were unbent, so we decided to go on to the cove where the leading trader, mr. thornhill, lived, and steve said he had a sailing boat and could put us across next morning. there was a slight difficulty about this, as one of the hands wanted a guarantee of so many dollars a day should he be detained in belleoram. i cut matters short by sending a wire to saunders to bend his sails and come over as early as he could in the morning. i think my friends at anderson's cove were a bit disappointed when saunders and his smart boat came across with a spanking breeze and picked us up about a.m. we had all slept on the floor at thornhill's, but had an excellent supper of a whole cod boiled with potatoes. we had a lovely sail across to belleoram--saunders and a fine strapping son being the crew. the boat was as smart and clean as a yacht, and the two saunders were the best type i had yet met of the newfoundland settlers. steve and john came for the trip as cheery as ever, though their badly blistered hands showed the work of yesterday. by . i was at belleoram, and by o'clock the men were on their way back to long harbour. as steve said good-bye it was really quite touching. "you treat us very well, you very good man. come again, and god bless you." i certainly never parted with men with such regret and never want better friends or hunting comrades. being sunday, belleoram was very quiet. mrs. cluett gave me an excellent dinner and a delightful bedroom, for i had to stay the night, as my steamer was not due till next day. in the evening i went to the service in the big church on the hill. the congregation were mostly men who "go down to the sea in ships and occupy their business in great waters," while the special prayer for their protection against the perils of cod fishing struck a note that was new to me. there was quite a nice little organ and the whole congregation joined devoutly in the hymns; altogether the service was most impressive. the _glencoe_ turned up at o'clock on the th and the next afternoon we reached placentia, where the train was waiting. we got away about . , but did not reach st. john's ( miles) till a.m. the following morning, a very poor performance. the engine could not pull us up the inclines. we made a rush and each time stuck half-way and had to run back a couple of miles to make a fresh try. however, it seemed a usual occurrence, for every one on board took it quite philosophically, many recounting their reminiscences of when they had to stop all night in the train. in the train was mr. job, just returning from a good grouse shoot. he told me he had in his office a sixty-four pointer caribou stag shot by an indian and bought by his brother. he very kindly allowed me to see it the next day, and a very remarkable head it was; i could make out at least sixty points. i left st. john's at p.m. on the th and as we reached gaff topsails, about the highest point of the railway, sleet and light snow were falling and a bitter wind was blowing across the open barrens. descending to the humber valley the climate became milder and the autumn tints made the scenery, if possible, more beautiful than when i had passed it before. i had to spend saturday night in halifax, nova scotia, but got away by the sunday night express and reached new york early on tuesday morning. it was still hot and muggy and i was glad to leave on the _deutschland_ on saturday, october th, arriving in plymouth early on october th. the route i had chosen involved great loss of time, the weekly sailing of the _glencoe_ on the south coast being a great drawback. if one steamer be missed a week is lost. i might just as well have gone from port aux basques to belleoram by steamer and returned from belleoram to port aux basques, thus avoiding the tiresome railway journey of twenty-nine hours, but i had to outfit at st. john's and wished also to see the scenery of the island. the heads i got did not make up for a somewhat expensive trip, but, on the other hand, i had seen a great deal of very beautiful country in fair comfort and enjoyed some excellent trout fishing which i would not have got had i gone in from the railway. i had the mount sylvester country all to myself and it was simply bad luck that i saw no good heads. i can honestly say, however, that i never enjoyed a hunting trip more, and only wish i could look forward to another visit to the island, when with my present experiences i could, i think, make better arrangements to avoid loss of time in reaching the hunting grounds. the game laws of newfoundland are sufficiently liberal. a licence of $ (£ ) gives the visitor the right to shoot three caribou stags. the true sportsman should be content with this limit and will carefully pick his heads. the newfoundlander, whether white man or indian, is not charged the $ . the indian certainly shoots what he wants and is not particular about a close time. accustomed as he has been from time immemorial to range the island and shoot for food and clothing, it is difficult to get him to understand the principle underlying game laws, and to accept a game limit to which he has never been accustomed and the necessity for which he does not understand. when the fishing laws come to be considered there seems to me great room for improvement. the newfoundland government prides itself on all the rivers being open to every one. for the first time, in , a fishing licence of $ was imposed on the visitor, and this gave him the right to fish any river in the island. the practical result is, that many of the best-known rivers, such as the codroy and harry's brook, are overfished. all the rivers on the west coast are very accessible to the angler from the united states, and suffer most from overcrowding. i met an english angler who had been fishing the codroy; he said it was one continual struggle as to who would get on to the water first. i heard the same story at the south-east arm, placentia. the government absolutely refuses to lease a river or even to limit the number of rods, and i think this policy is entirely wrong. in practice one may decide on a season in newfoundland. having carefully selected a somewhat inaccessible river and made all one's arrangements for camping out, it would certainly be disappointing on arrival to find two or three other parties settled on the river and one's trip spoiled, yet this is quite possible. i was told in st. john's, no government would dare to change the existing law and the policy of the open door in fishing. this i cannot understand, for what has been done in canada, new brunswick and nova scotia can surely be done in newfoundland. the application of the law is carried to the extreme. an official of the fishery board told me of a case where an american offered a liberal rent for a remote river on the labrador coast. there was but one settler on the river and the american guaranteed that he would take him into his service. he proposed to build a fishing lodge and so put capital into the country. his application was refused. the government professes to be most anxious to encourage the tourist and sportsman to visit the island, but i venture to think they are not going the right way about it, at least as regards the angler. they do not seem to recognize the advantage to the country of leasing any of the many rivers. first the lessee would see that the river was carefully preserved, he would give employment to watchers, he would probably build a house and in any case would spend money in the country, while at the same time his rent goes to increase the revenue. a double object is thus attained--the preservation of fish and game, and an increase in revenue. if, however, such a policy be impossible the least the government can do is to limit the number of rods on each river and to have some means of knowing which rivers are being fished and by how many rods. in this way the angler contemplating a trip to newfoundland could apply for all information to the existing fishery board, who would advise him where to go with the least chance of being crowded out. given some such organization, newfoundland should become the favourite resort of the british angler. a hunting trip may be cheap or expensive, chiefly depending on the route selected, the number of indians employed and the means of transport in the island. the cheapest route is by the direct steamers to st. john's. two indians are sufficient, but a third adds greatly to one's comfort. their pay is--headman, ½ to dollars a day; other men, dollars. if a waterway into the interior be selected, two canoes are a luxury, one large one a necessity; with two canoes all the necessaries and many of the luxuries of life can be enjoyed; the same cannot be said of packing, as my vancouver experiences have shown. it is to say the least a nuisance to have the necessaries cut down; the luxuries, by which i mean preserved milk, butter, jam, oatmeal, and a small amount of whisky or rum, one can do without, but why not be comfortable, if comfort can be found, by the better mode of transport which canoes afford. they can be ordered from canada through mr. blair and sold on leaving the island. i give in an appendix my list of stores, but i had far too much. one and a half stone of flour is ample for four men for one week, the amount taken will then depend on the length of the trip. the cost as paid in st. john's is given. i had many stores over, for we had abundance of venison and fish. fish need never be wasted; the trout split, salted and hung up over or near the camp fire make excellent kippers, and when up on the shoe hill ridge, where no fresh fish were obtainable, i thoroughly enjoyed the kippered trout from sandy grove pond. newfoundland list of stores taken appendix i cents. $ stones flour . lb. bacon . -lb. tins lard . lb. tea . lb. coffee . lb. sugar . tins st. charles cream . gals. potatoes . lb. patna rice . lb. lima beans . bags salt . lb. dried apples . lb. peaches . lb. apricots . ¼-lb. tins baking powder . -lb. tins marmalade . -lb. tins apricot jam . lb. cooking butter . lb. eating butter . lb. onions . tins white pepper . tins corned beef . -lb. tin alum . yards grey calico . nest tin boxes for stores . lb. scotch oatmeal . bottles worcester sauce . bottle vinegar . tins mustard . tins potted meat . dutch oven . tins dubbin . frying pan made to order . american axes . . hatchet . ball twine . fathom bank line . sail needles . slip sail twine . yards -oz. duck . ½ lb. ½" copper tacks . -lb. tin grey paint . doz. ½" brass screws . lb. " iron nails . lb. smoking tobacco . bottles rum . bottles whisky . . packet toilet paper . cakes soap . doz. sea dog matches . doz. wax matches . packet sulphur matches . lb. price's candles . candle lantern . oil stove . small bottle oil . tin basins . iron spoon . tin flash . tins sardines . -lb. tins lunch tongue . tin apricots . tin cocoa and milk . sets knives and forks . lb. hard bread . can opener . tin camp cups . enamel mug . tin plates . iron fork . iron spoon . boxes and packing . freight to belleoram . grey calico bags . gridiron . lock for box . set hinges . hasp and staple . ------- total $ . ======= richard clay & sons, limited brunswick street, stamford street, s.e., and bungay, suffolk. transcriber's notes obvious punctuation errors repaired. in "kosk[=a]codde", the symbols "[=a]" represent an "a" with a macron diacritic. p. : the horn next me -> the horn next to me. p. : belleroram -> belleoram.