ACROSS THE CONTINENT
In his journeyings thus far it may have been remarked that our careless
hero had been a model of prudence and forethought. About this time,
however, his old habits began to assert themselves. Thus, before
the end of the first day out from Montreal his belongings were so
scattered from one end of the sleeping-car to the other, that its
good-natured black porter was kept constantly on the alert gathering
them up and restoring them to their owner. At the same time, by his
cheerful disposition and obliging manners the young fellow made himself
a universal favorite. Especially was this the case with the weary
mothers, whose restless children he was always ready to amuse and
entertain.
To these children the quaintly carved tooth that dangled from his
watch-chain was a source of never-failing delight. It was also
considered a great curiosity, and examined with interest by the
older passengers, while Simon Goldollar, who managed to maintain an
appearance of intimacy with its owner, asked many questions concerning
it. “Was it not a witch charm? Did its engraved figures represent
totems?” etc., to all of which Phil had to plead ignorance.
One day he detached it from its chain to give it to a fretful baby
as a plaything. At the same time he gave his watch to another child.
Then, attracted by a bit of scenery that was best visible from the
smoking-room at the rear end of the car, he went off and forgot all
about them.
A few hours later one mother returned his watch to him; while the
other said that, after her infant had nearly choked himself in trying
to swallow the fur-seal’s tooth, she had taken it from him and laid
it on the window-sill of Phil’s seat. In the mean time the berths had
been made up for the night, and it was nowhere to be seen. Its owner
good-naturedly said, “No matter, it will turn up again somewhere,” and
thought no more about it until the next day. Then a vigorous search was
instituted for the missing trinket, but with no avail. It was not to be
found, nor was it again seen during the remainder of the journey.
Phil felt badly over the loss of the fur-seal’s tooth, because the
universal interest it had excited led him to believe it more valuable
than he had at first supposed. Also because of Serge Belcofsky, of whom
it had been a constant reminder, and whose good qualities grew more
and more apparent to our hero with the lapse of time and distance. He
wondered if any one could have stolen the bit of carved ivory; but
being of a singularly honest and unsuspicious nature, he dismissed this
thought almost before it was formed.
So the eventful journey wore on, with each day more full of strange and
wonderful interest than its predecessor. The scenery of the first day
was an almost unbroken forest with queer settlements at wide intervals.
It was rather monotonous, and to beguile the time Simon Goldollar
induced Phil to join him and two others in a game of cards. The lad
did not care much for the game, and only entered it rather than appear
ill-natured or disobliging. When at the end of an hour he expressed a
wish to withdraw, Simon Goldollar informed him that he could do so upon
payment of the two dollars he had lost, as they had been playing for a
shilling a point. At this Phil sprang from his seat in a sudden fury.
“So you are a gambler, are you! And I have been led blindfolded into
your trap!” he cried. “Very well, sir; there is your wretched money;
and now, if you ever mention cards to me again, or in fact if you dare
speak to me on any subject, I will knock you down.” With this the lad
flung two silver dollars upon the table and left the room, almost
choked with the tumult of his feelings.
He heard Goldollar’s sneering laugh and his remark of “Pretty loud
crowing for a bantam, eh?” and he heard one of the other men say
something about its being too bad; but he did not wait for anything
more.
Afterwards both the strangers apologized to him for their apparent
share in the deception, saying that Goldollar had told them before the
game began that it was understood by all they were to play for money.
The author of this unpleasant scene did not, however, see fit to offer
any apology for his share in it, nor did he and Phil exchange aught
save black looks for several days.
Our lad was too manly a fellow to allow an incident of this kind to
affect him for long, and he was soon enjoying the trip as keenly as
ever.
The second day was passed amid the rugged scenery of Thunder Bay and
the northern shores of Lake Superior, greatest of fresh-water seas. It
was followed by their arrival in the early morning of the third day at
Winnipeg, the old Fort Garry of fur-trading times. This fort had played
so conspicuous a part in the stories of Phil’s boyhood that he gazed
about him on all sides with an eager interest, and was disappointed to
find the Hudson Bay Company’s post of romance grown into a fair and
wide-spread city.
Here, with the crossing of the Red River, the forest country ended,
and the treeless plains of Manitoba, once the range of countless
buffalo, but now one of the greatest wheat regions of the world, began.
As the train rushed across the vast breezy levels at an accelerated
speed the far-reaching view with its myriad objects of interest was
exhilarating in the extreme, and Phil gazed upon it for the greater
part of two days without a trace of weariness. Here were old buffalo
trails and wallows; there a fleeing band of antelope or a skulking
coyote. Now a party of mounted Blackfeet in all the bravery of savage
decoration would dash up to some little station at which the train was
stopping. A few minutes later it would whirl past a cluster of their
tepees looking exactly like the pictures of Indian camps he had pored
over so often in his books. He saw cowboys, too, and great herds of
cattle. He saw a vast wheat ranch, containing one hundred square miles
of land, divided into fields of such size that in them the ploughing of
a single furrow was a day’s work for a man and team.
At length, during the morning of the fourth day, soon after leaving
the brisk little city of Calgary, Phil caught a glimpse, far ahead, of
something that caused him to rub his eyes and look again. It was high
up and of dazzling whiteness. It could not be a cloud. No, it must be
snow. Yes, it actually was a snow-capped peak of the Rocky Mountains.
As the discovery burst upon him in all its magnitude Phil uttered a
shout of delighted wonder that attracted the attention of every one in
the car, and all the passengers crowded to the windows to look.
From this on all was excitement, which, as the wondrous panorama
of glistening peaks was unfolded and uplifted, until finally the
train plunged into their very midst, increased with each moment.
Now an open observation-car was attached to the train, and as it
sped up the narrow valley of the crystal Bow, the ever-changing and
ever-fascinating view was unobstructed. On they hurried, past Banff,
with its sky-piercing peaks, its boiling springs, and its stately
hotel; and past Laggan, the point of departure on horseback for the
marvellously beautiful lakes of the clouds. Ten miles further on
the Great Divide was crossed, and with a thrill our young traveller
realized that the rivulet flowing beside the track was the head-waters
of the Kicking Horse, a tributary of the mighty Columbia, and the first
Pacific waters he had ever seen.
From here, for a hundred miles down the western slope of the Rockies,
and over the majestic Selkirk Range, the scenery was so indescribably
grand, so filled with lofty mountain peaks, fathomless gorges, gleaming
glaciers, and foaming cataracts, that no words can tell of it, and
even the enthusiasts of the observation-car were awed into silence. As
for Phil Ryder, who had never even imagined anything so marvellous, he
sat and gazed alone, and with swelling heart, at the wonders unfolded
by each succeeding moment. The majesty of that day’s scenery was so
overpowering that he was actually glad when night came and hid it from
his wearied eyes.
On the following day, which was to be his last on the train, the
strange grandeur of the mighty Fraser Cañon was almost as bewildering
as that of the mountains already left behind, and the lad drew a long
sigh of relief when the train finally emerged from it, and entered the
comparatively level country that stretched away to the western ocean.
At one pretty little station where the train stopped for dinner, Phil,
having exhausted his change, was obliged to take the one-hundred-dollar
bill from his securely hidden pocket-book. Simon Goldollar watched him,
and when, in the haste of departure, the lad thrust both his wallet
and the wad of bills he had just received in change into one of the
pockets of his overcoat, instead of putting it into the place where his
treasure had been kept, the former noted this action also. A minute
later the overcoat was carelessly flung into a seat of the sleeper,
while its young owner joined a group of passengers who had called to
him from one end of the car.
At the last stop before reaching Vancouver, Simon Goldollar approached
Phil, who was walking beyond the end of the platform. “Let’s make up
and be friends,” he said, extending his hand. “I don’t bear no hard
feelings, and to prove it I’ll put you onto a big scheme by which you
can double your money in no time. Buy opium in Victoria, run it into
Alaska, and――”
“Mr. Simon Goldollar,” interrupted Phil, regarding the other with
blazing eyes, “I once said that if you ever spoke to me again I would
knock you down, and I never go back on my word.”
[Illustration: “‘I SAID IF YOU SPOKE TO ME AGAIN I WOULD KNOCK YOU
DOWN’”]
With this the young athlete stepped forward with so threatening and
determined an aspect, that Mr. Simon Goldollar, with one terrified
glance, sought safety in precipitate flight, nor did he pause until he
had gained the shelter of the train.