The fiction that coal was the objective of Sir Bryson Trangmar's
expedition was scarcely maintained; indeed, once they got away from
Fort Cheever the word was never heard again. On the other hand, a
little word that resembled it circulated continually with a thrilling
intonation. Stories of gold and gold-hunters were told over the fires
in English and Cree. Baldwin Ferrie, the geologist, kept the subject
agitated by cracking every likely looking stone he came to with his
little hammer, and by studying the composition of the mountain tops all
day with his powerful glasses.
We are told that the essence of comedy lies in the exposure of
pretentiousness. That being so, the comic spirit is highly developed
up North. In town pretentiousness is largely a matter of give and
take; we are all pretending to something, and we are obliged to seem to
allow the pretences of our neighbours in order to get them to allow
ours. But up North they are beholden to no man, and, sardonic jesters
that they are, they lie in wait for pretentiousness. Woe to the man
who goes up North and "puts on side."
One like Sir Bryson was therefore bound to be considered fair game.
His official position was no protection to him. There is a story
current about a governor-general, and another about an actual prince of
the blood, who did not escape. All of which is to say that Jack,
notwithstanding his perplexities in other directions, was looking
forward with keen relish to the return of Sir Bryson's
"exploring-party." He only regretted that there was none at hand but
Humpy Jull with whom to share the joke.
They landed toward the end of the day, Sir Bryson and Baldwin Ferrie
looking very glum. Jack was sent for. He found Sir Bryson alone at
his table, looking more than usually important and puffy.
"Do you know two men called Beckford and Rowe?" he asked.
Jack adopted an innocent-respectful line. "Yes, sir," he said. "They
were working in the pass here at the same time I was."
"Are you, or have you ever been, associated with them?"