The craft and its occupants were out of sight by the time Jeffery
Neilson reached the river bank with his rifle. The flush had swept from
his bronze skin, leaving it a ghastly yellow, and for once in his life
no oaths came to his lips. He could only mutter, strangely, from a
convulsed throat.
Like an insane man he hastened down the river bank, fighting his way
through the brush. The thickets were dense, ordinarily impenetrable to
any mortal strength except to that mighty, incalculable power of the
moose and grizzly; yet they could not restrain him now. The tough
clothes he wore were nearly torn from his body; his face and hands were
scratched as if by the claws of a lynx; but he did not pause till he
reached the bank of the gray river.
Only one more glimpse of the canoe was vouchsafed him, and that glimpse
came too late. He saw the light barge just as it hovered at the crest of
the rapids. Even if he could have shot straight at so great a range and
had killed the man in the stern, no miracle could have saved his
daughter. She would have been instantly swept to her death against the
crags.
Some measure of self-control returned to him then, and he made his way
fast as he could toward the claim. Sensing the older man's distress, Ray
straightened from his work at the sight of him.
The face before him was drawn and white; but there was no time for
questions. Hard hands seized his arm.
"Ray, do you know of a canoe anywhere--up or down this river?"
"There's one at the landing. None other I know of."
"Think, man! You don't know where we can get one?"
"No. Old Hiram's canoe was the only one. What's the matter?"
"Do you think there's one chance in a million of getting down through
those rapids on a raft?"
Ray's eyes opened wide. "A raft!" he echoed. "Man, are you crazy? Even
at this high water a canoe wouldn't have a chance in ten of making it.
The river's falling every hour--"
"I know it. Do you suppose there's a canoe in town?"
"No! Of course there isn't--one that you could even dream about shooting
those rapids in. Besides, by the time we got there and packed it up--it
would take two days to pack it the best we could do--the river would be
too far down to tackle the trip at all. And it won't come up again till
fall--you know that. Tell me what's the matter. Has Beatrice--"
"Beatrice has gone down, that's all."
"Then she's dead--no hope of anything else. Only an expert could hope to
take her through, and there's nothing to live on Back There. What's the
use of trying to follow--?"
Neilson straightened, his eyes searching Ray's. "She's got food, I
suppose. And she's got an expert paddler to take her there."
Ray's face seemed to darken before his eyes. His hands half closed,
shook in his face, then caught at Neilson's shoulders. "You don't
mean--she's run away?"
"Don't be a fool. Not run away--abducted. The prospector I told you
about--Darby--was the old man's partner. He's paying us back. Heaven
only knows what the girl's fate will be--I don't dare to think of it.
Ray, I wish to God I had died before I ever saw this day!"
Ray stared blankly. "Then he found out--about the murder?" he gasped.
"Yes. Here's his letter. Take time--and read it. There's no use to try
to act before we think--how to act. If I could only see a way--"
Ray read the letter carefully, crumpling it at last in savage wrath.
"It's your fault!" he cried. "Why didn't you save her for me as I've
always asked you to do; why did you let her go out with him at all? I'll
bet she wanted to go--"
"I'd rather she had, instead of being taken by force!" The older
man--aged incredibly in a few little minutes--slowly straightened. "But
don't storm at me, Ray!" he warned, carefully and quietly. "I've stood a
lot from you, but to-day I'd kill you for one word!"
They faced each other in black disdain, but Ray knew he spoke the truth.
There was no toying with this man's wrath to-day.
"And if you'd let me croak this devil like I wanted to, it wouldn't have
happened either. But there's no use crying about either one. The girl's
a goner, sure; she's deep in the rapids by now."
"Yes, and it's part of this man's hellish plan to take her clear through
to Back There. You see, he dares us to come for her--and he'll be
waiting and ready for us, mark my words. My God, she's probably
dead--smashed to pieces--already!"
"He says he's got the old man's letter, leaving the claim to him. That
messes up things even worse."
"I wish I'd never heard of the claim. There's only one thing to do, and
that's to rush into Snowy Gulch and get a big outfit--all the horses and
supplies we can find--and go after her by land."
"Yes, and walk right into his trap. Think again, Neilson. It would take
weeks and months to get in that way. Besides, what would happen to the
claim while we're gone?"
"You needn't fear for the claim! Of course, I'd expect you to think of
that first--you who loved Beatrice so dearly!" Neilson's face was white
with disdain. "It'll be recorded in our names, by then--likely Chan is
already in Bradleyburg--and Darby himself is the only man on earth we
have to fear." He paused, putting his faith in desperate craft. "If you
want to cinch the claim, the first thing to do is go and stamp the life
out of Darby; otherwise he'll turn up and make us trouble, just as he
says."
"He can't do much if the claim's recorded in our names!"
"He can make us plenty of trouble. If you want the girl, Ray--don't lose
a minute. Put your things together as fast as you can. We'll try to get
some men in Snowy Gulch to come with us--to join in the hunt--and we'll
hire every pack horse in the country. Get busy, and get busy quick."
Reluctant to leave his gold, yet seeing the truth in Neilson's words,
Ray hastened to his cabin to get such few supplies as would be needed
for the day's march into Snowy Gulch. In less than five minutes they
were on their way--tramping in file down the narrow moose trail.
They crossed the divide, thus reaching the headwaters of Poor Man's
Creek; then took the trail down toward the settlements. But the two
claim-jumpers had not yet learned all the day's ill news. Half-way to
the mouth of the stream they met Chan Heminway on his way back to the
claim.
At the first sight of him, riding in the rear of a long train of laden
pack horses, they could hardly believe their eyes. It was not to be
credited that he had made the trip to Bradleyburg and back in the few
days he had been absent. Only an aeroplane could have made so fast a
trip. Could it be that in spite of his definite orders he was returning
with the duty of recording the claim still unperformed? To Neilson,
however, the sight of the long pack train brought some measure of
satisfaction. Here were horses laden with the summer supplies that Chan
had been told to procure, and they could be utilized in the pursuit of
Beatrice. Two days at least could be saved.
"What in the devil you coming back for?" Ray shouted, when Chan's
identity became certain.
Chan rode nearer as if he had not heard. He checked his horse
deliberately, undoubtedly inwardly excited by the news he had to tell
and perhaps somewhat triumphant because he was its bearer. "I'm coming
back because there ain't no use in staying at Snowy Gulch any longer,"
he answered at last. "I've got the supplies, and I'm packin' up to the
claim, just as I was told."
"But why didn't you go to Bradleyburg and record the claim?" Ray
stormed. "Don't you know until that's done we're likely to be chased off
any minute?"
Chan looked into his partner's angry eyes, and his own lips drew in a
scowl. "Because there wasn't any use in goin' to Bradleyburg."
Ray was stricken with terror, and his words faltered. "You mean you
could tend to it in Snowy Gulch--"
"I don't mean nothing of the kind. Shut up a minute, and I'll tell you
about it. A few days ago Steve Morris got a letter addressed to old
Hiram Melville--in care of Steve. He opened it and read it, and I heard
about it soon as I got into town. There ain't no use of our trying to
record that claim."
"For God's sake, why?"
"Because it's already recorded, that's why. We all felt so sure, and we
wasn't sure at all. Before old Hiram died he wrote a letter--one of them
two letters you heard about, Neilson--and which you wished you'd got
hold of. Who that letter was to was an official in Bradleyburg--an old
friend of Hiram's--and in it was a description of the claim. This letter
Morris got was a notice that his claim was all properly filed in
his--Hiram's--name. Whatever formalities was necessary was cut out
because the old man had been too sick to make the trip--the recorder got
special permission from Victoria. To be plain, I didn't file the claim
because it's already filed, and I didn't want to show myself up as a
claim-jumper quite as bad as that."
"It's all over town--about the claim?"
"Sure, but there won't be a rush. There's quite a movement over
Bradleyburg way for one thing; for another, this is a pocket country,
once and for always."
For some seconds thereafter his partners could make no intelligent
response. This bitter blow had been anticipated by neither. But Ray was
a strong man, and his self-control quickly returned to him.
"You see what that means, don't you?" he asked Neilson.
"It means we've lost!"
The eyes before him narrowed and gleamed. "So that's what it means to
you! Well, I don't look at it just that way. It means to me that we've
got to take these supplies and these pack horses and start out and find
Ben Darby--and never stop hunting till we've found him."
"Of course we've got to rescue Beatrice--"
"Rescuing Beatrice isn't all of it now, by a long shot. For the Lord's
sake, Neilson--use your head a minute. Didn't old Hiram leave a will,
giving this claim to his brother Ezra? If the claim wasn't recorded that
will wouldn't mean much--but it is. And hasn't this Ben got a letter
from Ezra leaving the claim to him? Now do you want to know who owns
that claim? Ben Darby owns it, and as long as he can kick, that quarter
of a million in gold can never be ours."
"You mean we've got to find him--and destroy that letter--"
"We've got to; that's all. He wrote us he had it, just to taunt us, and
we've got to burn that up whether we find the girl or not. But that
ain't all we've got to destroy--that piece of paper. You see that, don't
you?"