A MATTER OF DUTY
The campfire burned brightly in a straggling bluff at the edge of the
plain. The scattered trees were small and let in the cold wind, and
the men were gathered close round the fire in a semi-circle on the side
away from the smoke. Sergeant Lane held a notebook in his hand, while
Emile repacked a quantity of provisions, the weight of which they had
been carefully estimating. The sergeant's calculations were not
reassuring, and he frowned.
"The time we lost turning back to the Stony village has made a big hole
in our grub," he said. "Guess we'll have to cut the menoo down and do
a few more miles a day."
"Our party's used to that," Blake answered with a smile. "I suggest
another plan. You have brought us a long way, and Sweetwater's a bit
off your line. Suppose you give us food enough to last us on half
rations and let us push on."
"No, sir!" said Lane decidedly. "We see this trip through together.
For another thing, the dogs are playing out, and after the way they've
served us I want to save them. With your help at the traces we make
better time."
Blake could not deny this. The snow had been in bad condition for the
last week, and the men had relieved each other in hauling the sled.
The police camp equipment was heavy, but it could not be thrown away,
for the men preferred some degree of hunger to lying awake at nights,
half frozen. Moreover, neither Blake nor his comrades desired to leave
their new friends and once more face the rigors of the wilds alone.
"Then we'll have to make the best speed we can," he said.
They talked about the journey still before them for another hour. It
was a clear night and very cold, but there was a crescent moon in the
sky. The wind had fallen; the fragile twigs of the birches which shot
up among the poplars were still, and deep silence brooded over the wide
stretch of snow.
"Ah!" Emile exclaimed suddenly. "You hear somet'ing?"
They did not, though they listened hard; but the half-breed had been
born in the wilderness, and they could not think him mistaken. For a
minute or two his pose suggested strained attention, and then he smiled.
"White man come from ze sout'. _Mais, oui_! He come, sure t'ing."
Lane nodded.
"I guess he's right. I can hear it now; but I can't figure on the kind
of outfit."
Then Blake heard a sound which puzzled him. It was not the quick
patter of a dog team, nor the sliding fall of netted shoes. The noise
was dull and heavy, and as the snow would deaden it, whoever was coming
could not be far away.
"Bob-sled!" Emile exclaimed with scorn. "_V'la la belle chose_!
Arrive ze great horse of ze plow."
"The fellow's sure a farmer, coming up with a Clydesdale team," Lane
laughed. "One wouldn't have much trouble in following his trail."
A few minutes later three men appeared, carefully leading two big
horses through the trees.
"Saw your fire a piece back," said one, when they had hauled up a
clumsy sled. "I'm mighty glad to find you, Blake; we were wondering
how far we might have to go."
"Then you came up after me, Tom?" exclaimed Blake. "You wouldn't have
got much farther with that team; but who sent you?"
"I don't quite know. It seems that Gardner got orders from somebody
that you were to be found, and he hired me and the boys. We had
trouble in getting here, but we allowed we could bring up more grub and
blankets on the sled, and we could send Jake back with the team when we
struck the thick bush. Then we were going to make a cache, and pack
along as much stuff as we could carry. But I have a letter which may
tell you something."
Blake opened it, and Harding noticed that his face grew intent; but he
put the letter into his pocket and turned to the man.
"It's from a friend in England," he said. "You were lucky in finding
me, and we'll go back together in the morning."
After attending to their horses, the new arrivals joined the others at
the fire, and explained that at the hotel-keeper's suggestion they had
meant to head for the Indian village, and make inquiries on their way
up at the logging camp. Though Blake talked to them, he had a
preoccupied look, and Harding knew that he was thinking of the letter.
He had, however, no opportunity for questioning him, and he waited
until the next day, when Emile, whom they were helping, chose a shorter
way across a ravine than that taken by the police and the men with the
bob-sled. When they reached the bottom of the hollow, Blake told the
half-breed to stop, and he took his comrades aside.
"There's something I must tell you," he said. "It was Colonel
Challoner who sent the boys up from the settlement with food for us,
and he begs me to come home at once. That's a point on which I'd like
your opinion; but you shall hear what he has to say."
Sitting down on a log, he began to read from his letter:
"'_A man named Clarke, whom you have evidently met, lately called on me
and suggested an explanation of the Indian affair. As the price of his
keeping silence on the subject, he demanded that I should take a number
of shares in a syndicate he is forming for the exploitation of some
petroleum wells._'"
"It was a good offer," Harding interrupted. "Clarke must have had
reason for believing he was about to make a big strike; he'd have kept
quiet until he was sure of it."
"'_The fellow's story was plausible,_'" Blake continued reading. "'_It
seems possible that you have been badly wronged; and I have been
troubled----_'" He omitted the next few lines, and went on: "'_After
giving the matter careful thought, I feel that the man may have hit
upon the truth. It would, of course, afford me the keenest
satisfaction to see you cleared, but the thing must be thoroughly
sifted, because----_'"
Blake stopped and added quietly:
"He insists on my going home."
"His difficulty is obvious," Benson remarked. "If you are blameless,
his son must be guilty."
Blake did not answer, but sat musing with a disturbed expression.
There was now no sign of the men with the bob-sled, and no sound
reached them from the plain above. Emile stood patiently waiting some
distance off, and though they were sheltered from the wind it was
bitterly cold.
"In some ways, it might be better if I went home at once," Blake said
at last. "I could come back and join you as soon as I saw how things
were going. The Colonel would feel easier if I were with him; but, all
the same, I'm inclined to stay away."
"Why?" Harding asked.
"For one thing, if I were there, he might insist on taking some quite
unnecessary course that would only cause trouble."
"I'm going to give you my opinion," said Harding curtly. "I take it
that your uncle is a man who tries to do the square thing?"
Blake's face relaxed and his eyes twinkled.
"He's what you call white, and as obstinate as they're made. Convince
him that a thing's right and he'll see it done, no matter how many
people it makes uncomfortable. That's why I don't see my way to
encourage him."
"Here's a man who's up against a point of honor; he has, I understand,
a long, clean record, and now he's prepared to take a course that may
cost him dear. Are you going to play a low-down game on him; to twist
the truth so's to give him a chance for deceiving himself?"
"Aren't you and Benson taking what you mean by the truth too much for
granted?"
Harding gave him a searching look.
"I haven't heard you deny it squarely; you're a poor liar. It's your
clear duty to go back to England right away, and see your uncle through
with the thing he means to do."
"After all, I'll go to England," Blake answered with significant
reserve. "However, we'd better get on, or we won't catch the others
until they've finished dinner."
Emile started the dogs, and when they had toiled up the ascent they saw
the men with the bob-sled far ahead on the great white plain.
"We may not have another chance for a private talk until we reach the
settlement," Blake said. "What are you going to do about the
petroleum?"
"I'll come back and prospect the muskeg as soon as the frost goes,"
Harding answered promptly.
"It will cost a good deal to do that thoroughly. We must hire
transport for a full supply of all the tools and food we are likely to
need; one experience of the kind we've had this trip is enough. How
are you going to get the money?"
"I'm not going to the city men for it until our position's secure. The
thing must be kept quiet until we're ready to put it on the market."
"You were doubtful about taking me for a partner once," Benson
interposed. "I don't know that I could blame you; but now I mean to do
all I can to make the scheme successful, and I don't think you'll have
as much reason for being afraid that I might fail you."
"Call it a deal," said Harding. "You're the man we want."
"I ought to be back before you start," Blake said; "and if I can raise
any money in England I'll send it over. You're satisfied that this is
a project I can recommend to my friends?"
"I believe it's such a chance as few people ever get," Harding answered
in a tone of firm conviction.
"Then we'll see what can be done. It won't be your fault if the
venture fails."
Harding smiled.
"There's hard work and perhaps some trouble ahead, but you won't regret
you faced it. You'll be a rich man in another year or two!"
Blake smiled at his enthusiasm.
"Emile and the dogs are leaving us behind," he said. "We'll have to
hustle!"