STRANGE'S PARTNER
The day's work was over and Thirlwell and his employer sat, smoking and
talking, in their shack at the Clermont mine. Scott was young and had
once been fastidious, but, like Thirlwell, he wore work-stained
overalls. For a time when they first came up, both had clung to a few of
the refinements of civilization, but their grasp on these had slackened,
and now they frankly admitted that it was too much of an effort to
change their clothes when they were tired.
The shack was built of pine logs, notched where they crossed at the
corners, and the seams were caulked with clay and moss. A big stove, now
empty, stood at one end, its pipe running obliquely across the room
before it pierced the iron roof, so as to radiate as much heat as
possible. Plans, drawing instruments, and some books on mining, occupied
a shelf on the wall; guns, fishing rods, and surveying tools a corner,
and a plain, uncovered table the middle of the room. Besides this, there
were two or three cheap folding chairs.
The door and window were open, although the mosquitoes were numerous,
and the roar of the Shadow River and a smell of wood smoke came in. When
he looked out, Thirlwell could see the ragged tops of the stunted pines
cut against a pale-green glow. By and by Scott knocked out his pipe and
stretched his legs. There was another partner, but he only visited the
mine at intervals and had left it while Thirlwell was away.
"Brinsmead has gone to Nevada and probably won't come back," Scott
remarked. "He has a plausible manner, but seems to have done no better
in New York than you did in Montreal; it looks as if machinery agents
are very shy about giving credit to the owners of half-developed mines.
Anyhow, when he heard of a field for his talents in a Western town he
didn't hesitate. Now he tells me that he finds the prospect of earning
some money instead of spending it a refreshing change."
"It's lucky he didn't take his capital out of the Clermont," Thirlwell
replied.
Scott laughed. "He couldn't take it out. Nobody would buy his share, and
my fortune's represented by a shaft in danger of flooding and some cheap
and antiquated boring plant. In fact, if we don't strike pay-dirt soon,
the Clermont will go broke, and I imagine that's why Brinsmead skipped.
After floating one or two small mines successfully, he has some
reputation to lose, while I'm, of course, not an engineer or a business
man." He paused and looked hard at Thirlwell. "I'd like you to stay and
see me through, but wouldn't blame you if you quit."
"My reputation is not worth much and can be risked. Besides, I imagine
we'll get down to the deep vein before the funds run out."
"I hope so! You're not a quitter, and we'll hold on while we can, but I
think we'll talk about something else. Well, I've examined the specimen
of ore you brought back. It looks like high-grade stuff and certainly
carries enough metal to pay for smelting."
"What do you think about Strange's tale?"
Scott knitted his brows. "I did think the man a drunken crank and the
lode an illusion that had grown on him by degrees until he really
believed in the ore. When you get the tanking habit such things happen.
One specimen certainly doesn't prove very much; but since Strange gave
it to his daughter a long time before we knew him, I'm willing to revise
my judgment."
"Miss Strange is persuaded that he did find the lode. She tells me he
led a very industrious and sober life at home."
"It's rather curious you met the girl," Scott observed.
"I don't think so. When we found her address among the truck Strange had
left with the foreman, it was the proper thing for me to tell her he was
drowned. This led to another letter or two, and when I said I was going
to Montreal she asked me to meet her."
"Is she like Strange?"
"Not at all," Thirlwell declared. "In fact, although her letters ought
to have prepared me, I got something of a surprise. She was not the kind
of girl I had expected to meet. I understand she teaches at a Toronto
school."
"She must have some talent to get a post there," Scott remarked when he
had asked the name of the school. Then he paused and vaguely indicated
the North. "Well, it's a romantic story! Nobody knows yet what there is
in the rocks up yonder, but we have heard of other prospectors striking
pay-dirt and making nothing of their discovery. Rumors about mysterious
lodes are common in a mineral belt, and while they're often
imaginative, my notion is that now and then there's some fact behind the
fiction. Fur-traders in Alaska heard such tales long before the Klondyke
strike."
He stopped, for there were steps outside, and Thirlwell, leaning
forward, saw a man come up the trail. The fellow had a dark, sullen face
and wore an old gray shirt and ragged overalls. He walked with a slight
limp, in consequence of getting his foot frost-bitten on a winter
journey, but he was an expert trapper and had penetrated far into the
wilds. When skins were scarce he worked at the mine, but generally left
his employment after a drunken bout.
"I wonder whether Driscoll believes in Strange's lode," Scott resumed as
the man went by. "He knew him better than anybody else. They went North
together once or twice, and had been away some time when Strange was
drowned coming back."
"Strange wouldn't tell Black Steve where he thought the lode was,"
Thirlwell objected. "I understand they only kept together until they had
portaged their outfit across the divide."
"Strange would leave a trail a trapper could follow. Then I don't see
why Steve stops here instead of locating on better hunting ground. It
looks as if he didn't want to leave the Shadow."
"I don't see how stopping here would help him to find the lode," said
Thirlwell, who went to the door.
It was getting dark and except for the turmoil of the river the bush was
very still. The green behind the pines had faded, and they rose against
the sky indistinctly in smears of shadowy blue. They had neither height
nor beauty, but straggled back, battered and stunted by the winds,
among the rocks until they faded from sight. There was not much to
attract a white man in the desolation of tangled bush, but as he glanced
across it, looking to the North, a hint of mystery in its silence
appealed to Thirlwell. He felt that the wilderness challenged him to
find a clue to the treasure it hid. Then he reflected with a smile that
it was taking much for granted to admit that there was treasure there,
and he went back into the shack and lighted the lamp.
A week later, he went up the river bank, one evening, with a fishing
rod, and stopped at dusk at the tail of the Grand Rapid. He had gone
farther than he meant and was tired after scrambling across slippery
rocks and among the driftwood that lay about the bank. There was,
however, a shorter way back, and lighting his pipe he sat down upon the
gravel and looked about.
The sun had set some time since, but the light would not quite die out
until just before the dawn, and the pines across the river rose against
the green sky in a dark, broken-topped wall. Near his feet the bleached
skeletons of trees, ground by floods and ice, glimmered a livid white,
and beyond them the rapid frothed and roared in angry turmoil. The river
had shrunk now the melted snow had flowed away, and rocks one seldom saw
lifted their black tops above the racing foam. Inshore of the main rush,
smooth-worn ledges ran in and out among shallow pools. A short distance
ahead, the bush rolled down to the water's edge in a dark mass that
threw back in confused echoes the din the river made.
By and by the mosquitoes that had followed Thirlwell got more numerous
and when, in spite of the smoke, they settled upon his face and neck he
reeled up his line ready to start. As he did so he thought he saw
something move where the forest ran down to the river. The object was
indistinct, but it looked like a man walking cautiously upon a ledge
between the pools, and Thirlwell wondered what the fellow was doing
there. The big gray trout had stopped rising, there were no Indians
about, and the miners had not left the camp.
Thirlwell waited until the man moved out from the gloom of the trees.
His figure was now distinct against the foam of the rapid, and he
stooped as if he were looking down into a pool. Then he moved on, and
Thirlwell, noting that he would soon pass in front of a dark rock,
resolved to change his place in order to watch him better. Getting up,
he went down to the water's edge, but came to a tangle of white branches
that the river had thrown up. As he stopped he saw the man plainly, but
when he looked up after scrambling over the driftwood there was nobody
about.
This was strange and excited his curiosity. The other's figure would
probably be invisible against the rock, but he must have moved rapidly
to get in front of it. Then Thirlwell saw that where he stood the bush
was no longer behind him. He had the inshore eddies for a background and
the water reflected a faint light. There was no obvious reason why the
other should be alarmed and try to steal away, but it looked as if he
had done so.
Thirlwell sat down among the driftwood and waited, but saw no more of
the man; and then going back quietly, turned into a trail that led to
the mine. The trail was rough and narrow; in places, short brush had
sprung up, and there were patches of outcropping rock. It would be
difficult for anybody to follow it without making some noise, but
although he stopped and listened no sound came out of the gloom.
He went on, pondering the matter with some curiosity. Since the miners
were in camp, he imagined the man he had seen was Driscoll, who lived
alone in a log shack near the bank. But, if this were so, what was
Driscoll's object for wading among the reefs, and why had he stolen away
when he thought he was watched? Thirlwell could not solve the puzzle,
but he could find out if the fellow were Driscoll or not, because the
trail passed his shack.
He walked faster, making as little noise as possible, and by and by
reached a belt of thinner forest. He passed a fallen pine, from which he
knew the shack was visible in daylight, and resolved to see if Driscoll
was at home. If not, Thirlwell thought it would be safe to conclude that
he had seen him among the reefs. A few moments later a light flashed
among the trees, flickered once or twice, and then burned steadily.
Thirlwell knew it came from the window of the shack, but it was curious
that Driscoll had lighted his lamp. In summer, miners and prospectors
went to bed at sunset, and Driscoll read no books or newspapers.
Besides, if he wanted a light, why had he not got it before? It,
however, looked as if the man had not been at the rapid and when
Thirlwell passed the shack he saw his dark figure at the door.
"Who's that?" he asked, and when Thirlwell answered, added: "Watch out
as you go down the gulch. There's a rampike across the trail."
When Thirlwell came to the burned pine he stopped abruptly as a thought
struck him. Driscoll's voice had sounded breathless; perhaps the fellow
had overdone his part. It might have been wiser for him to be silent.
Driscoll often went fishing and knew the river well; now the water was
low he could have saved some distance by crossing the uncovered reefs
instead of scrambling along the curved bank. Besides, he had had a few
minutes' start. After all, he might have been at the rapid and have
hurried back in order to deceive the man who had disturbed him.
Moreover, he had learned who the man was.
This, however, did not take Thirlwell far and he resumed his walk,
wondering what Driscoll had been doing and why he feared to be
disturbed. It was plain that he had taken some trouble to put Thirlwell
off the track and might have succeeded had not the hoarseness of his
voice given the latter a hint. Thirlwell felt puzzled, but could find no
clue, and deciding that the matter was not important presently dismissed
it. For all that, he resolved to watch Driscoll, but saw nothing to
excite his suspicions for the next week or two. Then the man bought all
the provisions Scott would let him have and loading his canoe started
for the North.