STORMONT FINDS A CLUE
The Dufferin House was the best hotel in the small Ontario town, and
about ten o'clock one evening Stormont read a newspaper in his
comfortable room. His clerk had been some days in the town, looking into
a proposed transaction in real estate, and Stormont left Winnipeg when a
letter from him arrived. This was not because the business required his
supervision, but because Watson, the clerk, had found out something that
might prove to be important, although it might lead to his employer's
wasting his time. Stormont seldom let what he called a fighting change
go by.
He had eaten a good supper at about six o'clock, and after a talk with
Watson and a young man whose acquaintance the clerk had made, had sent
them off to see the town at his expense. This was not rash, because
Stormont could trust his clerk. Now he waited their return, but it was
not for Watson's benefit he had put a cigar-box and a bottle of strong
liquor on the table. Much depended on Watson's tact and judgment, and
Stormont felt relieved when he came in.
"I've got Drummond downstairs," the clerk said.
"Very good," said Stormont. "Had you much trouble?"
"I certainly had some. He wanted me to hire a sleigh and take a girl at
a sweet-stuff store for a joy-ride. Suggested it when she was there, and
I think she meant to go. Then he broke a lamp in the pool-room that cost
us two dollars."
"Well, I hope you haven't overdone the thing."
"On the whole, I guess not," Watson replied. "It's hard to hit the
proper mark, but I reckon he's just drunk enough."
"Then bring him up," said Stormont, and in a few minutes Watson came
back with a young man.
The latter's skin was somewhat dark, and his coarse black hair and
athletic figure hinted at a strain of Indian blood. As a matter of fact,
his mother was a French-Canadian _Metis_, and he was born in a skin tent
in the North. His clothes were cut in the latest fashion, and he looked
self-confident; but he moved unsteadily and his face was flushed.
"Had a gay time, Mr. Drummond?" Stormont asked.
"You bet!" said the other, giving the clerk a patronizing smile. "This
young fellow is surely a sport. Promised half the girls up-town he'd
take them a sleigh-ride and broke a big lamp in the pool-room."
"You broke the lamp," Watson interrupted, with a glance at his employer.
"Oh, well," said Drummond, "perhaps I did. I certainly put the marker
out. He allowed I couldn't hold my cue and was going to cut the cloth.
Why, I'd play any man in this old town for fifty dollars!"
"And beat him!" said Stormont. "Watson told me how you play. But won't
you sit down and take a smoke."
"I surely will," Drummond replied, and pulling up an easy chair, put
his wet snow-boots on Stormont's bed, after which he lighted a cigar.
"Now," he resumed, "if you have anything to say to me, you can go
ahead."
"You're a store clerk, I think. It's a poor job making a profit for
another man and Watson tells me you are enterprising. How'd you like to
run a store of your own? If you could put up the stock to start with, I
reckon you'd soon make good."
"I've figured on that," Drummond replied, with a cunning look, though
Stormont saw he was flattered. "You want some money to begin, but I've a
notion how I'm going to raise my pile."
Stormont nodded. He had appealed to the young man's raw vanity, but
meant to work upon another emotion. "Watson tells me you came from
Hamilton. Nice town and business was pretty good when I was there." He
paused and asked sharply: "Why did you quit?"
Drummond hesitated and got confused. "Nothing much doing in my line;
didn't see many chances, and Hamilton made me tired."
"Oh, well," said Stormont, who had given the other a hint that he knew
something about his past history. "I reckon you didn't leave your
employer your new address! Anyhow, store-clerking's a tame job, and
you're a sport. You want to get out and give yourself a chance. Wasn't
Hector Drummond, Hudson's Bay agent at the old Longue Sault factory,
your father?"
"He was. Don't know how you know, but you've got it right."
Stormont smiled. The young man had told Watson much about himself one
night when he was drunk. "I don't think it matters. You'd like to get
rich and hinted that you knew how to make your pile."
"I know where there's a silver lode."
"Ah!" said Stormont, "that's interesting! But it's an expensive business
to prove and develop a mineral claim, and you couldn't do much alone. I
expect you know this, since you stop here clerking for a few dollars a
week. You want help."
"The man who looks for that ore will want my help," Drummond rejoined.
"Well, it's my business to speculate in mines, and I'm generally willing
to pay for a useful tip. But it's got to be useful. I don't like to be
stung, and the woods are full of dead-beat prospectors ready to put you
wise about rich pay-dirt for a dollar or two."
"My tip's all right," Drummond declared in a defiant tone. "I'll show
you! When the old man was at Longue Sault he had a clerk called Strange,
and sent him off somewhere one day with a sledge and dogs. Strange came
back with a bagful of mineral specimens, and said he'd struck it rich,
but the old man knew nothing about mining and didn't want any
prospectors mussing up things round there. By and by Strange left the
factory, and the old man pulled out and brought me South. Located at
Owen Sound, and told me about Strange's specimens one day when he was
very sick. Said he'd reckoned the fellow was a crank, but he'd kept two
or three specimens and a mining man told him they carried good silver."
"Did Strange tell your father where he found the specimens?" Stormont
asked carelessly.
Drummond grinned. "Since the old man sent him, I guess he knew where he
went. But I've got to know what my tip is worth before I tell you."
"Certainly," said Stormont. "Suppose we take a drink?" He filled a glass
and gave it Drummond, but was silent for some minutes afterwards.
The young man was not as drunk as he thought, and had obviously some
caution left. The heady liquor, however, might make a difference.
"Well," he resumed, when Drummond put down his glass, "you're ambitious
and enterprising. I expect you'd like to own a share in a paying mine?"
"You bet I would; I'm surely going to!"
"Then you had better let me help. It will cost you something to locate
the vein, and you won't find people ready to believe your tale and put
up the money," Stormont replied.
He saw by Drummond's look that he had tried to sell his secret; but the
lad answered: "Cut it out! What's your offer?"
"Fifty dollars now, and five hundred when we find the lode, if it's
worth working. Then a share that will depend on the cost of development
and the profit."
"Shucks!" said Drummond. "I want five hundred dollars before I start."
"Then you had better try somebody else," said Stormont, smiling. "It's
possible that all you can tell me isn't worth five dollars."
"I'll show you! Gimme a hundred now and 'nother drink."
"Take fifty, or I quit," said Stormont, who passed him the bottle.
Drummond drained his glass. "You're mean, but I gotter make a start.
Where's the bills?"
Stormont gave him some paper money, and then turned to the clerk. "See
about mailing the letters, Watson."
The clerk went out, knowing why he had been sent. His employer trusted
him where he was forced, but did not want him to hear what Drummond had
to say.
When Watson had gone Drummond knitted his brows, as if trying to
remember something. "The vein runs out on the face of a cliff, 'bout
forty paces from the first rampike pine; there's three or four rampikes,
but the fire hadn't gone far into the bush."
"Not much of a clue! There are patches of burned forest all over the
country," Stormont remarked.
"Don't interrupt!" said Drummond, with a frown. "It's pretty hard to
remember. Give me 'nother drink. I wanter get it right."
Stormont filled his glass and he resumed in an unsteady voice: "Cliff
rises from the creek in a little round hollow. There's a big rock near
the top of the divide opposite--"
"Go on. How does the creek run?"
"You're hustling me," Drummond grumbled. "I wanter think. It's
important. Knowing how the creek runs fixes where she is." He paused,
and a vague distrust of Stormont entered his bemused brain. He had got
the fifty dollars and saw, with drunken cunning, that it might be
prudent to keep something back. "She runs south."
"South?" exclaimed Stormont, who knew that the natural drainage of the
region is north-east to James Bay.
"Sure," said Drummond, with a sullen look. "Strange told the old man,
and the old man told me."
Stormont pondered. If the creek flowed south, it drained a subsidiary
basin and probably filled a lake from which a river ran north or east.
The clue was worth fifty dollars because it would simplify the search
for the lode.
"How does the creek lie from the factory?"
"'Bout south-west," said Drummond in a thick, drowsy voice. "There isn't
a factory at Longue Sault now. Company moved the post after the old man
left."
"How far is the creek from where the post was?"
"Lemme think," Drummond muttered, and his eyes half closed. "Old man
reckoned Strange made it in a fortnight's march."
"From the creek, or from the place where he was sent? Or do you mean the
double journey?"
"Don't know," Drummond answered dully. "Old man said fortnight. Told you
all I remember."
Then he slipped down in the big chair, his head drooped forward, and he
fell into a drunken sleep. Stormont got up and leaned against the table.
He had borne some strain in the last few minutes, because it had been
obvious that Drummond was overcome by liquor and would soon be unable to
talk, while when he woke up sober he might repent his rashness. Now
Stormont imagined he had told him all he knew, and it ought to be worth
fifty dollars. Lighting a cigar, he waited until his clerk came back,
when he indicated Drummond, who lay, snoring heavily, with his dirty
boots on Stormont's bed.
"Wake the drunken fool and see him home."
Watson had some trouble to get Drummond on his feet and after Stormont
shut the door there was a heavy thud. It looked as if Drummond had
fallen down the stairs, but Stormont smiled. He had done with the
fellow, and if Watson could get him out of the hotel, it did not matter
if he reached home or not. Ringing for the bell-boy, he gave orders
about being called in the morning, as he meant to leave by an early
west-bound train.