ON THE TRAIL
Thirlwell had been to the railroad settlement, and returning with Father
Lucien, camped on the trail not far from the mine. The day had been
unusually warm and at noon the pines dripped in the sun and the snow got
damp. At dusk it began to freeze and a haze hung about the woods and
obscured the moon, but, by contrast with the rigors of winter, Thirlwell
sitting by the camp-fire, felt almost uncomfortably warm. Father Lucien
had taken off his furs and sat with a blanket over his shoulders on a
bundle of dry twigs. Both had hung their moccasins up to dry near the
heap of snapping branches. Wreaths of aromatic smoke slowly drifted past
and faded in the mist.
"One feels spring coming," said Father Lucien. "We have had a foretaste
to cheer us while winter lasts. The sun is moving north, and up here, it
always thrills me to watch the light drive back the dark. One could make
a homily on that."
"The dark soon returns," Thirlwell remarked, "I hate the long nights."
"There are men who like the dark, in spite of the terrors it has for
some."
"I wonder whether you are thinking of a particular example," Thirlwell
suggested, remembering a night watch he had kept while the blizzard
raged about Driscoll's shack.
"One does think of examples. Perhaps we generalize too much. It is easy
to let an individual stand for a type."
"If the individual is Black Steve Driscoll, I hope he's an uncommon
type."
Father Lucien made a sign of agreement. "Driscoll was in my thoughts. A
strange man; dogged and sullen, with a heart that kindness cannot touch.
Yet one feels he is afraid."
"He was afraid when he was ill; I wonder why. The fellow has no
religious or moral code. But he drinks hard and perhaps he's
superstitious."
"What is superstition?" the missionary asked with a smile. "The old
atavistic fear of the dark and the mysterious dangers that threatened
our savage ancestors? Or is it an instinctive knowledge that there are
supernatural powers, able to punish and reward?"
"I don't know," said Thirlwell, who mused and watched the smoke drift
past.
The bush was very quiet; he could hear nothing but the crackle of the
fire. Now and then a blaze leaped up and pierced the shadows among the
pine trunks. A few yards away, the trees got blurred and melted into the
encircling gloom. In one place, however, there was an opening, and when
he turned his back to the light, he saw a faint glimmer in the mist that
indicated the frozen lake. Although he was used to the wilds, he felt
the silence and desolation.
"It's easy to be superstitious here," he resumed. "One feels that human
power is limited and loses one's confidence. I expect something of the
kind accounts for Driscoll's nervous fears. In the city, he would have
no time to brood; he'd spend his days in a noisy workshop and his
evenings in a crowded tenement or saloon. But if he's scared of the dark
and loneliness, why doesn't he pull out?"
"Human nature's stubborn. A man with a compelling object may be afraid
and fight his fears."
"I'd like to know what Driscoll's object is. Since the night in his
shack, when the fellow was sick, I've wondered why Strange's canoe
capsized. Strange was a clever _voyageur_; so's Black Steve."
Father Lucien looked at him curiously and there was a hint of shrinking
in his eyes. "I cannot tell; perhaps we shall never know! But if there
was foul play, what would Driscoll gain?"
"It's hard to see," Thirlwell agreed. "I could understand it if Steve
had afterwards staked a claim, but nobody has found the ore yet. There's
another curious thing; I don't see what he'd gain by leaving you to
starve, as I think he meant to do."
"No," said Father Lucien sharply, "that is impossible! Besides, Driscoll
was trapping some distance off."
"A white man stood looking down at you and then stole away, although he
saw you had no camp outfit," Thirlwell insisted.
"He may have been short of food and came to borrow. Seeing I had none,
he was perhaps afraid to share any he had left with me."
Thirlwell shook his head. "I haven't met a prospector who would let a
white man starve; they're a rough but generous lot. In fact, the only
man I know who's capable of the thing is Driscoll."
Father Lucien did not answer and presently lay down, but Thirlwell sat
for a time, thinking while he dried his moccasins. The missionary was
something of an idealist, although he knew the weaknesses of human
nature, but Thirlwell was practical. Somehow he had got entangled in the
complications that sprang from Strange's supposititious discovery of the
ore, but he did not want to break loose. Agatha Strange needed him; she
had admitted that there was nobody else to whom she could look for help
and advice. So far, he could find no clue to the web of mystery that
surrounded the matter and had caught them both, but he meant to search.
When the moccasins were dry, he began to wonder why he was anxious to
help the girl, since he was not in love with her. In a sense, it was
perhaps his duty, but this did not account for his keenness. He gave it
up, and after throwing some branches on the fire lay down and went to
sleep.
The fire was low and gave out no light when he wakened. He felt cold and
remembered with some annoyance that he had not gathered enough wood to
last until morning. He had not brought his watch, partly because he had
fastened a small compass on the chain, but he knew that day would not
break for some hours yet. The mist was thinner, although it had not
gone, and looking up he guessed the moon's height by the elusive glimmer
in the haze. It was about four o'clock, and he imagined he had wakened
when the heat of his body had sunk to its lowest; but was not altogether
satisfied, since he had slept undisturbed by much keener frost.
For all that, it was a nuisance to get up and look for dead branches in
the dark, and he waited, reluctant to throw off his blanket, for some
minutes, and then roused himself with a jerk. He imagined he heard
voices out on the lake. He glanced at Father Lucien, but the latter was
fast asleep. Thirlwell wondered whether he himself had gone to sleep
again and dreamed, but half-consciously fixed his eyes on the opening
that commanded a view of the lake. He could see it indistinctly; a
smooth white plain running back into the dark. The snow caught a faint
reflection although the moon was hidden, but nothing broke the even
surface.
Then Thirlwell got up abruptly, for he heard a shout. It sounded as if
somebody had given an order, and he felt disturbed. There was, he knew,
no ground for this. The few white trappers and prospectors who now and
then entered the wilds were, for the most part, good-humored, sociable
men; the _Metis_ and Indians were friendly. Indeed, the proper line was
for him to invite the strangers to share his camp, but he hesitated. He
had got suspicious since he promised to help in the search for Strange's
silver, and trappers and Indians did not travel at night.
As he pondered the matter, a dark object came out of the misty
background on the lake. It was indistinct, but by its height and slow
movements he knew it was a man. It vanished presently where the pines
cut off his view, but three others followed after an interval, two
apparently hauling a loaded sledge. They crossed the stretch of ice that
Thirlwell could see, and when the trees shut them out he forgot to
gather wood and lighted his pipe.
The hazy figures had an unsubstantial, ghostly look; he might have
imagined he had not really seen them had he not heard the leader's
shout. Then it was hard to see why they were traveling in the dark,
since they must leave the ice soon and the trail was rough. He thought
their leader knew the country, because their coming down the lake
indicated that they had taken a short but difficult line from the
settlements. But one would expect a man who knew the country to make for
and stop at the mine, which was not far off. Thirlwell hoped to reach it
next day, and wondered whether the others meant to pass it at night. If
so, it would indicate that they did not want to be seen.
When he had smoked out his pipe he gathered some wood, and then, as
Father Lucien had not wakened, thought he would look for the others'
trail and see which way they had gone. They were traveling north, but
two routes the Indians used started from the head of the lake. He found
the marks of the sledge-runners, and then noted with a thrill of
excitement that there was something curious about one of the men's
tracks. The steps were uneven; one impression was sharper than the
other.
Imagining that the party would camp soon, Thirlwell determined to follow
and presently came to a rough slope where the trail left the ice.
Caution was now needed, because he could not see far and might be heard
if he made much noise in pushing through the bush. The silence that
brooded over the woods indicated that the others had stopped. The pines
were small and tangled, but he could see where the sledge had gone and
when he reached the summit a gleam of light sprang up in the valley
below. Thirlwell thought the man who made the fire had chosen the spot
well if he meant its light to be hidden.
The wood was thin on the slope he went down and it was difficult to keep
in the gloom. The glimmering moonlight was brighter and his figure would
be visible against the snow as he crossed the openings. When he was some
distance from the fire he stopped and studied his line of approach.
The men were moving about on his side of the fire. Their figures were
distinct, but he could not see their faces, and if he crossed the belt
of rather open ground, the light would fall on him. If he could creep up
on the other side, the fire would be between them and, shining in the
men's faces, prevent their seeing far. The trouble was, that the wood
behind the camp looked tangled and thick, and he doubted if he could get
through without making a noise. Something, however, must be risked, and
stealing across the opening to the next tree, he presently reached a
belt of thicker wood.
He could not be seen now, but he made a circuit round the fire before he
began to approach it from the other side. His progress was slow and he
felt anxious, because it was possible that the men had moved round the
fire while he struggled through the bush. Still he thought they had not
done so, because he had seen one throwing up a snow-bank behind which
they meant to sleep. They would probably cook their meal and sit down on
that side in the shelter of the bank. When he left the thick bush he saw
that his reasoning was good, but he had yet to get near enough and the
fire was burning well. There was not much wind, but the red blaze
leaped up and sank, throwing out clouds of sparks, while a trail of
smoke drifted about the camp. The resinous wood, however, crackled
fiercely and he hoped this would drown the noise he made.
There was nothing to hide him for some distance, and then a patch of
juniper scrub and some willows ran towards the camp. If he could reach
them he would be safe, and he crawled across the open space and lay
behind the first juniper while he got his breath. There was nothing to
indicate that the others had heard him, and a few minutes later he
stopped again at the edge of a gap where a fire had run through the
scrub. He could see the men, though he could not distinguish their
faces. One seemed to be looking in his direction, and Thirlwell felt his
heart beat but did not move. He had a background of dark bushes and it
was wiser to keep still than drop into the snow.
Presently the man stooped, as if to pick up something, and Thirlwell,
stealing forward, sank down among the willows. They rustled as he crept
between their stems, but the fire was snapping furiously and after he
had gone a few yards he thought he was near enough. Rising nearly
upright, he pushed the dry branches aside. Since they broke his outline,
it would be hard to see him by the unsteady light.
The flames tossed and wavered, throwing a fierce red glow about the
camp. Pine-trunks and snow-bank stood out sharply from the shadow, and
faded again. The light played on the men's faces for a few moments and
then left them blurred and dim. Thirlwell waited until one threw on some
branches and a blaze and cloud of sparks sprang up. The glare touched
the fellow's face and Thirlwell thrilled with excitement as he saw it
was Driscoll.
He did not know the others, but one had a rather pale color, as if he
had come from the cities, and his fur-coat looked new and good. The
sledge carried an unusually heavy load, and among the provision bags he
noted some iron drills and a small wooden box such as giant-powder is
packed in. It was a prospecting party and he had seen enough.
Creeping back into the scrub, he set off for camp. When he got there
Father Lucien was asleep, and when they resumed the march next morning
Thirlwell told him nothing about the other party. He thought the
missionary had difficulties enough of his own without being involved in
the trouble that seemed to follow all who had anything to do with
Strange's silver lode.