THE PROSPECTORS' RETURN
It was snowing, but there was no wind and the shack was warm when, on
the evening after his return, Thirlwell sat, smoking, by the stove. Now
and then a mass of snow rumbled down the iron roof near the spot where
the hot pipe went through, and the draughts had lost their former sting.
The air in the room felt different; it was not humid yet, but one no
longer noticed the harsh dryness that is caused by intense frost. The
long arctic winter was coming to an end.
By and by Scott, sitting opposite Thirlwell, said thoughtfully,
"Driscoll's outfit will have to hustle, if they mean to do much
prospecting and get back while the ice is good. I'll give them a month,
and if they're not out then, they'll have trouble."
Thirlwell made a sign of agreement. Rivers and lakes are numerous in the
North, and in winter one can travel smoothly on the ice. When the latter
rots and cracks, _voyageurs_ and prospectors wait until the melting snow
sweeps the grinding floes away and canoes can be launched. To push
through tangled bush and across soft muskegs costs heavy labor.
"They were taking up a big load and couldn't march fast," he said.
"I understand you don't know Stormont?"
"I know his character--and unless he's badly slandered that's enough! I
haven't met him, but I'm nearly sure it was a city man I saw in
Driscoll's camp."
"Stormont's indicated," Scott replied. "I reckon Driscoll went to him
because he needed capital; but he wouldn't put another fellow on the
track. If we take it for granted that he did go, the mystery about
Strange's letters is cleared up. It's characteristic that Stormont tried
to steal them before he made Miss Strange his offer."
"In a way, it's curious that he did make an offer!"
Scott smiled. "He didn't run much risk. It would be hard to frame an
agreement out of which Stormont couldn't wriggle; I've met the fellow,
and Brinsmead has grounds for knowing his methods. Anyhow, it's plain
that he thinks it worth while to spend some money in trying to find the
lode, and on such matters his judgment is said to be pretty good. Then I
imagine Black Steve knows more about Strange's prospecting trips than
you suspect."
"My notion is, that nobody knows much about the lode."
"Well," said Scott, "it looks like that. Strange is dead, and I don't
imagine he took Black Steve very far into his confidence; though he may
have given him a hint when he was drunk. But there's another man, whom
nobody seems to have thought of yet."
"Who's that?"
"The Hudson's Bay agent at the factory where Strange was employed.
Strange was young then, and was probably frank and enthusiastic about
his find. I daresay he gave the agent all the particulars he could
recollect when he saw the fellow doubted his tale. His memory was, no
doubt, pretty good, since he'd seen the lode a week or two before."
"They have pulled down the factory and I expect the agent's dead,"
Thirlwell replied. "If not, he must be an old man and I don't know where
he is. I'm not persuaded yet that Strange did find the ore; but if it
hadn't snowed, I'd have followed Stormont's trail. It would be
interesting to know where he means to look."
He frowned as he lighted his pipe, because it was too late to satisfy
his curiosity. The prospectors had vanished into the trackless
desolation, and now deep snow had fallen the wilds would hide them well.
Scott pondered for a few minutes and then resumed: "You mean to help
Miss Strange put this matter over, although you don't believe in the
lode?"
"Yes," said Thirlwell, "I've promised her."
"Then you're up against two hard men who have got a start, and one of
them is dangerous."
"Black Steve? Well, I believe he meant to leave Father Lucien to starve,
but I don't see why."
"You need help yourself," Scott rejoined dryly. "When Driscoll was ill
and delirious he talked in a curious way, and when he got better may
have had some recollection of being badly scared. If so, I expect he
imagined he said more than he did and had, so to speak, given himself
away. As a matter of fact, he said enough to be suspicious. Since he was
delirious, he probably didn't know you were there, and it might be
prudent not to let him know. It's possible he thought Father Lucien knew
too much, and saw his opportunity of getting rid of him."
Thirlwell started. "It is possible! I'm glad I told you about my watch
at the shack. I didn't at first; the things I suspected looked
ridiculous."
"In future you had better tell me all you can. My opinion is, that you
have undertaken a very tough job. For all that, I'm getting curious
about the lode, and would rather like to have a stake in the venture, if
Miss Strange agrees when she comes up."
"She won't agree unless she finds the ore. Then, of course, she'd need
help and money."
"Very well," said Scott, and they talked about something else.
For some weeks they said nothing more about the silver vein. Part of the
roof of the main heading in the mine came down, and they had afterwards
to contend with a dangerous flow of water. Extra timbering was needed
and the men risked their lives as they wedged the props under the
cracking beams, while now and then they worked for a shift with buckets
to help the clanging pump. Their clothes were always wet, and they were
generally smeared with mud when they came up to eat and sleep. The
miners grumbled, and Scott and Thirlwell felt the mental and physical
strain. They were highly strung and often irritable, while when they sat
by the stove when work was over they only talked about the difficulties
they had struggled with all day and others that must be met in the
morning.
In the meantime, the thaw began. The snow softened and got honeycombed
by the drops from the trees. One sank to the knees in trampled slush
among the sawn-off stumps about the shaft-head. The ice rotted, and in
places where the current ran fast large floes broke off, and drove down
stream until they were stopped by the thick ice in the slacks. Above the
Shadow Rapids, however, there was, for a time, no break in the frozen
surface, and one evening Scott and Thirlwell sat listening to the growl
of the rising flood in the open channel it had made near the mine. The
sound swelled and sank, and at intervals they heard rain patter on the
roof.
"In a week or two the canoes will be out," Scott remarked. "There's a
big head of water coming down and I guess the jamb that's backing up the
stream won't stand till morning."
"Some of it's going now; that's an extra large floe," said Thirlwell as
a detonating crash rang across the woods. Then there was a roar that was
pierced by a high, strident note, and he knew the floe was tearing open
upon a rock.
The shrill scream died away, but the turmoil of the current swelled, and
knowing what would happen soon, they waited with strained attention and
let their pipes go out. The mine buildings stood back from the bank and
they ran no risk, but nobody can listen unmoved when the ice breaks up
on a river of the North.
Presently there was a deafening concussion like the shock when a giant
gun is fired. The shack trembled as if struck by a battering ram, and
Thirlwell felt his nerves tingle. After the concussion came a roar that
grew into an overwhelming din, and they braced themselves against the
strain; one could not bear that appalling noise very long. It subsided a
little into a confusion of jarring sounds that were sometimes
distinguishable and sometimes drowned each other. Massy floes shocked
and smashed, and tore apart upon the ledges with a noise like the
ripping of woven fabric. Others, lifted out of the water, ground across
those that stuck fast, and some crashed against the rocky bank, throwing
huge blocks among the pines.
This lasted for a time, and then the uproar got bearable and gradually
sank. There were intervals when one could hear the turmoil of the
liberated flood as it rolled by in swollen fury. The intervals
lengthened, and by and by Thirlwell got on his feet with a sigh of
relief.
"You never get used to hearing the ice break up. It's tremendous!" he
said. "This is a very stern country. Sometimes it frightens one--"
He stopped abruptly and listened. The uproar was sinking fast and in a
lull he heard footsteps outside. Then the door was pushed open and a man
staggered in. His fur-coat was torn and muddy, his feet came through his
pulp moccasins, and the water that drained from him made a pool on the
floor. Three others followed and stood, dripping, in the light, while
Scott and Thirlwell gazed at them. Then the first dropped into a chair
and leaned his arms on the table as if overcome by fatigue. His face was
gaunt and his eyes were half shut.
"The boss is pretty well used up," said one of the others and Scott
crossed the floor.
"Stormont," he said, "you look as if you had been up against it hard."
Stormont lifted his head and Thirlwell thought his eyes got like a
wolf's.
"I'm starving! No food the last two days."
"Not much before!" one of the rest remarked.
"Been on mighty short rations since we hit the backtrail. Had a tough
job to make it; had to leave our blankets and truck."
"We can give you a meal and a place to sleep. But where have you been?"
"Up north," another answered vaguely, and Scott, recognizing his
caution, smiled as he turned to the last of the party, who stood near
the door.
"You look fresher than the others, Steve. However, you're used to the
country and I expect you brought your partners down."
"That's so," Driscoll growled. "Didn't think they'd make it. They're a
tender-footed crowd!"
In the meantime, Thirlwell studied the fellow. Driscoll was wet and
ragged; his face was thin, but inscrutably sullen. Unlike the rest, he
did not look overcome by fatigue. When Scott spoke he gave him a dull
glance and then fixed his eyes on the floor. Thirlwell had noted
something unusual in his comrade's manner. Scott's voice had an ironical
note and his look did not indicate much sympathy. In the North, a demand
for food is seldom refused, but Scott obviously meant to be satisfied
with supplying the party's urgent needs. With this Thirlwell agreed.
Then Scott said to Driscoll, "You had better take your friends to the
bunk-house and tell the cook to make you supper. You know where to get
blankets."
Stormont got up with an effort, and when he went out with the others
Scott smiled.
"I'm not going back on my duty, but I don't want that outfit in my
shack," he said.
Next morning after breakfast Stormont came in. He had to some extent
recovered from his fatigue, but looked worn and dispirited.
"I guess I owe you some thanks," he said.
"I don't know if you do or not," Scott answered coolly. "In the bush, a
starving man is, so to speak, entitled to ask for food and shelter. I
couldn't refuse."
Stormont gave him a keen glance. "Well, there's another thing. It's a
long trail to the railroad and I want to buy stores enough to see us
out."
"Then I suppose I must let you have supplies; but you can't expect to
get them as cheap as at the settlements. In fact, you'll have to pay my
price."
"That needn't break the deal," Stormont replied. "I know when there's no
use in kicking."
"An unsuccessful prospecting trip is an expensive undertaking," Scott
said meaningly. "Then there's the disappointment. You would have got a
big lift if you'd been lucky enough to find Miss Strange's silver."
"The silver is not Miss Strange's. The law gives a mineral vein to the
person who stakes it off and records it first."
"That is so," Scott agreed. "Well, you don't look as if you had staked a
valuable claim! I suppose you stopped too long trying to find the vein,
and the ice was unsafe when you left. However, you want supplies to
carry you down to the settlement, and if you'll come along to the store,
we'll see what I've got."
They went out, and in the afternoon Stormont's party took the trail to
the South.