DRUMMOND OFFERS HELP
It was a calm evening and Thirlwell and Scott sat outside the shack,
watching the river while the sunset faded across the woods. A few
_Metis_ freighters had gone to the settlements for supplies and mining
tools, and although much depended on the condition of the portages,
Scott expected them that night.
"Antoine will bring up our mail," he said. "It's some time since Miss
Strange has written to you about her plans."
Thirlwell said it was nearly three months, and Scott resumed: "Well, I
think if I'd had a part in the business, I'd have tried to find if the
Hudson's Bay agent was alive. It's possible that he could tell you
something about the location of the ore."
"I don't know that I have any part in the business," Thirlwell replied.
"I promised to go with Miss Strange, but that's all."
"If she finds the lode, she'll need a mining engineer."
"She'll have no trouble in engaging one if the pay is good."
"But you wouldn't think you had first claim to the post? In fact, if you
helped the girl to find the ore, you'd be satisfied to drop out and
leave her alone?"
Thirlwell frowned. He had made no plans for the future and certainly did
not mean to trade upon Agatha's gratitude, but he knew it would hurt
him, so to speak, to drop out and let her look for other help.
"The lode isn't found yet," he rejoined.
"Anyhow, I feel that the girl or you ought to have got on the agent's
track," Scott insisted. "He knew where Strange went, and saw him when he
returned. It's possible that Strange confused his memory by his
subsequent trips, but the agent heard his story when the matter was
fresh."
Thirlwell did not answer, and Scott cut some tobacco. When he had
finished he looked up the river.
"The _bateaux!_ Antoine has made good time."
Two craft drew out of the shadow of the pines, slid down the swift
current, and presently grounded on a gravel beach. They were of the
canoe type, but larger, and their bottoms were flat, since they were
rather built for carrying goods than paddling fast. There was a good
water route to the rocky height of land, across which the cargo was
brought on the freighters' backs from a river that joined the wagon
trail to the settlements. As soon as they landed, the crews began to
carry up boxes and packages, but a young man left the group and came
towards the shack. He wore neat store-clothes that were not much the
worse for the journey, and although his skin was somewhat dark, looked
like a young business man from the cities.
"Which of you is Mr. Thirlwell?" he asked.
"I am," said Thirlwell. "Who are you?"
"Ian Drummond; the boys call me Jake. A son of Hector Drummond's of
Longue Sault factory."
"Ah," said Scott, "this gets interesting! Did Hector Drummond send
you?"
"No; he died nine years since."
Scott gave Thirlwell a meaning look, and turned to the young man.
"Then what do you want?"
"To begin with, I want a job."
"A job?" said Scott with some surprise. "What can you do?"
"I know nothing about mining, but I'm pretty strong," Drummond answered,
giving Scott a deerskin bag. "Anyhow, Mr. Thirlwell had better read his
letter before you hire me. Antoine, the _patron_, brought up your mail."
"Very well," said Scott. "The cook will give the boys supper soon and
you had better go along. Come back afterwards."
When the lad had gone, Thirlwell felt pleasantly excited as he opened a
letter Scott took out of the bag, for he saw it was from Agatha. She
told him that Drummond had met her in Toronto and related how Stormont
had victimized him. The young man stated that he wanted to see the North
and would like to get work where he could watch for the prospecting
party he thought Stormont would send up.
"I warned him that you may not be able to give him employment, but he is
keen about going and willing to take the risk," she said. "We can, I
think, trust him to some extent, and perhaps he knows enough about my
father's journey to be useful; but I cannot tell if it would be prudent
to offer him a reward. I am glad to feel I can leave this to you, and
will, of course, agree to the line you think it proper to take."
Thirlwell read part of the letter to Scott, who said, "Miss Strange
seems to have a flattering confidence in your judgment. Do you want me
to hire the fellow?"
"I don't know yet. I wouldn't ask you to engage him unless he could be
of use."
"You needn't hesitate on that ground, since we're two men short," Scott
answered, smiling. "Well, suppose we wait until we have talked to him. I
guess you know this silver-lode is getting hold of me."
"I wonder why!"
Scott laughed. "You understand machines and rocks; to some extent I
understand men. Anyhow, I find them interesting, and perhaps other
people's firm belief in the lode influences me."
By and by Drummond came back and Scott studied him as he advanced. He
saw the lad had a strain of Indian blood, and he knew something about
the half-breeds' character. They were marked by certain weaknesses, but
as a rule inherited a slow tenacity from their Indian ancestors. He had
known a man, shot through the body, walk four hundred miles to reach a
doctor, and they made the revenging of serious injuries a duty. A
_Metis_ would wait the greater part of a lifetime for a chance of
repaying in kind a man who had wronged him. Drummond looked somewhat
dissipated and had a superficial smartness that young men without much
education acquire in Canadian towns, but Scott thought him intelligent.
"Sit down," he said, indicating a short pine-stump. "You want a job. Is
that all?"
"Yes," said Drummond coolly, "it's all I want _now_. If you and Mr.
Thirlwell mean to look for the ore and take me along, you can give me
what you think my help is worth. But I've already put Miss Strange
wise."
"You seem to be pretty trustful! How did you find her?"
"My father knew where Strange, located after he left the factory, and I
tried to get on the track of his folks when Stormont turned me down.
Talked to packing-house drummers at a department store in Winnipeg where
I was employed, and found a man who sold Strange canned goods when he
ran a grocery business. The drummer had known him pretty well and told
me Miss Strange was in Toronto. By and by, when trade was slack in
Winnipeg, the firm sent some of the clerks to their Toronto store and I
bothered the department boss until he let me go. Then I was 'most a
month locating Miss Strange; couldn't find her in the directory and
Toronto's a big town."
Scott noted the determination that had helped him in his search. "You
knew about the lode for some time," he said. "Why did you wait so long?"
"I allowed there wasn't much use in my butting in, until I read in a
newspaper that Strange was drowned. Besides, the drummer reckoned his
own folks thought him a crank and there was nothing to his tale. All the
same, when I got tired of keeping store I thought I'd see what I could
do about the lode."
"I suppose it was because the drummer put you wise that you went to Miss
Strange and not her brother? No doubt you tried to interest other people
first. Still, as she promised you nothing, I don't see why you came
here."
"Stormont played me for a sucker; found out all I knew and turned me
down!" Drummond answered with a savage sparkle in his eyes.
Scott was silent for a few moments and then looked up. "You can begin
work to-morrow and Mr. Thirlwell will pay you what you're worth. We'll
make no further promise, but if you like, you can tell us anything you
think important."
"Miss Strange knows," said Drummond with a curious smile. "You want to
remember that I told Stormont the creek runs _south_. She does run
south, for a piece, but she turns and goes down a valley to the east."
"Then it's hard to see your object for playing the crook with Stormont,
though I don't suppose he'd have done the square thing if you had put
him on the right track," Scott remarked. "However, that's not our
business. You'll find room and some blankets in the bunk-house."
Drummond left them and Thirlwell said, thoughtfully, "It's plain that he
deceived Stormont by telling him the creek flowed south. This would make
the fellow think the ore was on our side of the last height of land, but
if the water goes east, it must run into the James Bay basin on the
other slope. That's something of a clue, but I see a risk in keeping
Drummond here. Suppose he makes friends with Driscoll?"
"Driscoll doesn't make friends," Scott rejoined and added with a
twinkle: "Then as you don't admit there is a lode, it's not worth while
to wonder whether the lad could tell Black Steve anything useful."
"We'll let that go," Thirlwell replied, and when Scott strolled away
read Agatha's letter again with keen satisfaction. It was a charming,
frank letter, and he thrilled as he noted her trust in him.
Drummond went to work next morning and Thirlwell, allowing for some
awkwardness at first, thought he would earn his pay, while a doubt he
had felt about the prudence of engaging him was presently removed. Going
to the smith's shop one afternoon, he heard angry voices and stopped to
see what was going on. The smithy, which stood at the edge of the
clearing round the mine, was a rude log shack without a door. It was
generally rather dark, but just then a ray of sunshine struck in and the
charcoal fire on the hearth glowed a dull red. The smith leaned on his
hammer, watching Driscoll and Drummond, who confronted each other close
by.
Driscoll was heavy and muscular, Drummond wiry and thin, but as they
stood, highly strung, Thirlwell noted the athletic symmetry of both
figures. Driscoll had, no doubt, acquired it by travel in the woods, and
Drummond by inheritance from Indian forefathers. The older man's limbs
and body had the fine proportions of a Greek statue, and since he did
not move one could not see that he was lame. Their faces, although
different in modeling, were somehow alike, for both had a curious, quiet
watchful look. They disputed in low voices, but Thirlwell saw their mood
was dangerous. He knew that noisy fury seldom marks a struggle in the
North, where hunting animals and men strike in silence. There was
something strangely like the stealthy alertness of the animals in their
attitudes.
Waiting in the gloom among the pine-trunks, he gathered that the quarrel
was about the sharpening of tools. Drummond had brought some cutters
from the boring machine, and Driscoll wanted his ax ground.
"I came along first," Drummond declared. "Tom's going to fix my cutters;
your ax has got to wait!" He glanced at the smith, sharply, as if
reluctant to move his eyes from Driscoll. "Give the wheel a spin and
let's get busy!"
"He certainly won't," said Driscoll; "I've unshipped the handle. You'll
get your cutters quickest if you quit talking and wait until I'm
through."
"That's not playing it like a white man. Don't know why they hired you
at the mine. Your job's smuggling the Indians liquor."
"Your folks!" sneered Driscoll. "You're not white."
"Stop there!" said Drummond, with stern quietness, and Thirlwell saw him
balance a cutter he held. It was a short but heavy piece of steel,
curved at the point.
Driscoll's eyes glittered. "Your father was a squaw-man; your mother--"
He bent his body with the swift suppleness of an acrobat, and the
cutter, flying past, rang upon the wall of the shack. Then he swung
forward and the end of a pick-handle missed Drummond by an inch.
Another cutter shot from Drummond's hand and struck Driscoll's side. He
stooped, and Thirlwell thought he was falling but saw that he had bent
down to pick up his ax. Next moment the blade flashed in a long sweep
and Drummond sprang behind the anvil, which occupied the middle of the
floor. He had another cutter and held it back, with his arm bent, ready
to launch it at Driscoll's head, but Thirlwell imagined he was pressed
too hard to feel sure of his aim and wanted to get out of his
antagonist's reach. It was plain that the situation was dangerous, but
Thirlwell knew he could not stop the men by shouting, and the fight
would probably be over before he reached the shack. He had, however,
forgotten the smith, who pulled a glowing iron from the fire.
"You can quit now; I butt in here!" he said, holding the iron close to
Driscoll's chest. Then he turned to Drummond. "Put that cutter down! I
don't: want to see you killed in my smithy."
All were quite still for a moment, and then Driscoll moved, as if he
meant to get round the anvil, but the smith held him back.
"Try it again and I'll surely singe your hide!" he shouted, and swung
round as he heard Drummond's cautious step. "If you sling that cutter at
him, I'll put you on the fire. Get out now; I'm coming to see you go!"
Drummond backed to the door, with the red iron a few inches from his
face, and when he had gone the smith signed to Driscoll.
"You're not going yet! Sit down right there and take a smoke."
A few moments later Thirlwell joined Drummond, who was waiting near the
smithy. "If you mean to make trouble, I'll pay you off," he said.
"You're hired to work, not to fight."
"If I quit now, Steve will get after me again," Drummond grumbled.
"I think not. In fact, I'll see about that; but if you provoke the man,
you'll be fired as soon as I know. It's worth while to remember that
you're a long way from the settlements."
"I got him with the cutter, anyhow," Drummond rejoined, and when he went
off Thirlwell entered the smithy.
He imagined what he said to Driscoll would prevent the quarrel beginning
again, and presently went back to the mine, feeling satisfied. There was
now not much risk of Drummond and Driscoll making friends and finding
that both knew something about the lode. Thirlwell was persuaded that
Driscoll did know something, more in fact than anybody else; he knew
where Strange had expected to find the ore. Thirlwell had not admitted
this to Scott, because he shrank from stating his suspicions, which were
dark but vague. Now, however, he thought he would try to formulate them
and see how they looked, since he might, after all, take Scott into his
confidence.
To begin with, nobody knew why Strange's canoe capsized. Strange was
clever with the paddle, and Driscoll's narrative, while plausible, left
something to be accounted for. It was improbable that he had quarreled
with his partner while they shot the rapid, because their minds would be
occupied by the dangerous navigation. Then supposing that Driscoll had
intentionally let the canoe swerve when they were threatened by a
breaking wave, it was hard to see what he would gain. If he thought
Strange had found the ore, it would obviously be impossible to learn
anything about it after the man was drowned. The theory that Strange had
already told him where the lode was, and Driscoll meant to get rid of a
partner who would demand the largest share, must be rejected, since if
Strange had told him, Driscoll would have gone away to register the
claim. But he had not done so.
The thing was mysterious, and Thirlwell could see no light. He must wait
and watch for a hint, and in the meantime resolved to talk to Scott
about it. So far, he had rather avoided the subject of Strange's death,
but it might be better to abandon his reserve. He did not think he could
expect much help from Scott, but he was clever and Thirlwell had known
him to solve some awkward puzzles.