SCENTS A MYSTERY.
Alexander Gregory was a Scotchman, but he had spent most of his life in
the Canadian bush, and while there was a distinct "burr" in his manner
of speech, he very seldom used any of that broad dialect so
characteristic of his race; and then generally when much excited.
He seemed particularly amused at the harum-scarum idea that had tempted
our young explorer to these distant fields, for few men knew more about
the fearful difficulties awaiting the venturesome nomad in those lonely
wastes beyond than did the veteran factor, since many a time and oft he
had roamed toward the arctic circle in search of new opportunities, and
had the humor seized him he could have told thrilling stories of what he
had seen and endured there.
Seldom did he have the chance to interview so fresh and interesting a
character as Cuthbert, for his work brought him into daily contact with
only rough, strenuous men, and in time this had undoubtedly hardened his
own nature more or less.
He asked many questions and examined the lad's charts with interest.
Just as Owen had done he condemned the map made by the halfbreed,
Dubois, and declared that the fellow had undoubtedly purposely deceived
him, with some object in view that could only be guessed.
"That's just what Owen said," exclaimed Cuthbert, without stopping to
think, and no sooner had the impulsive words passed his lips than he
remembered that this was supposed to be a tabooed name in the hearing of
the old factor, though just why he had no means of understanding.
Involuntarily he looked up hastily as if to see what effect the mention
of Owen's name had on his host, but he only discovered a slight start,
followed by a flitting frown, and then a grim smile.
"Oh, he did, eh?" he remarked, quietly; "well, it would seem that the
fellow has some sense about him, which I had begun to doubt, after he
refused to meet me half way in burying the bitterness of the past. But
speaking of this Dubois, he is a rascal beyond any doubt, and he appears
to have entered into some sort of partnership with Stackpole, a fellow
of his own stripe, though hardly as bold in his way of doing things.
These scoundrels have been playing fast and loose for a long time in
this region, but the worst they've been guilty of up to the present has
been the robbery of traps. Still, they have the spirit in them to
attempt almost any unlawful game, once the opportunity offers, and I
suppose they thought it had appeared in you. I've about made up my mind
that the time has come to drive them out of the region, or hand them
over to the mounted police, who will see to it that they are put in
jail. In this region we often have to take the law in our own hands, you
understand, lad. Aye, I've seen some desperate things done in my day,
and more often than I like they come up before my mind in the still
watches of the night. Mine has been a rough life of it, taken
altogether, and not an enviable one. It is anything but a paradise up
here when the long winter settles down. But it is the only life I know,
and has its charms to a man of my nature, though there be times when I
have longings for civilization and all that it carries with it."
The factor sighed as he spoke in this meditative way, and Cuthbert could
read between the lines, knowing what a wasted life it must seem to look
back upon, with the monotony broken only by scenes of violence, when
Indians went upon the warpath or halfbreeds became rebellious, as
during the great uprising along the Saskatchewan, when the ugly front of
war made this region its battle ground.
Eli was awed by the frown of the factor, and hardly spoke a word unless
addressed in person; but he, too, felt considerable curiosity concerning
the relation of Owen to this grim personage, and spent much time in
propounding questions to himself with the object of finding out the
truth.
On the whole Cuthbert was impressed rather favorably.
He believed that Mr. Gregory, while appearing to be a forbidding
character, was less of an ogre than surface marks would indicate;
indeed, Cuthbert rather took a fancy to the old chap, and could, in a
measure, realize how he must have yearned for the pleasures of that
outer life from which his fate barred him.
He made up his mind to question Owen at the first opportunity and learn
what it was that stood between this czar of the wilderness and himself,
for the mystery not only piqued his imagination, but he began to feel
that his new-found friend might, in some way, be managing his case
unwisely, and that the advice of a sympathetic comrade would prove of
value in the matter.
You see, Cuthbert was a bit shrewd and already suspected something of
the truth, for he could see through a millstone that had a hole in the
center, and it had flashed upon him suddenly that there was more than an
accidental resemblance between the young Canadian lad and this stern
master of the post.
Now, it chanced that the American, while devoted to his chosen
profession of wandering through countries where the foot of a white man
had never before trod, had other traits of character, and like most
fellows, liked to dabble in a bit of a mystery, especially when he
thought he could see a chance to improve the conditions surrounding a
friend of his, and accordingly he puckered up his lips as though about
to whistle, though no sound escaped him, and inwardly he was saying
something after the nature of this:
"By George, I believe I have it now--this old martinet, who rules the
whole country of the Saskatchewan with a rod of iron, and Owen are
related somehow or other, and in the past there must have been trouble
between the two branches of the family--the Scotch are famous for such
things, and can hate just as hard as they can love. Here's a pretty
kettle of fish. Owen's being knocked out of something that is his by
rights, and I'm going to turn my talents to account so as to see that
he gets all that's coming to him. What relation could Aleck bear a
youngster like Owen but that of grandpa, eh? Why, it promises to be
about as good as a play. But I mustn't let on that I've guessed the
riddle, for I don't understand why they're at daggers' points--what has
Owen done--why did he skip down the river without even his gun? H'm,
there's lots to unravel even here, and perhaps I'd better get Chum Owen
to confide in me before I go any further."
The factor was plainly eager to test the virtues of his new tea, for he
put a kettle of cold water on the stove, thereby proving that he was an
adept at the art of brewing the fragrant herb, since it requires fresh
water, brought to a boil, and not stale stuff, to extract the delightful
aroma and flavor.
Cuthbert took the hint, though Mr. Gregory asked the lads to stay and
drink a cup with him, a common enough invitation across the big pond,
though altogether unknown among Americans, whose invitations are apt to
include something stronger.
When they declined he bade them consider themselves asked to dine with
him later on that evening, but Cuthbert saw an opportunity to put in an
entering wedge and reluctantly said that they would have to decline,
since they had a comrade and would not feel like leaving him alone.
The factor opened his mouth as if to say something and Cuthbert expected
that he meant to include Owen in his invitation, but he simply nodded
his head, smiled whimsically, and bent over to look at the fire.
So they passed out.
Eli was completely muddled up with regard to the state of things, for he
had not the shrewdness of his companion, and as yet saw no reason to
suspect that there was a relationship between those who were so
antagonistic.
He meant to make friends with some of the halfbreeds who lounged about
the post, and by asking questions anticipated getting close to the
truth; perhaps his way, while less elevated than the plan of Cuthbert,
might bring results in a more speedy manner.
They found Owen where he had promised to await them, which was in a
corner of the stockade, just outside the main enclosure--a rather
secluded place, which the other evidently knew quite well.
He had the tent up, and was arranging things for comfort, just as though
unaware how long their stay might be.
Owen asked no questions, but he looked curiously into Cuthbert's face,
as if he might discover something there; but the other had decided to
wait for a more fitting opportunity ere springing the question he had in
mind.
Some of the loungers gathered around.
They were naturally curious concerning the outfit of the young explorer,
for he carried things such as they had never in all their lives seen;
some of these were apt to excite the ridicule of such old and rough
campaigners, accustomed to looking upon the earth as their bed, and the
canopy of heaven as their roof; but when in lieu of a cooking fire
Cuthbert set up his little "Juwel" kerosene stove, and in less than ten
minutes had water boiling furiously, when he could make a big pot of
coffee, the remarks in French patois were almost wholly favorable to the
little brass contraption, as both the Americans knew; for these fellows
recognized how handy such an affair must prove on a wet day when it was
almost impossible to find dry wood to burn, and some warm drink was
needed to tone up the system.
But it was ludicrous when the coffee began to boil to see those chaps
elevate their noses and begin to sniff the fragrance as only wretched
beings may who have long been strangers to the delicious decoction.
Evidently they had been told by the three Indians how the boys had
treated them to a cup of the beverage, and they made bold to hover about
in the hope that history would repeat itself.
Nor were they disappointed.
Cuthbert was too shrewd a general to miss so good an opportunity to make
many friends out of these rough spirits; so, after the campers had
enjoyed their cup apiece and eaten some supper, Cuthbert deliberately
filled the aluminum receptacle, added condensed milk, with sugar, and
then gravely presented it to the fellow whom he judged was the boss of
the outfit, a big, raw-boned French-Canadian _voyageur_, with a beard
like a pirate.
His eyes almost danced with delight, and he allowed the aromatic
compound to gurgle down his capacious throat slowly, while he held back
his head to gaze upward toward the first stars that had appeared in the
blue arch overhead.
Twice he stopped and looked at his companions with a smirk, unable to
refrain from tantalizing them; and it was ludicrous to see the way in
which they scowled and shook their heads ominously--had it been any one
but this strapping leader he might have found himself in trouble very
soon.
However, in good time they one and all had a chance to taste and enjoy
the results of Cuthbert's brewing; and he realized that his act had been
a masterstroke so far as making friends of the gathering was
concerned--the insidious coffee bean had proven more mighty than an army
in changing the current of their thoughts.
And yet Cuthbert, who saw everything, could not help but notice that not
one of these men of the post said anything to Owen, though all of them,
from time to time, cast curious glances his way, as though he might be a
puzzle they could not solve.