If Staritsa had any desire to ask questions, he quickly smothered the
impulse. The voice behind the gun had cautioned him not to make a sound
of any kind, and there was an unpleasant possibility that it was in
earnest. The rifle, he noticed, shook not at all. The eye behind it
gazed along the line of sight with no wavering or evasiveness whatever.
The voice had a rasping note which grated upon Staritsa’s fine
sensibilities.
His arms went quickly into the air. Templeton, never a fool, made the
same gesture. Neither man so much as paused to grope into the kettle to
make sure it was empty—quite, amazingly empty, if the truth must be
told. The native, however, made no sign that he was disconcerted by the
turn events had taken and made no effort to comply with Jeff’s request.
He did, however, step around behind the two white men, feel over their
bodies for weapons, disarm them, and lying close to the ground so not to
interfere with any bullets in case the affair reached the shooting
stage, put cords about the ankles of each man in turn. This done, he
tugged at Staritsa’s arms, indicating that he wished them lowered, but
the young nobleman continued to hold them stiffly up as if they were
frozen there. It was only when Jeff gave the word that he permitted them
to be drawn behind him and tied.
This did not mean that Staritsa was, in every sense, a coward.
Undoubtedly under certain circumstances he would take his chance with
the rest. His actions now were guided by but one thought: that this man
behind the gun owed him various debts of hatred and evil which he was
likely eager to pay. If he, Staritsa, misunderstood any of Jeff’s
commands, if he hesitated for one instant to comply with them, the
latter would have an excuse to pay in full.
He was not inclined to call out. Never Jeff’s enemy in the sense that
Staritsa was, Templeton was a gentleman of many sporting instincts, but
he also concluded to remain silent. He felt that his chance gods had
decreed against such a course. He had an unpleasant idea that the rifle
would interrupt any remark he might attempt to make.
Big Eagle tied his arms and then prevented any further danger of outcry
by slipping a gag into his mouth, tying it firmly behind his head.
Staritsa was likewise silenced, and then they were laid side by side in
the grass.
As yet no one had taken the trouble to tell them what was to be done
with them. Staritsa thought that the impulse behind the attack was
surely vengeance; and it was no wonder that his heart quailed, and his
life stream was chilled and repressed. The winter clouds spreading
overhead were no more cold and white than Jeff’s face; the tall, dark
spruce no more calm, inexorable, and impassive than this bronze-skinned
native who swiftly, deftly tied his bonds. Templeton had only the
vaguest theories to account for these strange happenings, so he lay
quietly on the earth and awaited developments.
It now appeared that there was a third conspirator whose presence
neither man had guessed. Molly stepped out of a thicket just behind, and
at the sight of her revolver Templeton was increasingly glad he had not
attempted resistance. Now with her help Jeff searched Staritsa’s person.
In a leather case they found a sheet of parchment bearing the seal of
Hudson’s Bay Company. A glance over it assured them beyond any possible
doubt of its true nature: it was the treaty between the great English
and Russian companies which, if permitted to become operative, would
destroy any hope of American possession of Alaska.
“It is even more drastic than I thought,” Jeff said. These were the
first words between himself and the girl since they had emerged from
ambush. “Its terms would have justified a renewal of the Russian
Company’s charter with the Czar, and surely it would have ultimately
made Alaska an English possession.”
“And it will be an American possession now!” the girl exulted.
“If all goes well. But we must make no mistakes, Molly, if our plan is
to succeed.”
Jeff now read the treaty carefully, familiarizing himself with its few
paragraphs. Then, striking a match, he gave the parchment to the flames.
The act required no little courage. The natural impulse was to keep it a
while, to hold it by him, to postpone its destruction until he could go
over the matter in his thoughts, perhaps with the excuse of showing it
to his superior. Yet in some ways this man was wise beyond his years;
and he knew the resistless power of circumstance. It was not in him to
read the future. Things he had thought were sure proved fallible; safe
things had been lost. He knew that the longer he kept this important
document the greater the chance it would slip out of his hands.
“Am I doing the right thing?” he asked Molly, as the blue flame crawled
across the sheet.
“According to the best we know,” she answered quietly, the fire
reflecting in her eyes. Her tone showed she was deeply moved; not often
the case with this strong heart. “That’s all we can hope to do—right
and wrong are far beyond us.”
Staritsa was still afraid for his life, and his mind was far from the
burning script; but Templeton stirred in his bonds and a dim, subdued
half-gasp escaped through the cloth of his gag. The ratification of this
treaty meant much to him. Men in high circles had promised him great
rewards if he should see it through. Now this backwoods diplomat whom he
had scorned had beaten him at his own game.
When the paper was destroyed and its ashes scattered on the damp earth,
Jeff was ready to take the next step to win Alaska for his country. “I’m
going to take off your bonds, Staritsa,” he said, “then you will walk
with me down to where you left your canoes. You will give certain orders
to your natives—and since this lady going with us understands every
language you understand, it would be wise to give only the orders that
we tell you to give. In my pocket I shall carry a cocked revolver, and
it will be pointed at you every second. If you make one suspicious
movement, if you play false with us in the least detail, I shall press
the trigger without waiting. I shall not take pains to be sure. Your
life is not so valuable to me that I’d feel like taking a chance.
Besides—your men would not try to save you. They are friends of Big
Eagle, and they will join with us if we ask them to.”
After searching the Russian again carefully for any weapon which they
might have overlooked, Big Eagle took off his bonds. Jeff meanwhile
stood back, guarding with the revolver. Then leaving the Indian to guard
Templeton, the two Americans walked their prisoner down toward the
river.
He was a docile captive. Any warlike impulse that quickened within him
was speedily quelled when he remembered the revolver muzzle, pointing
through the cloth of Jeff’s pocket. He walked out on the river bank, and
standing at Jeff’s side, obeyed his orders like a soldier.
“We are not going on,” he said in the vernacular. “New business has come
up which keeps us here. When I have paid you, you will go back to your
people on Upreanof Island and remain there until I come for you, which
may be four moons from now. If in the meantime any Muscovite ask of us,
you will tell him that the parley with the Red Coats came to nothing,
and that we are off on a new track. Otherwise, still lips is wisdom, and
the less you talk of us the greater your reward when we meet again.”
The natives were apparently prepared for any sort of madness on the part
of their employers; perhaps there had been similar revolutionary changes
in program earlier in the journey. Their brown faces scarcely changed
expression. Stolidly they went to work to load certain of the supplies
and the two white men’s personal possessions in one of the two canoes. A
few minutes later they boarded the other of the two crafts and paddled
away down the river.
They progressed with that steady, tireless, mile-speeding stroke of the
native voyageur, and although Molly followed them with her eyes, not
once did she see them turn to look behind.
Staritsa was marched back to join his friend, and both captives were
firmly but not uncomfortably confined. The former was given leave to
speak now, but apparently he could think of nothing worth saying.
Perhaps, he had talked himself out on the night of Jeff’s arrest.
Templeton spoke a few words at intervals, and his tone showed that he
bore little resentment toward his captors. Although bitterly
disappointed and deeply chagrined, he seemed to feel that the game had
been played according to the rules, and that the secret agent from
America was simply a smarter man than he had taken him for. He was a
diplomat of the old school—a secret-service man who knew the code—and
he would make no complaints through Whitehall Street. Besides, he was an
Englishman.
Jeff commented on this attitude later the same evening, when the cabin
hearth was red and Big Eagle stood guard over the prisoners. “They are
sportsmen, those fellows,” he observed, speaking of his race brothers
across the sea. “We’ll have to hand ’em that—even fellows like
Templeton, in the game for himself more than for England, and personally
unscrupulous and dishonest. Molly, I think our relations with England
will be different as the years go by—when they are willing for us to
dominate the New World, themselves content with supreme power in the
Old. I believe—I feel sure—that when England has more of a popular
government than she has now, when peers count less and just people count
more, she will be America’s first friend. It was her governing classes,
not the people, who wanted to see the Union destroyed. I’ll try to look
out for Templeton’s comfort when we send him into his winter quarters.”
His hand groped and found hers. The ruddy light showed her almost hidden
smile and shone into the amazing blueness of her eyes. Her hope leaped
like the flame.
“Of course you’ll be kind to him,” she said thoughtfully. “I am only
afraid you’ll be too kind to Staritsa, now he is in your power. Jeff,
did you ever dream that the thing could end like this?”
“It isn’t ended, yet. You can be sure that Templeton still has hopes of
turning the tables on us. If no unexpected developments occur between
now and February—the expiration of the time limit granted the Company
by the Czar—we’ll win; but it is too soon to say for sure.”
“I don’t see how you can help but win now. Surely you won’t let those
men escape.”
“Not a chance, Molly. The guard that will be put over them never relaxes
vigilance and is the safest in the world—Old Man Winter!”
“I should say that the only danger now is a personal danger—to us.
We’re not home yet. Karl will be wild for vengeance when he learns
you’ve tricked him.”
“I’m afraid he won’t take it kindly, sure enough. But Molly—what do you
mean by saying ‘you?’ Why don’t you say ‘we!’” A sober look, ineffably
dear to her, hovered about his lips. “For that matter, why don’t you say
‘I.’ We’ve been going on your brains all the way through.”
The pressure of her hand was suddenly intense. “That isn’t true, Jeff,”
she told him earnestly. “I only thought of the trick. Women are
especially good at thinking up tricks—we have a tricky streak in our
minds—but usually it takes a man to put them into practice. I couldn’t
possibly have outwitted Staritsa without your help; that is the truth,
Jeff, if I ever told it.”
His sober mood passed, and he grinned widely as he recalled the day’s
stratagem. “Molly, that tricky streak of yours will probably win Alaska
for America. They simply swallowed hook, bait, and sinker. But there’s
one thing you haven’t taken the trouble to explain to me—and at first I
was resolved I wouldn’t ask. I thought maybe I could figure it out for
myself. I wanted to take credit for that much brains, at least. But,
Molly, I just can’t get it. It pains me to inquire—but where did you
get that little nugget?”
The girl’s shy smile touched certain responsive chords in his heart
until now unguessed; and he beamed like a schoolboy. “Are you sure it
was gold, Jeff?”
“If it wasn’t, it was the best imitation I ever saw. I would swear it
was a nugget.”
“Well, I suppose I could call it a nugget. Jeff, it was real gold, sure
enough—and when I saw how mystified you were I just couldn’t help but
try to play on your curiosity. Now I’m almost ashamed to tell you where
I got it.”
“Surely you didn’t find it?”
“Well, in a way. Jeff, do you remember that awful toothache you nursed
me through one night?”
“I fancy I won’t forget it.”
“Well, that nugget was—the filling.”