“Ole Petrie never settled here, I guess, because he wanted solitude,
nor yet because he liked it, but just because he was scared to live in
the world. Lots like that, Rupe. He’d done something--or was suspected,
and maybe wanted, and fancied he couldn’t clear himself. This Redpath
knows all about it. Likely he’d run your father into doing it.”
“He was hiding from Redpath,” I said.
The factor nodded.
“There’s that bit o’ paper,” he muttered. “Why in Jerusalem didn’t I
have a sight of that! Then his firing that bag o’ dirt into the river!
Don’t you see, Rupe? No, course you don’t. He told me one time he
wanted you kep’ ignorant, or I’d have opened up your eyes long enough
ago. Old man struck a rich pay-streak one time, and all he knew is
set right down on that paper. Golden gates! Why wasn’t I with ye last
night? This Redpath has been hunting years for that secret.”
“What is the use of the gold?” I said.
The factor swore.
“Sit down,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll tell ye what you ought to have
known soon as you was able to balance upright.”
Then he began to tell me something of the world--not the little outside
world I had always lived in, but the great inside world which knew
nothing of Yellow Sands, my home. He defined for me the two terms,
poverty and wealth, and he told me incredible stories of lifelong
struggle for that gold, which I had despised as gaudy trinkets for an
Indian maid. He went on to describe to me the meaning of many things
this gold will procure.
The abstract of this new learning showed me that I was a savage,
a heathen, a man of no account, because I was outside. Much that
MacCaskill told me remained then beyond my mental grasp, but I was
naturally shrewd, and certain stupendous facts became uncovered, and
stared at me nakedly. The dose of understanding was so powerful that my
head ached with it, and my throat went dry.
The factor stopped and wiped his mouth. I found the voice to mutter:
“What can I do?”
The big man looked me up and down.
“Follow Redpath,” he said strongly.
The mere suggestion made me cold. My eyes rested upon the trees,
the river and rocks, the Indian tepees, barely visible--all the
surroundings that I had loved, and which had given me content, because
I had thought the world had nothing better to offer.
“Leave Yellow Sands!” I exclaimed.
“Follow fortune,” muttered the factor. “Look at Redpath,” he went on
warmly. “Fifty years old, I reckon, and maybe a villain in the first
class. He’s after fortune yet. You’re twenty-one, though I allow you
look five years older. You’ve got your chance. I know what you don’t,
that you’re a grand specimen of a man. You can thank ole Petrie for
that. Ye must stay by Redpath, and keep a strong arm over him, ’cause
he’ll get ahead of you if he can; and if the gold pans out, and there’s
a claim to spare, maybe you’ll mind ole Mac, who’s put you up to a
thing or two to-day. Then you can go to London, where you were born,
finish your education, and, if you’ve got the stuff, do any durned
thing you want.”
“How did the man come?” I asked absently.
“Hudson Bay boat makin’ to Pine Island, I guess. They dropped him at
the mouth of our river, and he worked up. He can’t get away till that
boat comes back, which won’t be for three weeks. Where is he, anyhow?”