It was noon, and there was not a sound in the city. Front Street
consisted as yet of the log-built town hall, our own unfinished
residence, and a tent brought from the mud-held ship. The population
had gone through the tunnel into Bonanza, with the exception of
Hanafin, Akshelah, and myself. MacCaskill had gone early to his claim,
having the night before improvised, with Norman’s aid, a marvellous
rocker. Even the uncouth Morrison had gone after the dirt. He had
passed me earlier, and I had asked him whether he felt lonely now that
justice had overtaken his late associate, only to receive the reply,
which I might have looked for:
“Sure! Ye see, he owed me fourteen dollars.”
I had arranged with my partner to stay and complete our shanty, so that
we might have shelter in case of bad weather. I had worked all morning,
and had finished everything, except the thatching, when Hanafin came
up and handed me the first official documents I had ever received, one
being my free miner’s certificate, the other a grant for placer-mining
over “Number Two MacCaskill.”
“How old is mademoiselle?” asked the handsome soldier, turning to the
girl with a smile, which, from some cause known only to herself, did
not appear to fascinate her.
I happened to know, and replied for her that she would be eighteen at
the beginning of winter.
“Ah, that’s a pity!” said Hanafin sincerely. “Eighteen is the
age-limit. Had you been a few months older I could have given you a
certificate also.”
“I do not want the yellow dirt,” said Akshelah, quite angrily.
The inspector laughed, and muttering “Happy girl!” walked back to what
he called his office.
“Tell me what is written there,” said Akshelah, eyeing the sheet
suspiciously.
I was not sure whether I could read it, but I tried, and made a
wonderful success. Slowly, and with not a little blundering over the
harder words, I made out the following:--
“No. 2. Department of the Interior.
“Agency, Hanafin City, North-west Athabasca (?), July, 1895.
“In consideration of the payment of the prescribed fee by Rupert
Petrie, of Yellow Sands, the Minister of the Interior hereby grants
to the said Rupert Petrie, for the term of one year from the date
hereof, the exclusive right of entry upon the claim registered
as Number Two, MacCaskill Gulch, Akshelah River district, in the
country called Bonanza, for the miner-like working thereof, and the
construction of a residence thereon; and the exclusive right to all
the proceeds realised therefrom, upon which, however, the royalty
prescribed by the regulations (to be approved of by Order in Council)
shall be paid.
“The said Rupert Petrie shall be entitled to the use of so much
of the water naturally flowing through or past his claim, and not
already lawfully appropriated, as shall be necessary for the due
working thereof, and to drain his claim free of charge.
“This grant does not convey to the said Rupert Petrie any right of
ownership in the soil covered by the said claim; and the said grant
shall lapse and be forfeited unless the claim is continuously, and in
good faith, worked by the said Rupert Petrie or his associates.
“HENRY P. HANAFIN,
“(Acting) Mining Recorder.”
Akshelah sighed.
“And you are going to look for the yellow dirt, too?” she said
lingeringly.
“That’s what I came away for,” I answered her lightly.
“He made you come.” She meant MacCaskill. “You did not want to come
away. You were happy beside the bright waters, and I was very happy. We
caught the fish, and we hunted.” Her eyes were full of tears. “You have
forgotten all that, and you never laugh with me now.”
She was partly right. I was growing worldly-wise, but I did not
forget. I could not forget the walks with Akshelah over the rolling
grass-hills, among the tall sulphur-lilies, and those idle paddles on
my own little laughing water. I did not forget the hunting expeditions,
and those songs and stories we had sung and told to each other, and
those foolish kisses under the sunshine, and sometimes under the moon.
How could I forget those happiest days? All had been so peaceful in
that life which seemed so far away, until Redpath, the destroyer of
trust, had come to link my quiet world with his, and all since then had
been fighting and deceit. Had not this place and its gold ruined my
father?
The voice of Akshelah was in my ears.
“We shall stay here, and Pepooa will creep up around us, and Mispoor
will fall and hold us. The long night will come, and the ghost-lights
will whisper always in the sky.” She shuddered. “And there will be
beast-men! I see them coming, the men who will drink hot waters, and
fight one another through the long night, and they will take me away
from you, and I shall die--far from my own people and my own land. And
you will learn the ways of that world; you--you will drink hot waters,
and fight too.”
Had my poor maid gone on in that strain, I think she would have
prevailed upon me to have taken her home; but the figure of Hanafin
stood out, and I heard his voice shouting to me.
“Be brave, little squirrel,” I said, taking her two small hands. Then I
hurriedly kissed her wet eyes, and obeyed the inspector’s call.
Olaffson was inside the office, sitting upon a log, his white face
malevolent and hungry-looking.
Hanafin turned to me, and spoke at once.
“You told me, Petrie, that the late Leblanc upon a certain occasion
accused this man of being the murderer of old Fagge. I want this matter
cleared up finally, both for your sake and for the sake of the old
man’s connections south. I understand you have accused the late Mr.
Petrie of being the murderer,” he went on, addressing the Icelander,
who broke in at once:
“That was Redpath. He thought Petrie done it, I guess. I know now
Petrie didn’t, but I never thought ’twas Leblanc till t’other night. He
’cused me, ’cause he hated me bad. I took a knife to him one time, but
he druve me to it.” He paused, and wiped his mouth. “Now, Jim Morrison
mighter told ye quite a bit. They was pards, an’ Gedeon was man to
ole Fagge for quite a while. The ole chap was moony.” The Icelander’s
voice grew louder with confidence. “Ole man struck a wonderful rich
find right here. Right here! A reg’lar hole of dirt, coarse dirt, an’
nothing but dirt.”
Perspiration started out upon his slimy forehead, and he paused for
breath, blinking at us.
“Get along,” said Hanafin quietly.
“Leblanc knew of it, an’ no one ’cept him an’ ole man did know of it.
So Leblanc got to work, an’ fixed ole man late one night when he was
asleep, an’ when Petrie was asleep. Ye see, he reckoned to come back
one time, an’ open up that hole. P’r’aps he never split to Jim. P’r’aps
he was hidin’ it from Jim.”
“Stay a bit,” said Hanafin. “How did you find out this?”
The Icelander grinned.
“The night he an’ Jim got here, I come around to try an’ level up
things wi’ Leblanc. Jim had lef’ him, an’ gone to Mister Petrie’s camp.
Gedeon was a-sittin’ by a rock, sorter stupid wi’ hunger, an’ a-talkin’
to hisself, so pleased to have got here. I set beside that rock, an’
listened to his talk. That’s how I found out. I might a-been his
priest, an’ him a-confessin’.”
“You tried to kill him,” I interjected.
“He shifted hisself by accident, an’ I scarce touched him. He was a
dirty murderer, anyhow,” said the little wretch, unabashed.
“You told this to Redpath?” questioned Hanafin.
“Had to,” admitted Olaffson, though he had only yesterday sworn
that Redpath was not in the district. “Ye see, Gedeon never let out
jest where the place was, an’ I don’t know the first thing ’bout
prospectin’. It was somewhere near where them two creeks jined, an’
I told Redpath, an’ he staked out that claim at the forks.” He spat
a chew upon the ground, and got up, smacking his two stunted hands
together. “An’ now I’ve beat him. Gol’ darn it, but I’ve beat him every
way!”
“Now we understand why Redpath stops here,” said Hanafin to me. “Now
we understand the reason for that haste of his.” He added still more
slowly: “Now you understand how I have checkmated Redpath.”
“How?” I exclaimed.
“Listen,” said Hanafin.
The Icelander was raving in his triumph.
“What’s his price, inspector? What’s the Government figure for Redpath?
I’ve got him for sale. Ye shall have him. I’ve got no more use for him.
I’ll sell him, body an’ blood an’ bones.”
The little miscreant shivered with his excitement.
“How about the claim?” suggested Hanafin.
“It’s mine,” slobbered the Icelander. “Redpath paid the ten dollars
for the certificate an’ the fifteen for the grant. Redpath found the
claim, an’ measured it, an’ staked it out, an’ showed me what to do.
But I’m certified owner, an’ he ain’t allowed on that claim. The claim
is registered to me; Redpath can’t come upon it. He don’t dare look
upon it. He don’t dare come outer his dug-out, ’cause he’ll be shot
on sight, ’cause he’s wanted for murder. You’re right, mister; you’re
right all the way. You’ve beat him; an’ the claim’s mine, an’ all the
gold in it’s mine, an’ I’m a-goin’ to dig for it right now. Jest gimme
me claim, mister; jest gimme the grant what you promised me. Number
One MacCaskill. That’s the hole. Here’s the fifteen dollars--Redpath’s
fifteen--mister inspector. You’ve beat Redpath, an’ I’ll give him away
to ye, ’cause he’s no more bit of use. I’ll sell him to ye cheap, body
an’ clothes an’ big talk.”
Breathless and panting, he pushed the money out towards the inspector,
but Hanafin did not take it.
Hanafin had beaten Redpath. That was true; but was it true that
Olaffson had beaten the inspector? Was the Icelander even then playing
his part, and speaking the words taught him by Redpath? My eyes were
upon Hanafin, and it appeared to me that a sense of failure was set
upon his face. Presently he stirred.
“Carey!” he called.
After a pause of intense silence, broken by Olaffson’s excited
breathing, he called again:
“Carey!”
“Here, sir!”
The soldier-policeman appeared at the door, struggling into his tight
jacket.
“This man, Carey, this Icelander--his name is Olaffson--has, I find, an
exceedingly bad record, and I have just discovered that he is guilty,
upon his own confession, of attempting murder within the city limits.
Take him a mile along the defile, set him south, and instruct him to
continue in that direction. If you find him about the city or Bonanza
after to-day, arrest him at once, and bring him before me. If he
should, on any such occasion, attempt to escape, you may shoot.”
“Yes, sir.”
The next minute Hanafin was speaking to me in his usual pleasant manner.
“You must abandon your present claim, Petrie, and take Number One
MacCaskill, which is at present vacant. I will alter the description in
your grant, if you will give it me. No! It is not allowed to argue with
a superior officer. There’s a miner’s motto, which you will do well to
remember, and it is this, ‘Never be satisfied with a grub stake.’”