WHAT HE TOLD US
A few moments, and Milton Rhodes and his visitor entered the room.
"My friend Mr. Carter," Rhodes remarked to Mr. James W. Scranton as
he introduced us, "has assisted me in some of my problems; he is my
colleague, so to say, and you may speak with the utmost confidence that
your story, if you wish it so, will be held an utter secret."
"For the present, I wish it to be a secret," returned Scranton, seating
himself in the chair which Rhodes had pushed forward, "and so always
if no discovery follows. If, however, you discover things--and I have
no doubt that you will do so--why, then, of course, you may make
everything public where, when and in whatsoever manner you wish."
"And so," said Milton, "you bring us a mystery--a scientific mystery."
"Yes, Mr. Rhodes. It is scientific, and I believe that it will prove to
be something more. In all probability stranger than any which any man
_on_ this earth has ever known."
There was not the slightest change on Milton Rhodes' features, and
yet I could have sworn that a slight fleeting smile had touched them.
I turned my look back to our visitor, and I saw upon his face an
expression so strange that I stared at him in something very like
surprise.
What was it that this man was going to tell us?
Soon that expression was gone, though its shadow still rested on his
thin and pale features.
"This mystery of which I have come to tell you," he said suddenly, "is
an old, old one."
I glanced at Milton Rhodes.
"Then why," he asked, "bring it to me?"
An enigmatic smile flitted across Scranton's face.
"Because it is _new_ as well. You will soon see what I mean, Mr.
Rhodes. You will see why, after all these years, I suddenly found
myself so anxious to see you that I couldn't even wait until this storm
and deluge ended."
From the inside pocket of his coat he drew a leather-covered notebook,
much worn and evidently very old.
"This," said he, holding the book up between thumb and forefinger,
"is the journal kept by my grandfather, Charles Scranton, during his
journey to, and partial ascent of, Mount Rainier in the year 1858."
Milton Rhodes glanced over at me and said:
"Our little deduction, Bill, wasn't so bad, after all."
Scranton turned his eyes from one to the other of us with a questioning
look.
"Mr. Carter," Rhodes explained, "was just telling me about that trip,
and he wondered if you belonged to the old pioneer Scranton family."
"This," exclaimed the other, "is something of a surprise to me! Few
people, I thought, very few people, even knew of the journey."
"Well, Mr. Carter happens to be one of the few."
"May I ask," said Scranton, addressing himself to me, "how you learned
that my grandfather had visited the mountain? And _what_ you know?"
"When I was a boy, I heard a man--his name was Simpson--tell about it."
"Oh," said Scranton, and it was as though some fear or some thing of
dread had suddenly left him.
"His story, however," I added, "was vague, mysterious. Even at the time
I couldn't understand what it was all about."
"Of course. For, though Simpson knew of the journey, he knew but
little of what had _happened_. And more than once did I hear my
grandfather express regret that he had told Simpson even as much as
he had. I suppose there was something, perhaps a great deal, of that
I-could-tell-a-lot-if-I-wanted-to in Simpson's yarn."
"There was," I nodded.
"The man, however, knew virtually nothing--in fact, nothing at all
about _it_. I have no doubt, though, that he did a lot of guessing.
I don't believe that my grandfather, dead these many years now, ever
told a single living soul all. And, as for all that he told me--well, I
can't tell everything even to you, Mr. Rhodes."
A strange look came into the eyes of Milton Rhodes, but he remained
silent.
Scranton raised the notebook again.
"Nor is everything here. Nor do I propose to read everything that
is here. Just now the details do not matter. It is the facts, the
principal facts, with which we have to do now. This record, if you are
interested--and I have no doubt that you will be--I shall leave in your
hands until such time as you care to return it to me.
"Now for my grandfather's journey.
"With three companions, he left the old homestead near what is now
Puyallup, on the 16th of August, 1858. At Steilacoom, they got an
Indian guide, Sklokoyum by name. The journey was made on horseback to
the Sick Moon Prairie.[3] There the animals were left, with one man to
guard them, and my grandfather, his two companions and the Indian--this
guide, however, had never been higher up the Nisqually River than
Copper Creek--set out on foot for the mountain."
[Footnote 3: _Sick Moon_: _Old Moon_ in the Chinook jargon.--Darwin
Frontenac.]
"One moment," Milton Rhodes interrupted. "According to that Simpson, it
was something that your grandfather heard from the soldier Hamilton,
and not from Kautz himself, that led to his making this journey to
Mount Rainier. Is that correct?"
"Yes; it is correct."
"May I ask, Mr. Scranton, what it was that he learned?"
Again that enigmatic smile on Scranton's face. He tapped the old
journal.
"You will learn that, Mr. Rhodes, when you read this record."
"I see. Pray proceed."