TREACHERY
The afternoon was nearly over and the frost intense when Andrew
plodded up the frozen river with Carnally and Graham. The snow
crunched with a squeaking sound beneath their moccasins, which Andrew
had had specially made because ordinary boots are not adapted to the
extreme cold of the North. On their western hand the pines stood out
sharp and black against a coppery glare, and as they passed the wider
openings the light struck dazzlingly into their aching eyes. Ahead the
white riband of river led into a wilderness of rocks and stunted
trees, but there was no sign of life in all the picture, and
everything was very still.
The men were not heavily loaded, for most of their supplies had been
sent on to the mine, but Andrew had found his pack a bad enough
handicap on the long march up-river and had noticed with some concern
that Graham seemed to feel the weight more than he did. The old man
had lagged behind, but he now came up breathless.
"You want to get a move on," Carnally advised. "It's 'most six miles
yet to Rain Bluff and I'm feeling ready for my supper."
"So am I," said Graham; "but it was too cold to rest by the greenwood
fire when we nooned, and I'm not so young as you are. Then it is
remarkable how twenty years of domestic life soften one."
"Sure!" grinned Carnally. "You don't find the man who gets his dinner
every day leading in a long, hard march. That was Allinson's trouble
when he first took the trail with me."
"There may be disadvantages in having regular meals, but I know from
painful experience what an ache in the side you get when forced to go
without," Andrew returned. "It's one of the things I've learned in
Canada."
"You'll learn a few more of the same kind before you're through,"
Carnally drawled. "But how do you like your moccasins?"
"They're comfortable; the American shoe people have made them well;
but I'm not sure they'll last the journey through. It's lucky we have
some spare pairs among the provisions Mappin has sent up."
"It might have been better if we'd hired two or three boys at the
Landing and packed the truck up along with us," Carnally remarked.
"Mappin engaged to forward the things. It's his business."
Carnally looked unconvinced.
"I never deal with a man who's not straight if I can help it. You
can't tell when he may go back on you, unless you can fix it so that
his interest is the same as yours; and you and Mappin don't agree."
"That's a fact," Andrew admitted. "However, we'll soon find out about
the provisions."
He forced the pace, but it slackened again. He was tired; the red
glare, which grew more lurid, hurt his eyes, and he was thankful when
it suddenly faded, leaving the wilderness wrapped in soft blue shadow.
The pack-straps galled his shoulders, his fur-cap was thick with rime,
and its fringe of frosted hair stung his forehead. They came to a
narrow reach where the stream ran fast and the ice was thrown up in
ragged hummocks. It was difficult to pick their way in the dim light;
they slipped and stumbled, breaking through the treacherous snow
bridges between the blocks; and when they came out upon a better
surface it was dark. Shadowy firs rose about them; here and there an
ice-crusted rock showed above the gray level of the stream. Except for
their soft footsteps there was a deathly silence. Graham was now some
distance behind them, and after a while he made protest.
"Hold on!" he cried. "I'm not toughened up to your mark yet."
Andrew was glad to wait for him, though the frost bit keenly when he
stopped and he was anxious to finish the long day's march. The ranks
of stunted pines looked inexpressibly dreary looming out of the
darkness, and, fatigued as he was, the savagery of the surrounding
desolation oppressed him. They would reach warmth and shelter in
another hour, but when they went on again Andrew thought with a heavy
heart of the leagues of travel through the grim solitudes of the
frozen North. Up there, their only resting-place would be a hollow
behind a rock or a trench scooped out of the snow. Still, he was not
daunted. He had undertaken a big thing, and he meant to carry it out.
At last a twinkle of light showed among the trees, and when they
approached one of the shacks at the mine the door opened and a dark
figure appeared against the brightness of the interior.
"Is that you, Watson?" Andrew asked. "Has Mappin sent up some
provisions for us?"
"Nothing has turned up lately except some tools," Watson answered.
"But come right in."
They entered the shack, which for the first few minutes felt
intolerably hot.
"Did those tools come in cases with a Toronto freight tag?" Carnally
asked.
"They did," said Watson.
Carnally looked at Andrew.
"That's what misled me. I found out the cases had left the Landing and
thought they held our truck. What I wasn't sure about was whether
they'd reach here."
"The provisions haven't come, and a day or two's rest will do us
good," Andrew replied. "I suppose the fellow will send some
explanation."
"That's certain. He won't want you to go down and look him up; you'll
get word from him before long. Whether you'll get your provisions or
not is another matter."
"Let it drop," Andrew advised; and soon afterward they sat down to
supper. In an hour or two they were all asleep; but the next day
passed before they heard anything about the missing supplies. They
were sitting round the stove in the evening when Watson came in with a
letter.
"One of Mappin's boys has brought you this," he said.
Andrew opened it and looked up with a frown.
"No answer. Let him go back when he likes."
When Watson left them he turned to the others.
"Mappin regrets to say that our stores have been lost in transit, and
though he is trying to trace them, there may be some delay. He thinks
I would like to know this at once--which looks like ironical wit. If
needful, he will order a duplicate lot."
"Is it worth while to go down and see him?" Graham asked.
"I'd enjoy it," said Andrew grimly. "However, now that we have come so
far, we can't waste time in going back, and I've no doubt it would be
a week or two before I could get the goods. We'll have to do without
them, which is unfortunate."
His anger was justified. Travel in the North, where food is scarce, is
a question of transport. As the traveler must take all he needs with
him, his supplies must be carefully regulated in accordance with the
distance and his power of carrying them, while an error in his
calculations may result in starvation. Knowing this, Carnally and
Graham had considered how the weight could be cut down by the use of
certain condensed foods, as well as clothing and camp equipment made
to combine the greatest warmth with lightness. The goods were
expensive, but their value could hardly be reckoned in money.
"Then we had better push on at once," Graham suggested. "We have the
things Carnally sent up and we ought to get some provisions at the
Hudson Bay factory, where I expect to hire the sledge dogs. It will
add to our loads and shorten our stay, but we'll have to put up with
that."
"You should have cut Mappin right out of this business," Carnally said
to Andrew. "His first trick hasn't stopped us, but I feel uneasy about
leaving him to handle the food we'll need when coming down."
Andrew looked grave.
"The man's treacherous; but he has gone as far as is safe already.
Taking it for granted that he wishes to prevent our finding the lode,
one can understand his trying to hinder our outward journey. He would,
however, gain nothing by delaying our return, and he's too clever to
risk getting himself into trouble without a good reason."
"That sounds right; I can find no fault with it," Carnally agreed.
"We'll pull out to-morrow, but I'd feel easier if the making of those
caches wasn't in Mappin's hands."
They left Rain Bluff the next morning and it was a week later when
Mappin learned that he had failed to detain them. He had just returned
to the Landing from a business visit, and was sitting in his room at
the hotel when the messenger came in.
"Did Mr. Allinson seem annoyed?" he asked.
"Can't say," the man replied. "He didn't say a word to me; told Watson
there was no answer, and pulled out with the other fellows next day."
"I suppose they went off with pretty heavy loads?"
"That's so. Took some of Watson's blue camp blankets, and I guess
they'll soon get tired. Two of them are tenderfoots at the job."
"Carnally's a smart bushman, isn't he?"
"Sure! But he'd all he could carry."
Mappin was surprised at the turbulence of his feelings. Though of
gross nature, ambition and avarice had hitherto dominated him, and he
was generally marked by a cold-blooded calm. Now, however, his
passions were aroused, and he was filled with an anger which he
thought must be subdued before it led him into rashness. He had done
all he could to delay Allinson, and though he had failed it was not
his habit to grow savage at a reverse; moreover, it was unlikely that
the prospectors would get very far. For all that, he was disturbed.
Allinson, whom he had regarded with contempt as a fastidious
tenderfoot, might prove a dangerous rival. That he had refrained from
sending down an angry remonstrance suggested strong self-control and
a suspicion of Mappin's motives. He must be careful, and must make all
the progress he could with Geraldine while Allinson was away.
During the next three weeks he saw the Frobishers often, though he had
undertaken an important railroad contract for which his men were
cutting lumber in the bush. Geraldine treated him with a conventional
politeness which misled him, for he was inexperienced in dealing with
girls of her character. Indeed, except for his business capacity,
Mappin was undeveloped and primitive. For all that, he felt that he
was not advancing much in Geraldine's favor and he made up his mind to
press his suit without delay. Allinson would be back before very long,
and the provisions he would need for his return journey must shortly
be sent off.
After waiting for an opportunity, he found Geraldine alone one evening
in her drawing-room and sat down feeling unusually diffident as well
as eager, though he forced himself to talk about matters of no
importance. For one thing, the room had a disturbing effect on him. It
was furnished with refined taste and all its appointments seemed
stamped with its owner's personality; a faint perfume that she was
fond of clung about it. All this reacted on the man, and the girl's
beauty worked on his passions.
She listened with indifference, now and then glancing toward him. He
was smartly dressed, but he looked out of place--too big and gross for
his surroundings. Then by degrees she grew more intent; there was a
hint of strain in his voice and a gleam in his eyes which caused her
vague alarm. His face was slightly flushed, he looked coarser than
usual, and when he was silent his lips set in an ugly, determined
fashion. At last, when she was thinking of an excuse for leaving him,
he rose.
"Geraldine," he said, "I have something to tell you."
She looked up quickly; somewhat frightened, he thought, and he was not
displeased.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Is it necessary?"
"I think so; you shall judge. For a long while I've been very fond of
you."
His ardent glance repelled her. She resented it and this gave her
courage.
"I wonder what you mean by that?" she asked coldly.
The man failed to understand her. Love was not a complex thing to him.
"It ought to be pretty simple. You're the girl I mean to marry; I set
my heart on it some time ago."
"_Mean_ to marry? You're not diffident."
Mappin laughed and his amusement filled her with repulsion. She was
not encouraging, he thought; but he had not expected her to be so.
"No," he replied, "I'm not. Bashfulness doesn't pay, and I haven't had
time to study saying pretty things. I want you--there it is."
"It's a pity you didn't tell me this earlier. It might have saved you
some disappointment," said Geraldine.
She was angry and alarmed, but keenly interested. She had not expected
that her first offer would take this abrupt form; but there was no
doubting the strong primitive passion in the man. It was a force to be
reckoned with; one could not treat it with indifference. He looked big
and clumsy as he stood with his eyes fixed on her, but his face and
pose suggested power.
"Well," he explained, "there was a reason. I was pretty low down in
the world; I hadn't much to offer, and I wouldn't have you think I
wanted you for your money. Now I've got on; I begin to see how I'm
going to make a big success. There's no longer anything to stop my
claiming you."
This sounded sincere, but it was unthinkable that she should feel any
tenderness for the man, and he must be made to understand.
"Mr. Mappin," she began; but he checked her.
"Let me get through. You shall have all you want: a house in Montreal
or Toronto, as you like, smart friends and position--guess if I set my
mind on it I can get them. In fact, you shall have what you
wish--you'll only need to ask for it. I want my wife to take a leading
place, and I'll see she gets there."
"I'm sorry, but it's impossible for me to marry you," said Geraldine
firmly.
Mappin regarded her with a grim smile.
"You look as if you meant it."
"I do." Geraldine tried hard to preserve her calm. "Please understand
that my mind is made up."
"Oh," he replied tolerantly, "I didn't expect to get you first try.
Guess I'll have to wait until you get used to the idea."
"I shall never get used to it!"
He had held himself in hand, but as he heard the decision in her tone
his passion mastered him.
"Never is a mighty long time; you have got to yield sooner or later. I
can make you!"
Geraldine rose with all the dignity she could assume; but he moved
between her and the door.
"Wait a bit," he said with a harsh laugh. "Now, what's the matter with
me?"
"I think I need only say that you're very far from being the kind of
man I could marry. Let me pass!"
Mappin barred her way.
"Well," he said, "I know my value. I'll stand comparison with that
finicking Englishman!"
Her blush told that this shot had reached the mark and he turned on
her with fury.
"You'll never get him! Count on that; I'll break the fellow!"
Geraldine recoiled. She thought that he meant to seize her; he was
capable of it. Indeed, he moved a pace or two, but this gave her an
opportunity for reaching the door. There she turned and saw that he
was watching her with a curious grim smile.
"The subject is closed," she said. "You have behaved hatefully!"
Escaping into the hall, she sought her room and shut herself in. She
felt humiliated, and, although there had once or twice been something
ludicrous in the situation, the man's overbearing boldness had
strongly impressed her. She was afraid of him; he would not readily be
beaten.
Mappin left the house without speaking to Frobisher and returned to
the Landing. The next day he sent for the packer who was to lead the
party taking up Andrew's supplies. The fellow was some time in coming
and Mappin waited for him in a threatening mood. Geraldine's blush had
filled him with jealous hatred. Allinson was a dangerous rival. Let
him beware!
"You know the Whitefish Creek," he said to the man he had summoned.
"What lies between the forks?"
"A piece of high and very rough country; muskegs full of little pines
mussed up with blown trees in the hollows."
"Well," said Mappin, "you'll cache the supplies for Allinson where
I've put the cross on this map. Think you've got it right?"
"Yes," answered the packer. "It must be near the tall butte, a piece
up the creek. That's a pretty good mark."
"Then there's the other lot of supplies. You can see the place for
them on the height of land, south of the Whitefish."
The man glanced at the map and nodded.
"We'll dump those first. Everything's ready. We'll pull out as soon as
I can get the boys together."
He left the room and Mappin lighted a cigar. He felt somewhat nervous,
as if he had undergone a strain.
"If Allinson gets through, I'll allow he's the better man," he mused.