It was about ten o'clock at night and the Montreal express sped through
the lonely forest of North Ontario. The train was light, for there
were few passengers on board, and the road was by no means good, but in
spite of the jolting Foster enjoyed his cigarette in a corner of the
smoking compartment at the end of a car. A colored porter had told him
his berth in the sleeper was ready, Featherstone had left the train,
and most of the passengers were already in bed, but Foster did not want
to follow them just yet. For a time, he had done with business, and
was on his way to England. He relished the unusual sense of freedom.
A half-moon shone down upon the rugged wilderness, and he could see the
black pines rush past. The cars lurched and he heard the great
locomotive snort on the inclines. Now and then there was a roar as
they sped across a bridge, and water glimmered among the rocks below;
afterwards the roar sank into a steady clatter and a soothing throb of
wheels. The car was warm, and Foster, who had given the porter his
overcoat, was lighting another cigarette when a man came in and sat
down opposite. He looked hard at Foster, who quietly returned his
gaze. The man was about his own height but some years older, and his
expression was disturbed.
Foster felt interested. He had faced danger in the northern
wilderness, where he had risked starvation and traveled on frozen
rivers when the ice was breaking up. Besides, he had once or twice
been involved in savage fights about disputed mining claims, and knew
how men looked when they bore a heavy strain. He thought the stranger
was afraid but was not a coward.
"You're going to Ottawa, aren't you? I heard you talking to your
friend," said the man.
"I'm going to Montreal, but don't see what that has to do with you."
The other made a sign of impatience. "Well, I dare say you can be
trusted, and I've got to take a risk."
"It is a risk to trust a man you don't know," Foster rejoined. "But
how can I help?"
"I want you to put on my coat and cap, and stay here, reading the
_Witness_, for about ten minutes."
"Holding the newspaper in front of my face, I suppose? Well, it's
rather an unusual request and I must know a little more. If there's a
detective on your trail and you expect me to hold his attention while
you hide or try to jump off the train, I must refuse."
The stranger smiled. "I've wired for the police to meet me at Ottawa;
the trouble is that I mayn't get there. Time won't allow of a long
explanation, but there are men on board who'd stop at nothing to
prevent my arrival. In fact, to some extent, I'm putting my life in
your hands."
Foster looked at him, surprised. He had not expected an adventure of
this kind on a Canadian Pacific train, but did not think the other was
exaggerating.
"How many men?" he asked.
"I've seen one, but know there are more."
"Then why not tell the conductor and have the train searched?"
"It wouldn't work. I might find one enemy, but I'd warn the others
that I was on my guard, and to let them think I suspect no danger is
the best chance I have. The conductor's making his way up the train,
and I'm going to see if he can get me into the express car. It's the
only safe place; the clerks are armed. Well, my business is lawful and
in the public interest, and I take it you're a patriotic citizen."
Foster saw that he must decide quickly. Somehow he did not doubt the
man, who kept his eyes on the door as if he expected somebody to come
in. Moreover, he expected to be met by the police at Ottawa.
"It looks as if I'd run your risk when I put on your coat," he said.
"The porter's sweeping up the car, and if you keep the door open,
you'll be safe while he's about. Besides, if I can't get into the
express car, I'll come back. Give me ten minutes, and then, if I don't
turn up and you feel uneasy, take off the coat and put the newspaper
down."
"Very well," said Foster. "Perhaps you had better take my hat."
The stranger gave him his heavy fur coat. "I'll ask you for it at
Ottawa. You're going to Montreal. What's your name?"
Foster told him and he resumed: "Then, if you don't see me, stop at the
_Windsor_, where I can telegraph, a day or two. You'll be repaid for
any expense or inconvenience. Well, I'm going. Thanks!"
"Good luck!" said Foster, who sat down and opened the _Witness_.
Now he was alone, he began to wonder if he had been imposed upon. The
man, however, did not look like a criminal; though alarmed, he had an
air of quiet authority. In a sense, it seemed absurd that he should
think himself in danger. Violence was not common in Canada, where the
carrying of weapons was prohibited, and Foster had never heard of any
sensational crime on the big expresses. Still he thought the man would
not be afraid without good cause. He did not look like a detective,
and Foster felt nearly sure he had not got on board at the Crossing.
This seemed to indicate that he could not have been investigating the
tragedy there, particularly since Hulton had only recovered from the
shock a few days ago. Then Hulton had stated that he meant to send for
a New York man, and not that he had done so. The fellow, however,
might be a confidential agent of the Government's, who had perhaps
found out something about certain mysterious attempts to damage public
property.
By and by Foster smiled. Carmen had given him a valuable packet to
take care of, and now this stranger had asked his help. Both had
stated their confidence in him, but it was getting obvious that to look
as if one could be trusted had its drawbacks. He did not feel much
disturbed as he read the newspaper, which reported the arrest of two
strangers with dynamite cartridges near the locks of a big canal, but
presently put it down and glanced at his watch. The ten minutes had
nearly gone and he looked out of the window. A frozen lake shimmered
at the edge of the track and then, with a harsh uproar, the train
plunged into the shadow of a cliff. On the summit stunted pines cut
against the sky, and Foster knew they ran from the Manitoban border to
the Ottawa across as rugged and stony a wilderness as there is in the
Dominion. The stations were small and sometimes only places where the
locomotives stopped for water. He could not remember when they had
passed the last.
Looking at his watch again, he saw that he had kept his promise, but
decided to give the man a few more minutes, and then go to his berth,
unless he could learn something about him from the conductor. The
berth was in the Pullman farther along the train, and after walking
through the empty car he opened the door of a vestibule and stepped out
on the platform. It was unprotected except for a brass rail at the
side, which was divided in the middle where the steps went down. The
floor jolted and a bitter wind that whistled between the vestibules
buffeted him. Although he wore the fur coat, he shivered, and as he
stepped across the gap between the platforms the door behind him
rattled.
Turning sharply round, he saw a man's dark figure in the shadow of the
curving roof, and felt his heart beat. Then the door he had been
making for swung back, and he knew he had another antagonist to deal
with. He carried no pistol and there was not much chance of a shout
for help being heard, but he did not wait to be attacked, and with a
sudden spring threw himself upon the man in front. He felt his
knuckles jar and heard the fellow's head crash against the vestibule,
but the other seized him as he turned. Foster surmised that they
feared the report of a pistol but might use the knife, and determined
to throw the fellow down the steps. If this proved impossible, he must
try to jump off the train.
So far as he could remember, the savage struggle only lasted a few
moments. His assailant had apparently not room enough to draw a weapon
and Foster kept his grip on him, so that he could not free his right
arm, although this left his own face exposed. He was breathless and
exhausted when he fell against the rail, but with a tense effort he
lifted the fellow off his feet. Since there seemed to be no other way,
they must both fall off the train. He lost his balance and his foot
slipping from the top step threw him backward. Then he missed the rail
he clutched at and felt a heavy shock.
When his senses came back he found that he was lying on hard-frozen
ground. There were dark firs about, but, a little farther on, the
rails glistened in the moonlight, and he dully realized that he had
fallen off the car. A faint snorting and a rumble that echoed across
the forest showed that the train was going on. Foster lay still and
listened until the sound died away. It looked as if nobody but the men
who had attacked him knew there had been a struggle and he was left
behind. Then he cautiously raised his head and leaning on his elbow
looked about. It was a relief to find that he could do so, but he must
see if his antagonist had fallen off with him, because if the fellow
was not badly hurt he might renew the attack.
There was nothing in the shadow beside the line, the gap where the
rails ran into the moonlight was empty, and everything was still,
except for the sigh of the cold breeze among the firs. For all that,
Foster hesitated about getting up. The train was probably going at
forty miles an hour, the ground was hard, and he might find that some
bones were broken when he tried to move. The shock had perhaps dulled
his senses and prevented his feeling much pain. It was, however,
bitterly cold, and making an effort he got shakily upon his feet. To
his surprise, he discovered that he was not much the worse although he
felt sore and dizzy, and he sat down on a fallen branch to think what
he should do.
The next station was probably only marked by an agent's office and a
water-tank. Besides, his antagonists might get down there and come
back to look for him, in which case he would be at their mercy if they
met. It was a long way to the station they had passed, but he thought
the safest plan would be to make for it. This meant a walk of some
hours, with nothing to eat on the way, but a train from Winnipeg would
stop early in the morning, and the others would not expect him to
resume his journey east. If they had found out their mistake, they
would take it for granted that he was a confederate of the man they
followed and most likely calculate on his trying to reach the new
Canadian Northern line. Foster felt angry with the fellow who had
lured him into the adventure and resolved to extricate himself from it
as soon as possible.
Getting up, he started west along the track, and after a time found
himself embarrassed by the fur coat. It was heavy and too warm, but he
would need it when he stopped. Then he wore thin city boots, and the
track, as usual, was roughly ballasted with coarse gravel. The stones
rolled about under his feet, and the ties were irregularly spaced, so
that he could not step from one to another except by an awkward stride.
He went on, however, and by and by began to wonder where he could get a
drink, for the struggle or the shock had made him thirsty.
The big coat proved troublesome to carry when he took it off. After a
time his feet got sore and he tried to walk in the shallow drain beside
the line, but this was filled with ice, on which he slipped. He had
traveled by rougher trails and carried heavy loads, but that was some
years ago and he wore different boots and fastened on his pack by
proper straps. Moreover, one got soft when leading a business life.
By and by he heard the roar of water and pushing on faster came to a
foaming creek that plunged down a stony ravine. A bridge crossed the
gorge, and leaving the track he clambered down the rocky bank. Where
the spray had fallen there were patches of ice, but Foster felt that he
must get a drink. When he was half-way down his foot slipped and he
slid the rest of the distance, bringing up with a shock at the edge of
the water, where he struck a projecting stone. He felt shaken, but got
a drink, and when he began to climb back found that he had wrenched his
knee. Some movements were not painful, but when his weight came upon
the joint it hurt. He must get up, for all that, and reached the top,
where he sat down with his lips firmly set, and after putting on the
coat felt in the pocket for a cigarette.
The case he took out was not his, and he remembered that he was wearing
another man's coat. The cigarettes were of Turkish tobacco, which is
not much used in Canada, and he thought the quality remarkably good.
This seemed to imply that their owner had a cultivated taste, and
Foster began to wonder whether he was after all not a business man
running away from his creditors, but rejected the theory. It was
strange that although the cigarettes were expensive the case was of the
kind sold in Western stores for fifty cents, but Foster presently gave
up speculating about the man.
The moon was getting low and ragged pine branches cut against the
light. The track was wrapped in shadow that was only a little less
dense than the gloom of the surrounding bush. It was not really cold
for North Ontario, but the fur coat was hardly enough protection to
make a bed in the open air comfortable. Foster had slept in the
Athabasca forests when the thermometer marked forty degrees below zero,
but he then wore different clothes and had been able to make a roaring
fire and build a snow-bank between him and the wind. Moreover, he was
still liable to be overtaken by the men on the train.
Getting up, he found his knee sore and stiff, but limped on for an hour
or two after the moon sank. He seemed to be stumbling along the bottom
of a dark trench, for the firs shut him in like a wall and there was
only an elusive glimmer of light above their serrated tops. He did not
expect to find a house until he reached the station, for much of North
Ontario is a wilderness where the trees are too small for milling and
agriculture is impossible among the rocks. To make things worse, he
felt hungry. The train had stopped at about seven o'clock at a
desolate station where the passengers were given a few minutes to get
supper, but Foster's portion was too hot for him to eat. He tried to
encourage himself by remembering that he had once marched three hundred
miles across the snow with a badly frozen foot, but this did not make
his present exertion easier.
As he got hungry he got angry. He had gone away to enjoy himself, and
this was how his holiday had begun! The Government agent, if that was
what he was, ought not to have dragged a confiding stranger into his
difficulties. He was now safe in the express car and chuckling over
the troubles he had left his substitute to face. Then Foster tried to
remember if he had left any papers with his address in his overcoat and
decided that he had not done so. His wallet was now in his jacket
pocket. This was satisfactory, because he meant to have nothing more
to do with the matter. Tying the fur coat round his waist to take some
of the weight off his shoulders, he trudged on as briskly as he could
through the gloom.
V