"If you want an accurate description of a man, it's better to ask a
women. Our classifications are rather vague; we say he's all right, a
good sport, or perhaps an outsider. You note all his idiosyncrasies,
the way he talks, the color of his hair----"
"I suppose we do," Mrs. Stephen agreed with a smile. "You are rather
shrewd."
"I don't see why that should surprise my friends, but it sometimes
does," Foster rejoined and went to the flag station to ask about the
train.
It stopped for him an hour later and he set off again on his search for
Daly, which was complicated by the need for being on his guard against
a man he did not know. It looked as if Walters had told Daly that
Lawrence was in British Columbia, and he had come out to join his
accomplice; but, after all, if Foster did not know Walters, the man did
not know him. Another thought gave him some comfort: Walters had
plotted against Lawrence because his evidence might be dangerous, but
probably knew nothing about Daly's blackmailing plan. The latter
would, no doubt, consider any money he could extort was his private
perquisite, and might try to protect his victim for a time.
As the train sped through the mountains Foster felt very much at a
loss. Indeed, unless luck favored him, he thought he might as well
give up the search, and by and by got off at a mining town. He had no
particular reason for doing so, but felt that to go on to Vancouver
would be to leave the place where his last clew broke off too far away.
The town, for the most part, was built of wood, and some of the smaller
and older houses of logs, with ugly square fronts that hid the roof. A
high, plank sidewalk ran down the main street, so that foot passengers
might avoid the mud, but the ruts and holes were now hidden by beaten
snow. At one end stood a big smelter, which filled the place with
acrid fumes, and the scream of saws rose from sheds beside the river,
where rusty iron smoke-stacks towered above sawdust dumps. The green
torrent was partly covered by cakes of grinding ice. All round, in
marked contrast to the utilitarian ugliness below, dark pines ran up to
the glittering snowfields on the shoulders of the peaks. Foster went
to a big new hotel, which he found dirty and too hot. Its bare walls
were cracked and exuded resin; black drops from the central heater
pipes stained the rotunda floor, which was torn by the spikes on the
river-Jacks' boots. An electric elevator made a horrible noise. The
supper he got in the big dining-room, where an electric organ played,
was, however, very good, and he afterwards sat rather drearily in the
rotunda, watching the men who came in and out through the revolving
door.
There is not much domestic life in the new Western towns, whose
inhabitants, for the most part, live at hotels, and the rotundas of the
latter are used as a lounge by anybody who prefers them to the street.
In consequence, Foster could not tell who were guests and who were not.
By and by he filled his pipe, and a man who was lighting his held out
the match, which Foster took with a word of thanks. It might have been
a trifling politeness, but he thought the other had waited until he was
ready.
"You're a stranger," the man remarked.
"Yes," said Foster, "I've just come in."
"Looking for business?"
Foster quietly studied the man. He was neatly dressed and looked keen
and alert. It was possible that he was a storekeeper, or a real estate
agent, which is a common occupation in a Western town.
"Well," he said, "I don't often let a chance of a trade go past, but
when you're in a strange place, the trouble is to tell if you've got a
snap or not."
"Sure thing," agreed the other. "What's your line?"
"Dressed lumber."
"Then I can't do much for you, but there's quite a lot of new
construction planned and the boys will get busy as soon as the frost
breaks," said the man.
He went on to talk about the trade of the town and province, and on the
whole Foster was glad he had been in British Columbia before and knew
something about the country. It was better to be cautious and he did
not want to show he came from the east.
By and by another man crossed the floor and picked up a newspaper that
lay near. As he did so, he gave Foster a careless glance, and then
went back to the seat he had left. This was at some distance from the
heaters and near the entrance, to which people kept passing, but it
commanded the spot that Foster and his companion occupied. Foster,
however, could not detect him watching them, and soon afterwards the
other man went out.
Nothing happened next day, but Foster stopped and in the evening called
for Pete, whom he had sent to a different hotel, and strolled down the
snowy street. It was very cold and few people were about. A half-moon
hung above the summit of the range, and the climbing pines cut in
ragged black masses against the snow. After crossing a bridge on the
outskirts of the town they stopped and looked about.
A few half-finished houses stood among blackened stumps in a cleared
belt, where there were rubbish heaps and willows were springing up, but
a little farther on the forest rose in a shadowy wall. It was quiet
except for the roar of the river, and Foster shivered as he filled his
pipe.
"It's a nipping wind. I'd better go down the bank a bit before I try
to get a light," he said.
He pushed through the willows growing beside the creek, but dropped his
matchbox, and Pete came to help him in the search. They found it, but
before he could strike a match a man stopped at the end of the bridge
and looked back up the street. Foster, imagining he was the fellow who
had spoken to him at the hotel, touched Pete, and they stood very still.
The man might have seen them had he glanced their way, although the
branches broke the outline of their figures, but he was looking back,
as if he expected somebody to come up behind, and after a few moments
went on again. He crossed the clearing towards a fence that seemed to
indicate a road following the edge of the forest, and vanished into the
gloom of the trees. Then, as Foster lighted his pipe, another man came
quickly across the bridge and took the same direction as the first.
"I wunner if yon was what ye might ca' a coincidence," Pete said softly.
"So do I, but don't see how it concerns us," Foster replied. "I think
we'll take the road straight in front."
They followed a track that led through the bush at a right angle to the
other. The snow was beaten firm as if by the passage of logs or
sledges, and there were broad gaps among the trees, which rose in
ragged spires, sprinkled with clinging snow. In places, the track
glittered in the moonlight, but, for the most part, one side was marked
by a belt of gray shadow. After a time, they heard a branch spring
back; then there was a crackle of undergrowth, and a man came out of an
opening ahead. It was the man who had first passed them; Foster knew
him by his rather short fur coat. For no obvious reason and
half-instinctively, he drew back into the gloom. The man did not see
them and went on up the track.
"Yon's a weel-kent trick in my trade," Pete remarked. "When it's no'
convenient to be followed, ye send an inquisitive pairson off on
anither road. But I would like to see if he has got rid o' the ither
fellow."
They waited some minutes, but nobody else appeared, and Foster surmised
that the first man knew the ground and the other did not. The fellow
had vanished among the trees, but after a time they saw him again,
crossing a belt of moonlight some distance in front, and Foster felt he
must find out where he was going.
By and by the indistinct figure vanished again, and pushing on
cautiously through the shadow, they came to a clearing at the foot of
the range. Steep rocks rose above the narrow open space, but although
the trail went no farther there was nobody about. Standing behind a
fir trunk, Foster searched the edge of the bush, but saw nothing except
a ruined shack and some ironwork sticking out of the snow. He could
not examine the shack, because if the other man was near he would see
him when he left the trees. After waiting a few minutes, he touched
Pete and they turned back silently.