The day's work was over, and once more the white mists were streaming
athwart the pines when Ingleby lay somewhat moodily outside the tent
that he and Leger occupied on the hillside above the Green River. Just
there the stream swirled, smeared with froth and spume, through a
tremendous hollow above which the mountains lifted high their
crenellated ramparts of ice and never-melting snow. Still, though
usually termed one, that gorge was not a canyon in the strict sense of
the word, for a sturdy climber could scale one side of it through the
shadow of the clinging pines, and there was room for a precarious trail,
the one road to civilization, between the hillside and the thundering
river.
Farther back, the valley opened out, and up and down it were scattered
the Green River diggings. From its inner end an Indian trail, which as
yet only one or two white men had ever trodden, led on to the still
richer wilderness that stretched back to the Yukon. Above the tent stood
a primitive erection of logs roofed with split cedar and hemlock bark
which served at once as store and Hetty's dwelling. She was busy inside
it then, for Ingleby could hear the rattle of cooking utensils and
listened appreciatively, for he was as hungry as usual, although
dispirited. His limbs ached from a long day's strenuous toil, and the
stain of the soil was on his threadbare jean. He and Leger had spent a
good many weeks now upon a placer claim, and the result of their
labours was a few grains of gold.
He rose, however, when Hetty came out of the shanty and stood looking
down into the misty valley. She was immaculately neat, as she generally
was, even in that desolation divided by a many days' journey from the
nearest dry-goods store and where the only approach to a laundry was an
empty coal-oil can, and she turned to Ingleby with a little smile in her
eyes. Hetty had her sorrows, and the life she led would probably have
been insupportable to most women reared in an English town, but she had
long been accustomed to turn a cheerful face upon a very hard world, and
Ingleby, though he did not know exactly why, felt glad that she was
there. There are women who produce this effect on those they live among,
and they are seldom the most brilliant ones. Still, he did not speak,
for Hetty Leger was not a young woman who on all occasions demanded
attention.
"No sign of Tom!" she said.
"No," said Ingleby. "I only hope he brings something with him, and
hasn't lost the flies again. I gave a man who went out a dollar each for
them, and I couldn't get another if I offered ten. The plain hooks I got
in Vancouver are no use either when there apparently isn't a worm in the
country."
Hetty smiled, though there were reasons why a trout fly was worth a good
deal to them, and one of them became apparent when she glanced at the
empty spider laid beside the fire, which burned clear and red between
two small logs laid parallel to each other and about a foot apart.
"If he doesn't you'll have to put up with bread and dried apples. The
pork's done," she said.
It was, perhaps, not the kind of conversation one would have expected
from a man at an impressionable age and a distinctly pretty girl,
especially when they stood alone in such a scene of wild grandeur as few
men's eyes have looked upon, but Hetty did not appear to consider it in
any way out of place. Indeed, though there had been a time when she had
accepted Ingleby's compliments with a smile and even became a trifle
venturesome in her badinage, there had been a difference since they left
England, and while Ingleby did not realize exactly what that difference
was he felt that it was there. Hetty Leger had not enjoyed any of the
training which is, usually, at least, bestowed upon young women of
higher station; but she had discovered early that, as she expressed it,
there is no use in crying for the moon, and she had a certain pride. It
was also a wholesome one and untainted by petulance or mortified vanity.
"I don't think," she said reflectively, "I would worry too much about
those flies."
"No?" said Ingleby. "Nobody could have called that pork good; but dried
apples _ad libitum_ are apt to pall on one."
Hetty shook her head. "I'm afraid they're not even going to do that,"
she said. "There's very few of them left in the bottom of the bag."
Just then Leger appeared, carrying a fishing-rod which Ingleby had
laboriously fashioned out of a straight fir branch. He had also a string
of trout, but was apparently dripping below the knees and somewhat
disconsolate. The trout were dressed ready, and he laid two or three of
them in the pan, and then sat down upon one of the hearth logs.
"I expect that's the last we'll get," he said.
"You haven't whipped those flies off?" said Ingleby.
Leger nodded ruefully. "I'm afraid I have," he said. "At least, I let
them sink in an eddy and hooked a boulder. It comes to very much the
same thing."
Hetty laughed as she saw Ingleby's face. "Perhaps I'd better go away,"
she said. "Aren't there times when it hurts you to be quiet?"
"There are," said Ingleby drily. "This is one of them."
"Well," said Hetty, "you can talk when you break out. I heard you one
night in the car--but we'll get supper, and then if you're very good
I'll show you something."
She stirred the fire, and laid out the inevitable dried apples and a
loaf of bread which was not exactly of the kind somewhat aptly termed
grindstone in that country. Then when the edge of their hunger was
blunted she took out a very diminutive fluffy object and handed it to
Ingleby.
"I wonder if the trout would be silly enough to jump at that," she said.
"It's a little plumper than the other ones, but I hadn't any silk to tie
it with."
Ingleby stared at the fly in blank astonishment, and then gravely passed
it to Leger.
"Look at that, and be thankful you have a sister," he said.
"I am," said Leger with a little smile, though something in his voice
suggested that he meant it. "But whatever did you make it out of,
Hetty?"
"Strips of frayed-out cloth, the blue grouse's feathers, and the very
little threads there are in a piece of cotton when you unwind it."
"The tail was never made of feathers or cotton," said Ingleby. "No more
was this wing hackle. That's quite sure. Look at it, Tom. You'll notice
the bright colour."
Hetty unwisely snatched at the fly, but Leger's hand closed upon it, and
a moment or two later he laughed softly. "It certainly won't come out in
the water, and that is presumably more than could be said of everybody's
hair."
Ingleby took the fly from him, and Leger proceeded. "Now we have got
over that difficulty there is another to consider."
"There generally is," said Hetty.
"This one is serious," said her brother. "One can no more live upon
trout and nothing else than he can upon dried apples, and while the
flour is running out we have neither dollars nor dust to buy any more
with. Our friend the freighter cannot be induced to grub-stake
everybody, and I'm not sure one could blame him for asking five or six
times as much for his provisions as they are worth in the cities when
you consider the nature of the trail. Of course, Walter and I could earn
a few dollars at Tomlinson's mine."
He stopped, and looked at Ingleby, whose face grew a trifle grave.
"A placer claim," said the latter, "can only be held while you work upon
it continuously."
"Exactly! Seventy-two hours after we lay down the shovel any other man
who thinks it worth while can seize upon our last chance of making a
fortune. I think you understand that, considering the present cost of
provisions, we are scarcely likely to save as much as would keep us
while we try again, out of what we make on Tomlinson's claim."
Ingleby realized this and said nothing. The giving up of his claim
implied the parting with certain aspirations which had of late supported
him through long days of feverish toil; but one must live, and he had
discovered that to work as the free miners do in that country a somewhat
ample diet is necessary. He sat near the fire, and Hetty, who saw the
hardness of his face, understood it.
"You really think there is gold in the claim?" she said.
"Yes," said Ingleby. "Tomlinson and one or two of the others who have
played this game half their lives admitted that the signs were as good
as any they had seen. Still, I'm by no means sure we can hold out until
we strike it."
Hetty smiled in a curious fashion. "Especially while you have me to
keep?"
Even Leger appeared astonished, and Ingleby flushed hotly as he turned
to her. "Hetty," he said sternly, "what do you mean by that?"