Osborne was sitting on his veranda one hot evening while Ruth reclined
in a basket-chair, glancing at him thoughtfully. Of late she had felt
that she did not know her father as well as she ought: there was a
reserve about him which she had failed to penetrate. He had treated her
with indulgent kindness and had humored her every wish since she came to
him; but before that there had been a long interval, during which he had
sent her no word, and these years had obviously left their mark on him.
She felt compassionate and somewhat guilty. So far, she had been content
to be petted and made much of, taking all and giving nothing. It was
time there should be a change.
Osborne was of medium height and spare figure, and slightly lame in one
foot. On the whole, his appearance was pleasing; though he was not of
the type his daughter associated with the successful business man. There
was a hint of imaginative dreaminess in his expression, and his face was
seamed with lines and wrinkles that spoke of troubles borne, Ruth had
heard him described as headstrong and romantic in his younger days, but
he was now philosophically acquiescent, and marked by somewhat ironical
humor. She wondered what stern experiences had extinguished his youthful
fire.
"Aynsley was talking to me a few days ago," she said. "I understand that
he means to take charge of the Canadian mill."
"Then I suppose you applauded his decision. In fact, I wonder whether he
arrived at it quite unassisted? The last time Clay mentioned the matter
he told me the young fool didn't seem able to make up his mind."
Ruth grew somewhat uneasy beneath his amused glance. Her father was
shrewd, and she was not prepared to acknowledge that she had influenced
Aynsley.
"But don't you think Aynsley's right?" she asked.
"Oh, yes; in a sense. We admire industrial enterprise, and on the whole
that's good; but I've sometimes thought that our bush ranchers and
prospectors, who, while assisting in it, keep a little in advance of
civilized progress, show sound judgment. It's no doubt proper to turn
the beauty of our country into money and deface it with mining dumps and
factory stacks; but our commercial system's responsible for a good deal
of ugliness, moral and physical."
The girl was accustomed to his light irony, and was sometimes puzzled to
determine how far he was serious.
"But you are a business man," she said.
"That's true. I've suffered for it; but it doesn't follow that our
methods are much better because I've practised them."
"Where did you first meet Aynsley's father?" Ruth asked. She preferred
personal to abstract topics.
Osborne smiled reminiscently.
"At a desolate settlement in Arizona a number of years ago. The Southern
Pacific had lately reached the coast, and I was traveling West without a
ticket. When it was unavoidable I walked; but railroad hands were more
sympathetic in those days, and I came most of the way from Omaha inside
and sometimes underneath the freight cars. Down under them was a dusty
position in the dry belts."
Glancing round from the pretty wooden house, which had been furnished
without thought of cost, across the wide stretch of lawn, where a smart
gardener was guiding a gasoline mower, Ruth found it hard to imagine her
father stealing a ride on a freight train. But another thought struck
her.
"Where was I then?" she asked.
"With your aunt, or perhaps you had just gone to school. I can't fix the
exact time," Osborne answered unguardedly; and the girl was filled with
a confused sense of love and gratitude.
The school was expensive, and her mother's relatives were by no means
rich, but she knew that her father had been the recipient of a small sum
yearly under somebody's will. It looked as if he had turned it all over
for her benefit while he faced stern poverty.
Ruth impulsively pulled her chair nearer to her father, and her cool
little fingers closed over one of his big hands.
"I understand now," she said softly, "why there are lines on your
forehead and you sometimes look worn. Your life must have been very
hard."
"Oh, it had its brighter side," Osborne answered lightly. "Well, Clay
was also engaged in beating his passage, and I found him enjoying a long
drink from the locomotive tank. We were confronted with the problem how
to cross about a hundred miles of arid desert on a joint capital of two
dollars. Clay got over the first difficulty by making a water-bag out of
some railroad rubber sheeting which he borrowed, while I went round the
settlement in search of provisions. I got some, though prices were
ruinously high, and at midnight we hid beside the track, waiting for a
freight train to pull out. The brakemen had a trick of looking round the
cars before they made a start. Though the days were blazing hot, the
nights were cold, and we shivered as we lay behind a clump of cacti near
the wheels. A man almost trod on us as he ran along the line, but just
afterward the engine bell rang, and Clay sprang up to push back one of
the big sliding doors while I held the food and water. The runners were
stiff, the train began to move; when he opened the door a few inches I
had to trot; and by the time he could crawl through, it was too late for
me to get up. Then, with a hazy recollection that he had a long way to
go, I threw the food and water into the car."
"That was just like you!" Ruth exclaimed with a flush of pride.
"I imagine it was largely due to absence of mind. I felt very sorry for
myself when I stood between the ties and watched the train vanish into
the dark. What made it worse, was that of the joint two dollars only
fifty cents was his."
"When did you meet him again?"
"Several years afterward in San Francisco. He seemed to be prospering,
and my luck had not been good. Through him, I entered the service of the
Alaska Commercial Company. That, of course, was before the Klondyke
rush, and the A.C.C. ruled the frozen North."
"It was in Alaska that you were first fortunate, wasn't it? You have
never told me much about the mine you found."
Osborne looked as if the recollection was unpleasant, but he saw that
she was interested, and he generally indulged her. Though she believed
in and was inclined to idealize him, Ruth was forced to admit that there
was nothing in his appearance to suggest the miner. His light summer
clothes were chosen with excellent taste, and there was a certain
fastidiousness in his appearance and manners which was hardly in keeping
with his adventurous past.
"Well," he said, "it was an unlucky mine from the beginning--and I was
not the first to find it. I had been some years in the company's service
when I was sent as agent to one of their factories. It was situated on a
surf-beaten coast, with a lonely stretch of barrens and muskegs rolling
away behind, and the climate was severe. There were no trees large
enough to break the savage winds, and for six months the ground was
covered deep with snow. A small bark came up once or twice a year, and
my business was to trade with the Indians and the Russian half-breeds
for furs. In winter we had only an hour or two's daylight, but I got
books from San Francisco, and read them by the red-hot stove while the
blizzards shook the factory. Even in those days, it was suspected that
there was gold in Alaska; but the A.C.C. did not encourage prospecting,
and the roughness of the country made it almost impossible for a
stranger to traverse. Still, a few prospectors somehow made their way
into it, and probably died, for they were seldom seen after their first
appearance. I can recollect two or three, hard-bitten men who stayed a
day or two with us and then vanished into the wilds.
"It was late in the fall when one arrived with two Aleut Indians in a
skin canoe. I never learned where he came from nor how he got so far,
for there was no communication with the North except by the company's
vessels, but he told us he meant to locate a mine he had heard about and
thought he could get back before winter set in. He went off with the
Aleuts and a few provisions he bought, and that was the last we saw of
him until the following summer. Then I made a journey inland to visit a
tribe which had brought in no furs, and one night we made camp among a
patch of willows. When we were gathering wood I saw that the larger
bushes had been hacked down, and thought it had been done by a white
man. The next morning we found an empty provision can of the kind we
kept, and, later on, bits of charred sticks where a fire had been
lighted. That led us to follow up the creek we had camped by; and
presently we found the man who had made the fire."
"Dead!" Ruth exclaimed.
"He had been dead for months. All that was left was a clean-picked
skeleton bleached by the snow and a few rags of clothes. The significant
thing was that the breast-bone was cut through: sharply cleft, as if by
an ax."
"How dreadful! You think the Indians killed the man?"
"It looked like it. There may have been a fight over the last of the
provisions, which the Aleuts carried off, because I found very few cans
and only one small empty flour-bag; but the tools indicated that it was
the same man who had visited the factory. I had not even heard his name,
and if he had any friends they never learned his fate; but he died
rich."
"He had found the gold?" Ruth's eyes were large with excitement.
"Yes," said Osborne. "Not far away, where the creek had changed its bed,
there was a shallow hole, part of it filled with ashes, but as the scrub
was three or four miles off it was easy to imagine how the man must have
worked carrying the half-dry brush to keep a big fire going."
"But why did he want a big fire?"
"To soften the ground. It never thaws deeper than a foot or two beneath
the surface, and there were signs that the early winter had surprised
him at work. It was obvious that he was a stubborn man, and meant to
hold on until the last moment."
"Do you think his companions murdered him for the treasure?"
"No; in those days the Indians cared nothing for gold, though they might
have killed the man for a silver fox's skin: furs were our currency. If
there was a quarrel it probably began because he insisted on staying
when winter was close at hand and the food almost done. For all that I
couldn't find the gold he must have got, because there was plenty in the
wash-dirt he had left--tiny rounded nuggets as well as grains. It was a
rich alluvial pocket that a man could work with simple appliances, and I
made up my mind to go back to Snowy Creek some day."
"But you were not alone! What about your companions?"
"I had two half-breeds with Russian blood in them; good trappers, but,
except for that, with little more intelligence than the animals they
hunted. Gold had no value to them; their highest ambition was to own a
magazine rifle."
"But couldn't you have washed out some of the gold?"
"I got a small quantity; but I was the company's servant, and had its
business to mind, and we had only provisions enough for the trip. The
A.C.C. found the fur-trade more profitable than mining, and did not want
its preserves invaded; and nobody suspected how rich the country really
was. Anyway, soon after my return, I had a dispute with the chief factor
and, fearing trouble, said nothing about my discovery. The office
supported the fellow, and I left the A.C.C. with my secret and three or
four hundred dollars."
"What did you do then?"
"I'm afraid an account of all my shifts and adventures would be
monotonous. Sometimes I had two or three hundred dollars in hand,
sometimes I had nothing but a suit of shabby clothes; but when things
were at the worst some new chance always turned up, and I wandered about
the Pacific slope until I fell in with Clay again."
"Then you didn't go to him when you left the A.C.C.?"
"No; he had done me one good turn, and I couldn't be continually asking
favors." Osborne paused and his face turned graver. "Besides, there were
respects in which we didn't agree; and in those days I had an
independent mind."
"Haven't you now?"
"I've learned that it's sometimes wiser to reserve your opinions," said
Osborne dryly. "You can best be independent when you have nothing,
because it doesn't matter then whom you offend."
"Was Clay prosperous?" Ruth asked.
"He was getting known as a man who would have to be reckoned with; but
he was short of money and was ready for a shot at anything that promised
a few dollars. Clay never shirked a risk, but I believe he was honestly
glad to see me, and in a moment of expansion I told him about the Snowy
Creek mine and the gold that would be waiting for me when I could
return."
"Ah! I was waiting until you came to that again. I felt its importance.
It was the mine that made you rich and surrounded me with a luxury I was
half afraid of at the beginning, wasn't it?"
Miss Dexter came toward them along the terrace and Osborne smiled as he
indicated her.
"Your aunt has always been inclined to disapprove of my doings, and I
don't suppose she'd be interested in my prospecting experiences. We'll
let them stand over till another day."
Ruth agreed, but she had a puzzling suspicion that her father was
relieved by the interruption. When Miss Dexter joined them Ruth was
forced to follow his lead and confine herself to general conversation.
This, however, did not keep her from thinking, and she wondered why her
aunt, whose love for her she knew, had shown herself so hypercritical
about her father. Caroline was narrow, but she was upright, and it
seemed impossible that she could find any serious fault with him. For
all that, Ruth wished that his connection with Clay were not quite so
close. Clay was not a man of refinement or high principles, and, to do
him justice, he did not pretend to be. Ruth had heard his business
exploits mentioned with indignation and cynical amusement by men of
different temperament. There were, she supposed, envious people who
delighted to traduce successful men; but Clay was certainly not free
from suspicion, and she would have preferred that her father had chosen
a different associate.