CHAPTER I

E-text prepared by Al Haines

GLEN OF THE HIGH NORTH

by

H. A. CODY

Author of "The Frontiersman," "The Lost Patrol,"

"The Chief of the Ranges," "The Touch of Abner," etc.

McClelland and Stewart

Publishers : : : Toronto

George H. Doran Company

1920

To

ALL TRUE MEN AND WOMEN

Of the Outer Trails of the Yukon,

Where for Years the Author Lived and Travelled,

This Book is Affectionately Dedicated.

CONTENTS

I ONE FLEETING VISION

II WHEN THE FOG-BANK LIFTED

III A BIG BLAZIN' LAUGH

IV BEYOND THE GREAT WHITE PASS

V COMRADES OP THE TRAIL

VI A SHOT THAT TOLD

VII BOTTLES WILL DO

VIII LOVE VERSUS GOLD

IX THE OUTER TRAIL

X ADRIFT IN THE WILDERNESS

XI INTO THE GREAT UNKNOWN

XII THE GIRL OF GLEN WEST

XIII WHEN THE STORM BURST

XIV ANOTHER PRISONER

XV JIM WESTON

XVI THE ORDEAL

XVII MAN TO MAN

XVIII THE PREPARED ROOM

XIX THE TURN OF EVENTS

XX A SHOT FROM THE GOLDEN CREST

XXI THE PLOTTERS

XXII THE CABIN IN THE HILLS

XXIII AT THE REVOLVER'S POINT

XXIV WHEN THE RIFLES CRACKED

XXV BY THE INLAND LAKE

XXVI THROUGH THE STORM

XXVII IN THE TOILS

XXVIII HELP FROM THE HILLS

XXIX THE OLD TRUE STORY

XXX THE UNMASKING

XXXI OUTWARD BOUND

"Something lost beyond the Ranges,

Lost; and calling to you. Go."

KIPLING

"She had grown, in her unstained seclusion,

bright and pure as a first opening lilac,

when it spreads its clear leaves to the

sweetest dawn of May."

PERCIVAL

GLEN OF THE HIGH NORTH

CHAPTER I

ONE FLEETING VISION

It all happened in less than two minutes, and yet in that brief space

of time his entire outlook upon life was changed. He saw her across

the street standing upon the edge of the sidewalk facing the throng of

teams and motors that were surging by. She had evidently attempted to

cross, but had hurriedly retreated owing to the tremendous crush of

traffic. The gleam of the large electric light nearby brought into

clear relief a face of more than ordinary charm and beauty. But that

which appealed so strongly to the young man was the mingled expression

of surprise, fear and defiance depicted upon her countenance. It

strangely affected him, and he was on the point of springing forward to

offer his assistance when she suddenly disappeared, swallowed up in the

great tide of humanity.

For a few minutes the young man stood perfectly still, gazing intently

upon the spot where the girl had been standing, hoping to see her

reappear. He could not account for the feeling that had swept upon him

at the sight of that face. It was but one of the thousands he daily

beheld, yet it alone stirred him to his inmost depths. A few minutes

before he had been walking along the street without any definite aim in

life, listless and almost cynical. But now a desire possessed him to

be up and doing, to follow after the fair vision which had so

unexpectedly appeared. Who could she be, and where was she going?

Should he ever see her again, and if he did would he have the slightest

chance of meeting and talking with her?

These thoughts occupied his mind as he continued on his way. He walked

erect now, with shoulders thrown back, and with a more buoyant step

than he had taken in many a day. His blood tingled and his eyes glowed

with a new-found light. He felt much of the old thrill that had

animated him at the beginning of the Great War, and had sent him

overseas to take his part in the titanic struggle. An overmastering

urge had then swept upon him, compelling him to abandon all on behalf

of the mighty cause. It was his nature, and the leopard could no more

change its spots than could Tom Reynolds overcome the influence of a

gripping desire. Ever since childhood thought and action had always

been welded in the strong clear heat of an overwhelming purpose. It

had caused him considerable trouble, but at the same time it had

carried him through many a difficult undertaking that had daunted other

men. It was only the afterwards that affected him, the depression,

when the objective had been attained. So for months after the war

ended his life had seemed of no avail, and he found it impossible to

settle comfortably back into the grooves of civilian life in a

bustling, thriving city. Everything seemed tame and insignificant

after what he had experienced overseas. Time instead of lessening had

only increased this feeling, until Reynolds believed that he could no

longer endure the prosaic life of the city. Such was the state of his

mind when he beheld the face across the street, which in some

mysterious manner gave him a sudden impulse and a new outlook upon the

world. After a short quick walk, he turned into a side street and

stopped at length before a building from which extended a large

electric sign, bearing the words _Telegram_ and _Evening News_. He

entered, and at once made his way through several rooms until he

reached the editorial office at the back of the building. The door was

open, and seated at the desk was an elderly man, busily writing. He

looked up as Reynolds appeared, and a smile illumined his face.

"You are back early, Tom. Found something special?"

"Yes," Reynolds replied as he sat down upon the only vacant chair the

office contained. "But nothing for publication."

The editor pushed back his papers, swung himself around in his chair

and faced the visitor.

"What is it, Tom?" he asked. "You look more animated than I have seen

you for many a day. What has come over you? What is the special

something you have found?"

"Myself."

"Yourself!"

"That's just it. I'm through with this job."

The editor eyed the young man curiously yet sympathetically. He was to

him as a son, and he had done everything in his power to help him since

his return from the war. But he was well aware that Reynolds was not

happy, and that newspaper work was proving most uncongenial.

"Where are you going, Tom, and what are you going to do?" he presently

asked.

"I have not the slightest idea, sir. But I must get away from this

hum-drum existence. It is killing me by inches. I need adventure,

life in the open, where a man can breathe freely and do as he likes."

"Haven't you done about as you like, Tom, since you came home? I

promised your father on his death-bed that I would look after you, and

I have tried to do so in every possible way. I sincerely hoped that

your present work would suit you better than in an office. You are

free to roam where you will, and whatever adventure has taken place in

this city during the past six months you were in the midst of it, and

wrote excellent reports, too."

"I know that, sir, and I feel deeply indebted to you for what you have

done. But what does it all amount to? What interest do I take in

trouble along the docks, a fight between a couple of toughs in some

dark alley, or a fashionable wedding in one of the big churches? Bah!

I am sick of them all, and the sooner I get away the better."

Reynolds produced a cigarette, lighted it and threw the match upon the

floor. From the corner of his eye he watched the editor as he toyed

thoughtfully with his pen. This man was nearer to him than anyone else

in the world, and he was afraid that he had annoyed him by his plain

outspoken words.

"And you say you have nothing in view?" the editor at length enquired.

"Nothing. Can you suggest anything? Something that will tax all my

energy of mind and body. That is what I want. I hope you do not

misunderstand me, sir. I do not wish to seem ungrateful for what you

have done."

"I do understand you, Tom, and were I in your position, and of your

age, I might feel the same. But what about your painting? Have you

lost all interest in that? When you were in France you often wrote

what impressions you were getting, and how much you intended to do when

you came home."

"I have done very little at that, and the sketches I made are still

uncompleted. Some day I may do something, but not now."

"You certainly have lost all interest, Tom, in the things that once

gave you so much pleasure."

"It is only too true, although I have honestly tried to return to the

old ways. But I must have a fling at something else to get this

restless feeling out of my system. What do you suggest! Perhaps it is

only a thrashing I need. That does children good sometimes."

The editor smiled as he pulled out a drawer in his desk, and brought

forth a fair-sized scrapbook. He slowly turned the pages and stopped

at length where a large newspaper clipping had been carefully pasted.

"I do not think you need a thrashing, Tom," he began. "But I believe I

can suggest something better than that. Here is an entry I made in

this book over fifteen years ago, and the story it contains appeals

strongly to me now. I read it at least once a year, and it has been

the cause of many a day-dream to me, and night-dream as well, for that

matter. Did you ever hear of the mysterious disappearance of Henry

Redmond, the wealthy merchant of this city? But I suppose not, as you

were young at the time."

"No, I never heard of him," Reynolds acknowledged. "Was he killed?"

"Oh, no. He merely disappeared, and left no trace at all. That was,

as I have just said, over fifteen years ago, and no word has been

received from him since."

"What was the trouble? Financial difficulties?"

"Not at all. He simply disappeared. It was due to his wife's death,

so I believe. They were greatly attached to each other, and when she

suddenly died Redmond was a broken-hearted man. I knew him well and it

was pathetic to watch him. He took no interest in his business, and

sold out as soon as possible. Then he vanished, and that was the last

we heard of him. He was an odd man in many ways, and although one of

the shrewdest men in business I ever knew, he was fond of the simple

life. He was a great reader, and at one time possessed a very fine

library. This article which I wish you to read tells the story of his

life, how he built up his business, and of his sudden disappearance."

"How do you know he wasn't killed?" Reynolds asked.

"Because of this," and the editor laid his forefinger upon a small

separate clipping at the bottom of the larger one. A short time after

Redmond disappeared, and when the excitement of all was intense, this

was received and published. Although it bore no name, yet we well know

that it was from Redmond, for it was just like something he would do.

This is what he wrote:

"'I go from the busy haunts of men, far from the bustle and worry of

business life. I may be found, but only he who is worthy will find me,

and whoever finds me, will, I trust, not lose his reward. From the

loopholes of retreat I shall watch the stress and fever of life, but

shall not mingle in the fray.'"

"Queer words, those," Reynolds remarked, when the editor had finished

reading. "What do you make of them?"

"I hardly know, although I have considered them very carefully. I

believe they contain a hidden meaning, and that the finding will

consist of more than the mere discovery of his person. It must refer

to something else, some quality of heart or mind, that is, the real

personality behind the mere outward form."

"A double quest, eh, for anyone who undertakes the venture?"

"It seems so, Tom, and that makes it all the more difficult. But what

an undertaking! How I wish I were young again, and I should be off

to-morrow. I was a fool not to make the try fifteen years ago. I

would not now be chained to this desk, I feel certain of that."

"And as you cannot go yourself, you want----?" Reynolds paused and

looked quizzically at the editor.

"I want you to go in my stead," was the emphatic reply. "You are

young, strong, and anxious for adventure."

"For what purpose, sir? Why do you wish me to undertake this

wild-goose chase? For such it seems to me."

"I wish you to go for three reasons. First, for your own good; as an

outlet to your abundant energy, and to give you some object in life.

Next, to satisfy a curiosity that has been consuming me for years. I

am more than anxious to know what has become of Henry Redmond. And

finally, for the sake of my paper. If you should prove successful,

what a write-up it will make, for you will have a wonderful story to

tell. Doesn't the thing appeal to you? Why, it makes my blood tingle

at the thought of such an undertaking."

"It does stir me a bit," Reynolds acknowledged. "But where am I to go?

Have you any idea where Redmond is? The world is big, remember, and

without any clue, the chase would be absolute folly."

"I am well aware of all that. I have no idea where Redmond is, and

that makes the venture all the more interesting. If I could tell you

where he is, and you merely went and found him, bah! that would not be

worth the trouble. But the uncertainty of it all is what appeals to

me. The whole world is before you, and somewhere in the world I

believe Henry Redmond is living. Your task is to find him. Can you do

it?"

For a few minutes Reynolds did not speak. He was interested, but the

undertaking seemed so utterly hopeless and ridiculous that he

hesitated. If he had the slightest clue as to the man's whereabouts it

would be different.

"How old a man was Redmond when he disappeared?" he at length asked.

"About fifty, I understand, although he appeared much older at times.

He was a fine looking man, over six feet in height, and a large head,

crowned with a wealth of hair streaked with gray, when last I saw him.

His commanding appearance attracted attention wherever he went, and

that should aid you somewhat in your search."

"Had he any family?" Reynolds questioned.

"One little girl only, for he married late in life. His friends

thought that he would remain a permanent bachelor, and they were

greatly surprised when he unexpectedly took to himself a wife much

younger than himself, and very beautiful. They lived most happily

together, and when his wife died Redmond was heartbroken."

"Perhaps her death affected his mind," Reynolds suggested.

"I have thought of that, and his sudden disappearance, as well as the

peculiar letter I read to you, lends color to the idea."

"What became of the child?"

"No one knows. He evidently took her with him, and that is another

reason why I believe no harm befell him as you suggested. The whole

affair is involved in the deepest mystery."

"And did no one attempt to solve it?" Reynolds asked. "Was no effort

made to find the missing man?"

"There was at the time, and the newspapers far and near made mention of

his disappearance. It was the talk of the city for several weeks, and

I understand that several men thought seriously of searching for him.

But the interest gradually waned, and he was forgotten except by a few,

of whom I am one."

Reynolds rose to his feet and picked up his hat.

"Suppose I think this over for a few days?" he suggested. "If I get

the fever I shall let you know. In the meantime I shall plug away at

my present job. I can't afford to be idle, for 'idleness is the

holiday of fools,' as someone has said."

"That's fine, Tom," and the editor's face brightened with pleasure.

"And, remember, you shall be supplied with all the money you need, so

do not worry about that."

"Thank you, but I have a little of my own that will last me for a

while. When I run through with it I may call upon you."

"Very well, do as you like, Tom. But think it over and let me know of

your decision as soon as possible."