IN THE TOILS
Curly reached Big Draw only a couple of hours ahead of Reynolds and
Sconda. He had travelled fast, impelled by a burning rage, eager to
impart to others as vile as himself the story he had concocted in his
venomous mind. He was seated in the roadhouse, surrounded by his
favorite gang, as Reynolds and his guide rode into camp. He reminded
his hearers how the former had gone with Frontier Samson in quest of
gold, and that the old prospector had mysteriously disappeared. He
informed them that he had met Reynolds at Glen West with Jim Weston's
daughter, and that they had both sneered at him.
"I was walking along the street," the liar continued, "when I saw the
two standing together, an' very chummy. When Reynolds saw me he tried
to hurry away into an Indian's shack. But I stopped him, an' asked him
what he had done with Frontier Samson. This made him mad, an' he told
me it was none of my business, an' if I didn't leave Glen West at once
he'd set the Indians upon me."
"What did you do?" one of the listeners eagerly asked, as Curly paused
and lighted a cigarette.
"Oh, I just laughed an' told him that I didn't care a rip for him or
the Indians, an' that I would leave when I got ready. Then he an' the
girl made fun of me, told me I was a queer looking guy, an' if I was
anxious about the old prospector I had better go an' hunt for him
myself. I left them at that, an' strolled about the place for a while.
But that night didn't the Indians come upon me. They took me down into
the woods, tied me to a tree, an' were all ready to burn me alive.
Say, it was hell fer a while, an' I thought sure I was a goner. But
just as a big devil stooped to light the dry wood at my feet, Jim
Weston arrived, beat them off, an' set me free. An' all the time I was
tied to that tree, didn't Reynolds stand by an' make fun of me. He
said he would shut my mouth once an' for all about Frontier Samson.
When I told him I was certain he had killed the old man, he flew into a
rage an' cursed like a pirate. That's what he did, the cuss. Hand me
over a drink, Tom; I'm thirsty."
While Curly and his gang were talking and drinking, across the street
Reynolds was recording three double claims, for Jim Weston, Glen
Weston, and himself, as discoverers. He produced a specimen of the
gold which he carried in his pocket, and explained the exact position
where the claims were situated. This work completed, he went at once
to the roadhouse, and asked for his mail. He saw Curly and his
companions, but paid no heed to them. He was more interested in the
letters awaiting him, for there were two, and from his friend the
editor, at that.
"You've been a long time away," Shorty remarked, as he looked curiously
at the young man.
"Yes, I suppose I have," was the absent-minded reply, for Reynolds was
looking at his letters.
"Strike anything?"
"I believe so. But, say, is Frontier Samson here? Have you seen him
lately?"
"W-why, no," Shorty stammered. He had overheard Curly's remarks, so
this unexpected question somewhat embarrassed him. "He went with you,
didn't he?"
"He certainly did, but I got lost out in the hills, and haven't seen
the old man since. I hope nothing has happened to him."
Not a word of this escaped the men at the table, and when Reynolds had
left the building they stared at one another for a few seconds.
"Did ye hear what he said about the gold?" Curly eagerly asked. "I
believe he's struck it rich, an' most likely he has put Samson out of
the way."
"But he asked about him, though," one of the men replied.
"Oh, that was just a ruse, an' nothing more. He wanted to find out if
we suspect anything. I say, Shorty, bring us something," he ordered.
"This is my treat."
When the liquor had been brought, the men drank and talked in low
voices. What they said Shorty could not hear, although he strained his
ears in an effort to catch the drift of the conversation. After a
while other men entered the room, and these were soon acquainted with
Reynolds' return, the gold he had discovered, and the mysterious
disappearance of Frontier Samson. A few agreed with Curly that it was
strange that the old prospector had not been seen for some time, and
that his partner had returned alone. Where was the discovery made?
they wanted to know.
"Near the Tasan," a man replied. "I've just been to the Recording
Office, and found that three double claims have been entered there in
the names of Jim Weston, Glen Weston, and Thomas Reynolds. But I don't
put any stock in that. Why, I've cruised all over that region, and so
have others. There's not enough gold there to fill the eye-tooth of a
mouse. I've been on too many fool stampedes of late, and I'm sick of
them. What does that chechahco know about gold?"
"But Jim Weston is in with him," Curly reminded. "What d'ye make of
that?"
"H'm, Jim Weston knows more about robbing Indians than he does about
mining. He wouldn't know the real stuff from 'fool's gold.' No doubt
that's what they've found."
The talk now became general and continued for some time. Several
thought it worth while to go and see what the new discovery was like,
but others scoffed at the idea. They also discussed the disappearance
of Frontier Samson, and even hinted that perhaps his partner knew more
than he was willing to tell. Curly suggested that he should be brought
before them and questioned. This met with considerable favor, although
no one seemed inclined to take upon himself such a responsibility. It
was late when the men at length left the store, and took themselves off
to their various cabins. Curly and his band went together, and for the
rest of the night they communed and plotted in a lonely shack some
distance up the creek.
With no idea that he was the centre of such interest, Reynolds slept
soundly in his own little tent, for he was tired after his experiences
in the hills. It was late when he awoke in the morning, and after he
had eaten his frugal breakfast, he went over to the roadhouse for a
supply of tobacco. Shorty was the only one present, for most of the
miners were busy up the creek. Curly and his companions were still
asleep after their night's vigil, and evidently would not show
themselves for several hours. Shorty tried to learn from Reynolds
something about the gold he had discovered, and also asked about
Frontier Samson. But so little information did he gain, that he was
much annoyed and became suspicious as well.
Reynolds went back to his tent, filled and lighted his pipe, and
brought forth the two letters he had received, and read them again.
They interested him, for they contained scraps of news of the outside
world. But they were mostly filled with the editor's expressions of
regret that Reynolds was wasting his time in the north, when he might
be off on the great quest which was so near his heart.
"I hope you will return soon," he wrote, "and begin the search for
Henry Redmond. Only yesterday I received what I consider a clue as to
his whereabouts. I met a man who has been overseas, and telling him
about Redmond, he informed me that he believed he knew where he was.
He said that while in Switzerland he came across an old man and his
daughter. The girl was about eighteen or nineteen years of age, and
that corresponds with the age of the child Redmond took with him, for
she was only three or four at the time of his disappearance. He said
that the man had plenty of money, lived in a house beautifully
furnished, and possessed a good library. But he was most reticent
about himself, although he acknowledged that he was acquainted with
Canada, and had lived here for some time. So you see, I have reason
for believing that the man is Henry Redmond, and that you should go at
once and hunt him out. Even after you meet him, your task will still
bristle with difficulties, for he is evidently hard to approach."
Reynolds smiled as he read these words. He knew how anxious the editor
was for him to return that he might start at once upon the search. But
he had no idea of going to Switzerland, or anywhere else for that
matter, while the northland held such attractions. He decided to write
and tell his old friend to be patient a while longer, and then perhaps
he would receive the greatest surprise of his life. He tried to
picture the look upon the editor's face should he unexpectedly walk
into his office with Glen by his side. He believed that he would be
greatly pleased, for could any man in his right mind resist the girl's
charms? He knew that Harmon would be somewhat annoyed, for a woman
would ruin his hope of ever finding the missing Henry Redmond.
Reynolds spent part of the afternoon writing a long letter to the
editor. He had much to tell him about the country, his experiences in
the wilderness, and the mysterious ruler of Glen West. But of Glen he
said little, nothing, in fact, that would in any way arouse Harmon's
suspicion of the writer's deep interest in the girl.
When the letter was finished he took it over to the roadhouse to mail,
and then spent the rest of the afternoon upon the creek in an effort to
learn, if possible, something about Frontier Samson. But although he
questioned all the miners he saw, not one could enlighten him in the
least degree. He thought that several looked at him curiously when he
asked about the old prospector, and he wondered what they meant.
He spent some time far up the creek, and ate the lunch he had brought
with him in a quiet place near the stream which flowed down the valley,
and provided the necessary water for the sluice-boxes where the
precious gold was washed out. He enjoyed the seclusion, as it gave him
an opportunity to think over what the editor had written, and also
about Glen. He intended to leave early the next morning for Glen West
by way of Crooked Trail, and he knew that Glen would be waiting and
eager to greet him. Her face stood out clear and distinct in his mind,
and he recalled the words she had spoken, and her charming manner. His
heart beat fast as he thought of her, and he believed that she loved
him. He chided himself for not pouring out his heart to her that
evening as they stood by the side of the inland lake. The expression
in her eyes and the tone of her voice were those of a woman whose heart
must be filled with love, so he reasoned. Yes, he would speak to her
just as soon as he reached Glen West. The way would be short, for she
was his guiding star, and he would speed swiftly to the one he loved.
It was dusk when he at length rose to his feet and started down the
creek. He did not hurry as he had the whole evening before him, and
there was no one awaiting his coming. But there would be someone
tomorrow, and his heart thrilled, and his eyes shone with animation as
he thought of the girl beyond the Golden Crest.
Part way down Big Draw valley, and on the left side, was a sharp break
in the bank, where a small creek met the larger one. This in ages past
had evidently been a river, whose bed was now dry. It was up this
creek that the trail led out into the hills, the one that Reynolds had
always taken when he went forth on his hunting expeditions. The
entrance to this draw was now wrapped in semi-darkness, for the high
tree-clad banks shouldered toward each other, thus shutting out the dim
light of departing day.
Reynolds reached this place, and with a glance up the trail which he
would take in the morning, he had almost reached the opposite side,
when, without a word of warning, a light was flashed into his eyes, and
in an instant he was swept from his feet, hurled to the ground, and his
arms securely bound. He had no chance to defend himself, for
everything happened so quickly. There seemed to be quite a crowd of
men holding him fast, some sitting upon his body, while others held his
hands and feet. Although He strained and struggled desperately to free
himself, his efforts were of no avail, and he soon realised that he
might as well reserve his strength for whatever lay ahead.
"Now get on yer feet, an' be d---- quick about it, too." It was
Curly's voice, and Reynolds knew that the villain was at the bottom of
this affair.
He made no reply, however, but at once struggled to a standing position
and looked around. There appeared to be more than a dozen men, and by
the dim light he recognized several. They had been drinking, he could
easily tell, and were in a quarrelsome mood, and wrangled with one
another as to what they should do with their captive. One was for
stringing him up to a tree; another was for shooting him; while a third
suggested that they should pitch him head first down one of the
mining-shafts. But Curly would not listen to these propositions, and
gave orders that the prisoner should be taken up the creek in the
direction of Crooked Trail.
"It's safer there," he told them, "an' we don't want our fun spoiled by
the Police."
"There's none in camp to-night," one explained. "They're all off on
the trail."
"An' lucky fer us," Curly replied. "Anyway, let's hustle an' get out
of this."
Reynolds was immediately seized and hurried up the creek. He tried to
think and plan some way of escape. He realised that the situation was
serious, for with Curly, devilish and full of revenge, and at the head
of a band of half-drunken men as reckless as himself, there was no
knowing what he might do. But he was determined to be game, and await
further developments as calmly as possible.
As they moved forward he partly learned from the men's conversation why
they had waylaid him. He found out that Curly had been filling his
companions' minds with gross lies, and now inflamed with impure whiskey
they were willing tools in the hands of their revengeful leader.