The trip down to the big river was not altogether to Glen's liking. She preferred to stay at home, as she hoped to be able to spend part of the day with Reynolds, But her father had insisted upon her accompanying him, for he well knew why she wished to remain behind.
"It will do you good," he told her. "You need a change."
"I certainly do," was the emphatic reply. "I wish you would leave this place, daddy. I am tired living up here, where there are no people of my own age with whom I can associate."
Weston looked at his daughter in surprise.
"You used to be happy here, Glen. What has come over you?"
"I am older now, daddy, and see things in a different light. What is the good of my education if I am to spend the rest of my days in a place like this? The north is all right in a way, but for a girl such as I am the life is too narrow. It is a splendid region for a person who wishes to lead the quiet life, but I am not ready for that at present."
Weston made no reply to his daughter's words, but remained silent for some time as he stood with Sconda in the wheel-house. A worried expression appeared in his eyes, and his brow often knit in perplexity. He was keenly searching his own heart and mind such as he had not done in years. It was the first time that Glen had spoken to him so candidly about leaving the north, and he realised that she meant what she said.
There was a large bag of mail waiting for them, at the trading-post, and among the letters Glen found several from a number of her girl friends of the Seminary. As she read these on her way back upstream, she became more discontented than ever. They all told of the good times the girls were having in their various homes during their holidays, of parties, auto rides, and the numerous incidents which mean so much to the young. Glen laid each letter aside with a sigh. It was the life for which she longed, and what could she write in return? There was only one event which deeply interested her, and of that she could not speak.
She was tired when she reached home, and after supper went at once to her own room. She took with her a number of books, magazines, and newspapers, and although the latter were several weeks old, she eagerly read the doings of the outside world, especially items of news about persons she knew. She was lying upon a comfortable couch as she read, near the window fronting the lake. The light from the shaded lamp on the little table at her head threw its soft beams upon the printed page, and brought into clear relief the outlines of her somewhat tired face. It was a face suddenly developed from girlhood into womanhood, as the bud blossoms into the beautiful flower. Glen's heart cried out for companionship, and the bright sunshine of happy young lives surrounding her.
Throughout the day her thoughts had been much upon him who had recently come into her life. The sight of him standing upon the shore that morning had thrilled her, and she longed to give him a word of encouragement. So lying there this evening, with her paper at length thrown aside, she wondered what he was doing, and how he was enduring his captivity. Surely her father would not submit him to the Ordeal after what she had told him about her love. She tried to think of something that she could do, but the more she thought the more helpless she seemed to be.
At last she arose and went downstairs. She heard voices in her father's room, but who was with him she could not tell, as the door was almost closed. Going at once to the piano, she struck the few notes which brought Reynolds to her side. His unexpected presence startled her, and by the time she was on her feet, he had her hand in his and his strong arms around her. Not a word was said for a few seconds as he held her close. A great happiness such as she had never known before swept upon her. He loved her! That was the one idea which surged through her wildly-beating heart. Time was obliterated, fears and doubts vanished, and with him whom she loved holding her in his arms, it seemed as if heaven had suddenly opened. Her face was upturned to his, and in an instant Reynolds bent and imprinted a fervent kiss upon her slightly parted lips.
With a start Glen glanced toward the door, and gently untwined her lover's arms. Her face, flushed before, was scarlet now. Never before had the lips of man except her father's touched her own, and the rapture of the sensation was quickly succeeded by a strong maidenly reserve. What should she do? she asked herself. How could she atone for her indiscretion? She turned instinctively to the piano.
"Play. Sing," Reynolds ordered in a low voice, charged with deep emotion.
"What shall I play?" Glen faintly asked as she mechanically turned over several sheets of music.
"Anything; it doesn't matter, so long as you play. There, that, 'TheLong, Long Trail'; I like it."
Touching her fingers lightly to the keys, Glen played as well as the agitated state of her mind would permit. And as she played, Reynolds sang, such as he had never sung before. Presently Glen joined him, and thus together they sang the song through.
Across the hall Weston sat alone and listened. The stern expression had disappeared from his face, and his head was bowed in his hands.
"It has been a long, long trail to me," he murmured, "but the end seems in sight."
The music of another song now fell upon his ears. Again they were singing, and he noted how perfectly their voices blended. Ere long the music was interrupted by laughter, the cause of which Weston could not tell, but he was fully aware that the young couple were happy together, and apparently had forgotten all about him. At one time this would have annoyed him, but it affected him now in a far different manner, at which he was surprised.
Glen and Reynolds, however, had not forgotten the silent man in the other room, and at times they glanced anxiously toward the door. They both felt that their happiness would soon end, and then would come the cruel separation. But as the evening wore on and nothing occurred to mar their pleasure, they wondered, and spoke of it in a low whisper to each other. They sang several more songs, but most of the time they preferred to talk in the language which lovers alone know, a language more expressive in the glance, the flush of the cheeks, and the accelerated heartbeats, than all the fine words of the masters of literature. Time to them was a thing of naught, for they were standing on the confines of that timeless kingdom, described on earth as heaven.
The entrance of Nannie at length broke the spell, and brought them speedily back to earth. They knew that she was the bearer of some message from the master of the house, and what would that message be? But the woman, merely smiled as she came toward them, and informed Reynolds that it was getting late, and that his room was ready.
"Do you mean that I am to spend the night here?" he asked in surprise.
"It is the master's wish," was the reply. "He gave the order, and your room is ready. I will show you the way."
Reynolds glanced at Glen, and the light of joy that was beaming in her eyes told him all that was necessary.
"You are the first visitor to spend the night here," she said. "May your dreams be pleasant, for they are sure to come true.
"'Dreams to-night which come to youWill prove at length to be really true.'"
"May they be pleasant ones, then," Reynolds laughingly replied, as he reluctantly bade the girl a formal good-night, and followed Nannie out of the room.
The latter led him at once upstairs, and showed him into a room on the west side of the house. Reynolds was astonished at the manner in which it was furnished. He looked about with undisguised wonder and admiration.
"Why, this is a room for a prince!" he exclaimed. "I never slept in such a luxurious place in my life. Your master must have notable visitors at times." Then he recalled Glen's words. "But am I really the first visitor who ever stayed here all night?"
"You must be the favored one for whom this room has been waiting," the woman quietly replied. "You must be the prince."
"And this room has never been occupied before?"
"Never. When I came here years ago, the master told me that this room was not to be used, but must always be in readiness, for some day it would be unexpectedly needed. I never understood his meaning until to-night. But, there, I must not talk any more. Good-night, sir, and may sweet dreams be yours."
Reynolds found it difficult to get to sleep, although the bed was soft and comfortable, and he was tired after the excitement of the day and evening. At times he felt that he must be dreaming, for it did not seem possible that he had again met Glen, held her close, kissed her, and she had not objected. His heart was filled with happiness, and when at last he did fall asleep, his dreams were of her. But mingled with his visions was Curly, who appeared dark and sinister, threatening not only himself, but her who was so dear to him. He saw the villain in the act of harming her, while he himself was powerless to assist her. He was bound, and no matter how he struggled, he was unable to free himself.
He awoke with a start, and looked around. It was only a dream, and he gave a sigh of relief. He then remembered what Glen had said to him the night before, and he smiled. He was not the least bit superstitious, and had no belief in such notions. Let Curly or anyone else attempt to lay hands on the girl he loved, and it would not be well for him. He knew that the expelled rascal was capable of any degree of villainy, but that he would venture again near Glen West was most unlikely.
It was daylight now, so hurriedly dressing, Reynolds hastened downstairs. Glen was waiting for him in the dining-room, and a bright smile of welcome illumined her face as he entered. They were alone, and Reynolds longed to enfold her in his arms, and tell her all that was in his heart. He refrained, however, remembering how his impetuosity had carried him too far the previous evening. But it was different then, as he expected it would, be the last time he might see her, and he needed the one sweet kiss of remembrance. Now she was with him, and he felt sure of her love.
Weston and Nannie did not make their appearance, and as Glen sat at the head of the table and poured the coffee, she explained that they already had their breakfast.
"They are earlier than we are," Reynolds replied. "I had no idea it was so late."
"Didn't you sleep well?" Glen asked.
"Never slept better, that is, after I got to sleep. The wonderful events of last night kept me awake for a while."
Glen blushed and her eyes dropped. She did not tell how she, too, had lain awake much longer than anyone else in the house, nor that her pillow was moist with tears of happiness.
"I hope your dreams were pleasant," she at length remarked, "You know the old saying."
Reynolds' mind seemed suddenly centred upon the piece of meat be was cutting, and he did not at once reply. This Glen noticed, and an expression of anxiety appeared in her eyes.
"Do you wish me to tell you?" Reynolds asked, lifting his eyes to hers.
"If you don't mind. But I am afraid your dreams were bad."
"Not altogether; merely light and shade. The light was my dream of you, while the shade was of Curly."
"You dreamed of him!" Glen paused in her eating, while her face turned pale.
"There, now, I am sorry I mentioned it, Miss Weston. I knew it would worry you. But perhaps it is just as well for you to know."
"Indeed it is, especially when it concerns that man. Oh, he is not a man, but a brute. Please tell me about your dream."
In a few words Reynolds told her all, and when he had ended she sat for some time lost in thought. Her right arm rested upon the table, and her sunbrowned, shapely fingers lightly pressed her chin and cheek. She was looking out of the window which fronted the lake, as if she saw something there. The young man, watching, thought he never saw her look more beautiful. Presently a tremor shook her body. Then she gave a little nervous laugh, and resumed her breakfast.
"I am afraid I am not altogether myself this morning," she apologized. "But how can I help feeling nervous so long as Curly is anywhere in this country?"
Reynolds was about to reply when Nannie entered and told him that the master of the house wished to see him. With a quick glance at Glen, and asking to be excused, he left the room, expecting that the storm which had been so mercifully delayed was now about to break.
The master of Glen West was sitting at his desk as Reynolds entered. He was smoking, and at the same time reading a newspaper in which he was deeply interested. The latter he at once laid aside, and motioned his visitor to a chair. He then picked up a box of cigars lying near.
"Do you smoke?" he asked. "If so, you will enjoy these. They are a special brand."
"Thanks," Reynolds replied, as he lifted one from the box, and proceeded at once to light it. This reception was so different from what he had expected that he hardly knew what to think. Anyway, the first move was favorable, and that was a good token.
"You left me very abruptly last night," Weston charged, looking keenly at the young man.
"I certainly did," and Reynolds smiled. "But sometimes there is a virtue in abruptness, especially——"
"Especially what?" Weston queried, as Reynolds hesitated. "Go on."
"When a situation becomes tense and awkward."
"And you think it was so last night?"
"I am sure of it."
"What is your reason?"
"My own common sense."
Weston was silent for a few seconds, and puffed steadily at his cigar. Reynolds watching him out of the corner of his eye, wondered what was passing through his mind.
"Have the Indians been telling you anything?" Weston presently asked.
"About what?"
"Curly, and what happened to him?"
"Nothing. Didn't I tell you so last night?"
"I know you did, but I can hardly believe it. Are you sure?"
"I am positive. They were as silent and mysterious as the Sphinx. You deserve great credit, sir, for the way you have them trained."
This seemed to relieve Weston, and he even smiled.
"I was afraid they had been telling you something, but I am thankful to know that they can be trusted. But, see here, someone must have told you. Was it Glen or Nannie?"
"Oh, no; they are not to blame."
"Well, then, how in the world did you find out?"
"And so I was right?" Reynolds asked.
Weston removed the cigar from his mouth, and looked curiously at his visitor.
"Were you not sure?" he queried.
"Not at all," and Reynolds laughed. "I was not sure last night, thoughI am now."
A sudden cloud overspread Weston's face, which, passed away, however, almost instantly.
"I wish I had known this sooner, young man. You would not have got off so easily, let me tell you that. I was positive that you understood everything. But tell me, what led you to suspect the truth about Curly?"
"That you had not burned him alive?"
"Yes."
Reynolds deliberately removed the band from his cigar, and laid it carefully in the ash-tray. He was enjoying Weston's perplexity, which he believed was a new experience for this autocrat of Glen West. What a story he would have to tell his old friend Harmon. The editor would surely forgive him for going on what he called "a wild-goose chase," instead of searching for the missing Henry Redmond. What a write-up all this would make for his paper.
"Did you hear what I said?" Weston's voice was somewhat impatient.
"I beg your pardon," Reynolds apologized. "My mind was wool-gathering.You asked what led me to suspect the truth about Curly, did you not?"
"I did."
"Well, apart from yourself, and what I saw in you, there were four things which influenced my judgment. I only thought of one until I met you last night."
"And what are they?" Weston was keenly interested.
"First of all, I could not imagine that a man would burn a fellow-being alive who kept that near him," and Reynolds motioned to a book lying upon the desk.
Weston turned, and his face brightened.
"Oh, you mean the Bible. So that was one of your reasons, eh? But do you not know that the deepest-dyed villain often keeps the Bible close at hand? Such a man is generally fearful as well as superstitious, and so considers the Bible as a charm to ward off evil. It has been said, you remember, that the devil himself can quote Scripture for his own purpose. I venture to say that his satanic majesty knows the Bible better than many professing Christians. It is necessary for him to do so in order to answer the arguments it sets forth. Perhaps that is the way with me. Anyway, we shall dismiss that evidence as faulty. What next?"
"Your daughter, sir. I cannot believe that any man is a downright villain who is fortunate enough to have such a daughter."
"I see, I see," and Weston stroked his heavy moustache. "Did you not say something of a similar nature last night? But are you aware that a man may have a noble daughter, and still be a villain? Facts of history bear out what I say, unless I am greatly mistaken."
"That may have been true in some cases, sir," Reynolds replied. "However, I am not concerned about the past, but the present only. No matter what you may say to the contrary, you will not convince me. And besides, there is something else which hinges upon this reason."
"And what is that?"
"You are very fond of your daughter, are you not?"
"Certainly. She is all I have in the world, and she is dearer to me than life itself."
"Just so," and Reynolds smiled. "And for her sake, at least, you would not dare to burn any man alive."
"Wouldn't dare! Why not?"
"Simply because you would be hunted down as a murderer, and hung. Why, the Mounted Police would have had you in their clutches long before this."
"They would, eh? What do I care about law? Am I not a law unto myself?"
"In a way you are, so long as you do not commit any crime. But even though you might not care about yourself, you would not dare to do anything wrong for your daughter's sake. She means so much to you, that you would not dare to commit any desperate act for fear of disgracing her. Is not that so?"
Weston made no reply, but sat looking intently into Reynolds' face.
"There is another reason," the latter continued, "to which I feel certain you can make no objection, and it isthat."
He pointed as he spoke to a framed picture hanging above the desk. It was the face of a woman of remarkable beauty, and closely resembling Glen, although somewhat older.
Weston, too, looked, and as he did so his face underwent a marvellous transformation. He tried to control himself, but in vain. Rising suddenly to his feet, he paced rapidly up and down the room. Once he stopped and fixed his eyes upon the picture. At length he turned toward his visitor.
"It is true. It is true," he declared, almost fiercely. "To your other reasons I could make some defence, but not to this. I would not dare to do anything wrong for my dear dead wife's sake. Her memory is most precious. Young man, you have hit me hard."
He paused and looked again at the picture. Then he sank down upon his chair, and buried his face in his hands.
Reynolds rose and was about to leave the room, when Weston lifted his head.
"Don't go yet," he ordered, endeavoring to control himself. "I am somewhat unnerved this morning. There is something more I wish to say to you. It is years since I have talked to anyone as I have to you. Sit down and tell me what you are going to do."
"That remains with you, sir," Reynolds replied, as he resumed his seat.
"With me! It remains with me! I do not understand."
"Am I not your prisoner, sir? It is not what I am going to do, but what you are going to do to me."
"Ah, yes, quite true," and Weston was silent for a few seconds. "But suppose you are given your freedom, what then?" he asked.
"I should go at once in search of my old friend, Frontier Samson," was the decided reply. "He must be greatly concerned about my disappearance, and no doubt he is still seeking for me out in the hills."
"And should you find him——?"
"We would at once visit the gold mine I discovered when I was lost."
"What! did you discover gold? Where?"
"On that last ridge before I reached the river," Reynolds explained. "I took shelter in a cave from a furious storm, and there found more gold than I ever expected to see in my whole life. The walls of the cave are full of it, and it seems to be of the best quality."
"Do you think you can find the place again?" Weston asked.
"I believe so," and Reynolds briefly described the situation.
"I know it! I know it!" Weston exclaimed. "It is the highest peak on that ridge between here and the Tasan. The side this way is very steep and rocky, is it not?"
"Yes, and the summit is bare. It was there I had a desperate fight with an eagle, killed it, and carried off its eggs, which saved my life. From the high point I caught the first glimpse of the river."
"And suppose you find the gold, what then?" Weston asked.
"Oh, I shall take my share of it, of course."
"And after that?"
"I am not altogether sure. But there is one thing I should do before undertaking anything else. In fact, I am almost pledged to it. Harmon will never forgive me if I don't."
"Harmon, did you say?" Weston questioned. "I once knew a man by that name."
"It is Harmon, editor and principal owner of theVancouver TelegramandEvening News. He has been a father to me, and is greatly interested in my welfare. He has a hobby which I call 'a wild-goose scheme,' and he thinks that I am the only one who can carry it out. He is not the Harmon you knew, I suppose?"
Weston did not at once reply, but sat staring straight before him as if he saw something strange in the wall. His bronzed face had a peculiar pallid color, and his eyes expressed wonder and incredulity. He was forced to keep his hands clasped before him, so great was his emotion. Reynolds watched him curiously, but said nothing.
"And what is Harmon's hobby?" Weston at length found voice to enquire.
"Oh, a pet scheme for the finding of a man who disappeared years ago."
"And the man's name?" Weston was once more calm.
"Henry Redmond, so he told me. He was a prominent business man, but after the death of his wife he mysteriously vanished, and left no trace of his whereabouts."
"Strange, was it not?" Weston queried, as he furtively eyed the young man. "Perhaps he is dead."
"That is what I suggested to Harmon, but he would not entertain the idea at all."
"Did he give any reason for his belief that the man is alive?"
"He showed me a clipping taken from a paper years ago. These are the words which I committed to memory:
"'I go from the busy haunts of men, far from the worry and bustle 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 loop-holes of retreat I shall watch the stress and fever of life, but shall not mingle in the fray.'"
"Was there any name signed to that?" Weston asked, when Reynolds had finished.
"I understand there was none."
"Why, then, does your friend Harmon imagine that it refers to Redmond?"
"Because it appeared immediately after the man's disappearance, andHarmon told me it was just like Redmond to do such a thing."
"It is all mere conjecture, then?"
"It is."
"And upon the strength of that your friend, would have you undertake the wild-goose adventure, as you term it. What are his reasons?"
"He wishes me to find an outlet for my restless spirit; to satisfy his own curiosity; and finally, to have a series of special articles for his paper."
"What! Does Harmon want you to write a full account of your adventure, and all about the missing man should you find him?"
"It seems so, though I guess he will have to wait a long time. I must first of all find Frontier Samson, and get that gold. Then, perhaps, something else may interfere with Harmon's plans."
"Yes, yes, you must find the old prospector and get the gold," Weston agreed. "But you will need assistance. I know the region as well as any man, and I have a comfortable cabin in the hills. Allow me to go with you to direct your search."
Reynolds' eyes opened wide with amazement, and he stared at Weston as if he had not heard aright. Could it be possible that this man, the stern ruler of Glen West, and Glen's father, was really offering to assist him? Weston divined his thoughts, and smiled.
"I know you are astonished," he told him. "But, you see, I am not yet beyond the lure of gold, and should we find that mine, there might be something in it for me. We might go partners, eh?"
"That would be great," Reynolds replied with enthusiasm. "But we must not leave the old prospector out."
"Oh, no, that would never do. We shall see that he gets his share, providing we find him. I am really anxious to be off at once," and Weston rose as he spoke.
"When shall we start?" Reynolds asked.
"In a couple of days, if that will suit you. It will not take long to make the necessary arrangements for the trip, and we shall take two Indians to look after our welfare."
Weston was almost like a boy in his excitement, and Reynolds could hardly believe him to be the same man he had faced the night before.
"You may go and tell Glen about our proposed trip," Weston said. "She must be wondering what we are talking so long about."
"And will she go too?" Reynolds eagerly asked.
"Certainly. It would not do to leave her behind. She would be very angry if we did. And, besides, she must have a share in that mine. Ho, ho, there will be four of us on the ground-floor, all right, and the rest can have what we leave, providing there is any. Hurry away, now, and tell Glen to get ready. It generally takes a woman two or three days to prepare for a journey."
Glen was greatly agitated when her father summoned Reynolds into his presence. She felt that the critical moment had arrived, and she dreaded what might follow. Although she loved her father, yet at times she feared him. Suppose he should send Reynolds away at once, and forbid his return to Glen West? He had treated others in a harsh manner, and why should he act differently now? Her only ray of hope lay in the thought that he had allowed the young man to stay at the house over night, and had permitted him to sleep in the room which had never before been occupied.
She sat for some time after Reynolds had left, with her elbows upon the table, and her hands propping her chin. Her appetite had suddenly left her, and her coffee remained untasted. The morning sun flooding the room, fell upon her hair and face, and had her lover seen her then, he would have admired her more than ever. She was in a most thoughtful mood, and at the same time she listened intently for any sound of strife that might come from her father's study.
At length she arose, picked up her broad-rimmed straw-hat, and went out of doors. It was a hot morning with not a breath of wind astir. The water was like a mirror, and the high hills were reflected in its clear depths. It called to her now, and appealed to her as of yore, and urged her to seek comfort upon its placid bosom.
Walking swiftly down to the wharf, she launched her light canoe, one which had been brought in from the outside for her own special use. Sconda was standing nearThe Frontiersman, and he offered to accompany her. But Glen smilingly told him that she wished to be alone this morning, and that perhaps Klota needed him more than she did. The Indian was quite surprised at her refusal, and somewhat piqued as well. It was the first time she had ever spoken to him in such a manner, and he stood silently watching the girl as she settled herself in the canoe, and dipped her paddle into the water. Then he wended his way slowly homeward, wondering what had come over his young imperious mistress.
But Glen was not thinking about Sconda, and she had no idea that she had in any way annoyed the faithful native. She paddled straight across the creek until she reached the opposite side. Here she ran the canoe ashore, and watched most intently the big house in the distance.
She remained here for some time anxiously observing all that was taking place around the house, expecting at any moment to see Reynolds come forth. And when he did come, would he at once go down to the village, to be conducted beyond the pass? Perhaps her father might send for the guard, who would lead him forth as a prisoner. At this thought a tremor shook her body, and she nervously drove the paddle into the water, and sent the canoe reeling from the shore. Only in action now could she endure the strain of waiting.
She had just reached the middle of the creek, when, glancing toward the house, her heart gave a great leap, for there coming down to the wharf was the very one of whom she was thinking. He was walking rapidly and at the same time waving his hand to her. Instantly she headed the canoe for the shore, and when its graceful bow touched lightly against the wharf, he was standing there waiting to receive her. The smile upon his face and light of joy in his eyes told her that all was well, and so great was her happiness that for a moment she had no word to say. Her cheeks were flushed with the invigorating exercise, and the eyes which were turned to her lover's were moist with tears, and gleamed like sparkling diamonds. Reynolds, too, was speechless for a few seconds. A feeling of almost sacred awe swept upon him as he looked upon that fair pure face. Although his life was clean and above reproach, yet he felt most unworthy when in the presence of such a beautiful, unsullied being. It never had affected him so intensely as on this bright morning on the shore of that inland water. What right had he to presume to love such a girl? he asked himself.
For several seconds neither spoke. It was that mysterious silence which sometimes comes when heart responds to heart, and where love is true and deep. Then they both laughed and the spell was broken. Just why they laughed they could not tell, although they felt very happy.
"Come for a spin," Glen suggested. "I want to hear all. You paddle," she ordered, as she turned herself about in the canoe. "I have already had my morning's exercise."
"And so have I," Reynolds laughingly replied, as he seated himself astern and sent the canoe from the wharf.
"But of a different nature, though?" and Glen looked quizzically into his face.
"Quite different. I exercised my lungs, and your father did the same."
"Not in anger, I hope."
"Oh, no. We had a great heart to heart talk, and got on splendidly.We parted like two lambs, and are the best of friends."
"You are!" The girl's lips merely breathed the words, but they told of her great relief.
"Yes, it is true. And more than that, we have already planned for a trip together in the hills, and you are to go with us, that is, if you wish to go."
At these words, Glen's face underwent a marvellous change.
"Don't go," she pleaded. "Stay where you are."
"Why, what is the matter?" and Reynolds looked his surprise as he paused in a stroke.
"Have you forgotten your dream last night? It was bad, and first dreams in a new place are sure to come true."
Reynolds laughed, as he again dipped the paddle into the water.
"Surely you are not superstitious, Miss Weston. Why should one be alarmed at dreams? They are nothing."
"That may be true," and Glen trailed her hand in the water. "But an uneasy feeling has taken possession of me which I cannot banish. I was brought up among Indians, you know, and they are naturally superstitious."
"And they have filled your mind with nonsense, I suppose."
"I am afraid so," and the girl gave a deep sigh.
They were some distance up the creek now, and the canoe was gliding almost noiselessly through the water. Glen asked Reynolds about his conversation with her father, and he told her all that had taken place. She listened with the keenest interest. Her face was aglow with animation, and her eyes shone with the light of astonishment.
"I can hardly believe it," she exclaimed when Reynolds had finished. "Anyway, I am so thankful that daddy did not get angry, I hope he will not change his mind. He is so gentle and good at times, and again he is so stern and harsh. Oh! what is that?" she cried, as something struck the water with a zip near the canoe.
Reynolds had ceased paddling, and was staring back at a spot where the water had been ruffled, but not by the motion of the canoe. Then he glanced shoreward, and his eyes keenly searched the high ridge of the Golden Crest.
"It must have been a fish leaping for a fly," he somewhat absently suggested.
"But I heard the report of a rifle," Glen declared. "It came from up there," and she motioned to the right.
"Perhaps someone is hunting, and a stray bullet may have come this way."
"It may be so, but let us go home." Glen's face was pale, and her eyes bore an anxious expression.
Reynolds at once swung the canoe around, and paddled with long steady strokes toward the village. He knew that Glen was somewhat unnerved, and he upbraided himself for telling her about his dream. Why are some people so foolish as to believe in such things? he asked himself.
"Suppose we go over to Sconda's," Glen suggested. "I want to seeKlota. She is doing some work for me."
"I understand," Reynolds replied. "You wish to find out how that bearskin is getting along."
Glen glanced quickly at him, smiled, and slightly blushed.
"You saw it, then? You recognized it?"
"Sconda showed it to me. It is a beauty."
"Do you want it?"
"Oh, no. I have no place to keep such a thing. It pleases me to know that you are anxious to have it as a——"
"As a souvenir of my deliverance," the girl assisted, as Reynolds hesitated.
"And of our first meeting," he added.
Glen did not reply, but looked thoughtfully out over the water toward the shore. She was glad that Reynolds believed she wished to go to Sconda's merely to see about the skin. But in truth, there was something far more important, and it was this which now disturbed her mind. She did not wish to exhibit her anxiety, so the idea of viewing the bearskin was as good a pretext as any other.
They found Klota at the back of the house busily engaged upon the skin, which was stretched over a log. She paused in her work and smiled as the two approached. Glen spoke to her in Indian, and asked her how she was getting along. Seeing Sconda across the street talking with an Indian, Reynolds went at once to him to discuss the proposed trip into the hills. This suited Glen, as she wanted to be alone for a time with Klota.
"Is Sconda going with us on our trip?" she asked.
"Ah, ah. Sconda is going," was the reply. Then an anxious expression appeared in the old woman's eyes as she turned them upon her fair visitor. "Don't you go," she warned. "Stay home."
"Why, Klota?" Glen asked as calmly as possible, although her fast-beating heart told of her agitation.
"Something might happen out there," and the Indian woman motioned to her left.
"What has Klota seen? Has she heard anything?"
"Klota has seen and heard. Don't go."
"What have you seen and heard?" Glen urged.
"Bad, ugh! Bad dream. Bad white man."
"Curly?" Glen's face was very white.
"Ah, ah, Curly. Bad, all same black bear. Don't go."
Klota resumed her work upon the skin, and although Glen questioned her further, she only shook her head, and refused to talk. What had this woman heard? Glen asked herself, or was it only a dream? She knew how much stress the Indians laid upon dreams, and how she herself had been so strongly influenced since childhood by weird stories she had heard from the natives.
She was unusually silent and thoughtful as she and Reynolds walked slowly up the street toward the big house. She longed to tell her companion what Klota had said, but she hesitated about doing so. Would he not consider her weak and foolish? She knew that her father would only laugh at her if she told him. She did not wish to make herself ridiculous in their eyes, and yet she could not get her lover's dream nor Klota's warning out of her mind. She thought of them that afternoon as she made preparations for the journey. Her father had told her that they were to start early the next morning, and if she wished to go she must be ready. She did want to go, for she enjoyed the life in the hills. Nevertheless, she often found herself standing at the window looking out over the lake. Why should she go if there was any risk? she asked herself. She knew that Curly was capable of almost any degree of villainy, but was he not far away at Big Draw? It was hardly likely that he would again venture near the Golden Crest. But if he did, would she not have her father and Reynolds to protect her?
Hitherto she had only thought of harm to herself. But there suddenly came into her mind the fear that something might happen to another, and she flushed as she thought who that other would be. Had she not seen Curly's face, and heard some of his terrible words the day of his arrest as he was being taken up the street? It would, therefore, be upon Reynolds that he would endeavor to give vent to his rage. Just how he would do this, she could not tell, but it would be necessary for her to be ever on guard.
A feeling of responsibility now took possession of her such as she had never known before. She felt that the life of her lover was in her keeping, and perhaps her father's as well. She knew that they would not listen to any warning from her, and so she might as well keep silent. The dream and Klota's words might amount to nothing, yet it was well to be ready for any emergency.
Opening a drawer in her dresser, she brought forth a revolver, and held it thoughtfully in her hand for a few minutes. As a rule she carried it with her on all her trips beyond the Golden Crest, and she had been well trained in the use of the weapon since she was a mere girl. She was a good shot, and was very proud of her accomplishment.
"A girl should always be able to take care of herself," her father had told her over and over again.
"In a country such as this one never knows what might happen, and it is well to be prepared."
That evening as she sat at the piano and played while Reynolds sang, she forgot for a time her anxiety. His presence dispelled all gloomy fears, and the sound of his voice thrilled her very being. They were both happy, and all-sufficient to each other.
Across the hall in his own room, Jim Weston sat alone, ensconced in a big comfortable chair. He was re-reading one of his favorite books, "Essays of Nature and Culture." He was engrossed in the chapter, "The Great Revelation," and as he read, the music across the way beat upon his brain, and entered into his soul. "Every bit of life is a bit of revelation; it brings us face to face with the great mystery and the great secret." . . . He paused, and listened absently to the music. "All revelation of life has the spell, therefore, of discovery." . . . The words of the song the young people were now singing again arrested his attention. He liked "Thora"; it was a song of the north, and Glen had often sung it to him. "There is the thrill, the wonder, the joy of seeing another link in the invisible chain which binds us to the past and unites us to the future." The words of the essay startled him. He laid aside the book, and rested his head upon his hand. "Another link in the invisible chain which binds us to the past." He thought of her who had made his life so pleasant. He glanced above his desk, and a mistiness came into his eyes. Memory now was the only link which bound him to the past, to those sweet days of long ago.
And as he sat there, the singing still continued. He only half comprehended the meaning of the words, for he was living in another world. But presently he started, clutched the arms of his chair, and bent intently forward.
"'Tis a tale that is truer and olderThan any the sagas tell;I loved you in life too little,I love you in death too well!"
In the adjoining room the happy young couple went on with their singing, and when the song was finished, they stopped, said something in a low voice, and then laughed joyously. But the ruler of Glen West paced restlessly up and down his study. He heard no more singing that night, for he had softly closed the door. Long after the rest had retired, and the house was wrapped in silence, he continued his pacing, only stopping now and then to gaze longingly at the picture above his desk. Since his return from the hills Jim Weston had learned a new lesson, but before it could be applied, it was necessary for him to undergo the severest mental and spiritual struggle he had ever known.
After Curly had been dumped unceremoniously beyond the Golden Crest, and sternly ordered never to return, he had sped hurriedly forward. He was careless whither his steps led, so long as he was away from Glen West and that frowning mountain ridge. Fear still possessed his soul, and he believed that he had escaped death as if by a miracle. He was so frightened that he did not realise how tired and hungry he was until he had done a considerable distance, stumbling at every step, and at times falling prone upon the ground. His bruises he hardly felt until he had almost reached the foot of the long slope down which he was speeding. Then a great weakness came upon him, and his body trembled. Then he knew that he was very hungry and a long way from Big Draw. What should he do? How could he drag his tired body any farther through the night, with no trail to guide him? In fact, he did not know where he was. Then the terrible truth flashed upon his mind that he was lost. This brought him to his senses, and his terror vanished. In its stead, a burning rage swept upon him, filled his heart, and made him once more a brute thirsting for revenge. Before his distorted vision rose the mocking face of Jim Weston, and a deep growling curse spued from his lips. Then he saw Glen standing with Reynolds by the side of the street, and turning swiftly around he faced the Golden Crest, and lifting his dirty bleeding right hand, he shook his clenched fist, and hurled forth a stream of terrible imprecations. But every word sent forth came back with a startling clearness from the mysterious depths of the brooding forest. Nature could not contain such language within her unsullied bosom, but returned it immediately to the vile source from whence it came.
When Curly's rage had somewhat spent itself, he began to meditate upon swift and dire revenge. But first of all he needed food, and assistance from someone as base as himself. Big Draw could supply him with the former, but he had no idea where he could find the latter. He thought of Slim Fales, his recent companion. Him, however, he soon dismissed from his mind as unsuitable. Slim had not suffered as he had, and would not enter heartily into any proposal he might make. And, besides, Slim had fled and left him to his fate. No, he must find someone as desperate as himself upon whom he could thoroughly depend.
This feeling of revenge gave Curly new strength. He must reach Big Draw, obtain food, and make whatever plans would be necessary. Once more he headed for the valley, lying dark and sullen below. By following this, he expected to reach the big creek on which the mining camp was situated.
Arriving ere long at the bottom of the hill, he moved as fast as possible down the creek. There was no trail to guide him, and it was with much difficulty that he made his way through the forest, which was here thick and scrubby. So painful did this at last become, that he was forced to follow the little brook which flowed down the valley. This, too, was rough, and at times he was compelled to walk in the water. But there were no trees to bother him, so he accordingly made better progress.
He had thus gone some distance when, rounding a bend in the creek, he was surprised to see directly before him the light of a camp fire. Hope at first leaped into his heart. Then he became cautious, for he could not tell whether it was the stopping place of friend or foe. Carefully now he advanced, and when near enough to recognize the face of a man sitting before the blaze, he emitted a whoop, and rushed forward.
At this startling sound from the grimness of the forest, the lone camper started, seized his rifle, and leaped to his feet.
"Who are you?" he demanded. "Stop, or I'll shoot."
"It's only me," Curly hastened to reply, as he stepped forth, into the circle of light. "Ye wouldn't shoot a friend, would ye, Dan?"
The latter lowered his rifle, and stared with undisguised surprise upon his visitor.
"Well, fer the love of heaven!" he exclaimed, scanning closely the wretched creature who had so unexpectedly appeared. "Where did you drop from? and what has happened?"
"Give me something to eat," Curly gasped, "an' then I'll tell ye. I'm almost dead."
Laying aside his rifle, the other opened a bag nearby and produced several hard-tack biscuits. Like a ravenous beast Curly seized and devoured them.
"More, more," he begged.
"I'm short myself," Dan informed him, as he again thrust his hand into the bag. "There, take them," and he tossed over two more biscuits.
When Curly had eaten the last crumb, he searched into a hole in his jacket and brought forth an old blackened pipe.
"Got any tobacco, Dan? Mine's all gone."
Without a word the latter passed him part of a plug.
"A match," was the next request.
"What d'ye think I am?" was the curt reply; "a store? Get a light fer yourself," and Dan motioned to the fire. "I can't spare any matches."
Curly did as he was ordered, lighted his pipe with a small burning stick, and then stretched himself out before the fire. He was a sorry looking spectacle, and Dan watched him curiously.
"What's the matter, Curly?" he asked. "Where have you been?"
"Where d'ye think I've been?" was the surly reply. "Where do I look as if I'd been? To a Garden Party?"
"Well, no, judging by your appearance. Haven't been mauled by a grizzly, have you?"
"No, worse than a grizzly. I've been in the hands of devils, that's where I've been. And his Satanic majesty was there, too."
"H'm, it's rather early, isn't it, Curly?" and Dan grinned.
"Early! What d'ye mean?"
"Nothing, except that ye didn't expect to meet the devil an' his bunch until ye cashed in, did ye?"
"Oh, I see. But we'll be pardners, then, Dan, never fear. But if the devil an' his gang are any worse than the ones at Glen West, then the outlook isn't very bright for either of us."
"So you've been in Jim Weston's hands, eh?" Dan queried, while his eyes closed to a narrow squint.
"Should say I have, an' just barely escaped. It was terrible!" Curly's hands trembled, and into his eyes came a look of fear as he glanced apprehensively around. "Ye don't suppose they've followed me, do you?"
"Don't be a fool," Dan chided. "D'ye want me to tell ye something?"
"Sure. Go ahead."
"Jim Weston and his Indian gang were only bluffing."
"Bluffing!"
"That's what I said. Look here, Curly, they did the same thing to me, and scared me nearly to death when I was prowling around Glen West. I thought fer certain that I had escaped just by the skin of me teeth. But since I've talked with several others who were treated in the same way, I know that the whole thing is a bluff, an' nothin' more."
Curly's eyes were big with amazement, and slowly he comprehended the meaning of it all.
"An' ye think they wouldn't burn a man alive?" he gasped.
"No. Take my word fer it, they have never done such a thing yet, an' never will. Jim Weston wants to keep all white men away from Glen West, an' so he puts up that bluff. It's on account of his daughter. He knows that more than you an' me have their eyes on her. That's what took you there, wasn't it?"
"Sure. D'ye think it'd be anything else than a woman that would put me into such a scrape?"
"An' didn't get her after all. That's too bad."
"But I will get her," Curly declared with an oath. "That slick gentleman sucker isn't going to have her."
"Who d'ye mean?"
"Oh, you know, don't ye? It's that guy who knocked off the bottles.He's at Glen West now, an' very chummy with Jim Weston's daughter."
"How in h—— did he get there?"
"Search me. But he's there, all right, an' from all appearance he's going to stay, for a while at least, until I show me hand."
"What can you do? It seems to me that you've had enough of that place already."
"So I have, but not of the girl. My, she's worth riskin' one's neck for. But, say, Dan, what are you doing out here?"
"Prospectin', of course. What else would I be doin'?"
"Strike anything?"
"Not yet, though I've good prospects in sight, 'specially since you've arrived."
Seeing the look of surprise in Curly's eyes, Dan laughed.
"Yes," he continued, "I'm prospectin' in the same way that you are.I'm after Jim Weston's gal."
"You are!" Curly's face brightened. "How long have you been at it?"
"Oh, fer about a week. Ye see, I got into the same scrape that you did, an' was pitched this side of Golden Crest, with strict orders to head fer Big Draw at once."
"An' did ye?"
"Sure. I did as I was told. But I returned, built a shack in the hills, an' have been prowlin' around ever since waitin' me chance. Jim Weston's daughter sometimes rides alone on this side of the Crest, but so far I've missed meetin' her. But I'll get her one of these days, an' then her devil of a father will know that Dan Hivers has some of the Old Nick in him as well as he has. It's a mighty poor game, to my way of thinkin', at which two can't play."
"Yes, and more than two," Curly eagerly replied. "You're just the manI need. Let's work together, Dan, an' we'll be company fer each other.Have you any grub?"
"Lots of it in me shack. I brought a good supply from Big Draw, an' fresh meat is plentiful in the hills. I've an extra rifle, too, if ye need it."
"What's your plan?" Curly asked. "You know this region better'n I do."
Dan did not at once reply, but sat looking thoughtfully into the fire.
"An' ye say that guy's got the cinch on the gal?" he at length queried.
"Seems so. He was with her when I was led past, an' they seemed mighty happy together."
"Is that so? An' I suppose he'll be with her wherever she goes."
"Most likely. But we can fix him, can't we?"
"We'll have to find some way, but the question is, how?"
"The gun-route might be the best," and Curly motioned significantly toward the rifle. "Accidents sometimes happen, ye know."
"But what about the old man? He might make trouble."
"Then, settle him, too. He goes alone into the hills, doesn't he?"
"Why, yes. I never thought of that. He's got a cabin over yonder. I know where it is. He often spends days alone there, with not a soul around, prospectin', so I understand."
"Something might happen there, too, eh?" and Curly grinned. "Then the girl will be ours."
"But what about the Police?" Dan warned. "They'd be on our trail like greased-lightning."
"But it will be an accident like the other, won't it?"
"But suppose the accidents don't happen?"
"The devil do I care. Let me get the girl, an' I'll look out fer myself after that. I've been in such scrapes before, an' I guess you have, too, Dan."
For some time the two villains sat that night before the fire, and discussed in detail their nefarious plans. They were men in whose bosoms no feeling of pity or sympathy dwelt. To them a pure noble girl was merely an object of their vile passions. Others had been victimized by these brutes, and they had now sunk so low that they were willing to sacrifice innocent lives in order to gratify their base desires.
Next morning found the two plotters moving steadily on their way up toward the Golden Crest where it curved in to the lake. They kept away as far as possible from the pass for fear of watchful Indians. But farther north where the land was more rugged, they would be safe. From this vantage ground they could look down upon the village and observe much that was taking place there. Curly was feeling the effects of his experiences the previous day and was surly and ugly. Dan had fed him and supplied him with a buck-skin jacket which made him more presentable. But Curly's temper was bad, and he vented his spleen upon Reynolds and Jim Weston in no mild language.
The high ridge of the Golden Crest was not reached until about the middle of the morning, and here from a concealed position the two men looked down upon Glen West lying snugly by the water's side. They could see the big house quite plainly, and they eagerly watched Glen as she paddled alone upon the creek. She was beyond their reach, however, so they were helpless. But when the girl was at length joined by Reynolds, and the canoe was headed upstream, Curly's eyes glowed with the fire of hatred and jealousy, while his hands gripped hard the rifle he was holding. He was lying flat upon the ground, peering over the edge of a big boulder with Dan close by his side. As the canoe came nearer, Curly thrust his rifle impetuously forward and fired. With a curse, Dan reached out and laid a firm hand upon the weapon.
"What in h—— d'ye mean?" he demanded. "Ye've spoiled everything."
"I wanted to get that cur down there," was the snarling reply. "I missed him that time, but I'll get him yet."
"No, ye don't," Dan declared, as Curly tried to free the rifle from his companion's grasp. "If ye shoot again, we'll have a pack of Indians after us. There, look now!" and he pointed to the canoe which was heading down the creek. "That's what you've done. You've scared our game and sent them back to give the alarm. Most likely they intended to land somewhere up the creek, an' do some private spoonin'. We could have crept down, knocked out the guy, an' carried off the gal. But now—bah! ye've spoiled the whole show!"
Curly made no reply, but lay there watching the canoe until it had reached Sconda's landing. His heart was bitter with rage as he recalled his expulsion from Glen West, while his opponent was in full possession of the girl he was seeking. Several times during the morning he voiced his sentiments to his companion.
"Just wait, Curly," Dan comforted. "Our turn will come, never fear, providin' ye don't lose yer head as ye did this mornin'. I know something about lovers. They generally like to get off somewhere by themselves to do their spoonin'. They'll be wanderin' up along that trail between here an' the water some time this afternoon, an' that'll be our chance."
But this time Dan was mistaken. The young lovers did not come up the trail, neither did they see them again during the remainder of the day, although they stayed there until the sun had gone down. They accordingly went back to Dan's cabin a sulky and ugly pair. Lustful, and filled with the spirit of revenge, they became all the more determined and desperate the more they were baffled in their plans.
Early the next morning they again took up their position on the high crest. They did not have long to wait now, for in less than an hour they beheld something upon the trail below them which gladdened their devilish hearts. At once they vanished from the summit, and like panthers stole cautiously through the forest, and cautiously began to stalk their unconscious prey.