Stannard was marked by a superficial languidness. Strangers thought him careless and his humorous tranquillity had charm. For all that, when speed was important he moved fast and after he telephoned to the station he got to work. He packed rucksacks for his companions, got ropes and ice-axes, and arranged with the hotel cook to put up a supply of food. Then he sent a messenger for two or three half-breeds who carried loads for fishing parties. Stevens helped and admitted that Stannard knew his job. All he did was carefully thought about.
After some time Dillon joined them and Stannard said, "It's awkward, but Willmer at Revelstoke is engaged. However, he states he can send us a useful man and we are to meet him at the station. He'll come by the train in the morning and we'll get on board. We ought to reach the railroad hut Jimmy talks about by dark and if the night is clear we'll push on."
"If the police are about the station where we get off, they may stop us."
"It's possible," Stannard agreed. "Still they don't know our object and we must persuade them we are mountaineering tourists. Boast about your climbingand the Canadian Alpine Club; Stevens knows their exploits. All the same, I imagine the police are in the mountains. Well, your sack is packed, and when you have got your snow-spectacles and the grease for your skin, we'll stop for a smoke."
In the morning the half-breed packers arrived and soon afterwards all were ready to start. The hotel servants and three or four guests came to see them go, but when the others strapped on their loads Stannard joined Laura on the steps.
"Well, we are going to Jimmy's help," he said with a smile. "Frank is very keen, but as far as possible I'll try to see he does nothing rash. To know your marriage is fixed is some comfort."
Laura looked up quickly. Although Stannard's smile was kind, she was vaguely disturbed.
"When Frank wanted the wedding soon I thought you agreed rather easily. I was satisfied to stay with you for some time."
"Oh, well," said Stannard. "I'm afraid I haven't carried out my duties. I'm a careless fellow and feel my daughter does not owe me much. Although you have grown up beautiful and attractive, Nature and your aunts are accountable. Then, you see, I'm getting old, and mountaineering is my hobby. Sometimes one slips on an icy rock—"
"You mustn't talk like that; it hurts," said Laura with a touch of emotion. "You gave me all I asked for; you have always indulged me. Then I urged you to go, and now I feel I ought not to urge. To be generous in my way costs one nothing. I shall not venture on the rocks; I send you."
Stannard laughed, but Laura, studying him, was moved. Her father was handsome and wore the stamp of high cultivation. Although he was not young, he carried himself like an athlete. She knew his strength and pluck and his gentleness to her. Now she thought him fine and chivalrous.
"You follow your heart," he said and kissed her. Then he pulled out his watch. "But I must not be selfish and Frank is waiting."
Dillon advanced and Stannard resumed: "Youth is romantic and sometimes exaggerates. Laura imagines her generosity and yours accounts for my starting on our adventure. Well, perhaps I'm slow and cautious, but now and then one recaptures a touch of one's boyish rashness. However, I mustn't philosophize. We must get off in a few minutes."
"I'll join you on the trail," said Dillon, who remarked that Stannard implied that he hesitated to go. Stannard had said something like that before, as if he wanted others to note that the plan was not his. All the same, it was not important, and Dillon took Laura's hand.
Five minutes afterwards the party started. The packers carried the heavy loads, the others the ice-axes, and Stevens and Stannard wore round their shoulders coils of Alpine rope. Where the trail turned they stopped for a moment and waved their hats, and then vanished in the trees.
Some time afterwards Laura saw a plume of black smoke roll across the pines and stole off to her room. She did not want Mrs. Dillon's comfort. Her father and her lover had started for the rocks, and if they paid for their rashness, she was accountable.
In the morning she got a jar, for a sergeant of the Royal North-West Police arrived at the hotel. He was polite but firm, and Laura saw she must brace up. Mrs. Dillon had gone with her to the rotunda and to know she had her help was some comfort.
"Mr. Stannard started for the mountains yesterday," the sergeant remarked. "He took a quantity of camp truck and two of your friends. Where did he go?"
"I don't altogether know his line," Laura replied. "When you climb high mountains you cannot make fixed plans. Much depends on the snow."
"Well, I expect Mr. Stannard stated where he meant to start?"
"Why, of course," said Mrs. Dillon. "He'd get off at the Green River depot."
The sergeant remarked her frankness, but thought she saw some frankness was indicated, because for him to find out where the party had got off was not hard.
"Do you know Mr. Stannard's object? Our clubmen go for the rocks in summer. His starting now was strange."
Laura lifted her head and her look was proud. She thought she could play up and the fellow must not imagine Stannard had gone to Jimmy's help.
"My father is not a Canadian clubman. He's a famous Alpine mountaineer and can go where others cannot."
"Our boys are pretty smart," said the sergeant, smiling. "But are all Mr. Stannard's party expert mountaineers? Mr. Stevens, for example? And Mr. Frank Dillon?"
"My son," said Mrs. Dillon, who saw the other had talked to the hotel clerk. "Frank knows something about the rocks and belongs to a club that explores the Olympian range. We're Americans."
The sergeant bowed politely, but she resumed: "Mr. Stannard's English, all the lot are tourists and I sure can't see what the Canadian police have to do with their going off to climb your rocks. You're not going to draw strangers to the country if you bother them like that."
"Sometimes the police's duty is awkward," said the sergeant in an apologetic voice.
"The police have not much grounds to inquire about my father's excursion," Laura remarked haughtily. "When he killed the big-horn he did not know he poached on a game reserve, but he paid the fine and it is done with."
The sergeant saw her eyes sparkled and she was not playing a part. She did not know all he knew, and he must not enlighten her.
"Not long since Mr. Stannard went shooting with the pit-light, which is not allowed, and the game-warden was shot."
"My father did not shoot the warden; he stayed and helped the police."
"Three of his party pulled out," the sergeant rejoined. "Maybe Mr. Leyland could put us wise about the shooting and we reckoned Mr. Stannard knows where he is."
"Then you must wait for his return. If you found his track, I don't suppose you could follow him on the rocks."
"In the meantime, you're resolved not to help us hit his track?"
"I don't know his track," Laura replied.
The sergeant went off. He had talked to the hotel clerk, and although he had not found out much from Laura, he had found out something. The girl was persuaded Stannard had gone to help Leyland, and the sergeant thought his plan really was to help the young fellow get away. In fact, the sergeant thought he saw Stannard's object for doing so.
Laura, however, was disturbed. She was anxious for Jimmy and knew the risks Stannard ran in the mountains, but she imagined she had baffled the sergeant and she resigned herself to wait for news.
When the next train for the coast rolled across the pass Deering was on board a first-class car. He was dressed like a city sportsman, but his clothes were thick and his shooting jacket was lined with sheepskin, for Deering knew the wilds. When he went to Vancouver his movements interested the police, but at Calgary they left him alone, and nothing indicatedthat they now bothered where he went. Deering thought it strange, unless they knew something he did not.
In the meantime, he was occupied by another subject. Although he meant to see Jimmy out, he had frankly no use for hiding much longer at the ranch. Jimmy must be smuggled across the boundary to the United States and Deering weighed a plan.
When he got down at the station he meant to push on for Jardine's, but Kelshope was some distance off and he resolved to stop at the hotel. He had been for some time at Calgary and Stannard would perhaps know if Jimmy was all right. The clerk sent for Laura and by and by she came down. She gave Deering a cold glance, but he had long known her antagonism.
"You cannot see my father. He and Frank are in the mountains," she said.
Deering knitted his brows. When winter had begun one did not start for the rocks for nothing.
"It looks as if the police have found out Jimmy was at his ranch."
"Then, Jimmy was at the ranch? We didn't know; he did not come to see us. I expect you stopped him!"
"You don't trust me, Miss Laura. Still you ought to see Jimmy dared not come to the hotel."
"I did not think you a proper friend for Jimmy and Frank."
Deering smiled. He knew he was a better friendof Jimmy's than Stannard, but he said, "Oh, well; perhaps it's not important. Anyhow, Jimmy trusts me, and I mustn't let him down. You imply he's not at the ranch?"
Laura told him about Jimmy's note, and he inquired about Stannard's plans. When she had satisfied his curiosity his look was thoughtful.
"Stannard will send back the packers at the bottom of the rocks," he remarked. "Has he got a guide?"
"He could not engage the guide he wanted. Another man about whom I don't think he knew much was sent."
"Your father needs a useful man. Jimmy's steady on an awkward pitch, but sometimes he's rash. The others are raw boys. It looks as if I've got to hit the trail."
"Frank is not a boy, and my father is a famous climber," Laura rejoined. "If he cannot cross the mountains, do you think it's possible for you? Then you ought to have started before. The police have followed Jimmy for some time and I think another party set off yesterday."
Deering thought to embarrass him gave her some satisfaction, but he smiled.
"I know you're not my friend, Miss Laura, and I must try to be resigned. All the same, unless you put me wise, it may be awkward for Jimmy. What about the last lot of police?"
She told him and he bowed. "Thank you! I'll get off."
"But the sergeant is in front of you and there is not a train."
"The police are pretty smart, but I've known them bluffed," Deering remarked. "Then the station agent and another fellow talked about a construction train's going up the line. I've traveled on board a calaboose before."
Laura hesitated, and then gave him her hand. "After all, I think you want to help, and if you agree to leave Frank alone—"
"I rather think you don't know your power," Deering rejoined with a twinkle. "Frank is well guarded from all my wiles. In fact, I'm willing to give you best."
"Oh, well," said Laura, "perhaps I was not just."
He went off and Laura mused. She had not liked Deering. He was a gambler and exploited the extravagance of rich young men. Yet Frank trusted the fellow and she began to doubt if her antagonism were altogether warranted. For one thing, Deering was stanch, and his pluck was rather fine. Her father had started with a well-equipped party; Deering went alone, and when he got to Green Lake must baffle the police. Then she liked his humorous politeness. He knew she doubted him, but he was not revengeful. On the whole, she thought when she gave him her hand she took the proper line.
Soon after Deering started from the hotel he met Jardine. Deering knew the shrewd Canadian Scots and thought the rancher a man to trust. Moreover he had not yet got all the light he wanted. Jardine was on foot and Deering said, "Hello! It's a long hike to Kelshope. Where's your horse?"
"Margaret's got the cayuse at Green Lake. D'ye no' ken?"
"I didn't know," said Deering. "But you're coming from the station. When do they expect the construction train?"
"She stopped doon the track for the boys to fix some rails. The operator was grumbling because she'd no' get through till dark and he'd got to block the line for the Kamloops freight."
"Oh, well," said Deering, "since I want to get on board the calaboose, perhaps her stopping in the dark is not a drawback. But what about Miss Margaret's going to Green Lake?"
Jardine looked at him rather hard. "I alloo ye're Mr. Leyland's friend?"
"Sure thing!" said Deering. "Jimmy reckons you his friend. Well, I want to know how he got away."
Jardine told him and Deering pondered. He hadundertaken an awkward job, and since he saw some obstacles, he resolved to give the rancher his confidence. Among the trees the frost was not keen and the sun was on the road. Deering indicated a spruce log and pulled out some cigars.
"Suppose we take a smoke and talk," he said, and when Jardine lighted a cigar resumed: "Won't Miss Margaret's shooting the fellow's horse make trouble for her?"
"I reckon not," said Jardine, who had heard the trooper's statement, and when he got a note from Margaret remarked that the narratives did not agree. "I'm thinking the boys dinna mean to pit it on Margaret and the trooper's no' altogether prood."
"It's possible. But why didn'tyouput Jimmy wise?"
"I'd cut my foot chopping, a day or two before."
Deering rather doubted if Jardine's cutting his foot accounted for all, but he said, "Let's talk straight! I suppose Miss Margaret is going to marry Leyland?"
"Maybe, but I dinna ken. Jimmy wanted to marry her."
"Very well," said Deering. "I'll tell you all I know."
He narrated his interview with Laura and Stannard's going to Jimmy's help. Jardine's look got thoughtful and sometimes he frowned. When Deering stopped he said, "Ye dinna trust Stannard! Ye'd sooner Jimmy hadna gone across the rocks wi' him?"
"I would sooner he had not," Deering agreed."Jimmy trusts Stannard, the others are tenderfoots, and I understand they have not a first-class guide."
"The man they've got is no' a mountain guide ava; Gillane's a packer on the Government surveys. But I dinna see much light yet. Jimmy owes Stannard a guid sum."
"Leyland insured his life in Stannard's favor and Stannard wants money. Well, I'm going up the line with the construction gang to follow the party's trail."
Jardine got up and his look was very grim. "Just that! I'll join ye."
"Not at all," said Deering. "Your part's to go to Green River depot afterwards and watch out. I expect you're a good bushman, but this is a job for a first-class mountaineer. Besides, you cut your foot!"
Jardine gave him a keen glance, but Deering resumed. "You see, I must hit up the pace and can't boost you along. Can I hire a young man, a prospector if possible, at Green River?"
The other's arguments did not move him and by and by Jardine resigned himself to stay behind.
"I'm thinking my nephew, Peter, is the man ye want. Whiles he goes to the depot for his groceries and mail. The storekeeper will ken if he's aboot. Ye can tell Peter I sent ye to him."
After a few minutes Deering went off, but he went slowly and did not keep the road to the station. Joining the line two or three miles down the valley, he found a track-grader's tool hut and went in and smoked. The hut was cold, but Deering's fur coatwas thick and good. When dusk began to fall he walked along the track and stopped three or four hundred yards from the station.
By and by a light twinkled like a star in the gloom of the woods. A steady throb rolled up the valley, and presently Deering distinguished a locomotive's measured snorts and the rumble of wheels. The star was now a dazzling moon, and its reflections picked out, far in advance, glittering rails and frost-spangled trees. When the locomotive was level with Deering he began to run up the line, and soon after the train stopped he got behind the last car.
He knew the company's rules, but he knew something about train-gangs, and he had ready a few dollar bills. Although the station agent did not see him get on board, when the train rolled up the track he occupied a box in front of the calaboose stove. The men gave him supper, and when he had drained a can of strong coffee he pulled out some cards and showed how an expert puzzled his antagonists.
Cold draughts swept the rocking calaboose, the stove roared, and one smelt locomotive smoke. Labored snorts echoed in the rocks, couplings rang, and when the train sped across a bridge the roll of wheels drowned Deering's voice. Deering smiled and waited for the noise to stop. He had undertaken a daunting job and was bothered about Jimmy, but in the meantime he owed something to his hosts and he played up. Although Deering had some drawbacks, his rule was to play up.
A number of the men had long studied cards and could bluff on a poor hand. Three or four won regularly some part of their companions' wages, but they knew a master's touch and for a time Deering held the group. Then he lighted his pipe and began to talk about something else. He found out that the train ran between a gravel pit and Green River. The men were filling up a trestle and cutting out an awkward curve.
"Have they got a hotel at the settlement?" Deering inquired.
"They've no use for a hotel at Green River. Sometimes a rancher comes in for his mail and a survey party jumps off. I guess that's all. You can stop at the post office. The man who keeps it runs a small store."
"Nothing much doing yet," Deering remarked. "Do the mounted policemen come to the settlement?"
A big shovel-man laughed. "They're getting busy around Green River. Two lots came in not long since and a trooper's there now, but he won't bother you. Looks as if he was sent to watch out for somebody who wanted toget onthe train."
"Then, you reckon they're after somebody in the rocks?" said Deering carelessly.
"That's so," another agreed. "I wouldn't bet much on the fellow's chance! When we ran up with the last load, a police outfit was starting for the range. Three or four troopers and a pack-horse. They'd loaded up some truck."
"Oh, well," said Deering. "The Royal North-West are smart boys, but I've known them beat. However, I've been for some time on the road and think I'll go to bed. Can somebody give me a bunk?"
They gave him a bunk, and for an hour or two he slept; he knew it might be long before he slept warm again. When he awoke the locomotive bell was tolling and the roll of wheels was getting slack. The calaboose was very cold, and Deering, jumping from his bunk, went to the open door.
In front a fire burned by a water tank and the beam from the headlamp flickered across a small clearing and touched a wooden house. Farther off, a big blast-lamp threw up a pillar of flame. The light tossed and for a few moments all was shadowy. Then the strong illumination leaped up again, and Deering saw a man who carried a short rifle walk along the line. He knew the Royal North-West uniform.
Deering picked up his fur coat and hesitated. In the mountains one must wear proper clothes and the coat was good, but unless he could cheat the trooper he might not reach the mountains. He touched the man who had given him the bunk.
"I'll trade my coat and cap for yours."
The fellow's skin coat and cap were old, and he looked at Deering with surprise.
"Why do you want to trade? A track-grader doesn't buy Revillon furs."
Deering indicated the trooper. "The policeman might calculate something like that, but I expect heknows you belong to the gang. You are going to dump some rails and for half an hour I want a job."
"Now I get you!" said the other.
He pulled off his shabby coat, and when the train stopped and Deering jumped down nothing distinguished him from the construction gang. Climbing on to a flat car, he joined the men who threw down the rails, and presently saw the trooper stop the fellow who wore his coat and cap. He did not know how the railroad man accounted for his wearing good furs, but he was obviously a track-grader and after a few moments the trooper let him go. Then the train rolled up the line and Deering stayed with the men who moved the rails.
By and by the trooper walked past the gang, glanced at the men carelessly, and, turning back, vanished in the gloom. Deering thought him satisfied nobody but the track-graders was about, and soon afterwards he started for the house. So far, he had trusted his luck, but he wanted help and must get food. Moreover, he must not excite the storekeeper's curiosity.
A clump of pines cut the illumination up the track. Sometimes when the blast-lamp's flame leaped up, bright reflections touched the house, but for the most part, the ground in front was dark. When Deering was near the door, a man came out and stopped for a few moments. Deering thought him a rancher and when he went down the steps met him at the bottom.
"Can I buy some flour and groceries?" he asked.
"You might," said the other and looked at Deeringas if he thought the inquiry strange. "Why do you want groceries? Where are you going?"
Deering saw something must be risked and when a risk must be run he did not hesitate.
"If I can find the trail, I'm going up the valley. Peter Jardine has a ranch at the lake, I think?"
"That's so," said the other. "I'm Peter Jardine!"
Deering laughed. His luck had not turned and when the reflections from the blast-lamp touched the rancher's face he thought he had got the proper man.
"Then, as soon as you can get me some groceries, I'll start for the rocks. Your uncle sent me along and stated you would help. You see, I'm Jimmy Leyland's partner and Miss Margaret's friend."
"Ah," said Peter, "you're Deering? Well, the police are after Jimmy. For some days two troopers hunted for his tracks and then a sergeant and another came in on the train and started off as if they knew where he was. In the meantime, a sports outfit hit the trail, but I didn't meet up with them. I made the station in the afternoon and didn't know what I ought to do. In fact, when you came along, I was wondering if I'd pull out for the ranch."
"You're coming with me. I don't want to boast, but I'm a mountain clubman and on the rocks I reckon I can beat the police."
"But Jimmy's friends got off in front of the troopers."
"There's the trouble; they're not all his friends," Deering rejoined. "On the whole, I'd sooner thepolice got him than he crossed the range with the other lot. But we'll talk about this again. When can you start?"
"I can start as soon as my horse is loaded up, but we have got to bluff the policeman. He mustn't see us take the mountain trail. Well, I've pork and flour and groceries. Have you got all you want?"
"I want a Hudson's Bay blanket and a pack-rope," said Deering and gave Peter a roll of bills. "Then you had better buy a frying-pan and grub-hoe."
"Very well. Go ahead up the trail across the clearing and wait for me by the creek," said Peter and returned to the store.
After a time he rejoined Deering and tied his loaded horse to a branch.
"The storekeeper knows I hit the Green Lake trail, and we don't want the cayuse. When we have sorted out the truck we need, he'll make the ranch all right. Light the lantern and we'll fix our packs."
Deering lighted the lantern and after a few minutes strapped a bag of food on his back. He pushed his folded blanket through the straps, gave Peter the rope, and picked up the grub-hoe, a Canadian digging tool very like a mountaineer's ice-ax. Then they put out the light, let the horse go, and went back quietly to the railroad. Nobody was about, and stealing across the line, they plunged into the gloom.
"My luck's good," said Deering. "When I think about all we're up against, I sure want it good."
After a time Deering stopped and looked about. The stones on the river bank were large and sharp, the night was dark, and his load embarrassed him. In the distance, he saw a small red fire; a dim light marked the post office, and the reflections from the blast-lamp quivered behind the trees. Deering got his breath and braced up.
Born in the bush, he had known poverty and stern physical toil. He was a good mountaineer, but he admitted that his two hundred pounds was something of a load to carry across icy rocks. Then he had, for the most part, lived extravagantly at fashionable hotels, and his big muscles were soft; but this was not all. The distant lights stood for human society and civilization. Deering was very human and fought against an atavistic shrinking from the dark and loneliness. Moreover, he knew the wilds. For all that, he meant to conquer his shrinking.
He admitted that he was perhaps a romantic sentimentalist and his adventure did not harmonize with his occupation. Sometimes, however, one was not logical and not long since he would have plunged down the rocks but for Jimmy's pluck. Besides he sawStannard had used him to entangle the lad. Deering had his rude code, but Stannard had none. He was cold and calculating, and Deering thought he meant to carry out the plan he tried before when he sent Jimmy over the neck. Although Deering did not like the job, he meant to baffle him.
In the meantime, all was quiet but for the turmoil of the river a few yards off. Dark pines occupied the narrow level belt by the track, and on the other side vague blurred rocks went up. Thin mist drifted about, and the line, running downhill, melted into the gloom. The trooper was at the station and Deering imagined nobody was about.
"The stones are sharp and slippery," he said. "We'll take the track and push on for the section-hut."
They got on the line, but did not progress fast. The gravel ballast was large and hurt their feet; the ties were not evenly spaced. Sometimes Deering stepped on the timber and sometimes on the loose stones. Then numerous ravines pierced the rocks, and although the construction gangs had begun to fill up the chasms, for the most part wooden trestles spanned the gaps. To cross an open-work trestle in the dark is awkward, and when Deering balanced on a narrow tie and looked for the next, he sweated and breathed hard. On one trestle he stopped. Sixty feet below him, he saw the foam of an angry torrent; the next tie was some distance off, and the wood sparkled with frost.
In a sense, his adventure was ridiculous. Whenhe used the railroad he went on board a first-class car and checked his baggage. Now he stumbled over the ballast and carried on his back all he could not go without. In the meantime, however, he must cross the trestle, and he trusted his luck and jumped.
He got across and after three or four hours they reached the section-shack. Graham was in bed, but he got up and told them all they wanted to know. Three policemen with an Indian and a pack-horse had come down the track and Graham imagined they had found the entrance to Jimmy's valley. He reckoned they would send back the Indian and the horse when they took the rocks, but the fellow had not yet returned. Peter was puzzled about the Indian.
"They didn't hire him up at the station," he remarked. "Looks as if they'd fixed it for him to meet them."
"It looks as if they'd made their plans and their plans were pretty good," said Deering. "However, since they've got a loaded horse, they can't shove on fast. How long was the other outfit in front?"
Graham told him and for a few moments Deering pondered. Then he said, "It's awkward! Stannard knows where Jimmy is, and he'll hit up the pace. I reckon the police don't know and must look for his tracks. If we hustle, we'll run up against the gang."
The difficulty was obvious and Peter frowned.
"We might get by their camp in the dark. We'd see the fire."
"I doubt," Deering rejoined. "If the boys make afire, they'll make it where the light is hid. They don't want to put Jimmy wise."
"Well?" said Peter. "What is your plan?"
Deering laughed, a noisy laugh, for now he had started, his hesitation vanished.
"We'll trust our luck and shove ahead. In the morning we'll get up the rocks and look about. I've brought my glasses. Let's get going."
Graham gave them directions and when they climbed a steep hill they found the valley. The ground was broken and in places covered by tangled brush, but they made progress and at daybreak labored across the snow to the top of a spur. Deering sat on his pack and used his prismatic glasses.
Gray cloud floated about the mountain slopes, but the high peaks were sharp and began to shine in the rising sun. Some were rose-pink and some were yellow; the hollows between their broken tops were gray and blue. A map of the mountains occupied a wall of the hotel rotunda, and Deering, using his glasses, imagined it roughly accurate.
"I expect the blue gap is the head of the valley," he remarked and when Peter nodded resumed: "We'll allow Stannard joined Jimmy ahead of the police and took him along. We have got to hit their line and this is not as hard as it looks. They can't steer for the shoulder of the big peak; the rocks won't go and I see an ugly ice-fall on the glacier. I reckon I'd head back, obliquely, for thecol, up the longarrête."
"I don't use nohabitantFrench," Peter observed.
"Oh, well. Our clubmen have begun to use the tourists' talk," said Deering and gave Peter the glasses. "Anyway, you see the ridge that runs up to the neck?"
Peter studied the ridge. He had hunted mountain sheep and imagined sun and frost had worn the rocks to something like a knife-edge. In places, sharp pinnacles broke the top, and he thought it significant that for the most part the snow did not lie. The shadow behind the top, no doubt, marked a great precipitous gulf, but the farther end of the ridge touched a white hollow between two peaks. If one could get across, one might find a glacier going down the other side.
"I reckon your friends couldn't make it between sun-up and dark," he said. "Anyhow, the police would see them on the rocks."
"Stannard might hit a line a few yards below the top, but I imagine the clouds will soon roll up. Give me the glasses. I want to locate a gully that goes for some distance up the ridge."
Peter saw his object. The long ridge ran back obliquely from farther up the valley and to get up by the line Deering marked would cut out the corner. Moreover Peter imagined the police had reached Jimmy's hut, and if they found the tracks of Stannard's party, they would climb the ridge from the other end. In consequence, Deering's going up the gully would put him in front.
"I guess we'll start. When we noon we'll be nearer,and if the mist's not thick, you can look for the line you want."
They went down the hill, and by and by the cloud rolled up the slope, and rocks and peaks were lost in gloom. Then Deering began to get tired, for although there was no snow at the bottom of the valley, the ground was rough. After an hour or two he pushed into the timber and stopped.
"Perhaps it's risky, but I've got to eat and take a rest," he said. "The trees are pretty thick, and if the smoke goes up, the hill's a good background."
They cooked some food and then sat by the fire. Not far off the belt of trees was broken, and presently Deering saw the cloud had got thin and begun to roll back, up the mountains. Vague rocks pierced the vapor and grew distinct; the mist trailed away from battered trees and slanted fields of snow. For a time it clung about the high dark precipices, and then one saw the snow-packed gullies seam the crags like marble veins. A faint light pierced the vapor, and the broken top of the ridge began to cut the background.
Deering pulled out his glasses and went to the opening in the wood. The light was getting stronger, but he did not think the cloud would altogether melt and he must search the rocks while search was possible. By and by a beam touched the ridge and the snow glimmered like pale gold against blue shadow. Above the shadow were broken peaks, but the belt of darkblue indicated a gap and Deering, noting the strong color, thought the gap profound.
The landscape, lighted by the unsteady beam, was strangely beautiful. The pale illumination did not travel far and the rocks outside its reach owed something of their mysterious grandeur to the contrast. Deering, however, was not romantic and thought he saw a line, across a steep, white slope and up a buttress, to the ridge. If he could get up, he would cut Stannard's track and imagined he would not be much behind the party.
He concentrated on the ridge. The slope along the top was not even but went up, rather like a terraced walk. Rocky buttresses supported the terraces, and, for the most part, the stones were free from snow; Deering knew this indicated a very steep pitch. One buttress was marked by a broad white band, and when he rubbed the glasses he thought he saw on the snow a small object he had not remarked before. The object moved, and calling Peter, he gave him the glasses.
"What's that? A cinnamon?"
"The bears have come down," said Peter. "The big-horn have gone for the low benches. I guess the thing's a man."
Deering agreed and waited. Perhaps it was strange, but of all the animals, civilized man alone was willing to front the cold on the daunting heights. The ridge, outlined against a vague background of majestic peaks, looked as remote as another world. To imagine fleshand blood could reach it was hard, but Deering meant to try and knew Stannard's calculating steadiness. If one went carefully, studying the obstacles, and using the ax and rope—
"It's a man all right. I see another," said Jardine and gave Deering the glasses. Deering saw three men. They advanced very slowly, and he pictured their cutting steps before they moved. One crossed the snow-belt and vanished. When he was anchored in the rocks he would steady his companions. Deering knew it was Stannard, for Stannard would not trust a poor guide at a spot like that. The others, perhaps, were Dillon and Stevens. Then he saw two more; Gillane, the packer, and Jimmy. Anyhow, Stannard had started with three companions and now he had four. Deering knew all he wanted to know.
He watched the party, strung out at even distances, move across the white band; and then the figures melted. They had not reached the other side, but when he rubbed his glasses they were gone. The peaks in the background vanished, the ridge got indistinct, and the black pines on the lower snow-fields faded, as if a curtain were drawn across the picture.
Deering shut his glasses and went for his pack. The mist was not thick and he knew his line to the buttress.
"Put out the fire and let's get off," he said.
"You can't cross the ridge in the dark and the cold's going to be fierce," Peter remarked.
"That is so. I doubt if Stannard can make the neck, but if he gets there, he must wait for morning. Maybe we'll find a hole in the rocks."
Peter said nothing. He had engaged to go where the other went and must try to make good, although the road was daunting. In thick timber, a bushman can front biting cold; but on the high, icy rocks one could not make camp and light a fire. If their luck were very good, they might find a hole behind a stone, in which they must wait for daybreak and try not to freeze.
He put out the fire and when they went through the wood pondered gloomily. To reach the neck would cost them much; but to get there was not all. They must get down on the other side, and, for the most part, the mountain tops were tremendous precipices. Peter rather thought the neck opened on a glacier, but sometimes a glacier is broken by awkward ice-falls.
All the same, Peter set his mouth and pushed ahead. In the valley, he could hit up the pace for Deering, but he imagined to follow the big fellow on the rocks was another thing. When a bushman took the rocks he went to shoot big-horn and bear. The mountain clubmen studied climbing as one studies the ball-game.
A few pale stars were in the sky and the moon was over a vague, gray peak. Deering shivered, beat his numbed hands, and looked about. The frost was keen and he had not thought he could sleep, but when he looked about before the stars were bright and the moon was not above the peak. In front, the buttress cut the sky, and although the rocks were indistinct, he saw the belt of snow Stannard had crossed. Since Stannard had got his party up the buttress, Deering imagined he could get up; but the rocks were awkward.
Deering wore the railroad man's skin coat and a thick Hudson's Bay blanket. For climbing their weight was an embarrassment, but he would sooner carry the load than freeze. Although he lay with his shoulders against Jardine, he was numb, and the outside of the blanket sparkled with frost. A tilted slab partly covered them, but the gravel in the hole was frozen and Deering's hip-joint hurt. The worst trouble was, when he was very cold his brain got dull and he hated to use effort. Yet effort was needed, for day had begun to break and he must cross the neck by dark. To stop another night on the high rocks was unthinkable and he knew his luck might turn. Ifthick snow fell or a strong wind blew, he and Peter would stay on the rocks for good.
Moreover, Jimmy was in front, and Deering thought Jimmy ran a daunting risk. He ought to get up and start, but he shrank from the frost, and for a minute or two he weighed his grounds for doubting Stannard. Jimmy owed Stannard a large sum and had insured his life. If he went over a precipice, the company would pay Stannard. Deering admitted the argument looked ridiculous; Stannard was highly cultivated, rather extravagant than greedy, and not at all the man to plan a revolting crime. Yet he had not engaged a proper guide and his companions were trustful young fellows whom he could mislead. Moreover, he had gone down into a snow-swept gully to help Leyland and knew this would weigh. Stannard had then expected Jimmy to marry Laura.
Deering pushed Peter, who woke up and grumbled. Deering open his pack awkwardly and pulled out a bannock and some canned meat.
"Day is breaking. When you have had your breakfast we must start."
"Unless I get a hot drink, I've not much use for breakfast," Peter replied. "When do you reckon we'll get down to the timber? When I camp I like a fire."
"Depends on our luck," said Deering, dryly. "I doubt if you'll make a fire to-night."
"If I wasn't a fool, I'd go right back. Stannard's most a day's hike ahead. Then if the police have hit his trail, they're not far behind us."
"We cut out some ground and on the rocks two men go faster than five. Stannard must find a line for his gang and us. Then I expect he'll be held up for a time at the neck. I don't know where the police are."
Peter ate the bannock and put on his pack. "Well, let's get going!"
The light was not yet good. Their muscles were stiff, physical fatigue reacted on their nervous strength, and at the belt of snow they stopped. The belt was perhaps ten yards across and occupied a channel in the rocks. The surface was smooth and hard, and Deering imagined if one slipped one would not stop until one reached the valley. A row of small holes, however, indicated that Stannard's party had gone across and up the dark, forbidding buttress on the other side. Deering frankly shrank from the labor and risk of crossing, but he dared not turn back.
"Where the boys have gone we mustn't stop," he said. "Tie on the rope and give me the grub-hoe."
Peter gave him the hoe. The blade was curved, like a carpenter's adze, and at its head was a short pick. The tool, although rather heavy, was a good ice-ax. In soft snow, one can kick holes, but the snow was hard and Deering doubted if the notches Stannard had cut would carry him. He used the pick, balancing in a hole while he chipped out the next, and when they got across he sent Peter in front. Their hands were numb and where the snow had melted veins of ice filled the cracks in the rocks. The hold wasbad and Peter stopped at the bottom of a slab Deering had remarked when he sent him in front.
"I sure don't know how we're going to get up."
"Stannard got up," said Deering and looked about.
Thirty feet below him the belt of snow pierced the rocks. It looked nearly perpendicular and the snow-field at its foot was horribly steep. In the shadow, the surface was gray and dark patches marked where rocks pushed through. A very long way down, across a sharp but broken line, the color was blue, and Deering thought the line the top of a precipice. He turned and looked up. The slab was upright and about ten feet high; he could not see a crack or knob, but he noted two or three fresh scratches.
"Lean against the rock and spread your arms," he said, and when Peter did so climbed up his back.
Standing on the other's shoulders, he could reach the top of the slab. The top was nearly flat and went back for some distance, but the snow was hard. Deering dared not trust his numbed hands and he tried the pick. The blade got hold, but he could not see farther than the handle. If he had caught a small lump of ice that would not support him, the rope would pull Jardine off the rock. All the same, something must be risked.
"Brace up good," he said and trusted the pick.
The tool held and he got his chest on the top, but now the blade was near his body, his reach was short and when he used his hand his stiff fingers slipped across the snow. It was obvious he must move thepick, but the tool was his main support and the effort to push it forward might send him down. Still, if he could get three or four inches higher, he might, perhaps, balance on the edge.
His boots got no grip on the smooth slab, but when he used his knee his clothes stuck to the stone. When his waist was nearly level with the top he pulled out the pick and moved it forward. For a moment or two the blade came back and he began to go down; then it held and after a stern effort he was up. The rock above the ledge was broken, and throwing the rope across a knob, he helped Peter.
Half an hour afterwards, they reached the ridge behind the buttress. Deering's hands were bleeding and he was not cold. His skin was wet and he breathed by labored gasps. In front, the ridge went up, unevenly, to the neck. The narrow, broken top, for the most part, was supported by precipitous rocks. One must use caution and could not go fast, but after a time a snow cornice began on one side. The top, leveled by the wind, was smooth, and, so far as it rested on the stone, was firm. As a rule, a snow cornice is widest above, and Deering knew if he crossed the line where it overhung its base he might break through, but the marks in front indicated where Stannard had gone.
Stannard knew much about snow cornices and Deering wondered whether he could not have found some grounds for throwing off the rope and letting Jimmy venture on the dangerous overhang. He had obviouslynot done so; moreover he had brought his companions up the buttress. If Deering himself had meant to let somebody fall, he thought he would have tried at the awkward slab. In fact, he admitted that to picture Stannard's weighing a plan like that was theatrically extravagant. Yet he knew Stannard, who was not the man people thought. He was very clever and if he plotted to get rid of Jimmy, he would not do so soon after he had taken him into the mountains. He would wait until he had nearly carried out his job and was bringing his party down from the rocks. Anyhow, Deering's business was to overtake the party. To wonder whether he exaggerated Jimmy's danger would not help.
For a time he made good progress along the cornice, and in the afternoon he reached the neck. At the end of the ridge Stannard's tracks forked. One row of footmarks crossed a steep snow-bank running up a peak; the other went along the hollow neck.
"All the outfit went up the neck and then two or three turned back," Peter remarked after examining the trampled snow.
Deering nodded. "Stannard sent them back and pushed ahead with Gillane to look for a line down the other side. When we get across we'll see what he was up against."
At the end of the neck they stopped and Deering frowned. He had been longer than he thought and a pale illumination behind a peak indicated that the sun was low. In the valley below, he saw a frozenlake and a dark, winding band he knew was timber on a river bank. He had food, and if he could reach the trees he need not bother about the frost. A Canadian grub-hoe, made for cutting roots, is a useful tool, and he could build a wall of bark and branches, light a fire and brew hot tea. The trouble was, to get down to the friendly pines.
In front of him, a snow-field sloped to a spot at which two uneven, converging rows of dark rocks ought to have met. The rocks were the tops of precipices, but the point of their intersection was cut out, and a glacier began at the gap. Deering could see for a short distance down the glacier, until it plunged across the top of a steeper pitch, and when he used his glasses he noted its surface was crumpled, as if it broke in angry waves. In fact, it was rather like a rapid suddenly frozen at the top of a fall. Deering knew it was an ice-fall and the waves were giant blocks. The rocks at the side were very steep and veined by snow.
"Nothing's doing there!" he remarked. "I don't see Stannard, but he won't find a useful line. Let's look for the boys."
They turned and, following the tracks along the neck, after some time went round a buttress that broke the front of the range. On the other side three people occupied a little hollow in the rock. One got up awkwardly.
"It's Peter!" he shouted. "Why, Deering, you grand old sport!"
Deering gave Jimmy his hand and noted that his look was strained and his face was pinched.
"Miss Laura put me on your track and Mr. Jardine wanted to come along," he said and studied the others, who did not get up.
"They've had enough," said Jimmy. "We were two nights on the rocks and the cold was keen. Stannard's gone to see if we can get down the glacier, but I don't think he's hopeful. Anyhow, let's go back into our hole. When you wriggle down under a blanket, it's a little warmer than outside."
Deering joined the others. A jambed stone partly covered the hole, and the boys' packs, fur coats and blankets kept them from freezing, but he saw their pluck was nearly gone.
"What about the police?" he asked, when he had lighted his pipe.
"We don't know where they are," Jimmy replied. "Stannard brought us up the ridge, but from my shack you see another way up at the head of the valley. I went over to study the ground and thought the climb harder than it looks. All the same, I imagine the police have tried it. Of course, when they got to the snow they wouldn't find our tracks, but they know we're in the mountains—"
"Then, they're south of us?"
Jimmy nodded. "On this side of the range; they'd reckon on our pushing south and expect to cut us off. Now you see why Stannard's keen about getting down the glacier!"
"We can't get down; the ice-fall won't go," said Stevens moodily. "I doubt if I could get down a ladder. My notion is, Stannard knows his plan's a forlorn hope and Gillane is badly rattled."
"The fellow's a common packer; Stannard ought not to have hired him," Dillon agreed. "Still we couldn't wait and when the Revelstoke man sent Gillane we were forced to start. Anyhow, I'd trust Stannard where I wouldn't trust a guide."
"He hasn't hit a useful line yet," Stevens rejoined. "We're held up, and I doubt if we can stand for another night in the frost."
"I'm willing to go back and risk the police," said Jimmy. "Still, we couldn't start until daybreak and would be forced to camp again on the ridge. The valley's not far off; if we can make it."
"We must wait for Stannard's report," said Deering soothingly. "When I was at the hotel the clerk gave me a letter for you."
Jimmy beat his numbed hands and opened the envelope. Then he laughed, a dreary laugh.
"In a way, the thing's a joke! Leyland's has something to do with a Japanese cotton mill and Sir Jim writes from Tokio. He's going to England by Vancouver and sails on board the first C.P.R. boat. He means to stop for a few days and look me up—" Jimmy studied the postmark and resumed: "I expect he's at Vancouver now."
"Your luck is certainly bad," Deering remarked in a sympathetic voice.
"Jim's the head of the house; Dick owns him boss," Jimmy went on. "His letter's kind, and if he'd arrived before, when I was making good, I might have got his support. I wanted to persuade him I was not a careless fool; but when he gets to know my recent exploits—"
Deering imagined Jimmy had wanted his uncle to agree about his marrying Margaret. Since Sir James was a sober business man, the lad had not much grounds to hope he would approve his nephew's romantic adventures.
"After all, I rather think we'll cheat the police," he said. "They don't know where we are and when we make the valley we'll hit up the pace. I've friends who'll help you across the frontier and you can sail for England from New York."
"The drawback is, we can't make the valley. Stannard can't lead us down," Stevens interrupted gloomily.
Deering looked up. "We'll know soon. I hear steps."
Stannard came round the corner, saw Deering, and stopped, rather quickly.
"Hello! We did not expect you. Were you at the hotel? Have you got some news?"
"I was at the hotel," Deering replied. "The morning before I got there a police sergeant arrived. I understand he was curious about your excursion."
Stannard's glance was keen and Deering thought him disturbed.
"You imply the fellow knew I'd gone to join Jimmy?"
"Miss Laura imagined something like that. But what about the glacier?"
Stannard hesitated and knitted his brows. "I think we'll risk it in the morning. You see, if we pushed along the range, we might meet the police. Besides, we must get down to the timber soon."
"You sure can't get down," remarked Gillane, the packer, who had followed Stannard.
"We'll try," said Stannard, and turning to the others, forced a smile. "Well, I want some food and Frank might light the spirit lamp. You must brace up for another night on the mountain, but we're lucky because we have got a corner where we shan't freeze."
Day broke drearily. The sky was dark and snow clouds rolled about the peaks. In the hollow behind the rock Stannard's party crowded round the spirit lamp. One could get no warmth, but in the snowy wilds the small blue flame and steaming kettle called. Moreover, each would soon receive a measured draught of strong hot tea.
All were numb and their faces were pinched. Stevens was frankly despondent, and when Dillon broke his hard bannock his stiff hands shook. Gillane was apathetic, but when Stannard measured out the tea he joked and Deering laughed. To laugh cost the big man something, but he knew he must. Stern effort was needed and human effort does not altogether depend on muscular strength. The packer's mood was daunting and it was obvious they would not get much help from him.
Jimmy was quiet. He must concentrate on holding out and could not force a laugh. He admitted he had not pluck like Stannard's. Stannard was indomitable, and now his gay carelessness was very fine. Although he was the oldest of the party and his face was haggard, he joked and his jokes were good.When the meal was over he got up and beat his hands.
"We must get down before dark and I think I know a line," he said. "If our luck is good, we'll camp in the trees by a splendid fire."
To start was hard, but they got off and the snow was firm. The steep slope below the neck was smooth and for a time they made progress. Jimmy remarked the thickening snow cloud and knew Stannard thought it ominous, for he pushed on as fast as possible. So far, one could use some speed; the obstacles were in front.
The snow-field stopped at the top of a chain of precipices. The rocks were broken by the deep gap through which the glacier went, but Jimmy noted smaller breaks he thought were gullies filled by snow. He could not see the front of the precipices, but he pictured their falling for six or seven hundred feet. At the bottom, no doubt, were steep spurs and long ridges, across which one might reach the trees rolling up from the valley. The precipice was the main obstacle, but Jimmy did not think the rocks were perpendicular. Anyhow, the glacier was not, and if one could cross the ice-falls, it would carry them down. The trouble was, the cloud was getting thick.
After a time, they stopped at the head of the glacier, and Stannard, Jimmy and Deering climbed to a shelf that commanded the ice-fall. Mist rolled about, but for some distance one saw the broad white belt curve down between the rocks. Then Jimmy saw the fall and set his mouth. The snowy ice was piled in tremendous blocks and split by yawning cracks. It looked as if the cracks went to the bottom, and one imagined others, hidden by fresh snow. Stannard turned to Deering, who shook his head.
"The boys can't make it; I doubt if you can. Nothing's doing!"
"Very well," said Stannard. "I marked a gully about two miles south. I don't know if you'll like it, but we must get down."
Deering pulled out his watch. "You have got to hustle. The boys can't stand for another night on the mountain."
When they rejoined the others, it looked as if his remark was justified. Gillane declared if they could not cross the ice-fall they must stop and freeze; Stevens owned he was exhausted and doubted if he could reach the gully. Jimmy would sooner have risked the fall, since he was persuaded the other line would not carry them down, but if Stannard thought the line might go, he was willing to try it.
They fronted the laborious climb to the snow-field, and soon after they got there mist blew across the slope. The party was now drawn out in a straggling row and by and by Deering stopped and looked about. He knew two or three were behind him, but he saw nobody.
"Where are the boys?" he shouted.
Peter said he had not seen Stevens and Dillon for some time, but they were no doubt pushing along and the party's track was plain.
"I'm going back," said Deering. "Watch out for Jimmy."
He plunged into the mist and presently found Stevens sitting in the snow. Dillon was with the lad and when Deering arrived urged him to get up. Stevens dully refused and said there was no use in the others bothering; he could go no farther. Deering pulled him up and shoved him along.
"You're going to the gully, anyhow," he shouted with a jolly laugh. "When we get you there, you can sit down and slide."
Dillon helped and some time afterwards they came up with Peter.
"Where's Jimmy?" Deering asked in a sharp voice.
"Stannard reckoned he was near the spot he'd marked. He took a rope, and Gillane and Jimmy went along. They allowed I must stop to watch out for you."
"You let Jimmy go!"
"Sure I did," said Peter, with sullen quietness. "I reckon you needn't bother about Jimmy. Something's bitten you. Stannard's all right. If he can't help us, we have got to freeze."
Deering said nothing. Stannard's charm was strong, and cold and fatigue had dulled Peter's brain. There was no use in arguing and he followed the others' track. He could not see much, for the mist was thick. The ground got steeper and rocks pierced the snow. It looked as if he were near the top of the precipice, but so long as the marks in front were plainhe need not hesitate. After a few minutes he saw Gillane. The packer leaned against a massy block, round which he had thrown the rope; the end was over the top of the rocks.
"Hello!" said Deering. "What's your job?"
"I'm standing by to steady Mr. Stannard. Top of the gully's blocked, and he calculated to get in by a traverse across the front. There's a kind of ledge, but we didn't see a good anchor hold."
Deering remarked that the fellow's grasp was slack and a single turn of the rope was round the stone. If a heavy strain came on the end, he thought the rope would run and Gillane would not have time to throw on another loop. Cold and fatigue had made him careless.
"Get a good hold and stiffen up," said Deering. "I'm going after Stannard."
The rocks were not as steep as he had thought and the ledge was wide enough to carry him, but a yard or two in front it turned a corner. Although the mist was puzzling, Deering thought it melted. In the meantime, he must reach the corner. Sometimes Jimmy was rash, and if Stannard allowed him to run a risk he ought not to run, nobody would know.
When Deering got to the corner, the mist rolled off the mountain top. He saw a tremendous slope of rock, pierced by a narrow white hollow. For four or five hundred feet the gully went down and gradually melted in a fresh wave of mist. Deering noted the sharpness of the pitch and then fixed his glanceon Stannard, who leaned back against the rock. Jimmy, holding on by Stannard's shoulder, was trying to get past on the outside of the ledge.
Deering stopped and his heart beat. The others did not see him and he dared not shout, but if Stannard moved, it was obvious Jimmy would fall. Stannard did not move, and Jimmy, crossing in front of him, stopped and looked down.
"The stretch is awkward and you can't steady me," he said. "Still I think I could reach the slab and slide into the gully. Before we bring the others, perhaps I ought to try."
"You have a longer reach than mine and you are younger," Stannard replied.
Deering could not see the slab, but he imagined Stannard had noted something about it that Jimmy had not. Now Jimmy fronted the other way, Stannard's hand was at his waist and Deering thought he loosed the knot on the rope.
"Hold on, Jimmy," he said in a quiet voice.
Jimmy stopped. Stannard turned, and although his look was cool Deering thought his coolness forced. He leaned against the rock, but Deering saw his hands were occupied behind his back.
"I thought you went for Stevens," he remarked.
"The kid wasn't far back," Deering replied and laughed. "Gillane's rattled and half frozen. I reckon he might let you go, but my two hundred pounds is a pretty good anchor. Slip off the rope and I'll help Jimmy; he won't pull me off."
Stannard awkwardly pulled out the knot, and Deering, who had thought to see the rope fall, was baffled. For all that, he knew Stannard's cleverness and imagined the fellow knew he had experimented.
"I'm going in front of you," he resumed. "Wait until I tie on, Jimmy. You can't trust the slab."
When he had tied on he braced himself against the rock. Jimmy vanished across the edge and the rope got tight. After a few minutes he came up.
"So far as I can see, we can get down by cutting steps, but I couldn't see very far," he said. "Your tip about the slab was useful, Deering. The top was rotten and a lump came off. I was lucky because I put on the rope."
"On the rocks caution pays," Deering remarked. "Well, let's get up and go for the others. Cutting steps for four or five hundred feet is a pretty long job."
They went back along the ledge, but Deering felt slack and his big hands shook. He had borne some strain and rather thought that had he arrived a few moments later Jimmy, and perhaps Gillane, would have gone down the rocks. Yet he did not know. In fact, he admitted that he might not altogether know.