CHAPTER XVIII.A SNAKE IN THE GRASS."... WarilyI stole into a neighbour thicket by,And overheard what you shall overhear."Love's Labours Lost, Act V. sc. ii.Ranger's homestead had been erected on a clearing, in the midst of what at one period was a well-wooded stretch of country, thickly overgrown with the pine, balsam, maple, and other trees indigenous to the soil, interspersed with a rich undergrowth of luxuriant vegetation, the alternate growth and reproduction of ages.The rear of this house, which all this wealth and prodigality of nature's productions extended up to, had been left untouched by the axe or saw of the invader, except where a narrow path had been cleared to admit of easy access to a patch of garden-ground beyond. Here and there a trailing creeper had been captured, until it seemed to have become part and parcel of the dwelling itself, so that at times it was not easy to decide where the house ended and the scrub or wood began.If Ranger and his companion had been less intent upon the subject of their conversation, their attention might have been attracted by a suspicious movement, which occasionally agitated the undergrowth not far from where they were seated. It passed, however, unnoticed.It was dark when they closed their conversation and entered into the house.When, however, all was quiet around, the figure of a man might have been seen stealing stealthily away from amidst the thick bush which lay within a few feet of where the two men had been holding converse, and making towards a log-shanty, dimly discernible in the darkness on a piece of rising-ground beyond the circle forming the enclosure of the homestead.It was the abode of the Bartons; and Charles, the younger of the two brothers, was the figure from the wood now to be seen entering the door.The room was unoccupied, John having been sent on business to M'Lean Station, which would prevent his return until next day.Procuring a light, and seating himself at a table, he seemed to be reflecting deeply. His thoughts were inspired by the conversation which had been passing between Ranger and Fellows, and to which it must be confessed he had been an attentive, because an interested, listener.It was while passing through the bush behind the former's homestead, on his way home, at the close of work for the day, that his attention had been arrested by the mention of a name which caused him to stop, and gradually but quietly to draw as close to the speakers as he felt it would be safe to do. On discovering the nature of the conversation, he did not hesitate remaining concealed, in such a position, however, as would enable him to hear the whole of what was passing.Charles Barton, for some time a silent admirer of Jessie Russell, had been only waiting a favourable opportunity to declare his passion.But Jessie was not a girl who would willingly afford any young man the opportunity so desired, if she had the slightest suspicion that it was being looked for. She was no prude, yet she was not a flirt; and that, in an unsettled region where men were in abundance, whilst the women were few and far between, was saying a great deal in her favour.She had not failed to notice that several times of late Charles was to be seen lounging in the neighbourhood of her father's shanty, and this had caused her to still more carefully seclude herself from the rough settler's gaze.Charles was a man with big ideas, but a small soul. The god he worshipped wasself; and anything that seemed to stand in the way of self must be made to give place by fair means or foul. Scruples he had none, whereselfwas in question. He had learned this evening, for the first time, of the additional difficulty which lay in his path to Jessie Russell's affections. After long and careful reflection he made up his mind how he would endeavour to get that difficulty "entirely removed."Having provided himself with pen and ink and paper, he sat down at the table and began to write rapidly. At the end of about an hour he had finished a letter, which lay folded, sealed, and addressed in front of him.It bore the inscription—Messrs. H. & E. QuinionBroadstoneEngland.It contained a statement of the confession he had that evening heard given by Fellows, with an intimation of where he was now to be found in case the firm felt any desire to possess that information.After hinting at sources of further information, it concluded with an urgent request that the writer's name, which was communicated in strict confidence, as a proof ofbonâ fides, should be kept a profound secret.How to get this letter posted without its destination becoming a topic for conversation, was the difficulty which next presented itself.For several days he was at a loss to know how to overcome this obstacle to the success of his scheme.On the fourth day after the events narrated, Ranger announced his intention of riding over to Wolseley Station on business which would detain him until the evening of the next day.It was too good an opportunity to be missed; so a few hours after the farmer's departure, securing a horse from amongst the many that are allowed free range without detriment, it being only imported horses of the better class which, as a rule, are stabled, he soon had it saddled, and was off for "Indian Head," where he expected to find a post-box convenient, into which his letter might be dropped.After a couple of hours' sharp ride, he entered the little town, where, without much difficulty, he discovered the object of his search.Having accomplished his mission, and given his horse breathing time, he set out on his return. The moon had not yet risen, but the stars shone out in a clear sky; and objects were plainly visible on the road to be traversed.Mounting the crest of a hill, he was proceeding at an easy trot to descend a winding pathway which led on to the plains, when something—it was never known what—caused the horse to swerve and stumble, and the next minute, before its rider could recover himself, he was pitched forward with the horse on top of him.Recovering his feet without much difficulty, the horse stood for a few moments, and then, as if it had taken in the situation, galloped off in the direction of home.Barton was stunned by the fall, and lay on the road insensible.Two hours passed before the man showed signs of returning consciousness. Then the keen wind which blew across his face, as he lay extended on the ground, caused a tremor to pass through his body, and opening his eyes he endeavoured to sit up, but at first the pain which the effort inflicted was so great he lay for a time trying to collect thoughts which were confused and scattered. A second effort was attended with more success, when he proceeded to make a careful examination of his limbs, to ascertain what, if any, injury had been sustained.Satisfied with the result that no bones had been broken, yet suffering intensely from a sprained ankle and an injured knee-joint, which he found would prevent him standing, let alone attempting to walk, he realised that however desirous he might be of making progress, there was nothing for it but to remain where he was, with what fortitude he might be able to summon to his support.By dint of a little exertion he managed to crawl on to the bank at the side of the track, and there, against the trunk of a large oak, he prepared to make the best of his position, in the hope that help of some kind would sooner or later turn up.He had lain there some time—dozing between whiles—when he became conscious of sounds as of the distant grind of heavy wheels, and the slow measured tread of horses' feet. Listening intently, he soon made it out to be a waggon-team, which he judged to be from some neighbouring homestead, on its way to one of the stations,—M'Lean or Indian Head,—and, as subsequently proved to be the case, with produce to be railed on to Regina or Winnipeg. When within range of his voice, Barton had little difficulty in arresting the attention of the teamster, who, stopping his horses and dropping the reins, quickly dismounted, and, with lantern in hand made his way to the side of the track from whence the sounds proceeded.The position of affairs was explained, when, calling his companion to help him, they together lifted the all but helpless man into as comfortable a position as it was possible to make for him in the waggon, an operation which was only accomplished with considerable difficulty, seeing that nearly every inch of space was well occupied with farm produce of a marketable kind.Indian Head—his destination—was reached as daylight began to break, when, handing Barton over for the time being to some of the railway officials, he had just sufficient time left to get his load transferred to one of the empty trucks in waiting, before the whistle sounded and the heavily loaded train steamed out of the station on its way to Regina, distant about some forty miles farther.Having successfully accomplished the object he had in view, the waggoner—a farmer whose homestead was but a few miles off the rail—next proceeded to question Barton as to what was to be done with him.On learning that he was one of Ranger's men, and that Ranger could probably be found at Wolseley, having intended to stay the night there, he at once decided to send on a wire in the hope of intercepting him there and getting him to take Indian Head as his route home in order to pick up Barton.In the course of the morning a reply came to say he would be there; and late in the afternoon Ranger drove up, not a little surprised at discovering who it was that was awaiting him, as well as the condition he was in.Having had the injured man transferred to his own conveyance, he mounted and drove off.On reaching home, he found an uneasy feeling had been spreading at the prolonged absence of Barton, especially when it got reported that a horse, saddled and bridled, had been found grazing, which it was believed must have been the one Barton had started out upon the evening before, and which had apparently returned riderless; but where his rider had been left, no one had any means of telling, since it did not appear to be known in which direction he had gone.The farmer's return with the missing man at once put an end to all doubts, and, with as little delay as possible, he was conveyed to his own shanty, where both his sprained ankle and damaged knee received the attention needed, so that he was soon able to resume his usual duties on the farm.When Barton explained to Ranger the object of his journey, which he did as they drove home, it was one of such common occurrence that it left no impression upon his mind as to there being anything peculiar in it.CHAPTER XIX.HESITATING."... At this hourLie at my mercy all mine enemies."The Tempest, Act IV. sc. i.When, in due course, Barton's letter reached Broadstone, the astonishment and surprise it gave rise to was beyond all description. The excitement it created in the breasts of the partners was intense. Old memories were aroused with regard to incidents long since regarded as for ever buried.The circumstances under which they were now revived seemed to possess more the character of fiction than fact. Yet the details given, and the circumstantial nature of the narration, seemed to preclude all possibility of doubt.What ought to be the action of the firm in the matter now? This was the problem which faced them, demanding a decision,—but a decision which they found themselves unable to agree upon.It was therefore wisely resolved to leave the matter where it was at present, and to return to the subject later on, after each had been able to think out what was the best course to pursue.A week went by, during which the solicitors to the firm had been seen and consulted. Their advice was friendly, but cautious. Whilst from a strictly legal point of view it might be right to take steps to have the culprit arrested and prosecuted, perfectly legitimate reasons could be adduced for taking no notice of the letter and refraining from any action in the matter.Their advice was to have inquiries made, through their agents in Ontario, as to the truth of the information forwarded, and the character of the writer of the letter; as well as to learn, if possible, his object in writing. It was pointed out that this need not involve any very great expense, and on the information received they could then decide how to act.They resolved to follow this advice, especially as the further delay would afford additional opportunity for reflection.Acting upon instructions received, their solicitors wrote their agents in Quebec, by the next outward mail, giving a full account of their client's case, and requesting them to obtain, through the agency of the police—or by any other means, if considered more desirable: The character of Ranger, his holding and belongings, and his status in the country; whether anyone known as Fellows—but whose real name was Ralph Sinclair—was at present in his employ; the date when he came there; where he came from; what position he was filling; and the reputation he was held in.The same information as to a Charles Barton; and, as this was the person sending certain information with regard to the first named, to ascertain to what extent they associated, and, if possible, the causes which had induced him to reveal what he had done about the man known as Fellows.It was specially enjoined that the information was to be obtained with the greatest caution, as on no account must it leak out that these inquiries were being made from England.As the matter seemed to be one possessing features of interest which might lead to important developments, the agents lost no time in seeking an interview with the chief of police; who, after a careful perusal of the letter from their correspondents, promised he would write for full information to their headquarters staff at Regina, who would no doubt be able to get what was wanted.In the attitude taken up by the great firm of Quinion towards their former employé, there was no feeling of vindictiveness manifested. They had, in fact, never yet been known to prosecute a defaulting servant, although many opportunities had offered for so doing. Their leniency towards men who had been detected defrauding them had almost become proverbial, so that they were beginning to look upon it themselves as a matter of reproach.The members of the firm were men of high principle, anxious not only to stand well in the public gaze, but desirous that their motives should be beyond suspicion. They were nominally religious men, but making no very pronounced profession of their opinions and beliefs. Crooked and perverse as the treatment of their London employés had been, their conduct was so surrounded with sophisms for arguments, that shadows had assumed substantial form, and they seemed to have persuaded themselves, if not others, that in all that they had done they had been guided only by the highest principles of moral rectitude, leaving nothing of which they need feel ashamed.Burns has very aptly said—"Oh, wad some power the giftie gie usTo see oursel's as others see us!It wad frae monie a blunder free usAnd foolish notion."They had not lost sight of the mother of Sinclair,—or Fellows, as we must continue to call him,—since their first impulse was to acquaint her with what they had heard.Upon reflection, they felt it would be wiser to wait until, with the fresh light which they hoped to receive as the result of the inquiries set on foot, their mind was better made up as to the course they ought to pursue.CHAPTER XX.ON THE TRAIL."Thou art a fellow of a good report,Thy life hath had some snatch of honour in it."Julius Cæsar, Act V. sc. v.Regina, which, prior to the advent of the Great Trunk Line of the Canadian Pacific Railway, was possessed of but a few straggling log-shanties—the rough dwellings of settlers and squatters, the early pioneers in the great North-West of those civilising forces which are marching with so much rapidity across the face of the American Continent—is not only the principal town, but has the honour of being the capital of the province and the seat of the legislature.Yet, rejoicing in a population of not more than some two thousand, it is making such rapid advances as bids fair to raise it, in a very little while, to a position of importance and pre-eminence.The mounted police have here their headquarters, and it was therefore in the order of things official, as well as natural, that the inquiry set on foot at Quebec should be forwarded to this little but important centre for further elucidation.To John Stone, or "Puffey," as the name by which he is best known, was entrusted the task of obtaining the required information.The work, although of an eminently peaceful character, was beset with no ordinary difficulties, from the secrecy with which the information had to be obtained.Taking Nat Langham's Store on his route, he soon found himself in the midst of a company of the roughest and lowest of the labouring-class population of the district. Smoking, drinking, gambling, and betting, were the usual order of proceedings; occasionally varied by a free fight, in which the use of knives and firearms were not unknown.Beyond a few brief glances from carelessly turned heads—the usual greeting to a fresh-comer—but little notice was taken of his advent into their midst. Calling for a liquor, and lighting his pipe, he joined a group at one of the tables, where play was in progress, and soon became an apparently interested spectator.Presently one of the players, turning to Stone, asked—"What are they going to do with Red Dick, Puffey?""Oh, he is of too much importance to be dealt with by the authorities hereabouts.""What! do they intend sending him up to Quebec?""Yes," replied Puffey; "and there he'll stand a very poor chance."After a pause, "What do you know about him?" inquired Puffey."I don't know the fellow, and don't want to," was the rejoinder. "I only felt interested because I was with the force when he was caught.""Oh, I see! you were one of the volunteer force that aided the police.""That's so, sonny.""What was the name of him who took command of the volunteer force? Do you remember him?""Yes, very well. It was a chap named Fellows, at Ranger's.""Not been hereabouts long, has he?" inquired Puffey indifferently."Not above six or seven months, I believe," was the reply."Came from England, I think we were told?""Yes.""He seemed to understand his business very well. Know much about him?""I only know that he is said to be on friendly terms with Ranger, and is believed to be rather sweet on one of the women on his station.""Is that so?" added Puffey. "Then the fellow hasn't lost much time.""Well, I can't say for certain," continued the speaker, "as I work on a neighbouring farm; but I heard one of my mates talking a while ago about him."Puffey felt that here, at all events, was a source from whence some useful information might in all probability be gathered, but he was anxious not to appear too eager, for fear of exciting unnecessary inquiry.Allowing the conversation to drop, he sat and watched the players until the one he had held converse with gave signs of intending departure.Rising from his seat, Puffey sauntered out of the store, and lounged about for a while until he saw the other come out, when, accosting him, he said—"Look here, mate, I should like to have a word or two with you, if you can spare a few moments.""All right, Puffey," replied the fellow; "say on.""You were speaking of a girl on Ranger's farm that the chap Fellows was supposed to be sweet on. Now, as there is one on the same farm that I have had my eye upon for some time, you'll understand the interest I may appear to be taking in this matter. I should like to know the name of the girl referred to, if you can tell me?""Oh! is that how the wind blows?" laughed the other."Well, I don't want you to go blabbing about the matter; we've all got soft moments in our lives.""Never fear, my boy! Jack Hart's not the chap to spoil sport.""Call it sport if you like, but tell me who is the girl this Fellows is after?""Her name is Jess Russell. She is the daughter of one of Ranger's men; and they do say as fine a looking specimen of the sex as is to be found in the North-West.""That's not the one I was thinking about. I don't know her; but beauty though she maybe, I'll back my girl to go one better.""Poor old Puffey! Hit at last! I shouldn't have thought it of you.""Well, it's not a case yet; so mind what I've said, that 'mum's' the word.""Right you are! Nor is it a clear case yet with that Fellows, as it is said a chap named Barton has been noticed sneaking round after the same girl.""Oh," was Puffey's comment; "then there's likely to be ructions there before long, if that's the case.""Just as likely as not," was the reply. "Well, good-night, Puffey. I must be going.""So long, old chap," was his parting salute, as Puffey mounted his horse and rode away, feeling that he had learned one thing from what he had heard, and that was the cause which had led up to Barton's letter.The next day Puffey, pursuing his quest, ventured to ride boldly up to Ranger's homestead and inquire for Fellows by name. He was told he was at work in the fields, but on receiving directions where he was to be found, and how he might know him, he resolved to go in search of Fellows, first stating, in order to allay any fears as to his motives, that he was commissioned by his officer personally to thank him for the part he had taken in the recent raid.After a rather extended search, he at length came across his man, out on a distant part of the prairie cutting corn.Some astonishment was naturally manifested at the sight of a member of the mounted police inquiring for one of the workers on the farm.There are certain people who are seldom regarded as welcome visitors. A man never hears that a policeman is inquiring for him without a feeling of uneasiness beginning to steal over him, he could not perhaps tell why, although all the time perfectly conscious that there was no need to be at all apprehensive as to his object.With Fellows it was different, since, although he had no reason to think that his secret had been discovered, there was his own consciousness of guilt, ever present, and ready to start into activity at the first symptoms of coming danger.Puffey—like the keen observer he was reputed to be—did not fail to note the start which Fellows gave when he heard his name inquired for.His sunburnt countenance did not, however, betray his momentary agitation. Recovering his self-control, he advanced at once to the constable, and looking steadily in his face, in a clear voice, unmarked by the least tremor, exclaimed—"My name is Fellows. What do you want with me?""You see who I am, Mr. Fellows; not always the most welcome of visitors?""That's true, sir, no doubt; but I have no reason to regard you as unwelcome.""Nor will you," added Puffey, "when you learn the object of my visit."The men who were working with Fellows had ceased their labours, and were crowding round to hear what the detective had to say."I am commissioned by the Major," said Puffey, "who commanded the force which recently made that successful raid, ending in the capture of Red Dick, to return you his thanks for the very valuable aid rendered him on that occasion, in the promptness with which his orders were carried out, and for the precision with which the duties you undertook were discharged. He fully recognises that the success of that enterprise was in no small measure due to the alertness and cohesion of your force, as well as to the able way in which that force was handled by you.""Many of these men," replied Fellows, "standing round me, were present on the occasion referred to, and in their name, as well as my own, you may tell the Major that, whilst warmly thanking him for the flattering words addressed to us, we were all only too pleased to serve with so brave a force as the men he brought to lead us.""That ends my mission with you," said Puffey. "Not a very terrifying one, you must admit."Presently he added, as if a new idea had suddenly struck him, "Are you satisfied with your present occupation?""Yes; don't I look as if I was?" he asked."It was only a passing thought, which that moment occurred to me; you are just the sort of chap we could very well do with in our force. Would you care to join us?""No such idea has ever entered my head, and I don't feel as if I should much care for the life.""Well, I've no authority to ask you, but you might think it over.""No harm in my doing that," he replied."How old are you, if it is not a rude question to ask?" said the constable."Just turned twenty-nine.""English, I judge?""Yes.""Been long in the Colony?""Only about seven months.""Any trade or profession?""Was a commercial in the Old Country.""Married or single?""Single.""Hope to remain so?""That depends on circumstances.""You'll excuse my being so inquisitive, but I wished to make sure you were qualified for the post I just now suggested to you; and from all you tell me, I have no reason to doubt but our people would only be too pleased to accept you if you choose to apply.""Thanks; I'll think about it.""A question sure to be asked, and therefore one I may as well put: Any special reason for changing a commercial life for an agricultural one?""N—o; except that I was not getting on as well as I should have liked, and so determined to make an entire change."Puffey noticed that this last answer was not given quite so promptly as the replies to his other questions had been, from which fact he was not slow to draw his own conclusions.It suited his purpose to induce the belief in Fellows' mind, that the mounted police presented a good opening for the employment of his abilities; but that it was an opinion likely to find support in official quarters, should application be made for an appointment, was a matter of no moment to him whatever.Quitting the track, by which the small towns along the line of the railway were usually reached, he started to return by a cross-cut over the open prairie with which he was familiar, in the hope that by so doing he might possibly come across farm-hands from whom something further could be learned.He had not proceeded far, before he saw three men seated beneath the shade of a sheltering clump of trees bordering a small stream not above three to four feet deep, and therefore easily fordable. The spot selected was a small hollow, thickly covered with that short crisp variety of grass known as "buffalo grass," on which they were now resting after partaking of the usual midday meal.Riding up to where they were seated, he saluted them with—"Good-day, comrades! Do you remember me?""No fear, Puffey, after once seen.""You were with us at the capture of Red Dick, I think?""Two of us were.""Ah, I have just been over and seen Fellows, to thank him, and all who were with him, for the excellent help rendered to the police on that occasion.""What will be done with the prisoner?""That will be decided at Quebec.""Have they sent him there?""Yes.""Then he has not much chance left.""Well, we shall see.""You say you saw Fellows?" the men inquired."Yes; he's a smart chap, and I have been trying to persuade him to join our force.""What next? Is he inclined to do it?""I can't say yet. He has promised to think the matter over, which is all I could expect at first.""And I hope it will end there; he's too good a pal to lose.""Do you know much about him then? Has he been here long?""Not many months, but he is good company, plenty to talk about, and inclined to be sociable.""Does he bear a good character?""We know nothing about him before he came here, but we have never heard a word against him since he has been amongst us."Evidently there was nothing to be gained by pursuing this conversation, so shortly after he wished them "Good day," and rode off.On the whole, he felt satisfied with the result of his inquiries. He had not added much that was new, but what he had heard tended to confirm that which was already known.He would like to have scraped together a little more knowledge of Barton, but he had been afraid to inquire, there being no good opening given him to do so.CHAPTER XXI.JESSIE RUSSELL."It is my lady; O, it is my love!O, that she knew she were!"Romeo and Juliet, Act II. sc. ii."Now, Jess, buck up, my girl! I've brought a companion home with me to-night to have a bit of supper and a smoke, so look alive.""All right, dad! Don't make a fuss about such a trifle," was the response."Come along, Fellows; don't stand outside like that, man alive! Come in, and make yourself at home."The frugal board was soon spread with the customary evening meal, which Russell and his daughter were in the habit of partaking alone, but which on the evening in question he had invited Fellows to join them in.When this was finished, the table cleared, and the pipes lighted, the woman's fingers found full employment upon garments which needed repairing, whilst the men occupied their time in discussing the events of the day, only occasionally allowing those of the larger outer world to engage their attention, since those were matters about which they heard at very irregular intervals.Fellows had not yet found that convenient opportunity he had given Ranger to understand he was waiting for, that he might make Jessie the confidante of his most cherished desires.And now, with the father present, he did not feel that this was an opportune moment."Puffey was telling me yesterday about the proposal he had made to you of joining their force. Do you intend giving that proposal any serious consideration?""Well, I scarcely know," laughingly replied Fellows."But you don't mean to say the prospect it holds out is better than the one before you here?""No, I don't think it is. The only charm about it is the excitement it offers.""There may be some attraction in that to a single man, with youth and health in front of him; but the advance is slow and uncertain, and the life somewhat precarious.""Surely you are not thinking of leaving us so soon?" chimed in Jessie, with just a shade of eagerness in her tone."I can hardly say that," said Fellows thoughtfully. "But the life here is so dull and monotonous, I must have a change of some sort. I want excitement. I feel at times as if I should go mad!""Isn't there any of the men you can make companions of, to spend an occasional evening with?""Well, I am afraid not; they don't seem quite my style.""What about the Bartons? I should have thought that one or both of those would have just been about your mark.""I don't dislike the elder of the two men," said Fellows, "but I can't say I like the younger one.""Now you mention him," replied Russell, "he certainly does not impress one very favourably. He never has much to say for himself, and seldom joins in our conversation.""Women are stupid creatures, you'll say, and jump to all manner of ridiculous conclusions," said Jessie; "but for all that I must say I don't like him. There's something about the man's look and manner which makes me feel queer whenever I see him."Fellows looked up with a smile, as he said, "I don't think women such stupid creatures; they have a sort of power, which we men do not appear to possess, called intuition, which enables them to form conclusions a great deal more rapidly than the members of the opposite sex; and, what is more to the point, their rapidly formed conclusions are less frequently wrong than are the more laboured ones which we indulge ourselves in delivering, often with a great assumption of authority, more impressive than the argument or its conclusion.""Wisely spoken, Sir Oracle!" exclaimed Russell, as he clapped his hands together by way of indicating his approval; whilst Jessie's eyes sparkled as she listened to his defence of her sex."But we are getting off the track," remarked Fellows. "We were talking about what I was likely to be doing; and on that point, I will frankly confess, I have not yet made up my mind.""Then don't be in any hurry to do that which may involve a life-long repentance," said Russell."Changing the subject," remarked Fellows, "what's your opinion of Barton's project?""What? as to going to the Yukon?""Yes.""Why, I think if they are wise they'll stay where they are.""But it appears to be a wonderful country; and has the greatest seal and salmon fisheries, with cod-banks that beat those of Newfoundland.""That may be all very true," responded Russell, "if fishing be the object in view; but a man has got to stand the climate.""No doubt that's a difficulty.""I should rather think so, if what I read is true, that the ground in certain parts is frozen to a depth of two hundred feet.""The search for gold must be hard work under such conditions.""The rapid changes, too, must be awfully trying," added Russell. "Some days it is so warm that one may fairly roast, whilst the next day you would be looking for your overcoat.""All which goes to show that only the sound and healthy should risk the dangers which undoubtedly will have to be faced.""Men born in southern latitudes are said to have become insane through the long darkness which prevails.""Well," said Fellows, "although it is true that hundreds have been driven back, unable to endure the hardships of the place, whilst as many more have been starved or frozen to death, yet I should not at all mind risking my chance if I saw any way of getting there.""Of course, how to get out is the difficulty; the expenses are so great that a little fortune is needed to begin with.""Provided the necessary capital can be found, next to good health, what is most needed is a good equipment. The mounted police who have been sent there are all right, because they have been well provided by the Government with food and clothing. Women and children stand the climate; and all reliable testimony is to the effect that the climatic drawbacks are trivial to those who are well equipped.""It appears to me," said Russell, "that for the inexperienced, and those who know little or nothing of roughing it, to venture into such a region as the Yukon is known to be at its best is the extreme of folly. Under the most favourable conditions it offers so many hardships, that those who have not what the Yanks call 'grit,' and endurance, should keep out of it.""I quite agree with all you say," replied Fellows. "Yet I think," he added, "that much of the mischief and hardships we hear about have been due to the mode of travelling and the routes taken.""Which, then, do you regard as the better way to go?""Certainly not through the passes over the mountains, in which so many hundreds are said to have met their deaths.""How then would you propose getting there?""By what is now known as the 'All-Water-Route,' up the Yukon River to Dawson City.""But isn't that a long and tedious way, which, if commenced when navigation opens, is completed so near the end of the season that you have practically no time left for operations that year?""I think that was so," said Fellows, "when the rush first began, but the conditions have now been rendered far more favourable.""Is that so?" asked Russell."The agents say that through the passes it takes from forty to seventy days to get from San Francisco to Dawson City; but by the 'All-Water-Route,' although you have to start later from the same port, the time taken need never exceed about four weeks; so that with more comfort and convenience, at the cost of less time, you really reach Dawson City sooner than by means of what may be termed the overland route.""Well, when I've got a couple of hundred pounds to spare I may think more seriously about the desirability of running the risk, but at present I have not the means, and therefore, however great the facilities, it's no use my thinking much about it.""That would be my difficulty likewise," said Fellows; "and it is one, too, which it will take the Bartons some time to overcome, I'm thinking.""My opinion," said Jessie, "is, that if the majority of men who are never satisfied with what they have, but who are ever ready to run after the latest craze, would develop the same amount of energy in trying to improve their position amid existing circumstances as they do when they find themselves in the midst of fresh scenes, with new surroundings, there would be less dissatisfaction and more success in life at home than is usually considered possible.""Quite true, Miss Russell," replied Fellows; "and I suppose it must be put down as a man's weakness.""Still, if a weakness, not one that is, or should be regarded as, wholly incurable.""Yet 'What will Mrs. Grundy say?' is an influence quite as strong in operating upon men as upon women.""What a misfortune! It seems a sad admission to have to make.""It is, however, unfortunately too true, since the opinions which others form of us enter very largely into the rule of conduct regulating our daily life. It is seldom until old age begins to overtake us, that men assume that independence of the world's frowns and sneers which alone enables them to act and speak upon sound principles, regardless of consequences."The time had passed so pleasantly and rapidly that they were not a little surprised to find it was long past the usual hour for retiring.After a hasty "Good-night," Fellows went home, well pleased with what he had seen and heard, and more than ever determined to make an opportunity, at no distant date, for a confidential talk with Jessie Russell.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A SNAKE IN THE GRASS.
"... WarilyI stole into a neighbour thicket by,And overheard what you shall overhear."Love's Labours Lost, Act V. sc. ii.
Ranger's homestead had been erected on a clearing, in the midst of what at one period was a well-wooded stretch of country, thickly overgrown with the pine, balsam, maple, and other trees indigenous to the soil, interspersed with a rich undergrowth of luxuriant vegetation, the alternate growth and reproduction of ages.
The rear of this house, which all this wealth and prodigality of nature's productions extended up to, had been left untouched by the axe or saw of the invader, except where a narrow path had been cleared to admit of easy access to a patch of garden-ground beyond. Here and there a trailing creeper had been captured, until it seemed to have become part and parcel of the dwelling itself, so that at times it was not easy to decide where the house ended and the scrub or wood began.
If Ranger and his companion had been less intent upon the subject of their conversation, their attention might have been attracted by a suspicious movement, which occasionally agitated the undergrowth not far from where they were seated. It passed, however, unnoticed.
It was dark when they closed their conversation and entered into the house.
When, however, all was quiet around, the figure of a man might have been seen stealing stealthily away from amidst the thick bush which lay within a few feet of where the two men had been holding converse, and making towards a log-shanty, dimly discernible in the darkness on a piece of rising-ground beyond the circle forming the enclosure of the homestead.
It was the abode of the Bartons; and Charles, the younger of the two brothers, was the figure from the wood now to be seen entering the door.
The room was unoccupied, John having been sent on business to M'Lean Station, which would prevent his return until next day.
Procuring a light, and seating himself at a table, he seemed to be reflecting deeply. His thoughts were inspired by the conversation which had been passing between Ranger and Fellows, and to which it must be confessed he had been an attentive, because an interested, listener.
It was while passing through the bush behind the former's homestead, on his way home, at the close of work for the day, that his attention had been arrested by the mention of a name which caused him to stop, and gradually but quietly to draw as close to the speakers as he felt it would be safe to do. On discovering the nature of the conversation, he did not hesitate remaining concealed, in such a position, however, as would enable him to hear the whole of what was passing.
Charles Barton, for some time a silent admirer of Jessie Russell, had been only waiting a favourable opportunity to declare his passion.
But Jessie was not a girl who would willingly afford any young man the opportunity so desired, if she had the slightest suspicion that it was being looked for. She was no prude, yet she was not a flirt; and that, in an unsettled region where men were in abundance, whilst the women were few and far between, was saying a great deal in her favour.
She had not failed to notice that several times of late Charles was to be seen lounging in the neighbourhood of her father's shanty, and this had caused her to still more carefully seclude herself from the rough settler's gaze.
Charles was a man with big ideas, but a small soul. The god he worshipped wasself; and anything that seemed to stand in the way of self must be made to give place by fair means or foul. Scruples he had none, whereselfwas in question. He had learned this evening, for the first time, of the additional difficulty which lay in his path to Jessie Russell's affections. After long and careful reflection he made up his mind how he would endeavour to get that difficulty "entirely removed."
Having provided himself with pen and ink and paper, he sat down at the table and began to write rapidly. At the end of about an hour he had finished a letter, which lay folded, sealed, and addressed in front of him.
It bore the inscription—
England.
It contained a statement of the confession he had that evening heard given by Fellows, with an intimation of where he was now to be found in case the firm felt any desire to possess that information.
After hinting at sources of further information, it concluded with an urgent request that the writer's name, which was communicated in strict confidence, as a proof ofbonâ fides, should be kept a profound secret.
How to get this letter posted without its destination becoming a topic for conversation, was the difficulty which next presented itself.
For several days he was at a loss to know how to overcome this obstacle to the success of his scheme.
On the fourth day after the events narrated, Ranger announced his intention of riding over to Wolseley Station on business which would detain him until the evening of the next day.
It was too good an opportunity to be missed; so a few hours after the farmer's departure, securing a horse from amongst the many that are allowed free range without detriment, it being only imported horses of the better class which, as a rule, are stabled, he soon had it saddled, and was off for "Indian Head," where he expected to find a post-box convenient, into which his letter might be dropped.
After a couple of hours' sharp ride, he entered the little town, where, without much difficulty, he discovered the object of his search.
Having accomplished his mission, and given his horse breathing time, he set out on his return. The moon had not yet risen, but the stars shone out in a clear sky; and objects were plainly visible on the road to be traversed.
Mounting the crest of a hill, he was proceeding at an easy trot to descend a winding pathway which led on to the plains, when something—it was never known what—caused the horse to swerve and stumble, and the next minute, before its rider could recover himself, he was pitched forward with the horse on top of him.
Recovering his feet without much difficulty, the horse stood for a few moments, and then, as if it had taken in the situation, galloped off in the direction of home.
Barton was stunned by the fall, and lay on the road insensible.
Two hours passed before the man showed signs of returning consciousness. Then the keen wind which blew across his face, as he lay extended on the ground, caused a tremor to pass through his body, and opening his eyes he endeavoured to sit up, but at first the pain which the effort inflicted was so great he lay for a time trying to collect thoughts which were confused and scattered. A second effort was attended with more success, when he proceeded to make a careful examination of his limbs, to ascertain what, if any, injury had been sustained.
Satisfied with the result that no bones had been broken, yet suffering intensely from a sprained ankle and an injured knee-joint, which he found would prevent him standing, let alone attempting to walk, he realised that however desirous he might be of making progress, there was nothing for it but to remain where he was, with what fortitude he might be able to summon to his support.
By dint of a little exertion he managed to crawl on to the bank at the side of the track, and there, against the trunk of a large oak, he prepared to make the best of his position, in the hope that help of some kind would sooner or later turn up.
He had lain there some time—dozing between whiles—when he became conscious of sounds as of the distant grind of heavy wheels, and the slow measured tread of horses' feet. Listening intently, he soon made it out to be a waggon-team, which he judged to be from some neighbouring homestead, on its way to one of the stations,—M'Lean or Indian Head,—and, as subsequently proved to be the case, with produce to be railed on to Regina or Winnipeg. When within range of his voice, Barton had little difficulty in arresting the attention of the teamster, who, stopping his horses and dropping the reins, quickly dismounted, and, with lantern in hand made his way to the side of the track from whence the sounds proceeded.
The position of affairs was explained, when, calling his companion to help him, they together lifted the all but helpless man into as comfortable a position as it was possible to make for him in the waggon, an operation which was only accomplished with considerable difficulty, seeing that nearly every inch of space was well occupied with farm produce of a marketable kind.
Indian Head—his destination—was reached as daylight began to break, when, handing Barton over for the time being to some of the railway officials, he had just sufficient time left to get his load transferred to one of the empty trucks in waiting, before the whistle sounded and the heavily loaded train steamed out of the station on its way to Regina, distant about some forty miles farther.
Having successfully accomplished the object he had in view, the waggoner—a farmer whose homestead was but a few miles off the rail—next proceeded to question Barton as to what was to be done with him.
On learning that he was one of Ranger's men, and that Ranger could probably be found at Wolseley, having intended to stay the night there, he at once decided to send on a wire in the hope of intercepting him there and getting him to take Indian Head as his route home in order to pick up Barton.
In the course of the morning a reply came to say he would be there; and late in the afternoon Ranger drove up, not a little surprised at discovering who it was that was awaiting him, as well as the condition he was in.
Having had the injured man transferred to his own conveyance, he mounted and drove off.
On reaching home, he found an uneasy feeling had been spreading at the prolonged absence of Barton, especially when it got reported that a horse, saddled and bridled, had been found grazing, which it was believed must have been the one Barton had started out upon the evening before, and which had apparently returned riderless; but where his rider had been left, no one had any means of telling, since it did not appear to be known in which direction he had gone.
The farmer's return with the missing man at once put an end to all doubts, and, with as little delay as possible, he was conveyed to his own shanty, where both his sprained ankle and damaged knee received the attention needed, so that he was soon able to resume his usual duties on the farm.
When Barton explained to Ranger the object of his journey, which he did as they drove home, it was one of such common occurrence that it left no impression upon his mind as to there being anything peculiar in it.
CHAPTER XIX.
HESITATING.
"... At this hourLie at my mercy all mine enemies."The Tempest, Act IV. sc. i.
When, in due course, Barton's letter reached Broadstone, the astonishment and surprise it gave rise to was beyond all description. The excitement it created in the breasts of the partners was intense. Old memories were aroused with regard to incidents long since regarded as for ever buried.
The circumstances under which they were now revived seemed to possess more the character of fiction than fact. Yet the details given, and the circumstantial nature of the narration, seemed to preclude all possibility of doubt.
What ought to be the action of the firm in the matter now? This was the problem which faced them, demanding a decision,—but a decision which they found themselves unable to agree upon.
It was therefore wisely resolved to leave the matter where it was at present, and to return to the subject later on, after each had been able to think out what was the best course to pursue.
A week went by, during which the solicitors to the firm had been seen and consulted. Their advice was friendly, but cautious. Whilst from a strictly legal point of view it might be right to take steps to have the culprit arrested and prosecuted, perfectly legitimate reasons could be adduced for taking no notice of the letter and refraining from any action in the matter.
Their advice was to have inquiries made, through their agents in Ontario, as to the truth of the information forwarded, and the character of the writer of the letter; as well as to learn, if possible, his object in writing. It was pointed out that this need not involve any very great expense, and on the information received they could then decide how to act.
They resolved to follow this advice, especially as the further delay would afford additional opportunity for reflection.
Acting upon instructions received, their solicitors wrote their agents in Quebec, by the next outward mail, giving a full account of their client's case, and requesting them to obtain, through the agency of the police—or by any other means, if considered more desirable: The character of Ranger, his holding and belongings, and his status in the country; whether anyone known as Fellows—but whose real name was Ralph Sinclair—was at present in his employ; the date when he came there; where he came from; what position he was filling; and the reputation he was held in.
The same information as to a Charles Barton; and, as this was the person sending certain information with regard to the first named, to ascertain to what extent they associated, and, if possible, the causes which had induced him to reveal what he had done about the man known as Fellows.
It was specially enjoined that the information was to be obtained with the greatest caution, as on no account must it leak out that these inquiries were being made from England.
As the matter seemed to be one possessing features of interest which might lead to important developments, the agents lost no time in seeking an interview with the chief of police; who, after a careful perusal of the letter from their correspondents, promised he would write for full information to their headquarters staff at Regina, who would no doubt be able to get what was wanted.
In the attitude taken up by the great firm of Quinion towards their former employé, there was no feeling of vindictiveness manifested. They had, in fact, never yet been known to prosecute a defaulting servant, although many opportunities had offered for so doing. Their leniency towards men who had been detected defrauding them had almost become proverbial, so that they were beginning to look upon it themselves as a matter of reproach.
The members of the firm were men of high principle, anxious not only to stand well in the public gaze, but desirous that their motives should be beyond suspicion. They were nominally religious men, but making no very pronounced profession of their opinions and beliefs. Crooked and perverse as the treatment of their London employés had been, their conduct was so surrounded with sophisms for arguments, that shadows had assumed substantial form, and they seemed to have persuaded themselves, if not others, that in all that they had done they had been guided only by the highest principles of moral rectitude, leaving nothing of which they need feel ashamed.
Burns has very aptly said—
"Oh, wad some power the giftie gie usTo see oursel's as others see us!It wad frae monie a blunder free usAnd foolish notion."
"Oh, wad some power the giftie gie usTo see oursel's as others see us!It wad frae monie a blunder free usAnd foolish notion."
"Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursel's as others see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us
And foolish notion."
And foolish notion."
They had not lost sight of the mother of Sinclair,—or Fellows, as we must continue to call him,—since their first impulse was to acquaint her with what they had heard.
Upon reflection, they felt it would be wiser to wait until, with the fresh light which they hoped to receive as the result of the inquiries set on foot, their mind was better made up as to the course they ought to pursue.
CHAPTER XX.
ON THE TRAIL.
"Thou art a fellow of a good report,Thy life hath had some snatch of honour in it."Julius Cæsar, Act V. sc. v.
Regina, which, prior to the advent of the Great Trunk Line of the Canadian Pacific Railway, was possessed of but a few straggling log-shanties—the rough dwellings of settlers and squatters, the early pioneers in the great North-West of those civilising forces which are marching with so much rapidity across the face of the American Continent—is not only the principal town, but has the honour of being the capital of the province and the seat of the legislature.
Yet, rejoicing in a population of not more than some two thousand, it is making such rapid advances as bids fair to raise it, in a very little while, to a position of importance and pre-eminence.
The mounted police have here their headquarters, and it was therefore in the order of things official, as well as natural, that the inquiry set on foot at Quebec should be forwarded to this little but important centre for further elucidation.
To John Stone, or "Puffey," as the name by which he is best known, was entrusted the task of obtaining the required information.
The work, although of an eminently peaceful character, was beset with no ordinary difficulties, from the secrecy with which the information had to be obtained.
Taking Nat Langham's Store on his route, he soon found himself in the midst of a company of the roughest and lowest of the labouring-class population of the district. Smoking, drinking, gambling, and betting, were the usual order of proceedings; occasionally varied by a free fight, in which the use of knives and firearms were not unknown.
Beyond a few brief glances from carelessly turned heads—the usual greeting to a fresh-comer—but little notice was taken of his advent into their midst. Calling for a liquor, and lighting his pipe, he joined a group at one of the tables, where play was in progress, and soon became an apparently interested spectator.
Presently one of the players, turning to Stone, asked—
"What are they going to do with Red Dick, Puffey?"
"Oh, he is of too much importance to be dealt with by the authorities hereabouts."
"What! do they intend sending him up to Quebec?"
"Yes," replied Puffey; "and there he'll stand a very poor chance."
After a pause, "What do you know about him?" inquired Puffey.
"I don't know the fellow, and don't want to," was the rejoinder. "I only felt interested because I was with the force when he was caught."
"Oh, I see! you were one of the volunteer force that aided the police."
"That's so, sonny."
"What was the name of him who took command of the volunteer force? Do you remember him?"
"Yes, very well. It was a chap named Fellows, at Ranger's."
"Not been hereabouts long, has he?" inquired Puffey indifferently.
"Not above six or seven months, I believe," was the reply.
"Came from England, I think we were told?"
"Yes."
"He seemed to understand his business very well. Know much about him?"
"I only know that he is said to be on friendly terms with Ranger, and is believed to be rather sweet on one of the women on his station."
"Is that so?" added Puffey. "Then the fellow hasn't lost much time."
"Well, I can't say for certain," continued the speaker, "as I work on a neighbouring farm; but I heard one of my mates talking a while ago about him."
Puffey felt that here, at all events, was a source from whence some useful information might in all probability be gathered, but he was anxious not to appear too eager, for fear of exciting unnecessary inquiry.
Allowing the conversation to drop, he sat and watched the players until the one he had held converse with gave signs of intending departure.
Rising from his seat, Puffey sauntered out of the store, and lounged about for a while until he saw the other come out, when, accosting him, he said—
"Look here, mate, I should like to have a word or two with you, if you can spare a few moments."
"All right, Puffey," replied the fellow; "say on."
"You were speaking of a girl on Ranger's farm that the chap Fellows was supposed to be sweet on. Now, as there is one on the same farm that I have had my eye upon for some time, you'll understand the interest I may appear to be taking in this matter. I should like to know the name of the girl referred to, if you can tell me?"
"Oh! is that how the wind blows?" laughed the other.
"Well, I don't want you to go blabbing about the matter; we've all got soft moments in our lives."
"Never fear, my boy! Jack Hart's not the chap to spoil sport."
"Call it sport if you like, but tell me who is the girl this Fellows is after?"
"Her name is Jess Russell. She is the daughter of one of Ranger's men; and they do say as fine a looking specimen of the sex as is to be found in the North-West."
"That's not the one I was thinking about. I don't know her; but beauty though she maybe, I'll back my girl to go one better."
"Poor old Puffey! Hit at last! I shouldn't have thought it of you."
"Well, it's not a case yet; so mind what I've said, that 'mum's' the word."
"Right you are! Nor is it a clear case yet with that Fellows, as it is said a chap named Barton has been noticed sneaking round after the same girl."
"Oh," was Puffey's comment; "then there's likely to be ructions there before long, if that's the case."
"Just as likely as not," was the reply. "Well, good-night, Puffey. I must be going."
"So long, old chap," was his parting salute, as Puffey mounted his horse and rode away, feeling that he had learned one thing from what he had heard, and that was the cause which had led up to Barton's letter.
The next day Puffey, pursuing his quest, ventured to ride boldly up to Ranger's homestead and inquire for Fellows by name. He was told he was at work in the fields, but on receiving directions where he was to be found, and how he might know him, he resolved to go in search of Fellows, first stating, in order to allay any fears as to his motives, that he was commissioned by his officer personally to thank him for the part he had taken in the recent raid.
After a rather extended search, he at length came across his man, out on a distant part of the prairie cutting corn.
Some astonishment was naturally manifested at the sight of a member of the mounted police inquiring for one of the workers on the farm.
There are certain people who are seldom regarded as welcome visitors. A man never hears that a policeman is inquiring for him without a feeling of uneasiness beginning to steal over him, he could not perhaps tell why, although all the time perfectly conscious that there was no need to be at all apprehensive as to his object.
With Fellows it was different, since, although he had no reason to think that his secret had been discovered, there was his own consciousness of guilt, ever present, and ready to start into activity at the first symptoms of coming danger.
Puffey—like the keen observer he was reputed to be—did not fail to note the start which Fellows gave when he heard his name inquired for.
His sunburnt countenance did not, however, betray his momentary agitation. Recovering his self-control, he advanced at once to the constable, and looking steadily in his face, in a clear voice, unmarked by the least tremor, exclaimed—
"My name is Fellows. What do you want with me?"
"You see who I am, Mr. Fellows; not always the most welcome of visitors?"
"That's true, sir, no doubt; but I have no reason to regard you as unwelcome."
"Nor will you," added Puffey, "when you learn the object of my visit."
The men who were working with Fellows had ceased their labours, and were crowding round to hear what the detective had to say.
"I am commissioned by the Major," said Puffey, "who commanded the force which recently made that successful raid, ending in the capture of Red Dick, to return you his thanks for the very valuable aid rendered him on that occasion, in the promptness with which his orders were carried out, and for the precision with which the duties you undertook were discharged. He fully recognises that the success of that enterprise was in no small measure due to the alertness and cohesion of your force, as well as to the able way in which that force was handled by you."
"Many of these men," replied Fellows, "standing round me, were present on the occasion referred to, and in their name, as well as my own, you may tell the Major that, whilst warmly thanking him for the flattering words addressed to us, we were all only too pleased to serve with so brave a force as the men he brought to lead us."
"That ends my mission with you," said Puffey. "Not a very terrifying one, you must admit."
Presently he added, as if a new idea had suddenly struck him, "Are you satisfied with your present occupation?"
"Yes; don't I look as if I was?" he asked.
"It was only a passing thought, which that moment occurred to me; you are just the sort of chap we could very well do with in our force. Would you care to join us?"
"No such idea has ever entered my head, and I don't feel as if I should much care for the life."
"Well, I've no authority to ask you, but you might think it over."
"No harm in my doing that," he replied.
"How old are you, if it is not a rude question to ask?" said the constable.
"Just turned twenty-nine."
"English, I judge?"
"Yes."
"Been long in the Colony?"
"Only about seven months."
"Any trade or profession?"
"Was a commercial in the Old Country."
"Married or single?"
"Single."
"Hope to remain so?"
"That depends on circumstances."
"You'll excuse my being so inquisitive, but I wished to make sure you were qualified for the post I just now suggested to you; and from all you tell me, I have no reason to doubt but our people would only be too pleased to accept you if you choose to apply."
"Thanks; I'll think about it."
"A question sure to be asked, and therefore one I may as well put: Any special reason for changing a commercial life for an agricultural one?"
"N—o; except that I was not getting on as well as I should have liked, and so determined to make an entire change."
Puffey noticed that this last answer was not given quite so promptly as the replies to his other questions had been, from which fact he was not slow to draw his own conclusions.
It suited his purpose to induce the belief in Fellows' mind, that the mounted police presented a good opening for the employment of his abilities; but that it was an opinion likely to find support in official quarters, should application be made for an appointment, was a matter of no moment to him whatever.
Quitting the track, by which the small towns along the line of the railway were usually reached, he started to return by a cross-cut over the open prairie with which he was familiar, in the hope that by so doing he might possibly come across farm-hands from whom something further could be learned.
He had not proceeded far, before he saw three men seated beneath the shade of a sheltering clump of trees bordering a small stream not above three to four feet deep, and therefore easily fordable. The spot selected was a small hollow, thickly covered with that short crisp variety of grass known as "buffalo grass," on which they were now resting after partaking of the usual midday meal.
Riding up to where they were seated, he saluted them with—
"Good-day, comrades! Do you remember me?"
"No fear, Puffey, after once seen."
"You were with us at the capture of Red Dick, I think?"
"Two of us were."
"Ah, I have just been over and seen Fellows, to thank him, and all who were with him, for the excellent help rendered to the police on that occasion."
"What will be done with the prisoner?"
"That will be decided at Quebec."
"Have they sent him there?"
"Yes."
"Then he has not much chance left."
"Well, we shall see."
"You say you saw Fellows?" the men inquired.
"Yes; he's a smart chap, and I have been trying to persuade him to join our force."
"What next? Is he inclined to do it?"
"I can't say yet. He has promised to think the matter over, which is all I could expect at first."
"And I hope it will end there; he's too good a pal to lose."
"Do you know much about him then? Has he been here long?"
"Not many months, but he is good company, plenty to talk about, and inclined to be sociable."
"Does he bear a good character?"
"We know nothing about him before he came here, but we have never heard a word against him since he has been amongst us."
Evidently there was nothing to be gained by pursuing this conversation, so shortly after he wished them "Good day," and rode off.
On the whole, he felt satisfied with the result of his inquiries. He had not added much that was new, but what he had heard tended to confirm that which was already known.
He would like to have scraped together a little more knowledge of Barton, but he had been afraid to inquire, there being no good opening given him to do so.
CHAPTER XXI.
JESSIE RUSSELL.
"It is my lady; O, it is my love!O, that she knew she were!"Romeo and Juliet, Act II. sc. ii.
"Now, Jess, buck up, my girl! I've brought a companion home with me to-night to have a bit of supper and a smoke, so look alive."
"All right, dad! Don't make a fuss about such a trifle," was the response.
"Come along, Fellows; don't stand outside like that, man alive! Come in, and make yourself at home."
The frugal board was soon spread with the customary evening meal, which Russell and his daughter were in the habit of partaking alone, but which on the evening in question he had invited Fellows to join them in.
When this was finished, the table cleared, and the pipes lighted, the woman's fingers found full employment upon garments which needed repairing, whilst the men occupied their time in discussing the events of the day, only occasionally allowing those of the larger outer world to engage their attention, since those were matters about which they heard at very irregular intervals.
Fellows had not yet found that convenient opportunity he had given Ranger to understand he was waiting for, that he might make Jessie the confidante of his most cherished desires.
And now, with the father present, he did not feel that this was an opportune moment.
"Puffey was telling me yesterday about the proposal he had made to you of joining their force. Do you intend giving that proposal any serious consideration?"
"Well, I scarcely know," laughingly replied Fellows.
"But you don't mean to say the prospect it holds out is better than the one before you here?"
"No, I don't think it is. The only charm about it is the excitement it offers."
"There may be some attraction in that to a single man, with youth and health in front of him; but the advance is slow and uncertain, and the life somewhat precarious."
"Surely you are not thinking of leaving us so soon?" chimed in Jessie, with just a shade of eagerness in her tone.
"I can hardly say that," said Fellows thoughtfully. "But the life here is so dull and monotonous, I must have a change of some sort. I want excitement. I feel at times as if I should go mad!"
"Isn't there any of the men you can make companions of, to spend an occasional evening with?"
"Well, I am afraid not; they don't seem quite my style."
"What about the Bartons? I should have thought that one or both of those would have just been about your mark."
"I don't dislike the elder of the two men," said Fellows, "but I can't say I like the younger one."
"Now you mention him," replied Russell, "he certainly does not impress one very favourably. He never has much to say for himself, and seldom joins in our conversation."
"Women are stupid creatures, you'll say, and jump to all manner of ridiculous conclusions," said Jessie; "but for all that I must say I don't like him. There's something about the man's look and manner which makes me feel queer whenever I see him."
Fellows looked up with a smile, as he said, "I don't think women such stupid creatures; they have a sort of power, which we men do not appear to possess, called intuition, which enables them to form conclusions a great deal more rapidly than the members of the opposite sex; and, what is more to the point, their rapidly formed conclusions are less frequently wrong than are the more laboured ones which we indulge ourselves in delivering, often with a great assumption of authority, more impressive than the argument or its conclusion."
"Wisely spoken, Sir Oracle!" exclaimed Russell, as he clapped his hands together by way of indicating his approval; whilst Jessie's eyes sparkled as she listened to his defence of her sex.
"But we are getting off the track," remarked Fellows. "We were talking about what I was likely to be doing; and on that point, I will frankly confess, I have not yet made up my mind."
"Then don't be in any hurry to do that which may involve a life-long repentance," said Russell.
"Changing the subject," remarked Fellows, "what's your opinion of Barton's project?"
"What? as to going to the Yukon?"
"Yes."
"Why, I think if they are wise they'll stay where they are."
"But it appears to be a wonderful country; and has the greatest seal and salmon fisheries, with cod-banks that beat those of Newfoundland."
"That may be all very true," responded Russell, "if fishing be the object in view; but a man has got to stand the climate."
"No doubt that's a difficulty."
"I should rather think so, if what I read is true, that the ground in certain parts is frozen to a depth of two hundred feet."
"The search for gold must be hard work under such conditions."
"The rapid changes, too, must be awfully trying," added Russell. "Some days it is so warm that one may fairly roast, whilst the next day you would be looking for your overcoat."
"All which goes to show that only the sound and healthy should risk the dangers which undoubtedly will have to be faced."
"Men born in southern latitudes are said to have become insane through the long darkness which prevails."
"Well," said Fellows, "although it is true that hundreds have been driven back, unable to endure the hardships of the place, whilst as many more have been starved or frozen to death, yet I should not at all mind risking my chance if I saw any way of getting there."
"Of course, how to get out is the difficulty; the expenses are so great that a little fortune is needed to begin with."
"Provided the necessary capital can be found, next to good health, what is most needed is a good equipment. The mounted police who have been sent there are all right, because they have been well provided by the Government with food and clothing. Women and children stand the climate; and all reliable testimony is to the effect that the climatic drawbacks are trivial to those who are well equipped."
"It appears to me," said Russell, "that for the inexperienced, and those who know little or nothing of roughing it, to venture into such a region as the Yukon is known to be at its best is the extreme of folly. Under the most favourable conditions it offers so many hardships, that those who have not what the Yanks call 'grit,' and endurance, should keep out of it."
"I quite agree with all you say," replied Fellows. "Yet I think," he added, "that much of the mischief and hardships we hear about have been due to the mode of travelling and the routes taken."
"Which, then, do you regard as the better way to go?"
"Certainly not through the passes over the mountains, in which so many hundreds are said to have met their deaths."
"How then would you propose getting there?"
"By what is now known as the 'All-Water-Route,' up the Yukon River to Dawson City."
"But isn't that a long and tedious way, which, if commenced when navigation opens, is completed so near the end of the season that you have practically no time left for operations that year?"
"I think that was so," said Fellows, "when the rush first began, but the conditions have now been rendered far more favourable."
"Is that so?" asked Russell.
"The agents say that through the passes it takes from forty to seventy days to get from San Francisco to Dawson City; but by the 'All-Water-Route,' although you have to start later from the same port, the time taken need never exceed about four weeks; so that with more comfort and convenience, at the cost of less time, you really reach Dawson City sooner than by means of what may be termed the overland route."
"Well, when I've got a couple of hundred pounds to spare I may think more seriously about the desirability of running the risk, but at present I have not the means, and therefore, however great the facilities, it's no use my thinking much about it."
"That would be my difficulty likewise," said Fellows; "and it is one, too, which it will take the Bartons some time to overcome, I'm thinking."
"My opinion," said Jessie, "is, that if the majority of men who are never satisfied with what they have, but who are ever ready to run after the latest craze, would develop the same amount of energy in trying to improve their position amid existing circumstances as they do when they find themselves in the midst of fresh scenes, with new surroundings, there would be less dissatisfaction and more success in life at home than is usually considered possible."
"Quite true, Miss Russell," replied Fellows; "and I suppose it must be put down as a man's weakness."
"Still, if a weakness, not one that is, or should be regarded as, wholly incurable."
"Yet 'What will Mrs. Grundy say?' is an influence quite as strong in operating upon men as upon women."
"What a misfortune! It seems a sad admission to have to make."
"It is, however, unfortunately too true, since the opinions which others form of us enter very largely into the rule of conduct regulating our daily life. It is seldom until old age begins to overtake us, that men assume that independence of the world's frowns and sneers which alone enables them to act and speak upon sound principles, regardless of consequences."
The time had passed so pleasantly and rapidly that they were not a little surprised to find it was long past the usual hour for retiring.
After a hasty "Good-night," Fellows went home, well pleased with what he had seen and heard, and more than ever determined to make an opportunity, at no distant date, for a confidential talk with Jessie Russell.