Old John McNabb had not been long at his desk when the telephone bell rang and he picked up the receiver.
"Hello—who? Hicks? He—what? Where is he now? Got away! Well, you get him! Get him, or I'll get you! If he ain't back in jail to-day, off comes your buttons to-morrow—do you get that?" Old John banged the receiver onto the hook, and launched what would undoubtedly have been a classic of denunciatory profanity, had it not been interrupted in its inception by Jean, who had slipped into the office unnoticed at the beginning of the telephone conversation.
"Why, Dad!" exclaimed the girl laughing, as the red-faced man whirled upon her in surprise. "What a beastly temper you are in this morning! Who got away, and why are you so anxious to have him caught?"
"Oskar got away," he growled, apparently somewhat mollified by his daughter's tone. "Hicks started for jail with him an' Oskar knocked him down in the alley an' got away."
"Oskar! Jail! What do you mean?"
"I mean just what I say," answered McNabb, meeting the girl's startled gaze squarely. "A thirty thousand dollar sable coat is missing from the store, and no one except Oskar and I had access to the fur safe. He made up a cock-an'-bull story about letting you wear it Saturday to show up Mrs. Orcutt. He claims he went to the theatre to enjoy the effect on Mrs. Orcutt, when he discovered that you were wearing, not the Russian sable that you had worn from the store, but a baum marten coat. He hurried to the store to find that both the sable and the marten coats were gone——"
Old John noticed that as he talked the color receded slowly from the girl's face, leaving it almost chalk white, and then suddenly the color returned with a rush that flamed red to her hair roots. But he was totally unprepared for the sudden fury with which she faced him.
"And you had him arrested! Oskar arrested like a common thief! Are you crazy? You know as well as I do that he never stole a pin——"
"No, he never stole a pin, but there's some little difference in value between a pin and a thirty thousand dollar coat. They say every man's got his price."
"It's a lie!" cried the girl, stamping her foot. "But even if it were true, his price would be so big that there isn't money enough in this world to even tempt him! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! Think what people will say!"
"I don't care what they say. He's got that coat, an' I'm right here to see that he gets just what's comin' to him."
"Well, what people will say won't hurt Oskar!" cried the girl. "They'll all know he didn't steal your coat! They'll say you're a fool! That's what they'll say—and they'll be right, too! It won't take him long to prove his innocence, and then what will people think of you?"
"He ain't got a show to prove his innocence," retorted McNabb. "Your own testimony will convict him. Didn't ye tell me right here in this room within the hour that the coat ye brought in was the one ye wore from the store, an' the one ye wore to the theatre?"
"And I thought it was," flared the girl. "But if Oskar says it wasn't then it wasn't. And let me tell you this—if you're depending on my testimony to convict him, you might as well have him turned loose right this minute! Because I won't say a word at their old trial. They can put me in jail, too, but they can't make me talk. The whole thing is an outrage, and I'm going right straight down to the jail and tell them to let him out this minute——"
"He's out all right," retorted McNabb. "He knocked Hicks down and escaped on the way to jail."
"I'm glad of it! I hope he broke that nasty old Hicks's head! And if they catch Oskar you had better see that they let him go at once—unless you want to see your own daughter married to a jailbird!"
It was nine o'clock that evening when, growling and grumbling, Hicks himself moved heavily down the short corridor of the jail, and unlocked the door of the cell that held Oskar Hedin. "Come on out!" he commanded.
Hedin stepped in the corridor, and looked inquiringly into the officer's face. "What's up?" he asked.
"Bailed out," growled Hicks.
"Bailed out! Why, who——?"
"I don't know, an' don't give a damn. Someone that's got more money than brains. I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw a bull by the tail, an' you needn't think I've forgot the poke in the jaw you give me. I'll git you yet."
Hedin paused upon the steps of the police station and glanced across the street where a light burned in the office of Hiram P. Buckner, attorney-at-law. Buckner held the reputation of being by far the most able lawyer in the vicinity, and Hedin's first impulse was to retain him. He crossed the sidewalk and paused abruptly as he remembered that Buckner was McNabb's attorney. Of course, the prosecution of his case would be in the hands of the state, but—why jeopardize his own case by employing a man who stood at the beck and call of the very man who was pushing his prosecution? He turned and proceeded slowly toward his hotel, and as he passed down the street a man stepped from the office of the attorney and followed. He was a large man, muffled to the ears in a fur coat. He followed unnoticed, into the hotel and up the stairs, and when Hedin entered his room and switched on the light the man stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind him. He turned and faced Hedin, throwing back the collar of his coat. Hedin gasped in amazement. The man was old John McNabb, and to his utter bewilderment, Hedin caught a twinkle in the old Scot's eye.
"'Tis the truth, I'd never ha' know'd ye, an' ye hadn't told me who ye was," welcomed old Dugald Murchison, as he gripped Hedin's hand in the door of the little trading post on the shore of Gods Lake. "Knock the snow from your clothes an' come in to the stove. You're just in time, for by the signs, the storm that's on us will be a three days' nor'easter straight off the Bay. Ye'd of had a nasty camp of it if ye'd of been a day later."
"The guide saw it coming, and we did double time yesterday, and to-day we didn't stop to eat."
Murchison nodded. "Ye come in up the chain of lakes from the south. 'Tis a man's job ye've done—this time o' year. Ye come up from Lac Seul, an' by the guide ye've got, I see the hand of John McNabb in your visit. For old Missinabbee won't go into the woods with everyone, though he'd go through hell itself for John McNabb. But come on in an' get thawed out while the Injun 'tends to the dogs, an' then we'll eat."
"Has Wentworth arrived yet?" asked Hedin, as he followed the factor toward the stove at the rear of the trading room.
Murchison shook his head. "Ye're the first this winter. But who's Wentworth? An' what'll he be doin' here? An' what are ye doin' here yourself? I suppose it had to do with John's pulp-wood, but the options don't expire till sometime in the summer. Why didn't he come himself?"
It was a long story Hedin unfolded as he and Murchison sat late over their pipes beside the roaring stove in the long, low trading room. The factor puffed in silence without once interrupting until the younger man had finished.
"So John is really goin' to build a paper mill up here? But why did John hire this Wentworth if he figured he couldn't trust him, an' why did he have ye under arrest an' bail ye out? Unless——"
The old factor paused and puffed at his pipe the while his eyes were fixed upon the deep shadows at the far corner.
"Unless what?" asked Hedin eagerly. "I thought, at first, that he believed me guilty of stealing the coat," he went on when Murchison didn't answer. "I know now that he didn't, but when I asked him the reason for my arrest, he only laughed and said that it was all part of the game." Then the younger man's voice dropped, and Murchison noted that the look of eagerness had faded from his face. "As to the hiring of Wentworth," continued Hedin, "that is another matter."
The factor rose slowly and, crossing to the door, opened it and hastily closed it again as a swirl of fine snow-powder enveloped him. Hedin caught the muffled roar of the wind, and in the draught of cold air that swept the room, the big swinging lamp flared smokily. Murchison returned to his chair and filled his pipe. "How's John's daughter comin' along?" he asked between puffs of blue smoke.
"Why, Miss McNabb is very well, I believe," answered Hedin, a bit awkwardly. "You were right about that storm," Hedin hastened to change the subject. "I'm mighty glad we made Gods Lake to-day, or we would have been held up for the Lord knows how long."
Murchison suppressed a smile, and hunched his chair a bit nearer the stove. "When all's said an' done then, the case stands about like this. This engineer will be along in a few days to begin work locatin' the power dam, an' lookin' up more pulpwood. John believes that Wentworth will let the options expire, an' then swing the stuff over to this man Orcutt an' his crowd—an he's sent you up to block the game."
Hedin nodded. "That's it."
"You're my clerk, an' your name's Sven Larson—that's a goodScandinavian name—an' you don't know nothin' about pulp-wood, noroptions. I guess it would be best if we could put him up right here.We could be watchin' him all the while without seemin' to."
"I wonder when Wentworth will be here?" speculated Hedin.
"There's no tellin'. It's accordin' to the outfit he packs an' the guide he's got. They'll have to camp for the storm, an' the snow will slow them up one-half. The storm will last three days or four, an' after that, a day, mebbe a week. Anyways, 'twill give ye time to learn the duties of a factor's clerk, which is a thing the Company has never furnished at Gods Lake, but if John McNabb foots the bill, they'll not worry. 'Twould be better an' ye could play the dolt—not an eediot, or an addlepate—but just a dull fellow, slow of wit, an' knowin' nought except of fur."
Hedin laughed. "That won't bother me in the least."
Murchison shook his head. "'Twill not be so easy as ye think. Askin' foolish questions here an' there, forgettin' to do things ye're told to do, ponderin' deep over simple matters, an' above all ye're to neither laugh nor take offense when I berate ye for a dullard. Ye get the idea—your knowledge of fur is your only excuse for livin'?"
"I get it," smiled Hedin.
Murchison studied the younger man intently. "This Wentworth—how well did ye know him? Or, rather, how well did he know you?"
"You are wondering whether he will recognize me?"
The factor nodded. "Yes, I would not have known ye, for as I remember ye wore a mustache, an' were smooth of chin an' jaw, an' of course, ye wore city clothes. But one who had known ye well wouldn't be so easy fooled."
"He won't recognize me. We have met only a few times. But even if he had known me much better I wouldn't be afraid, because when I left Terrace City dressed in these togs, and carrying a lumberjacks' turkey on my back, I stopped into a cigar store and inquired the way to the station. The clerk who has seen me every day for years pointed out the way without a flicker of recognition in his eyes—and I didn't have this stubby beard then either."
Murchison seemed satisfied, and after showing his new clerk to his bed, he returned to the stove and knocked the ash from his pipe. "John is canny," he grinned. "As canny in the handlin' of women, as of men. He'll have the son-in-law he wants, an' careful he'll be that he's the man of the lass's own choosin'."
On the day after the big storm old Missinabbee returned to the southward, and the following day Wentworth arrived at the post, cursing his guide, and the storm, and the snow that lay deep in the forest. The half-breed refused to stop over and rest, but accepted his pay and turned his dogs on the back-trail. And as Murchison accepted McNabb's letter of introduction from Wentworth's hand in the door of the post trading room, his eyes followed the retreating form of the guide. For he had caught a malevolent gleam of hate that flashed from the narrowed black eyes as the man had accepted his pay.
"Ye have not seen the last of yon," he said, turning to Wentworth with a nod of his head toward the breed. "Alex Thumb is counted a bad man in the North. I would not rest so easy, an' he was camped on my trail."
Wentworth scowled. "Worthless devil! Kicked on my bringing my trunk. Wanted me to transfer my stuff into duffle bags and carry a pack to ease up on his dogs; and then to top it off with, he wasn't going to let me ride on the sled. But I showed him who was boss. I hired the outfit and believe me, I rode whenever I felt like it. He may have you fellows up here bluffed, but not me."
"Well, 'tis none of my business. I was only givin' ye a friendly warnin'. Come on now till I get my glasses on, an' we'll see what ye've got here."
Presently he folded and returned the brief note. "An' now what can I do for ye? Will ye be makin' your headquarters here, or will ye have a camp of your own down on the river?"
"I think I'll stay here if there's room. When I'm exploring the riverI can take a light outfit along."
"There's plenty of room. There's an empty cabin beside the storehouse, an' I'll have a stove set up, an' your things moved in. Ye'll take your meals with me. There's only a couple of Company Injuns, an' my clerk." Murchison paused. "Sven!" he called. "Sven Larson! Where are ye? Come down out of that fur loft! I've a job for ye."
Slow, heavy footsteps sounded upon the floor above, and a moment later two feet appeared upon the ladder, and very deliberately the clerk negotiated the descent.
"Sven Larson, this is Mr. Wentworth. He's from the States, an' he's goin' to live in the cabin. Take Wawake an' Joe Irish an' set up a stove in there, an' move the stuff in that lays outside."
Hedin acknowledged the introduction with a solemn bob of the head, and as he stared straight into Wentworth's face he blinked owlishly.
"This stove?" he asked, indicating the huge cannon stove in which the fire roared noisily.
"No! No! Ye numbskull! One of them Yukon stoves. An' be quick about it."
"What stuff?"
"The stuff that lays outside the door—Wentworth's stuff, of course!'
"In the cabin?"
"Yes, in the cabin!" cried the factor impatiently. "Ye didn't think ye was to put it in the stove, did ye?"
Hedin moved slowly away in search of the Company Indians, and Wentworth laughed. "Hasn't got quite all his buttons, has he?" he inquired. "I should say the Company had treated you shabbily in the matter of a clerk."
"Well, I don't know," replied Murchison. "I could have had worse. 'Tis not to be gainsaid that he's slow an' heavy of wit in the matter of most things, but the lad knows fur. More than forty years I've handled fur, an' yet to-day the striplin' knows more about fur, an' the value of fur, than I ever will know. An' then there's the close-mouthedness of him. Ye tell him a thing, an' caution him to say naught about it, an' no bribe nor threat could drag a word of it from his lips. So, ye see, for the job he's got, I could scarce hope for better."
"I presume he knows only raw furs," said Wentworth casually. "He could, of course, have no knowledge of the finished product."
"An' there ye're wrong. Of his early life I know nothing except that he's a foreigner, raised in the fur trade. He can spot topped or pointed furs as far as he can see them, an' as for appraisin' them, he can tell almost to a dollar the value of any piece ye could show him. But——"
The door opened and Murchison turned to greet a newcomer. "Hello, Downey!" he called. "'Tis a long time since ye've favored Gods Lake with a visit. Come up to the stove, lad, an' meet Mr. Wentworth.
"Mr. Wentworth, this is Corporal Downey, of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police." At the word police Wentworth started ever so slightly, but caught himself on the instant. He searched the keen gray eyes of the officer as he extended his hand, but if Downey noticed the momentary trepidation he gave no sign.
"So you're Wentworth," he remarked casually, as he swung the light pack from his shoulders.
"CaptainWentworth."
"Oh," Downey accorded him a slanting glance, and entered into conversation with Murchison.
"You knew my name, do you want to see me?" Wentworth interrupted after a wait of several minutes.
"No, not in particular. Only if I was you I'd beware of a dark-haired man, as the fortune-tellers say."
"What do you mean?"
"I met Alex Thumb a piece back on the trail."
"Well, what of it? What has that got to do with me?"
"I don't know. He mentioned your name, that's all. An' I just kind of surmised from the way he done it that you an' him didn't part the best of friends."
"I hired him for a guide, and he undertook to give me my orders on the trail. But I soon showed him where he stood."
Downey nodded. "He's counted bad medicine up here."
"I guess he won't bother me any; I'm here to stay."
"No, he won't be apt tobotheryou any. Probably kill you, though, if you don't keep your eyes open. But don't worry about that, because if he does I'll get him."
"He can't bluff me. I served with the engineers in Russia."
"You'll be servin' with the devils in hell, too, if you don't quit makin' enemies of men like Alex Thumb."
"They didn't use upallthe brains, when they made the Mounted,Captain."
"Corporal'll do me," corrected the officer. "I wasn't with the engineers—in Russia. I was only in the trenches—in France."
As Downey slung his pack to his shoulders the following morning he stepped close to Murchison. The trading room was deserted save for those two, but the officer lowered his voice. "Wentworth ain't the only one around here that needs watchin'," he said warningly.
"What do ye mean?"
"I mean your clerk ain't the fool he lets on he is. That room you put me in was next to his. The chinkin's fallen out in spots, an' his light was lit late, so I just laid in my bunk an' glued my eye to the crack. He was readin'—an' enjoyin' what he read. He'd lay down the book now an' then an' light a good briar pipe. I'd get a good look into his face then, an' he's no more a fool than you or I. He's damned smart lookin'. An' the books he had laid out on the table wasn't books a fool would be readin'. He was careful to hide 'em away when he rolled in—an' he cleaned his fingernails with a white handled dingus, an' brushed his teeth, an' put the tools back in a black leather case that had silver trimmin's. Believe me, there's somethin' comin' off here between now an' summer, an' I'm goin' to ask for the detail!"
Murchison laughed. "Come on back, Downey, and you'll see the fun. An' I ain't so sure you won't be needed in your official capacity. But don't bother your head over Sven Larson. Remember this: it takes a smart man to play the fool, an' play it right. That's why John McNabb sent him up here. An' his name ain't Larson; it's Hedin. He's John's right-hand man—an' if I mistake not someday he'll be his son-in-law."
"Oh, I'll be back all right," grinned Downey. "I've got a hunch that maybe I'll be needed."
"Ye wouldn't be sorry to have to arrest Wentworth for some kind of thievery, would ye, Downey? I could see ye distrusted him from the moment ye laid eyes on him."
"U-m-m-m," answered Downey. "I was thinkin' more of, maybe, bringin' in Alex Thumb—for murder."
A week later Murchison accompanied Wentworth upon a ten-day trip, during the course of which they visited the proposed mill site, the McNabb holdings, and a great part of the available pulp-wood territory adjoining. With Murchison's help, Wentworth sketched a map of the district that showed with workable accuracy the location of lakes and streams, together with the location of Government and Hudson's Bay Company lands. This done, he secured an Indian guide and proceeded to lay out and blaze the route of the wagon road to the railway.
By the middle of May the snow had nearly disappeared, and the first of June saw the rivers running free of ice. It was then that Wentworth "borrowed" Sven Larson from the factor and dropped down Gods River in a canoe to its confluence with the Shamattawa. Camp was made at the head of the rapids. Thereafter for five days Hedin worked under Wentworth's direction, while the engineer ran his levels and established his contour. In the evenings as they sat by the campfire smoking, Hedin preserved the same stolid silence that he had studiously observed since the coming of Wentworth.
"Murchison says you know all about fur," Wentworth suggested one evening. "And the finished fur? Do you know that, too—about, well, for instance kolinsky, and nutria, and Russian sable?"
"Kolinsky and nutria are no good. We do not have them here. Russian sable, and sea otter, and black fox, they are the best furs in the world. We do not have them here, either, except once in a while a black, or a silver fox."
"A coat of Russian sable would be very valuable?"
"Yes. Real Russian sable, dark, and well silvered, would be very valuable."
"How much would one be worth?"
"Nobody can tell unless they can see it. It is all in the matching."
For a full minute Wentworth studied the face across the little fire, the face with the unkempt beard, and the far-off, pondering eyes.
"I have a Russian sable coat," ventured Wentworth.
The factor's clerk gazed at him with unwinking blue eyes, and the head wagged slowly. "No. Russian sable is woman's fur. They do not make men's coats of Russian sable."
"But this is a woman's coat," explained Wentworth. "I got it in Russia when I was in the Army. She was a Russian princess and I helped her escape from the country at great risk to myself. It was in the winter, in the dead of night, and a terrible blizzard was raging. When she safely crossed the border she thanked me with tears in her eyes and begged me to take her coat in payment, as she had no money. I refused, but she tossed it into my arms, and disappeared into the night."
"Maybe she died in the storm without her coat."
"Why, no—you see, she had—that is, I had arranged for a car—a sleigh, I mean, to meet her there with plenty of robes. But what I want to get at, is this. If I show you this coat will you promise not to say a word to Murchison about it? I do not want him to know I have it. He would want to buy it, and he is my friend and I do not want to refuse him. But I do not want to sell the coat, because sometime I am going to return it to its original owner. But first I should like you to tell me what it is worth. Can you tell me that? And can you remember never to tell Murchison that I have the coat?"
Hedin nodded. "Yes, I can tell you how much the coat is worth when I see it and feel it. And I will not tell Murchison. That is why I am smart, and others are foolish. Because they tell me what they know, and I listen, and pretty soon I know that, too. But I do not tell what I know, and they cannot listen. So I know what they know, and they do not know what I know, and that is why I am wise and they don't know hardly anything at all."
"Everything coming in, and nothing going out," laughed Wentworth. "That's right, Sven; you've got the system. We will finish here to-morrow, and then we will return to the post, and you can come to my cabin, and I'll show you the fur."
Ever since the evening in camp when Wentworth had confided in him that he had the coat, Hedin had been debating his course of procedure. His first impulse had been to denounce Wentworth to his face, to seize the coat and obtain the engineer's arrest. He knew that Downey expected to return to the post—but there was Jean to consider. Jean—the girl of his fondest dreams, who had forsaken him and fallen under the spell of the courtly manners of the suave soldier-engineer. What would Jean think? If she loved the man she would never believe in his guilt. She would believe, with a woman's irrational loyalty, that he, Hedin, had in some manner contrived to place the coat in Wentworth's possession, and he knew that the engineer would never cease to proclaim that he had been made the dupe of a scheming lover. The case against the man must be plain. When Jean could be shown that Wentworth deliberately endeavored to cheat her father, she would then believe that he stole the coat. She would be saved from throwing herself away, and he—Hedin's lips moved, "I will hire out to the Company, and ask to be sent to the northern-most post they've got."
Upon his arrival at the post, Wentworth made out two reports, one to McNabb and the other to Orcutt, which he dispatched to the railway by a Company Indian. Late in the afternoon, as he was polishing his instruments in the little cabin, the figure of Sven Larson appeared in the doorway. The engineer motioned him to enter and close the door behind him. "Where is Murchison?" he asked, glancing through the window toward the post.
"He has gone in a boat with Wawake to set the fish nets."
Without a word Wentworth stepped across the room, unlocked his trunk, and from its depths drew the sable coat that Hedin had last seen upon the shoulders of Jean McNabb as she walked from the store upon that memorable Saturday. With a conscious effort he controlled himself, and reaching out his hand took the coat and carried it to the window. He was conscious that the engineer's eyes were fastened intently upon him as, inch by inch, he carefully examined the garment whose every skin—every hair, almost—was familiar to him. Still holding the coat, he spoke more to himself than to Wentworth. "A fine piece. All good dark Yakutsk skins. And the matching is good. Only one skin a shade off——"
"What's it worth?" asked Wentworth abruptly. "I don't care a damn about the specifications. They don't mean anything to me. I knew it was a fine garment the minute I spotted it, and I knew Hedin was lying when he said it was a marten."
"Hedin?" queried the clerk. "Was that the name of the princess? She must be a fool to say this is a marten."
"No, no! Hedin is a man. And he is a fool, all right. Fool enough to let a damn fool girl make a fool of him——"
Wentworth suddenly saw a blinding flash of light. He felt himself falling; then he lay very still as a shower of little star-like sparks flowed upward from a black abyss.
The instant he struck, Hedin realized the folly of his act. He would have given all he possessed to have recalled the blow. McNabb had trusted him to carry out a carefully laid plan—and he had failed. He remembered how the old Scot had told him frankly that Jean had fallen in love with Wentworth, and personally, while he believed him to be a good engineer, he wouldn't trust him out of his sight. And then he had outlined the scheme he had laid for showing him up so that Jean would be convinced of his crookedness. And now he had spoiled it all.
The man on the floor stirred restlessly. The thought flashed into Hedin's brain that there might still be a chance. If he played his part well, it was possible.
The next thing Wentworth knew, Sven Larson was bending over him, bathing his face with a large red handkerchief saturated with cold water. "What in hell happened?" muttered the man, as he brushed clumsily at his fast discoloring eye with his hand. With the help of the factor's clerk he sat up. "You hit me! Damn you! What did you hit me for?"
"I am sorry I hit you," answered Hedin heavily. "It is in here—the thing that makes me strike." He rubbed his forehead with his fingers. "It is like many worms crawling inside my head, when one speaks ill of women. My eyes get hot, and the red streaks come, and then I strike. It was such a thing that made me strike Pollak. But I had a hammer in my hand and I looked and saw that Pollak was dead, so I ran away from there and climbed onto the ship. I am glad I did not have a hammer in my hand to-day."
Wentworth regained his feet and glanced at his fast closing eye in the bit of mirror that hung above his wash bench. "So am I," he seconded, forcing a smile. "Where did all this happen? Who was Pollak, and where did the ship take you?"
"It was in London in the place of Levinski, the furrier. Pollak and Iworked for him in the sorting of skins. The ship took me to PortNelson. It was a Hudson's Bay Company ship, and I hired out to theCompany and they sent me here to Gods Lake. I like it here."
"So that's it, is it? Well, now you listen to me. We'll just forget the black eye and make a little trade. You keep still about the sable coat, and about hitting me, and I'll keep still about your killing Pollak. Mind you, if I should tell Murchison you had killed a man he would send you back to London, and they would hang you."
"Yes, they would hang me because I killed Pollak. But I do not tell Murchison things that I know. If you do not tell him I killed Pollak, he will not send me back to get hung."
When John McNabb read Wentworth's report, he reached for his telephone and called Detroit. "That you, Beekman?" he asked, recognizing the voice of the senior partner of one of the foremost engineering firms in the country. "How about you—all set for that Gods Lake job? Just got the preliminary report. Everything O. K. Plenty of water, plenty of head, and we can get it without spreading the reservoir over the whole country. Hustle that road through as fast as you can. Hundred miles of it—only about eight or ten miles of swamp. We can truck the material in quicker than by shipping it clear around through the Bay and track-lining it up the river. Few small bridges, and one motor ferry. Make it good for heavy work. Put on men enough to complete the road in a month at the outside. Most if it will only be clearing out timber and stumps. As soon as the road is done we'll begin to shoot in the cement. Get at it on the jump now, an' I'll see you in a day or two."
The days following the return of Wentworth and Hedin from the survey of the rapids were busy ones at the little post on Gods Lake. For it was the time of the spring trading, and from far and near came the men of the outlands, bringing in their harvest of fur.
The post flag floated gaily at the staff head, and in the broad clearing about its base were pitched the tepees of the fur bringers.
Each rising sun brought additional wilderness gleaners from afar, and additional children, and many additional starving dogs. For these days were the gala days of the Northland; days of high feast and plenty, of boastings, and recountings, and the chanting of weird chants.
The crudity, the primitive savagery of the scene gripped Hedin as nothing had gripped him before. He was astonished that the setting held for him so little of surprise. He fitted into the life naturally and perfectly as though to the manner born. But his own astonishment was as nothing as compared to the astonishment of Murchison, who stood close as Hedin broke open and sorted the packs of fur. Time and again his swift appraisal of a skin won a nod of approval from the factor, who received the skins from his hands and paid for them in tokens of made beaver.
"I do not understand it," said Murchison, between puffs of his pipe, as at the end of a day he and Hedin sat in the doorway of the trading room and watched the yellow flames from a hundred campfires stab the black darkness of the night, and send wavering shadows playing in grotesque patterns upon the walls of the tepees. The harsh din of the encampment all but drowned the factor's words, and Hedin smiled.
"Do not understand what?" he asked.
"'Tis yourself I do not understand. Ye've never handled raw fur, yet in the handling of thirty packs I have not changed the rating of a skin. By your own word, 'tis your first venture into the North, yet since the day of your coming ye have behaved like a man of the North. The Indians distrust a new-comer. They are slow to place confidence in any white man. An' yet, they have accepted your judgment of fur without question. An' a good half of them ye call by name. 'Tis a combination unheard of, an' to be believed only when one sees it."
"And yet it is very simple," explained Hedin. "For years I have studied fur—finished fur—and in the study I have read everything I could find about fur, from the habits of the animals up through their trapping, and the handling of the skins in every step of their preparation. And as for the Indians themselves, I have merely moved about among them and got acquainted, as I would do in a city of white men."
Murchison interrupted him with a snort. "An' a thousand would try it, an' one succeed! 'Tis no explanation ye've given at all. Ye cannot explain it. 'Tis a something ye have that's bred in the bone. Ye're a born man of the North—an' God pity ye for the job ye've got! Cooped up in a store all day with the fanfare of a city dingin' your ears from dawn till midnight, an' beyond! An' what's the good of it? When ye might be living up here in the land that still lays as God made it. The Company can use men like you. You could have a post of your own in a year's time."
For many minutes Hedin puffed at his pipe. "I am glad to hear that," he said at length, "for I am not going back."
"Not going back!" cried Murchison. "D'ye mean it? An' what about that lass of John McNabb's?"
"That lass of John McNabb's has chosen another," answered Hedin in a dull tone.
It was the seventh of June when Wentworth had dispatched the Indian with the reports to McNabb and to Orcutt, and thereafter he settled himself for three weeks of waiting. The activity at the post bored and annoyed him. He complained of the noisy yapping of the night-prowling dogs, cursed the children that ran against his legs in their play, and when necessity compelled him to cross the encampment, he passed among the tepees, obviously avoiding and despising their occupants.
Upon the fifth or sixth day, to rid himself of annoyance, Wentworth essayed a journey to the rapids, and because no one could be spared from the post, he ventured forth alone. When not more than ten miles from the post, he turned his head, as he topped a rock-ribbed ridge for a casual survey of the broadbrulehe had just crossed. The next instant he brought up rigidly erect as his eye caught a swift blur of motion far back on his trail at the opposite edge of thebrule. He looked again but could make out only an army of blackened stumps. Entering the scrub with a vague sense of uneasiness, he circled among the stunted trees and took up a position under cover of a granite outcropping that gave him a view of his back trail. He had hardly settled himself before a man stepped from behind a stump and struck out rapidly upon his trail. The man was traveling light, apparently studying the ground as he walked. Wentworth glanced about him and noted that the rocky ridge would give the man scant opportunity for trailing him to his position. The figure was coming up the ridge now. As it passed a twisted pine, Wentworth got a good look into his face, and the sight of it sent cold shivers up his spine that prickled uncomfortably at the roots of his hair. For the face was that of Alex Thumb, and at close range Wentworth could see that the black eyes glittered evilly. Icy fingers gripped the engineer's heart. He felt suddenly weak and cold.
Raising a shaking hand to his forehead, Wentworth withdrew it wet and glistening with sweat. His brain conjured fantastic stories of the powers of the Indian tracker, and fearfully he scanned the rocks over which he had come. Suddenly it occurred to him that if the man were still upon his trail, he would have come up with him before this. Evidently the tracker was wasting no time on the broad rocky ridge, but taking it for granted that his quarry would proceed on his way, figured on picking up the trail again in the softer ground of the next valley; in which case he would soon discover his error and circle to correct it. Discarding his pack, the terrified man swiftly descended the ridge and crossed thebruleat a run. Gaining the shelter of the forest he paused and looked back. The wide clearing was tenantless, and regaining his breath, he resumed his flight, crashing through patches of underbrush, and splashing through streams until, just at dusk, the lights of the Gods Lake campfires came into view.
Completely done up, he staggered into his cabin and, closing the door, fell sprawling upon his bunk, where for an hour he lay while his overtaxed muscles slowly regained their strength. Then he stood up, lighted his candle, and proceeded to remove the record of his mad flight from his scratched skin and torn clothing.
That evening at supper he was surprised to find that Downey had returned to the post. And he wondered if he only fancied that the officer eyed him meaningly.
He said nothing of his experience, but thereafter he was content to remain at the post, never venturing alone beyond the boundaries of the clearing. He became more and more nervous with the passing of the days. One by one, he checked them off, and during the latter days of June he spent hours pacing restlessly up and down, or making the round of the clearing, shunned by Indian dogs and Indian children, and ignored by their elders. And always three questions were uppermost in his mind: Would Orcutt come? Would McNabb come? Would they both come? And finding no answer, he would continue his restless pacing, or raise the imaginary stakes in his game of solitaire to stupendous proportions.
He became more and more irritable as the tension increased. The breaking of a shoe lace called forth a flow of profanity, and when the mainspring of his watch snapped, he hurled the instrument against the log wall in his senseless rage.
The morning of June 29th brought Cameron, armed with credentials which empowered him to transact any and all business connected with the pulp-wood holdings of the Canadian Wild Lands Company, Ltd. Murchison introduced him to Wentworth, who insisted that the man share his cabin.
"So you are McNabb's man?" queried Cameron with a smile, as he swung his pack to the floor and seated himself upon the edge of a bunk. "Do you know, we rather hoped I would not find you here."
"Why?" asked Wentworth, returning the smile.
"Pulp-wood has gone up since that contract was made. If the stuff were to revert to us we could do much better with it."
"How much better?"
Cameron shot a keen glance at his questioner. "Well, considerably," he answered non-committally.
"A dollar an acre?"
"Two of them."
A brief silence ensued, during which Wentworth was conscious that the eyes of the other were upon him. "Seven dollars an acre," he said. "Pretty high, isn't it, when you consider the inaccessibility to your markets?"
Cameron laughed. "Inaccessibility to markets don't seem to be worrying McNabb any. Bringing his paper mills into the woods seems to have solved that problem. I was talking to the engineer in charge of his road construction day before yesterday——"
"Engineer in charge of road construction!" exclaimed Wentworth. "What road construction—where?"
"Why, north of here. You knew he was building a tote-road, didn't you?I followed the blazed trail clear down to the rapids of the Shamattawa.And he's pushing it, too—got twenty-five or thirty miles of it readyfor traffic."
"No—I didn't know he had begun construction," admitted Wentworth. "I knew there was to be a road—laid it out myself. But I did not know that the work had started."
"Well, it has, and we may as well conclude out business."
"But the options do not expire until noon of July first."
"No, but what is to be gained by waiting here until the last minute? He intends to close the deal, so why not get at it? I suppose you were provided with the necessary funds to make the initial payment?"
Wentworth shook his head. "No," he answered. "In fact I have nothing whatever to do with the transaction. I am an engineer sent up here to locate the mill site, lay out the tote-road, and incidentally, to make a survey of additional pulp-wood holdings. I am surprised to hear that McNabb has begun construction of the road."
Cameron stared at the man in astonishment. "What do you mean?" he asked, "that McNabb has added the expense of road construction to the money he put into the options, without making provision for acquiring title to the property? That does not sound like McNabb—what I've heard of him."
"He has until noon of the first," reminded Wentworth.
"Yes, but where is he? He knows the North, and the hundred-an'-one things that can happen to upset a schedule. If I had as much invested in this thing as he has, you may believe I would have been here with plenty of time to spare."
Wentworth nodded. "So would I. But in case he does not show up, what then? The first man that offers seven dollars an acre, and is prepared to make a substantial payment takes the property?"
"Just so. If McNabb, or his representative, is not here on the stroke of twelve, the day after to-morrow, with tender of a cash payment of ten percent. of the purchase price as stipulated in his contract, then he is out of the reckoning altogether. But why do you ask? You speak as though there were some doubt in your mind as to McNabb's appearance?"
"You can never tell," answered Wentworth. "He told me he would be here himself to close the deal at the proper time. If he does not come, it is no affair of mine, except that I should be out of a job. I need the job, so I tipped off his chief rival capitalist as to the date of expiration, and told him that in case for any reason McNabb fell down on the proposition, he had better show up here at the post on the first day of July with a big bunch of coin." He paused and grinned at Cameron. "I was merely playing safe. If McNabb shows up, well and good. If he don't, well and good again—I still have a job, and you get seven dollars an acre, instead of five."
"But will the other be here?"
Wentworth shrugged. "That is what I have been asking myself for a week. Will McNabb come? Will Orcutt come? Or will they both come? In the latter case I may have let myself in for some unpleasant complications. But I had to take a chance—to avoid taking a chance."
Cameron laughed. "Let us hope for your sake that only one of the parties arrives, and for my sake, that it is the rival, for the additional two dollars an acre will mean an additional million for my company."
Along toward the middle of the following afternoon Orcutt appeared at the post, accompanied by two guides and two operatives of a detective agency, who were ostensibly merely members of a party of three, but who in reality were the guardians of a certain thick packet of large bills that reposed in the very bottom of a waterproof rucksack.
Into the trading room he stamped, cursing the black flies and mosquitoes whose combined and persistent attack had left his face and neck red and swollen. Hedin was behind the counter, and without a hint of recognition Orcutt inquired the whereabouts of Wentworth. Upon being informed that he was probably in his cabin, he turned on his heel and stamped from the room.
"This is a hell of a country!" he said in greeting, as Wentworth opened his door to admit him. "The damned flies and mosquitoes just naturally eat a man alive!"
"It isn't so bad when you get used to it," laughed Wentworth, and turned toward the man who had risen from his chair. "Mr. Orcutt, this is Mr. Cameron, representative of the Canadian Wild Lands Company."
"Wild lands is right," grinned Orcutt as he acknowledged the other's greeting. "I never saw so much timber or so many insects in my life. And now," he continued, meeting Cameron's eyes, "I'm a busy man, and the sooner I get out of this God-forsaken country, the better I'll like it. Why can't we go ahead and get the business over with?"
"You forget, Mr. Orcutt, that the McNabb options do not expire until noon to-morrow," Cameron answered.
Orcutt nodded impatiently. "Yes, yes, I suppose we've got to wait. But as far as that goes, I don't think we've got to worry any. I always make it my business to keep an eye on the other fellow, and I know to certainty that John McNabb will not be here. As a matter of fact, he has mistaken the day his options expire. He believes he has until the first of August."
Cameron whistled. "Are you sure?" he asked incredulously. "I don't know him personally, but his reputation for shrewdness——"
"And ninety-nine times out of a hundred he's as shrewd as his reputation calls for," interrupted Orcutt, "but this is the hundredth time! He is so dead sure he is right that I don't suppose he has examined his papers in years. John McNabb makes damned few mistakes—I've been more than twenty years waiting for him to make this one. And now, by God, I've got him! What do you hold the timber at?"
"Seven dollars an acre."
"Make it six, and I'll take it. It ought to be worth something not to have to hunt up a buyer."
"It is," answered Cameron. "But seven dollars is the price. In a month—two months it will be eight."
"About two percent down?"
"Ten."
"Ten percent!" raved Orcutt. "Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars! Do you think a man takes a jaunt into the woods with any such amount of money as that in his possession?"
"I think you did. If not, then as you people say in the States, you are out of luck."
"I'll buy an option on it."
Cameron shook his head. "No, the time has come for a sale. We can't afford to hold timber ourselves, and as to finding purchasers, I know a dozen men who would snap it up at seven dollars."
"All right," growled Orcutt. "Make out your papers and I'll sign 'em. At least, we can get the routine business all finished to-day so all there will be left to do to-morrow noon will be to sign up and pay over the money."
"No harm in that," agreed Cameron. "I shall proceed at once to draw up a contract of sale. Just a question or two will give me all the information I need. In the first place, is the prospective purchaser an individual or a corporation?"
"Corporation. The Eureka Paper Company."
"And their home office?"
"Orcutt, Canada."
"Orcutt? Where is Orcutt?"
Orcutt smiled. "There isn't any—now. But there will be one as soon as we start construction of the mill. The enterprise will be of sufficient magnitude to necessitate a town at the mill site, and the name of that town will be Orcutt."
"Very good. I think that is all I need to know."
"About the subsequent payments——" began Orcutt, but Cameron interrupted him:
"Let us not discuss that now. The better way will be for you to allow me to draw up the contract, and then to-morrow morning we can go over it, clause by clause."
"Good idea," agreed Orcutt. "Come on, Wentworth," and leading the way from the cabin, he spent half an hour strolling about among the tepees viewing their owners, theirlares,penatesand offspring as he would have inspected an exhibit at a fair. Tiring of this, he led the way to a fallen log at the edge of the clearing, and produced his cigar case.
"How is everything in Terrace City?" asked Wentworth, as he lighted his cigar.
"Oh, about as usual, I guess. Been so damned busy getting this paper deal in shape for the last two months that I haven't had much time to keep track of things. By the way, you remember Hedin—that clerk in old John McNabb's fur department?"
"Yes, I believe I do."
"Well, old John trusted him to the limit—made a kind of a pet of him—and what does the fellow do but slip up to the store one night and steal a Russian sable coat, worth somewhere around thirty thousand. Then the damned fool, instead of getting out of the country, stayed right on the job. Of course old John missed the coat next day, and the night watchman told of Hedin's visit to the store."
"Did he confess?" asked Wentworth a shade too eagerly.
"Confess nothing! He swears he's innocent. But there's nothing to it. They've got the goods on him—everything but the coat. They can't find that, and they never will. I got the story from Hicks, the police chief. Old John had him arrested and he knocked Hicks down and got away. They caught him again, and Judge Emerson fixed his bail at ten thousand. Someone furnished the bail that same night, and Hedin has skipped out, slick and clean. They sure put one over on McNabb—ten thousand for bail, twenty thousand to divide between them, and McNabb is holding the bag."
"And we'll leave him holding the bag again," grinned Wentworth.
"That's what we will. He's been a hard man to down. I don't mind saying it to you, I've laid for him ever since I've been in Terrace City, and I've never been able to get him. Several times I've thought I had him, but he always managed to wriggle out someway. But now he seems to have let down all of a sudden. Either his luck has deserted him, or he has begun to break."
"You are pretty sure he will not be here to-morrow?"
Orcutt nodded. "Dead sure. You were right about his believing that he has till the first of August on those options. I overheard him telling Bronson on the golf links that he had to be in Canada on August first, and that he would leave about the middle of July."
After breakfast on the morning of the first of July, Orcutt and Cameron repaired to the cabin where, with the rough pine table littered with maps, they discussed the terms and conditions of the contract of sale. While Wentworth, palpably nervous, paced the clearing; his eyes were upon the trails that led into the forest, and out upon the lake, for a sign of a canoe from the southward.
When at last the pros and cons had all been threshed over, clauses inserted, and clauses struck out, Orcutt drew from his pocket a heavy gold watch, and snapping it open, detached it from its chain and laid it upon the table between them. "Half past eleven," he announced. "I suppose you insist upon waiting until the uttermost minute ticks to its close."
"Yes," answered Cameron. "McNabb's options hold good until twelve o'clock."
"I am anxious to get back," said Orcutt, offering his cigar case, "but I don't want to return without having a look at the mill site. How far is it from here?"
"About forty miles. If you leave here right after noon you will make it before noon to-morrow."
"I'll do it, and return the following day."
The two men smoked with their eyes upon the minute hand that slowly crept toward twelve. Now and then Cameron's glance strayed through the window toward the trading post, as though he half expected to see John McNabb step to its door.
"Twelve o'clock!" announced Orcutt, in a voice that held a ring of triumph. "And I don't mind telling you that, sure as I was that McNabb would not be here, I am breathing easier now than I was two minutes ago."
Leaning forward, Cameron verified the announcement, and dipping the pen in ink, he signed the contract and passed the instrument across to Orcutt, who hastily affixed his signature. Then from the fat bundle upon which his elbow had rested, the banker removed the wrapping and counted out three hundred and fifty thousand dollars in gold certificates of five- and ten-thousand dollar denominations. Cameron recounted, and receipted for the money, and after depositing it in his pocket he extended his hand. "I congratulate you, Mr. Orcutt, upon your purchase, and trust that you have launched upon an enterprise that will prove immensely profitable to yourself and your associates. But for the life of me, I cannot understand McNabb's failure to put in an appearance."
Orcutt's eyes flashed. "Nor can I, except on the theory that he is breaking—losing his grip on affairs. For years we have been business rivals, and for years I have tried to get the upper hand of him, but until this moment I have always failed. It will be a different story from now on," he added vindictively. "Never again will he have the old confidence, the nerve and sureness that has been his chief asset. John McNabb is done. But I'm wasting time. I should right now be on my way to the mill site."
"You will wait for dinner?"
"No. We can eat as we travel," he answered impatiently. "Good-by!" And stepping to the door, he called to Wentworth and the guides and plainclothes-men who waited beside the door.
"Come on! We strike out at once for the mill site. The deal is closed, and we're wasting time. We've got a forty mile hike ahead of us! We'll snatch a lunch later. By the way, Cameron, you may not be here when I return, so I will inform you now that until further notice Mr. Wentworth will be our accredited representative in the field. If anything should come up that needs my attention, take it up with him."
"Just put it on paper, Mr. Orcutt," advised the canny Scot, and with a show of impatience Orcutt scribbled the memorandum.
"Where are we going?" asked Wentworth.
"To the mill site. I want to look it over and return here by the day after to-morrow. All ready?"
The guides swung their packs to their backs and struck into the timber, followed closely by the others of the party.
The following day, Orcutt and Wentworth stood at the head of the rapids and Orcutt listened as the engineer, with the aid of his field notes and maps, explained the construction of the dam, and roughly indicated the contour of the reservoir. "But what's this line—the dotted one, that crosses the river just above us?"
"That is our western property line. It crosses about a mile above here, and we are standing about the same distance above the mill site."
"Do you mean that we own only a mile of timber on the big river above this point?"
"Just about a mile. Our property runs a long way up Gods River, and both sides of the Shamattawa below the dotted line."
Orcutt studied the map for a moment. "Who owns the land above here?" he asked sharply.
"The Hudson's Bay Company on the north side, and the Government on the south."
"Well, what in hell is to prevent someone—McNabb, for instance—from buying up that land and starting operations above us? Even if they didn't put in a dam they could raise the devil with us by driving their stuff through. John McNabb knows every trick of the logging game, and when he finds out what has happened he'll go the limit to buck us."
Wentworth considered. "I guess he could do that, all right. We would have to let his stuff through—"
"I'll fix him!" cried Orcutt. "I'll beat him to it! Where do we do business with the Government and the Hudson's Bay Company?"
"With the Government in Ottawa, and the Company in Winnipeg."
"Hell's bells!" cried Orcutt. "That means we'll be gallivanting all over Canada for the next week or ten days. Well, it can't be helped. I know John McNabb well enough not to leave any loop-hole for him to take advantage of." He called to the guides. "Hey, you Injuns! What's the quickest way to the railroad?"
The guides pointed due north. "Mebbe-so wan hondre mile," announced one.
"But," cried Wentworth, "we're going back by way of the post, aren't we?"
"We're going to hit for the railway the quickest way God will let us!"
"But, I—I left something—that is, I have nothing to travel in but these field clothes, and they're shockingly soiled and tattered."
"Soiled and tattered—hell! What's that got to do with saving years of trouble at the mill? Maybe you ain't as pretty as you'd like to be—but, you've got enough on so they can't arrest you——"
Wentworth felt a decidedly uncomfortable thrill at the word "arrest." He was thinking of a certain Russian sable coat that lay in his trunk at the cabin, and guarded from prying eyes by only a flimsy trunk lock. He thought, also, of Downey—and wondered. He would have given much to have returned to that cabin, but a single glance into Orcutt's face stilled any thought of further objection, and he reluctantly acquiesced.
"We can follow the line of the tote-road," he said. "I blazed it to the railway, and by the way, Cameron said that McNabb had already started construction—had twenty or thirty miles of it completed several days ago."
"Started construction?" cried Orcutt. "Construction of what?"
"The tote-road. He figured it would be quicker and cheaper to haul his material for the mill in from the new railway than to ship by boat around through the Bay to Port Nelson, and then drag it up the river by scow."
"And you mean to say he's started the work? Laid out good money on top of what his options cost him—and forgot to take up the options?"
"That's just what he's done, according to Cameron."
Orcutt burst out laughing. "We'll let him go ahead and build the road," he cried. "Every dollar he puts in will be ninety cents saved for us. It may be two or three weeks before he finds out that he has lost the timber, and possibly the road will be completed by that time. Then I'll buy it in for almost nothing. McNabb has certainly gone fluie! And in the meantime we will use his road to haul in our own material. I'll wire Strang to begin hustling the stuff through."