CHAPTER XXXIX.A MESSAGE.
I think Mr. Burley would have preferred a private audience with the factor, but he made no verbal objection to my presence. He looked rather glum, however, as he came near and seated himself. He first took a pinch of snuff from an enameled box, and blew his nose vigorously; then, stretching his long legs under the table and resting an elbow on each arm of the chair, he interlocked his lean fingers.
“If I remember rightly, Mr. Macdonald,” he began, “you informed me that you had been a resident of this fort, in various capacities, for the space of thirty-two years?”
“That is quite true, sir.”
“And during that period—indeed for some years prior to it,” continued the law clerk, “I understand that travelers stopping at Fort Garry on their way to the far north were in the habit of leaving their trunks and other luggage behind them here for safe keeping.”
“Certainly—certainly! You have not been misinformed, Mr. Burley.”
“And some of these travelers never came back—never returned to claim their belongings?”
“Alas! too many of them,” replied Macdonald. He shook his head sadly as he filled the bowl of his pipe. “You have stirred up a host of buried and half-forgotten memories,” he went on, in a reminiscent tone, puffingout clouds of smoke. “I recall dozens of poor fellows—hunters, trappers, and explorers—who set out with hopeful hearts to conquer the perils of the wilderness, and have not been heard of to this day. Their trunks and boxes are still in the fort—their bones are scattered in the solitudes of the Great Lone Land. Of course a greater number turned up again, and it is quite likely that some of the missing ones are alive. You see, their property may not have been worth sending for.”
I began to see the drift of Mr. Barley’s questioning.
“You knew these men?” he asked.
“Yes; at the time.”
“And you have no recollection of Osmund Maiden? He would have been a young man of about twenty—handsome and spirited, well educated.”
“I have told you before, sir,” replied the factor, “that the name is strange to me. I should probably recall him if he had passed through the fort, for I have a very keen memory.”
“Twenty-nine years is a long time—long enough for much to slip the mind,” said Mr. Burley. “I have been in the Canadas for the better part of a year, sir, and I have made not the slightest advancement in the matter that brought me from England. It is strange that a man should vanish with leaving a clew behind him, and I will not confess that I am beaten. My task, gentlemen, is to find Osmund Maiden alive, or to discover clear proof of his death. And it occurred to me to-night that he may have been one of those luckless travelers who passed through Fort Garry to tempt fortune in the wilderness.”
“It is not impossible,” replied Macdonald. “I could not swear to the contrary.”
“It seems like enough,” said I. “At that period few went to the far north except by way of Fort Garry.”
Mr. Burley gave me a grateful glance, and regaled himself with a second pinch of snuff.
“I will come to the point, Mr. Macdonald,” he resumed. “These unclaimed trunks and boxes—you say they are in the fort?”
“Yes; they are stored in an upper room of this very house—at least, the greater part of them. All that were deposited here during the last five or six years are in another building.”
Mr. Burley’s relief and satisfaction were visible on his face.
“I presume that a record was kept of such deposits?” he asked.
“Yes, from the first,” the factor answered. “It was done in a business-like way. Every man who left a trunk or a box here was given a receipt. Then his name was entered in a book and numbered, and his number was marked on his property.”
“And that book?”
“A new one was started a few years ago,” replied Macdonald. “The first one went to pieces with age, and had to be put aside.”
“And what became of it?” the law clerk cried eagerly. “It was not lost?”
“Lost? Of course not, sir. I have it stored away in some place.”
“Ah, that is fortunate! I beg you to produce it, Mr. Macdonald. It will be very easy to ascertain if I am right or wrong. If Osmund Maiden passed through Fort Garry, and left any luggage behind him, his name will appear in the record.”
“Quite true,” assented the factor; “but I am sorry that I can’t—”
He stopped suddenly, and put his head to one side.
“I fancy I heard a shout yonder—off by the gates,” he added. “Did you hear anything, Carew?”
“No.” I replied; “it must have been the wind.”
Macdonald turned to the law clerk.
“I was about to remark,” he continued, “that I can’t put my hands on the record-book to-night. But I will search for it to-morrow morning, and give you the satisfaction of examining the entries.”
“You are very kind, sir,” replied Christopher Burley. “And I trust I shall find——”
He was interrupted by a quick, imperative rap on the door.
“Come in!” cried Macdonald.
At the summons a clerk entered, holding a sealed envelope in his hand.
“From the settlement,” he said. “Very urgent, sir! It came by messenger a moment ago.”
The factor silently opened the envelope, drew out a letter and glanced over it briefly. Then his deep-sunken eyes flashed with rage.
“The daring scoundrels!” he cried. “Listen! This is from Walker, my right-hand man in the colony,” and in a hoarse voice he read aloud as follows:
“I have just learned, through a trusted Indian spy, that some Northwest men captured a traveler twenty miles up the river this morning. The prisoner is said to be a Hudson Bay Company courier, bound for Fort Garry with important dispatches from the north. He is held on a trumped-up charge of some sort, and before daylight to-morrow he is to be hurried round the fort and the settlement and conveyed down the river to the Northwest Company’s main post. His captors number seven, and to-night they are putting up at Lagarde’s store. This is reliable, and I have kept it quiet so far. I wait your commands, and will execute them promptly.”
Having finished, the factor crumpled the letter into a ball, and poured some whisky with a steady hand. I sprang to my feet, heated by excitement and indignation. The three officers had been listening; they dropped their cards, and hastened across the room to us.
“Can this be true?” I cried.
“I believe it,” said Macdonald. “It’s bad news, and I only hope it won’t be the spark to fire the blaze. But my duty is clear all the same, and I intend to act promptly. Not through Walker and the colonists, though; we must strike direct from the fort. Let me see; Lagarde’s store is eight miles from here—six north of the settlement. There is no time to lose,for it is past midnight. The messenger has not gone, Stirling?”
“No, sir; he is waiting,” replied the clerk.
“Start him back at once,” directed the factor. “Bid him tell Walker to do nothing in the matter—that I have taken it into my hands. And he is to be careful that not a word of the affair gets out. I don’t want anything known until it is all over. I can’t trust the colonists; they are too hot headed and reckless.”
“Very good, sir.”
“You may go. Be quick.”
The clerk hurried off, and Macdonald turned to the officers.
“Lieutenant Boyd, I am going to put this mission into your hand,” he said, “and I hope you understand its delicate nature. Take twenty men armed and mounted. Follow the road that swings off to the left of the settlement, and then ride straight on to Lagarde’s; the night is dark, and the crust is in fine condition for horses. These are your orders: First make sure that the ruffians have a prisoner; then compel them to deliver him up. But let there be no fighting or bloodshed, if possible. Don’t fire a shot unless you are fired on yourselves.”
“I understand, sir,” replied the officer. “I will do my best. With your permission I will take McKay and Nicoll”—pointing to his fellow-officers. “And perhaps Mr. Carew would like to come?”
“With all my heart!” I exclaimed eagerly; for the adventure promised to be to my taste.
A moment later, Macdonald, having added a few words of instruction, we were out of the house and hastening toward the men’s quarters.
CHAPTER XL.A STARTLING CHANGE.
We found a few men up, but most of them had turned in, and thus some little time was lost in selecting and rousing them. As quietly as possible—for we did not want to alarm the whole fort—the horses were led out and saddled. Then the twenty of us mounted, filed through the gates and rode off to the north. Among those chosen—it was my suggestion—were Luke Hutter and Carteret. I was up in front, with Lieutenant Boyd and his fellow officers.
Our destination, Lagarde’s store, was a stoutly-built log house standing quite by itself, and near a lonely trail that led into the wilderness. It had been erected a few years before, and served the Northwest people for a small trading post until they constructed larger ones. Then it was turned over to Pierre Lagarde, one of their own men, who ran it as a combined supply store and lodging house for passing voyageurs and hunters. It was a rough place in these times of ill feeling, and was avoided by Hudson Bay Company men. I knew a good bit about it myself, and what more there was to know Lieutenant Boyd vouchsafed as we rode along.
“It was natural that the ruffians should break their journey there,” he concluded. “They will probably be sleeping, and I don’t anticipate any trouble in getting the prisoner into our hands. As for Lagarde, he is a blustering fellow, but a coward at heart.”
“They won’t show light if they are seven to twenty,” said I. “But do you really believe they have dared to capture one of our couriers?”
“They would dare anything, these Northwest Company scoundrels,” replied the lieutenant. “And Walker’s information, I assure you, is always accurate.”
By this time we had left Port Garry a couple of miles behind us, and far off to our right a couple of twinkling lights on the horizon marked the little settlement. On we went at a rattling pace, the hoofs of our horses ringing on the hard, frozen snow. The night was dark and bitterly cold; the stars shone in the steely vault of the sky, but there was no moon.
Presently we dipped into a heavy forest, which made the road gleam whiter by contrast. When we had come within a mile of our goal, we settled down to a trot, and a little later the word to halt and dismount was passed along the line in a whisper.
“I don’t want to give the rascals any warning,” the lieutenant explained. “It will be far the wisest plan to take them by surprise, before they can show fight. We are less than a quarter of a mile from the store now.”
The men were quickly out of the saddle, and three of them were told off to guard the horses, which we tethered to saplings by the side of the road. Then the rest of us—seventeen in number—looked to our muskets and started forward on foot. We moved as silently as possible, and soon reached the edge of the forest, where we halted in the deep shadow of the trees.
Before us was a spacious clearing, fifty yards across which stood Lagarde’s store. Smoke was pouring from the chimney and a ray of light was visible under one of the shuttered windows; but not a sound could be heard, and not a moving object could be seen on the white snow crust.
“It’s all right,” said Boyd. “They have turned in for the night, and I don’t suppose they have set a watch; Lagarde keeps no dog.”
“We had better make sure,” suggested Nicoll. “I’m light on my feet—if you say the word I’ll have a closer look about.”
I offered to accompany him—I was keenly curious about the prisoner—and the lieutenant consented.
“Go on, then,” he said, “but don’t let them catch you spying, and get back as fast as you can. It’s too cold to wait about long.”
So off we went, Nicoll and I, and we crept across the clearing with scarcely more noise than a cat would have made. A hum of voices grew on our ears as we approached, proving that Boyd’s surmise was wrong.
The conversation, and the light under the windows, came from the room in the nearest angle of the house. But there were no crevices between the logs, and the shutters fitted so tightly that we could see nothing.
We heard little more. A number of men were talking in low tones, and after listening a minute we gathered that they had a prisoner and intended taking him down to the Northwest Company’s fort in the morning. We made a circuit of the house finding the other rooms dark and silent,and then safely rejoined our party and communicated our discoveries to the lieutenant.
“Up and awake, are they?” he muttered. “And it’s a sure thing about the prisoner! Well, they won’t have him long. I’ll surround the house and induce them to open the door by craft. If that don’t work—?”
“Look here,” interrupted Nicoll. “I didn’t tell you that I recognized the voice of one of those fellows in the room.”
“Ah! Who was it?”
“Ruthven!”
“Are you sure, man?”
“Yes; positive!”
“Then there is all the more reason for acting with promptness and decision,” the lieutenant said emphatically. “Ruthven is a dangerous man,” he added to me. “He is an official of the Northwest Company, and is said to have stirred up the half-breeds against us. But I’ll get the upper hand of him this time.”
A moment later, Boyd having given the force sharp and precise instructions, we sallied out from the woods and across the clearing. As stealthily as panthers we gained the house, and a dozen of our men quickly surrounded it. Five posted themselves before the door—the lieutenant, Nicoll and McKay, Carteret and myself. We held our weapons ready for use.
“If they don’t let us in at once,” Boyd whispered, “we’ll force an entrance. It’s not a case for parleying.”
With that he rapped on the door—by no means lightly. There was a sudden hush inside, then a cautious approach of booted feet, and then a gruff voice demanded:
“Who’s there?”
“A friend,” answered the lieutenant.
“What do you want?”
“I have an important message for Jim Ruthven.”
“From the fort?”
“Yes, from the fort. Open, Pierre!”
An instant of hesitation. Creak, creak! Bolts were being withdrawn. Next the door swung open, and we dimly saw the bearded, rum-bloated face of Pierre Lagarde. The lieutenant’s ruse had thoroughly deceived him, and at sight of us he was struck dumb. Before he could give an alarm we had jammed him back between the door and the wall, and dashed past him into the room.
“Don’t stir!” cried Boyd in a ringing voice. “The first one of you that moves, or reaches for a weapon, I’ll shoot like a dog!”
And he leveled a pistol in each hand.
It was the neatest piece of work I had ever seen done. We had surprised the enemy at a moment when they believed themselves in perfect security, and they were powerless to offer any resistance. Seven men surrounded a table littered with cups and bottles, all hunters or voyageurs save one—a better-dressed, crafty-featured man, whom I took for Ruthven. They sat staring at us with savage faces and flashing eyes, trembling with rage, muttering deep curses. Their muskets were stacked on the wall behind them, and they dared not reach for knives or pistols.
“I’ve got you trapped,” the lieutenant added. “You can’t help yourselves. Three times your number are outside. But I mean you no harm. My business can be settled without bloodshed—”
“Do you think you are acting in your rights, sir,” Ruthven broke in defiantly, “when you invade the property of the Northwest Company and threaten its servants?”
“You scoundrel!” cried Boyd, “were you acting in your rights when you waylaid and captured a courier of the Hudson Bay Company?”
“It’s a lie!”
“Come, we know better,” said I. “The prisoner is in this house and wewant him at once.”
“And who are you, my young cock-of-the-walk?” snarled Ruthven.
“Denzil Carew,” I replied, on the spur of the moment, “formerly of Fort Royal.”
By the sudden pallor of the man’s face I knew that the shot had struck home—that he knew all about the burning of the fort, and his companions looked no less disconcerted and alarmed. He changed the subject instantly.
“Lieutenant Boyd, I command you to leave,” he said hoarsely. “You forget there is such a thing as law in the Canadas.”
“It is you who forget that, sir,” retorted the lieutenant, “as you will learn to your cost before many days. But to business! Produce the prisoner.”
“I admit that I have one,” said Ruthven, “but my claim to him overrides yours. He is a murderer; he has killed a Northwest Company man in cold blood.”
“Who?”
“Cuthbert Mackenzie!”
I could scarcely believe that I had heard aright. I exchanged significant and wondering glances with my companion. Could it be possible that Cuthbert Mackenzie had paid the last penalty for his crimes?
“It’s a good job, if it’s true!” muttered Carteret.
CHAPTER XLI.BACK FROM THE DEAD.
Lieutenant Boyd was silent for an instant, and I saw that he was a little staggered by the bold daring of the accusation. Then, looking Ruthven straight in the eyes, he said, in a curt and significant tone of voice:
“I am glad to have found some one who can give information concerning Cuthbert Mackenzie, and I will remember you when certain investigations now pending are taken up by the Hudson Bay Company. Shall I make my meaning clearer?”
“As you please,” muttered Ruthven, with an air of forced calmness.
“It is needless; I think we understand each other,” the lieutenant continued. “As for the prisoner, and the charge you have made against him, I won’t enter into that matter at present. Did you arrest him with a warrant?”
“No.”
“Then you can’t hold him. Set him at liberty, and I will guarantee that you will find him at Fort Garry when you are ready to serve the proper papers on him.”
“It’s likely I’ll believe that,” sneered Ruthven. “I tell you the man is guilty. I have witnesses—proofs of the murder.”
“I don’t care what you have,” cried the lieutenant. “I want the man at once—I’ve parleyed with you far too long. If you don’t produce him I’ll search the house.”
Ruthven sat glowering like a tiger at bay. He scanned our resolute little party, and looked helplessly at the sullen, scowling faces of his own men. “I yield to force of arms,” he said hoarsely; “but I protest against this unjustifiable outrage. Lagarde, bring the fellow out!”
The storekeeper had meanwhile returned to the room, and now, at Ruthven’s bidding, he entered an apartment in the rear and partly closed the door behind him. For a brief interval we waited in silence, hearing only an indistinct murmur of voices. Then Lagarde reappeared, followed by the prisoner.
At sight of the man my heart gave a wild throb, and a cry of amazement was forced to my lips, for there before me, as dashing-looking as ever,but with cheeks slightly sunken and blanched from illness, stood Captain Myles Rudstone.
“You!” I gasped. “Back from the dead!”
“It’s the captain, sure enough!” shouted Carteret.
I half expected to see him vanish in thin air, but my doubts were dispelled when he came quickly forward and clasped my hand.
“Don’t stare at me as though I was a ghost,” he said laughingly. “You see I am real flesh and blood, my dear Carew. I have turned up again, like a bad penny.”
“I never dreamed that the prisoner could be you!” I exclaimed. “We believed you dead—buried under the snow.”
“It was a natural supposition,” the captain replied, as he shook hands with Carteret and Lieutenant Boyd.
“My good fellows, I am greatly indebted to you for this service—for your timely rescue. I was awake when you arrived, and overheard the little discussion, but as I was both gagged and bound, I could do nothing in my own behalf.”
With that his face darkened, and striding to the table, he struck it a blow with his fist that set the bottles and cups rattling, and caused Ruthven and his evil crew to shrink back in their seats.
“You and I will have a reckoning at a later time,” he cried, addressing Ruthven. “Be assured that it will come!”
“A word with you, Captain Rudstone,” said Boyd. “I must warn you that you are charged with a grave crime, and that I have given a pledge for your safe keeping at Fort Garry.”
“What is the accusation?”
“The murder of Cuthbert Mackenzie!” Ruthven blurted out savagely.
The captain shrugged his shoulders, laughed insolently, and gave me a meaning and reassuring glance.
“I reserve my defense,” he said. “I will say nothing at present as to the truth or falsity of this charge. Certainly I have done nothing that I would willingly undo—quite the contrary.”
“I am sure of that,” I said warmly.
“As for your pledge Lieutenant Boyd,” the captain continued. “I give you my word I shall wait Mr. Ruthven’s pleasure at Port Garry, and I defy him to bring his witnesses before a competent tribunal. Indeed, I court and desire a full investigation of the act with which I stand charged.” As he spoke he glared at Ruthven, and the latter’s eyes fell.
“Well said!” exclaimed the lieutenant. “I perceive you have grasped the delicate nature of this affair, Captain Rudstone. By the way, I understand you are the bearer of dispatches. Do you still retain them?”
“That is a misapprehension, sir,” was the reply. “I have no dispatches; nor did I stop at any of the company’s forts on my journey from the north. I am bound for Fort Garry on a private and personal matter.”
“You shall accompany us there at once,” said Boyd. “I think we have finished here.” Turning to Ruthven, he added: “We are going now, sir. Let me warn you to keep your men under control—to see that no shots are fired treacherously.”
“When we want to shoot it will not be behind your backs,” Ruthven replied significantly, and in a voice that trembled with suppressed passion. “You will be sorry for this night’s work!”
Without further words we left the house, gathered up our men outside, and crossed the clearing to the woods. We pushed on more rapidly to the horses, and one of the men gave his steed to Captain Rudstone and mounted behind a companion. As we rode on a trot toward the fort, the captain, who was in front, between Boyd and myself, related to us in confidence the thrilling story of his adventures. He spoke in low tones, for it was not advisable that the rest should hear a narrative which ought properly to have come to the factor’s ear first.
“I shall spin the yarn briefly and without going into details,” he began. “My disappearance on that night when we encamped near Fort Charter was a very simple thing. I was on duty, you will remember, and Ieither heard—or imagined I heard—the report of a musket within half a mile. Hoping to learn what it meant, I ventured too far from camp. The result was that I lost my bearings, and for several hours wandered about in the blinding storm. I shouted at intervals, and fired a couple of shots. At, last, when I was nearly exhausted I came across a recess under a mass of rocks. I crawled into it—it was warm and tight—and there I slept as I have never slept in my life before. I wakened to find that I was snowed up—many hours must have passed—and with tremendous toil I dug myself out of the huge drift. It was then late in the afternoon of the next day. I had no idea of my bearings, and after tramping aimlessly until twilight I stumbled upon a small camp in the wilderness, and found myself Cuthbert Mackenzie’s prisoner.”
“And did you really kill the scoundrel?” I asked.
“Wait; I am coming to that,” replied the captain. “Mackenzie had half a dozen Indians with him, and was on the way south. He knew me, of course, and he swore that he would shoot me at daybreak. We held some conversation, during which he virtually admitted that he had instigated and led the attack on Fort Royal. He meant to kill me—I saw that clearly—and I felt pretty blue when I was bound fast to a tree.”
“You worked your bonds loose, I suppose?” inquired Boyd.
“No; I was saved in another way,” said the captain—“by your old friend Gray Moose, Carew. It seems that he and a dozen redskins had been following Mackenzie up on account of some old grudge—some act of false dealing—and that night they surprised and attacked the camp. They cut me loose first, seeing that I was a prisoner, and I took part in the scrimmage. I grappled with Mackenzie and overpowered him, and to save my own life I had to stab him to the heart—”
“He deserved it,” said I. “It was a just retribution. And how did the fight turn out?”
“Two of Mackenzie’s party escaped, and the rest were killed,” Captain Rudstone answered. “I knew little of it at the time, for I was shot through the shoulder and fainted from loss of blood. Gray Moose and his braves carried me to an Indian village some miles to the west, tended me until I was recovered, and then supplied me with a sledge and food for the long journey South. And it ended, as you know, in my falling into the hands of those Northwest Company ruffians a few miles from my destination.”
“But how do you suppose Ruthven knew of the affair?” asked Boyd.
“From the two Indians who escaped,” replied the captain; “they must have pushed right on down country. I’ll tell you more of my story at another time. Yonder, if I am not mistaken, are the lights of Fort Garry.”
CHAPTER XLII.TRUNK 409.
At three o’clock the next afternoon Christopher Burley and myself might have been found in the factor’s private office, waiting expectantly for the door to open, and gazing meanwhile at the desk littered with papers and maps, the shelves stacked with musty documents and old account books. I had not been up long, having slept till past noon. It had been daylight when I retired, and Captain Rudstone was then closeted with the factor. I had seen neither of them since.
“Mr. Macdonald has evidently been detained,” said the law clerk as he looked at the huge silver watch he had carried through all his adventures. “He told me to find you and bring you here, and promised to join us almost immediately.”
“He must have a great many things on his mind to-day,” I replied. “But, tell me, why did he request my presence?”
“It was my suggestion, Mr. Carew. You have always shown a keen interest in the matter, and I thought you would like to see if this last straw to which I am clinging amounts to anything.”
“You are quite right,” said I. “It was thoughtful of you to remember me, and I am very anxious to know the result of your search.”
This, I must confess, was a polite evasion of truth. I had much rather have been with Flora, whom I had seen for only a few moments since the previous evening.
“I am by no means sanguine of success,” the law-clerk resumed. “There is but a meagre chance. And yet I feel a sort of presentiment that—Ah, here he comes now!”
As he spoke the door opened, and Macdonald entered the room. I saw at a glance, and with some surprise, that he was in good spirits.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting for me,” he began. “I had some urgent matters to attend to. I turned in long after you, Carew, and slept but two hours. Have you seen anything of Captain Rudstone?”
“No,” Mr. Burley and I answered together.
“He is doubtless in bed yet, he needed rest,” said the factor. “I had his whole story from him this morning.”
“He gave me an outline of it last night,” said I. “It was a most thrilling narrative.”
“Yes, and one that I was heartily glad to hear,” replied Macdonald. “Even if Cuthbert Mackenzie had been killed otherwise than in a struggle his death would have been a simple act of justice; for it seems that he admitted and boasted of his part in the capture of Fort Royal. As for the charge of murder, it is ridiculous!”
“Then you think the affair will blow over?” I cried.
“I am sure of it, under the circumstances,” declared the factor. “I understand that Lieutenant Boyd spoke plainly last night, intimating that our people suspected the Northwest Company of complicity in the attack on Fort Royal, and that they would hear from us shortly. So it is unlikely that Ruthven or his superiors will take any steps to apprehend Captain Rudstone. Indeed, since they can’t tell what evidence we have—or have not—they may be frightened into adopting a more peaceable policy than heretofore.”
“I hope so, with all my heart,” said I.
“Time will tell,” replied Macdonald. “We shall continue to prepare for the worst at all events. It is possible that the rescue at Lagarde’s store may drive the half-breeds, or the more hot-headed of the Northwest Company men to some desperate act.”
With that the factor turned to Christopher Burley, who had been waiting with visible signs of impatience for our conversation to terminate.
“Now, sir, I am ready to attend to your business,” he said. “I can’t spare much time, for I have promised an interview to Captain Rudstone this afternoon. I believed some personal matter—I have not the least idea what—is connected with his visit to the fort.”
“I trust I shall not detain you long,” replied the law clerk. “I sincerely regret that—”
“Oh, it’s all right,” interrupted Macdonald. “I am glad to be of service to you. A few minutes will settle the question in one way or another.”
He seated himself at his desk, glanced over a row of account books, that were shelved within reach, and finally took down a small leather-bound volume that looked to be on the point of falling to pieces.
“Ah, this is it!” he exclaimed. “I thought I could lay my hands on it promptly.”
Christopher Burley and I stood behind his chair looking over his shoulders, as he turned the faded, musty-smelling leaves one by one. The law clerk’s cheeks were slightly flushed, and a rapt and expectant expression was on his face.
“1780,” muttered the factor—“’83—’85—’87—was that the year?”
“He left England in the year 1787,” Christopher Burley replied eagerly, “in the month of June. Try September to start with.”
“It’s rather too early,” said Macdonald. “There are only five entries in September,” he added, as he glanced rapidly down two pages, “and a smaller average for the remaining months of that year. Now we come to 1788. I have not found your man yet. Let me see—January, February, March—they are unlikely months, and contain scarcely an entry.”
The search was growing doubtful, and I felt sorry for Mr. Burley.
“We are not through yet,” I said cheerfully.
“Perhaps, sir,” suggested Macdonald, “Osmund Maiden took another namewhen he came to Canada.”
“No, no,” the law clerk exclaimed sharply. “I hope not. He could have had no reason for doing such a thing.”
“It’s not uncommon,” the factor answered dryly. “Ah, here we are at April! Half a page of entries at the least! Massingham, Clarke, Bent, Duvallard—”
He paused with an exultant little cry, and Christopher Burley, bending further over him, noted where his finger rested near the bottom of the page.
“Osmund Maiden!” the law clerk shouted in a tone of wild excitement. “It is he! it is he! There, you can read it! plainly! Success at last!”
“You are right, sir!” exclaimed Macdonald. “Here we are; ‘April the 19th, 1788—Osmund Maiden, one trunk, marked 409.’ Doubtless this is your man.”
It was a thrilling moment, and I felt a sudden and keen interest in the discovery, which I had by no means expected. I stared at the faded inscription on the brown page, written there nearly twenty-eight years before. Then I looked at Christopher Burley. I had never seen him so deeply stirred. He was rubbing his hands together, drawing quick, short breaths, and examining the book with an expression of mingled triumph and anxiety.
“But how is this?” he asked hoarsely. “Look: a line is drawn through every name on the page except that of Osmund Maiden.”
“His name is not erased,” replied the factor, “because he never came back—because the receipt for his trunk was never presented.”
“Ah, I see!” muttered the law clerk. “He never came back. Twenty-eight years in the wilderness! I fear he is dead.”
“That is the most reasonable way to look at it, sir.”
“And yet he may be still alive, Mr. Macdonald. Surely if he stopped at Fort Garry he made some mention of his future plans.”
The factor shook his head.
“The entries on this page are not in my handwriting,” he replied. He opened his desk, took out a small book and glanced at it. “At that time I was absent from the fort,” he added. “From the end of March to the beginning of May, 1788, I was in Quebec.”
“But are none of the old employees here now?”
“No; not one. There are a few who have served a long time, but not prior to 1790.”
“Failure at every point!” exclaimed Mr. Burley, with a gesture of disappointment. “But I will not despair. This clew must lead to others. I cannot return to England without proofs of Osmund Maiden’s death.”
“I do not know where you will get them,” said Macdonald. “The man has been missing for nearly thirty years.”
“And you made constant inquiries for him in the north,” I added.
“But he may not have remained in the wilderness,” cried the law clerk. “Perhaps he went south again by another road. It is even possible that he claimed his trunk and that by mistake this name was not erased.”
“We never did business here in that loose way,” replied the factor a little sharply. “Come, Mr. Burley, I will give you a final satisfaction. It would be useless to search the file of receipts, for I am positive that Osmund Maiden’s is not there. But I will readily show you his trunk—trunk 409. Will you please to follow me, gentlemen?”
CHAPTER XLIII.A DRAMATIC INTERRUPTION.
It need not be said that Christopher Burley and myself accepted the factor’s invitation with alacrity, though, indeed, the mere sight of the missing man’s trunk promised to be but poor game. On the contrary,should the trunk not be found, it would amount to a certainty that Osmund Maiden had returned to claim his property, but I did not look for this contingency, which would throw the law clerk off the trail once more.
On the way from the office we had occasion to cross the house, and in the lower hall we came upon Flora, attired in her outdoor costume of furs. She looked at us with some surprise, standing so that we could not pass her.
“I am going for a short walk, Denzil,” she said, “and I hoped you would accompany me.”
“Yes, if you will wait just few moments,” I replied. “We are on our way to the room where the unclaimed trunks are stored. It is a matter of some importance to Mr. Burley and I wish to see the end of it myself.”
“Oh, has Mr. Burley’s search been successful at last?” Flora exclaimed eagerly. “He was telling me of his fresh hopes this morning, and I was deeply interested.”
“Yes, Miss Hatherton, it seems that I was on the right track,” the law clerk replied. “Osmund Maiden passed through Fort Garry nearly twenty-eight years ago. He left a trunk here—”
“And you are going to look for it?” Flora interrupted. “How curious! Please take me with you, Denzil, if Mr. Macdonald does not object.”
“Not in the least,” the factor answered gallantly. “Come with us, if you like, but I warn you it will be a dusty undertaking.”
“I am not afraid of dust or cobwebs,” Flora said laughingly.
She slipped a hand under my arm, and as we followed Macdonald and Burley upstairs I told her in a few hurried words what we had discovered.
“It is not much,” she replied. “And what good can the trunk do Mr. Burley unless he can open it?”
“I’m afraid the factor won’t permit that,” said I. “He could do it only with a legal order of some sort.”
By this time Macdonald had led us through two empty rooms on the upperfloor, and now he stopped at the door of a third.
“This is the place,” he said fitting a key in the lock.
An instant later the door swung open, revealing darkness within, and letting a musty, ancient odor escape. Christopher Burley stumbled over the threshold, and the rest of us followed him.
“This is worse than the underground passage at Fort Royal,” said Flora. “The room needs airing badly. Are you going to give us any light, Mr. Macdonald?”
“At once,” the factor replied.
He groped his way into the darkness, fumbled a moment at a closed window, and flung the shutters wide open. The cold wintry air blew in our faces, and the rays of the sinking sun brightened every nook and corner. It was a good-sized room, and on three sides of it—except where a space was left for the window—trunks and boxes were neatly stacked to the ceiling. Dust and cobwebs lent a disreputable and ruinous effect to them.
“All unclaimed,” Macdonald said significantly, “and none of recent date.”
For a moment the four of us stood in silence, as though under the influence of a strange spell. It was indeed an impressive and a thoughtful sight, this array of boxes and trunks, chests and cases, of all sizes and all kinds. Could these mute witnesses only have spoken! As we stared at them we wondered what had been the fate of their owners—of the daring men, young and old, who had gone forth years ago into the untrodden wilderness and never been heard of since.
“Where is his trunk?” demanded Christopher Burley, breaking the spell. “Show it to me! I don’t believe it is here!”
“We shall find it presently, I assure you,” the factor answered.
With that we fell to searching, two of us at one side of the room and two at the other. Its proper number was painted in white on each box or trunk, but as the numbers were not in order, and some of them were partly obscured by dust, we were not successful at once. When we came tothe stack at the end of the room, however, Flora’s sharp eyes quickly discovered what we were seeking.
“There it is!” she cried, “Number 409!”
Yes, there it was—the fateful characters staring us in the face from the end of a small black trunk, next but one to the top of the heap, I felt a pang of disappointment, I had half-hoped that this mysterious Osmund Maiden had returned to claim his property, and that by an oversight the black line had not been drawn through his name. But here was evidence that strongly suggested his death in the wilderness.
“Get it down,” Christopher Burley said hoarsely. “Let me see it!”
Macdonald assented half-reluctantly. I helped him to drag the trunk from the one resting on top of it, and we placed it on the floor. It was a small affair and it seemed very light. It was low and narrow, brass-bound, and covered with decaying leather. In addition to being locked it was wrapped about with rope.
“Nothing in it but spare clothing, I should say,” remarked the factor. “It’s a common enough type and was made and sold in Quebec. I know the brand.”
“You are right, sir; the trunk did not come from England,” said the law clerk.
“But you will surely open it, so that all doubt may be set at rest.”
“I shall do nothing of the sort,” Macdonald answered curtly. “Your request is impossible. I have no right to touch the trunk. How do I know that Osmund Maiden is not alive—that he will not turn up with the receipt some day?”
“I admit the possibility of that,” said Christopher Burley. “Indeed, I prefer to take that view of the matter myself. But consider my perplexing situation, sir. I have reason to think that the trunk contains papers—not only documents to prove Osmund Maiden’s identity, but a statement of what his future plans were when he left Fort Garry. And by that means I will learn where to search for him—how to trace his afterlife. I can’t return to England until I have either proved him dead or found him alive.”
Macdonald shook his head.
“I must be true to my trust,” he replied. “Only legal measures can empower me to open this trunk, and you can take steps to that effect if you please. You know better than I if such a remedy is within your reach. In the eyes of the law I admit Osmund Maiden would probably be accounted dead.”
“But my dear sir, the plan you suggest would involve a journey to England and back, not to mention the delay in the Quebec courts.”
“It is the only course, Mr. Burley. And you must remember, for my side of the case, that you have not let me into your confidence. Why are you searching for this man?”
“I could speedily satisfy you on that point,” the law clerk said slowly; “but this is not the time to do so. I am acting for my employers—Parchmont & Tolliver, of Lincoln’s Inn, London. They are a well-known and honorable firm of solicitors, and it is of importance to them that Osmund Maiden should be found.”
“Then find him,” the factor replied. “Find him, but don’t ask me to break into this trunk.”
Mr. Burley agitatedly wiped his brow.
“Sir, I beg of you to reconsider your determination,” he pleaded. “Permit me to see what is in the trunk. Open it in my presence, let me hastily examine the contents, and then seal it up intact. It is a simple matter for you—a most important one for me.”
At first Macdonald made no reply, but he was clearly moved by the law clerk’s earnestness and importunity. He hesitated a moment, and then said coldly:
“I will do this much for you, sir: I will take the rope from the trunk and if it can be picked open without breaking the lock, well and good; if not, you must be content.”
“Try it, sir, at once,” exclaimed Mr. Burley.
Taking a knife from his pocket, the factor knelt beside the trunk. Hebegan to sever, one by one, the tightly-knotted strands of rope; they had been tied so many years that they could not be picked open. The law clerk fairly trembled with excitement as he bent over him; Flora and I watched the operation calmly.
Just then we heard soft footsteps, and looking up we were surprised to see Captain Rudstone standing within a yard of us. There was a peculiar gleam in his eyes, and a half-amused, half-mocking expression lurked on his inscrutable features. His glance swept about the room, then settled keenly on our little group.
“Pardon me for interrupting you, Mr. Macdonald,” he said in well-modulated tones. “I heard you were here, and as my business happened to lie in the same direction, I took the liberty of following you uninvited. I could not have arrived at a more opportune time. I think that is my trunk you are trying to open. May I relieve you of the trouble?”
“Your trunk, sir?” gasped the factor, letting the knife drop from his fingers.
“Yes, mine. I am Osmund Maiden!”